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31365 | yago | 1 | 3 | https://www.medievalwomen.org/anne-of-kiev.html | en | Anne of Kiev | [
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Ancestral Roots 101:22
Daughter of Iaroslav I Grand Prince of Kiev and Ingegerd Olofsdotter of Sweden, consort to Henry I of France, grandmother to Isabel de Vermandois. Brought up in a noble household with at least eight siblings, Anne was well educated, able to read and write in the Cyrillic alphabet, a writing system developed in the First Bulgarian Empire during the 9th century. Many of her siblings married into European aristocratic families and after her offer of marriage was declined by the German Roman Emperor it appears king Henry of France’s attention may have been drawn to Kievan Rus. Although their union would not provide any territorial gain for France it was a way for Henry to avoid violating papal laws of consanguinity and add validity to the young Capetian dynasty, also providing a tri-fold alliance between France, Poland and the Kievan Rus against a growing German empire.
In 1051, at the cathedral of Reims Anne and Henry were married followed immediately with her crowing as the queen of France. At a year of marriage she gave birth to the heir to the throne, Philip I, given a Greek name from her Eastern Orthodox culture, a name new to Europe which meant “loves horses”. In her roll as queen Anne was manager of the royal court and household, supervisor of the royal children and protector of churches and convents. She was knowledgeable in politics and played an active role in government serving as an advisor to Henry and accompanying him on his inspection travels around France. Pope Nicholas II, who was surprised with her great political abilities wrote her, "Honorable lady, the fame of your virtues has reached our ears, and, with great joy, we hear that you are performing your royal duties at this very Christian state with commendable zeal and brilliant mind." Anne was respected by her husband, appointed a member of the royal council with several decrees bearing the inscription “With the consent of my wife Anna" and "In the presence of Queen Anna," unique among all other French Royal decrees.
On Philip’s seventh birthday he was co-crowned with his father. A year later Philip assumed the monarchy with the death of his father at the Siege of Thimert, the last military action between Henry of France and Duke William II of Normandy. Anne, as a member of the royal council, acted as Regent of France primarily for the first two years of Philip’s minority with County Baldwin V of Flanders as her co-regent in accordance with Henry’s will. Although she was the first queen of France to serve as regent, the mother-son ruling relationship had precedents throughout the Merovingian and Carolingian dynasties. She accompanied Philip on his inspection tours around France just as she had with Henry and was mentioned in eleven of the thirteen state documents Philip issued during his first year.
In 1062, Anne remarried Raoul, count of Crepy and Valois and, for a brief time, the governance of the kingdom and guardianship of her child went entirely to Baldwin. Her remarriage has been presented as ‘a scandal that rocked the kingdom’ with theories of bride-kidnapping or Raoul rapidly snapping up Anne as ‘a great matrimonial prize’. The right of consent in marriage had always been maintained by the medieval church and typically widows remarried within a year of two. As a widow with influence at the royal court personal wealth and status of queen mother perhaps she chose to remarry to a man of her own choosing that would also provide political benefits to her son, namely, to keep Raoul, a powerful magnate who had once rebelled against her husband on her son’s side. With her marriage she was forced to leave the court but returned after Raoul’s death in 1074. Throughout Philip’s adult reign Anne appears to have maintained a good relationship with her son, occasionally witnessing charters. She founded an abbey about 1065 in honor of Saint Vincent in Senlis, where she held dower lands. In the document Anne states how she was able to build the abbey ‘as a gift from my goods and those which king Henry, my husband, gave me at our marriage, all of which, with the favour of my son Philip, by the grace of God king, and the counsel of all the magnates of his kingdom, I granted to be assigned to it’. She died in 1075, was buried at Villiers Abbey, La Ferte-Alais, Essonne.
Read her letters: https://epistolae.ctl.columbia.edu/woman/116.html
References and Further Reading
“Anna laroslavna.” Foundation for Medieval Genealogy. Russia, Rurik. Chapter 1. Origina, Grand Princes of Kiev. B. Grand Princes of Kiev 1019-1093, 9. Anna. Web. 23 October 2015. http://fmg.ac/Projects/MedLands/RUSSIA,%20Rurik.htm
Medieval Women’s Latin Letters. https://epistolae.ctl.columbia.edu/women.
Ward, Emily Joan, University of Cambridge. Anne of Kiev (c. 1024—c. 1075) and a reassessment of maternal power in the minority kingship of Philip of France. Institute of Historical Research, University of London. //onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/1468-2281.12139/pdf | |||||
31365 | yago | 2 | 55 | https://research.kent.ac.uk/emcentraleu/lecture-talia-zajac/ | en | Connected Central European Worlds, 1500 | https://research.kent.ac.uk/emcentraleu/wp-content/themes/uok-theme-ambition/assets/images/favicon/favicon.ico | https://research.kent.ac.uk/emcentraleu/wp-content/themes/uok-theme-ambition/assets/images/favicon/favicon.ico | [
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12:00 ET | 17:00 LONDON | 18:00 PARIS | 19:00 KYIV
Register for Zoom link here.
Abstract
In 1051, Anna Yaroslavna (d. circa 1075/1079), the daughter of Yaroslav the Wise of Kyiv (d. 1054) and Ingigerd of Sweden (d. 1050), married King Henry I of France (d. 1060) in Reims Cathedral. This extraordinary long-distance marriage alliance linked Henry I’s Capetian dynasty with the ruling clan of early Rus’ and led to Anna ruling France first as queen consort and, second, following her husband’s death, as co-regent during the minority of her son Philip I (d. 1108). Particularly since the early twentieth century, Anna Yaroslavna’s reign has wielded enormous influence over Ukrainian popular and scholarly imagination. Some two hundred popular works devoted to Anna Yaroslavna exist, in addition to a 1969 Ukrainian opera and several recent television biopics. This presentation will begin by discussing some of the major surviving medieval narrative and documentary sources on Anna Yaroslavna’s reign before turning to key examples of post-medieval Ukrainian retellings of her life. The presentation thus critically examines how and in what contexts Anna Yaroslavna’s story was told and retold for Ukrainian audiences. It will consider such questions as: What purpose did the fictionalizing and retelling of her reign serve? How does Anna’s life story inform Ukrainian constructions of both the medieval past and of aspirations for the future? Investigating sources and retellings of Anna Yaroslavna’s life offers unexpected insights into Ukrainian understandings of this historic relationship with France and with Western Europe.
Biography
Talia Zajac (PhD, University of Toronto, 2017) is a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow at the John Rylands Research Institute and Library, University of Manchester, UK. She is currently working on the research project titled, “Royal Women, Cultural Exchanges, and Rus’ Ecumenical Marriages, circa 1000 –1250”, which examines the political, patronage, and diplomatic roles of royal brides from Kyivan Rus’ at Latin Christian (Catholic) courts in the eleventh to mid thirteenth centuries. Previously, Zajac has pursued this research as an Andrew W. Mellon Post-Doctoral Fellow at the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, Toronto, Canada (2020– 2021) and as an Eugene and Daymel Shklar Research Fellow at the Harvard Ukrainian Research Institute (2018).
Zajac has published on re-naming of Latin Christian brides in Pre-Mongol Rus’ in Byzantinoslavica (2020), on the social and position of princesses within Rus’ in A Companion to Global Queenship, edited by Elena Woodacre (Arc Humanities Press, 2018) as well as articles on Anna Yaroslavna and on Anastasia Yaroslavna in the Royal Studies Journal (2016) and in the volume Moving Women, Moving Objects (400 –1500), edited by Tracy Chapman Hamilton and Mariah Proctor-Tiffany (Brill, 2019). In addition to her academic publications, she also engages in creative work. Her trilingual (French, Ukrainian, English) libretto for the oratorio Golden Harvest, set to music by composer Larysa Kuzmenko and celebrating the 125th anniversary of the settlement of Ukrainian-Canadians, won the Anna Pidruchney Award for New Writers in 2016.
Bibliography
Bautier, Robert-Henri. “Anne de Kiev, Reine de France, et la politique royale au XIe siècle, étude critique de la documentation.” Revue des études slaves 57.4 (1985): 539 – 564.
Bogomoletz, Wladimir V. “Anna of Kiev: An Enigmatic Capetian Queen of the Eleventh Century: A Reassessment of Biographical Sources.” French History 19.3 (2005): 299 – 323.
Delorme, Philippe. Anne de Kiev: Une reine de France venue d’Ukraine. Histoire des reines de France. (Paris, 2015).
Hallu, Roger. Anne de Kiev: Reine de France (Rome, 1973).
Luniak, Ievhen. Anna Ruska— koroleva Frantsii v svitli istorichnikh dzherel. Foreword by Volodymyr Richka (Kyiv, 2010).
Musin, Aleksandr. “Anna Kievskaia: Mezhdu istoriografieĭ i istorieĭ.” Kniazha doba: istoriia i kul’tura 8 (2014): 145 –172.
Raffensperger, Christian. “The Princess of Discord: Anna of Kyiv and Her Influence on Medieval France.” Krytyka. Thinking in Ukraine (June, 2017). <https://krytyka.com/en/articles/princess-discord-anna-kyiv-and-her-influence-medieval-france>
—–. Ties of Kinship. Genealogy and Dynastic Marriage in Kyivan Rus’ (Cambridge, MA, 2016).
Shishkin, Vladimir Vladimirovich. “Anna Yaroslavna vo frantsuzskoĭ literature epokhi Vozrozhdeniia (vtoraia polovina XV – XVI v.): rozhdenie Anny Russkoĭ. ” Drevniaia Rus’: Voprosy medievistiki 85 (2021): 60 – 74.
Ward, Emily Joan. “Anne of Kiev (c.1024 – c.1075) and a Reassessment of Maternal Power in the Minority Kingship of Philip I of France,” Historical Research 89.245 (2016): 435 – 453.
Zajac, Talia. “Gloriosa Regina or ‘Alien Queen’? Some Reconsiderations on Anna Yaroslavna’s Queenship (r. 1050–1075),” Royal Studies Journal 3.1 (2016): 28–70.
—–. “Remembrance and Erasure of Objects Belonging to Rus’ Princesses in Medieval Western Sources: the Cases of Anastasia Iaroslavna’s ‘Saber of Charlemagne’ and Anna Iaroslavna’s Red Gem.” Moving Women, Moving Objects (400 –1500). Eds. Tracy Chapman Hamilton and Mariah Proctor-Tiffany (Leiden; Boston, 2019), 33–58.
Part of a lecture and discussion series ‘From Kyivan Rus’ to Modern Ukraine: Virtual Conversations on History, Art, and Cultural Heritage’ co-organized in collaboration with Dumbarton Oaks and North of Byzantium.
Return to the lecture series here. | |||
31365 | yago | 3 | 19 | https://www.nms.ac.uk/explore-our-collections/stories/scottish-history-and-archaeology/mary-queen-of-scots/mary-queen-of-scots/life-and-deathline-of-mary-queen-of-scots/ | en | Life and deathline of Mary, Queen of Scots | [
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] | null | [] | 2024-06-05T10:18:00+01:00 | Crowned Queen of Scots at just nine months old; married, crowned Queen Consort of France and widowed all by the time she was 18 years old: Mary Stewart's l | en | /apple-touch-icon.png | National Museums Scotland | https://www.nms.ac.uk/discover-catalogue/life-and-deathline-of-mary-queen-of-scots | News Story
Crowned Queen of Scots at just nine months old; married, crowned Queen Consort of France and widowed all by the time she was 18 years old: Mary Stewart's life was nothing if not eventful. Let's dig into the facts about her tumultuous life and death.
1542
14 November: Battle of Solway Moss
Devastated by his army's defeat by the English at Solway Moss, James V withdrew to Falkland Palace, Fife. He is reported to have laid down and turned his face to the wall.
8 December: Mary's birth
Mary was born at Linlithgow Palace, to James V, King of Scots, and his French second wife, Marie de Guise. She was the only legitimate child of James to survive him. She was also the great-niece of Henry VIII of England, giving her a claim to the English throne.
14 December: Death of James V
James V of Scots died just six days after the birth of his daughter. In reference to the origins of the Royal Stewart Dynasty, James is supposed to have said: 'It began with a lass and it will gang with a lass.'
1543
1 July: The Treaties of Greenwich
These treaties between Scotland and England included a marriage agreement between Mary and Edward, son of King Henry VIII of England. This was an attempt to gain control of Mary and weaken French influence in Scotland.
9 September: Queen of Scots
Mary was crowned Queen of Scots aged just nine months. The ceremony was conducted in the Chapel Royal of Stirling Castle by Cardinal David Beaton, Archbishop of St Andrews. He was Scotland’s most senior Catholic cleric.
December: The Rough Wooing
The Rough Wooing began when the Earl of Arran, the Regent of Scotland, renounced the Treaties of Greenwich in December 1543. Henry VIII attacked Scotland to force a marriage between Mary and Edward. The Rough Wooing continued until 1550.
1546
1 March: Murder or Martyrdom?
Alarmed by the support for the Protestant Reformation, Cardinal Beaton had the Protestant reformer; George Wishart arrested and burnt at the stake. In retaliation Beaton was assassinated by Wishart’s supporters.
1547
28 January: Death of Henry VIII
Henry VIII’s death left England with a minority government. The Duke of Somerset acted as Regent for Edward VI and continued the Rough Wooing. On 9 September 1547, the Scots were defeated at Pinkie, east of Edinburgh. Mary was sent to Inchmahome Priory for safety.
1548
7 July: The Treaty of Haddington
The Treaty of Haddington strengthened Scotland’s links with France. The King of France, Henri II, agreed to provide military support against England. Mary was promised in marriage to Henri’s son, the Dauphin François.
7 August: La petite Royne - the little Queen
At the age of five Mary was taken to France. Henri II thought her 'the most beautiful child he had ever seen', François adored her. Henri’s wife, Catherine de Medici resented Mary as she was a Queen, giving her precedence over Catherine’s daughters in the royal nursery. In Scotland, Mary's mother, Marie de Guise was to become Regent ruling in Mary's name from 1554.
1558
24 April: Marriage to France
Mary and François married in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris on 24 April 1558. She wore a lavishly decorated white gown. With her auburn hair and pale complexion the effect was dazzling, if unconventional. Traditionally white was reserved for royal mourning in France.
17 November: Elizabeth I Queen of England
Mary Tudor, England’s Catholic queen, died in 1558 and was succeeded by her Protestant half-sister Elizabeth. As the great granddaughter of Henry VII of England, Mary believed that she had the stronger claim to the English throne. Henri II encouraged Mary to display the Arms of England with those of France and Scotland.
1559
10 July: Queen Consort of France
In April England, France and Spain signed the Treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis, bringing peace to most of Europe. Henri II was fatally wounded during a jousting tournament in June 1559, held as part of the peace celebrations. François became King, making Mary Queen Consort of France.
1560
11 June: Death of Marie de Guise
Scotland’s Protestant Lords appealed to England for support against the regency of Marie de Guise. She was forced to retreat to Edinburgh Castle, and died there on 11 June. Scotland and England signed the Treaty of Edinburgh, which ended the Auld Alliance.
5 December: Death of François
On François’ death Mary was bereft. She wrote: 'My heart keeps watch for one who's gone.' Catherine de Medici became regent for her younger son, Charles IX. Keen to secure the position of her own children, Catherine made sure that Mary could not remain in France.
1561
14 August: Adieu to France
Before leaving France, Mary met both Catholic and Protestant delegations from Scotland. She aligned with her Protestant half-brother, Lord James Stewart (the future Earl of Moray), who advised her to maintain the religious status quo.
2 September: The Royal Entry to Edinburgh
Mary arrived in Leith on 19 August 1561 and made her official entry into Edinburgh a few weeks later. She was presented with the keys to the city, a Bible and a book of Psalms. The celebrations blatantly promoted the Protestant cause and attacked Catholicism.
4 September: First audience with John Knox
Mary summoned the Protestant Reformation leader Knox five times to answer allegations he made against her. During their first audience she accused him of provoking armed revolt. He compared her to the tyrant Nero. Mary held her own till Knox left, then broke down in tears.
1562
Summer: Heir for England?
Mary believed a face to face meeting would convince Elizabeth to name her as heir. Arrangements were well advanced for that summer, but were abandoned when England became embroiled in the French Wars of Religion. Elizabeth contracted smallpox, delaying a meeting still further.
1563
January: A Spanish marriage
Mary considered several options for a husband. In 1563, her first choice, Don Carlos, heir to the Spanish throne, failed after he suffered brain damage in a fall down some stairs.
1564
March: An English husband
Elizabeth I wanted Mary to marry a Protestant and proposed the Earl of Leicester, Robert Dudley. Neither Mary nor Dudley wished the match. Mary declared she had no intention of marrying 'a mere subject of Elizabeth’s'. Dudley proposed Henry, Lord Darnley in his place.
1565
17 February: Henry, Lord Darnley – the right choice?
Henry, Lord Darnley was a Catholic and was descended from both James II of Scotand and Henry VII of England. When Mary met him for the first time at Wemyss in Fife she thought him 'the lustiest and best proportioned lang (tall) man she had seen'.
29 July: Marriage to Darnley
Mary and Darnley were married in the Chapel Royal of Holyroodhouse. She proclaimed Darnley King of Scots the following day without the consent of Parliament. The announcement was met with stony silence. Only Darnley’s father cried 'God save His Grace'.
26 August: The Lords in revolt – the Chaseabout Raid
Opposition to Mary’s marriage arose very quickly. Her half-brother, the Protestant Earl of Moray, feared that Mary’s marriage to a Catholic threatened the Reformation, so he led an attempt to overthrow both Mary and her King Consort. The episode was more an armed chase than an outright rebellion.
1566
19 June: A son
Mary's son by Darnley, James, was born in Edinburgh Castle. By this time, however, her marriage to Darnley had broken down. He had plotted against her and even been part of a conspiracy to murder her Catholic secretary, David Rizzio, in her presence.
1567
10 February: Murder of Darnley
In the early hours of 10 February 1567, an explosion blew up Old Provost's Lodging at Kirk o'Field in Edinburgh, where Darnley was recuperating from illness. Darnley was found dead in the garden, apparently murdered. Mary herself was implicated in the plot, but the prime suspect was James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.
15 May: Marriage of Mary and Bothwell
Bothwell was tried and acquitted of Darnley's murder. His next move was to abduct Mary on her return to Edinburgh from Stirling, where she had been visiting her son – for the last time, it would transpire. It is not known whether Mary was a willing participant in the plot or not, but two weeks later the couple were married. Bothwell had divorced his first wife just twelve days before.
24 July: Abdication of Mary, Queen of Scots
Alienated from her closest advisors, Mary’s monarchy floundered. After failing to quash a rebellion of Scottish peers, Mary was imprisoned in Loch Leven Castle and forced to abdicate in favour of her one-year-old son.
1568
2 May: Escape from Loch Leven
With the aid of George Douglas, the owner of Loch Leven, Mary escaped and raised an army to face the forces of the Earl of Moray at the Battle of Langside on 16 May.
Defeated at the Battle of Langside, Mary fled from Scotland. She crossed into England convinced her cousin and fellow monarch, Elizabeth I, would help her regain her throne. Elizabeth however was unsure how to deal with this unexpected ‘guest’ and ordered Mary’s detention at Carlisle Castle.
December: Hearing at Westminster
Elizabeth wanted proof Mary was innocent of Darnley’s murder before agreeing to a meeting with Mary. Hearings were held into the matter, first at York in October, and then at Westminster in December. At this, Mary’s half-brother the Earl of Moray produced a silver casket that had belonged to Mary, in which were found some incriminating letters. However, these were almost certainly doctored to suggest her guilt. Despite no conclusive evidence, Mary was held in captivity for the rest of her life.
1569
February: A life in captivity begins
In February, Mary was taken to Tutbury Castle in Staffordshire, which belonged to the Earl of Shrewsbury. He became her jailer for the next fifteen years, but was relatively kind to her. She was permitted a staff of 30 including Scottish nobility, her secretary, physician, maids, grooms and cooks. She was occasionally allowed to ride and her failing health was bolstered by spells at Buxton Spa. Tutbury was one of over ten castles or manor houses in which she was held.
1584
The Bond of Association
There were several failed attempts to free Mary. Determined to prevent more, Elizabeth I's principal secretary and 'spymaster' Sir Francis Walsingham introduced the Bond of Association. This made Mary responsible for any plots instigated in her name, whether or not she knew about them, or approved them.
1586
The Babington Plot
Mary was secretly corresponding with supporters, unaware that Walsingham’s agents were intercepting her letters. This allowed them to trick her into agreeing to a plot proposed by Anthony Babington, to assassinate Elizabeth I and make Mary Queen of England. This sealed Mary’s fate. She was moved to Fotheringhay Castle in Northamptonshire in September.
15 October: Tried for treason
Mary was tried for treason at Fotheringhay Castle where she was she remained in captivity until her execution.
1587
8 February: Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots
Mary was 44 years old and had spent 19 years in captivity. Deposed by her country, abandoned by her son, all she had left was her faith. Those present at her execution spoke of her great courage and dignity. She left tokens of friendship to her friends and attendants to remember her with, including the Penicuik Jewels, reputedly left to Gilles Mowbray. | ||||
31365 | yago | 1 | 16 | https://www.medievalists.net/2017/02/anne-kiev/ | en | Anne of Kiev (c.1024–c.1075) and a reassessment of maternal power in the minority kingship of Philip I of France | [
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Historical Research, Vol.85:245 (2016)
Abstract: This article is a reassessment of Anne of Kiev as mother and guardian in the early years of the minority reign of her son, Philip I of France. The available chronicle evidence is re-examined and more emphasis is given to documentary sources which have previously been disregarded or overlooked. The article addresses outdated judgements about Anne’s role which are still prevalent in the historiography and aims finally to put them to rest, while arguing that Anne played a far more active role than has been suggested before.
Introduction: Anne of Kiev was the only medieval princess of Rus’ to travel to France for a dynastic marriage with a French king, Henry I (b. 1008, sole king 1031–60), and she became the mother of Philip I (b. 1052, sole king 1060–1108), the longest-reigning monarch of the French kingdom since Charlemagne. However, despite her prominent status, a reassessment of Anne is long overdue in modern scholarship, especially in light of recent debate about the nature of power exercised by medieval women. A desire to answer the question of how power was wielded has attracted a lot of scholarship on queens and queenship in particular, often focusing on their role as regents or guardians. Surprisingly, less research has been devoted to women who acted specifically as guardians for child kings. Through an understanding of women such as Anne, we are provided not only with a clearer picture of medieval queenship but also with valuable insights into child kingship – a topic which has been neglected for the central medieval period.
This article explores Anne’s role during her son’s minority reign in order to reassess her position as guardian and mother. There has been no attempt to discover more about the roles Anne adopted after her first husband’s death, or to critique earlier scholarship which held views we now consider to be untenable. By re-examining chronicle evidence and reviewing the documentary sources, this article will challenge the misconception that Anne played a limited role in Philip’s minority and then disappeared from his guardianship in scandal. Anne of Kiev played a far more active part than has previously been appreciated and here it is hoped to address the archaic appraisals of her roles and to dispel them conclusively. | |||||
31365 | yago | 2 | 14 | https://euromaidanpress.com/2016/05/22/anna-of-kyiv-the-french-queen-from-kyivan-rus/ | en | Anna of Kyiv, the French Queen from Kyivan Rus | [
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] | 2016-05-22T00:00:00 | The daughter of Kyivan Rus Prince Yaroslav the Wise, who married French King Henry I on 1051, is the predecessor of all subsequent French kings | en | Euromaidan Press | https://euromaidanpress.com/2016/05/22/anna-of-kyiv-the-french-queen-from-kyivan-rus/ | On 19 May 1051, Anna, the youngest daughter of Kyivan Rus Prince Yaroslav the Wise, ascended to the French throne as the wife of King Henry I Capet in the Cathedral of Reims. As traditional Days of Anna of Kyiv take place in Sanslis, an abbey 40 km from Paris, we revisit the story of the earliest dynastic connection between France and Ukraine.
Her father Yaroslav, was nicknamed “the father-in-law of Europe.” Yaroslav himself married Ingigerd Olofsdotter, the daughter of the Swedish King; his sister Maria married the Polish Prince; son Illya was married to the sister of the Danish King; son Sviatoslav married the Austrian Princess; son Vsevolod married the daughter of the Byzantine emperor; son Ihor – a German Princess; Yaroslav married his daughter Anastasia – to the Hungarian King; daughter Elizabeth – to the Norwegian King. And his daughter Anna married Henry I of France.
Anna was born about 1024 and grew up in Kyiv. She received a good education at the princely court where she studied reading and writing, history, foreign languages, mathematics, and drawing. It is known that Anna of Kyiv could read fluently in several languages, including Old Church Slavonic, Greek, and Cyrillic and Glagolitic alphabets. At that time, not every man in Europe was literate, let alone women.
In 1048, the French Embassy arrived in Kyiv, searching for a wife for the widowed King Henry I. The French King was searching the courts of Europe for a suitable bride, but could not locate a princess who was not related to him within legal degrees of kinship – the Pope prohibited marriage between monarchs up to the seventh degree of kinship. Anna was chosen to be his wife, and in spring 1051 she arrived in France. On 19 May 1051 she married Henry I and became the Queen of France.
There exists a legend that the 18-year old Queen brought an ancient gospel with her as a marriage dowry, presumably, part of the library of her father Yaroslav. The legend says that the manuscript later became part of the museum at the Cathedral of Reims and was called the “Reims Gospel” and that many French kings, including Louis XIV, took their oaths on this Gospel. This legend has become widespread but is disputed by historians. What is known for sure is that this ancient manuscript was constantly on the territory of France only starting from the mid-XVI century and is considered to have been given by Roman Emperor Carl IV to the Emmaus Monastery in Prague, taken to Constantinople, Italy, and then ended up in France. French kings took their oaths on the ancient gospel starting from the late XVI century.
Anna gave birth to four children, namely Philip, Emma, Robert, and Hugo. Despite many historical claims that she is the first female regent of France, this appears to be more legend than fact. She was offered to take up regency after the death of her husband Henry, but declined and settled in the town of Senlis near Paris, where she founded and built a convent and a church. In the summer of 1065, she married one of the most powerful Northern France lords, Raoul de Crepy. He accused his first wife of treason and divorced to marry Anna. However, an investigation conducted by Pope Alexander II did not recognize his legitimate marriage to Anna and Raoul de Crepy was anathematized.
In 1074, Anna was widowed a second time and settled at the court of her son Philip, and was accepted with honor as the Queen mother. Her signature on one of the documents is the oldest public example of old Ukrainian writing. Being literate at the time when this was uncommon not only for women but for all royalty, she signed documents with the Cyrillic letters “Ана Ръина,” that is “Anna Regina,” meaning “Anna the Queen,” while other officials only marked a cross in front of their names written by their clerks.
Anna could ride a horse, was knowledgeable in politics, and actively participated in governing France, especially after her husband died.
Henry the First respected his wife Anna so much that his many decrees bear the inscription “With the consent of my wife Anna” and “In the presence of Queen Anna.” French historians point out that there are no other cases in the French history when Royal decrees bear such inscriptions.
The date and place of Anna’s death are unknown, and the last mention of her dates back to 1075. It is assumed that this is the year she died and was likely buried in the Villiers Abbey cemetery (la Ferte-Alais town, Essonne department), which was destroyed during the French Revolution.
We do not know for sure how Anna Yaroslavna lived her early years in France, but French researchers quoted lines from a letter to her father: “What a barbaric country you have sent me to! Houses are gloomy here, churches look ugly, and people have terrible manners.” However, Nataliya Pushkaryova, author of the book “Women of ancient Rus,” maintains there is no documentary evidence for such a letter existing, but agrees that this content corresponds to the realities of the time.
Supposedly, everything was not that bad, but there is no doubt that the highly educated Queen who grew up in conditions of Slavic culture was not easily able to adapt to the French high society of that time.
Another legendary story is Anna’s library which she brought to France from Kyivan Rus. There are also other legends that it was Anna Yaroslavna who taught the French court to use cutlery and take a bath regularly, but it is difficult to say if this is truth or legend.
Anna of Kyiv is commemorated each year on September 5 in the church she founded in the town of Senlis. All the subsequent French kings were descendants of Anna. On 27 September 2013, the Ukrainian Eparchy of St. Vladimir in Paris headed by Bishop Boris (Gudziak) purchased a church in Senlis with funds donated by Ukrainians from Ukraine, France, Britain, the United States, and Canada with the aim of transforming it into the current Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church where the Cultural Center of Anna Yaroslavna operates.
Also, on May 22 the Day of Anna of Kyiv will be held in Senlis. “Celebrations will begin with the laying of flowers at the monument to the Queen Anna and a memorial plaque to victims of the Holodomor, as well as a service in the Abbey of St. Vincent,” a representative of the Cultural Center of Anna Yaroslavna said. Other events include performances Ukrainian singer Oksana Mukha, presentation of the Leadership Academy, “Intelligent space around Anna of Kyiv” conference, and a presentation of the church of Saint Boris and Gleb and Anna Yaroslavna Cultural Center. In addition, Ukrainian designer Oksana Karavanska will present a unique collection “Anna of Kyiv – Queen of France”.
Related: | |||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 58 | https://crrs.library.utoronto.ca/exhibits/show/cardinalrichelieu/henry4 | en | Henri IV (Henry le Grand), King of France and Navarre · L'Homme Rouge: Cardinal Richelieu and the Control of Print Culture in France during the Ancien Régime · Centre for Renaissance and Reformation S | [
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] | null | [] | null | en | null | Our odyssey into the print culture of France during the Ancien Régime begins with Henri III (1551 – 1589), the last King of the Valois dynasty in France, and the predecessor to Henri IV. Widely reviled during his reign as King of France and briefly King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania, Henri III was assassinated by Jacques Clément, an extremist Catholic in 1589. Although Catholic, Henri III angered many in France when he signed the Edict of Beaulieu, which provided many rights for Huguenots--French Protestants.
Further, Henri III incited widespread outrage across France when he murdered the very popular Duke of Guise and his brother, the Cardinal of Guise (Louis II), as well as incarcerating the duke’s son. As a result of criminal charges brought against him by the Parlement of Paris, Henri III allied himself with the man who would become his successor, Henri of Navarre. When word of Henri III’s murder spread through France, most people reacted with joy. Henri III produced no children, and after controversy over the succession among three main contendors, the throne went to Henri of Navarre, who became style as Henri IV, King of France and Navarre.
Known as Henri le Grand in French or “Good King Henry” in English (le bon roi Henri), Henri IV (1553 – 1610) was the first monarch of what would become one of the most celebrated and famous French dynasties, the House of Bourbon. It is worth noting that Henri IV was despised during his lifetime just as much—if not more—than his predecessor, and that his popularity came after his death. One of the reasons for this disdain among the populace was owing to the fact that Henri IV was a Protestant despite having been baptised as a Catholic [1].
The commonly held belief at the time—particularly by the powerful Catholic League—was that the King of France should always be a Catholic, so, facing great pressure, Henri IV converted to Catholicism to appease his detractors. In spite of this, he put into motion one of his most famous laws, the Edict of Nantes, in 1598. This act gave Protestants religious freedoms in France, and it ended the Wars of Religion. In spite of this, he never gained universal approval. Some Catholics believed he usurped the throne while certain Protestants considered him a traitor for converting to Catholicism. Henri did not succumb to the dozen or so attempts to kill him, but in the end, he shared the same fate as his predecessor when another Catholic fanatic, François Ravaillac, assassinated him in 1610.
Henri IV’s accession to the throne represented a continuation of the desire on the part of previous monarchs, including Henri III, to make France an absolute monarchy, meaning the King would have power over all and essentially be above the law . Henri III’s death signalled the end of the Valois dynasty, and Henri IV was the first king of the House of Bourbon. Although a staunch Protestant, Henri IV’s forced conversion to Catholicism (followed by his subsequent shift back to a Protestant) marked a tenuous beginning to a reign. He also inherited an increasingly complex French political landscape. The one individual who represented this best was his predecessor’s mother.
Catherine de’ Medici (Catherine de Médicis) (1519 – 1589) of the famous de’ Medici family in Europe was the mother of Henri III. Half Italian and half French, she was a staunch Catholic who fiercely tried to ensure the continuation of the Valois dynasty, which included a desire to unite the Valois and Bourbon interests of Spain. Catherine wished for her daughter, Margaret of Valois (1553 – 1615), to marry Henri IV. Despite some challenges, Catherine managed to negotiate this marriage with Jeanne d’Albret, the Protestant mother of Henri IV. Although one of Jeanne’s conditions was that she would agree to the match only if Henri IV could remain a Protestant, Catherine did not seem to pay much heed to this request or may have feigned doing so.
Margaret of Valois married Henri IV in 1572, and a week later, it was said that Catherine de’ Medici was involved in the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, which resulted in the slaughter of thousands of Protestants who had travelled to Paris to see Henri IV’s wedding. Historians have credited Margaret with saving the lives of dozens of Protestants, including her new husband, during this time. However, Henri IV had to pretend he converted to Catholicism as another way to ensure his survival. For a few years after their marriage, the couple lived in Pau where they bickered constantly and rotated through a series of lovers. After staging a coup in 1582, Henri IV imprisoned her in a castle for eighteen years until they divorced. In 1599, seven years after divorce proceedings began, the marriage was annulled and Margaret kept her title as queen.
During this tumultuous time, Henri IV had several royal advisors at Court, one of whom was Cardinal du Perron (1556 – 1618). Originally a Protestant whose family fled briefly as a result of the St. Bartholomew Massacre, he converted to Catholicism and became a politician. Henri IV favoured Perron and in 1591, appointed him to become the bishop of Évreux. At the king’s request, Pope Clement VIII made Perron a cardinal in 1604. Perron worked in Rome where he would maintain the interests of Henri IV and try to sway things in his favour wherever possible.
At this time, Perron took a young and eager mentee under his wing named Armand Jean du Plessis who would go on to shape the French monarchy and absolutism in France when he became Cardinal Richelieu. Perron introduced Richelieu to Court, recognizing the youth’s promise in the political sphere as an influencer. Scholars have noted that Henri IV took an immediate interest in the young Richelieu, which laid the groundwork for the future cardinal to start establishing his fledgling career to work alongside the monarchy [2] .
Histoire Dv Roy Henry Le Grand
This book features an engraving of Henri IV of France and Navarre on the frontispiece, opposite the title page. Henri is shown wearing a Roman laurel over his head and dressed in military garb. The text is a biography of all of Henri's exploits, as well as his most famous or widely known speeches ("PAROLES MEMORABLES DV ROY HENRY LE GRAND"). Printed 52 years after his death in 1662, the book includes a dedication to the Chief Minister of France at the time, Cardinal Mazarin, who died in 1661, one year before the publication of this book. The writer, Hardouin de Péréfixe (full name Paul Philippe Hardouin de Beaumont de Péréfixe) was a clergyman who wrote French history books. Additionallt, at one point he served as archbishop of Paris.
According to one of the dedication sections, the printer (or author) mentions that they worked on this book for 6 or 7 years at the request of Cardinal Mazarin, so it may have been a commissioned publication. Hardouin de Péréfixe, who wrote the dedications, also makes mention of Cardinal Mazarin and possibly the other members of the royal council at the time feeling that it was important to give the King (in this case, Louis XIV), a more detailed sense of his own family history so that he could be a good ruler.
At one point in the dedication to the king, Hardouin de Péréfixe warns, "il y a des méprises,” (there are scornful or disdainful things said in this book) but also acknowledges that fifty historians worked on this book, which may explain the amount of time it took to publish it.
Some of the notable elements of the book are that it features a "privilège du Roi," (permission of the King) which means the book received the king's authorization to publish the book for an amount of time between 5 to 10 years. In addition to the dedication to Cardinal Mazarin, the book also contains a dedication to the King (who at the time, would have been Louis XIV), as well as a dedication to the reader, all of which were necessary components of most books of the period.
In addition, there is a note at the bottom of the privilege that states that Hardouin de Péréfixe was Bishop of Rodez, also indicated on the title page, but it says that as Bishop, "Et ledit Seigneur Eueſsque de Rodez a cedé & tranſporté ſon droit du privilege cy-deſſus à THOMAS IOLLY, & LOVYS BILLAINE, Marchands Libraires à Paris pour ce qui concerne l’Hiꭍtoire de Henry le Grand, ſuivant l’Acte paſſé le 13. Janvier 1662" which means that Hardouin received the right to print this book in France because he had the authorization as a clergyman to grant it to the printer, Thomas Jolly and Louis Billaine according to an act passed on 13 January 1662. | |||||||
31365 | yago | 1 | 41 | https://www.politico.eu/article/france-queen-anne-kyiv-lesson-emmanuel-macron/ | en | France's queen from Kyiv has a lesson for Emmanuel Macron | [
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] | 2022-12-26T03:00:00+00:00 | Queen Anna’s story reveals how Kyiv has long shaped Europe, and should not be kept on the sidelines. | en | https://www.politico.eu/wp-content/themes/politico/assets/images/favicon/favicon.ico | POLITICO | https://www.politico.eu/article/france-queen-anne-kyiv-lesson-emmanuel-macron/ | It’s time to resurrect Anna of Kyiv, the highly accomplished and undeservedly forgotten 11th-century queen of the Franks. She would have stern words for her successor running France, President Emmanuel Macron.
Anna would surely be mortified that some stinky, turnip-munching Frank now has the temerity to suggest that the eminently more sophisticated civilization of Kyiv is “in all likelihood decades” away from being part of the pan-European political project, as represented by the EU.
In fact, there are few historical figures as perfectly placed as Anna to testify to Kyiv’s place at the center, not the periphery, of the European story. As it’s already clear that much of Western Europe is going to drag its feet on Ukraine’s EU candidacy, some perspective about Anna and her world is now vital.
By marrying King Henri I in Reims in 1051, Anna was taking a step down. The princess was forsaking her imposing, glittering hometown of more than 400 churches, with its legendary Golden Gate, to live in an intellectual milieu inferior to her own.
She is a compelling character, who can help us haul Kyiv off the here-be-wolves frontier where many Western Europeans have now exiled Ukraine.
Fighting over Anna
Macron has already had a run-in with Anna.
At a joint press conference in Versailles in May 2017, Russian President Vladimir Putin saluted “Russian Anna” for establishing the roots of Franco-Russian relations. The French president by his side cheerily smiled and ogled the TV camera, probably unaware that blood vessels were popping in Kyiv.
Ukraine’s then-president, the chocolate baron Petro Poroshenko, seethed that Russia was stealing Anna for its own history “in front of Europe.” Ukrainians are often quick to note that Kyiv controlled lands from the Baltic to the Black Sea in Anna’s day, long before Moscow appeared on the scene.
For what it’s worth, Anna herself probably wouldn’t relish being co-opted by Putin, a thug from the Baltic coast, who is now lobbing cruise missiles and kamikaze drones into her beloved Kyiv. While she was by all accounts a God-fearing and compassionate queen, you’d still imagine she’d have her enemy quietly throttled and dumped in a midden.
Diplomatically, Macron sought to repair the damage from the Versailles press conference when Poroshenko visited France the next month (and knelt before Anna’s statue). Waxing lyrical, Macron noted how Anne de Kiev showed that the Kyiv-Paris relationship was “anchored in the depths of the past millennium.”
Whew, good save, Emmanuel. But had Macron really learned the right lesson? If he just realized that Russia and Ukraine fight over to what extent their modern nations are really inheritors of Kievan Rus — with Kyiv crying foul over imperialist narratives from Moscow — then that’s not really the main point.
The far more important lesson from Anna is that of a vision of Europe.
European princess
An entertaining mythology surrounds Anna. Some stories suggest she brought the famed Slavonic gospel of Reims in her luggage when she arrived to marry Henri. It’s now a priceless French national treasure. Many biographies say that the classy princess from Kyiv was so horrified by the noisome Franks that she introduced bath houses. Other profiles quote a letter to her father, which is little more than a litany of ahistorical invective about French failings, from illiteracy to frog-eating.
Tragically, these are all later romantic fictions about Anna. There is, however, a solid logic to the tall tales. She was almost certainly a well-educated product of a sophisticated courtly culture steeped in Greek, science and literature. To educated men in the West who knew precious little about anything other than church Latin, tax and piggeries, the queen from the East must have appeared to crash land from another planet.
Her parentage is fundamental to understanding her. Her father was a big-hitter: Yaroslav the Wise, grand prince of Kyiv, a man famed for his love of books, who marshalled scribes to translate Greek texts. Under Yaroslav, the 13-domed cathedral of St. Sophia — still the defining sight of Kyiv — was completed, and you can find a fresco there believed to be of a young Anna. Yaroslav was a great codifier of the law and — in a sign that he was tackling the most heinous of crimes head on — his statutes are highly specific over the penalties for beard yanking.
It is Anna’s mother, though, who reveals that this story is about more than a meeting of Orthodox East and Latin West. Ingegerd, later canonized, was daughter of the first Christian king of the Swedes, which is a reminder of Kyiv’s Viking origins. Anna is very much part of the continent’s Scandinavian heritage, and her father appears in Norse sagas as Jarisleif the Lame, probably thanks to an arrow wound. Anna was multikulti Euro-royalty.
Vying with Byzantium, Yaroslav’s continental ambitions demanded a broader canvas.
Other daughters were married to Norwegian, Hungarian and (possibly) English royals. He originally tried unsuccessfully to marry Anna to the Holy Roman (German) monarch Henry III, and it was this marital maneuvering that probably attracted the interest of the Frankish Henri I. One of the more popular theories is that, after Henry III rejected Anna, some kind of Kyivan-Franco-Polish front against the Germans was taking shape in the mid 11th-century. That’s certainly possible. The bigger picture is clear, though: Kyiv was helping shape Europe.
Europe cannot just look for its origin story in the world of Charlemagne. We need to take a wider view. Yaroslav’s world matters too.
Governing France
Anna not only performed her royal duty in providing Henri with an heir — and introducing the Greek name Philip to Western royalty — but seems to have been active in steering the nation. The textual evidence shows she wasn’t a queen to be cooped up in a tower with her tapestries.
It’s revealing how many Frankish charters go out of their way to parade the fact they are signed in the presence of the queen, or with her consent. Much of their content is dull fare: Monks and royal officials squabbling over the beef business, or confirmations of ecclesiastical donations, but it’s evident that the queen’s involvement lent credibility to affairs of state. In a somewhat fawning letter to the “glorious queen,” the pope himself says he has heard “a virile strength of the virtues resides her womanly breast.”
Her statecraft proved crucial in 1060 when Henri entrusted his health to a quack called Jean the Deaf, probably so named for his ability to ignore his patients’ screams. Jean prescribed Henri an agonizing purgative that killed him. Jean tried to blame the death on the pints of water the king had downed against his advice, but he had clearly poisoned his monarch. Anna should probably have brought a physician from the East with her.
Henri’s death was a dangerous moment. The realm was precariously weak, and Anna’s eldest son Philip was only eight. Again, the paper trail suggests the Kyivan queen steadied the kingdom. Tellingly, Anna and Philip I were referred to jointly as “the kings.” From that duo, really only Anna could have been calling the shots. Still, Philip ultimately prospered and earned the sobriquet “the Amorous,” which would suggest he greatly enjoyed his long reign.
Despite her apparent success integrating among the Franks, there are tell-tale signs that she never turned fully native. Poignantly, she kept her signature in Cyrillic. While the pope never hints that he has any problem with her hailing from the Orthodox East, her dedication of a church, in which she hankers for the “beauty” of the eternal life, is redolent with the language of her original faith. Her words for the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist translate the Slavic terms: Bogoroditsa and Predtecha, the mother of God and the forerunner. As her mind turned to the heavenly, it returned to the domes of Kyiv.
Decades away?
It’s painfully obvious where EU politics goes from here. Despite Ukrainians showing (under EU flags!) in the Maidan Uprising and in a war against Putin that they are willing to lay down their lives for essential freedoms, Brussels is going to string them along when it comes to EU membership. A myopic Franco-German axis that sees the EU as essentially a farm and auto lobby, rather than a political ideal, will insist that Ukraine is too insecure, poor and corrupt for admittance.
Long, meandering EU membership talks based on box-ticking on rule of law have been seen to miss the mark, allowing in members who then defy the rules. With Ukraine, this old playbook won’t cut it. The EU needs to go all-chips-in politically now, rebuilding the nation in a full partnership, before others fill the void, or Ukrainians lose faith.
Naturally, reforms and reconstruction will be needed, but Macron’s insistence that Kyiv is “decades” away reveals the widespread prejudice that Ukraine simply isn’t European. Anna’s story suggests something rather different, and demands greater humility from the West. Kyiv is at the heart of the European saga. As its first female regent, a queen from the East likely held an enfeebled France together for her son, the boy-king Philip I. Generally, the sophisticated East is too often excised from the narrative of what makes Europe what it is. From Yaroslav to Maidan, Kyiv doesn’t yet occupy the place it should in the broader picture of what unites our continent.
History plays an absolutely focal role to Ukrainians in expressing their sense of belonging in the EU club. Only last year, Ukrainian Foreign Minister Dmytro Kuleba joined his Polish and Lithuanian counterparts in issuing a declaration that the long history of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (which reached over what is today’s Ukraine) shaped European civilization to the same degree as Magna Carta and the French revolution. Making the case for Ukraine’s “full” EU membership, the three nations declared their Commonwealth heritage instilled them with a shared democratic and anti-tyrannical pedigree.
Kyiv has no doubt that its history places it on a political trajectory toward the EU. And it’s right. Western Europe can hardly see Ukraine as some terra incognita or, even worse, just dismiss it as an irredeemably corrupt ex-Soviet mess. Whether through medieval dynastic matches like Anna’s or the thorny religious politics of the reformation and counter-reformation, the nation’s history is tightly interwoven into the European story.
Hopefully, EU accession won’t take decades. Neither Ukraine nor the EU has that long. Thankfully, Ukrainians tend to confound us on timeframes. After all, back in February, Putin was meant to capture Kyiv in days.
Anna could have told him that wasn’t going to happen. Her father’s walls would hold. | ||||
31365 | yago | 0 | 76 | https://historicwomendaily.tumblr.com/post/719162026218405888 | en | Historic Women Daily | [
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] | 2023-06-04T02:39:13+00:00 | muttball: “Anna Yaroslavna, Grand Princess of Kiev, was born to royalty. Her parents were the Grand Prince, Yaroslav I, of the Kievan Rus and the Swedish Princess, Ingegerd Olafsdotter. When Anne... | Tumblr | https://www.tumblr.com/muttball/705316612398612480/anna-yaroslavna-grand-princess-of-kiev-was-born | Anna Yaroslavna, Grand Princess of Kiev, was born to royalty. Her parents were the Grand Prince, Yaroslav I, of the Kievan Rus and the Swedish Princess, Ingegerd Olafsdotter. When Anne turned 18, she married Henry I, King of France. Her son, King Philip I, was crowned when he was only seven years old and Anne became the first King’s consort to rule France.
Colored pencil art by D Scott | ||||||
31365 | yago | 0 | 21 | http://freepages.rootsweb.com/~mcneillyandco/genealogy/anneofkiev.htm | en | Anne of Kiev | [
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Regent Dowager Queen Anne de Kiev of France
After the death of her husband, Henri I, she reigned jointly with Baudouin V of Flanders in the name of her son, Philippe I. Her subsequent marriage to Raoul, Comte de Valois caused a scandal, since he was already married. He was excommunicated, and she died in a convent. She was daughter of Jarosla Vladimirovich of Kiev and Indegard of Norway, and lived (1051-89).
http://www.guide2womenleaders.com/womeninpower/Womeninpower1000.htm
Anna Jaroslavna (1) - (1036 - 1078)
Queen consort of France (1051 - 1060)
Princess Anna Jaroslavna was the daughter of Jaroslav I Vladimirovich, Grand Prince of Kiev, and his second wife Ingegarde, daughter of Olaf II, King of Sweden. She became the third wife (1051) of Henry I of France, to whom she bore two sons, Philip I (1052 - 1108) and Hugh I, Comte de Vermandois. The kings death (1060) left Anna and Baldwin V of Flanders, as joint regents for Philip I, then aged eight. Despite this arrangement, and with no powerful relatives to spupport her, Queen Anna possessed little real power. She was forcibly abducted by Raoul IV de Crepy, Comte de Valois (1066), and their subsequent marriage aroused the anger and indignation of the French barons. However, the abduction had merely been a foil to preserve the queens dignity, and she proceeded to cohabit with the count as his wife, though he was still legally contracted to his former wife, whom he had dismissed. Even though Raoul was excommunicated for incest, the couple refused to separate. Queen Anna survived Raoul, who died in 1074, but was never again prominent in public affairs during her sons reign. Queen Anna has been credited with introducing some of the ritual of the Greek Orthodox Church to the French Catholic church, and of fostering some interest in Russian art in France. Queen Anna died (Sept 5, 1078) aged about forty-two, and was interrred in the Abbey of Villiers, near La-Ferte-Alais, at Essone.
www.abitofhistory.net
http://epistolae.ccnmtl.columbia.edu/letter/1190.html
Women's Biography: Anne of Kiev
Woman's name: Anne of Kiev Woman's title: Queen of France Woman's biography: Anne of Kiev (Anna Yaroslavna), sometimes called Agnes, daughter of Yaroslav I of Kiev and Princess Ingegerd of Sweden; Yaroslav was grand-duke of Kiev and described in medieval histories as king of the Russians "rex Russorum" (Hugh of Fleury, Aubry des Trois Fontaines, and Raoul Tortaire). Jaroslavs sister was married to Casimir, king of Poland. Jaroslav and Ingegard had nine children, several of whom were married to royalty: Anastasia to Andrew I of Hungary, Elisabeth to Harold of Norway and later to Sven of Denmark, Isiaslav to the sister of Casimir of Poland, Vsevolod to a daughter of the Byzantine emperor, Vladimir to a niece of a former queen of France, Matilda of Stade. Anne was married in 1051 to Henry I, king of France, whose first two wives had died; she was consecrated queen at Reims when Liebert, bishop of Cambray was consecrated. Anne brought no land to the marriage, but did bring connections and wealth, probably including a jacinth which Suger later mounted in the reliquary of St. Denis (Bauthier, 550; Hallu,168, citing Comptes de Suger). Anne and Henry had three sons, Philip I, born 1052, Robert, born 1054, died young, and Hugh, born 1057, who became count of Vermandois by marriage. Anne is associated in four of Henrys acts, towards the end of his reign: in 1058, a charter of concession to the monastery St. Maur-les-Fosses, "annuente mea conjuge Anna et prole Philippo, Roberto ac Hugone" (HGF, 11.600, XXXII); a donation of Villas to the monastery of Hasnon, with the signatures of Henrici regis, Philippi Regis pueri, A. Reginae (HGF 11.599, XXXI); 1059, assent to giving restored church to abbey of Coulombs, signed by Henry king, Anna queen his wife (Reginae uxoris ejus), and Philip, son of the king (HGF, 11.604, XXXV); and a concession to St. Martin des Champs, which the king, queen, and son Philip with his brothers confirm with their signatures, "Ego ipse Rex Henricus, et Regina pariter, et Philippus filius meus cum fratribus suis manufirmatam corroboravimus" (HGF, 11.605-6, XXXVI).
But when Henry died in 1160, Anne participated in the government of her son, although Baldwin V of Flanders, married to Henrys sister, Adele, was technically regent. Baldwin described himself as "procurator et bajulus regni" but the bishop of Chartres speaks of Philip and Anne as his sovreigns (Prou, document VI, 1060). Philip declares that as a child he took up the kingdom together with his mother ("ego, Philippus, filius ejus [Henrici] admodum parvulus, regnum unacum matre suscepissem," Prou, XIII, 1061). Anne signed various royal acts during Philips reign: see Prou, II, reconfirmation of a document of Henrys confirming a donation to a monastery St. Pere de Chartres,"Philipus rex cum matre regina, hanc cartam firmavit"; III, confirming consent to the donation of a church to the abbey of St Pere, "Concessit autem hoc domnus meus rex Philipus, cum regina matre sua"; IV, gift to the abbey of St. Denis at the request of his paternal aunt, Adele, and the intervention of his mother, "per interventum matris mee A," who signed it; V, renunciation of certain royal rights over a monastery of St. Lucien de Beauvais, "per interventum matris nostrae," with her signature; VI, confirmation of a charter to abbot of Marmoutier to build a church, with the advice and will also of our most pious royal lords, "dominorum nostrorum piisimorum regum, Philippi scilicet et matris ejus, Agnetis"; X, donation to St. Nicaise of Reims, with the counsel of our beloved mother "consilioque dilectissime matris nostre Anne"; XI, grants exemption to basilica of St. Adrieu in the presence of the queen "Interfuerunt autem etiam huic adstipulationi Agnes regina, "; XVI, concession to abbey of St. Crepin, which is signed apparently by Annes hand in Cyrillic, Anna queen; XVIII, confirming a gift to the abbey of St. Benoit-sur-Loire, signed Anna regina; XIX, confirmation of his fathers gift to St. Martin-des-Champs, with the good-will of his mother and count Baldwin, "favente matre atque comite Balduino"; XXXII, confirmation of renunciation of certain customs, signed Anna regina; according certain freedoms extended to other royal churches to a church restored by his mother, at her request, "mater mea, nomine Anna, divina inspirante"; LXXV, confirms the charter founding the monastery of Pontlevoy, signed Anne, matris Philippi regis. Documents II-VI are dated 1060, X, XI, 1061, XVI, 1063; XVIII, XIX,1065, XXXII, 1067, XLIII, 1069, LXXV, 1075. When Anne signs, it is either the first signature listed, or the first following the kings (in XXXII, several bishops precede the signatures of the king and the queen). There is also a confirmation by Henry of a donation to St. Peter of Chartres, dated 1059, which Philip and his mother signed in 1062, after Henrys death, "Post mortem autem Henrici Regis, secundo anno regni sui Philippus Rex cum Regina matre sua manu propria firmavit" (HGF, 11.602-4, XXXIV). Hallu lists 23 acts of Philip's which mention Anne or carry her signature, four of them probably after her death, 185ff.
In 1061, Anne remarried, a powerful ally of the king, Raoul, count of Crepy and Valois, the Vexin, Amiens, Bar-sur-Aube, Vitry, Peronne, and Montdidier, who repudiated his wife, accusing her of adultery, to marry Anne. But the wife, Eleanor of Champagne, appealed to the pope; Alexander II responded to her complaint, asking the archbishop of Reims to investigate, try to save the marriage or take appropriate steps. Raoul refused to take her back and was excommunicated. Nonetheless, he remains an important royal ally, signing some of Philips acts. Raoul died in 1074 and Anne returned to Philips court. There is one document of Raouls which Anne signed along with Raouls son, mentioned in HGF 11.433, dated 1069, a concession to a castle.
I, Anne, by the grace of God queen of the Franks, wish to make known to our faithful and our relations the pact and agreement which we had between myself and abbot R. and the monks of the monastery of St. Peter of the Fosse, about a certain land located in the county of Melun, which they call Verneuil. Said abbot and monks gave me the land so that I might cultivate, plant, and build on it as best I could during my life, hold it and possess it according to my will while I live , but after my death, it would return to the monks and the church with all the building and improvements, namely with the oxen and other animals and herds and all the fruits. Which agreement, that it might be held more stable and fixed, we presented it to my son Philip, king of the Franks, to be confirmed and witnessed. He had this charter confirmed by his own hand and signed and imprinted with his seal.
Present at this agreement were F., bishop of Senlis, Baldwin chancellor, Rudolph, seneschal of the king, Baldric constable, Ingenulf, butler, Amaury, seneschal of the queen, Oscelin, marshal, and several other clerics and laymen.
Wikipedia shows-
Anne of Kiev (or Anna Yaroslavna) (between 1024 and 1032-1075) was the queen consort of France as the wife of Henry I, and regent for her son Philip I.
Her parents were Yaroslav I the Wise and princess Ingegerd Olofsdotter of Sweden
After the death of his first wife, Matilda of Frisia, King Henry searched the courts of Europe for a suitable bride, but could not locate a princess who was not related to him within legal degrees of kinship. At last he sent an embassy to distant Kiev, which returned with Anne (also called Agnes). Anne and Henry were married at the cathedral of Reims on 19 May 1051.
The new queen consort was not instantly attracted to her new realm. She wrote to her father that Francia was "a barbarous country where the houses are gloomy, the churches ugly and the customs revolting."
Anne is credited with bringing the name Philip to Western Europe. She imported this Greek name (Philippos, from philos and hippos, meaning "loves horses") from her Eastern Orthodox culture.
For six years after Henry's death in 1060, she served as regent for Philip, who was only eight at the time. She was the first queen of France to serve as regent. Her co-regent was Count Baldwin V of Flanders. Anne was a literate woman, rare for the time, but there was some opposition to her as regent on the grounds that her mastery of French was less than fluent. | ||||||||
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Anne of Kiev or Anna Yaroslavna (c. 1030 – 1075) was a princess of Kievan Rus who became Queen of France in 1051 upon marrying King Henry I. She ruled the kingdom as regent during the minority of their son Philip I from Henry's death in 1060 until her controversial marriage to Count Ralph IV of Valois. Anne founded the Abbey of St . Read more on Wikipedia
Since 2007, the English Wikipedia page of Anne of Kiev has received more than 553,835 page views. Her biography is available in 44 different languages on Wikipedia (up from 38 in 2019) . Anne of Kiev is the 88th most popular companion (up from 104th in 2019), the 48th most popular biography from Ukraine (up from 49th in 2019) and the most popular Ukrainian Companion.
Anne of Kiev was the first queen of the Kingdom of France. She was the daughter of Yaroslav I the Wise, Grand Prince of Kiev and his wife, Ingegerd Olofsdotter of Sweden. | ||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 74 | https://www.thoughtco.com/henry-v-of-england-1221268 | en | Biography of Henry V of England | [
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] | 2005-09-10T19:22:23-04:00 | An icon of chivalry and conquering hero, Henry V forged his legend in a little over nine years, but the long-term effects of his victories were few. | en | /favicon.ico | ThoughtCo | https://www.thoughtco.com/henry-v-of-england-1221268 | An icon of chivalry, a conquering hero, an exemplar of kingship and a supreme self-publicist, Henry V is among the triumvirate of the most famous English monarchs. Unlike Henry VIII and Elizabeth I, Henry V forged his legend in a little over nine years, but the long-term effects of his victories were few and many historians find something unpleasant in the arrogantly determined, albeit charismatic, young king. Even without Shakespeare's attention, Henry V would still be fascinating modern readers.
Birth and Early Life
The future Henry V was born Henry of Monmouth at Monmouth Castle into one of England's most powerful noble families. His parents were Henry Bolingbroke, Earl of Derby, a man who had once tried to curb the ambitions of his cousin, King Richard II, but now acted loyally, and Mary Bohun, heir to a rich chain of estates. His grandfather was John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, third son of Edward III, a staunch supporter of Richard II, and the most powerful English noble of the age.
At this point, Henry was not considered an heir to the throne and his birth was thus not recorded formally enough for a definitive date to have survived. Historians can't agree on whether Henry was born on August 9th or September 16th, in 1386 or 1387. The current leading biography, by Allmand, uses 1386; however, the introductory work by Dockray uses 1387.
Henry was the oldest of six children and he received the best upbringing an English noble could have, including training in martial skills, riding, and forms of hunting. He also received an education in music, harp, literature, and spoke three languages—Latin, French, and English—making him unusually highly educated. Some sources claim that the young Henry was sickly and 'puny' in childhood, but these descriptions didn’t follow him past puberty.
Tensions in Court
In 1397 Henry Bolingbroke reported treasonous comments made by the Duke of Norfolk; a court was convened but, as it was one Duke's word against another, trial by battle was arranged. It never took place. Instead, Richard II intervened in 1398 by exiling Bolingbroke for ten years and Norfolk for life. Subsequently, Henry of Monmouth found himself a "guest" at the royal court. While the word hostage was never used, there was underlying tension behind his presence and the implicit threat to Bolingbroke should he disobey. However, the childless Richard appeared to have a genuine fondness for young Henry and he knighted the boy.
Becoming the Heir
In 1399, Henry's grandfather, John of Gaunt, died. Bolingbroke should have inherited his father's estates but Richard II revoked them, kept them for himself and extended Bolingbroke's exile to life. By this time, Richard was already unpopular, seen as an ineffective and increasingly autocratic ruler but his treatment of Bolingbroke cost him the throne. If the most powerful English family could lose their land so arbitrarily and illegally; if the most loyal of all men is rewarded by his heir's disinheritance; what rights did other landowners have against this king?
Popular support swung to Bolingbroke, who returned to England where he was met by many who urged him to seize the throne from Richard. This task was completed with little opposition the same year. On October 13th, 1399, Henry Bolingbroke became Henry IV of England, and two days later Henry of Monmouth was accepted by Parliament as heir to the throne, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, and Earl of Chester. Two months later he was given the further titles Duke of Lancaster and Duke of Aquitaine.
Relationship with Richard II
Henry's rise to heir had been sudden and due to factors beyond his control, but his relationship with Richard II, especially during 1399, is unclear. Richard had taken Henry on an expedition to crush rebels in Ireland and, upon hearing of Bolingbroke's invasion, confronted Henry with the fact of his father's treason. The encounter, allegedly recorded by one chronicler, ends with Richard agreeing that Henry was innocent of his father's acts. Although he still imprisoned Henry in Ireland when he returned to fight Bolingbroke, Richard made no further threats against him.
Furthermore, sources suggest that when Henry was released, he traveled to see Richard rather than return directly to his father. Is it possible that Henry felt more loyalty to Richard—as a king or a father figure—than to Bolingbroke? Prince Henry agreed to Richard's imprisonment but it is unclear whether this and Henry IV's decision to have Richard murdered had any effect on later events, such as the younger Henry's impatience to usurp his father or his choice to rebury Richard with full regal honors in Westminster Abbey. We don't know for certain.
Experience in Battle
Henry V's reputation as a leader began forming in his 'teenage' years, as he and took on responsibilities in the government of the realm. One example of this is the Welsh uprising led by Owain Glyn Dŵr. When the small uprising swiftly grew into a full-scale rebellion against the English crown, Henry, as Prince of Wales, had a responsibility to help fight this treason. Consequently, Henry's household moved to Chester in 1400 with Henry Percy, nicknamed Hotspur, in charge of military affairs.
Hotspur was an experienced campaigner from whom the young prince was expected to learn. However, after several years of ineffective cross-border raiding, the Percys rebelled against Henry IV, culminating in the Battle of Shrewsbury on July 21st, 1403. The prince was wounded in the face by an arrow but refused to leave the fight. In the end, the king's army was victorious, Hotspur was killed, and the younger Henry famed throughout England for his courage.
Lessons Learned in Wales
Following the Battle of Shrewsbury, Henry's involvement in military strategy increased greatly and he began forcing a change in tactics, away from raids and into the control of land through strong points and garrisons. Any progress was initially hampered by a chronic lack of funding—at one point, Henry was paying for the entire war from his own estates. By 1407, fiscal reforms facilitated the sieging of Glyn Dŵr castles, which finally fell by the end of 1408. With the rebellion fatally, Wales was brought back under English control just two years later.
Henry's successes as king can be clearly tied to the lessons he learned in Wales, particularly the value of controlling strongpoints, approaches to dealing with the tedium and difficulties of besieging them, and the need for proper supply lines and a reliable source of adequate finances. He also experienced the exercise of royal power.
Involvement in Politics
From 1406 to 1411, Henry played an ever-increasing role in the King's Council, the body of men who ran the nation's administration. In 1410, Henry took overall command of the council; however, the opinions and policies Henry favored were often counter to those favored by his fater—particularly where France was concerned. In 1411, the king became so irked that he dismissed his son from the council altogether. Parliament, however, were impressed by both the prince's energetic rule and his attempts to reform government finances.
In 1412, the king organized an expedition to France led by Henry's brother, Prince Thomas. Henry—possibly still angry or sulking over his expulsion from the council—refused to go. The campaign was a failure and Henry was accused of staying in England to plot a coup against the king. Henry denied these accusations vigorously, obtaining a promise from Parliament to investigate and personally protesting his innocence to his father. Later in the year, more rumors emerged, this time claiming the Prince had stolen funds earmarked for a siege of Calais. After much protest, Henry was again found innocent.
Threat of Civil War and Ascension to the Throne
Henry IV had never secured universal support for his seizure of the crown from Richard and by the end of 1412, his family's supporters were drifting into armed and angry factions. Fortunately for the unity of England, people realized Henry IV was terminally ill before these factions were mobilized and efforts were made to obtain peace between father, son, and brother.
Henry IV died on March 20th, 1413, but if he had remained healthy, would his son have started an armed conflict to clear his name, or even seize the crown? It is impossible to know. Instead, Henry was proclaimed king on March 21st, 1413, and crowned as Henry V on April 9th.
Throughout 1412, the younger Henry seemed to have been acting with righteous confidence, even arrogance and was clearly chafing against the rule of his father, but legends claim that the wild prince turned into a pious and determined man overnight. There may not be much truth in those tales, but Henry probably did appear to change in character as he fully adopted the mantle of King. Finally able to direct his great energy into his chosen policies, Henry began acting with the dignity and authority he believed was his duty and his accession was broadly welcomed.
Early Reforms
For the first two years of his reign, Henry worked hard to reform and solidify his nation in preparation for war. The dire royal finances were given a thorough overhaul by streamlining and maximizing the existing system. The resulting gains weren't enough to fund a campaign overseas, but Parliament was grateful for the effort and Henry built on this to cultivate a strong working relationship with the Commons, resulting in generous grants of taxation from the people to fund a campaign in France.
Parliament was also impressed with Henry's drive to tackle the general lawlessness into which vast areas of England had sunk. The peripatetic courts worked much harder than in Henry IV's reign to tackle crime, reducing the number of armed bands and trying to solve the long-term disagreements which fomented local conflict. The chosen methods, however, reveal Henry's continued eye on France, for many 'criminals' were simply pardoned for their crimes in return for military service abroad. The emphasis was less on punishing crime than channeling that energy towards France.
Uniting the Nation
Perhaps the most important 'campaign' Henry undertook in this phase was to unite the nobles and common people of England behind him. He showed and practiced a willingness to forgive and pardon families who had opposed Henry IV, none more so than the Earl of March, the lord Richard II had designated as his heir. Henry freed March from imprisonment and returned the Earl's landed estates. In return, Henry expected absolute obedience and he moved quickly and decisively to stamp out any dissent. In 1415 the Earl of March informed on plans to put him on the throne which, in truth, were merely the grumblings of three disaffected lords who had already abandoned their ideas. Henry acted swiftly to execute the plotters and remove their opposition.
Henry also acted against the spreading belief in Lollardy, a pre-Protestant Christian movement, which many nobles felt was a threat to England's very society and which had previously had sympathizers at court. A commission was created to identify all Lollards and a Lollard-led rebellion was swiftly put down. Henry issued a general pardon to all those who surrendered and repented.
Through these acts, Henry made sure the nation saw him as acting decisively to crush both dissent and religious "deviance," underlining his position as England's leader and Christian protector while also binding the nation further around him.
Honoring Richard II
Henry had Richard II's body moved and reinterred with full regal honors in Westminster Cathedral. Possibly done out of fondness for the former king, the reburial was a political masterstroke. Henry IV, whose claim to the throne was legally and morally dubious, hadn't dared perform any act which gave legitimacy to the man he usurped. Henry V, on the other hand, demonstrated confidence in himself and his right to rule, as well as a respect for Richard which pleased any of the latter's remaining supporters. The codification of a rumor that Richard II once remarked how Henry would be king, most certainly done with Henry's approval, turned him into the heir of both Henry IV and Richard II.
Statebuilding
Henry actively encouraged the idea of England as a nation separate from others, most importantly when it came to language. When Henry, a tri-lingual king, ordered all government documents to be written in vernacular English (the language of the normal English peasant) it was the first time it had ever happened. The ruling classes of England had used Latin and French for centuries, but Henry encouraged a cross-class use of English that was markedly different from the continent. While the motive for most of Henry's reforms was configuring the nation to fight France, he also fulfilled almost all the criteria by which kings were to be judged: good justice, sound finance, true religion, political harmony, accepting counsel and nobility. Only one remained: success in war.
English kings had claimed parts of the European mainland ever since William, Duke of Normandy, won the throne in 1066, but the size and legitimacy of these holdings varied through struggles with the competing French crown. Not only did Henry consider it his legal right and duty to recover these lands, but he also believed honestly and utterly in his right to the rival throne, as first claimed by Edward III. At every stage of his French campaigns, Henry went to great lengths to be seen as acting legally and royally.
In France, King Charles VI was mad and the French nobility had split into two warring camps: the Armagnacs, formed around Charles' son, and the Burgundians, formed around John, Duke of Burgundy. Henry saw a way to take advantage of this situation. As a prince, he had supported the Burgundian faction, but as the king, he played the two against each other simply to claim he'd tried to negotiate. In June 1415, Henry broke talks off and on August 11 began what became known as the Agincourt Campaign.
Military Victories at Agincourt and Normandy
Henry's first target was the port of Harfleur, a French naval base and potential supply point for the English armies. It fell, but only after a protracted siege which saw Henry's army reduced in numbers and affected by illness. With winter approaching, Henry decided to march his force overland to Calais despite being opposed by his commanders. They felt the scheme was too risky, as a major French force was gathering to meet their weakened troops. At Agincourt on October 25th, an army of both French factions blocked the English and forced them to battle.
The French should have crushed the English, but a combination of deep mud, social convention, and French mistakes led to an overwhelming English victory. Henry completed his march to Calais, where he was greeted like a hero. In military terms, victory at Agincourt simply allowed Henry to escape catastrophe and deterred the French from further pitched battles, but politically the impact was enormous. The English further united around their conquering king, Henry became one of the most famous men in Europe and the French factions splintered again in shock.
Having obtained vague promises of help from John the Fearless in 1416, Henry returned to France in July 1417 with a clear objective: the conquest of Normandy. He maintained his army in France consistently for three years, methodically besieging towns and castles and installing new garrisons. By June 1419 Henry controlled the vast majority of Normandy. Admittedly, warring between the French factions meant little national opposition was organized but it was nonetheless a supreme achievement.
Equally notable are the tactics Henry used. This wasn't a plundering chevauchée as favored by previous English kings, but a determined attempt to bring Normandy under permanent control. Henry was acting as rightful king and allowing those who accepted him to keep their land. There was still brutality—he destroyed those who opposed him and grew increasingly violent—but he was far more controlled, magnanimous, and answerable to the law than before.
The War for France
On May 29th, 1418, while Henry and his forces advanced further into France, John the Fearless captured Paris, slaughtered the Armagnac garrison and took command of Charles VI and his court. Negotiations had continued between the three sides throughout this period, but the Armagnacs and Burgundians grew close again in the summer of 1419. A united France would have threatened Henry V's success, but even in the face of continued defeats at the hands of Henry, the French could not overcome their internal divisions. At a meeting of the Dauphin and John the Fearless on September 10th, 1419, John was assassinated. Reeling, the Burgundians reopened negotiations with Henry.
By Christmas, an agreement was in place and on 21st May 1420, the Treaty of Troyes signed. Charles VI remained King of France, but Henry became his heir, married his daughter Katherine and acted as de facto ruler of France. Charles' son, the Dauphin Charles, was barred from the throne and Henry's line would follow. On June 2nd, Henry married Katherine of Valois and on December 1st, 1420 he entered Paris. Unsurprisingly, the Armagnacs rejected the treaty.
Untimely Death
In early 1421, Henry returned to England, motivated by the need to acquire more funds and mollify Parliament. He spent the winter besieging Meaux, one of the Dauphin's last northern strongholds, before it fell in May 1422. During this time his only child, Henry, had been born, but the king had also fallen ill and had to be literally carried to the next siege. He died on August 31st, 1422 at Bois de Vincennes.
Successes and Legacy
Henry V perished at the height of his power, only a few months following Charles VI's death and his coronation as King of France. In his nine-year reign, he had demonstrated the ability to manage a nation through hard work and an eye for detail. He had shown a charisma which inspired soldiers and a balance of justice and forgiveness with reward and punishment that united a nation and provided the framework on which he based his strategies.
He had proved himself a planner and commander equal to the greatest of his era, keeping an army in the field constantly overseas for three years. While Henry had benefited greatly from the civil war being waged in France, his opportunism and ability to react enabled him to exploit the situation fully. Henry fulfilled every criterion demanded of a good king.
Weaknesses
It is entirely possible that Henry died just at the right time for his legend to remain, and that another nine years would have tarnished it greatly. The goodwill and support of the English people were definitely wavering by 1422 as the money was drying up and Parliament had mixed feelings towards Henry's seizure of the crown of France. The English people wanted a strong, successful king, but they were concerned about his level of interest in France and they certainly didn't want to pay for a prolonged conflict there.
Ultimately, history's view of Henry is colored by the Treaty of Troyes. On the one hand, Troyes established Henry as the heir to France. However, Henry's rival heir, the Dauphin retained strong support and rejected the treaty. Troyes thus committed Henry to a long and expensive war against a faction who still controlled roughly half of France, a war which might take decades before the treaty could be enforced and for which his resources were running out. The task of properly establishing the Lancastrians as dual kings of England and France was probably impossible, but many also consider the dynamic and determined Henry as one of the few people able to do it.
Henry's personality undermines his reputation. His confidence was part of an iron will and fanatical determination that hints at a cold, aloof character masked by the glow of victories. Henry seems to have focused on his rights and goals above those of his kingdom. As prince, Henry pushed for greater power and, as an ailing king, his last will made no provision for the care of the kingdom after his death. Instead, he spent his energies arranging twenty-thousand masses to be performed in his honor. At the time of his death, Henry had been growing more intolerant of enemies, ordering ever more savage reprisals and forms of war and may have been becoming increasingly autocratic.
Conclusion
Henry V of England was undoubtedly a gifted man and one of few to shape history to his design, but his self-belief and ability came at the expense of personality. He was one of the great military commanders of his age—acting from a genuine sense of right, not a cynical politician—but his ambition may have committed him to treaties beyond even his ability to enforce. Despite the achievements of his reign, including uniting the nation around him, creating peace between crown and parliament, and winning a throne, Henry left no long-term political or military legacy. The Valois reconquered France and retook the throne within forty years, while the Lancastrian line failed and England collapsed into civil war. What Henry did leave was a legend and a greatly enhanced national consciousness. | ||||
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"The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica"
] | 1998-07-20T00:00:00+00:00 | Henry I was the king of France from 1026 to 1060 whose reign was marked by struggles against rebellious vassals. The son of Robert II the Pious and grandson of Hugh Capet, founder of the Capetian dynasty, Henry was anointed king at Reims (1026) in his father’s lifetime, following the death of his | en | /favicon.png | Encyclopedia Britannica | https://www.britannica.com/biography/Henry-I-king-of-France | Henry I (born c. 1008—died Aug. 2 or 4, 1060, Vitry-aux-Loges, France) was the king of France from 1026 to 1060 whose reign was marked by struggles against rebellious vassals.
The son of Robert II the Pious and grandson of Hugh Capet, founder of the Capetian dynasty, Henry was anointed king at Reims (1026) in his father’s lifetime, following the death of his elder brother Hugh. His mother, Constance, however, favoured his younger brother Robert for the throne, and civil war broke out on King Robert II’s death (1031). The younger Robert was given Burgundy in 1032, after Henry had sought refuge with Robert, Duke of Normandy. From 1033 to 1043 Henry struggled with his feudatories, notably Eudes of Blois and his brother Robert. In 1055, as the result of an agreement made by Robert II, the county of Sens came to the crown as the sole territorial gain of Henry’s reign. He attempted to strengthen his rulership through new court officials, and he twice contracted an important marriage alliance with members of the Salian dynasty, rulers of the Holy Roman Empire: he was betrothed to Conrad II’s niece, who died before the marriage could be formalized, and married Henry III’s daughter.
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31365 | yago | 1 | 82 | http://queensconsortofengland.blogspot.com/2017/12/three-medieval-royal-marriages-on-may.html | en | Queens of England: Three Medieval Royal Marriages on May 19th | [
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] | null | The royal wedding date has been set and turns out Harry and Meghan have chosen one with plenty of royal history. | en | http://queensconsortofengland.blogspot.com/favicon.ico | http://queensconsortofengland.blogspot.com/2017/12/three-medieval-royal-marriages-on-may.html | The women who have worn the crown: their lives, their loves, their stories. | |||||
31365 | yago | 0 | 37 | https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Kiev-1 | en | Анна Ярославна (Kiev) Киевская (abt.1036-1075) | [
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"family tree of Аnne Kiev",
"Аnne Киевская genealogy"
] | null | [] | 1075-09-05T00:00:00 | Is this your ancestor? Explore genealogy for Аnne (Kiev) Киевская born abt. 1036 Кыѥвъ, Рѹ́сьскаѧ землѧ died 1075 France including ancestors + descendants + 1 photos + 17 genealogist comments + questions + more in the free family tree community. | en | /favicon.ico | https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Kiev-1 | Ancestors Descendants
Profile last modified 5 Jul 2023 | Created 14 Apr 2010
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Contents
1 Biography
1.1 Early Life and Marriage
1.2 Queen of France and Regency
1.3 Later Life and Death
1.4 Legacy
1.4.1 Children
2 Biographie
2.1 Enfance et Mariage
2.2 Reine de France et Régence
2.3 Vie ultérieure et mort
2.4 Héritage
2.4.1 Enfants
3 Research Notes
3.1 Birth Date and Location
3.2 Confusion with Anastasia
4 Sources
Biography
Early Life and Marriage
Anne of Kiev was born Anna Yaroslavna (also called "Agnes" or "Anna of Rus") between 1024 and 1036 in the Kievan Rus', the daughter of Yaroslav the Wise, Grand Prince of Kiev, and Ingegerd Olofsdottir of Sweden.[1] She was not the only one of her siblings to ascend to the role of monarch; her sister Anastasia became Queen of Hungary following her marriage to King Andrew I, and her other sister Elizaveta became Queen of Norway through her marriage to King Harald III. Meanwhile, her brothers Vladimir and Iziaslav both ascended to the title of Prince of Novgorod (the secondary title held by their father), and her other brothers Sviatoslav and Vsevolod both came to inherit the title of Grand Prince of Kiev following their father's death. Her brother Vyacheslav became the Prince of Smolensk, and Igor became Prince of Volynia.
Anne was well educated in her youth; she was literate, which was rare among women—even royal Princesses—at the time. She was also knowledgeable in politics, which contributed to her active participation in the governing of France following her marriage.
After the death of his first wife Matilda, King Henry I of France was searching for another bride among the European royal courts. Due to the papal laws of consanguinity (a law which forbade the marriage of a couple who were blood relatives within four degrees),[2] Henry could not find a marriage suitable within the courts, and so in 1049 he sent an ambassador to Kiev. Anne accompanied this ambassador back to France. Although there was no political advantage in the marriage, as Kiev was too far away to be of any territorial gain, the marriage was considered to be suitable because of Anne's societal status, because she was not related to Henry, and the fact that as she came from a fertile family with many siblings meant that she was likely to be able to produce heirs.
Anne and Henry married on 19 May 1051 at the Cathedral of Reims,[3] and the ceremony was followed immediately by her crowning as Queen of France.
Queen of France and Regency
Anne actively participated in the governing of France. She was knowledgeable in politics; she accompanied her husband on his inspection travels around France, and was appointed a member of the royal council. Many French documents were signed by Anne as "Anna the Queen" (Old East Slavic: Ана Ръина, "Anna Regina"), and Henry's decrees frequently bore the inscription "In the presence of Queen Anna" and "With the consent of my wife Anna".
She was known for being very pious,[4] participating actively in grants to the Church and acting as the protector of churches and convents in her role as queen. At one point, Pope Nicholas II—surprised by Anne's political abilities—praised her in a letter:
"Honorable lady, the fame of your virtues has reached our ears, and, with great joy, we hear that you are performing your royal duties at this very Christian state with commendable zeal and brilliant mind."
After nine years of marriage, Henry passed away on 4 August 1060. Anne and Henry's eight-year-old son Philip I succeeded to the throne; in accordance with Henry's will and as a member of the royal council, Anne acted as Regent of France during his minority, making her the first Queen of France to do so. She was greatly involved in state affairs, accompanying Philip on his inspections throughout France and being mentioned in eleven state documents during the first year of Philip's rule alone. By 1065, Anne was no longer present at court; as this was the year Philip turned thirteen—the age that the King of France was traditionally considered to be capable of ruling without a regent—her rule would have therefore ended at this time.
Later Life and Death
In 1065, Anne founded the Saint Vincent Abbey in Senlis[4] and lived there until 1074,[5] at which time she returned to court. She passed away the following year in 1075.
Legacy
Anne is often cited as introducting to the Western European royal families the Greek name "Philip" by imparting it on her eldest son.[6] As the mother of Philip I, all subsequent French kings succeeding her husband were her descendants.
Children
Anne was the mother of Henry's four children:
Philip I, born 23 May, 1052 at Champagne-et-Fontaine.[7] He reigned as King of France from 1059—1108, and became the father of Louis VI by his first wife, Bertha of Holland, who he later repudiated in favour of Bertrade de Monfort.[7]
Emma, born about 1054 in Reims, Champagne. Emma passed away between 1109 and 1114 in France.
Robert, born before June 1054 and died young, about 1063.[8]
Hugh I, born in 1057. Through the rule of jure uxoris, Hugh became Count of Vermandois in right of his wife Adelaide, who succeeded her father suo jure (in her own right) as Countess of Vermandois. Hugh joined the minor Crusade of 1101, becoming wounded in battle with the Turks led by Kijili Arslan I at the second Battle of Heraclea and dying of his wounds in Tarsus in October of that year.[9]
Biographie
Enfance et Mariage
Anne de Kiev est née Anna Yaroslavna (aussi appelée "Agnès" ou "Anne de Rus") entre 1024 et 1036 dans le Kievan Rus', fille de Yaroslav le Sage, Grand prince de Kiev et Ingegerd Olofsdottir de Suède. Elle n'était pas la seule de ses frères et sœurs à assumer le rôle de monarque; sa sœur Anastasia est devenue reine de Hongrie à la suite de son mariage au Roi André I, et son autre sœur Elizaveta est devenue reine de Norvège par son mariage au Roi Harald III. En même temps, ses frères Vladimir et Iziaslav ont tous deux accédé au titre de prince de Novgorod (le titre secondaire de leur père), et ses autres frères Sviatoslav et Vsevolod ont hérité du titre de Grand Prince de Kiev suite au décès de leur père. Son frère Vyacheslav est devenu le prince de Smolensk et Igor est devenu le prince de Volynie. Anne était bien éduquée dans sa jeunesse; elle était alphabète, ce qui était rare chez les femmes - même les princesses royales - à cette époque. Elle se connaissait également en politique, ce qui a contribué à sa participation active au gouvernement de la France après son mariage.
Après la mort de sa première épouse Matilda, le Roi Henri I des Francs cherchait une autre épouse parmi les cours royales européennes. En raison des lois papales de consanguinité (une loi interdisant le mariage d’un couple apparenté par le sang dans un rayon de quatre degrés), [2] Henri ne pouvait pas trouver un mariage convenable devant la cour. Il envoya donc un ambassadeur à Kiev en 1049. Anne accompagna cet ambassadeur lors de son retour en France. Bien que le mariage ne présentait aucun avantage politique, Kiev étant trop éloigné pour bénéficier d’un avantage territorial, le mariage était considéré comme convenable en raison du statut social d’Anne, et du fait qu’elle n’ait aucun lien de parenté avec Henri; le fait qu’elle vienne d’une famille fertile avec de nombreux frères et sœurs signifiait aussi qu’elle était susceptible de produire des héritiers. Anne et Henri se sont mariés le 19 mai 1051 à la cathédrale de Reims. [3] La cérémonie était immédiatement suivie de son couronnement en tant que reine de France.
Reine de France et Régence
Anne a participé activement au gouvernement de la France. Elle connaissait bien la politique; elle a accompagné son mari lors de ses visites d'inspection dans toute la France et a été nommée membre du conseil royal. Anne a signé de nombreux documents français sous le titre "Anna la Reine" (Vieux russe: Ана Ръина, "Anna Regina"), et les décrets d'Henry portaient fréquemment l'inscription "En présence de la reine Anna" et "Avec le consentement de ma femme Anna".
Elle était connue comme une femme très pieuse, [4] et participait activement aux subventions à l’église en se présentant comme protectrice des églises et des couvents dans son rôle de reine. À une occasion, le Pape Nicolas II — surpris par les capacités politiques d'Anne — la loua dans une lettre:
"Honorable dame, la gloire de vos vertus est parvenue à nos oreilles et, avec une grande joie, nous entendons dire que vous accomplissez vos tâches royales dans cet État très chrétien avec un zèle louable et un esprit brillant."
Après neuf ans de mariage, Henri est décédé le 4 août 1060. Le fils d'Anne et d’Henri Philippe I succéda au trône; conformément au testament d’Henri et en tant que membre du conseil royal, Anne exerça les fonctions de régente de France pendant sa minorité; elle était alors la première reine de France à faire cela. Elle était très impliquée dans les affaires d’État, accompagnant Philippe lors de ses inspections dans toute la France, et mentionnée dans onze documents d’État au cours de la première année du règne de Philippe. En 1605, Anne n'était plus présente à la cour. Comme c'était l'année des treize ans de Philippe — l'âge auquel le roi de France était traditionnellement considéré comme capable de gouverner sans régent — le règne d’Anna aurait donc pris fin à ce moment-là.
Vie ultérieure et mort
En 1065, Anne fonda l'abbaye de Saint-Vincent à Senlis[4] et y habita jusqu'en 1074, [5] lorsqu’elle est retournée à la cour. Elle est décédée l'année suivante en 1075.
Héritage
Anne est souvent citée comme ayant introduit dans les familles royales d'Europe occidentale le nom grec "Philippe" en le donnant à son fils aîné. [6] En tant que mère de Philippe I, tous les rois de France qui ont succédé à son mari étaient ses descendants.
Enfants
Anne était la mère des quatre enfants de Henri I:
Philippe I est né le 23 mai 1052 à Champagne-et-Fontaine. [7] Il régna en tant que Roi des Francs de 1059 à 1108 et devint le père de Louis VI de sa première épouse, Berthe de Hollande, qu'il a ensuite répudiée en faveur de Bertrade de Monfort. [7]
Emma, née vers 1054 à Reims, en Champagne. Emma est décédée entre 1109 et 1114 en France.
Robert, né avant juin 1054, mourut jeune vers 1063. [8]
Hugues I, né en 1057. En vertu du règne de "jure uxoris", Hugues devint comte de Vermandois du titre de sa femme Adélaïde, qui a succédé à son père 'suo jure' (de son propre droit) en tant que comtesse de Vermandois. Hugues rejoignit la croisade mineure de 1101 et fut blessé au combat contre les Turcs commandés par Kijili Arslan I lors de la deuxième bataille d'Héraclée. Il est mort de ses blessures à Tarse en octobre de la même année.[9]
Research Notes
Birth Date and Location
There does not to be any certain proof of Anne's date of birth. The Wikipedia entry for Anne records her birth as being within the range of 1024 and 1036. The Society for Medieval Genealogy records her birth as occuring in 1036, though this is done without sources. Sources that the SfMG records for Anne's general information include:
Marriage to Henry: Hugonis Floriacensis, Liber qui Modernorum Regum Francorum continet Actus 10, MGH SS IX, p. 388.
Chronica Albrici Monachi Trium Fontium 1052, MGH SS XXIII, p. 789.
The large majority of well-researched websites place Anne's date of birth at around 1036. Meanwhile, Anne's birth location is uncertain. Her father lived in Veliky Novgorod (Russian: Новгород) up until he relocated to Kiev (Old East Slavic: Кыѥвъ, Russian: Киев) in 1036. As Anne is presumed to have been born between 1024 and 1036, it is far more likely that she was born in Veliky Novgorod, however there is no evidence to support this claim.
Confusion with Anastasia
This profile has previously confused Anne for her sister, Anastasia. While Anne married King Henry I of France, Anastasia married King Andrew I of Hungary. They were separate, and should not be conflated in the future.
Sources
↑ Yaroslav the Wise in Norse Tradition, Samuel Hazzard Cross, Speculum, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Apr., 1929), 181-182.
↑ 2.0 2.1 G. Duby, France in the Middle Ages, 987–1460, trans. J. Vale (Oxford, 1991), p. 117
↑ 3.0 3.1 Megan McLaughlin (2010). Sex, Gender, and Episcopal Authority in an Age of Reform, 1000-1122, Cambridge University Press.
↑ 4.0 4.1 4.2 4.3 Bogomoletz, Wladimir V. French History, Volume 19, Issue 3, 1 September 2005, Pages 299–323.
↑ 5.0 5.1 Wikipedia contributors, "St. Vincent Abbey, Senlis", Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, St. Vincent Abbey, Senlis (accessed December 1, 2018).
↑ 6.0 6.1 Raffensperger, Christian (2012). Reimagining Europe: Kievan Rus' in the Medieval World. Harvard University Press.
↑ 7.0 7.1 7.2 7.3 Bradbury, Jim (2007). The Capetians: The History of a Dynasty. Bloomsbury Publishing.
↑ 8.0 8.1 Kerrebrouck, Patrick Van, Les Capetiens 987-1328, Tome II in Nouvelle Histoire Genealogique de L'Auguste Maison de France, Villeneuve d'Ascq, France, 2000. p. 66 & notes, p. 70.
↑ 9.0 9.1 Brown, Reginald Allen (1984). The Normans. The Boydell Press.
Wikipedia contributors, "Anne of Kiev," Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, Anne of Kiev (accessed December 1, 2018). | |||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 62 | https://tudorsandotherhistories.wordpress.com/2015/05/30/jane-seymour-henry-viiis-marriage-reassessing-the-phoenix/ | en | Jane Seymour & Henry VIII’s Marriage: Reassessing the Phoenix | [
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"Carolina Casas"
] | 2015-05-30T00:00:00 | On the thirtieth of May 1536, Henry and Jane were married at Whitehall palace at the Queen’s Closet. The ceremony was officiated by none other than the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer who was Jane’s predecessor former chaplain. The wedding took place, according to Fraser “quickly and quietly” Jane quickly established herself in her new… | en | https://s1.wp.com/i/favicon.ico | tudors & other histories | https://tudorsandotherhistories.wordpress.com/2015/05/30/jane-seymour-henry-viiis-marriage-reassessing-the-phoenix/ | On the thirtieth of May 1536, Henry and Jane were married at Whitehall palace at the Queen’s Closet. The ceremony was officiated by none other than the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer who was Jane’s predecessor former chaplain. The wedding took place, according to Fraser “quickly and quietly”
Jane quickly established herself in her new role. Although she wasn’t vociferous like her predecessors, Jane did voice her opinion on several occasions. Her latest biographers Loades and Norton show that when she voiced them, she was very subtle. Had she lived, Norton believes Jane would have taken on “the political role that would have been open to her as the mother of the heir to the throne”. Jane Seymour appears as ‘boring’ or ‘conniving’ in popular culture, slammed for daring to take Anne’s position (which many view was rightfully hers). But history medieval and renaissance history is not about who was right or wrong. Laws could be changed or interpreted in many different ways. Ultimately who deserved the right to be called queen, or be revered, is to the reader.
Given Henry’s tastes it is hard to say whether he would have tired of Jane or not. She displayed herself as many other consorts before her had done, including Henry’s mother whom Henry revered and whom he seemed to judge his other wives on. Women were expected to take on certain roles, Consorts bore more responsibilities. They had to present themselves as the epitomes of virtue, and be prepared to rule in their husband’s absence or when their sons were too young to do so after they were crowned.
Would anyone be surprised if we were to find out that the “she wolves” Isabella of France and Marguerite of Anjou behaved like Jane Seymour before shit hit the fan? Thought so.
Isabella of France submitted herself to humiliation on the part of her husband and his favorites. During her coronation she saw her husband’s favorite’s arms displayed on the banquet instead of hers. She saw honors heaped on this man and then his replacement after he was executed by the Earl of Lancaster. Isabella said nothing, not a word while she lived. She obviously felt angry, but she never voiced her opinions. She did what Consorts did. She bore Edward II’s children, begged mercy for traitors, and appeared on state functions with her husband –including when they went to visit her father Philip IV “the Fair” of France. Isabella’s chance for revenge came when he sent her to France, to negotiate on his behalf with the new King of France, her brother Charles. There she met the exile Roger Mortimer and the two began a torrid love affair which ended with their alliance, their invasion to England in her son’s name, the deposition of her husband, and their regency for Edward III.
Marguerite of Anjou was less radical. She did not rebel against her husband, she stuck with him for better or for worse. Instead of replacing him with her son as Isabella had done, Marguerite decided to take the fight to Richard, Duke of York, the Earl of Salisbury, the Earls of March, Rutland, and Warwick. These were their number one enemies and when they forced her husband to sign a treaty where he acknowledged Richard’s right to be King, and made him his heir, passing over his son. Marguerite decided to take up arms against them again. Marguerite ended losing her war. Her son and husband died, ending the Lancastrian dynasty once and for all. There was only one last Lancastrian (although he descended from the Beauforts which were still considered by many illegitimate) and he ended up becoming King in 1485 after he defeated Richard III at Bosworth Field. He was Henry VII and his son Henry VIII was now Jane’s husband. Four days later, Sir John Russell wrote to Lord Lisle that in making Jane his wife, he had made a wise choice for “she is as gentle a lady as ever I knew, and as fair a queen as any in Christendom. The King hath come out of hell into heaven for the gentleness in this and the cursedness and the unhappiness in the other. You would do well to write to the king again that you rejoice he is so well match with so gracious a woman as is reported.”
Jane acted with tact, speaking when she felt was wise, and crossing the line only once when she voiced empathy for the pilgrimage of grace. Jane served two Queens, possibly three if the theory of her serving Princess Mary when she married Louis XII of France is correct; and under them she had seen many things, learned many things. The number one lesson she learned was not to get on Henry’s bad side, not just for her own safety but for her family.
Marriage was like a business contract and it was the goal for many highborn at the time. As with Anne, Jane would have viewed the opportunity of becoming Queen a golden one. As with her predecessor, she was walking a fine thread with no friends in high places like Henry VIII’s first Queen, Katherine of Aragon. Had she said ‘no’ to Henry and genuinely refused all his attentions, Henry would have found someone else to replace Anne and that woman would no doubt be the one slammed instead of Jane.
Sources: | ||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 35 | https://www.nts.org.uk/stories/mary-queen-of-scots | en | The life of Mary, Queen of Scots | [] | [] | [] | [
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Mary’s father was King James V of Scotland and her mother was Mary of Guise. They had two sons but both died in infancy within hours of each other in 1541, before Mary was born.
After defeat at the Battle of Solway Moss in November 1542, James returned to Falkland Palace in Fife and went to bed with a high fever. On 8 December, a message came from Linlithgow Palace that his wife had given birth to a daughter instead of the hoped-for son. James believed that the Stuart dynasty was at an end – he feared that a woman could not rule his nation.
King James V died six days later and baby Mary became Queen of Scotland.
1543: The ‘Rough Wooing’
Both Protestant England and Catholic France wanted Mary to marry a royal from their country in order to gain control over Scotland. Mary’s great-uncle, Henry VIII, arranged for Mary to marry his son Edward, hoping that this would unite Scotland and England. However, many Scots opposed this treaty and broke the agreement. Henry was furious and sent his army to attack Scotland. The ‘courtship’ became known as the ‘Rough Wooing’.
French troops helped the Scots to fight the English and it was agreed that Mary would marry the Dauphin (the eldest son of the French king). Mary left for France when she was 6 years old.
1548: Mary’s life in France
Mary was brought up with the children of King Henri II of France in magnificent royal palaces, and became very close to Princess Elisabeth. Mary learned to speak French, Italian, Spanish and Latin. She was also taught to sew, write poetry and to play musical instruments. Mary enjoyed riding and hunting in the French countryside.
In April 1558, at the age of 15, Mary married the 14-year-old Dauphin Francis in Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris. A year later, King Henri died, and Mary became Queen of Scotland and France. However, her reign of France was brief, for in 1560 Francis became ill and died. The crown passed to his younger brother.
Mary’s mother (who had ruled Scotland as regent) had also died in 1560, and so Mary returned to Scotland in 1561. On 18 August, she sailed into Leith. Dressed in mourning, Mary then travelled to the Palace of Holyroodhouse in a grand procession, where the way was lined with a cheering crowd.
1565: Marriage to Lord Darnley
For the next 4 years, Mary was busy ruling Scotland. The royal court needed to travel around the country, meeting with lairds and other officials. Mary loved horse riding, dancing and hunting game. She also enjoyed sport and would play real tennis when at Falkland Palace.
Mary needed to marry again to have a child who would be heir to the Scottish throne. Many princes, lords and nobles wanted to marry her, but then she met her cousin Lord Darnley. Mary immediately fell in love with him – he was tall, ambitious and good looking. They married on 29 July 1565 at Holyroodhouse.
Few people approved of her choice. Elizabeth I of England saw this marriage as Mary’s attempt to strengthen her claim on the English throne because Darnley had English royal connections. It soon became obvious that Darnley had married Mary just to get the throne. Mary gave him the title of king but kept all the real power to herself; he resented this.
1566: The murder of Riccio (Rizzio)
Lord Darnley was jealous of Mary’s friend and advisor, David Riccio, since they spent a lot of time together. In March 1566, Mary had just begun supper with Riccio and some friends in Holyroodhouse, when Darnley came into her room with Lord Ruthven and other plotters. Lord Ruthven was dressed in armour. Riccio hid behind Mary but they pulled him out and stabbed him. He was dragged away screaming and was stabbed 56 times outside the room.
Mary and Darnley’s son, James, was born 3 months later on 19 June 1566.
1567: The murder of Lord Darnley
Just a few months after his son was born, Darnley was recovering from an illness at a house near Edinburgh. Mary nursed him for a few days but one evening (in February 1567) she went out. Soon after she left, the house was blown up. The Earl of Bothwell’s messengers found Darnley and his servant dead in the garden. Witnesses said that they heard Darnley pleading for mercy. He appeared to have been strangled.
At the time some people believed that Mary was involved. Others believed that the Earl of Bothwell and other conspirators had planned to blow up the house. Bothwell was asked many questions by the Scottish Parliament, but he was not accused of the killings. The identity of Darnley’s killer(s) remains a mystery.
1567: Mary and the Earl of Bothwell
Mary was now very unpopular. It did not help that she did not behave like a grieving widow – she was seen playing golf at St Andrews only days after Darnley’s death.
The Earl of Bothwell divorced his wife and, just 3 months after Darnley’s murder, Mary married Bothwell on 15 May 1567. This shocked many Scottish people, although some believed that Mary was forced to marry him.
Protestant nobles united against Mary and Bothwell, and eventually met Mary and Bothwell’s army at the Battle of Carberry Hill on 15 June 1567. Mary surrendered, her troops deserted her and Bothwell fled. Mary was taken as a prisoner to Lochleven Castle.
Bothwell was captured and imprisoned in the Danish fortress of Drasholm. He was chained to a pillar half his height so that he could not stand upright, and was left for 10 years until he died.
Mary was placed in a cramped tower in Lochleven Castle, situated on an island in Loch Leven. Mary was forced to abdicate and her young son was crowned King James VI of Scotland. James was in the care of the Earl of Mar, who had also been Mary’s guardian. Whilst at Lochleven Mary miscarried the Earl of Bothwell’s twins.
With help from a servant at the castle, her second attempt at escape was successful. Disguised in servant clothing, she escaped to a waiting boat and reached the shore safely, where an ally, George Douglas, was waiting. Mary managed to raise an army but was defeated by her Scottish enemies at the Battle of Langside on 13 May 1568. In desperation she fled to England and appealed to her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I of England, for help.
1568: Mary and Elizabeth
Elizabeth was the daughter of Henry VIII of England and Anne Boleyn. She was the granddaughter of Henry VII.
Mary, daughter of James V of Scotland and Mary of Guise, was also related to the English royal family as she was the great-granddaughter of Henry VII.
Elizabeth was a Protestant and Mary was a Catholic. Some Catholics did not accept the marriage of Elizabeth’s parents because it was a Protestant wedding. They thought that Mary should be queen instead.
As a result of an enquiry into Darnley’s murder (later thought to be based on forged letters), Mary was imprisoned by Queen Elizabeth I of England. She was kept prisoner in a number of different castles and grand houses for nearly 19 years. Elizabeth treated Mary well but always had her guarded carefully. They never met.
During her years of imprisonment Mary had her own servants, including a physician and a secretary. She enjoyed embroidery, played cards, had visitors and kept pets. But Mary longed for freedom and to be reunited with her son.
As a result of numerous plots to set her free, Mary was not allowed to communicate by letter. In 1585 Mary found a way to smuggle letters in a beer barrel. Sir Anthony Babington wrote to Mary and suggested that Elizabeth should be killed, the Catholic religion restored in England and Mary become Queen of England. Mary agreed to this by a coded reply. However, it was a trick set up by Elizabeth’s spy master, Sir Francis Walsingham.
1586: The trial and execution of Mary
Mary was put on trial for high treason and found guilty on 15 October 1586.
On 8 February 1587 Mary was beheaded at the Great Hall of Fotheringhay Castle. She was dressed in black with a white veil, and carried a crucifix and writing book. Mary was led to the scaffold and prayers were read. Mary removed her dress to reveal a red petticoat – recognised as the colour of martyrdom.
After three blows of the axe Mary was dead. The executioner held her head up to the crowd in the hall. The head fell to the ground, leaving him holding a wig – Mary’s real hair was thin and grey. Some say that her dog was found hiding under her skirts, covered in Mary’s blood. Mary’s clothes, crucifix and writing book, along with the executioner’s block, were all burned in the courtyard so no relics remained. Her body was embalmed and incarcerated in a heavy lead coffin which remained unburied in Fotheringhay Castle until 30 July 1587. It was then taken, at night for fear of public protest, to nearby Peterborough Cathedral. | ||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 42 | https://time.com/5707035/the-king-netflix-true-story/ | en | The True Story Behind the Netflix Movie The King | [] | [] | [] | [
""
] | null | [
"Rachael Bunyan"
] | 2019-10-25T17:20:44+00:00 | The new film reimagines Shakespeare's Henriad plays and stars Timothée Chalamet as the young Prince Hal. | en | /favicon.ico | TIME | https://time.com/5707035/the-king-netflix-true-story/ | Warning: This post contains spoilers for The King.
Shakespeare’s plays have been a source of entertainment for centuries on the page, the stage and the screen. Director David Michôd’s The King, which reimagines Shakespeare’s Henriad plays, is the latest entry in the vast body of adaptations of the Bard’s works. The King follows the life of a young Prince Hal, from his days of drinking and gambling to his eventual rise to the throne of the King of England, from which he must navigate politics, betrayal, war and the chaos his father left in his wake.
The King, which stars Timothée Chalamet, Lily Rose Depp, Robert Pattinson and Joel Edgerton (who co-wrote the screenplay with Michôd), premiered at the Venice Film Festival in August before a limited theatrical release in October. It becomes available to stream on Netflix on Nov. 1.
Here is everything you need to know about the true story behind The King — and Shakespeare’s telling of that history.
What are Shakespeare’s Henriad plays about?
William Shakespeare’s famed Henriad plays, loosely based on events that took place during the 15th century, span from Richard II to Henry IV, Parts 1 and II, and Henry V. The plays chronicle the rise of the Lancaster branch of England’s House of Plantagenet in the 15th century, with a focus on politics and diplomacy, war and betrayal.
In the first play, the Lancasters ascend to the throne of England, as Henry Bolingbroke — later King Henry IV — deposes his cousin King Richard II. Prince Hal, played by Chalamet in The King, is the central figure of the later plays — which cover his young life of debauchery and camaraderie with his friend Sir John Falstaff (Edgerton) to his eventual rise as King of England and subsequent disregard for his old friends.
The King features aspects of the latter two plays, but with some key differences.
What was King Henry V’s relationship with his father like?
In both Shakespeare’s Henriad plays and The King, Prince Hal’s relationship with his father is tense. Hal’s father, King Henry IV (Ben Mendelsohn), envies Lord Northumberland for having an honorable son (Percy), compared to the “riot and dishonor” of Prince Hal. But there is a significant difference in the way in which The King leaves their relationship before the king dies.
In Shakespeare’s play Henry IV, the king feels betrayed when Prince Hal, thinking that his father is dead when in fact he is asleep, takes his father’s crown and leaves the room. But the pair settle their differences after Hal reveals his love for his father in a poetic scene, which ends with the king giving his crown to Prince Hal before he dies.
The King takes some liberties with this moment. After Hal’s father strips him of the crown and instead gives it to his younger brother, Hal doesn’t answer calls to visit his father’s deathbed. But, angry after his brother’s untimely death in battle, Prince Hal storms into his father’s bedroom and strips away the bed sheets of the dying monarch, leaving him shivering at his final hour. While the King tells Hal that he must be king and appears to regrets his actions, Prince Hal doesn’t speak of love for his father; instead he remains silent as his father dies before him.
How does King Henry V’s relationship with Sir John Falstaff differ between the Henriad plays and The King?
In the Henriad plays, Falstaff and Hal have a close friendship until Prince Hal famously rejects Falstaff during his coronation and, in Henry IV Part II, bans him, on pain of death, from seeing him. Audiences of Shakespeare’s plays have been left baffled by this move — the Prince seemingly forgets his old friend once he becomes King, dismissing him as “a fool and jester”. Falstaff doesn’t feature in the final Henriad play, and the audience is simply told that he dies, with no further explanation.
The relationship between the two characters is entirely different in The King. While Prince Hal does appear to forget about Falstaff as soon as he becomes king, he later returns to Falstaff, admits his neglect and asks him to join his ranks. Falstaff is a key character throughout the film, and regularly provides guidance to Hal, as both prince and king of England. Sir John Falstaff even comes up with the game plan for the Battle Agincourt and sacrifices himself in battle to help King Henry win. Instead of dying without explanation, as in Shakespeare’s Henry V, Falstaff dies with dignity and bravery in the Battle of Agincourt in The King. In an emotional scene, King Henry finds his friend’s body, laid among fallen soldiers in the mud, and cries over him.
Did the battle in France really happen?
The Battle of Agincourt in 1415 was immortalized by Shakespeare in Henry V, and features in The King, as well. More than 600 years ago, King Henry V led an army to victory on the field of Agincourt, near Azincourt in northern France, as part of the Hundred Years’ War.
As depicted in The King, the English army landed in France and launched a victorious attack on the port town of Harfleur, but the siege took its toll — many of the soldiers died of disease and many were left behind to defend the captured port. This left King Henry V’s army weakened and outnumbered by an estimated 30,000-strong French army. But, in a historic turn of events, the English army won the battle due to King Henry’s decisive leadership, compared to the muddled leadership of the French troops. The U.K.’s National Archives show that, as in The King, wet weather on the day before battle made the ground muddy, which led many French soldiers on foot, pressed forward by their comrades, to fall, making them vulnerable to the English attack.
Did King Henry V marry Catherine, the French Princess?
Both Shakespeare’s plays and The King introduce the audience to Princess Catherine de Valois, who married King Henry V. This was also the case in real life: the couple married on June 2, 1420, but not without some complications on the way to the altar. King Henry V refused to consider marriage with Princess Catherine after her father, the King of France, could not meet the young king’s demands of the return of Normandy and Aquitaine and two million crowns. Henry V later invaded France at the battle of Agincourt in 1415.
The King suggests that the marriage took place soon after the Battle of Agincourt once the French army was defeated — but in reality, the couple married five years later, after Henry called for another invasion of France. Eventually, the French king agreed to pass the throne to Henry V after a decline in his mental health and in 1420 signed the Treaty of Troyes, which arranged the union between Catherine and Henry V.
The couple’s marriage is far from the romantic depictions from both Shakespeare and The King (portrayed by real-life couple Timothee Chalamet and Lily Rose Depp). King Henry V left for France after five months of marriage — Princess Catherine only reunited with her husband one more time before his death in 1422. | ||||
31365 | yago | 2 | 4 | https://www.doaks.org/events/byzantine-studies/public-lectures/anna-yaroslavna | en | Anna Yaroslavna, Queen of France, in History and in Ukrainian Imagination | [
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] | 2023-11-20T15:06:37-04:00 | A lecture about the wife of King Henry I who ruled France as co-regent during the minority of her son Philip I | en | /apple-touch-icon.png | Dumbarton Oaks | https://www.doaks.org/events/byzantine-studies/public-lectures/anna-yaroslavna | Bibliography
In 1051, Anna Yaroslavna (d. circa 1075/1079), the daughter of Yaroslav the Wise of Kyiv (d. 1054) and Ingegerd of Sweden, was crowned Queen of France in Reims Cathedral during her marriage to King Henry I (d. 1060). This extraordinary long-distance marriage alliance linked Henry I's Capetian dynasty of France with the ruling clan of early Rus’ and led to Anna ruling France as co-regent during the minority of her son Philip I (d. 1108). Since the early twentieth century, Anna Yaroslavna’s reign has wielded enormous influence over Ukrainian popular and scholarly imagination. Some two hundred popular works devoted to Anna Yaroslavna exist, in addition to a 1969 Ukrainian opera and several recent television biopics. This talk will begin by discussing some of the major surviving medieval narrative and documentary sources on Anna Yaroslavna’s reign before turning to key examples of post-medieval Ukrainian retellings of her life. The presentation thus critically examines how and in what contexts Anna Yaroslavna’s story was told and retold for Ukrainian audiences. It will consider such questions as: What purpose did the fictionalizing and retelling of her reign serve? How does Anna’s life story inform Ukrainian constructions of both the medieval past and of aspirations for further future integration with Europe? Investigating sources and retellings of Anna Yaroslavna’s life offers unexpected insights into Ukrainian understandings of its medieval relationship with France and with the West.
Talia Zajac (PhD, University of Toronto, 2017) is a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow at the John Rylands Research Institute and Library, University of Manchester, UK. She is currently working on the research project titled, “Royal Women, Cultural Exchanges, and Rus’ Ecumenical Marriages, circa 1000 –1250”, which examines the political, patronage, and diplomatic roles of royal brides from Kyivan Rus’ at Latin Christian (Catholic) courts in the eleventh to mid thirteenth centuries. Previously, Zajac has pursued this research as an Andrew W. Mellon Post-Doctoral Fellow at the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, Toronto, Canada (2020– 2021) and as an Eugene and Daymel Shklar Research Fellow at the Harvard Ukrainian Research Institute (2018).
Zajac has published on re-naming of Latin Christian brides in Pre-Mongol Rus’ in Byzantinoslavica (2020), on the social and position of princesses within Rus’ in A Companion to Global Queenship, edited by Elena Woodacre (Arc Humanities Press, 2018) as well as articles on Anna Yaroslavna and on Anastasia Yaroslavna in the Royal Studies Journal (2016) and in the volume Moving Women, Moving Objects (400 –1500), edited by Tracy Chapman Hamilton and Mariah Proctor-Tiffany (Brill, 2019). In addition to her academic publications, she also engages in creative work. Her trilingual (French, Ukrainian, English) libretto for the oratorio Golden Harvest, set to music by composer Larysa Kuzmenko and celebrating the 125th anniversary of the settlement of Ukrainian-Canadians, won the Anna Pidruchney Award for New Writers in 2016.
Sponsors and Endorsers: Dumbarton Oaks | Princeton University | Boise State University | Tufts University College Art Association (CAA) | Byzantine Studies Association of North America (BSANA) | Society of Historians of Eastern European, Eurasian and Russian Art and Architecture (SHERA) | Centre for Medieval and Early Modern Studies, University of Kent | Historians of German, Scandinavian, and Central European Art (HGSCEA) | British Association for Slavonic and East European Studies (BASEES) | International Center of Medieval Art (ICMA) | Renaissance Society of America (RSA) | ||||
31365 | yago | 0 | 17 | https://www.mullinsfamilyhistoryproject.com/family-stories/anne-of-kiev-queen-of-france/ | en | Anne of Kiev, Queen of France | [
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] | null | [] | 2023-04-15T14:31:25+00:00 | Anne of Kiev, Queen of France, was a captivating woman, according to historical sources. She reigned almost 1,000 years ago. Yet her memory has come alive in the 21st century as a rallying point for Ukrainian nationalists, seeking to affirm the nation’s independence from Russia, whose authorities also claim Anne’s heritage. Ukraine sponsored the creation […] | en | Mullins Family History Project | https://www.mullinsfamilyhistoryproject.com/family-stories/anne-of-kiev-queen-of-france/ | Anne of Kiev, Queen of France, was a captivating woman, according to historical sources. She reigned almost 1,000 years ago. Yet her memory has come alive in the 21st century as a rallying point for Ukrainian nationalists, seeking to affirm the nation’s independence from Russia, whose authorities also claim Anne’s heritage. Ukraine sponsored the creation of her statue in Sensil, France (left). The unveiling in 2005 was attended by Ukrainian President Viktor Yushchenko, who knelt at the base of the statue in tribute.
Born in Kiev about 1025, Anne was the favorite daughter of her father, Iaroslav the Wise, Grand Prince of Kiev. Her mother was St. Anna, daughter of Olof Skötkonung, King of Sweden.
King Henry I of France was widowed twice and was sonless when his marriage to Anne was settled. At the Reims Cathedral on 19 May 1051, Anne was married to Henry I and crowned Queen of France, the first French monarchs to be crowned in that cathedral. The couple had 2 sons, Philip I, King of France, and Hugh Magnus “‘the Great”, Duke of France. Anne’s direct descendants included kings of England, Scotland, France, Spain, Portugal, and the Scandinavian countries.
Henry I died in 1060 when Philip was just 8 years old. Queen Anne ruled as regent until 1066. A royal charter from the 1060s survives with Anne’s signature in Cyrillic script: it is the oldest known example of Old Ukrainian handwriting.
Marriage for Love
Soon after King Henry’s death, Anne remarried to Count Ralph IV of Valois, in 1061. The couple may have been romantically involved before Henry’s death. Count Ralph had amassed an extensive array of lordships that extended across northern France from the Duchess of Normandy around to Champagne to the southeast. There was one hitch: Ralph was already married. He “disavowed” his wife, but this did not satisfy church authorities: he and Queen Anne were excommunicated by Pope Alexander II. This was just 7 years after Pope Leo IX had excommunicated the Patriarch of Constantinople Michael Cerularius, precipitating the split between the Roman Catholic and Eastern Rite churches. Anne was raised in the Eastern Rite in Kiev; her marriage to the Roman Catholic King Henry I would be the last of “mixed” Eastern and Western Rite royal marriages for centuries.
In spite of her excommunication, Queen Anne remained very involved in the business of the royal court , as evidenced by many royal charters that bear her name from the 1060s. After Count Ralph’s death in 1074, she returned more fully to court life. The date of her death is unknown. | |||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 15 | https://www.westminster-abbey.org/abbey-commemorations/royals/henry-v-and-catherine-de-valois/ | en | Henry V and Catherine de Valois | [
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] | null | Henry’s tomb is below his elaborate chantry chapel in Westminster Abbey. His funeral armour and the effigy of his wife, Catherine de Valois, can be seen in the Abbey Galleries. | en | /apple-touch-icon-57x57.png | Westminster Abbey | https://www.westminster-abbey.org/abbey-commemorations/royals/henry-v-and-catherine-de-valois/ | Henry was born in Monmouth Castle, eldest son of Henry IV and Mary de Bohun. The date of his birth in many biographies is given as 16th December 1387 but now historians agree that it was on 16th September 1386.
He succeeded his father in 1413. His life and reign, especially his conquests in France, are well known. A Te Deum for the victory of Agincourt, fought on St Crispin's Day, 25th October 1415, was sung before the shrine of St Edward the Confessor in the Abbey and Henry contributed money yearly towards the rebuilding of the Abbey nave.
His figure is shown in a modern stained glass window on the north side of the nave (a memorial to Lord Kelvin).
Marriage
He married Catherine de Valois, daughter of Charles VI of France, at Troyes on 2nd June 1420. Their son became Henry VI.
Coronation
This took place in the Abbey on 9th April 1413. Snow fell on the day of the ceremony and this was taken by some to mean there were hard times ahead. A jewel now in the Imperial State Crown may have been one he wore in his helmet at Agincourt in 1415. Two carvings depicting his coronation appear on his Chantry Chapel. Catherine had a separate coronation after the marriage.
Burial and monument
On 31st August 1422 Henry died at Vincennes in France and his body was embalmed and rested for a time in Rouen Cathedral. He was returned to England and a great procession accompanied the cortege from Dover to St Paul's Cathedral in London. The coffin, on which lay his funeral effigy (which does not survive), was then brought to the Abbey on 7th November 1422 for burial.
At his magnificent funeral four horses drew the chariot into the Nave as far as the choir screen. Henry had directed that a chantry chapel should be raised over his body at the eastern end of St Edward the Confessor's chapel. His tomb was completed in about 1431 and the Chantry was built between 1437 and 1450. This was supervised by John Thirske and encroaches on the tombs of Eleanor of Castile and Philippa of Hainault in the Confessor's chapel. Originally there were tall railings guarding the east end of the tomb (taken down in 1821 and now in the Abbey's reserve collection). The present grate at the west end of the tomb dates from the reign of Henry VII (the original one by Roger Johnson having been sold).
The inscription around the ledge of the tomb platform can be translated:
Henry V, hammer of the Gauls, lies here. Henry was put in the urn 1422. Virtue conquers all. The fair Catherine finally joined her husband 1437. Flee idleness.
The effigy head, hands, sceptres and other regalia were all of silver, with silver gilt plates covering the figure of the king. Some ornaments, such as the angels at the head of the effigy, the lions at his feet, two sceptres he was holding (one with a cross and one with a dove, as used at a coronation ceremony) and part of his crown, disappeared between 1467 and 1479 according to Abbey inventories. All the rest of the silver was stolen by night in 1546 and the effigy was just a plain block of oak for many centuries.
In 1971 a new head, hands and a crown for the effigy were modelled in polyester resin by Louisa Bolt, the features following a contemporary description of the king and the earliest portrait of him. These hands hold just the bases of the sceptres.
The tomb lies beneath the arch of the chantry, which is carved with figures of kings and saints. Above him is the Altar of the Annunciation, where prayers were said for the soul of the king. As well as the two Annunciation images above the altar are also statues of St George, St Denys, St Edward the Confessor and St Edmund. The centre niche is now empty but probably contained a representation of the Trinity.
On the bridges spanning the ambulatories are sculptures depicting Henry at his coronation and riding into battle on his horse. Among heraldic devices on the vault above his tomb and the bridges are a cresset (or beacon), a collared antelope and a collared swan chained to a beacon.
Tomb dimensions in metres: length 2.24. width 1.07. height 1.60.
A service to commemorate the 600th anniversary of his death was held in the Abbey on 8th November 2022.
Funeral Achievements
The saddle, helm and shield, which were part of his funeral 'achievements', were for many centuries kept in the chantry or displayed on the wooden beam above, but were restored and removed for better preservation to the Abbey Museum in 1972. They are now on display in the Queen's Diamond Jubilee Galleries at the Abbey.
This saddle is the earliest surviving example of a new light-weight type, originally covered with blue velvet. The lime wood shield has a small section of crimson velvet remaining on the inner side, showing the arms of Navarre (Joan of Navarre was his stepmother, so this shield may have belonged to Henry IV). The front of the shield had been painted with the arms of France and England and faint traces of blue paint still remain. The five-section domed helm, about sixteen inches high, with an applied decorated band of copper alloy round the bottom edge, is a tilting (jousting) helm so would not have been worn in battle. This weighs 7.3kg.
A finely balanced 15th century sword with a cross of St George in the pommel, found in the Abbey triforium in 1869, was thought for many years to be part of this funeral armour. Recent research shows this to be a sword later than the time of Henry V, possibly from Henry VII's time.
Catherine de Valois
Henry's widow Catherine de Valois (1401-1437) married Owen Tudor, a Welsh squire, and one of her three sons, Edmund, Earl of Richmond was the father of the future Henry VII. Her funeral took place on 10th February 1437. Solemn vespers for the dead were sung on the eve of the funeral. Many nobles, with the king and queen, attended the funeral when fifty nine cloths of gold were offered at the mass (thirty seven having been given at the dirge) for the use of the Abbey sacristy (none of which remain). Her painted wooden funeral effigy on the hearse was robed in a satin mantle, surcote and tunic, all furred with ermine. Crown, sceptre and rings were all of silver-gilt. She was buried in the old Lady chapel and when Henry VII pulled this down to build his new chapel he moved his grandmother's coffin. Her body was then placed above ground within the railings beside Henry V's tomb, in an open coffin of loose boards. There it remained for nearly 300 years. Samuel Pepys, the famous diarist, saw the mummified remains in 1669 and records how he was allowed to kiss the queen!
The coffin was eventually moved and buried in 1778 within a vault under St Nicholas's chapel and a century later Dean Stanley removed her remains for permanent burial under the new altar he had erected in Henry V's chantry. The inscription for her on the altar can be translated:
Under this slab (once the altar of this chapel) for long cast down and broken up by fire, rest at last, after various vicissitudes, finally deposited here by command of Queen Victoria, the bones of Catherine de Valois, daughter of Charles VI, King of France, wife of Henry V, mother of Henry VI, grandmother of Henry VII, born 1400, crowned 1421, died 1438.
The date 1878 is given in the bottom corner, when the remains were buried, together with a coat of arms and three badges of Henry V within trefoils: a beacon, an antelope and a swan. The date of death is incorrect.
Her wooden funeral effigy is on display in the Galleries at the Abbey.
Henry's brother in law, Louis (Ludwig) III, Count Palatine of the Rhine (1378-1436) Duke of Bavaria, had his funeral at the Abbey.
Further reading
Queens Consort of Westminster Abbey
A service to commemorate the anniversary of the battle of Agincourt was held in the Abbey on 29th October 2015
A conference was held at Westminster School on 28th October 2015 discussing aspects of his funeral and the armour. These detailed papers have been published in The Funeral Achievements of Henry V at Westminster Abbey edited by A.Curry and S.Jenkins, October 2022.
Henry V. A biography by H. Hutchison, 1967
The reign of Henry V by J.H. Wylie, 3 vols, 1914-29
The funeral, monument and chantry chapel of Henry V by W. St John Hope in Archaeologia vol. LXV, 1914
The funeral effigies of Westminster Abbey edited by A. Harvey & R. Mortimer, revised edn. 2003
Royal wooden funeral effigies at Westminster Abbey by S. Jenkins and K. Blessley, Burlington Magazine Jan. 2019 vol.161
A sword...in Westminster Abbey by J.G. Mann in Antiquaries Journal, 1931
A fifteenth century century sword...from Westminster Abbey by L.E. Tanner in Antiquaries Journal, 1930
A helm, shield and sword associated with the funeral of Henry V by Claude Blair in Gothic Art for England.., Victoria & Albert Museum exhibition catalogue 2003
Textiles from the funerary achievement of Henry V by Lisa Monnas, in Proceedings of the 2001 Harlaxton Symposium edited by J. Stratford, 2003
Oxford Dictionary of National Biography 2004
Agincourt 600 | ||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 54 | https://maidensandmanuscripts.com/2019/10/22/breaking-up-is-hard-to-do-eleanor-of-aquitaine-and-henry-ii-of-england/ | en | Maidens and Manuscripts: Taking a fresh look at people and events from 1347 to 1625, with a focus on women and illuminated manuscripts | [
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] | 2019-10-22T00:00:00 | by Heather R. Darsie Eleanor Ramnulfid of Aquitaine, born circa 1122, was a pretty, wealthy teenager when she married her first husband. No confirmed likenesses of Eleanor exist, and it is not known what she looked like other than that Eleanor was a beauty with gorgeous eyes. Eleanor's father died when she was young, leaving her the… | en | Maidens and Manuscripts: Taking a fresh look at people and events from 1347 to 1625, with a focus on women and illuminated manuscripts | https://maidensandmanuscripts.com/2019/10/22/breaking-up-is-hard-to-do-eleanor-of-aquitaine-and-henry-ii-of-england/ | by Heather R. Darsie
Eleanor Ramnulfid of Aquitaine, born circa 1122, was a pretty, wealthy teenager when she married her first husband. No confirmed likenesses of Eleanor exist, and it is not known what she looked like other than that Eleanor was a beauty with gorgeous eyes. Eleanor’s father died when she was young, leaving her the vast, rich territory of Aquitaine in southern France. She was left in the care of the King, who swiftly betrothed Eleanor to the Dauphin Louis Capet. The King wasted no time in bringing Eleanor to the royal court.
On Christmas day 1137, Eleanor and her husband of five months became King and Queen of France. Their marriage did not last long, despite Louis being enamored by Eleanor. Eleanor’s inheritance of Aquitaine and Poitiers massively increased the territory under the control of the French crown. Various issues early on with the nobility and vassals put a strain on the couple’s marriage.
In 1147, Louis was convinced by the pope to go on the Second crusade. Eleanor and her ladies went with Louis and his army to Jerusalem, an area which Eleanor’s uncle governed. Eleanor’s behavior while the couple were on crusade perturbed Louis, who eventually petitioned for their marriage to be annulled.
The couple’s first child, Marie, was born in 1145. Eleanor was roughly 23 years old, and married to Louis VII for about eight years when Marie was born. Their second child, also a girl, was named Alix and born in 1151. No sons were born of Louis’ marriage to Eleanor after fourteen years, so Louis petitioned the pope for an annulment. The annulment was granted in 1152, and Eleanor found herself once more the most eligible bachelorette in Europe.
Eleanor of Aquitaine, via Wikimedia Commons.
Eleanor rapidly married Henry Plantagenet on 18 May 1152, not even two full months after her marriage to Louis VII was annulled on 21 March 1152. Two years later, Henry became Henry II of England. Eleanor was eleven years older than her new husband, but the couple had no trouble producing children. The couple had eight children over a span of thirteen years, seven of whom reached adulthood. Their first child, a boy, died young. Their other children, four boys and three girls, went on to make good matches. Three of those boys, Henry the Young King, Richard the Lion Heart, and John Lackland all became kings of England.
All was not happiness and joy for Eleanor and her husband Henry II, however. Henry was a philanderer, which vexed Eleanor.
Eleanor’s son Henry the Young King revolted against Henry II in 1173, which some historians believe was either at Eleanor’s instigation or at least not without her blessing. Henry the Young King then fled to France, after which Eleanor sent her other sons. She may have also tried to rally support for her sons against their father amongst the nobility in southern France under Eleanor’s dominion. Eleanor was eventually captured by Henry II when she tried to leave her territory of Poitiers for Rouen. After that, Henry held her secretly for about a year before anyone learned of her whereabouts.
Henry II brought Eleanor out France and into England in July 1174, keeping her imprisoned for the rest of his life. Henry began publicly displaying his great love and favorite, Rosamund, in 1174. Henry met Rosamund at some point in 1166, and it is thought his publicly favoring Rosamund was an attempt to instigate Eleanor into requesting a divorce. Eleanor would not take the bait.
Her sons continued to attack her husband. Henry the Young King tried again to overthrow his father in 1183, this time in Limoges, an area under Eleanor’s control. Henry the Young King failed, and died that summer of dysentery. Later that year, Henry II brought Eleanor out of England and into Normandy to settle a property dispute with the French king. Eleanor remained Henry II’s prisoner until his death in 1189, even though she enjoyed the appearance of greater freedom and being present at court after 1183.
Eleanor died at the ripe old age of 82.
Love learning about the Queens of England? Are you interested in Tudor history or Women’s history? Then check out my book, Anna, Duchess of Cleves: The King’s ‘Beloved Sister’, a new biography about Anna of Cleves told from the German perspective!
UK Hardcover
UK Kindle
US Hardcover
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Please check out my new podcast, Tudor Speeches.
You Might Also Like
The Increasing Horrors of War in 16th Century Western Europe
Juana of Castile and Her Madness
Death of a Matriarch: Eleonore Helena of Portugal
Mary, Queen of Scots: What a Difference Two Years Can Make
The White Rose
Gloriana’s Rainbow: Elizabeth I and the Rainbow Portrait
Sources & Suggested Reading | |||||
31365 | yago | 2 | 18 | http://humbleandloyal.blogspot.com/2016/08/anna-of-kiev-russian-consort-of-henri-i.html | en | Royals in History: Anna of Kiev: The Russian Consort of Henri I of France (1024/1036 | [
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31365 | yago | 1 | 36 | https://europeanroyalhistory.wordpress.com/tag/anne-of-kiev/ | en | European Royal History | [
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] | null | [] | null | Posts about Anne of Kiev written by liamfoley63 | en | European Royal History | https://europeanroyalhistory.wordpress.com/tag/anne-of-kiev/ | Henri I (May 4, 1008 – August 4, 1060) was King of the Franks from 1031 to 1060. The royal demesne of France reached its smallest size during his reign, and for this reason he is often seen as emblematic of the weakness of the early Capetians. This is not entirely agreed upon, however, as other historians regard him as a strong but realistic king, who was forced to conduct a policy mindful of the limitations of the French monarchy.
A member of the House of Capét, Henri was born in Reims, the son of King Robért II (972–1031) and Constance of Arles (986–1034) Constance was the daughter of Guillaume I, Count of Provence and Adelaide-Blanche of Anjou, daughter of Fulk II of Anjou.
In the early-Capetian tradition, Henri was crowned King of Franks at the Cathedral of Reims on May 14, 1027, while his father still lived. He had little influence and power until he became sole ruler on his father’s death four years later.
The reign of Henri I, like those of his predecessors, was marked by territorial struggles. Initially, he joined his younger brother Robért, with the support of their mother, in a revolt against his father (1025). His mother, however, supported Robert as heir to the old king, on whose death Henry was left to deal with his rebel sibling. In 1032, he placated his brother by giving him the duchy of Burgundy which his father had given him in 1016.
Henri I was betrothed to Matilda, the daughter of Conrad II, Holy Roman Emperor, but she died prematurely in 1034. Henri then married Matilda of Frisia, but she died in 1044.
The negotiations for Anne of Kiev’s marriage to the 18-years-older King Henri took place in the late 1040s, after the death of Henri’s first wife, Matilda of Frisia, and their only child. Due to the pressing need for an heir, and the Church’s growing disapproval of consanguineous marriages, it became necessary for Henri to seek an unrelated bride. Anne was a daughter of Yaroslav the Wise, Grand Prince of Kiev and Prince of Novgorod, and his second wife Ingegerd Olofsdotter of Sweden.
The Kievan Rus’ was not unknown to the French. Yaroslav had married several of his children to Western rulers in an attempt to avoid the influence of the Byzantine Empire
Henri married Anne on May 19, 1051, during the feast of Pentecost. Their wedding followed the installation of Lietbert as bishop of Cambrai, and Anne was crowned immediately following the marriage ceremony, making her the first French Queen to celebrate her coronation in Reims Cathedral.
Anne and Henri were married for nine years and had three sons: Philippe, Robért (who died young), and Hugh. Anne is often credited with introducing the Greek name “Philip” to royal families of Western Europe, as she bestowed it on her first son; she might have imported this Greek name from her Eastern Orthodox culture. There may also have been a daughter, Emma, perhaps born in 1055; it is unknown if she married or when she died. Henri and Anne of Kiev are additionally said to have been the parents of the beatified figure Edigna.
Henri I (May 4, 1008 – August 4, 1060) was King of the Franks from 1031 to 1060. The royal demesne of France reached its smallest size during his reign, and for this reason he is often seen as emblematic of the weakness of the early Capetians.
The royal demesne, also known as the crown lands, crown estate, royal domain or (in French) domaine royal (from demesne) of France were the lands, fiefs and rights directly possessed by the kings of France.
While the term eventually came to refer to a territorial unit, the royal domain originally referred to the network of “castles, villages and estates, forests, towns, religious houses and bishoprics, and the rights of justice, tolls and taxes” effectively held by the king or under his domination.
In terms of territory, before the reign of Henri IV, the domaine royal did not encompass the entirety of the territory of the kingdom of France and for much of the Middle Ages significant portions of the kingdom were the direct possessions of other feudal lords.
The belief that Henri I was a weak king is not entirely agreed upon, however, as other historians regard him as a strong but realistic king, who was forced to conduct a policy mindful of the limitations of the French monarchy.
Henri I was a member of the House of Capét, Henry was born in Reims, the son of King Robért II (972–1031) and Constance of Arles (986–1034).
Constance of Arles was the daughter of Guillaume I, Count of Provence and Adelaide-Blanche of Anjou, daughter of Fulk II of Anjou. She was the sister of Count Guillaume II of Provence.
Constance was married to King Robért II, after his divorce from his second wife, Bertha of Burgundy. The marriage was stormy; Bertha’s family opposed her, and Constance was despised for importing her Provençal kinfolk and customs. Robert’s friend, Hugh of Beauvais, count palatine, tried to convince the king to repudiate her in 1007. Possibly at her request 12 knights of her kinsman Fulk Nerra then murdered Beauvais in 1008.
In the early-Capetian tradition, he was crowned King of the Franks at the Cathedral of Reims on May 14, 1027, while his father still lived. He had little influence and power until he became sole ruler on his father’s death 4 years later.
The reign of Henri I, like those of his predecessors, was marked by territorial struggles. Initially, he joined his younger brother Robért, with the support of their mother, in a revolt against his father (1025). His mother, however, supported Robért as heir to the old king, on whose death Henri was left to deal with his rebel sibling. In 1032, he placated his brother by giving him the duchy of Burgundy which his father had given him in 1016.
In an early strategic move, Henri came to the rescue of his very young nephew-in-law, the newly appointed Duke William II of Normandy (who would go on to become William I the Conqueror, King of the English), to suppress a revolt by William’s vassals.
In 1047, Henri secured the dukedom for William in their decisive victory over the vassals at the Battle of Val-ès-Dunes near Caen; however, Henri would later support the barons against William until the former’s death in 1060.
In 1054, William married Matilda, the daughter of the count of Flanders, which Henri saw as a threat to his throne. In 1054, and again in August 1057, Henri invaded Normandy, but lost twice at the battles of Mortemer and Varaville.
Henri had three meetings with Heinrich III, Holy Roman Emperor—all at Ivois. In early 1043, he met him to discuss the marriage of the emperor with Agnes of Poitou, the daughter of Henri’s vassal.
In October 1048, the two King Henri I and Emperor Heinrich III met again and signed a treaty of friendship. The final meeting took place in May 1056 and concerned disputes over Theobald III and the County of Blois.
The debate over the duchy became so heated that Henri accused the emperor Heinrich III of breach of contract and subsequently left. In 1058, Henri was selling bishoprics and abbacies, ignoring the accusations of simony and tyranny by the Papal legate Cardinal Humbert.
In 1060, Henri rebuilt the Saint-Martin-des-Champs Priory just outside Paris. Despite the royal acquisition of a part of the County of Sens in 1055, the loss of Burgundy in 1032 meant that Henri I’s twenty-nine-year reign saw feudal power in France reach its pinnacle.
King Henri I died on August 4, 1060 in Vitry-en-Brie, France, and was interred in the Basilica of St Denis. He was succeeded by his son, Philippe I of Franks, and Henri’s queen Anne of Kiev ruled as regent. At the time of his death, he was besieging Thimert, which had been occupied by the Normans since 1058.
Marriages
Henri I was betrothed to Matilda of Franconia (c. 1027 – 1034) was a daughter of Emperor Conrad II and Gisela of Swabia from the Salian dynasty. Matilda’s elder brother was Heinrich III, Holy Roman Emperor.
At a meeting with King Henri I in Deville in Lorraine in May 1033, Conrad agreed to marry five-year-old Matilda to the twenty-five year old King Henri. However, before she could marry, she died in early 1034. Her marriage was arranged to confirm a peace compact agreed between King Henri I and Emperor Conrad II.
She was buried in Worms Cathedral.
In 1034 King Henri then married Matilda of Frisia, the daughter of Liudolf, Margrave of Frisia, and Gertrude of Egisheim.
Around 1040, Matilda of Frisia gave birth to a daughter via Caesarian section, but four years later in 1044 both she and her daughter died only weeks apart. Matilda was buried in St Denis Abbey, but her tomb is not preserved.
Casting further afield in search of a third wife, Henri married Anne of Kiev on May 19, 1051. Anne was a daughter of Yaroslav the Wise, Grand Prince of Kiev and Prince of Novgorod, and his second wife Ingegerd Olofsdotter of Sweden. Her exact birthdate is unknown; Philippe Delorme has suggested 1027, while Andrew Gregorovich has proposed 1032, citing a mention in a Kievan chronicle of the birth of a daughter to Yaroslav in that year. | |||||
31365 | yago | 0 | 6 | https://freepages.rootsweb.com/~dearbornboutwell/school-alumni/fam6973.html | en | Family of Henry I + and Anne of KIEV | [
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] | null | [] | null | null | Husband: Henry I + (1008-1060) Wife: Anne of KIEV (1036-1076) Children: Philip I (1052- ) Robert (1056?- ) Hugh I (1057-1101) Marriage 19 May 1051 Cathedral of Rheims
Husband: Henry I +
Wife: Anne of KIEV
Child 1: Philip I
Name: Philip I Sex: Male Birth 1052
Child 2: Robert
Name: Robert Sex: Male Birth 1056 (est)
Child 3: Hugh I
Name: Hugh I Sex: Male Birth 1057 Occupation Count of Vermandois Death 18 Oct 1101 (age 43-44)
Note on Husband: Henry I +
Henry I (4 May 1008 â 4 August 1060) was King of France from 1031 to his death. The royal demesne of France reached its smallest size during his reign, and for this reason he is often seen as emblematic of the weakness of the early Capetians. This is not entirely agreed upon, however, as other historians regard him as a strong but realistic king, who was forced to conduct a policy mindful of the limitations of the French monarchy.
A member of the House of Capet, Henry was born in Reims, the son of King Robert II (972â1031) and Constance of Arles (986â1034). He was crowned King of France at the Cathedral in Reims on 14 May 1027, in the Capetian tradition, while his father still lived. He had little influence and power until he became sole ruler on his father's death.
The reign of Henry I, like those of his predecessors, was marked by territorial struggles. Initially, he joined his brother Robert, with the support of their mother, in a revolt against his father (1025). His mother, however, supported Robert as heir to the old king, on whose death Henry was left to deal with his rebel sibling. In 1032, he placated his brother by giving him the duchy of Burgundy which his father had given him in 1016.
In an early strategic move, Henry came to the rescue of his very young nephew-in-law, the newly appointed Duke William of Normandy (who would go on to become William the Conqueror), to suppress a revolt by William's vassals. In 1047, Henry secured the dukedom for William in their decisive victory over the vassals at the Battle of Val-ès-Dunes near Caen.
A few years later, when William married Matilda, the daughter of the count of Flanders, Henry feared William's potential power. In 1054, and again in 1057, Henry went to war to try to conquer Normandy from William, but on both occasions he was defeated. Despite his efforts, Henry I's twenty-nine-year reign saw feudal power in France reach its pinnacle.
Henry had three meetings with Henry III, Holy Roman Emperorâall at Ivois. In early 1043, he met him to discuss the marriage of the emperor with Agnes of Poitou, the daughter of Henry's vassal. In October 1048, the two Henries met again, but the subject of this meeting eludes us. The final meeting took place in May 1056. It concerned disputes over Lorraine. The debate over the duchy became so heated that the king of France challenged his German counterpart to single combat. The emperor, however, was not so much a warrior and he fled in the night; despite this, Henry did not get Lorraine.
King Henry I died on 4 August 1060 in Vitry-en-Brie, France, and was interred in Saint Denis Basilica. He was succeeded by his son, Philip I of France, who was 7 at the time of his death; for six years Henry I's Queen, Anne of Kiev, ruled as regent.
He was also Duke of Burgundy from 1016 to 1032, when he abdicated the duchy to his brother Robert Capet.
Note on Wife: Anne of KIEV
Anne of Kiev (or Anna Yaroslavna) (between 1024 and 1032â1075) was the queen consort of France as the wife of Henry I, and regent for her son Philip I.
Her parents were Yaroslav I the Wise and princess Ingegerd Olofsdotter of Sweden.
After the death of his first wife, Matilda, King Henry searched the courts of Europe for a suitable bride, but could not locate a princess who was not related to him within illegal degrees of kinship. At last he sent an embassy to distant Kiev, which returned with Anne (also called Agnes). Anne and Henry were married at the cathedral of Reims on 19 May 1051.
Anne is credited with bringing the name Philip to Western Europe. She imported this Greek name (Philippos, from philos and hippos, meaning "the one that love horses") from her Eastern Orthodox culture.
[edit] Regency
For six years after Henry's death in 1060, she served as regent for Philip, who was only eight at the time. She was the first queen of France to serve as regent. Her co-regent was Count Baldwin V of Flanders. Anne was a literate woman, rare for the time, but there was some opposition to her as regent on the grounds that her mastery of French was less than fluent.
A year after the king's death, Anne, acting as regent, took a passionate fancy for Count Ralph III of Valois, a man whose political ambition encouraged him to repudiate his wife to marry Anne in 1062. Accused of adultery, Ralph's wife appealed to Pope Alexander II, who excommunicated the couple. The young king Philip forgave his mother, which was just as well, since he was to find himself in a very similar predicament in the 1090s. Ralph died in September 1074, at which time Anne returned to the French court. She died in 1075, was buried at Villiers Abbey, La-Ferte-Alais, Essonne and her obits were celebrated on 5 September. | ||||||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 97 | https://antiwhitequeen.wordpress.com/tag/henry-viiis-uncle/ | en | Henry VIII’s Uncle | [
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] | null | [] | null | Posts about Henry VIII’s Uncle written by antiwhitequeen | en | https://s1.wp.com/i/favicon.ico | AntiWhiteQueen | https://antiwhitequeen.wordpress.com/tag/henry-viiis-uncle/ | WARNING- Contains spoilers
Any work of fiction, either on film or in a book, has to show you what normal is before the real plot can begin. Plot arcs must start low before rising in exposition. If the audience doesn’t understand how the characters normally act and what their lives have been like there is no way to understand how much change happens once the plot begins to move.
This episode does a very good job of showing us what “normal” was for the character “Henry VIII” and his court. We see a young king who spends his days working on the problems of the realm and international politics, while playing games with his friends, interacting with courtiers and spending time with his wife and mistress. At the end of the episode we get the first look at Anne Boleyn, but Henry has not seen her or her sister Mary yet.
The very beginning of this episode shows an English ambassador being murdered by French soldiers while at the court of the Duke of Urbino. This man is later referred to as Henry’s “uncle,” which immediately causes confusion. Henry had no blood uncles. His father, Henry VII, was an only child, and his mother’s two brothers went missing in the Tower in 1483 and were believed to be dead. The only uncles Henry had were from the marriages of his mother’s sisters, or his half-great-uncles from Margaret Beaufort. After looking at the husbands of the sisters of Elizabeth of York the only one that could be a candidate for this position was William Courtenay, the Earl of Devon, but he was not stabbed to death in Urbino and this show is too late to show a reaction to his death. He died in 1511 of “pleurisy” and was buried at Blackfriars. I believe this was invented to give the show more drama to the show, to give Henry more of a reason to hate the French and seek war against them as revenge.
Many other writers have already pointed out many things from this episode that are inaccurate, such as the lack of a historical Anthony Nivert or how Katherine of Aragon was actually a redhead or that Thomas Tallis was not at court as a young man. I am going to try to give those issues limited space.
My best guess as to the date of this episode comes from Bessie Blount’s pregnancy. Her child was born in 1519, and after she was married to Gilbert Tailboys. This means that the episode takes place in 1518 to early 1519. This will create many problems in future episodes, because Henry’s sister Mary was widowed by Louis XI of France in 1515, and married Charles Brandon in the same year. This means that the entire setup for Bradon’s character (played by Henry Cavill) is inaccurate, even before his marriage to “Margaret Tudor” is shown in upcoming episodes.
Henry had always had mistresses, and according to The Other Tudors by Philippa Jones (2009, Metro Books), Henry was a man fueled by romance and was a serial monogamist. He had regular and long-term mistresses, often staying with one mistress for years. This is not the Henry we are given in The Tudors. We are given a lusty and whoring king, more along with the reports of the sexual appetites of Henry’s grandfather, Edward IV. I have read several authors who believe that Henry’s later appetites for food and women were an attempt to emulate his grandfather. Did Henry have meaningless one-night-stands with random women at court? Perhaps. But in his account ledgers he is shown as giving gifts to one specific mistress at a time who was well-known at court and in rumor.
Jones also points out in her book that Henry seemed to sour on his mistress when she would become pregnant, quickly finding her a husband and having nothing to do with her again. Her argument is that he may have found the production of a child as a betrayal since he had spent years of bed sport with these women without ever making a child, showing that they were using some form of birth control. He may have seen these pregnancies as a deliberate way to try to force his hand in their relationship, and he may have resented it. Of course this is speculation, but we do know that the pregnancies of his mistresses appeared close to the end of their relationships. The show does display this well, and when we learn that Henry’s paramour Bessie Blount is pregnant, Henry pretends he is learning who she is for the first time. In the history we know that married Sir Gilbert Tailboys and had three children with him. The marriage seems to have been a happy one that was entered into after the birth of her child, so the character’s statement that her husband was threatening her with scandal and the convent is a fabrication.
I have to admit that there is a point of confusion for me when the Duke of Buckingham makes a comment that Henry’s only claim to the throne was a “bastard’s on his mother’s side.” I am not sure if he is referring to Richard III’s claim that Elizabeth of York and her siblings were bastards, or if he is referring to Henry VII’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, since she was the only blood claim to the English throne that he had. The Beauforts started out as bastards and had been barred form the throne by Henry IV after they had been legitimated by Richard II and the pope. Buckingham’s comment works in both ways, even though his father had rejected Richard’s claim of bastardy of Elizabeth of York when he helped to plan the rebellion against Richard that we associate with his title, the Rebellion of 1483. In the same way he showed that he did not care about Henry VII’s Beaufort blood being a bastard line, because he agreed that if his rebellion had been successful he would have welcomed Henry of Richmond to the throne. We have no way of knowing if he was serious or if he planned to take the throne for himself, as he was executed for his efforts in the rebellion.
The girl who plays the child Princess Mary is just too darn cute! I adore the actress Sarah Bolger, who later plays an older Mary, and I became very excited when I heard her work on the video game “Bioshock.” But little girl Mary is adorable, and a wonderful casting. Wrong hair color, but I don’t think they could ask a child to dye her hair.
One of the biggest plot points of this episode is the setup for the Field of Cloth of Gold. This expedition to France happened in 1520. The other was the introduction of the lovely Natalie Dormer as Anne Boleyn. I will be discussing these topics more in future episodes.
Additional Reading:
The Creation of Anne Boleyn | ||||
31365 | yago | 3 | 78 | https://collections.etoncollege.com/married-to-a-she-wolf-henry-vi-and-margaret-of-anjou/ | en | Wolf: Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou | [
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] | 2020-10-14T09:00:00+00:00 | The Verey Gallery at Eton recently hosted the Eton Choirbook and provided the relevant history... | en | /apple-touch-icon.png | Eton College Collections | https://collections.etoncollege.com/married-to-a-she-wolf-henry-vi-and-margaret-of-anjou/ | College Archives
The Verey Gallery at Eton recently hosted the Eton Choirbook and provided the relevant history surrounding it. One of the display cabinets encased an Illumination (below) which included an image of the founder of Eton College, Henry Vl, aged 23 and his bride Margaret of Anjou, only 15 years of age.
Henry Vl, born at Windsor Castle, was heir to the throne at the tender age of nine months when his battle driven father, Henry V, died of battle field dysentery in 1422. A few months later, his mother’s father, King Charles VI of France, died, leaving the French throne to the infant Henry Vl. His life was never going to be conventional.
Henry Vl was a well read individual and any notions of what kind of a ruler he wanted to be largely came from books. He was devoted to his Catholic faith and remained a pious man all his life. At the ages of seven and ten years old, Henry Vl was swept along with his coronation in England and again in France respectively. For a child king, one throne was a large responsibility, but two lands, marred by a history of bloody conflict, for anyone, was always going to be a challenge. The French that were loyal to their Valois kings wanted to restore the Dauphin (Prince) Charles to his rightful inheritance, but the Treaty of Troyes of 1420 declared Henry VI was the legitimate successor of both his father and grandfather. Although inheritance through the maternal line was not uncommon, it was particularly strange that the presumed heir was passed over in preference for a child.
The English made their presence known during the coronation ceremony of the young king. A nation not recognised for their culinary prowess provided the feast, resulting in a bland banquet, traditionally cooked three days before and served cold. Naturally, the trans-channel relationship was not secured and after 1432, the King of Two Crowns never returned to French soil.
In 1445 Henry Vl married Margaret of Anjou, second daughter of ‘Good King Rene’, King of Naples, Duke of Anjou and of Issabella, Duchess of Lorraine. Margaret’s family included several prominent women exercising power in politics. She had many practical and personal experiences in which to draw influences. She was betrothed to Henry Vl by proxy, so a comparatively small monetary dowry, land and a twenty-three month truce with France provided an effort to create a genuine effort at peace. The people of England were putting all their hope on the young princess to secure the two nations. Propaganda made Margaret popular and the future seemed bright.
Popularity waned somewhat as it was a further eight years before an heir was born between them. Henry was the ideal husband in that he was completely monogamous, but also very uncommon for a medieval king. This worked very well for Margaret as she remained unchallenged by mistresses and other potential children that would drain resources and risk the possibility of challenges to the throne further down the line. His ideals proved to be less than productive as a ruler, but as the founder of Eton College, Eton in 1440 and Kings College, Cambridge in 1441, he revealed himself as a generous and intellectually minded monarch, providing free education and religious guidance to 70 under privileged boys, with the intention to go further to Kings College.
However, his political life was to become problematic as he began to suffer spells of ‘melancholy’ or in modern terms, bouts of ill mental health. When their son, Prince Edward was born in 1453, Henry was incapacitated and oblivious to their new child. The baton was passed to Margaret, as she picked up the pieces to attempt to keep the dream of peace alive. She moved in influential circles in both England and France to drum up support for their king and also to secure Prince Edward’s place as heir. When war became an unavoidable conclusion to the later conflict between the Yorkists and the Lancastrian Henry VI, Margaret wore an armoured breast plate to show military presence and power, even if her husband didn’t have the same passion for warfare. In his mind and heart, he felt battle to be graphic and heart breaking with the horrible cost of life, in so stepping out of his father’s bloody shadow yet his refusal to accept the necessity of conflict left the lasting impression throughout the centuries that he was a weak ruler. Margaret however, was not compliant in court and to advisors. She was not obeying the power structure typical of her station, in which she was expected to keep quiet and do what the men in her life told her to do. But this was a necessity. The risk of losing everything should the rival Yorkist take the throne was too large, so for the sake of her son, her husband and herself, Margaret showed she would fight tooth and nail to keep the crown.
Henry’s throne was vulnerable from infighting between the king’s Lancastrian supporters and Yorkists. Edward Duke of York took the throne as Edward lV in 1461. Meanwhile, Henry sheltered with Lancastrian followers, stowing themselves away in the North of England and Scotland. Henry was captured in 1465 and confined to the Tower of London. In 1470 the Earl of Warwick restored Henry Vl to the throne, by forcing Edward IV to flee to Burgundy. Margaret and Prince Edward were in France, continuing to lead a resistance against Edward IV and returned back to England shortly after the Yorkist rival resumed his fight for the throne with a fresh army. Margaret, fully aware of how important a military mind was for a young prince, took it upon herself to prepare her son for a life of battle and conflict. If she were to have any chance surviving in the English court as Queen, or even Dowager Queen, her son would need to fight for his throne.
Despite Margaret’s best efforts, to groom him to be the Warrior King that his father failed to be, on May 4th, 1471, Prince Edward, her only child was killed at the Battle of Tewksbury at the age of 17. Tewksbury was a particularly brutal conflict, comparable to the massacre of Somme in 1916. Tragically for Margaret, Edward lV returned to London in triumph, forcing Henry lV off his throne and imprisoning him once more in the Tower. Weeks later, on May 21st, Henry died under suspicious circumstances. The Yorkist court reported that he had died of heartbreak on finding his son had been killed but historians find this to be too much of a convenient solution. Did he succumb to his melancholy or was he murdered?
Margaret had been abandoned. The Queen Consort had lost everything and everyone. She remained in custody in England until the French king Louis Xl ransomed her return in 1475. Margaret was known as having ‘Valiant courage and undaunted spirit’. She returned to Anjou, France where she died in abject poverty.
‘Ay, this is he that took King Henry’s chair
And this is his he was his adopted heir…
…She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth!’
Shakespeare’s Henry Vl, part lll
By Val Young, Gallery Steward | ||||
31365 | yago | 2 | 34 | https://historica.fandom.com/wiki/Anne_of_Kiev | en | Anne of Kiev | https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/totalwar-ar/images/6/6e/Anne_of_Kiev.png/revision/latest?cb=20160611010309 | https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/totalwar-ar/images/6/6e/Anne_of_Kiev.png/revision/latest?cb=20160611010309 | [
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"Contributors to Historica Wiki"
] | 2024-07-12T14:06:28+00:00 | Anne of Kiev (1032-1075) was Queen Consort of the Franks from 1051 to 1060 with King Henry I of France and regent for six more years. Anne of Kiev was born in 1032, daughter of Yaroslav the Wise and Ingegerd Olofsdotter of Sweden, born to the Rurikids. On 19 May 1051, she married King Henry I of... | en | https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/totalwar-ar/images/4/4a/Site-favicon.ico/revision/latest?cb=20210601140725 | Historica Wiki | https://historica.fandom.com/wiki/Anne_of_Kiev | Anne of Kiev (1032-1075) was Queen Consort of the Franks from 1051 to 1060 with King Henry I of France and regent for six more years.
Biography[] | ||
31365 | yago | 3 | 81 | https://senecalearning.com/en-GB/revision-notes/a-level/history/aqa/the-tudors-england-1485-1603/1-1-6-henry-viis-relationship-with-foreign-powers | en | Henry VII's Relationship with Foreign Powers | [
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"Content creators to Seneca Learning"
] | null | Europe was a very different place in 1485. Henry VII needed to secure England’s borders from its traditional enemies, Scotland and France. Making alliances with France’s rivals, especially Spain and Burgundy, would benefit England. | en | /en-GB/revision-notes/favicon.png | https://senecalearning.com/en-GB/revision-notes/a-level/history/aqa/the-tudors-england-1485-1603/1-1-6-henry-viis-relationship-with-foreign-powers | 2.2.2Elizabeth & Government
2.2.3Elizabeth I & Succession
2.2.4End of Topic Test - Elizabeth I Part 2
2.2.5Mary Queen of Scots
2.2.6Relations with Spain
2.2.7End of Topic Test - Elizabeth I Part 3
2.2.8Elizabeth I & Society
2.2.9Elizabeth I & Rebellion
2.2.10Elizabeth & Economic Development
2.2.11End of Topic Test - Elizabeth I Part 4
2.2.12Elizabeth I & Religious Developments
2.2.13The English Renaissance
2.2.14Elizabeth's Last Years | |||||
31365 | yago | 2 | 22 | https://brewminate.com/the-princess-of-discord-anna-of-kyiv-and-her-influence-on-medieval-france/ | en | The Princess of Discord: Anna of Kyiv and Her Influence on Medieval France | [
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"Matthew McIntosh"
] | 2018-12-05T18:29:03+00:00 | Set of Post Stamps “Kyivan Princesses on European Thrones”, Ukraine’s Postal Service, 2016 She was an influential advisor to | en | Brewminate: A Bold Blend of News and Ideas | https://brewminate.com/the-princess-of-discord-anna-of-kyiv-and-her-influence-on-medieval-france/ | Set of Post Stamps “Kyivan Princesses on European Thrones”, Ukraine’s Postal Service, 2016
She was an influential advisor to both her husband and her son, inscribing many royal documents with her own name, and introducing the name Philip into the royal line.
By Dr. Christian Raffensperger / 06.2017
Associate Professor of Pre-Modern and Ancient World Studies
Wittenberg University
In 1043 Yaroslav Mudryi sent an embassy to the German ruler Henry III to discuss a marriage between Henry and one of Yaroslav’s daughters.[1] This would have been the best dynastic marriage Yaroslav could have made with the resources available to him. From the beginning of his reign, he had attempted to make an alliance with the German Empire, and now in 1043 he believed he had that chance. The marriage would have bolstered the pan-European prestige of Rus´ and created a situation in which Rusian women were the queens of much of Europe, ruling the German Empire, Hungary, Norway, and Poland in the mid-eleventh century. Unfortunately for Yaroslav, the proposition was turned down, and the alliance with the German emperor would not happen in his lifetime. The reasons the marriage was turned down are not recorded and it has been left to historians to hypothesize. It seems likely that Henry was more interested in securing his western frontier than allying with Rus´, and thus arranged a marriage with Agnes of Poitou, the daughter of the duke of Aquitaine. As there was already a considerable struggle between the various territories of France and the German Empire, this was a more immediate necessity than an alliance with Rus´.
Yaroslav Mudryi (the Wise). Source: Wikimedia Commons
However, Yaroslav’s embassy was noticed in Europe, and in 1049 when Henry I of France was again on the market for a bride, it was remembered. As Andrew Lewis has said, “Henry I married deliberately and well.”[2] His first engagement was to a young daughter of Emperor Conrad II to seal an alliance against Count Odo II of Blois, though she died within a year of the 1033 engagement. Henry continued the alliance by marrying the German princess Mathilda, the niece of Henry III. Mathilda lived long enough to consummate her marriage with Henry (like Conrad II’s daughter she had been underage at the time of the initial engagement). She bore him one daughter, who died in infancy before herself dying in 1044.[3] Henry, however, was still in need of an heir, and thus a bride.
Yaroslav Mydryi’s (the Wise) Genealogic Tree. Source: Christian Raffensperger, “Ties of Kinship: Genealogy and Dynastic Marriage in Kyivan Rus’.”
In mid-eleventh-century western Europe the church’s consanguinity laws were still being enforced and honored by the majority of nobles, and so after many years of intermarrying there were few eligible partners for royalty. This was especially true in the case of France. Henry I wanted to marry a woman who had suitably royal blood but to whom he was not related.[4] According to some, like Constance Bouchard, this was the only or main reason for Henry’s marriage to Anna Yaroslavna—she was royal and they were not related.[5]
Anna Yaroslavna (Anne of Kyiv). Source: Wikimedia Commons
However, other options have been advanced as well. Two French scholars, R. H. Bautier and André Poulet, have both advanced the notion that this was a dynastic marriage to seal an alliance, as so many were, and not just for the procreation of heirs.[6] The reasoning put forth by both of these authors relies on the established dynastic history of Rus´. Earlier in the eleventh century, Anna’s aunt Dobronega/Maria Volodimerovna married Casimir, the king of Poland, and her brother, Izyaslav Yaroslavič, married Casimir’s sister Gertrude.[7] Casimir had spent his early life at the Abbey of Cluny in France[8] and so was knowledgeable about France, even as the ruler of Poland. It is thought that he brokered the marriage between Rus´ and France with the aim of consolidating an anti–German Empire alliance so that should the empire falter, the two kingdoms on either border might be able to move in and snap up some new territory. While the rule of Emperor Henry III seemed strong, the empire was actually quite fragile, as became apparent when Henry III died in 1056 and his young son Henry IV became king under a regency.[9] Jean Dunbabin also points out that power was a personal commodity in the medieval world and thus such a collapse might have been expected by a savvy ruler such as Henry I.[10] The gains for both the Poles and the French are easy to see in this agreement; both would have the potential to capitalize on a possible opportunity in the German Empire. There also would have been a tangible gain for Rus´. Obviously there was the prestige of having a Rusian princess as queen of France, the farthest kingdom from Kyiv a Rusian had yet ruled, but this would also have been a deliberate public relations measure for Rus´ to get its name and people out into the courts of Western Europe and familiarize the people with their neighbors to the east.[11] Perhaps more politically important in the immediate present was that Yaroslav was helping his brother-in-law Casimir to focus Poland’s attention west—that is, away from Rus´. Though the two were allies in this period, the historical interactions between Rus´ and Poland had always included raiding across the border and trading possession of the Červen´ towns. Keeping Poland focused west was a worthy political, and thus marital, goal. Despite all of this, it must be acknowledged that such a pan-European, anti-German alliance mediated by Casimir is supposition, as plausible as it may be.
Henry I of France. Source: Wikimedia Commons
Regardless of the reasoning behind the marriage, the process of the marriage is very interesting. In 1049 Henry I sent Gauthier of Meaux and Gauzlin of Chauny, two French bishops, to Kyiv as the leaders of an embassy.[12] As with many medieval records, though only the two are recorded, the embassy of two high-ranking bishops representing the king of France would have contained many other people as well, most likely a sizeable delegation. The purpose of the embassy was, of course, the negotiation of a marriage between the king of France and one of the daughters of Yaroslav Mudryi (Anna is specifically named in one record).[13] Unfortunately for the modern historian, no record of the negotiations has been preserved; thus the meetings between the bishops and Yaroslav and his representatives or advisors is left to the imagination. They must have been concluded successfully, because one record states that they returned with her from Rus´ with many gifts[14] — if only the occasion had been described slightly more elaborately, as was the arrival of Evpraksiya Vsevolodovna in the German Empire approximately thirty years later. The modern historian can only wonder what the gifts were, and to whom they were presented. Many of them may have been Anna’s to give as she would, or to use to support herself in her new land.[15] Nevertheless, Anna and the French bishops and their entourage returned to France most likely in 1050, and the couple was married in 1051.[16]
In February of 1052 Anna gave birth to her first son, to whom she gave the name Philip.[17] This was the first time such a name had appeared in the French royal line, and is discussed in detail elsewhere.[18] As Philip was Henry’s firstborn son, he was also the heir and was crowned alongside his father in 1059 to so designate him.[19] Anna gave birth to two more of Henry’s sons, Robert and Hugh. Robert died in childhood, but Hugh lived and went on to marry a well-off widow and become a leader of the First Crusade.[20]
Henry I and Anne of Kyiv. Miniature in “Chroniques de France ou de St. Denis.” Source: Wikimedia Commons
Despite all of this negotiation and prelude, Anna’s marriage to Henry was not to last long, as he was already an older man when they married. He became sick and died on 4 August 1060.[21] André Poulet suggests that before he died he left specific instructions that Baldwin V, count of Flanders, was to head the regency for Philip.[22] There was a medieval tradition in the Capetian royal house specifically, and in medieval royalty in general, that the queen, the mother of the heir, would act as the heir’s regent until his age of majority.[23] Some historians believe that Anna was excluded from the regency because her command of both politics and the French language were “suspect.”[24] However this does not appear to have been the case. Baldwin did take control of the regency, as “procurator,” but Anna as queen mother was also part of the regency and served as an advisor to her young son.[25] Illustrative of Anna’s influence on the regency of Philip are the numerous documents they signed jointly, especially during the first year or so after Henry’s death.[26] One extreme example is in a charter of Bishop Agobert of Chartres in which Philip and Anna are jointly called “king.”[27] These documents were possible because Anna accompanied Philip on the rounds he made of the kingdom in the years after his father’s death.[28] Her presence, as well as her influence on Philip, illustrates the familial nature of government in the medieval world. As Poulet has expressed it, “the Capetian trinity [was] a dynastic machine formed by the king, the queen, and the designated heir, who shared sovereign authority.”[29] This machine was transformed in 1061, and the nature of its transformation also elucidates Anna’s influence on the ruling of France and on her son the king.
In the summer of 1061 Anna married again, this time to Raoul de Crépy, count of Valois, one of the most powerful lords of France.[30] Raoul had originally been an opponent of Henry during his reign, but after being defeated by Henry in 1041, Raoul became an ardent supporter of first Henry and then Philip.[31] Part of Anna’s dowry was the abbey of Notre Dame at Laon, which was quite a valuable piece of property.[32] It was most likely given to her by Henry as part of their original marriage agreement. Most royal women were given land by their husbands so that they would have their own funds to maintain themselves and their households.[33] Also accompanying Anna into the marriage with Raoul was her substantial influence with Philip. After her marriage Raoul begins to appear as part of the regency council, and his name begins to appear on royal documents.[34] Concomitant with the increase in Raoul’s appearance in royal diplomas was the decrease in Anna’s appearance in the same.[35] This has led some to a misunderstanding of Anna’s importance to the regency. Because Anna’s name began to disappear from charters after 1061 and her marriage to Raoul, it has been thought that Philip was unhappy about her remarriage or that she had been ousted from the inner circle. An alternate reading of the events would show that Philip accepted this outsider, Raoul, as one of his closest advisors (indeed there is a debate over whether he was the most powerful advisor after this time or the second-most powerful)[36] only because of Raoul’s marriage to Anna and Anna’s endorsement of him. Anna had transferred her influence, in a manner of speaking, to Raoul. Though it is impossible to say for sure, it seems likely that as Raoul traveled with Philip throughout France, Anna may have continued to as well, lending her advice if not her name to royal decisions.
Philip’s regency ended in 1066,[37] and along with it the record of Anna’s activities in France. It is recorded that Anna had an influence on her second family by introducing the name Philip into the de Crépy line as well, spreading the name beyond the royal family.[38] What is missing from this account of Anna’s life and influence is the Rusian record. Anna was well known in western Europe and included in many Latin chronicles (a Russian historian even suggests that she received a personal letter from Pope Nicholas II),[39] she endorsed French royal documents with her own name, “Anna regina,”[40] and served an important foreign policy purpose for her homeland of Rus´, not to mention being the daughter of Yaroslav Mudryi and the sister to three other rulers of Kyiv. Yet, with all of these considerations she does not receive even one mention in the Rusian chronicles. This illustrates the difficulty of studying Rusian women’s history. If we look only at Rusian sources, apart from Ol´ga Rusian women played little or no part in their history, even as powerful a woman as Anna Yaroslavna.[41] Many Rusian women were known throughout Europe, and surely in their homeland, but not recorded in Rus´, whether due to a misogynistic bias, a parochial interest in internal events, or for another, unknown reason. Anna Yaroslavna was a powerful Rusian woman whose marriage advanced the foreign policy of Rus´. In France she was an influential advisor to both her husband and her son, inscribing many royal documents with her own name, and introducing the name Philip into the royal line.
Notes | |||||
31365 | yago | 1 | 20 | https://euromaidanpress.com/2016/05/22/anna-of-kyiv-the-french-queen-from-kyivan-rus/ | en | Anna of Kyiv, the French Queen from Kyivan Rus | [
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] | 2016-05-22T00:00:00 | The daughter of Kyivan Rus Prince Yaroslav the Wise, who married French King Henry I on 1051, is the predecessor of all subsequent French kings | en | Euromaidan Press | https://euromaidanpress.com/2016/05/22/anna-of-kyiv-the-french-queen-from-kyivan-rus/ | On 19 May 1051, Anna, the youngest daughter of Kyivan Rus Prince Yaroslav the Wise, ascended to the French throne as the wife of King Henry I Capet in the Cathedral of Reims. As traditional Days of Anna of Kyiv take place in Sanslis, an abbey 40 km from Paris, we revisit the story of the earliest dynastic connection between France and Ukraine.
Her father Yaroslav, was nicknamed “the father-in-law of Europe.” Yaroslav himself married Ingigerd Olofsdotter, the daughter of the Swedish King; his sister Maria married the Polish Prince; son Illya was married to the sister of the Danish King; son Sviatoslav married the Austrian Princess; son Vsevolod married the daughter of the Byzantine emperor; son Ihor – a German Princess; Yaroslav married his daughter Anastasia – to the Hungarian King; daughter Elizabeth – to the Norwegian King. And his daughter Anna married Henry I of France.
Anna was born about 1024 and grew up in Kyiv. She received a good education at the princely court where she studied reading and writing, history, foreign languages, mathematics, and drawing. It is known that Anna of Kyiv could read fluently in several languages, including Old Church Slavonic, Greek, and Cyrillic and Glagolitic alphabets. At that time, not every man in Europe was literate, let alone women.
In 1048, the French Embassy arrived in Kyiv, searching for a wife for the widowed King Henry I. The French King was searching the courts of Europe for a suitable bride, but could not locate a princess who was not related to him within legal degrees of kinship – the Pope prohibited marriage between monarchs up to the seventh degree of kinship. Anna was chosen to be his wife, and in spring 1051 she arrived in France. On 19 May 1051 she married Henry I and became the Queen of France.
There exists a legend that the 18-year old Queen brought an ancient gospel with her as a marriage dowry, presumably, part of the library of her father Yaroslav. The legend says that the manuscript later became part of the museum at the Cathedral of Reims and was called the “Reims Gospel” and that many French kings, including Louis XIV, took their oaths on this Gospel. This legend has become widespread but is disputed by historians. What is known for sure is that this ancient manuscript was constantly on the territory of France only starting from the mid-XVI century and is considered to have been given by Roman Emperor Carl IV to the Emmaus Monastery in Prague, taken to Constantinople, Italy, and then ended up in France. French kings took their oaths on the ancient gospel starting from the late XVI century.
Anna gave birth to four children, namely Philip, Emma, Robert, and Hugo. Despite many historical claims that she is the first female regent of France, this appears to be more legend than fact. She was offered to take up regency after the death of her husband Henry, but declined and settled in the town of Senlis near Paris, where she founded and built a convent and a church. In the summer of 1065, she married one of the most powerful Northern France lords, Raoul de Crepy. He accused his first wife of treason and divorced to marry Anna. However, an investigation conducted by Pope Alexander II did not recognize his legitimate marriage to Anna and Raoul de Crepy was anathematized.
In 1074, Anna was widowed a second time and settled at the court of her son Philip, and was accepted with honor as the Queen mother. Her signature on one of the documents is the oldest public example of old Ukrainian writing. Being literate at the time when this was uncommon not only for women but for all royalty, she signed documents with the Cyrillic letters “Ана Ръина,” that is “Anna Regina,” meaning “Anna the Queen,” while other officials only marked a cross in front of their names written by their clerks.
Anna could ride a horse, was knowledgeable in politics, and actively participated in governing France, especially after her husband died.
Henry the First respected his wife Anna so much that his many decrees bear the inscription “With the consent of my wife Anna” and “In the presence of Queen Anna.” French historians point out that there are no other cases in the French history when Royal decrees bear such inscriptions.
The date and place of Anna’s death are unknown, and the last mention of her dates back to 1075. It is assumed that this is the year she died and was likely buried in the Villiers Abbey cemetery (la Ferte-Alais town, Essonne department), which was destroyed during the French Revolution.
We do not know for sure how Anna Yaroslavna lived her early years in France, but French researchers quoted lines from a letter to her father: “What a barbaric country you have sent me to! Houses are gloomy here, churches look ugly, and people have terrible manners.” However, Nataliya Pushkaryova, author of the book “Women of ancient Rus,” maintains there is no documentary evidence for such a letter existing, but agrees that this content corresponds to the realities of the time.
Supposedly, everything was not that bad, but there is no doubt that the highly educated Queen who grew up in conditions of Slavic culture was not easily able to adapt to the French high society of that time.
Another legendary story is Anna’s library which she brought to France from Kyivan Rus. There are also other legends that it was Anna Yaroslavna who taught the French court to use cutlery and take a bath regularly, but it is difficult to say if this is truth or legend.
Anna of Kyiv is commemorated each year on September 5 in the church she founded in the town of Senlis. All the subsequent French kings were descendants of Anna. On 27 September 2013, the Ukrainian Eparchy of St. Vladimir in Paris headed by Bishop Boris (Gudziak) purchased a church in Senlis with funds donated by Ukrainians from Ukraine, France, Britain, the United States, and Canada with the aim of transforming it into the current Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church where the Cultural Center of Anna Yaroslavna operates.
Also, on May 22 the Day of Anna of Kyiv will be held in Senlis. “Celebrations will begin with the laying of flowers at the monument to the Queen Anna and a memorial plaque to victims of the Holodomor, as well as a service in the Abbey of St. Vincent,” a representative of the Cultural Center of Anna Yaroslavna said. Other events include performances Ukrainian singer Oksana Mukha, presentation of the Leadership Academy, “Intelligent space around Anna of Kyiv” conference, and a presentation of the church of Saint Boris and Gleb and Anna Yaroslavna Cultural Center. In addition, Ukrainian designer Oksana Karavanska will present a unique collection “Anna of Kyiv – Queen of France”.
Related: | |||||
31365 | yago | 0 | 83 | https://www.cgbfr.com/henri-ier-medaille-henri-ier-et-anne-de-kiev-ttb-,fme_790222,a.html | en | HENRY I Médaille, Henri Ier et Anne de Kiev fme | [
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correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 7 | https://spu.edu/depts/uc/response/winter2k6/features/oxford.asp | en | Response: The Seattle Pacific University Magazine | [
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] | null | [] | null | en | null | Jack's Life at The Kilns and in Oxford
A Photo Tour of the Places C.S. Lewis Called Home
SOME SAY C.S. LEWIS FOUND inspiration for his writing in the wooded acres behind his longtime residence, The Kilns. Certainly he found creative company at Oxford University and in the Oxford public houses where he met with his friends and fellow intellectuals, the Inklings. In any case, The Kilns and Oxford became the settings for one of Christianity’s most extraordinary figures to study, write, and create.
A native of Belfast, Ireland, Lewis — or “Jack” as friends knew him — was only 18 years old when he first traveled to the ancient city of Oxford, England, in 1916. After leaving the train station, he took a wrong turn and walked away from Oxford down the Botley Road. Realizing his mistake, he turned to see Oxford in the distance. “There … never more beautiful since, was the fabled cluster of spires and towers,” he later wrote.
Lewis was to live in the Oxford area for the rest of his life, first as a student at University College and later as a member of the faculty of Magdalen College, two of the more than 30 colleges that made up Oxford University at the time. His education was interrupted by World War I, and when a close army friend, Paddy Moore, died in France in 1918, Lewis took on the responsibility of caring for the soldier’s mother and sister. In 1930, Jack Lewis and his brother, Warnie Lewis, pooled their money with that of Mrs. Janie King Moore to purchase The Kilns, a 9-acre property in Headington Quarry, just east of Oxford.
Warnie recorded their first impressions of The Kilns in a July 7, 1930, diary entry: “Jack and I went out and saw the place, and I instantly caught the infection. …The view from the cliff over the dim blue distance is simply glorious.”
The house was built in 1922 on a site that had been used to make bricks for the local area. Its name came from two old, funnel-shaped kilns, that were still located on the property. With the home also came a brick-drying house, tennis court, woods, and a pond. “The place was lovely and secluded …,” wrote Lewis’ former pupil George Sayer in Jack: C.S. Lewis and His Times. “Jack loved to wander through the woods during every season of the year and always wrote about the estate idyllically.”
In a letter to his friend Arthur Greeves, Jack wrote: “The Kilns has been delightful. I know the pond looks dirty, but one comes out perfectly clean. I wish you could join me as I board the punt in the before-breakfast solitude … .”
Walking was one of Lewis’ preferred modes of transportation, and the 3-mile walk from The Kilns to Oxford took him through the lamppost-lined streets of old Headington, through the Fellows Garden, and onto the grounds of Magdalen College along Addison’s Walk. Since Lewis had rooms at Magdalen, he spent several days and nights each week in Oxford.
It was while reading and studying in his Magdalen rooms that Lewis completed a gradual process of converting from atheism to theism. Later, with the help of friends J.R.R. Tolkien and Hugo Dyson, he became a Christian. As a new believer, Lewis began attending Morning Prayer in Magdalen Chapel and 8 a.m. Sunday services at Holy Trinity Church — the local parish near The Kilns that became his church “home” for 33 years.
Lewis was a founding member of the Inklings, a group of Oxford Christians — including Tolkien, Dyson, Owen Barfield, and Charles Williams — who met in Lewis’ rooms, or at The Eagle and Child, a local pub on St. Giles Street. They shared a love of imaginative literature and lively conversation. “Meetings of the Inklings made him utterly happy,” Sayer wrote of Lewis.
After Mrs. Moore’s death in 1951, Jack and Warnie lived quietly at The Kilns. It was during this time that Jack received a letter from Joy Davidman Gresham, an American poet. She came to Oxford to meet him, and they became friends. Eventually, Lewis offered to marry her in a civil wedding so that she could stay in England. When it was discovered that Joy had cancer, Jack and Joy were married in an ecclesiastical ceremony in Wingfield Hospital in Headington.
During a remission of her cancer, Joy came to live with Lewis at The Kilns for three years, taking notice of its state of disrepair. She organized a complete renovation of the home — and in so doing, became the first American to “save” The Kilns. She died on July 13, 1960.
Lewis lived at The Kilns for another three years and died there November 22, 1963, the same day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Lewis is buried in Holy Trinity’s churchyard.
Today, The Kilns and Oxford are places of pilgrimage for people from around the world who want to trace the footsteps of C.S. Lewis. His lasting influence is evident when visitors — including poets, politicians, scholars, and schoolchildren — arrive unannounced, seeking a tour of The Kilns, and recounting the ways in which the Oxford professor changed their lives.
— BY Kim Gilnett
— Photos By Dick Makin
Involved with C.S. Lewis study for more than 30 years, Fine Arts Marketing Associate Kim Gilnett was an early staff member for the Seattle Pacific University C.S. Lewis Institute, and helped lead several SPU C.S. Lewis study tours to Oxford. He is a member of the C.S. Lewis Foundation Board of Trustees, and from 1993 to 2000 provided leadership for the Foundation’s restoration of The Kilns. Since 2000, Gilnett has helped to host the Foundation’s Summer Seminars at The Kilns.
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] | 2013-11-22T02:11:32+00:00 | Writer CS Lewis is honoured on the 50th anniversary of his death with a memorial stone in Westminster Abbey. | en | BBC News | https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-25031909 | Writer CS Lewis has been honoured with a memorial stone in Westminster Abbey later, 50 years after his death.
The stone has been placed in Poets' Corner, alongside renowned literary figures including Chaucer and Dickens.
Former Archbishop of Canterbury Dr Rowan Williams - a fan of his work - gave the main address at the ceremony.
Lewis, born in 1898, is best known for the Chronicles of Narnia series, which has sold 100 million copies worldwide and been adapted for screen and stage.
His other work includes The Screwtape Letters and the Ransom Trilogy novels.
The writer was also a respected Oxford scholar and literary critic, while his book Mere Christianity was adapted from a series of BBC radio broadcasts, which sought to explain Christian teachings to a wider audience.
CS Lewis's memorial stone is set in the floor of Poets' Corner - though he was not known for poetry - and is inscribed with lines from one of his theological lectures : "I believe in Christianity as I believe the sun has risen. Not only because I can see it but because by it I can see everything else."
Around 1,000 guests from around the world attended the service to unveil the stone.
A prayer was read by the Rev Adrian Dorrian, the current rector of St Marks' church, Dundela, in Belfast, where the writer's grandfather was the first rector.
Douglas Gresham, the son of Lewis's wife Joy, spoke at the service. The story of the author's marriage to her was told in the film Shadowlands.
A conference looking at the impact of Lewis's work has also been taking place at the abbey, while a festival celebrating his life and work has been held in his hometown of Belfast.
Clive Staples Lewis - known as Jack to his family - died on 22 November 1963 at the age of 64, the same day President JF Kennedy was assassinated.
Other literary greats to be commemorated in Westminster Abbey's South Transept are Samuel Johnson, John Keats and the Bronte sisters. | |||||
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"Phil... | null | [] | 2013-11-08T00:00:00 | The author CS Lewis, best known to the general public for his children’s classics The Chronicles of Narnia, died 50 years ago on 22 November. He was much more | en | https://www.cam.ac.uk/sites/www.cam.ac.uk/files/favicon.ico | University of Cambridge | https://www.cam.ac.uk/research/news/cs-lewis-50-years-after-his-death-a-new-scholarship-will-honour-his-literary-career | The author CS Lewis, best known to the general public for his children’s classics The Chronicles of Narnia, died 50 years ago on 22 November. He was much more than a children’s author: he was also a brilliant scholar, holding prestigious academic positions first at Oxford and then at Cambridge, as well as an influential Christian thinker.
In 1954, Lewis was awarded the chair in Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge, a post that was founded with him in mind. In order to support research in that broad field of Lewis’s interests, Cambridge University is in the process of establishing a CS Lewis Scholarship that will help to fund an outstanding graduate student.
Lewis will be honoured with a memorial in Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey at a ceremony on the anniversary of his death. His memorial will join those of some of the most famous names in English literature including poets Milton, Eliot and Wordsworth, playwrights Marlowe, Shakespeare and Wilde, and novelists Austen, Lawrence and Thackeray.
The CS Lewis Memorial Service in Westminster Abbey will take place at noon on Friday, 22 November and will be open to all those who have requested tickets. A collection at the service will be dedicated to the CS Lewis Scholarship.
The current chair of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge is Professor Helen Cooper. Like Lewis’s, her work emphasises the continuity of literature across the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Early in her career she studied pastoral literature from the late Classical period to Milton. Her more recent books include one on romance, from its invention in the 12th century to the death of Shakespeare, and another on Shakespeare’s debt to the Middle Ages. She has also published extensively on the Canterbury Tales.
“Scholarship – reading, lecturing, critical writing and teaching – was CS Lewis’s day job. He came to devotional writing and fiction, whether for children or adults, quite late in his life, and although he is now more widely known for those than for his critical work, it’s not because they are necessarily better or more important,” said Professor Cooper.
“From the moment of its publication in 1936, Lewis’s Allegory of Love transformed how medieval studies might be approached. The finest of his books, The Discarded Image, based on a series of his lectures, appeared after his death and remains the best short introduction there is to how people used to imagine the universe they inhabited.
“Lewis described his empathy with such lost ways of thinking by casting himself as ‘Old Western Man’, the equivalent of a surviving dinosaur who embodied what the age of the dinosaurs was like, and so could teach things that more conventional academic processes could not.”
As a child growing up in Northern Ireland, Lewis was enthralled by the myths and legends of Norse, Greek and Celtic literature. The young Lewis (known as Jack throughout his life) and his brother Warren invented a make-believe world called Boxen which was ruled by animals. Lewis fell in love with the landscape of the Mountains of Mourne which he said later inspired him to write the Narnia books.
Lewis’s deep interest in the bold universal themes that are woven into ancient, medieval and early modern literature endured throughout his life. His novels and poems draw on his extensive knowledge of texts such as The Voyage of St Brendan (which underlies The Voyage of the Dawn Treader) and the early Grail romances (which inspired That Hideous Strength). At Oxford University, where he read English Literature, he proved to be an outstanding student and, on graduating with a triple first, went on to teach there for more than 30 years.
Much of Lewis’s non-fiction writing deals with broad religious and spiritual questions, from the problem of evil to miracles. He was brought up in the Church of Ireland but as a teenager became an atheist. At Oxford, where he remained for most of his adult life, Lewis was part of a literary group nicknamed the Inklings, which included Tolkien. During this time, and influenced by his friends, he reluctantly re-embraced Christianity. In 1949 he wrote his first children’s novel, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which can be read as a fantasy adventure story and as an allegory for Christ’s crucifixion.
Professor Cooper commented: “The power of myth and legend that Lewis had discovered as a child helps to drive the Narnia books. The myths might be Greek or Norse or Christian – the last a myth that ‘really happened’, as he came to believe – and the legends might be Arthurian; but he had the gift of conveying something of their deep imaginative hold through his stories of children travelling in strange worlds, of talking animals and of battles against evil.”
The year that Lewis became the first Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge saw the publication of his third (originally fifth) and eagerly awaited Narnia novel, The Horse and His Boy.
“At Cambridge Lewis was taken to represent a diametrically opposite mode of criticism from that of his contemporary FR Leavis, and undergraduates often aligned themselves behind one or the other. But despite their disagreements, Lewis expressed his admiration for Leavis’s powers as a critic,” said Professor Cooper. “Lewis’s belief in the importance of historical contextualisation was in many ways ahead of its time. That alertness to context included his recognition of the centrality of God in the medieval and early modern world. His lectures on Spenser’s Faerie Queene, like his earlier work on Milton, demanded that even atheist readers should start by understanding what each poet was attempting to do, and that included their reflection of, and on, the religion of their own age.”
Lewis worked in Cambridge for nine years. In August 1963, having discovered that he was terminally ill, he resigned his chair. He died in his home in Oxford and was buried in the churchyard of Holy Trinity Church, Headington. News of his death was overshadowed by the assassination of JF Kennedy.
Professor Helen Cooper is the sixth scholar, and second female scholar, to hold the chair of Medieval and Renaissance English at Cambridge. Like Lewis, she holds it in conjunction with a fellowship at Magdalene College.
Inset images from top: Magdalene College, jefurii (via Flickr), Keir Hardie (via Flickr) | ||||
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] | null | [] | 2013-11-22T09:14:00+00:00 | Friday 22 November 2013, was the 50th anniversary of the death of C S Lewis. Lewis was a Fellow and Tutor in English Language and Literature at Magdalen College from 1925-1954. He became very well known not just as a teacher but as a writer, lecturer, and broadcaster. His Chronicles of Narnia became classics of […] | en | /apple-touch-icon.png | Magdalen College | https://www.magd.ox.ac.uk/news/50th-anniversary-of-the-death-of-c-s-lewis/ | 22 November 2013
Friday 22 November 2013, was the 50th anniversary of the death of C S Lewis. Lewis was a Fellow and Tutor in English Language and Literature at Magdalen College from 1925-1954. He became very well known not just as a teacher but as a writer, lecturer, and broadcaster. His Chronicles of Narnia became classics of children’s literature.
The College held a special event to commemorate C S Lewis on the afternoon of Saturday 23 November. The speakers were Professor Alister McGrath, author of a recent biography of Lewis; Walter Hooper, the literary advisor of the estate of C S Lewis; Revd. Dr Michael Piret, the Dean of Divinity at Magdalen; and Lord Williams, the Master of Magdalene College Cambridge and until recently the Archbishop of Canterbury. A dinner was held in the College Hall at which Laurence Harwood, the godson of C S Lewis, spoke.
On 22 November the President and Mrs Clary and Professor Simon Horobin, Tutorial Fellow in English, represented the College at the unveiling of a memorial to C S Lewis in Poet’s Corner at Westminster Abbey. | ||||
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] | 2013-11-22T14:01:46-04:00 | C.S. Lewis constructed the world of "Narnia" through seven novels, the most recognizable of which is "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." Even today, Gregory Maguire, author of the bestselling "Wicked," gets lost in C.S. Lewis' world of Narnia. "Imagine yourself going through a wardrobe and you think that you know the wardrobe is 4-feet deep and it has a back wall, but you don't get to the back wall, you keep going on. | en | PBS News | https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/celebrating-a-literary-giant-the-50th-anniversary-of-cs-lewiss-death | C.S. Lewis constructed the world of “Narnia” through seven novels, the most recognizable of which is “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
Even today, Gregory Maguire, author of the bestselling “Wicked,” gets lost in C.S. Lewis’ world of Narnia.
“Imagine yourself going through a wardrobe and you think that you know the wardrobe is 4-feet deep and it has a back wall, but you don’t get to the back wall, you keep going on. And then you find yourself in a snowy fantastic landscape that is nothing like the world in which you’ve known before.”
And so begins “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” of the “The Chronicles of Narnia,” the beloved children’s novels by C.S. Lewis that have sold more than 100 million copies and have been translated into 46 languages.
Friday marks the 50th anniversary of Lewis’s death. He died from renal failure in 1963 at the age of 64. It was one week before his 65th birthday.
Gregory Maguire spoke to chief arts correspondent Jeffrey Brown about the Narnia series and C.S. Lewis’s influence on the world of fantasy and Maguire’s own construction of Oz. Listen to the whole conversation.
C.S. Lewis broke new ground in 1950 with his fantasy series “The Chronicles of Narnia.” Photo by John Chillingworth/Picture Post/Getty Images
Born in Belfast, Ireland in November 1898, Clive Staple Lewis became one of the most well-renowned and widely recognized names in children’s literature. However, Lewis was primarily an author of adult novels. He published 30 books in total, including “The Screwtape Letters” and “The Great Divorce.”
Still, the seven installments that comprise “The Chronicles of Narnia” are his most well-known. According to Maguire, who is also a scholar of children’s literature, Lewis was hugely influential for both children’s literature and fantasy alike.
In fact, Maguire says, “You only have to open any book and you see, the wardrobe has many imitators.” One such imitator he points out comes from Philip Pullman’s 1995 “The Golden Compass.” Maguire points to a scene early in the book when Lyra, the protagonist, hides in a wardrobe to eavesdrop on her uncle in Oxford.
For Maguire, Narnia was magical. Lewis created this world over his whole lifetime. He drew from the stories that his Irish nurse would tell him as a child. Several years later, at the age of 16, Lewis fantasized about a faun carrying parcels and an umbrella through a snow-covered forest. And then, during World War II, Lewis was inspired by four children who stayed at his country house.
Located in Belfast, Ireland, “The Searcher” by Ross Wilson depicts C.S. Lewis looking into his magical wardrobe. Photo by Mike Johnson
When he finally sat down to write “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” Lewis called on his memories, including sitting in an old wardrobe with his brother, and his youthful imaginings to create the Narnia known today.
While Lewis was exploring his make-believe world, his close friend J.R.R. Tolkien was creating Middle Earth in “The Lord of the Rings” series. Together, the two created syntax for fantasy writing that is widely used today, but according to Maguire, they did so in almost opposite ways.
“The differences between Middle Earth and Narnia … are really vast because Narnia is built on the back of existing conventions,” Maguire says. “There’s a bit of Father Christmas there, there’s a bit of Christianity, there’s a bit of the Odyssey, there’s a bit of the Arabian Nights. Little scraps and bits and tatters from everything on the bookshelf that interested Lewis.” Tolkien wanted to create a whole new world that concealed his roots. He tried to “make something … new as if it had never been sighted before,” Maguire says.
In terms of his own writing, Maguire looked to Lewis for help: “When it was time for me to write ‘Wicked,’ I said I want to look at Oz the way C.S. Lewis looked at Narnia. I want to explore every corner and give it a deep and abiding subtlety and mystery the same sort that we can smell of Narnia whenever we walk into a piney wood even in upstate New York.”
Three major motion pictures have already been made from the Narnia series and the fourth, “The Silver Chair,” is in development.
Check out the slideshow below to view “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” cover art from 1950s to the e-book today. | |||||
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] | 2024-07-22T03:06:28 | Through fantasy, Lewis is showing what the Christian faith has always taught: that with God there is never room for despair. | en | /favicon.ico | Evangelical Focus | https://evangelicalfocus.com/features/24428/60-years-of-the-death-of-c-s-lewis | On 22 November 1963, the great British writer C.S. Lewis died in his own home known as The Kilns.
I am currently in Oxford, where he died. And I cannot help thinking of the huge influence he has had on my life, especially since I first came across his work through one of my professors at the seminary where I studied in England, Daniel Webber. Since those days I have not stopped reading him with increasing interest and edification.
At that time, Lewis's death went unnoticed because it coincided with the assassination of US President John F. Kennedy, in Dallas. I remember how when we were children my mother used to tell us about the impact of JFK's death, even in Spain. When years later I visited the Dallas museum dedicated to the memory of the president, on the sixth floor of the famous Dealey Plaza, I vividly remember signing the condolence book, echoing my mother's words about the murder.
Of course when you stand in the building, and at the window from which Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly shot the president, you can't help but doubt the official theory that it was the former Marine and resident of the former Soviet Union who did the shooting that ended Kennedy's life. From that position, it seems impossible to hit a moving object in the street.
Interestingly, another writer, Aldous Huxley, the famous author of Brave New World, also died on this date of 22 November. I read that book many years ago, but I am still impressed by its central thesis: the possibility of artificially manipulating human beings to give them complete happiness but, in exchange (there is always a price to pay) for giving up their freedom.
That is why, these days, BBC Radio 4 has broadcast a program with Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, about these three men united on the same day of their death under the suggestive title of Visionary Storytellers. There is a very curious book by Peter Kreeft in which he also reconstructs an imaginative dialogue between the three.
The title of the BBC program reinforces my conviction that if there is one legacy that C.S. Lewis left us, and whose relevance will endure, it will be his books of fiction: first and foremost, his Chronicles of Narnia, his stories, which are not just for children.
Another writer, Aldous Huxley, the famous author of Brave New World, also died on this date of 22 November
These fairy tales, which is the name under which we can include literature such as The Chronicles of Narnia, have not only left a deep impression on their readers, but continue to delight many through the different films that have been made about them.
The books combine adventure and fantasy in an intensely attractive world called Narnia, where one can encounter the strangest creatures: fauns, dwarves, animals and ... children.
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is undoubtedly the key that unravels the whole plot of the seven Narnia books, mainly because it introduces us to Aslan, the lion whose atoning sacrifice on behalf of Edmund's life points vividly to that of the One who died on our behalf on the cross, our Lord Jesus Christ.
His penal substitution is the key to understand salvation by faith alone in the One who loved us and gave Himself for us on Calvary.
I recall that when I gave a series of lectures on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe around Spain, following the success of the film, I was quite surprised by the inability of most of the listeners to see in Aslan's action a pale reflection of Christ's vicarious work on our behalf.
In our culture, Christ seems to be much more an example than a Saviour, for in order to save us. It is not understood among us that only Christ's work on our behalf saves us, but that is exactly what the Bible says, that salvation is of the Lord alone.
This is taught in passages such as Ephesians 2:8-10; Romans 11:6; Galatians 2:21; 2 Corinthians 5:21 and others.
But, apart from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, I have always thought that The Silver Chair, which was published in 1953, is the best of the whole series. The reason is that the plot, and I am not making any spoilers here, is a perfect illustration of the Christian life, which is lived by faith.
Even a casual reader of the Bible immediately realises the centrality of faith in the Bible, not just for the beginnings of the Christian life, but for the whole of it. Many passages confirm this, the best known, perhaps, being Hebrews 11:1-12:3.
However, faith in the Bible, far from being, as is commonly thought, a vulgar form of credulity, is trust based on the evidences that God Himself has given us of His existence. These are not only the basis of faith, but nourish it.
Faith, according to the Bible, is not faith in faith, but is rooted in a myriad of certainties, such as the divine promises, Romans 4:13,16, or the sense of God Himself implanted in every human being, Romans 1:19,20 - to name a few.
This is what we find in The Silver Chair. The hero in this case is not one of the Pevensie children but a strange character known as Puddleglum.
His role will be crucial in defeating the Green Witch in the Land of the Underworld where appearances are deceptive. Puddleglum will be victorious and save his companions because of his trust in the truth of things as they are and as he has been told.
The Silver Chair is a powerful statement against the scepticism, uncertainty and alienation that characterise many in our time.
But not only the Chronicles of Narnia are relevant today. I think his so-called Space or Cosmic Trilogy is equally relevant.
This series of science fiction books is less known to the general public but is almost as fascinating. It consists of three books: Beyond the Silent Planet, Perelandra and That Hideous Fortress. All three are highly entertaining but I would highlight the last one.
That Hideous Fortress is a dystopia in which we see the influence of one of C.S. Lewis's dearest friends, Charles Williams, a well-known English writer, whose novels are described by Nobel Prize winner T.S. Eliot as supernatural thrillers.
The importance of That Hideous Fortress lies in the fact that, like The Silver Chair, it deals with questions of great interest today, such as what makes us truly human, the dangers of totalitarianism, and many other highly current issues.
That Hideous Fortress is a fictionalisation of one of Lewis's most acclaimed prose works of modern times, The Abolition of Man.
That Hideous Fortress deals with questions of great interest today, such as what makes us truly human and the dangers of totalitarianism
In that little book, published in 1943, Lewis shows how there is an ethic or morality common to all mankind which he calls Tao. Paul mentions it in passages such as Romans 2:14,15.
This is a kind of natural law which would be normative for every human being but which for Lewis seemed threatened by a purely subjective view of right and wrong.
That shows Lewis's good insight, for such seems to be the prevailing philosophy today, a full-throated defence not of what is objectively right, but only of what I feel is right for me.
And while this may seem new to us, in reality there is nothing new under the sun as Ecclesiastes states. It was already said by a prophet to his own contemporaries in the 8th century BC, namely Isaiah in a passage such as chapter 5 and verse 20.
Lewis had a rare ability to show us what we really are. His fiction through all kinds of beings portrays us perfectly as guilty, weak and contradictory.
Lewis' fiction portrays us perfectly as guilty, weak and contradictory.
This is no small thing, for we see ourselves portrayed in so many of his characters, whatever they may be. But, at the same time, his fiction always points to some way out that will be given to us from above, in a way that is so often surprising and supernatural, which dazzles and shocks us at the same time.
Through fantasy Lewis is showing in an unexpected way what Christian faith has always taught in many ways in the Bible: that with God there is never room for despair, because our hope lies in the One whom C.S. Lewis' Aslan reflects so pale, the Lord Jesus Christ.
The One who truly died but now lives, and who will return victorious to this world to put an end to death for He alone controls everything, present and future, Revelation 1:18.
That is the ultimate reality to which all the good and phenomenally well-written stories of C.S. Lewis point. And that is why we must continue to read and enjoy the work of C.S. Lewis! | ||||
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] | null | [] | null | The day of C.S. Lewis | en | /favicon.ico | Travel Diaries | https://www.traveldiariesapp.com/en/diary/2393fc83-d4a4-4365-a1a3-00342fe971a8/chapter/45c1cdbb-5ea8-4bdd-be8e-923ad88d2600 | We didn’t have to eat breakfast until 8:30 this morning so I got to sleep in a little compared to usual and get up with enough time to get ready at my own pace. That room was so relaxing that I thoroughly enjoyed getting ready in it and staying in there as long as possible. By far my favorite hotel ever. The breakfast was also super fancy. There were 3 circle tables that were set to perfection. Every dish and utensil imaginable were on the table. They had multiple juice options, fruits, cereals, meats and cheeses, fried eggs, bacon, sausage, and coffee. It was delicious. I love breakfast. I love The White Swan hotel. I will come back one day. It is a great place to stay for anyone who might ever travel there. I have no idea how much it costs but it is totally worth it. We left there at about 9:30 and walked to the train station to take three different 30 minutes train rides to Oxford. There was a lot of switching and waiting involved. After the last train ride, we gathered outside the station and we started to count off. There are 24 of us and we each have a number to make sure no one gets left behind. I am number 7 but after me, there was silence. Number 8 was missing. Number 8 is Claire. Claire was missing. We all started searching for her and trying to contact her because she had somehow missed getting of the train since she was not near anyone from our group due to the very crowded train. After multiple failed attempts to contact her, we could only hope she would get off at the next station and come back. Hannah (group leader) waited for her as the rest of us glumly walked to our hotel. It was like there was a gray rain cloud above us because we were all worried about Claire getting back to us. We arrived at the location we are staying at called Keble College. We couldn’t check into our rooms yet so we had to take our bags to this other room while we traveled out for lunch. Half of the group went to a restaurant that C.S. Lewis spent a lot of time at while the other half went out on our own for lunch. My half gets to eat at that restaurant tomorrow for lunch. I went with 4 others to Bella Italia for lunch. On our way to lunch we saw Claire and Hannah walking the other direction and we were so relieved to see her! We knew we would have to hear her story later. For lunch, I got meatballs in sauce with bread. It wasn’t much but it was tasty. Then we walked back to the place we are staying to wait for a coach to take us to C.S. Lewis’s house. The other half of the group met back up with us. On the bus ride, Claire filled us in on her adventure. She said she didn’t see the rest of us get off at the station so she wasn’t aware that it was our stop until after they had left the station. She asked the lady next to her if the train passed Oxford and when she found out they had, she panicked briefly but then knew to get off at the next station and ask for help. She handled it like a champ and we are all very proud of her:) We missed her while she was absent. C.S. Lewis’s house was experiencing a public open house for visitors to walk through and see it which was great timing for our group because we were able to just waltz in for free and on our own time. It was neat to see his house and they created a little room with a door to Narnia which was cute. There are actually students working on furthering their higher education who live in the house year round so there were a couple of people there working on their studies which was a bit odd. I felt a ‘wee’ intrusive. The group gathered in his garden and enjoyed the blue sky for awhile until a big rain cloud started moving in and we decided to walk to the cemetery he is buried in. We found his gravestone. It is a rectangle stone that is as big as a coffin and lays flat on the ground with his name, Clive Staples Lewis. We all wandered around the cemetery for a bit because it was really pretty and peaceful after the rain briefly stopped. We then walked back to our coach and went back to the lodge we are staying at to check in. We got our keys and dispersed to our rooms. They are kind of like dorm rooms and we each have our own room. They are pretty depressing and basic. Nothing fancy here for sure. They kind of feel like a prison but I mean obviously better. Just a bit depressing. We all kind of relaxed until dinner so I took a short nap. We met up for dinner and walked around for awhile trying to find a place to eat for cheap since our stipend money for food is on its last leg. We found a fancier fast food restaurant called Leon. I got a chicken burger and waffle fries. It was good and cheap so I was happy with it. We walked around town a little more and went into random shops and then finally made our way back to this small kiosk where they sell a lot of different food options, but most importantly, milkshakes. The 5 of us got milkshakes and then made our way back to the lodge (I am not really sure how to refer to our accommodations tonight). We planned more free travel in some goofy moods and then tried to settle down to sleep. Tomorrow we have worship and a tour.
Fun Facts: The fire alarm went off during our lunch but it was for the building next door so the owner just struggled turning it off for like 15 minutes which didn’t really bother us because their fire alarms are a whole lot calmer than the ones in America, especially Freed’s dorms fire alarms. Yikes. Waiters in Europe take their sweet time getting you the bill, which wouldn’t be a problem if we ate for casual enjoyment but we almost always have somewhere to be so it is always a struggle getting out of any restaurant in a timely fashion. You cannot use Spotify (without premium), Google Music, Pandora, or Amazon Prime Video out of the country you live in…. unfortunately. I have seen the most homeless people in Oxford than anywhere else.
SHOUTOUT: Claire Livingston for being a brave soul today when she was a lost sheep from our flock! | ||||
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A Photo Tour of the Places C.S. Lewis Called Home
SOME SAY C.S. LEWIS FOUND inspiration for his writing in the wooded acres behind his longtime residence, The Kilns. Certainly he found creative company at Oxford University and in the Oxford public houses where he met with his friends and fellow intellectuals, the Inklings. In any case, The Kilns and Oxford became the settings for one of Christianity’s most extraordinary figures to study, write, and create.
A native of Belfast, Ireland, Lewis — or “Jack” as friends knew him — was only 18 years old when he first traveled to the ancient city of Oxford, England, in 1916. After leaving the train station, he took a wrong turn and walked away from Oxford down the Botley Road. Realizing his mistake, he turned to see Oxford in the distance. “There … never more beautiful since, was the fabled cluster of spires and towers,” he later wrote.
Lewis was to live in the Oxford area for the rest of his life, first as a student at University College and later as a member of the faculty of Magdalen College, two of the more than 30 colleges that made up Oxford University at the time. His education was interrupted by World War I, and when a close army friend, Paddy Moore, died in France in 1918, Lewis took on the responsibility of caring for the soldier’s mother and sister. In 1930, Jack Lewis and his brother, Warnie Lewis, pooled their money with that of Mrs. Janie King Moore to purchase The Kilns, a 9-acre property in Headington Quarry, just east of Oxford.
Warnie recorded their first impressions of The Kilns in a July 7, 1930, diary entry: “Jack and I went out and saw the place, and I instantly caught the infection. …The view from the cliff over the dim blue distance is simply glorious.”
The house was built in 1922 on a site that had been used to make bricks for the local area. Its name came from two old, funnel-shaped kilns, that were still located on the property. With the home also came a brick-drying house, tennis court, woods, and a pond. “The place was lovely and secluded …,” wrote Lewis’ former pupil George Sayer in Jack: C.S. Lewis and His Times. “Jack loved to wander through the woods during every season of the year and always wrote about the estate idyllically.”
In a letter to his friend Arthur Greeves, Jack wrote: “The Kilns has been delightful. I know the pond looks dirty, but one comes out perfectly clean. I wish you could join me as I board the punt in the before-breakfast solitude … .”
Walking was one of Lewis’ preferred modes of transportation, and the 3-mile walk from The Kilns to Oxford took him through the lamppost-lined streets of old Headington, through the Fellows Garden, and onto the grounds of Magdalen College along Addison’s Walk. Since Lewis had rooms at Magdalen, he spent several days and nights each week in Oxford.
It was while reading and studying in his Magdalen rooms that Lewis completed a gradual process of converting from atheism to theism. Later, with the help of friends J.R.R. Tolkien and Hugo Dyson, he became a Christian. As a new believer, Lewis began attending Morning Prayer in Magdalen Chapel and 8 a.m. Sunday services at Holy Trinity Church — the local parish near The Kilns that became his church “home” for 33 years.
Lewis was a founding member of the Inklings, a group of Oxford Christians — including Tolkien, Dyson, Owen Barfield, and Charles Williams — who met in Lewis’ rooms, or at The Eagle and Child, a local pub on St. Giles Street. They shared a love of imaginative literature and lively conversation. “Meetings of the Inklings made him utterly happy,” Sayer wrote of Lewis.
After Mrs. Moore’s death in 1951, Jack and Warnie lived quietly at The Kilns. It was during this time that Jack received a letter from Joy Davidman Gresham, an American poet. She came to Oxford to meet him, and they became friends. Eventually, Lewis offered to marry her in a civil wedding so that she could stay in England. When it was discovered that Joy had cancer, Jack and Joy were married in an ecclesiastical ceremony in Wingfield Hospital in Headington.
During a remission of her cancer, Joy came to live with Lewis at The Kilns for three years, taking notice of its state of disrepair. She organized a complete renovation of the home — and in so doing, became the first American to “save” The Kilns. She died on July 13, 1960.
Lewis lived at The Kilns for another three years and died there November 22, 1963, the same day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Lewis is buried in Holy Trinity’s churchyard.
Today, The Kilns and Oxford are places of pilgrimage for people from around the world who want to trace the footsteps of C.S. Lewis. His lasting influence is evident when visitors — including poets, politicians, scholars, and schoolchildren — arrive unannounced, seeking a tour of The Kilns, and recounting the ways in which the Oxford professor changed their lives.
— BY Kim Gilnett
— Photos By Dick Makin
Involved with C.S. Lewis study for more than 30 years, Fine Arts Marketing Associate Kim Gilnett was an early staff member for the Seattle Pacific University C.S. Lewis Institute, and helped lead several SPU C.S. Lewis study tours to Oxford. He is a member of the C.S. Lewis Foundation Board of Trustees, and from 1993 to 2000 provided leadership for the Foundation’s restoration of The Kilns. Since 2000, Gilnett has helped to host the Foundation’s Summer Seminars at The Kilns.
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correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 3 | 94 | https://www.gcu.edu/blog/spiritual-life/weekly-devotional-summer-series-cs-lewis-gods-love | en | Weekly Devotional: Summer Series- C.S. Lewis on God’s Love | [
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] | 2019-09-16T02:14:15-07:00 | C.S. Lewis is known as an amazing theologian, and his famous quote leads many to think on a deeper level. Take a look at this week's devotional. | en | /sites/default/files/favicon_1.ico | GCU | https://www.gcu.edu/blog/spiritual-life/weekly-devotional-summer-series-cs-lewis-gods-love | “He died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less.” –C. S. Lewis
C. S. Lewis was both an amazing theologian and an incredible author. He is best known for his series The Chronicles of Narnia. Today, we often quote him, as he was very well-spoken and wise. One of his most interesting theological quotes states that Jesus “died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less.”
This idea that Jesus’ death was for the individual and not just for the general population is extremely impactful. We hear time and time again how Jesus came to earth and died to save the world in church, and while this is true, we generally don’t think about it on a personal level. Yes, Jesus did come to save all men from their sins, but He also died for us all individually.
God knew all of us before we were born. He loved you and cared about you before you even existed, so much so that He sent Jesus to die for you. Like Lewis says, if you had been the only one on earth, He would have done the exact same. Jesus didn’t just die to save everyone, and you just happened to be a part of humanity, He came to save you, personally, because He loves you.
Lewis shows this concept in his books. In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, four children find themselves in the land of Narnia, ruled by Aslan. One brother, Edmund, falls into temptation at the hands of the evil White Witch and becomes her slave. To free Edmund from bondage, Aslan agrees to sacrifice himself, allowing the witch and her companions to kill him.
In the end, Aslan resurrects, in a Christ-like fashion, and defeats the White Witch once and for all. The point, however, is that Aslan suffered and died for the freedom of one boy. Ultimately, Aslan saved everyone, but he died to free Edmund.
Similarly, Jesus died to save us personally. Knowing this, we can grow to have a more personal relationship with Him. He loves us more than we could ever imagine and more than anyone on earth ever could. This is why it is often hard to wrap our minds around God’s love. We don’t see that kind of love anywhere else on earth. We think of humans, who would rarely die to save one life. Maybe they would die to save many, but to save one? It seems humanly impossible.
This is what makes God’s love so incredible. We are nothing. We are sinners. We are the worst of the worst, but still, Jesus died for us. We don’t deserve to be saved, and yet He saves us anyways and He would do it again and again if it meant communion with Him.
So if you ever question His love, just remember what Lewis says. If you had been the only one on earth, Jesus would have done no less. He loves you more than you could ever comprehend. | ||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 37 | https://www.amarillo.com/story/lifestyle/faith/2013/11/09/author-cs-lewis-finally-gets-his-due/13294264007/ | en | Author C.S. Lewis finally gets his due | [
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] | 2013-11-09T00:00:00 | You may have heard this story before. My wife, Kathy, and I were on a city bus in Oxford, England, about to get off a couple of blocks from the Kilns, the longtime home of C.S. Lewis. \n A big part of… | en | Amarillo Globe-News | https://www.amarillo.com/story/lifestyle/faith/2013/11/09/author-cs-lewis-finally-gets-his-due/13294264007/ | You may have heard this story before. My wife, Kathy, and I were on a city bus in Oxford, England, about to get off a couple of blocks from the Kilns, the longtime home of C.S. Lewis.
A big part of that winter trip to England was our arranged private tour of the famous house where the celebrated Christian writer once lived. He resided there from 1930 to his death in 1963.
On the almost-empty bus were a man and a woman, not together. We found out the woman attended Holy Trinity Church, the Anglican parish where Lewis and his brother, Warren, had sat in their regular pew for years.
The man had a different take on Lewis. As I recall, he said in his British accent that yes, he knew where Lewis' house was but that "I don't agree with what he stood for."
As someone who strongly agrees with the Christianity that Lewis stood for, I was dismayed but not surprised. After all, Oxford University, where the author of "Mere Christianity" and "The Chronicles of Narnia" taught, had not put its association with him front and center through the decades. Neither had England as a whole. In fact, after his rise to fame in the 1940s and 1950s had faded, Lewis had become more popular in America than in his home country.
So I'm happy that this Nov. 22, 50 years after Lewis died - on the same day as President Kennedy - the professor, writer of children's books and creative defender of the faith will be recognized with a memorial stone in Poets' Corner, the cluttered area of Westminster Abbey where 108 creative people already are either buried or have their names inscribed for posterity. Among them are Geoffrey Chaucer, John Milton, Charles Dickens and Jane Austen.
Despite some signs of spiritual life last time Kathy and I made it to the United Kingdom, the UK is not a nation of churchgoers. Even in his own day, some considered Lewis an intellectual rebel for embracing Christianity. When he made the cover of Time magazine in 1947, the caption read, "Oxford's C.S. Lewis. His heresy: Christianity."
Michael Ward, whose story, "How Lewis Lit the Way" is in this month's Christianity Today, told the magazine earlier that "It takes a while in Britain for a great man to be recognized as such. But Lewis has been safely dead now for 50 years, and we can afford to recognize him as the major figure he was."
The figure who wrote about a devil's apprentice and a Christlike lion also contributed much to literary criticism and medieval studies, which gives nonbelievers something to latch onto. "He is, by any standard, someone who is a serious intellectual … who thinks about the society we're in," said Rowan Williams, former archbishop of Canterbury, in Christianity Today.
Lewis is buried in his home churchyard, a mile or two from his Oxford home. Kathy and I had to go to great lengths to get there. Now millions will have a chance to see his name inside one of Britain's best-known tourist attractions.
Mike Haynes teaches journalism at Amarillo College. He can be reached at the college, the Amarillo Globe-News or haynescolumn@hotmail.com. Go to www.haynes
column.blogspot.com for other recent columns.
An update on the C.S. Lewis Foundation's efforts to establish a C.S. Lewis College: After failing to raise enough money to own and operate a picturesque campus in Northfield, Mass., the foundation apparently decided to settle for small steps. It has bought "Green Pastures," a historic house across the street from that campus. Several generations of the family of D.L. Moody, the renowned evangelist, lived in the home, which will be converted into a C.S. Lewis Study Center. | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 38 | https://shaynelooper.com/2016/11/26/on-the-anniversary-of-the-death-of-c-s-lewis/ | en | On the Anniversary of the Death of C. S. Lewis | [
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] | null | [] | 2016-11-26T00:00:00 | A Google search for C. S. Lewis will produce nearly 58 million hits. If a person were to look at each site for 30 seconds, then go on to the next one, and do this without stopping to eat or sleep or take any kind of a break, it would take over 50 years. But… | en | https://s1.wp.com/i/favicon.ico | The Way Home | https://shaynelooper.com/2016/11/26/on-the-anniversary-of-the-death-of-c-s-lewis/ | A Google search for C. S. Lewis will produce nearly 58 million hits. If a person were to look at each site for 30 seconds, then go on to the next one, and do this without stopping to eat or sleep or take any kind of a break, it would take over 50 years. But by then there may be an additional 50 million hits, and so one would have to start over.
The celebrated Oxford don is more popular today, 53 years after his death, than ever before. Over a hundred million Lewis books have been sold. His Narnia fantasies have been made into major motion pictures, and Lewis’s story has been told on television and in theaters. Scholarly papers subject his work to academic scrutiny at colloquiums and conferences all over the world. C. S. Lewis has become an industry.
What would he think of all this? The answer, I think, is that he would try not to think of it. Once, when Walter Hooper asked Lewis if he ever gave thought to his bourgeoning reputation, Lewis answered in a “low, still voice, and with the deepest and most complete humility I’ve ever observed in anyone, ‘One cannot be too careful not to think of it.’”
I have been a student of C. S. Lewis for many years. I’ve read his fiction, his Christian non-fiction, his academic books on literary criticism, his essays and even his collected letters. Lewis has been one of the two or three most important teachers in my life. So when I recently was asked to be guest instructor for a home school co-op class on Great Christians, with the assignment of introducing students to C. S. Lewis, I jumped at the chance.
Students were impressed by the fact that the celebrated scholar suffered painful loss and ongoing trials, just like all the rest of us. The “joyful Christian,” as he has been called, endured great hardships, beginning with his childhood in Belfast, Ireland, and continuing until his premature death, one week before his 65th birthday.
Lewis’s mother died when he was nine. A short time later his attorney father sent him to a boarding school, the first of several disastrous school experiences to which he was subjected. The relationship with his father was always distant, and frequently trying.
Lewis succeeded in winning a scholarship to University College, Oxford, but within a few months of his arrival was inducted into the army and sent to fight in France in the First World War. The young Lewis, now an avowed atheist, was wounded at Somme. His friend, “Paddy” Moore, was killed. Lewis had promised Moore that he would take care of his mother, which he did until her death, but it was a complicated relationship that became very vexing.
Lewis was a man with many friends, but his “dearest and closest friend” was his brother Warren. Warren (or Warnie, as he was called) was a career military man, but when he was in England the brothers shared a house. Lewis was deeply devoted to his brother, but his brother’s ongoing battle with alcoholism was a painful trial that sometimes left him at a complete loss.
There were other losses and trials. Lewis grieved deeply the sudden and unexpected death of his “great friend, friend of friends…Charles Williams.” At Oxford Lewis was continually passed over for a professorship because of his very public Christian faith. His friend J.R.R. Tolkien complained that “Oxford has not…treated [Lewis] very well.”
Lewis faced grief, relationship problems, and professional disappointments, but his greatest hardship was the death of his wife Joy. Lewis didn’t marry until the last decade of his life, but he developed a profound love for his wife. She was diagnosed with cancer, went briefly into remission (in what may have been the happiest time in Lewis’s life), and then suddenly died.
The brilliant thinker, remarkable scholar, engaging writer, and influential Christian was also a man who suffered trial and loss. Yet he remained joyfully hopeful. It was this Lewis who impressed my students, and who has impressed me. It is this Lewis I hold in highest esteem.
First published in The Coldwater Daily Reporter, 11/26/2016 | ||||
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] | null | [] | null | Including: Lewis gave away his royalties and how he helped Tolkien write 'The Lord of the Rings.' | en | /apple-touch-icon.png | PublishersWeekly.com | https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/tip-sheet/article/81733-10-things-you-probably-didn-t-know-about-c-s-lewis.html | In the meticulous biography Becoming C.S. Lewis, the first of a planned trilogy, Harry Lee Poe chronicles Lewis’s first 20 years: it is the death of Lewis’s mother, when he was nine years old, that Poe asserts caused Lewis (1898–1963) to ponder life’s big questions and the problem of suffering. Poe closely examines Lewis’s education, starting with two years at Wynyard School in England—a miserable place known for beating its students—then short stints at other schools, before, at age 14, studying under William Kirkpatrick, who influenced Lewis’s atheist beliefs (Lewis’s conversion to Christianity didn’t occur until his 30s). This excellent work will have readers eagerly anticipating the next volume. Poe shares some little-known facts about the writer.
C.S. Lewis gained acclaim as a children’s author for his classic series The Chronicles of Narnia. He also gained acclaim for his popular apologetics, including such works as Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. What is more, he gained acclaim as a science fiction writer for his Ransom Trilogy. Furthermore, he gained acclaim for his scholarly work in Medieval and Renaissance literature with The Allegory of Love and A Preface to Paradise Lost. Many writers have their fleeting moment of fame before their books become yesterday’s child – all the rage and then has-been. Remarkably, Lewis’s books in all of these areas have remained in print for seventy, eighty, and ninety years. Over the years, the print runs have grown.
Even though several movies and stage plays have told the story of Lewis, along with a handful of biographies, many people who know of his work may be surprised by the Lewis they do not know.
1. Lewis was not English. He was Irish. Because of his long association with Oxford University, and later with Cambridge, many people assume he was English. When he first went to school in England as a boy, he had a strong Irish accent. Both the students and the headmaster made fun of young Lewis, and he hated the English in turn. It would be many years before he overcame his prejudice against the English.
2. Lewis could not play team sports. Perhaps it would be better to say that he could not succeed at team sports. One of the features of human anatomy that separates us from the lower primates is the two-jointed thumb, which helped us enormously in the development of technology and civilization. Lewis and his brother Warnie had only one joint in their thumbs which left them hopeless at throwing, catching, or hitting balls. As a result of his failure on the playing field, young Lewis was subjected to ridicule and abuse from the other students at school and made to feel unworthy to draw breath.
3. Lewis was a shy man. In spite of his great skill at debate and his mastery of the platform in holding an audience of hundreds in the palm of his hand, Lewis was shy in everyday encounters with other people he did not know. His enormous publishing success came in spite of his inability to put himself forward instead of from any effort on his part to market himself.
4. Lewis gave away the royalties from his books. Though he had only a modest salary as a tutor at Magdalen College, Lewis set up a charitable trust to give away whatever money he received from his books. Having given away his royalties when he first began this practice, he was startled to learn that the government still expected him to pay taxes on the money he had earned!
5. Lewis never expected to make any money from his books. He was sure they would all be out of print by the time he died. He advised one of his innumerable correspondents that a first edition of The Screwtape Letters would not be worth anything since it would be a used book. He advised not paying more than half the original price. They now sell for over $1200.
6. Lewis was instrumental in Tolkien’s writing of The Lord of the Rings. Soon after they became friends in the 1920s, J. R. R. Tolkien began showing Lewis snatches of a massive myth he was creating about Middle Earth. When he finally began writing his “new Hobbit” that became The Lord of the Rings, he suffered from bouts of writer’s block that could last for several years at a time. Lewis provided the encouragement and the prodding that Tolkien needed to get through these dry spells.
7. Lewis had a favorite kind of story. Lewis loved Norse mythology and science fiction, but his favorite kind of story was the journey to the world’s end on a great quest to gain that most valuable prize, the great unattainable thing. He found this story as a teenager in the medieval story of the quest for the Holy Grail. It is the plot of Spenser’s The Fairie Queene and of George MacDonald’s Phantastes. It would be a plot he incorporated into The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and The Pilgrim’s Regress.
8. Lewis earned two degrees at Oxford. Lewis had planned to have a career as a philosopher, teaching at Oxford University. When he could not get a job upon graduation, he remained at Oxford an additional year and did a second degree in English literature. He could complete the degree in only one year because he had read the books in the English syllabus for his pleasure reading when he was a teenager. In the end, he taught English literature instead of philosophy.
9. Lewis’s first book was a collection of poetry he wrote as a teenager. Before he planned to be a philosopher, the teenage Lewis hoped to become a great poet. He wrote poetry with the hope of publishing his work and gaining fame. He returned to England after being injured in France during World War I and published his collection as Spirits in Bondage under the pen name of Clive Hamilton. | ||||
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] | null | [] | null | en | null | Jack's Life at The Kilns and in Oxford
A Photo Tour of the Places C.S. Lewis Called Home
SOME SAY C.S. LEWIS FOUND inspiration for his writing in the wooded acres behind his longtime residence, The Kilns. Certainly he found creative company at Oxford University and in the Oxford public houses where he met with his friends and fellow intellectuals, the Inklings. In any case, The Kilns and Oxford became the settings for one of Christianity’s most extraordinary figures to study, write, and create.
A native of Belfast, Ireland, Lewis — or “Jack” as friends knew him — was only 18 years old when he first traveled to the ancient city of Oxford, England, in 1916. After leaving the train station, he took a wrong turn and walked away from Oxford down the Botley Road. Realizing his mistake, he turned to see Oxford in the distance. “There … never more beautiful since, was the fabled cluster of spires and towers,” he later wrote.
Lewis was to live in the Oxford area for the rest of his life, first as a student at University College and later as a member of the faculty of Magdalen College, two of the more than 30 colleges that made up Oxford University at the time. His education was interrupted by World War I, and when a close army friend, Paddy Moore, died in France in 1918, Lewis took on the responsibility of caring for the soldier’s mother and sister. In 1930, Jack Lewis and his brother, Warnie Lewis, pooled their money with that of Mrs. Janie King Moore to purchase The Kilns, a 9-acre property in Headington Quarry, just east of Oxford.
Warnie recorded their first impressions of The Kilns in a July 7, 1930, diary entry: “Jack and I went out and saw the place, and I instantly caught the infection. …The view from the cliff over the dim blue distance is simply glorious.”
The house was built in 1922 on a site that had been used to make bricks for the local area. Its name came from two old, funnel-shaped kilns, that were still located on the property. With the home also came a brick-drying house, tennis court, woods, and a pond. “The place was lovely and secluded …,” wrote Lewis’ former pupil George Sayer in Jack: C.S. Lewis and His Times. “Jack loved to wander through the woods during every season of the year and always wrote about the estate idyllically.”
In a letter to his friend Arthur Greeves, Jack wrote: “The Kilns has been delightful. I know the pond looks dirty, but one comes out perfectly clean. I wish you could join me as I board the punt in the before-breakfast solitude … .”
Walking was one of Lewis’ preferred modes of transportation, and the 3-mile walk from The Kilns to Oxford took him through the lamppost-lined streets of old Headington, through the Fellows Garden, and onto the grounds of Magdalen College along Addison’s Walk. Since Lewis had rooms at Magdalen, he spent several days and nights each week in Oxford.
It was while reading and studying in his Magdalen rooms that Lewis completed a gradual process of converting from atheism to theism. Later, with the help of friends J.R.R. Tolkien and Hugo Dyson, he became a Christian. As a new believer, Lewis began attending Morning Prayer in Magdalen Chapel and 8 a.m. Sunday services at Holy Trinity Church — the local parish near The Kilns that became his church “home” for 33 years.
Lewis was a founding member of the Inklings, a group of Oxford Christians — including Tolkien, Dyson, Owen Barfield, and Charles Williams — who met in Lewis’ rooms, or at The Eagle and Child, a local pub on St. Giles Street. They shared a love of imaginative literature and lively conversation. “Meetings of the Inklings made him utterly happy,” Sayer wrote of Lewis.
After Mrs. Moore’s death in 1951, Jack and Warnie lived quietly at The Kilns. It was during this time that Jack received a letter from Joy Davidman Gresham, an American poet. She came to Oxford to meet him, and they became friends. Eventually, Lewis offered to marry her in a civil wedding so that she could stay in England. When it was discovered that Joy had cancer, Jack and Joy were married in an ecclesiastical ceremony in Wingfield Hospital in Headington.
During a remission of her cancer, Joy came to live with Lewis at The Kilns for three years, taking notice of its state of disrepair. She organized a complete renovation of the home — and in so doing, became the first American to “save” The Kilns. She died on July 13, 1960.
Lewis lived at The Kilns for another three years and died there November 22, 1963, the same day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Lewis is buried in Holy Trinity’s churchyard.
Today, The Kilns and Oxford are places of pilgrimage for people from around the world who want to trace the footsteps of C.S. Lewis. His lasting influence is evident when visitors — including poets, politicians, scholars, and schoolchildren — arrive unannounced, seeking a tour of The Kilns, and recounting the ways in which the Oxford professor changed their lives.
— BY Kim Gilnett
— Photos By Dick Makin
Involved with C.S. Lewis study for more than 30 years, Fine Arts Marketing Associate Kim Gilnett was an early staff member for the Seattle Pacific University C.S. Lewis Institute, and helped lead several SPU C.S. Lewis study tours to Oxford. He is a member of the C.S. Lewis Foundation Board of Trustees, and from 1993 to 2000 provided leadership for the Foundation’s restoration of The Kilns. Since 2000, Gilnett has helped to host the Foundation’s Summer Seminars at The Kilns.
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correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 59 | https://www.historyspage.com/post/cs-lewis-inklings-memories-walter-hooper | en | CS Lewis and The Inklings: Memories of Lewis' Secretary, Walter Hooper | [
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"Solomon Schmidt"
] | 2022-01-09T08:52:22.024000+00:00 | This paper contains priceless memories of the time Walter Hooper spent with two great men who were lions of the Christian faith. | en | History's Page | https://www.historyspage.com/post/cs-lewis-inklings-memories-walter-hooper | Introduction by Solomon Schmidt
In November of 2020, Walter Hooper only had a few weeks left to live. This limitlessly kind and unassuming man was spending his last days in an Oxford nursing home, his body and mind weakening each hour. I gave my friend a call, and a frail voice answered the line. When I offered to read him something by C.S. Lewis, though, Mr. Hooper verbally perked up and listened for several minutes to words written by his dear friend.
That was one of the very last times I talked to Walter Hooper, after nearly two years of weekly phone conversations that sometimes lasted two hours. He was the kindest and most humble man I have ever known, and also one of the most fascinating. Having been C.S. Lewis’s secretary, friends with J.R.R. Tolkien, and an acquaintance of Pope John Paul II, Mr. Hooper had plenty of interesting (and occasionally funny!) memories to share that no one else alive today would be able to.
After C.S. Lewis died in 1963, Walter Hooper decided to devote the rest of his life to preserving Lewis’s legacy. Fast-forward fifty-eight years, and today, we can look back and see that is exactly what he did. As literary executor of the C.S. Lewis Estate, Mr. Hooper edited a multitude of previously unpublished books and essays by Lewis, wrote several reference and biographical books on Lewis, and also made sure that none of Lewis’s works ever went out of print.
******
January 8, 2021, was a sad day. England had just been hit by a second wave of the coronavirus, and the country was in lockdown. Gray clouds blanketed the skies over Oxford, and a gentle rain fell as a handful of mourners gathered at St Aloysius Gonzaga Church, where J.R.R. Tolkien and Walter Hooper used to attend daily mass. As I looked at the stained-glass surrounding me and shivered inside the cold church, I thought of how sunny it was in England the last time I had visited. It was the summer of 2019, and Mr. Hooper was still alive. We visited for a while at his apartment, where pictures of him with Lewis and John Paul II adorned the walls, and then had a wonderful dinner together at The Trout, a 400-year-old Oxford pub.
On the day of his funeral, though, I felt lonely and very far away from 2019. But then, I was reminded of a wonderful story about Mr. Hooper, which one of his godsons told during a moving eulogy at the funeral. Many years back, a college student disparagingly asked Walter Hooper how he felt about having lived his life in another man’s shadow. The student was referring to C.S. Lewis, but in his reply, Mr. Hooper transcended the student’s spite and pettiness. “It feels wonderful,” he said. “And I would do it all over again, because it was a Bright Shadow.” The student did not realize it, but Mr. Hooper was referencing a phrase that C.S. Lewis used to refer to Jesus Christ. For at the end of the day, as I was reminded, Walter Hooper was first and foremost a devout, passionate Christian, whose faith fueled his entire life and work.
After the requiem mass finished, everyone filed out of the church and drove in a slow procession to Wolvercote Cemetery. My friend’s body had been placed in the ground just a stone’s throw away from where the remains of J.R.R. Tolkien lie.
Even though Walter Hooper is no longer with us, I believe that his work will live on for many generations. The paper you are about to read contains priceless memories of the time he spent with two great men who were lions of the Christian faith and dramatically changed the course of literary history. Mr. Hooper gave me this document a few years ago, and it has never been published for free access online before. I hope you enjoy reading it and basking in the bright shadow that was Walter Hooper’s life and work.
— Solomon Schmidt, December 2021
The Transcript of Walter Hooper's Oxford Lecture
"I keep telling myself that I should apologise for the amount of autobiography this talk contains. That is because my friendship with Lewis, compared to that of many others, such as his brother Warnie, Professor Tolkien, and Owen Barfield, was of very short duration. Even so, each of Lewis’s friends saw him from an individual and particular angle, and while I wish for your sake you could have had Warnie or Owen or Tolkien as your speaker, those men are in Heaven and I am grateful to you for accepting my individual and particular angle instead.
My introduction to Lewis’s writings goes back to May 1953 when I was nearing my final term at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. This was the time of the Korean War and all young men were worried whether they’d be allowed to finish their degree before they were drafted into the army.
The draft board had promised to leave me alone for a few months, and in that happy place during a happy time of my life, I was introduced to J.B.Phillip’s Letters to Young Churches: A Translation of the New Testament Epistles (1947). It contained an Introduction by C.S. Lewis. I’d never heard his name before, and I read the Introduction simply because it was there. It made a total conquest of me. [[I’ve been trying ever since 1953 to explain to others why that brief article – now published as ‘Modern Translation of the Bible’ in God in the Dock – had such a powerful impact. What came through the introduction was not simply information about the Epistles but something about Lewis.]] I believe now, and I think I sensed it in 1953, that I’d stumbled upon someone whose faith was as certain as that of the Apostles. Lewis believed – or so it seems to me – with the certainty of St Peter and those who had been with Jesus.
After a number of deferments I finished my degree and I went straight into the army and Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Days before I was drafted I found a copy of Lewis’s Miracles, and this went with me. During basic training I kept Miracles hidden beneath my shirt, which made for a good deal of discomfort during callisthenics and bayonet practice. However, in those little ten-minute breaks between firing bazookas and throwing grenades, I managed to read a page or so. If a book can hold your interest during all that excitement, and while you’re crawling under barbed wire in a muddy trench, it is a very, very good book.
I began corresponding with Lewis shortly after this. In that first letter from Lewis, dated 30 November 1954, he emphasised this very thing. I don’t think he wanted me to think too highly of him because he began by saying, ‘I am glad if I have been the instrument of Our Lord’s help to you: in His Hands almost any instrument will do, otherwise none. We should, I believe, distrust states of mind which turn our attention upon ourselves.’
We continued to correspond, and it was while I was lecturing on English Literature at the University of Kentucky at Lexington in the early 1960s that I began writing an academic book about Lewis – never completed. This led Lewis to invite me to come and see him if I should come to Oxford. Up until this time I would have been a very happy and contented young man if I could but see Lewis. But this was a chance to actually meet him.
I went to Oxford in June 1963. I had an appointment with Lewis at the house – The Kilns, Kilns Lane in Headington Quarry – on Monday the 10th June. However, I’d been warned that his house, some five miles from Oxford, was very difficult to find, and on Friday afternoon, the 7th June, almost as soon as I’d arrived in Oxford, I went out to see if I could find his house. No one in Kiln Lane could tell me where he lived, but someone showed me where his housekeeper lived, and I went there. The housekeeper, Mrs Miller, said she’d just seen him arrive back from Cambridge, and she urged me to go and call on him.
I arrived at The Kilns about 4 o’clock. The house face uphill, and when I walked round to the front door I saw a man with his back to the window reading. I rang the bell and regretted bitterly that I was bothering Lewis. Never had I seen myself in so unfavourable a light – an ignorant, provincial Tar Hell calling on this great man! But it was too late to flee. Someone was unlocking the door, and there stood C.S.Lewis.
It turned out that I’d arrived at tea time, a favourite time of the day for Lewis who was a great, a monumental tea drinker. ‘You can’t get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me,’ he said one time. I too was a lover of tea, but my intake had never been as gargantuan as his. As soon as we’d finished one pot of tea, Lewis would go to the kitchen and make another, and another. I was quite a shy young Southern American at that time, but after what seemed gallons of it, I asked if I might be shown the ‘bathroom.’ Remember, I’d only just arrived in England, and I did not then know that in most homes the bathroom and the toilet are separate rooms.
With a touch of mock formality Lewis conducted me to what was really the bathroom. He flung down several towels, produced several tablets of soap, and before closing the door on me he asked if I had everything I needed for my ‘bath.’ ‘Oh, yes!’ I said with some alarm. By this time I was very uncomfortable, and I finally got up enough nerve to go back in the sitting-room and say that it was not really a ‘bath’ I wanted. Lewis was roaring with laughter, and he said, ‘Now that will break you of those silly American euphemisms. Let’s start over again. Where do you want to go?’
There I was, catapulted right into a far more interesting life than I’d imagined was to be had, and pretty soon we were talking about everything under the sun, Lewis constantly making verbal distinctions, and catching me out on logical points. I remember a valuable distinction he made that afternoon. I asked which of his books he thought ‘best,’ and his answer was Perelandra. He then asked which I ‘liked’ the most. Thinking we were talking about the same thing, I said, ‘Well, I agree with you that Perelandra is the best of your books.’ ‘I didn’t ask which you thought “best”,’ said Lewis, ‘but which you like most.’ ‘Oh, in that case, I said the one I like most, and indeed more than any book, is That Hideous Strength.’ ‘Don’t you see the difference? said Lewis. ‘You may think one thing better than another, but you might like something else better.’ The effect of all this clear talk was that by the time I had to leave I liked Lewis so much that I foresaw a life ahead of me that would be very dull compared to the few hours I’d just had.
Lewis walked with me to the bus stop, with a visit to his local pub, the Ampleforth Arms, which was just beside it. I remember that on that brief walk I was surprised that Lewis had turned out to be so much more than I imagined he would be. I remember thinking, ‘I love this dear man.’ We’d just finished our pint when the bus arrived. I assumed this meeting had replaced the one on Monday and I thanked Lewis for giving me so much of his time. He looked surprised, and said, ‘you’re not getting away! You’re coming to the Inklings meeting on Monday.’
As you probably know, the Thursday evening meetings of the Inklings ended in 1949, but the Tuesday morning meetings continued, with one alteration. After Lewis became a Professor at Cambridge in 1955, he came home for the weekend and went back to Cambridge on Monday afternoon. For this reason, the meetings were changed to Monday mornings. In 1962 they moved the venue from the Bird and Baby across the street to the Lamb and Flag.
Professor Tolkien was not at the first meeting I attended, but his son Christopher was there, along with most of the other Inklings, [[Colin Hardie, Public Oratory of the University, Fr Gervase Mathew, Dr Humphrey Havard, Commander James Dundas-Grand, R.B. McCallum, Master of Pembroke College, John Wain (not the cowboy) and Roger Lancelyn Green.]] I’d never witnessed anything like the conversation on that occasion. Lewis by no means did all the talking, or even much of it. He picked up on something I said, and threw it like a ball around the room. The subject was commented on by others, and pretty soon I was saying things that certainly did not represent my usual way of talking. We all know people who make us feel insecure and around whom we sound like fools. Lewis was the opposite. He brought you out. He encouraged you. You were your best in his company. By the time we’d had our pints and pork pies, and the meeting was ended, I was stunned at what had happened. To paraphrase Shakespeare, Lewis was not only ‘witty in himself’, but the ‘cause of wit’ in other men. Remembering that first Inklings meeting, I believe it was the first time I detected in Lewis what he once defined as love of one’s neighbour – ‘a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.’
Lewis invited me back to the Kilns on Wednesday. He then suggested I come out on Sunday so we could go to Communion together at Holy Trinity Church. After the service that Sunday we returned to the Kilns for breakfast. Lewis enjoyed cooking breakfast, and there was excellent conversation over fried eggs, bacon, sausage and toast.
After this we settled into a regular routine of thrice-weekly meetings: Monday at the Lamb and Flag, Wednesdays at The Kilns, and Sundays when we went to Church together. Lewis’s brother, Warnie, was at this time in Ireland. One of his stepsons, Douglas, was at home, and the other who I soon met, David, was in a College in London. The others who made up the ‘Kilns family’ were Lewis’s house-keeper, Mrs Miller, who lived in Kiln Lane, and his gardener and general factotum, Fred Paxford, who had been with Lewis since 1930. He remains in my memory as a man of immense integrity, completely dedicated to ‘Mr Jack’ as he called Lewis.
Lewis’s marriage has recently been made the subject of a film, Shadowlands. But at the time I found it hard to remember that Lewis had been married, and I said that he didn’t strike me as a marrying man. ‘That’s because we were together such a short time,’ he said, ‘and besides, I’ve always been a bachelor at heart.’ It was, however, indirectly through Joy that I came to understand something important about Lewis – his relish for what he called ‘rational opposition.’
One day after the Inklings meeting, Dr Havard - or ‘Humphrey’ as Lewis called him - drove three of us out to the Trout pub at Godstow. This beautiful old 14th century pub was one of Lewis’s favourite places, and while having our sandwiches outside, beside the river, Lewis told me what Joy had said about Southern men – which was that they dominated women. He asked what I had to say about the matter. I felt trapped. I didn’t agree with Joy, but I was afraid of saying so lest he be offended. I’d been brought up to think that if you didn’t agree with someone’s likes or dislikes you didn’t like him. Absurd as this may be, I think it is true of many people on this side of the Atlantic. It was certainly true of me, and up until this occasion it prevented me from enjoying ‘rational opposition.’ I tried to avoid a straight answer, but Lewis was persistent. ‘Do you agree with her?’ he asked. ‘Well, no,’ I said, ‘Then, what do you disagree with?’ he asked. ‘Everything,’ I said finally, ‘She was totally wrong.’
While Humphrey and I were inside getting more beer, I asked if he thought I had offended Lewis. ‘Good heavens, No!’ he said. ‘He loved his wife, but he didn’t always agree with her!’ I soon came to realise that for Lewis conversation was always about something, that the purpose of it was to argue towards truth. Furthermore, I sensed that this arguing towards truth has been one of the things Lewis enjoyed about Joy, perhaps was one of the main reasons they became friends in the first place.
[[Dr Havard was Lewis’s doctor and it was his bad luck to diagnose the aches and pains in Joy’s leg as fibrositis – rather than the cancer it actually was. Whether his wrong diagnosis made things worse in the end I don’t know. But, not surprisingly, it turned Joy totally against Humphrey, and during the period of the marriage Lewis rarely saw his old friend. After I’d been with Humphrey a number of times Lewis told me how sad he was he had to stop seeing him. ‘But,’ he said, ‘after Joy died we met up again and have continued as always. Wasn’t that good of him?’ He went on to say: ‘He was not a good doctor – but he was a good friend.’ ]]
Ever since I’d read Miracles during basic training I’d wondered what Lewis’s conversation would be liked. It was first and foremost very like his books: not that his conversation sounded ‘bookish’, but that his books are like his conversation. You know, don’t you, that nearly all Lewis’s works are written in the first person? Even Lewis had to repeat himself occasionally, and I remember him saying several things exactly as they appear in his books.
The main difference was that, whereas his books say what they say and that is it, his conversation was, to quote Hebrews, ‘alive and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit.’ It was as if the words in his books came alive, expressing far more than print is capable of. Lewis had no ‘small talk’ so far as I could tell, and one would never have used around him such a lazy expression as ‘Whatever.’ As I said, he was always arguing towards truth. That was both the terror and the joy of conversation with him. But I loved every minute of it. His arguments were so impersonal, in a very good sense, that I began thinking of the subject under discussion as something visible there on the table in front of us. It wasn’t about Lewis; it wasn’t about you; it was about it – the subject under discussion. Because his conversation was so ‘alive and active’ it was hard to remember all but fragments. Reading his books is a very close approximation to being in Lewis’s company and hearing his talk. But whereas you can stop reading a book, you had to be on your toes all the time with Lewis. Once when I wasn’t sure how to answer something I said, ‘Well, it’s all very interesting.’ ‘What?’ he said. ‘Have we finished that conversation?’ ‘Oh, no!’ I said, and back to it we went. As one of Lewis’s pupils said to me one time, ‘Arguing with Lewis was like entering a beauty contest. You had to be prepared to be told, ‘You’d damned ugly.’
For many of us everything in the Scriptures is more or less settled, and we quit thinking of what the Scriptures contain. For Lewis nothing in the Bible became trite or dulled by convention. I remember him talking about ‘poor Lazarus,’ who had to die all over again. I wondered who this ‘poor Lazarus’ was. ‘Is Lazarus a neighbour?’ I asked. ‘No,’ said Lewis, ‘he was the brother of Mary and Martha.’ I almost blurted out ‘Oh, you mean a Biblical character,’ as though Lazarus was not real as you and I are. ‘Oh I don’t think he knew he was “Biblical”,’ said Lewis. As it turned out Lewis was writing a poem about Lazarus and he was toying with the notion that, as Lazarus had to die again after Our Lord had brought him back from the grave, he and not St Stephen should be called the Church’s pro-martyr. Thereafter I saw not only Lazarus but everything recorded in the Gospels in an entirely new light.
I have always loved cats, and I soon made friends of the two at The Kilns. There was ‘Snip’ a Siamese that had belonged to Joy and which Lewis called his ‘step-cat’. The other was Old Tom. He had been a great mouser in his day, but he was old now and had lost his teeth. My heart almost froze when I heard Lewis’s housekeeper urging Lewis to have Old Tom ‘put down’. ‘No’, said Lewis, ‘Tom is a pensioner now.’ After that Tom was put on a pension of fish. He had his housekeeper cook fish several times a week and debone it for the old Cat. Once when Lewis and I were walking down the lane we met Old Tom coming our way. As we passed, Lewis lifted his hat. ‘He’s a pensioner’, he whispered to me.
I don’t remember Lewis ever bringing up any of his books, but if one came up in the course of the conversation he would talk about it. I don’t think Lewis had any opinion of himself or his writings. Of course he was interested in what was in the books or they would never have been written. But he was without conceit. I think if someone, who didn’t know either of us, heard us talking about Lewis’s books he would get the impression that I had the greater knowledge of them. On one occasion I quoted the whole of my favourite poem, Lewis’s ‘Scazons’ published in The Pilgrim’s Regress. He listened very carefully, and when I finished he asked if I’d make him a copy. ‘But it is your poem!’ I explained. ‘Is it?’ he said. ‘Well, it’s not half bad is it?’
This should not, perhaps, surprise us for, as I’ve said Lewis had no opinion of himself, and he more than once said to me, ‘You think too highly of my books!’ If asked what I thought the main difference between Lewis and the average modern man I would have to say that Lewis was interested in almost everything outside himself, modern man is mainly interested in himself.
Lewis did not particularly like talking about his own books, but when he did it was because the subject of those books were of interest to both of us, and not because he had written them. It would be odd if a man could not retain an interest in something he had spend years writing about. I found that Lewis liked the Narnian books almost as much as I did, and for the same reason. When he discovered that my favourite character was Puddleglum the Marshwiggle in The Silver Chair, he revealed that Puddleglum was modelled on his gardener, Fred Paxford, whom I had come to know well.
Paxford was like Puddleglum in being outwardly very pessimistic, but inwardly very optimistic. Once Lewis mentioned the resemblance I saw it at once. Paxford had been marvellous to me since I first visited The Kilns, and there was nothing he would not do for ‘Mr Jack’ as he called Lewis. Although I never knew him to go to church, he was forever signing hymns, sometimes so loud he had to be quieted down. When I asked if he were married, and he gave me what I learned was his standard answer to that question. Some of you ladies may not like it, but Paxford always quoted this little poem when he was asked why he didn’t marry:
A little puff of powder,
A little touch of paint,
Makes a woman look
Just like what she ain’t!
Lewis gave me a perfect example of why Paxford and Puddleglum were so much alike. Joy’s great ambition was to go to Greece, and in 1959, before they realised that her cancer had returned, Roger Lancelyn Green and his wife June had urged them to join them in a trip to Greece. However, by the time of the trip, April 1960, Joy’s cancer had returned, and Lewis was very apprehensive about the trip. He told me that he and Joy were in the taxi, about to leave for the airport to fly to Greece, when Paxford came to see them off. Leaning through the window of the car, he said, ‘Well, Mr Jack, there was this bloke just going on over the wireless. Says an airplane just went down. Everybody killed – burnt before recognition. Did you hear what I said Mr Jack? – burnt beyond recognition!’ ‘And on that note,’ said Lewis, ‘we flew to Greece.’
While Lewis looked in robust health to me, he had been ill for several years with an infected kidney and prostate gland. The surgeon wouldn’t operate on him because his heart was too weak. Now, suddenly, his health began giving him trouble. When I went out to The Kilns on Sunday morning, 14 July, I found him in his dressing gown, looking very ill. He could hardly sit up, and after asking for tea, he could not hold the cup. He told me he was going into the Acland Nursing Home the next day for a blood transfusion, and he asked if I would stop in England and act as his private secretary, beginning immediately. I accepted with the understanding that I’d go back to the States in the autumn to teach another term in my college, after which I’d return in January 1964 to resume my job with him.
The next day, 15 July, Lewis went to the hospital for an examination, where he had a heart-attack and went into a coma. The doctors did not expect him to regain consciousness, but to everyone’s surprise Lewis came out of his coma – and asked for his tea!
By the next day he wanted to catch up with his letter writing, and I was with him most of the day over the next two weeks taking dictation and helping in various ways
It was during the time he was in the hospital that I became familiar with one of the most surprising things I learned about his private life. I learned of it through answering his correspondence with his lawyer-friend, Owen Barfield. From the time Lewis began making money from his Christian writings, beginning with the serialisation of The Screwtape Letters in 1941, and later the radio talks which were published at Mere Christianity, Lewis refused to touch a penny of it. Instead he sent the publishers and the BBC a list of widows and orphans and directed that the money be sent to them. Lewis did not understand the difference between gross and net profit, and in the spring of 1942 he discovered to his horror that he owed a hefty tax bill on monies he’d given away. Before things got out of hand, his friend, Owen Barfield, a lawyer, intervened and helped Lewis set up a charitable trust – called the Agape Fund or ‘Agapargyry’ as they called it. Thereafter, and until Lewis’s marriage in 1957, Lewis had two-thirds of his income pay into the ‘Agapargyry’ for the supplying of anonymous gifts to various people in need, but especially widows and orphans. The Agape Fund was restored after Joy died in 1960 and was continuing. I learned about it from the letters I was writing to Owen Barfield about the present state of the Agapargyry.
Two things flashed across my mind. One was the poorness, almost the poverty, of the way Lewis lived at The Kilns. When I arrived there I discovered that almost everyone smoked, but that there was only one ashtray in the house. I had to beg Lewis to allow me to buy several cheap ones to litter about the place to avoid the house catching fire. The new ashtrays went unnoticed. Lewis nearly always flicked his ashes across the rug in his study. ‘Ashes are good for rugs,’ he said, ‘but only men believe it!’ I learned too that when the new housekeeper, Mrs Miller, moved to the Kilns in 1952 she found the blackout curtains still up. These coarse black curtains had been necessary during wartime, but the war had long been over, and Mrs Miller asked Lewis if they couldn’t be replaced. He saw no reason to waste money on curtains. In that case, asked Mrs Miller, would he mind if she washed them? Luckily, in the course of being washed the blackout curtains dissolved into ink, and had to be poured out. The Kilns got new curtains.
In talking with Lewis about the Agape Fund, I realised that he was not altogether comfortable about ending it when he married. But Owen Barfield assured him that it had been necessary. I, for my part, knowing what a plain, almost threadbare, life he lived, was stunned that he had been so extremely generous. ‘Why,’ I asked plainly, ‘did you give away so much?’ The simplicity of his answer took my breath away. ‘God was so good in having me,’ he said, ‘that the least I could do was give away most of what I made in His name.’ When was the last time we said, ‘God was so good in having me’? When was the last time we said that?
Lewis had me move into The Kilns while he was in the hospital, and after he got home we settled down to some of the most interesting weeks of my life. Lewis the champion of reason was still very much in evidence, but I sensed more gentleness in his manner. Lewis usually had a cup of tea or coffee after lunch, and following this I usually left him alone in his study sitting in his easy chair. I suspected that he had a nap when I was out of the room, and one day, before I closed the door behind me I said, ‘Jack, do you ever take a nap?’ ‘Oh, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘On the other hand,’ he went on, ‘sometimes a nap takes me!’ When you think about it you see how right he was. Get into your pyjamas in the middle of the afternoon, close the curtain, get into bed - and nothing happens. But relax in your easy chair with a good book, and when you wake you realise the nap took you.
At the doctor’s advice, Lewis retired from his Chair of English at Cambridge, and we settled down to a life which seemed to make him happy. Immediately after breakfast, he dictated his letters to me, wanting to have that onerous duty out of the way. He always had me read his letters back to him, commenting that ‘It’s as important to please the ear as the eye.’ We take it for granted that his writing is both beautiful to read and beautiful to hear, but this was hardly a matter of chance. He told me that when he was writing something – nearly always with a nib pen – he ‘whispered’ the words aloud to himself.
Now that Lewis had retired from his Chair in Cambridge, and had a little unaccustomed leisure, he spent his time writing, meeting his Inkling friends, enjoying a pint in his local, discussing the books he hoped to write, and enjoying his time at The Kilns. If his brother had returned from Ireland he would have been perfectly content.
Expecting that we’d be together for years, after I returned from teaching one final term in the States, Lewis wanted me to get to know all the Inklings. The one I hadn’t met was J.R.R.Tolkien, and Lewis had me ring the Professor and invite him to tea. Mrs Tolkien was ill and he couldn’t join us.
I will return to Lewis in a moment, but let me say that I didn’t meet Professor Tolkien until I’d returned to Oxford after Lewis’s death. He invited me to his house in 76 Sandfield Road, and this was to be the first of many meetings over the next ten years.
To this day I don’t understand why some of Lewis’s biographies, namely Humphrey Carpenter and A.N.Wilson, insist that the friendship between Lewis and Tolkien ‘cooled’ near the end of Lewis’s life. Lewis had already complained to me that he saw less of Tolkien because his wife insisted on his spending more time at home. Now here was Tolkien complaining about the same thing – seeing so little of Jack. He explained, however, that he’d given up the Thursday evening meetings in Magdalen College some years before because he felt he ought to spend, not only more time with his wife, but his children. He made two important points about Jack during our first meeting. He sensed that I didn’t understand what I’d heard about Jack being unpopular with many of his colleagues at Magdalen College, Oxford, and he explained it to me:
‘In Oxford,’ he said, ‘you are forgiven for writing only two kinds of books. You may write books on your own subject whatever that is, literature or science, or history. And you may write detective stories because all dons at some time get the flu, and they have to have something to read in bed. But what you are not forgiven is writing popular works, such as Jack did on theology, and especially if they win international success as his did.’ He went on to say that Jack was ‘driven to write his theological books by his conscience.’
Tolkien loved Lewis very much and I always got the impression that he acted very much like an older brother to Lewis. After we got to know one another he said, ‘Jack was always been “taken in” by someone. First it was Mrs Moore – the mother of Lewis’s friend who was killed in the war – then it was with Charles Williams. And then it was Joy Davidman.’
What they meant to one another as Inklings is incalculable. You are probably wondering what part Lewis played in Tolkien’s works of Middle Earth. When I was editing Lewis’s letters I found one in which he told his Belfast friend, Arthur Greeves, of a visit Tolkiien paid to his Magdalen rooms in 1929. ‘Tolkien is the man I spoke of,’ he wrote to Arthur, ‘when we were last together – the author of the voluminous unpublished metrical romances.’ When I asked Tolkien if what they were reading was The Lord of the Rings, he explained that this was long before the Ring, and the work referred to was The Simarillion. He went on to say that at that time his interests were not in stories but in the material that eventually made up the Appendices to the Ring, history, languages, and genealogies. ‘But you know what a boy Jack was,’ said Tolkien. ‘He had to have a story – and that story, The Lord of the Rings – was written to keep him quiet!’ He said Lewis’s great contribution to him was encouragement. [[Many have asked about Lewis’s ‘influence’ on Tolkien, and Lewis made that matter very clear. ‘As for anyone incluencing Tolkien,’ he said, ‘you might as well try to influence a bandersnatch.’ Tolkien paid me the compliment of introducing me to his family, and in all my fifty years in England no one has been as marvellous to me at the Tolkien family.]]
Now to return to Lewis and the summer of 1963. Sometimes I was the occasion of Lewis’s humour. It was evident to everyone I knew, and now even C.S.Lewis, that I could hardly speak without making use of Lewis’s thought, and giving full credit to Lewis with my constant refrain of ‘As C.S. Lewis has said.’ After we’d come to know one another he invited me to call him ‘Jack,’ and for a while he was almost like two people to me: the author of my favourite books, and Jack Lewis the friend who would never speak of his own work unless pressed. Quoting one of his books one day, I suddenly realised how it must sound to him. ‘As C.S. Lewis has said,’ I said, ‘Oh, but you are C.S. Lewis!’ Thereafter he made it a joke between us, and whenever he wanted anything done, he might say, ‘As C.S. Lewis has said “I would like a pot of tea.” As C.S. Lewis has said, ‘You will go and make it.” As C.S.Lewis has said, “I will drink it!”’
During this time Lewis sent me to Cambridge to sort out his belongings in Magdalene College. It was inevitable that I meet the Librarian of the Pepys Library, and when I got home Lewis asked what I thought of him. The Librarian had the reputation of being a sensational bore, and I told Lewis the man succeeded in interesting me by the sheer intensity of his boringness. ‘Yes,’ Lewis admitted, the man is a great bore. ‘But let us not forget,’ he said, ‘that Our Lord might well have said, “As ye have done it unto one of the least of these my bores you have done it unto me.’
Lewis told me many times that I valued his writings too much, and he was always amused when he saw me scribbling something he said in my little notebook. ‘I know what the divine joke on you would be,’ he said near the end of the summer. ‘I might utter my last words and you won’t be here to write them down!’
As it turned out, I wasn’t. I was in between classes at the University of Kentucky on 22 November 1963 when a colleague told me President Kennedy had been shot. Later that day we learned that the President was dead. Horrible as that was, I was still looking forward to joining Lewis in January. I was just drifting off to sleep in my bed that night when Lewis’s step-son, Douglas Gresham, rang to tell me that Jack had died the same hour as President Kennedy.
I was very depressed for a while. But some of Lewis’s friends persuaded me to return to Oxford anyway, and almost as soon as I came to know Lewis’s brother Warnie, he invited me to begin editing his brother’s literary remains. So in a sense I really have been working as Lewis’s secretary these last fifty years. In any event, when I see what has happened to his writing I think we all have reason to be joyful. Over the years since Lewis’s death so many of his works have been discovered, collected, and talked about that if you dropped me down onto a desert island with copies of Lewis’s works my life would be almost as rich as it is now.
In conclusion, I hope you will allow me to make this boast. I have waited fifty years to tell the world that I won an argument with Lewis. Not many can make that claim. Lewis was worried about what his brother would live on when he - C.S.Lewis - died, and this because he was sure that upon his own death his books would stop selling. ‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘What’d you mean, “no?”’ he said. ‘This happens,’ he said, ‘to nearly all authors. After they die their books sell for a while, and then trail off to nothing.’ ‘But not yours!’ I said. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Because they are too good - and people are not that stupid.’
Well, you see who won that argument. And yet, if Lewis was wrong about anything, wasn’t this precisely the one thing he ought to have been wrong about. But such was his humility, his attention always turned away from himself. And if Lewis got one thing not only right, but terrifically right, it was his prediction that I was stuck forever with the phrase even he could not cure me of - ‘As C.S. Lewis has said.’" | |||||
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"Kenneth Samples"
] | 2013-11-26T10:00:00+00:00 | The great Christian thinker and writer C. S. Lewis died the same day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated—November 22, 1963. Due to the broad coverage of the assassination, Christians in America didn’t learn of Lewis’s death immediately. In commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of Lewis’s death I’d like to briefly outline one of the ideas he wrote about that has strongly influenced me in my own Christian thinking and pilgrimage. | en | Reasons to Believe | https://reasons.org/explore/blogs/reflections/remembering-c-s-lewis-50-years-after-his-death-part-2 | The great Christian thinker and writer C. S. Lewis died the same day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated—November 22, 1963. Due to the broad coverage of the assassination, Christians in America didn’t learn of Lewis’s death immediately. In commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of Lewis’s death I’d like to briefly outline one of the ideas he wrote about that has strongly influenced me in my own Christian thinking and pilgrimage.
The Idea of Mere Christianity
In the preface of his book Mere Christianity, Lewis introduces the engaging idea that there are essential doctrinal truths (such as the Trinity, incarnation, atonement, etc.) that all branches of Christendom, including all theologically conservative denominations within Protestantism, accept. This “agreed, or common, or central”1 Christianity does not encompass everything that Christ’s followers need to believe and affirm to appropriately live out their faith. There are a number of doctrines that one or another of the branches of Christendom deem essential that are not universally affirmed. For example, Protestants insist upon saying something about the final authority of Scripture and justification by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone.
Yet, while the idea of “mere Christianity” doesn’t address all of Christendom’s important theologically debated issues, the substantial theological common ground shared by the churches gives them an important connection and a place to carry on further dialogue. For example, theologically conservative Protestants have weighty differences with Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox concerning the exact relationship between faith and works in salvation—but the profound shared doctrinal commonalities serve to connect the churches. In turn, this common ground sets them apart from the clearly nonChristian religions of the world (Buddhism, Hinduism, etc.).
But within, Protestantism’s deep differences often distinguish one denomination from another. Some would argue that the differences between the Reformed (Calvinistic) and Wesleyan (Arminian) theological traditions over questions of sin, grace, predestination, and human freewill are as strong as the differences between Protestants and Roman Catholics. Yet again the mere Christianity (as reflected in the Apostles’s Creed) that these two theological rivals share serves to connect the bodies and to encourage respectful dialogue.
In the preface to Mere Christianity, Lewis offers some powerfully important advice to Christendom as a whole as well as to individual Christians when it comes to divisions and differences among believers.2 First, he urges believers to refrain from discussing their theological differences except in the presence of other believers. Second, he implores believers to be kind to other Christians with whom they may have doctrinal differences. In other words, Lewis reminds believers of the vital importance of Christian unity and charity.
A clear sign that C. S. Lewis’s writings are a continuing gift to the church today is found in the fact that even if you only read the preface of the amazing book Mere Christianity you will discover important Christian truth. | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 1 | 15 | https://www.huffpost.com/entry/cs-lewis-pilgrimage_b_1540068 | en | In The Footsteps Of C.S. Lewis: A Pilgrimage | [
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] | 2012-05-24T20:04:20+00:00 | As I learned, a pilgrimage is not necessarily about completeness. It's about questions. And it was C.S. Lewis who taught me how to ask them. | en | /favicon.ico | HuffPost | https://www.huffpost.com/entry/cs-lewis-pilgrimage_b_1540068 | A little over a year ago, I found myself channeling Chaucer, embarking on my own pilgrimage while studying abroad in York, UK. Instead of Canterbury, however, my destination was Oxford. And instead of St. Thomas a Beckett, I sought the sites of another divine: Clive Staples Lewis.
I was never much into "The Chronicles of Narnia," but when I read Lewis' "Mere Christianity" at the age of 16, it completely changed the way I thought of my faith. Lewis has provided answers to millions since his death in 1963, speaking to an age that views traditional expressions of faith -- and even faith itself -- with skepticism. And as I boarded the train from York to London in desperate need of answers to my own questions, I hoped Lewis could help me.
I was at a pivotal point in my own faith journey. In the throes of discerning a call to ordained ministry in the Episcopal Church, I had just come out of a complete upheaval of my previous religious identity as a Southern Baptist.
After disembarking the train at the Oxford train station and checking into my B&B, I headed up to Headington just North of Oxford to pay a visit to Lewis's grave and to make an appointment to tour Lewis's nearby home, The Kilns.
The tiny church where Lewis lies buried is idyllic. It sits in the cleft of a gentle valley, at the end of a narrow, winding road lined with pretty houses. The area around the church itself is surprisingly wooded, and so serene. I heeded the signs on the parish gate and found the Lewis' marker -- a large marble slab -- situated beneath an ancient tree. Bright flower buds carpeted the grass leading up to the grave as if to point pilgrims like myself in the right direction.
In his book "The Great Divorce," Lewis posited heaven as a celestial country more real than our own, where the grass pierces the feet of those unfit to stand upon it. Something about the sight of the flowers made me think he had made it there. I paid my solemn respects and, after a few moments of silence, turned to leave.
Though The Kilns has a new life as a living space for scholars and students doing research at the university, it still bares the marks of the man who had once called this place home. I felt transported into Lewis's life as I stepped through the front door, and was nearly moved to tears when, at the end of my tour, my guide took me into a downstairs bedroom where Lewis died.
"He had collapsed onto the floor," my guide told me, her voice trembling slightly. "Warnie (Lewis's brother) found him lying there, and he died shortly thereafter."
The marble grave marker flashed through my head, and the epitaph inscribed upon it: Men must endure their going hence.
On day two, I toured the colleges. For dinner I stopped for a meal at the Eagle and Child -- the pub where Lewis, Tolkien, and the others who called themselves "the Inklings" met to read their work to one another. I tried to imagine what it would have been like in their day, drinks at their elbows, pipe smoke swirling toward the ceiling, a small fire crackling in the fireplace. I tried to listen to their conversation. I hoped I'd hear a piece of sage advice that would help me articulate where my fear came from, that would help me articulate my vocation.
The next day, after lunch at Magdalen College (where Lewis taught), I was shown the way to Addison's Walk by a man I had met at my table. Named after the 18th century writer Joseph Addison, this wooded, creek-side path bore particular significance for my pilgrimage. Lewis frequently walked this path with his friends JRR Tolkien and Hugo Dyson, and while on one of these walks Lewis became convinced of the veracity of his Christian faith. In a very real way, that one walk down this dirt path altered Christianity in the 20th century and literally changed the world.
To be fair, I didn't expect anything of that magnitude to happen as I walked down Addison's Walk, but I was hoping that a little of that energy still hung in the air somewhere for me to absorb.
For him, it was all about myth, and how myth became fact in the life of Jesus Christ. In many modern stories of Lewis, I think evangelicals try to spin this moment on Addison's walk as a conversion experience, but I believe Lewis himself remarked that he felt he never had one. Instead, Lewis' decision to accept his Christian faith came almost imperceptibly.
As I would discover later, my acceptance of my vocation as a priest in the Episcopal Church would occur in a similar way -- subtly, quietly, in the way that scripture describes God speaking in a "still, small voice."
Looking back, that trip to Oxford was a defining moment in my discernment. It showed me what questions to ask, pointing me down the path that eventually led to some semblance of clarity. I found myself thinking of Chaucer's pilgrims, and dwelling on the fact that they never reached their destination; Chaucer never finished "The Canterbury Tales." Yet, as I learned, a pilgrimage is not necessarily about completeness. It's about questions. And it was Lewis who taught me how to ask them. | ||||
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] | 2012-05-24T20:04:20+00:00 | As I learned, a pilgrimage is not necessarily about completeness. It's about questions. And it was C.S. Lewis who taught me how to ask them. | en | /favicon.ico | HuffPost | https://www.huffpost.com/entry/cs-lewis-pilgrimage_b_1540068 | A little over a year ago, I found myself channeling Chaucer, embarking on my own pilgrimage while studying abroad in York, UK. Instead of Canterbury, however, my destination was Oxford. And instead of St. Thomas a Beckett, I sought the sites of another divine: Clive Staples Lewis.
I was never much into "The Chronicles of Narnia," but when I read Lewis' "Mere Christianity" at the age of 16, it completely changed the way I thought of my faith. Lewis has provided answers to millions since his death in 1963, speaking to an age that views traditional expressions of faith -- and even faith itself -- with skepticism. And as I boarded the train from York to London in desperate need of answers to my own questions, I hoped Lewis could help me.
I was at a pivotal point in my own faith journey. In the throes of discerning a call to ordained ministry in the Episcopal Church, I had just come out of a complete upheaval of my previous religious identity as a Southern Baptist.
After disembarking the train at the Oxford train station and checking into my B&B, I headed up to Headington just North of Oxford to pay a visit to Lewis's grave and to make an appointment to tour Lewis's nearby home, The Kilns.
The tiny church where Lewis lies buried is idyllic. It sits in the cleft of a gentle valley, at the end of a narrow, winding road lined with pretty houses. The area around the church itself is surprisingly wooded, and so serene. I heeded the signs on the parish gate and found the Lewis' marker -- a large marble slab -- situated beneath an ancient tree. Bright flower buds carpeted the grass leading up to the grave as if to point pilgrims like myself in the right direction.
In his book "The Great Divorce," Lewis posited heaven as a celestial country more real than our own, where the grass pierces the feet of those unfit to stand upon it. Something about the sight of the flowers made me think he had made it there. I paid my solemn respects and, after a few moments of silence, turned to leave.
Though The Kilns has a new life as a living space for scholars and students doing research at the university, it still bares the marks of the man who had once called this place home. I felt transported into Lewis's life as I stepped through the front door, and was nearly moved to tears when, at the end of my tour, my guide took me into a downstairs bedroom where Lewis died.
"He had collapsed onto the floor," my guide told me, her voice trembling slightly. "Warnie (Lewis's brother) found him lying there, and he died shortly thereafter."
The marble grave marker flashed through my head, and the epitaph inscribed upon it: Men must endure their going hence.
On day two, I toured the colleges. For dinner I stopped for a meal at the Eagle and Child -- the pub where Lewis, Tolkien, and the others who called themselves "the Inklings" met to read their work to one another. I tried to imagine what it would have been like in their day, drinks at their elbows, pipe smoke swirling toward the ceiling, a small fire crackling in the fireplace. I tried to listen to their conversation. I hoped I'd hear a piece of sage advice that would help me articulate where my fear came from, that would help me articulate my vocation.
The next day, after lunch at Magdalen College (where Lewis taught), I was shown the way to Addison's Walk by a man I had met at my table. Named after the 18th century writer Joseph Addison, this wooded, creek-side path bore particular significance for my pilgrimage. Lewis frequently walked this path with his friends JRR Tolkien and Hugo Dyson, and while on one of these walks Lewis became convinced of the veracity of his Christian faith. In a very real way, that one walk down this dirt path altered Christianity in the 20th century and literally changed the world.
To be fair, I didn't expect anything of that magnitude to happen as I walked down Addison's Walk, but I was hoping that a little of that energy still hung in the air somewhere for me to absorb.
For him, it was all about myth, and how myth became fact in the life of Jesus Christ. In many modern stories of Lewis, I think evangelicals try to spin this moment on Addison's walk as a conversion experience, but I believe Lewis himself remarked that he felt he never had one. Instead, Lewis' decision to accept his Christian faith came almost imperceptibly.
As I would discover later, my acceptance of my vocation as a priest in the Episcopal Church would occur in a similar way -- subtly, quietly, in the way that scripture describes God speaking in a "still, small voice."
Looking back, that trip to Oxford was a defining moment in my discernment. It showed me what questions to ask, pointing me down the path that eventually led to some semblance of clarity. I found myself thinking of Chaucer's pilgrims, and dwelling on the fact that they never reached their destination; Chaucer never finished "The Canterbury Tales." Yet, as I learned, a pilgrimage is not necessarily about completeness. It's about questions. And it was Lewis who taught me how to ask them. | ||||
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] | null | [] | 2022-11-22T06:00:00 | Jack faced the prospect of death bravely and calmly. “I have done all I wanted to do, and I’m ready to go,” he said one evening. | en | Crossway | null | This article is part of the This Day in History series.
His Heart Attack
On Sunday, July 14, 1963, Lewis was not well enough to go to church when Walter Hooper arrived at the Kilns. Without his brother Warnie anymore as a reliable helper with his correspondence, and feeling his own steady decline, Lewis asked Hooper if he would consider serving as his private secretary. After discussing it, Hooper agreed to resign his post at the University of Kentucky at the end of the fall semester and return to help Lewis. In the meantime, he would help Lewis through the summer.1 The next day, on Monday, July 15, at five in the afternoon, Lewis arrived at the Acland Nursing Home, where he promptly had a heart attack and went into a coma.2
With Warnie away, Lewis must have given Kay and Austin Farrer as his emergency contacts, for the Acland notified them of Lewis’s condition. They contacted Douglas Gresham and Walter Hooper. On Tuesday afternoon, July 16, Lewis received extreme unction from Rev. Michael Watts of the Church of St Mary Magdalen. Then he woke up and asked for a cup of tea.3
For two days, Lewis appeared to be doing better, but then he slipped into what he called his “black period.” For a week he suffered from nightmares, hallucinations, and a general disorientation interspersed with lucid moments.4 Several of his oldest and dearest friends visited him in the Acland, including Tolkien, Alastair Fowler, Douglas and David Gresham, James Dundas-Grant, John Walsh, Maureen Moore Blake, and George Sayer. When Dundas-Grant visited Lewis, he suggested that Lewis write a book on prayer, to which Lewis replied with a twinkle in his eye, “I might.”5 Dundas-Grant did not know that Lewis had just finished writing Letters to Malcolm, which suggests how far the remaining Inklings had departed from being a writing club aware of what each other was writing.
Beginning on July 17, Hooper undertook the handling of Lewis’s correspondence. He picked up the mail every day at the Kilns and took it to the Acland, where Lewis, when his mind was clear, dictated his letters to Hooper. At Lewis’s behest, Hooper wrote letters to Lewis’s friends who had not yet learned of his hospitalization, including Roger Lancelyn Green. Lewis asked Hooper to write Green a letter and explain that Hooper was a collector of “Lewisiana” like Green and to work out with Green if they were “competitors or collaborators.”6 Time would prove that they were the best of collaborators as coauthors of the first true biography of Lewis, C. S. Lewis: A Biography (1974).
Lewis probably recognized his condition better than most. He knew he would die sooner or later. Not wishing to create a burden for Cambridge University and Magdalene College, his academic home for nine years, he sent a letter resigning his chair, probably as soon as he returned home.7 On August 12 and 13, Lewis wrote to Jock Burnet, the bursar of Magdalene College, to make arrangements for Hooper to pack his things and remove them from the college. He apologized for the trouble he was causing, but he explained that his “situation [was] rather desperate.”8 The college needed to reclaim its furniture and sell Lewis’s. He also asked that the painting of his grandfather Hamilton be sent to St Mark’s Church, Dundela, Belfast, where he had served as rector. It still hangs in the Parish Hall today.
Toward the end of August, Tolkien wanted to see Lewis again. Tolkien’s eldest son, Father John Tolkien, took Tolkien to see Lewis at the Kilns. Father John recalled: “We drove over to the Kilns for what turned out to be a very excellent time together for about an hour. I remember the conversation was very much about the Morte d’Arthur and whether trees died.”9
Ready for Death
Walter Hooper was back in the United States when Lewis wrote to him on September 3 to let him know that all was well at the Kilns. Though Warnie was still in Ireland behaving badly, the gardener and handyman, Fred Paxford, slept in the house in case Lewis had trouble during the night.10 After much wringing of hands and worry about his looming poverty, Lewis offered Hooper five pounds a week when he would return the first week of January 1964 to resume his work as Lewis’s secretary, now that Warnie had proved such an unreliable disappointment.11 To others, Jack regularly referred to himself as an “extinct volcano.”12 When asked how he managed his retirement, he came up with another line he rather liked. He said he would never have to read A. L. Rowse on Shakespeare’s sonnets, but he could reread the Iliad instead.13 On a deeper level, he had something to say to many about how close he came to death. The nurses all thought he had come to the Acland one last time to die. He said to many of his correspondents that it was a pity he had come to the very gates of Heaven so easily not to be allowed to enter. Now he would have to go through it all over again.14 Warnie finally returned home in early October.15 His return meant some relief from what Lewis regarded as the worst part of his invalid existence. The newspapers had reported Lewis’s illness and retirement, so he was flooded with letters of condolence, to which he felt obligated to reply.16 In spite of everything, he remained cheerful and grateful. He especially valued his friends who came to see him.17
Just as Jack had gone through anticipatory grief over Joy’s coming death, Warnie had gone through the same thing in his own way over Jack’s inevitable death. Yet he had pulled himself together and returned to the Kilns. His company would have meant so much to Jack. Of those last days together, Warnie wrote:
Joy had left us, and once again—as in the earliest days—we could turn for comfort only to each other. The wheel had come full circle: once again we were together in the little end room at home, shutting out from our talk the ever-present knowledge that the holidays were ending, that a new term fraught with unknown possibilities awaited us both. Jack faced the prospect bravely and calmly. “I have done all I wanted to do, and I’m ready to go,” he said to me one evening.18
The End
Warnie was always famous for preparing the tea on Thursday nights when the Inklings had gathered so long ago. He also brought the late-night tea to Jack and any guest he might have as they talked away. Even with Mrs. Miller in the house, Warnie brought Jack his tea in the afternoons that last autumn. He described the last time in the memoir he wrote that became a foundational piece of biography Roger Lancelyn Green and Walter Hooper would build upon, along with Surprised by Joy, when they wrote their biography of Lewis. Warnie said:
Friday, the 22nd of November 1963, began much as other days: there was breakfast, then letters and the crossword puzzle. After lunch he fell asleep in his chair: I suggested that he would be more comfortable in bed, and he went there. At four I took in his tea and found him drowsy but comfortable. Our few words then were the last: at five-thirty I heard a crash and ran in, to find him lying unconscious at the foot of his bed. He ceased to breathe some three or four minutes later.19
He was a week shy of his sixty-fifth birthday.
The death of C. S. Lewis came on the same day John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas, and all the news media were focused on that event, which gripped not only the United States but people around the world. Word of Lewis’s death had not gotten out. Douglas called Walter Hooper in the United States, and Hooper notified those he knew of who should be told.20 David Gresham had gone to New York to study at Mesivta Rabbi Chaim Berlin Talmudical college when he finished his studies in London, so he could not attend the funeral.21 Warnie was too intoxicated and overwhelmed by grief to attend. The funeral took place on November 26 at Holy Trinity Church, the parish church where Jack and Warnie had attended since moving to the Kilns. Only a small group attended. Ronald Head, the vicar of Holy Trinity, led the service, and Austin Farrer read the lesson, so we may assume that Kay was with him.22 The small party of mourners included Owen Barfield, Cecil Harwood, Ronald Tolkien, Colin Hardie, Robert “Humphrey” Havard, James Dundas-Grant, John Lawlor, Peter Bayley, Peter Bide, Molly and Len Miller, Fred Paxford, Maureen (Lady Dunbar) and Leonard Blake, and Douglas Gresham.23
A large gravestone covers the length and breadth of the grave of C. S. Lewis. When Flora Hamilton Lewis died in 1908, the quotation for the day on her Shakespearean calendar came from King Lear:
Men must endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
Ripeness is all.24
On Lewis’s gravestone, Warnie had the epitaph engraved:
IN LOVING MEMORY OF
MY BROTHER
CLIVE STAPLES LEWIS
BORN BELFAST 29th NOVEMBER 1898
DIED IN THIS PARISH
22nd NOVEMBER 1963
MEN MUST ENDURE THEIR GOING HENCE.
This article is adapted from The Completion of C. S. Lewis: From War to Joy (1945–1963) by Harry Lee Poe.
Popular Articles in This Series | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 3 | 77 | https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/C._S._Lewis | en | C. S. Lewis | [
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] | 2005-02-11T20:35:58+00:00 | en | /static/apple-touch/wikipedia.png | https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/C._S._Lewis | Clive Staples Lewis (29 November 1898 – 22 November 1963), usually called C. S. Lewis, was a British scholar who wrote about 40 books.[1] He was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland.[2]
are usually apologetics, the defence of Christianity. Some of his most popular Christian writings were Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. His works have been translated into more than 30 languages. Lewis was a professor of literature at the University of Oxford and the University of Cambridge.
Lewis was married to American writer Joy Davidman (1915–1960) from 1956 until her death from bone cancer. He died of renal failure in Oxford.
His writing is popular with many people, and many of his books were made into movies. His most famous and popular fantasy work is The Chronicles of Narnia, which is a series of seven books.
He died in Oxford, Oxfordshire, England on 22 November 1963. | ||||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 3 | 2 | https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/trevin-wax/last-days-cs-lewis/ | en | The Last Days of C. S. Lewis | [
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] | 2023-11-14T05:10:01+00:00 | Trevin Wax takes a closer look at the beloved apologist and storyteller C. S. Lewis in the weeks before his earthly life came to a close. | en | /apple-touch-icon-57x57.png | The Gospel Coalition | https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/trevin-wax/last-days-cs-lewis/ | C. S. Lewis died on November 22, 1963, a few days short of his 65th birthday.
We tend to see Lewis’s death at a relatively young age as a tragedy, especially when considering the longer life of his older brother, Warren (Warnie), who survived him by another 10 years. But Lewis, fully aware of his failing health, didn’t see his demise in tragic terms. The last months of his life provide a model of Christian contentment in anticipation of eternal happiness.
Decline
Lewis faced challenges to his health throughout his life, but in June 1961, he experienced nephritis, which resulted in blood poisoning, and this setback kept him from teaching during the autumn term at Cambridge that year. Though he returned in the spring of 1962, he wasn’t well. To one of the students under his supervision, he wrote,
They can’t operate on my prostate till they’ve got my heart and kidneys right, and it begins to look as if they can’t get my heart & kidneys right till they operate on my prostate. So we’re in what an examinee, by a happy slip of the pen, called “a viscous circle.”
Biographer A. N. Wilson blamed Lewis’s friend, the doctor Robert Havard, for his early death, claiming he failed to treat his maladies properly. But other biographers disagree with that assessment. Aside from the dietary restrictions Havard recommended throughout the 1950s (which Lewis never followed for long), there wasn’t much else a doctor could’ve done at the time.
Lewis drank an inordinate amount of black tea, and the correlation between caffeine consumption and high blood pressure hadn’t yet been established. Now-typical treatments for an enlarged prostate weren’t developed until after his death. And though some reports were sounding the alarm about the deleterious health effects of tobacco, there was no consensus at the time.
Summer of 1963
It’s a mark of human beings, Lewis once wrote, that they’re “wise enough to see the death of their kind approaching but not wise enough to endure it.” By the summer of 1963, Lewis was wise enough to see he wouldn’t enjoy a long life. He wrote a letter to Mary Willis on June 17, appealing to the Christian’s hope. “Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave it with regret?” he asked. “There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.” He signed the letter as “a tired traveller near the journey’s end.”
Later that month, Lewis wrote Mary again, painting a picture of one’s earthly time running out:
Think of yourself just as a seed patiently waiting in the earth: waiting to come up a flower in the Gardener’s good time, up into the real world, the real waking. I suppose that our whole present life, looked back on from there, will seem only a drowsy half-waking. We are here in the land of dreams. But cock-crow is coming. It is nearer now than when I began this letter.
Lewis’s health worsened over the summer. His kidneys were no longer functioning properly. Blood transfusions helped, but dialysis treatment was still uncommon back then. Alarmed at his fatigue and loss of mental concentration, he went to the hospital for evaluation on July 15. As soon as he arrived, he suffered a heart attack and fell into a coma. The next morning, he was thought to be near death, and he received extreme unction.
But Lewis surprised everyone when he woke up at 2:00 that afternoon and asked for tea. In the following weeks, he slowly recovered, though he was sometimes confused.
Maureen Blake, the daughter of Mrs. Moore and the sister of his friend Paddy, visited Lewis in the hospital. The two had known each other ever since she was a little girl, and she had lived at the Kilns for a time. They’d not seen each other since Maureen had become an heiress—a surprising turn of events due to her unexpected inheritance of the estate of Sir George Cospatrick Duff-Sutherland-Dunbar, Baron Dunbar of Hempriggs, in Caithness, Scotland.
Lewis hadn’t recognized any visitors on the day she visited, so she entered quietly and said, “Jack, it’s Maureen,” to which he replied, “No. It’s Lady Dunbar of Hempriggs.”
Stunned, Maureen said, “Oh Jack, how could you remember that?”
“On the contrary,” he said, grinning, “how could I forget a fairy tale?”
Back to the Kilns
Once discharged from the hospital, Lewis returned to the Kilns. He was forbidden from using the stairs and was thus cut off from his bedroom and study. A bed was set up in the common room, and a male nurse stayed in the Kilns for six weeks as Lewis regained some of his strength.
Lewis was clearly too weak to continue teaching. He resigned his post at Cambridge with great sadness, and when he wrote his lifelong friend, Arthur Greeves, in September, he expressed disappointment in his brother Warnie’s absence. He “has completely deserted me,” he wrote. “I suppose, drinking himself to death.” He described himself as “an invalid” but also as “quite comfortable and cheerful.” His last letter to Arthur concludes with a cry: “But oh Arthur, never to see you again! . . .”
As summer turned to fall, Lewis described himself in letters as “an extinct volcano, but quite cheerful.” He seemed surprised and perhaps a little sad to have been so close to death only to be pulled back from the brink. He connected his experience with that of Lazarus, whom he’d earlier described as the protomartyr, the man who had to die twice. Looking through Lewis’s correspondence, one finds candid acknowledgment of his pitiful health alongside continual declarations of his “cheery” and “contented” spirit.
In The Screwtape Letters, Lewis had imagined evil forces at work in keeping people from facing their frailty. “How much better for us,” writes one devil to another, “if all humans died in costly nursing homes amid doctors who lie, nurses who lie, friends who lie, as we have trained them, promising life to the dying, encouraging the belief that sickness excuses every indulgence, and even if our workers know their job, withholding all suggestion of a priest lest it should betray to the sick man his true condition.” There was no such deception with Lewis. He faced his frailty and death in a manner consistent with his principles.
Warnie returned in October, taking responsibility for his younger brother during the last weeks of his life. Friends would sometimes stop by and visit or take Lewis for a ride somewhere. On a cool and sunny day that month, his friend George Sayer drove him along the London Road, up Beacon Hill, to see the beech trees in full fall color. “I think I might have my last soak of the year,” Lewis said as he stepped out of the car. A “soak” was the term he used to describe the joy of stopping to rest and soak in the beauty of creation after walking the countryside.
The Kilns as a Waiting Room
In his last weeks of earthly life, Lewis puttered around the Kilns (“I rarely venture further afield than a stroll in the garden,” he wrote), answering letters and revisiting his personal library. “I doubt whether I can ever leave this house again,” he wrote on October 29. “What then? I’ve just re-read the Iliad and never enjoyed it more, and have enjoyed to the full some beautiful autumn weather.” The next week, he reread Charles Dickens’s Bleak House and Tennyson’s In Memoriam.
The Kilns had turned into a waiting room, a quiet refuge of refreshment as Lewis prepared to make the journey from this life to the next. He penned his last letter of spiritual direction on October 31, answering questions about the virgin birth, the glorified body of the risen Christ, atonement theories, and the wrath of God. In the days that followed, he kept up his correspondence, writing a young Kathy Kristy (later the wife of Tim Keller) twice in the weeks leading up to his death.
Last Week
Lewis’s last week of life was one of quiet activity. He met friends on November 15 at the Lamb and Flag (the pub across the street from the Eagle and Child), and Roger Lancelyn Green came to the Kilns that evening in time for dinner. Lewis was busy correcting the proofs for what became his last essay, “We Have No ‘Right to Happiness’” for the Saturday Evening Post, a remarkably prescient analysis of society’s turn toward privileging “sexual happiness” above all else.
Later that week, J. R. R. Tolkien and his son John came by for a visit, choosing not to dwell on Lewis’s failing health in favor of a conversation about Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur and the lives of trees. Lewis went to the Lamb and Flag for the last time on November 18, where he visited with Colin Hardie. Mostly, he stayed at the Kilns, awaiting his earthly departure and enjoying the company of his brother.
“The wheel had come full circle,” wrote Warnie later, harking back to those early years in which the brothers as little boys had clung to each other in sorrow, having experienced the painful loss of their mother:
Once again we were together in the little end room at home, shutting out from our talk the ever-present knowledge that the holidays were ending, that a new term fraught with unknown possibilities awaited us both. Jack faced the prospect bravely and calmly. “I have done all I wanted to do, and I’m ready to go,” he said to me one evening.
On November 21, he wrote a kind and warm letter to a child, praising him for his “remarkably good letter,” thanking him for saying how much he enjoyed the Narnia books and promising to pass along a correction in one of the reprints.
November 22
Friday, November 22, 1963, followed the now-established routine. Lewis and Warnie enjoyed breakfast, dashed off a few letters to well-wishers, and then did the daily crossword puzzle.
After lunch, when Lewis fell asleep in his chair, Warnie suggested he’d be more comfortable in bed. Across the hall, the “music room” had been turned into Lewis’s bedroom now that he was no longer allowed upstairs. Warnie took him some tea at 4:00, finding him drowsy but comfortable.
At 5:30, Warnie heard a crash. Arriving in the bedroom, he found Lewis lying unconscious at the foot of the bed. “He ceased to breathe some three or four minutes later,” he wrote.
The news of Lewis’s death that afternoon was overshadowed by another event taking place at almost the same time—the assassination of John F. Kennedy in Dallas, Texas. Aldous Huxley, the author of Brave New World also died that day. This strange confluence of deaths became the backdrop for Peter Kreeft’s magnificent Between Heaven and Hell, an imaginary conversation with all three men, standing in for three divergent worldviews, on the outskirts of heaven.
Legacy of Lewis in Dying
On November 26, 1963, a funeral for Lewis was held at Holy Trinity Church, where he attended most frequently. He was buried in the churchyard. A decade later, Warnie was buried with him.
The last months of C. S. Lewis, the renowned Christian apologist and storyteller, give us a poignant picture of the hope he championed with ardor: the promise of eternal life in the arms of God.
Lewis said goodbye to his closest friends, perhaps like Reepicheep as he headed over the wave in his coracle in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader—“trying to be sad for their sakes” while “quivering with happiness.” The joy—the stab of inconsolable longing—that animated his poetry and prose was on display in how he died, in those weeks of quiet rest, as he endured his physical maladies with patience and good humor, in full faith that this earthly realm is just a prelude to the next chapter of a greater story, a new and wondrous reality suffused with the deep magic of divine love.
Further up, and further in! | ||||
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] | null | [] | null | C. S. Lewis Born: November 29, 1898Belfast [1], Ireland [2]Died: November 24, 1963Oxford, England [3] Irish writer, novelist, and essayist The Irish novelist and essayist C. S. Lewis was best known for his essays on literature and his explanations of Christian teachings. | en | /sites/default/files/favicon.ico | https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/literature-and-arts/english-literature-20th-cent-present-biographies/c-s-lewis | C.S. Lewis
BORN: 1898, Belfast, Northern Ireland, U.K.
DIED: 1963, Oxford, England
NATIONALITY: British
GENRE: Fiction, nonfiction
MAJOR WORKS:
The Pilgrim's Regress (1933)
The Allegory of Love (1936)
The Screwtape Letters (1942)
The Chronicles of Narnia (1950–1956)
Overview
The British novelist and essayist C.S. Lewis (1898–1963) was an established literary figure whose impact is increasingly recognized by scholars and teachers. He is known and respected for both his allegorical fantasy, particularly the classic children's series The Chronicles of Narnia (1965), as well as his accessible and persuasive works on Christian belief and theology such as The Screwtape Letters (1941) and Mere Christianity (1952).
Works in Biographical and Historical Context
Clive Staples Lewis was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, on November 29, 1898, the son of Albert J. and Flora Hamilton Lewis. His mother died when he was still a boy. Little Lea, the family home, had long corridors, empty rooms, and secret nooks in which Lewis and his brother, Warren, played. In the attic, the boys spent many rainy days writing and illustrating stories about imaginary worlds. Sometimes, when their cousin came to visit, the three of them would climb into a black oak wardrobe, hand-carved by Lewis and Warren's grandfather, and sit in the dark while Lewis told stories. These boyhood playtimes would be famously fictionalized years later in the children's fantasy classic The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (1950), the first in the seven-book The Chronicles of Narnia series. In the series, four brothers and sisters travel to another world called Narnia by various means, first finding it through the back of a large wardrobe.
Lewis's early education was by private tutoring, at various public schools, and at Malvern College. In 1917 he entered University College, Oxford, but left to serve as a soldier in World War I. World War I was a devastating conflict that claimed the lives of many of Lewis's contemporaries—indeed, nearly 900,000 British service members died between 1914 and 1918. Lewis was one of the lucky soldiers who returned from the war. After returning to Oxford and completing his studies, Lewis taught English literature there (at Magdalen College) until 1954, the year he accepted the chairmanship of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge.
Becoming a Christian As an Oxford student and eventual fellow of Magdalen College, Lewis became close friends with writers and scholars who altered his world-view and encouraged him to write. This circle of friends, later dubbed the “Inklings,” included J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, Neville Coghill, and Owen Barfield. Like many writers who had survived the horrors of World War I, Lewis was eager to find meaning and comfort in a world that seemed to him so clearly flawed. Though he had been skeptical of the value of religion in his youth, Lewis was eventually able to find what he was looking for in Christianity. Each of his influential friends was instrumental in convincing Lewis of the reasonableness of Christianity, but it was Tolkien's views on the relevance of myth to the Christian faith that most moved him. Lewis became a Christian at the age of thirty-two.
Quiet about the details of his youth, his autobiography, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life (1955), fails to provide enlightenment and leaves the Lewis scholar to speculations about his early disenchantment with emotional Christianity. His autobiography does reveal, however, that he had little interest in sports as a boy and that he was an enthusiastic reader. Among his early favorite authors was G.K. Chesterton, who was himself a paradoxical and religious writer.
Superb Conversationalist, Renowned Scholar Widely read as an adult, his knowledge of literature was impressive and made him a superb conversationalist. Lewis thoroughly enjoyed sitting up into the early hours in college rooms “talking nonsense, poetry, theology, and metaphysics.”
His subjects at Oxford were medieval and Renaissance English literature, in which he became a scholar, lecturer, and tutor of renown. His academic reputation was made secure by his English Literature in the 16th Century (1954) and Experiment in Criticism (1961). Aside from scholarly writings, his output included science fiction, children's stories, and religious apology, a genre of argumentative writing that takes the position of defending a scrutinized or often-attacked position such as religion.
The Christian Apologist: Explaining Christianity Lewis's The Pilgrim's Regress (1933) is an allegory presented as an apology—in this use of the term, apology means “defense” or “explanation”—for Christianity. It was not until the appearance of his second allegorical work, The Allegory of Love (1936), however, that Lewis received acclaim by winning the coveted Hawthornden prize. This book, which addresses in easily understandable terms the theological problem of evil and related moral and ethical issues, had met with widespread success; Lewis's invitation to do a series of radio talks for the BBC was prompted no doubt by the book's popularity but also in response to its demonstration of Lewis's ability to write engagingly on complex theological issues for a nonspecialist audience.
The first four successful fifteen-minute talks— “Right and Wrong: A Clue to the Meaning of the Universe?”—were broadcast in August 1941 and later published in Broadcast Talks (1942) and were followed in short order by three more series: “What Christians Believe,” “Christian Behaviour,” and “Beyond Personality,” the last two separately published in 1943 and 1944. Lewis's status as a radio celebrity and as a writer and speaker in great demand was assured by the end of 1942. Throughout the remainder of World War II he pursued an exhausting schedule of speaking engagements arranged by the chaplain-in-chief of the Royal Air Force, and he lectured at numerous churches, theological societies, and religious retreats from then until the end of his life.
Allegorical Fiction Out of the Silent Planet (1938), the first of the so-called Space Trilogy, is a work of allegorical science fiction, in which a scholar is kidnapped by evil scientists. Lewis was a master of allegory, or using a story symbolically to teach a broader moral or philosophical lesson. The Screwtape Letters (1941), for which he is perhaps best known, is a satire in which the Devil, here known as Screwtape, writes letters instructing his young nephew, Wormwood, how to tempt souls to damnation. Of his seven religious allegories for children collectively titled The Complete Chronicles of Narnia (1965) he commented that, “stories of this kind could steal past … inhibitions which had dissuaded him from his own religion.”
Lewis's deft handling of allegory likely derives from G.K. Chesterton, whose Everlasting Man (1925) was instrumental in Lewis's conversion. While in the hospital during 1918 after being wounded in World War I, Lewis had read a volume of Chesterton's essays and later wrote of the experience: “I had never heard of him and had no idea of what he stood for; nor can I quite understand why he made such an immediate conquest of me. …His humor was of the kind which I like best—not ‘jokes’; embedded in the page like currants in a cake, still less (what I cannot endure), a general tone of flippancy and jocularity, but the humor which is not in any way separable from the argument but is rather … the bloom on dialectic itself.”
Later Years Lewis was married, rather late in life, in 1956, to Joy Davidman Gresham, the daughter of a New York Jewish couple. She was a graduate of Hunter College and for a time was a member of the Communist Party. She had previously been married twice. When her first husband suffered a heart attack, she turned to prayer. Reading the writings of Lewis, she began to attend Presbyterian services. Later, led by his writings to Lewis himself, she divorced her second husband, William Gresham, left the Communist Party, and married Lewis. Her death preceded her husband's by some three years. C.S. Lewis died at his home in Headington, Oxford, on November 22, 1963, on the same day that writer Aldous Huxley died and U.S. president John F. Kennedy was assassinated.
Works in Literary Context
Though Lewis reportedly read parts of John Milton's challenging Paradise Lost at the age of ten, his early literary influences were more ordinary: adventure novels and the Sherlock Holmes mysteries of Arthur Conan Doyle. Later, however, Lewis blossomed intellectually and became an avid scholar of ancient Greek drama and philosophy, Greek and Roman mythology, Irish mythology (an interest he shared with his contemporary W.B. Yeats), Norse mythology (an interest he shared with his friend J.R.R. Tolkien), fairy tales, and the classics of English literature. Literary influences that led Lewis toward Christianity included books by John Bunyan's Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners (1666), the works of the German mystic Jacob Boehme, Thomas Traheren's Centuries of Meditations (1908), and G.K. Chesterton's The Everlasting Man (1925).
Fantasy and Allegory Allegory is a kind of writing in which objects and characters are used as symbols of concepts. Lewis made memorable use of allegory, a device likely derived from his knowledge of Christian philosopher St. Thomas Aquinas. Lewis knew the allegorical mode quite well: his first autobiography, The Pilgrim's Regress (1933), employs the genre, and one of his outstanding pieces of academic scholarship is The Allegory of Love (1936).
At times, Lewis blended allegory and pure fantasy into a kind of modern myth. In Till We Have Faces (1956), a retelling of the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche, the reader is clearly in the world of mythic narrative, but the book also has allegorical features. Lewis's famous The Chronicles of Narnia is widely accepted as a Christian allegory, though countless young readers have enjoyed it purely as a fantasy story.
Apologetics Lewis's importance as an essayist is identifiable with, and to a great extent owing to, his role as a popular apologist (in this context, apologist means “defender”) for the Christian faith. Christian apology is a long tradition of scholarly explication and defense of the tenets of the faith. Lewis distinguished himself as an apologist by making complex theological concepts approachable and understandable to lay people without pandering or oversimplifying.
Lewis styled himself as a common man addressing concerns faced by all, including both the naive but honest skeptic and the unsophisticated Christian in an intellectually complex world; the title Mere Christianity, a phrase used by the seventeenth-century clergyman Richard Baxter, was meant to evoke the core of Christian belief system and, as well, the common intellectual issues faced by everyday believers or inquirers into the Christian faith.
Works in Critical Context
Lewis's essays have been described by Roger Lancelyn Green and Walter Hooper, his biographers, as characteristically manifesting a “love of clarity,” with “striking metaphors” and “inexorable logic,” demonstrating the “ability to incapsulate a great many facts into a few words.” Nevill Coghill points to a “weight and clarity of argument, sudden turns of generalization and general paradox, the telling short sentence to sum a complex paragraph, and unexpected touches of personal approach to the reader.”
On the subject of his novels, Corbin Scott Carell writes, “Only an anti-religious bias can deny Lewis a place in the canon of worthwhile minor writers of twentieth century British fiction. He is not one of the giants (as a novelist—he is a giant as a thinker). He is not a Joyce or a Lawrence. But neither is Huxley or Orwell and they continue to be taught.”
The Chronicles of Narnia The seven Narnia books are fantasies written for children but intended to be appreciated by adults. The first book in the series, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, has achieved fame apart from the rest, winning the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award in 1962. The Narnia books have been both praised and criticized for intermingling mythologies, including not only classical fauns and talking animals but also Father Christmas and a Christ-like lion named Aslan (Turkish for “lion”). Despite mixed critical response, the books have gained popularity over the decades, and a set published in paperback by Puffin between 1977 and 1979 was a best seller.
LITERARY AND HISTORICAL CONTEMPORARIES
Lewis's famous contemporaries include:
Joseph Stalin (1879–1953): Supreme dictator of the Soviet Union for a quarter of a century, from the late 1920s until his death.
H.L. Mencken (1880–1956): A journalist, editor, and essayist from Baltimore, Maryland, Mencken was one of the most influential literary figures of the first half of the twentieth century.
Ayn Rand (1905–1982): Russian-born American writer and philosopher who developed the philosophical system known as Objectivism that celebrated individualism and capitalism and rejected organized religion. Her novels The Fountainhead (1943) and Atlas Shrugged (1957) were international best sellers.
W.H. Auden (1907–1973): Controversial and influential English poet and author and ardent supporter of Lewis's friend Tolkien's fantasy writings.
Amanda McKittrick Ros (1860–1939): Regarded by many as “the worst writer of all time,” her works were often read during meetings of the Inklings, an Oxford literary club that included Lewis and Tolkien. The object was to see how far the reader could get before he started laughing.
Responses to Literature
An allegory is a composition, whether pictorial or literary, in which immaterial or spiritual realities are directly represented by material objects. Write a short story that is an allegory. Take an abstract concept or a virtue, such as honesty or patience or courage, and write a story in which the main character in human or animal form conveys the characteristics of your chosen abstract concept.
An apologist—from the Greek word meaning speaking in defense—chooses to speak in favor of an unpopular or widely scrutinized position. Choose a position you feel has been unfairly singled out for criticism and write a defense of it. Research the terms “straw man,” “red herring,” and “syllogism” and apply the techniques to your argument.
Watch the 2005 film adaptation The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe or the 2008 film adaptation The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, noting where the film follows Lewis's book and where it differs. Consider elements such as theme, plot, dialogue, and characterization. Why do you think the filmmakers decided to make these changes? Prepare a class presentation in which you discuss the differences, but be sure to highlight some similarities as well. Use clips (DVD or VHS) from the movie to support your conclusions.
Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy (published between 1995 and 2000) is, like Lewis's Narnia series, a saga of children battling dark forces in an alternate world—but Pullman's books take a distinctly anti-church position.compare the “good” and “bad” characters in both series. What qualities make the heroes and heroines admirable? Are the qualities different in the two series? What makes the villains dangerous or evil in the two series?
COMMON HUMAN EXPERIENCE
Lewis focused on explaining or celebrating the Christian faith in many of his works. Other famous works of Christian apologetics include:
City of God (c. 410), a religious treatise by St. Augustine. Augustine wrote City of God to explain the benefits of Christianity and differentiate it from competing religions of the time.
Summa Theologica (c. 1274), a religious treatise by St. Thomas Aquinas. This unfinished work was a summary of the Christian teachings of the time.
The Everlasting Man (1925), a religious treatise by G.K. Chesterton. Lewis was greatly influenced by this history of Christianity.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Books
Caughey, Shanna, ed. Revisiting Narnia: Fantasy, Myth and Religion in C.S. Lewis's Chronicles. Dallas, Tex.: BenBella Books, 2005.
Hooper, Walter. C.S. Lewis: A Companion and Guide. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996.
Ryken, Leland, and Marjorie Lamp Mead. A Reader's Guide through the Wardrobe: Exploring C.S. Lewis's Classic Story. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2005.
Schakel, Peter J. Imagination and the Arts in C.S. Lewis: Journeying to Narnia and Other Worlds. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2002.
Periodicals
Moorman, Charles. “Space Ship and Grail: The Myths of C.S. Lewis.” College English (May 1957): vol. 18.8: 401–405.
Niedbala, Amanda M. “From Hades to Heaven: Greek Mythological Influences in C.S. Lewis's The Silver Chair.” Mythlore (Winter-Spring 2006): vol.24.3–4: 71.
LEWIS, C. S.
LEWIS, C. S. (1898–1963), was an Anglican scholar, novelist, and theologian. Clive Staples Lewis was born in Belfast on November 29, 1898. As a boy he read omnivorously and wrote remarkably imaginative stories about a world he called Boxen. He was educated at Malvern College, and then privately. Soon after discovering Celtic and Norse mythology, in 1913, he became convinced that Christianity was one of the inferior mythologies of the world and that God, if he existed, was a cosmic sadist. After one term at University College, Oxford, in 1917, he went to France with the Somerset Light Infantry, and on April 15, 1918, he was wounded in the Battle of Arras. Upon his return to Oxford in 1919 he took first-class degrees in classics, philosophy, and English. Between 1925 and 1954 he was the fellow of English language and literature at Magdalen College, Oxford, and he won acclaim as a medievalist for The Allegory of Love (1936).
Lewis's efforts to keep God at bay gave way slowly as he began to find his own arguments philosophically untenable. His friend and colleague J. R. R. Tolkien (1892–1973) did much to unsettle his atheism when he convinced Lewis that the Christian myth differed from all others in that it ended in the Word made flesh. After his conversion in 1931, Lewis published the partly autobiographical The Pilgrim's Regress (1933), whose main theme is that everyone's experiences of inconsolable longing (which he was later to call "joy") are longings for and pointers to God. Another theme of the book—afterward developed in his Miracles (1947)—is that, while all mythologies contain hints of divine truth, Jewish mythology was chosen by God and culminates in myth becoming fact. A clearer account of Lewis's almost purely philosophical conversion is his autobiography, Surprised by Joy (1955).
Lewis was happiest with a few male friends, and especially at the weekly meetings of the "Inklings," a group that included his brother Warren (1895–1973), Tolkien, Merton College English scholar Hugo Dyson (1896–1975), the novelist Charles Williams (1886–1945), the philosopher Owen Barfield (1898–1997), and a few others. The influence of these men on Lewis was important, as they read and criticized one another's writings.
Lewis relished "rational opposition," and in debate his inexorable logic was unanswerable. His Abolition of Man (1943) is considered one of the most carefully reasoned defenses of natural law ever formulated. Able to adapt to any audience, Lewis became well known in Britain from his talks over the BBC from 1941 to 1944, which were expanded into the book Mere Christianity (1952). One of his most popular works, The Screwtape Letters (1942), was rapturously received in America. These and many other books established him as a brilliant and lucid defender of orthodox, supernatural Christianity, and through them he won a wide hearing for Christianity. A great many people have been introduced to Christian ideas through Lewis's three science fiction novels, of which the first is Out of the Silent Planet (1938), and his seven fairy tales of the mythical land of Narnia, beginning with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950). A brilliant popularizer of the faith and an apologist acceptable to an exceptionally wide spectrum of Christians, Lewis, through his books, sheds light from unexpected angles on the faults and foibles of men and women. Lewis was made professor of medieval and Renaissance literature at Cambridge University in 1955. In 1956 he married Joy Davidman Gresham, who died in 1960. Lewis died at Oxford on November 22, 1963.
Bibliography
For a complete list of C. S. Lewis's writings, see my "Bibliography of the Writings of C. S. Lewis," in C. S. Lewis at the Breakfast Table, and Other Reminiscences, edited by James T. Como (New York, 1979), pp. 250–276. Miracles: A Preliminary Study, rev. ed. (New York, 1960), is Lewis's most solid work of theology, and Mere Christianity (London, 1952) is his most popular. For information about Lewis, see his Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life (London, 1955) and C. S. Lewis: A Biography, by Roger Lancelyn Green and myself (London, 1974).
Walter Hooper (1987)
LEWIS, C. S.
Novelist, critic, poet, essayist, and Christian apologist Clive Staples Lewis (1898–1963) was born in Belfast on November 29, served in France, and was wounded during World War I. He completed his undergraduate studies at University College, Oxford, in 1922, and from 1925 until 1954 was a Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, and tutor in English. From 1954 until just before his death he was Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge.
Lewis once wrote that although he was a rationalist who had scientific impulses, he could have never been a scientist. He considered the role and direction of science for nearly three decades and mentioned and alluded to it in many of his works. He was aware of its limitations and methodology, and was respectful of its status as a type of knowledge that could be used for the benefit of humanity. Lewis praised genuine scientific accomplishment and said that scientific reason, if accurate, was valid, although it was not the only kind of reasoning. Truth, value, meaning, and other ideals were necessary presuppositions to the scientific method but were not themselves scientific phenomena.
Lewis was sometimes accused of being unscientific and discrediting, or even attacking, scientific thinking. In realityhecriticizedwhathecalled scientism, a reductionist outlook on the world that popularized the sciences. Scientism (science deified) occurred when a naturalistic worldview was linked to the empirical method of experimentation. Scientism as radical empiricism rejected the truth of a nonquantifiable reality such as God.
Lewis saw the Genesis creation accounts as non-literal folk tales or myths. In The Problem of Pain (1940), he presented a modified view of creation and the Fall because scientific evidence that "carnivorousness was older than humanity" had led him to believe that evil had manifested itself long before Adam (Lewis 1940, p. 121). He had a theistic view of evolution but resisted attempts to draw broad philosophical implications from various scientific theories of it. He was never directly opposed to science, but believed many scientific theories were tentative and dependent on changing presuppositions and climates of opinion. Early evidence from his letters indicate that he denied that biological evolution was incompatible with Christianity; in later letters he became increasingly pessimistic about evolutionism as a progressive philosophy. Earlier he felt that the theory of evolution was often held because of dogmatic, not scientific reasons, but he never gave up his long-held view that biological evolution was compatible with Christian accounts of creation. He opposed evolutionism as a philosophical theory, not evolution as a biological theory.
In many of his writings Lewis tried to redefine the role of science and its proper role in society. He believed that scientism was in error in that it reduced life to abstractions and denied the possibility that physical events and human experiences had God behind them. He observed that since scientism was only concerned with how things behave, it was not qualified or capable of looking behind things, particularly the power behind the universe.
In his much-praised defense of natural law, The Abolition of Man (1943), Lewis discussed the possibility of a world that no longer believed in objective truth and value. He saw this as possibly leading to a power struggle in which societal elites tried to control and recondition society. "Man's conquest of Nature, if the dreams of some scientific planners are realized, means the rule of a few hundreds of men over billions and billions of men ... Each new power won by man is a power over man as well" (Lewis 1955, p. 70).
Many of Lewis's ideas in The Abolition of Man were expressed dramatically in his space novel That Hideous Strength (1945). In the story, the degeneration of humanity nearly occurs as a result of a gross scientific materialism controlled by bureaucrats that is devoid of all idealistic, ethical, and religious values. Lewis satirized materialistic scientists in That Hideous Strength by showing them as ignoring metaphysical reason and refusing to submit their claims to any kind of moral or religious authority.
He wrote his trilogy of space novels (the others being Out of the Silent Planet [1938], and Perelandra [1943]) as a result of reading Olaf Stapledon's (1886–1950) Last and First Men (1930) and the Cambridge biochemist J. B. S. Haldane's (1892–1964) essay "Man's Destiny" (1927), both of which took interplanetary travel seriously but contained an immoral outlook that denied God. He was openly critical of Stapledon's fictional universes, in which science represented the greatest good and Christian ideals played no essential role. After reading Stapledon's Star Maker (1937), Lewis said that the race Stapledon described was concerned primarily for the increase of its own power by technology, a technology that was indifferent to ethics, and a cancer in the universe.
PERRY C. BRAMLETT
SEE ALSO Anglo-Catholic Cultural Criticism;Christian Perspectives.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Aeschliman, Michael D. (1998). The Restitution of Man: C. S. Lewis and the Case against Scientism. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. A succinct examination of Lewis's role as spokesman for the classical Christian philosophical tradition that has opposed scientific materialism since the seventeenth century.
Lewis, C. S. (1940). The Problem of Pain. London: Geoffrey Bles.
Lewis, C. S. (1955). The Abolition of Man. New York: Collier Books.
Lewis, C. S. (1996). That Hideous Strength. New York: Scribner.
Philmus, Robert M. (1972). "C. S. Lewis and the Fictions of Scientism." Extrapolation 13(2)(May): 92–101.
Sammons, Martha D. (1976). "C. S. Lewis's View of Science." CSL: The Bulletin of the New York C. S. Lewis Society 7(10)(August): 1–6.
Schultz, Jeffrey D., and John G. West Jr., eds. (1998). The C. S. Lewis Readers' Encyclopedia. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. See particularly entries on M. D. Aeschliman, "science," Perry C. Bramlett, "the fall," Thomas Howard, "that hideous strength," Thomas T. Talbott, "the problem of pain," John G. West, Jr., and "the abolition of man."
C. S. Lewis
Born: November 29, 1898
Belfast, Ireland
Died: November 24, 1963
Oxford, England
Irish writer, novelist, and essayist
The Irish novelist and essayist C. S. Lewis was best known for his essays on literature and his explanations of Christian teachings.
Early life and education
On November 29, 1898, Clive Staples Lewis was born in Belfast, Ireland. He was the son of A. J. Lewis, a lawyer, and Flora August Hamilton Lewis, a mathematician (expert in mathematics), whose father was a minister. At four years old he told his parents that he wanted to be called "Jack" Lewis, and his family and friends referred to him that way for the rest of his life. Jack's best friend as a boy was his older brother Warren. They did everything together and even created their own made-up country, Boxen, going so far as to create many individual characters and a four-hundred-year history of the country.
Lewis's mother, who had tutored him in French and Latin, died when he was ten years old. After spending a year in studies at Malvern College, a boarding school in England, he continued his education privately under a tutor named W. T. Kirkpatrick, former headmaster (principal) of Lurgan College. During World War I (1914–18), which began as a conflict between Austria-Hungary and Serbia but eventually involved much of Europe, Lewis served as a second lieutenant in the English army, interrupting his career as a scholar that he had begun in 1918 at University College, Oxford. Wounded in the war, he returned to Oxford, where he was appointed lecturer at University College in 1924. In 1925 he was appointed fellow (performing advanced study or research) and tutor at Magdalen College, England, where he gave lectures on English literature.
Published works
In 1926 Lewis's first publication, Dymer, appeared under the pseudonym (fake writing name) Clive Hamilton. Dymer revealed Lewis's gift for satire (a work of literature that makes fun of human vice or foolishness). The Pilgrims' Regress, an allegory (an expression of truths about human existence using symbols) published in 1933, presented an apology for Christianity. It was not until the appearance of his second allegorical work, The Allegory of Love (1936), however, that Lewis was honored with the coveted Hawthornden prize.
The Screwtape Letters (1942), for which Lewis is perhaps best known, is a satire in which the devil, here known as Screwtape, writes letters teaching his young nephew, Wormwood, how to tempt humans to sin. Lewis published seven religious allegories for children titled Chronicles of Narnia (1955). He also published several scholarly works on literature, including English Literature in the 16th Century (1954) and Experiment in Criticism (1961).
Although Lewis went on to publish several works involving religion, he had lost interest in it early in life and only later "converted" to Christianity, joining the Anglican Church. His autobiography (the story of his own life), Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life, fails to explain what happened in his childhood. His headmaster in boarding school, a minister who urged him to "think" by hitting him, may have contributed to this change.
Later years
Lewis went on to become a professor of English at Cambridge University, England, in 1954. Widely read as an adult, his knowledge of literature made him much sought after for his company and conversation. Lewis thoroughly enjoyed sitting up into the late hours in college rooms talking about literature, poetry, and religion.
In 1956, rather late in life, Lewis married Joy Davidman Gresham, the daughter of a New York Jewish couple. She was a graduate of Hunter College and had previously been married twice. When her first husband suffered a heart attack, she turned to prayer. Reading the writings of Lewis, she began attending church. Later, led by his writings to Lewis himself, she divorced her second husband, Williams Gresham, and married Lewis. She died some three years before her husband. C. S. Lewis died at his home in Headington, Oxford, England, on November 24, 1963. A major collection of his works is held by Wheaton College in Illinois.
For More Information
Adey, Lionel. C. S. Lewis: Writer, Dreamer, and Mentor. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Pub., 1998.
Como, James T., ed. C. S. Lewis at the Breakfast Table and Other Reminiscences. New York: Macmillan, 1979.
Glaspey, Terry W. Not a Tame Lion: The Spiritual Legacy of C. S. Lewis. Nashville: Cumberland House, 1996.
Lewis, C. S. Surprised by Joy; the Shape of My Early Life. London: G. Bles, 1955.
Walsh, Chad. The Literary Legacy of C. S. Lewis. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1979. | |||||
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Of Irish Origin
On this day in history, the most significant Christian apologist of the twentieth century was born at home in Belfast, Ireland. C. S. Lewis was not an Englishman. He was Irish before the division between Ireland and Northern Ireland came about in the 1920s in an effort to resolve the bloody conflict between the Catholics and Protestants of Ireland. His Irishness would play a major part in who C. S. Lewis would become and it created a rocky road for him to travel from childhood to manhood within the English public school system.
If someone had told his parents that C. S. Lewis would grow up to become an internationally known defender of the Christian faith, they would not have been at all surprised. They might even say it was inevitable, given that he was born into a family of clergy on his mother’s side. His grandfather was the rector of the church his family attended in the Holywood Hills outside Belfast. His great-grandfather had been a bishop! Though the casual onlooker might say that it was in his blood, faith does not come genetically. Faith would come most reluctantly to C. S. Lewis years after he had grown up, but his conversion took place on tracks laid down by Lewis as a boy and teenager when faith was the farthest thing from his mind.
Time at Oxford
When death came to C. S. Lewis a few days before his sixty-fifth birthday, however, he lived far away from the Ireland he loved all his life. He had gone up to Oxford in 1917 when he was eighteen, and except for the year that he spent in the army at the end of World War I, he made Oxford his residence until he died. In the meantime, he achieved great fame as an apologist for the Christian faith, as a children’s story writer, and as a science fiction writer. In terms of his profession as a scholar of medieval and renaissance literature, he established a reputation as one of the great literary critics of the twentieth century.
Unexpected Change of Course and Prolific Writer
Lewis had never intended to become an apologist anymore than he had intended to become a Christian. His first effort at apologetics might have died a quiet death. It took the form of an allegorical account of his conversion along the lines of The Pilgrim’s Progress, which he called The Pilgrim’s Regress, because in his life story, he had to plunge back into the world until death would finally come. After that little venture that he wrote in two weeks while on vacation back in Ireland, Lewis plunged into his scholarly work in order to gain a reputation.
His first great scholarly effort was The Allegory of Love (1936) which explored the medieval allegorical courtly love poetry most popularly identified with the King Arthur stories. Then he tried his hand at science fiction with mild success. He did not take up rational apologetics until the beginning of World War II when he was asked to write a book that became The Problem of Suffering (1940). On the strength of this book, he was asked to deliver a series of broadcast talks for the BBC. One series stretched into four before the end of the war. They were published individually as small booklets during the war. In 1952 the four broadcasts were collected into a single volume that was published as Mere Christianity. Toward the end of the war, Dorothy L. Sayers urged Lewis to write a strong apologetic that made the case for miracles. He agreed, and it was published as Miracles in 1947.
Once freed from the obligations of “war duties,” however, the apologetics of Lewis returned to his earlier and preferred mode: storytelling. Even during the war, the apologetics that Lewis wrote on his own involved fictional storytelling in the form of The Screwtape Letters and The Great Divorce. After Miracles, he wrote the seven volumes that comprise the Chronicles of Narnia, and he wrote a literary novel based on the story of Psyche from Greek mythology. In the last decade and a half of his life, Lewis practiced what he called the “best apologetics,” which involved not more little Christian books, but more little books on every subject by Christians with their Christianity latent. These books include The Discarded Image, The Four Loves, Reflections of the Psalms, Studies in Words, and several collections of essays.
Obediently Tell Your Story
Lewis died on November 22, 1963, just seven days short of his sixty-fifth birthday—the same day that John Kennedy was shot in Dallas. In the great stir, few people noticed the death of Lewis, whose funeral was attended by only a few of his oldest and dearest friends.
Lewis provides a model to all believers of the importance of practicing the obedience of telling one’s own story of faith.
C. S. Lewis never regarded himself as a theologian, even though he became one of the most important voices for the Christian faith in the twentieth century. A number of famous preachers and theologians appeared on the scene and then faded away over the decades as Lewis’s writing continued to be read and appreciated by people all over the world. Mere Christianity in particular has played a significant role in the spiritual development of millions of people. Yet, Lewis had no formal theological training.
What Lewis did possess was a willingness to use his gifts for Christ. He once acknowledged that he was the last person who should be writing the kinds of books he wrote, but he only did so because the theologians had not. To a great extent, Lewis only ever shared his testimony. While The Pilgrim’s Regress and Surprised by Joy are allegorical and straightforward accounts of the obstacles to faith and how they were met in his life, almost all of his other apologetic writing is his personal testimony in another form. The questions he addressed in The Problem of Pain and the first part of Mere Christianity are the issues that he faced as a young man. He does not simply provide a logical explanation for the Christian faith. He presents the logical path by which he came to faith. Lewis provides a model to all believers of the importance of practicing the obedience of telling one’s own story of faith, even as Christ charged his disciples to be his witnesses.
Harry Lee Poe is the author of Becoming C. S. Lewis: A Biography of Young Jack Lewis.
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] | null | [] | 2019-04-24T00:00:00 | C.S. Lewis does not come to lovely conclusions about his God or his religion or his suffering. He asks many more questions than he answers. He rants, questions, weeps and feels terrible, deservedly sorry for himself and for the woman he loved so much and has now lost. And in doing so, he renders in prose what it really feels like to grieve. | en | /themes/custom/america2021/logoA.png | America Magazine | https://www.americamagazine.org/arts-culture/2019/04/24/cs-lewis-helped-me-understand-my-grief-and-reminded-me-why-i-write | “You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you,” writes C. S. Lewis in A Grief Observed. It’s a moment of epiphany, or, as I prefer to call it, a smackdown. Epiphany sounds too hopeful, too certain, at a time when I find myself, like Lewis at the time of his writing, questioning everything I thought I knew.
A career spiritual writer, I suddenly find the vocabulary of my genre shallow and even repugnant. The old tropes of beauty in brokenness, wounded healers and cracks letting the light in seem pathetically thin in response to this kind of brokenness. More than thin. In a culture so heavily invested in denying responsibility for the pain it has caused in order to preserve itself, they seem dangerous. I fear the language of beauty has been deployed to trap us in systems of abuse.
In the space of a few years, my life—personal, professional, religious—has become unrecognizable. Have I followed the path of faith to a dead end?
A Grief Observed is the only Lewis book I can stand to read anymore. Here we see the great apologist, one of our finest and most beloved spiritual writers, stripped of his convictions and openly, viciously angry at God.
Books by revered white Christian men, in particular, haven’t been much comfort to me lately. A Grief Observed is the only Lewis book I can stand to read anymore. Here we see the great apologist, one of our finest and most beloved spiritual writers, stripped of his convictions and openly, viciously angry at God. The Oxford don is confused, hopeless and utterly bereft. His wife has died, and nothing makes sense anymore. He is disgusted by the platitudes of well-meaning religious friends and the sympathy cards—he calls them “pitiable cant.” He can’t even pray for the dead anymore. He confesses that when he tries to pray for his wife, “bewilderment and amazement come over me. I have a ghastly sense of unreality, of speaking into a vacuum about a nonentity.” His confidence in the reality and nature of God has been destroyed: “Apparently the faith—I thought it faith—which enables me to pray for the dead has seemed strong only because I have never really cared, not desperately, whether they existed or not.”
The rubber has met the road, and he has found that all the theology in his world cannot fix a blown out tire.
A Grief Observed remains powerful precisely because Lewis does not come to lovely conclusions about his God or his religion or his suffering. He asks many more questions than he answers. He rants, questions, weeps and feels terrible, deservedly sorry for himself and for the woman he loved so much and has now lost. And in doing so, he renders in prose what it really feels like to grieve.
But there’s another reason I like it so much. The book is so raw, and gives such vivid expression to the challenge of belief in a time of suffering, that even the pedigreed C. S. Lewis, already a respected spiritual writer, published it under a pen name.
When I picked up my copy of the book recently, leafing through it idly while preparing to teach, I realized this is what I’ve been feeling. Grief. I know grief, don’t I? I’d easily recognize the real animal pain of losing one’s beloved. My mother died when I was 14 and took my whole world with her. But this feels different. I am grieving not a single person but the pain of others—literally thousands of abuse victims—while I adjust to the loss of all the conventional markers of my identity. I am no longer a married Catholic writer and stay-at-home mom. I no longer trust the rails I was riding, the institutions that I once so firmly believed in, to be my guides.
I’ve long thought of writing as my vocation. Words are the only tools that fit in my hands, as Natalia Ginzburg once wrote. I’ve believed that any natural ability I have is God-given, with strings attached. But are these just more closely held beliefs that I will have to let go in order to press on? As a spiritual writer, I’ve been stripped of my context. Do I have anything left to offer? In the wake of all this, I’ve thought, honestly, that I could surely live, and live well, live better, and never write again.
And yet, while I’ve called so much into question, I still experience art as another path to God. I still believe that the act of creation, of making anything at all, or of entering into another’s creation, is a way of entering and sharing the experience of the divine. Art is not bread, and it won’t save us, but it can be another kind of food that helps people to thrive, if not survive. And I think that means that artists, imbued by the creator with the ability and desire to create, have an obligation to do so.
That’s the nobility of art; it makes no promises toward virtue, and yet it can help us to tend the virtue of hope in each other, even when the art itself is not explicitly hopeful. The Roman Catholic Church, for so long my sanctuary, has become another locus of pain, but art has been my minister in these days of confusion, disruption, grief and reinvention.
By telling stories, sharing our visions, drawing each other into the mystery of human experience on the page or canvas, photograph or song, we show each other the infinite and wildly various forms the life of faith—which is also a life of doubt—might take.
Alan Jacobs wrote in his book on memoir and personal testimony, Looking Before and After, that one of the greatest dangers for a Christian is to assume at any point in our lives that our journey is over and that we have all the answers. I’d say this is also true for artists. It is only too likely that we have answered wrong, or that the answer was right—for a time—and is wrong now, or that we have, as Lewis pointed out in A Grief Observed, been asking the wrong question all along. Jacobs says we are always running the risk of the twin dangers of presumption and despair, and I recognize myself in his observation. Hope means believing our story is not finished, that we’re still on our way.
Jacobs writes that we must “learn to think of our lives as stories that move along recognizable paths, paths followed by our predecessors and indeed by our contemporary companions in the faith [so that we] will be better able to see changes in the road as continuations of it rather than detours or dead ends.” In art, as in faith, there are no dead ends.
By telling stories, sharing our visions, drawing each other into the mystery of human experience on the page or canvas, photograph or song, we show each other the infinite and wildly various forms the life of faith—which is also a life of doubt—might take. Especially when our stories and visions do not fit an acceptable or conventional pattern. Especially when the answers do not come easy and we are not even sure what questions to ask.
The artist and writer Caryll Houselander, when describing one of her mystical visions, said that each of us is living out the Christ life in some way—whether we are living his infancy, his suffering, his death or his resurrection. “No one of us must ever lose hope,” she wrote, for “it is the will of Christ’s love to be put into the hands of sinners...that He may be their gift to one another, that they may comfort Him in each other, give Him to each other. In this sense every ordinary life becomes sacramental, and every action of anyone at all has an eternal meaning.”
These two sentiments from two very different thinkers have been my guide for the last decade of writing: the infinite value of every person’s story and the potentially sacramental nature of every ordinary action. And yet, as I write I notice, again, how narrow my religious imagination turned out to be. How strange that I, a working-class woman writing from a small town in the Deep South, should have sought wisdom only among those whose experiences are so very distant from my own. On the one hand, it is beautiful—a testament to the universality of human spiritual longing and experience, nearly a proof to me of a common creator, that a writer like Lewis can speak to me across time and context and gender and class. But it should not be so shocking to me that my own experiences of God and church are not matching up with those of the writers of the canon that shaped me.
I find I am no longer content to point to the beauty in the wreckage. If I am going to continue as an artist, as a person of faith, I need to rebuild my imagination, or at least expand it significantly. I suddenly appreciate how the crumbling of a foundation might not be a tragedy at all but an opportunity to create one that is stronger. It might be of immeasurable benefit to me as an artist, a witness, a person of faith, a human being, to rebuild. To trust that my own voice and the voices of so many others are worth amplifying exactly because we did not fit and because what we create may challenge or threaten a status quo that has been found not just wanting but destructive.
In the short story “Jack Frost,” by Josephine Jacobsen, the main character, an elderly woman named Mrs. Travis, cultivates a spectacular garden of flowers in a tiny New Hampshire tourist town. The parish priest comes to visit her at the time of the first frost, hoping to persuade her to leave her cottage before winter, for her own safety. Mrs. Travis clearly makes him uneasy, but the priest recognizes a bond between them—“a belief in the physical, a conviction of the open-ended mystery of matter.”
But because Mrs. Travis is not a Roman Catholic, he can find no avenue to approach her: “her passion was in this scraggy garden.” In her presence he finds he is tempted to tired metaphors about Eden and Gethsemane and familiar Scriptures like the one about the lilies of the field. But Mrs. Travis grows at least five kinds of lilies, “lifting their slick and sappy stalks above confusion,” and his well-worn words falter in the presence of such physical, material abundance.
When Father O’Rourke leaves, Mrs. Travis, “sorry to see him go,” offers him all she has to give: some flowers.
He hesitates, recalls the “pious arrangement” on the side of the altar back at the parish church, wary to bring anything as wild as what Mrs. Travis grows into that space. Still, he warns her, “idiotically,” we’re told, not to let Jack Frost get them.
That night Mrs. Travis wakes from a nightmare to find the first frost of the season approaching without warning, and she launches her resistance. “Light and warm, drunk with resistant power,” she cuts every flower from her wild garden and brings them inside. She injures herself attempting to dig up a rose begonia with a trowel, and barely makes it back across the threshold of her cottage, where sprawled helplessly across the floor, “a dozen shapes and colors blazed before her eyes.” Gethsemane indeed. This is Mrs. Travis’s Passion, a defeat and a victory all at once.
There’s a bit of me in both Mrs. Travis and Father O’Rourke, and I find myself inspired by their awkward interaction in this story. She is at times troublesome, wild, stubborn and self-defeating; she does not share the priest’s language or his worldview. She insists on traveling her own road and waving him on down his. And yet, they have a bond, the person of faith and the artist.
Somehow, they draw each other deeper into mystery. | ||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 95 | https://www.egypttoday.com/Article/4/34709/Today-in-History-C-S-Lewis-creator-of-Narnia-is | en | Today in History - C.S Lewis, creator of Narnia is born | [
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correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 63 | https://library.pepperdine.edu/news/posts/2021-11-c-s-lewis.htm | en | Celebrating C.S. Lewis | [
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] | null | Pepperdine Libraries commemorates the birth and lasting literary and theological legacy of renowned British author and theologian Clive Staples Lewis, born November 29, 1898. | en | Pepperdine Libraries - Pepperdine University | https://library.pepperdine.edu/news/posts/2021-11-c-s-lewis.htm | "Enough had been thought, and said, and felt, and imagined. It was about time that something should be done." - C.S. Lewis (1898 - 1963)
Pepperdine Libraries commemorates the birth and lasting literary and theological legacy of renowned British author and theologian Clive Staples Lewis, born November 29, 1898.
Born in Belfast and baptized in the Church of Ireland, C.S. Lewis attended preparatory schools in England before entering Malvern College on scholarship in 1913, where he developed an interest in Celtic and Norse literature. In 1916 during the First World War, Lewis received a scholarship to University College Oxford, and upon arrival, applied to join the Officers' Training Corps in order to be commissioned as an officer. Lewis was wounded in battle in April 1918.
After the war, Lewis earned a "Triple First" at Oxford, receiving First Class Honours in Classical Moderations in 1920, literae humaniores in 1922, and English Language and Literature in 1923. In 1925, he was elected a tutor of Magdalen College Oxford, making the acquaintances of colleagues such as philosopher J.A. Smith, theologian Clement Charles Julian Webb, and grammarian Charles Talbut Onions. In the 1930s, Lewis held weekly meetings with J.R.R. Tolkien and friends as part of his group, the "Inklings".
In 1929, Lewis underwent a religious transformation in which he rediscovered his faith, eventually converting from agnosticism to Christianity. He allegorically detailed his experience in his work The Pilgrim's Regress (1933). Writing later in his autobiography Surprised by Joy, Lewis stated, "You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England. I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the Divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms."
By the 1940s, Lewis was featured heavily as a speaker and lecturer. Literary scholar Jonathan D. Evans wrote, "His emergence from a successful but nonetheless relatively obscure academic career into the limelight of popular acclaim was the result largely of four series of programs broadcast by the BBC in 1941 and 1942 in which Lewis responded to the invitation of James W. Welch to give "a series of talks on something like 'The Christian Faith As I See It-By A Layman.'"" Lewis went on to complete two major works on Christianity, The Screwtape Letters in 1942, and Mere Christianity in 1952. In 1942 at Oxford, he founded the Socratic Club, a Christian discussion group.
The Chronicles of Narnia, seven works of fantasy published between 1950 and 1956, are among his most famous and influential works. According to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, "Lewis wanted these books to answer the question: 'What might Christ be like if there really were a world like Narnia and he chose to be incarnate and die and rise again in that world as he actually has done in ours?'"
Pepperdine Libraries holds several works by or about C.S. Lewis in both print and ebook formats, including:
Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life
The Pilgrim's Regress: An Allegorical Apology for Christianity, Reason, and Romanticism
Mere Christianity
The Screwtape Letters
Miracles: A Preliminary Study
Chronicles of Narnia
Sehnsucht: The C.S. Lewis Journal
Further reading & works cited
Bosky, Bernadette Lynn. "C(live) S(taples) Lewis." In British Fantasy and Science-Fiction
Writers, 1918-1960, edited by Darren Harris-Fain. Dictionary of Literary Biography Vol. 255. Detroit, MI: Gale, 2002. Gale Literature Resource Center (accessed November 23, 2021).
https://go-gale-com.lib.pepperdine.edu/ps/i.do?p=LitRC&u=pepp12906&id=GALE|H1200010575&v=2.1&it=r&sid=bookmark-LitRC&asid=459e537d.
C.S. Lewis. "The Question of God. Surprised by Joy | PBS." Accessed November 23, 2021. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/questionofgod/ownwords/joy.html.
erinhorakova. "C.S. Lewis in the Great War." Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers in the Great War (blog), March 13, 2014. https://fantastic-writers-and-the-great-war.com/war-experiences/c-s-lewis/.
Evans, Jonathan D. "C(live) S(taples) Lewis." In Modern British Essayists: Second Series, edited by Robert Lawrence Beum. Dictionary of Literary Biography Vol. 100. Detroit, MI: Gale, 1990. Gale Literature Resource Center (accessed November 23, 2021). https://go-gale-com.lib.pepperdine.edu/ps/i.do?p=LitRC&u=pepp12906&id=GALE|H1200006245&v=2.1&it=r&sid=bookmark-LitRC&asid=b44597b5.
Gehring, Michael J., and William J. Abraham. "C. S. Lewis: An Unusual Evangelist." In The Oxbridge Evangelist, 1st ed., 1–35. Motivations, Practices, and Legacy of C.S. Lewis. The Lutterworth Press, 2017. https://www-jstor-org.lib.pepperdine.edu/stable/j.ctvj4sx2v.
"Lewis, Clive Staples (1898–1963), Writer and Scholar | Oxford Dictionary of National Biography." Accessed November 23, 2021. https://www-oxforddnb-com.lib.pepperdine.edu/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-34512. | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 94 | https://ferrelljenkins.blog/2013/11/22/did-you-know-c-s-lewis-died-nov-22-1963/ | en | Did you know C. S. Lewis died Nov. 22, 1963? | [
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] | null | [] | 2013-11-22T00:00:00 | Recently I have been reading C. S. Lewis – A Life: Eccentric Genius, Reluctant Prophet by Alister McGrath. He says that Warnie found his brother dead at the foot of his bed at 5:30 p.m. [in Oxford], "Friday, 22 November 1963." Then comes this paragraph: At that same time, President John F. Kennedy's motorcade left Dallas's… | en | https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/c7728697c0c9ade7399a79bb19078ecdbf8fb58b9710017f438ed5949117c392?s=32 | Ferrell's Travel Blog | https://ferrelljenkins.blog/2013/11/22/did-you-know-c-s-lewis-died-nov-22-1963/ | Recently I have been reading C. S. Lewis – A Life: Eccentric Genius, Reluctant Prophet by Alister McGrath. He says that Warnie found his brother dead at the foot of his bed at 5:30 p.m. [in Oxford], “Friday, 22 November 1963.” Then comes this paragraph:
At that same time, President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade left Dallas’s Love Field Airport, beginning its journey downtown. An hour later, Kennedy was fatally wounded by a sniper. He was pronounced dead at Parkland Memorial Hospital. Media reports of Lewis’s death were completely overshadowed by the substantially more significant tragedy that unfolded that day in Dallas.
C. S. Lewis was buried in the churchyard of Holy Trinity, Headington Quarry, Oxford after a private, and very small service. Warnie chose a phrase from a Shakespearean calendar that was in their home back in Belfast at the time of their mother’s death in August 1908: “Men must endure their going hence.” The quotation is from Shakespeare’s King Lear.
McAlister suggests that a better epitaph might be one from Lewis’s own words,
a seed patiently waiting in the earth: waiting to come up a flower in the Gardner’s good time, up into the real world, the real waking. I suppose that our whole present life, looked back on from there, will seem only a drowsy half-waking. We are here in the land of dreams. But cock-crow is coming. | ||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 1 | 79 | https://religionnews.com/2013/10/25/fifty-years-later-c-s-lewis-legacy-shines-us-homeland/ | en | Fifty years later, C.S. Lewis’ legacy shines in US, not his homeland | [
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Clive Staples Lewis was a week short of 65 when he suffered a heart attack at his home in Oxford. The obituary writers barely noticed his demise, in part because he died on the same day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.
British indifference to Lewis half a century ago will be examined at a one-day seminar at Wheaton College on Nov. 1, co-sponsored by the Marion E. Wade Center, the Institute for the Study of American Evangelicals and Wheaton College’s Faith and Learning program.
Lewis may be the most popular Christian writer in history, with millions of copies of his books sold, the vast majority in the United States where his influence is far greater than in his native country.
Was it Lewis’ modesty or British fear of discussing religion that fueled such indifference in Britain and Ireland?
A mixture of both, said Paul Johnson the prominent British journalist, author and former editor of the left-leaning “New Statesman” magazine.
Writing in the Catholic Herald, Johnson, a leading British Roman Catholic, said he first met Lewis when he was a student at Magdalen College, Oxford University, where Lewis was a don, specializing in Renaissance literature.
“When I knew him, just after the Second World War,” wrote Johnson, “he was famous for his work in English literature. … When we went for walks together, we discussed Chaucer and Dickens, Shakespeare and Dryden. ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’ were never mentioned. Indeed, I had no idea he wrote stories.”
Half a century later, his books sell between 1.5 million and 2 million copies a year.
C.S. Lewis was born in Belfast, on Nov. 29, 1898. His father, Albert James Lewis, was a lawyer; his mother, Florence Augusta Lewis, was the daughter of an Anglican vicar.
His mother died of cancer in 1908 when C.S. (known as “Jack” to family and friends) was 9.
Shattered by her death, Lewis abandoned his inherited faith at the age of 15 and threw himself into a study of mythology and the occult.
In 1916, when he was just 17, Lewis was awarded a scholarship at University College, Oxford. World War I was raging, and the following year he joined the army.
He served in the Somme Valley in France with an English infantry division and experienced the horrors of mass slaughter.
He was wounded when a British shell falling short of its target killed two of his colleagues.
After the war, he returned to Oxford and in 1925 was elected a fellow and tutor in English literature at Magdalen College where he served until 1954.
His conversion to Christianity was slow and laborious. Reluctantly, he fell under the influence of Oxford colleague and friend J.R.R. Tolkien and G.K. Chesterton, who met every Tuesday morning at a local public house in Oxford and formed a debating club called ”Inklings.”
In his autobiography “Surprised by Joy,” he said that the night he turned from atheism to Christianity he became “the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”
Tolkien and Chesterton were disappointed that their new convert turned towards the Church of England, not Rome.
C.S. Lewis went on to write acclaimed books about Christianity — “The Screwtape Letters,” “The Chronicles of Narnia,” “The Space Trilogy,” “Mere Christianity,” “Miracles and The Problem of Pain” — the latter written after he watched his American Jewish wife, Joy Davidman Gresham, die of bone cancer in 1960.
The following year, Lewis experienced medical problems and on Nov. 22, 1963 he collapsed in his bedroom. He is buried in the churchyard of Holy Trinity Church, Headington, near Oxford — now a place of pilgrimage.
Celebrations of his life will be held throughout November in Belfast. On Nov. 22, he will be honored with a memorial in Poets’ Corner, Westminster Abbey, where the kings and queens of England are crowned and where some of the world’s greatest writers are buried.
His friend Johnson said Lewis, along with Tolkien, provide a counterbalance to the enormous flood of atheist literature, especially in children’s books.
“It is one of Lewis’ great merits that his tales can be read with equal pleasure by teenagers and grown-ups,” said Johnson. “He is thus, in a sense, the answer both to Richard Dawkins and Harry Potter.”
YS/AMB END GRUNDY | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 35 | https://www.christianitytoday.com/history/2020/november/ten-facts-c-s-lewis-narnia-mere-christianity.html | en | Ten Things You (Probably) Don’t Know About C. S. Lewis | [
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] | 2020-11-29T08:00:00 | Unusual facts and common misunderstandings that take your knowledge beyond Narnia. | en | /history/apple-touch-icon.png | Christian History | Learn the History of Christianity & the Church | https://www.christianitytoday.com/history/2020/november/ten-facts-c-s-lewis-narnia-mere-christianity.html | In honor of the birthday of one of the “patron saints” of contemporary evangelical Christianity, we thought we’d offer up ten surprising facts about Lewis to better understand the beloved British writer (and so you can impress your friends at parties … whenever we can have those again).
If you only know C. S. Lewis because of his books about Narnia, then you don’t know Jack very well! “Jack,” is, of course, the name Lewis went by to his friends. This is just one of the many interesting details about him that are not commonly known. Another is the fact he died on November 22, 1963—the same day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Here are ten more tidbits about Lewis that some might find unusual, or even misunderstand.
1. Famous before Narnia
While Lewis is most known for writing The Chronicles of Narnia, he was famous enough to be on the cover of Time magazine three years before the first tale related to Aslan was published. In 1947, Lewis was the featured story for the September 8 issue of Time. The article on Lewis came out a few months after his latest book, Miracles: A Preliminary Study, was released. The reason for this honor was due to his popularity from his fictionalized correspondence between two demons in The Screwtape Letters. A casual look at the cover reveals this, as you see a pitchforked devil on his left shoulder and the wing of an angel over his head.
2. Married the same woman twice
Most are aware Lewis married Joy Davidman Gresham, but did you know he tied the knot with her twice? The first time was on April 23, 1956, in a civil ceremony. He did it as a friendly gesture to prevent Joy from deportation from England (she was an American). Less than a year later, when it was thought she would soon die from cancer, he married her again at Churchill Hospital on March 21, 1957. So, why do it again? Few actually knew about the first wedding, so it was in part because he wanted to declare his love for her before others. This part of Lewis’s life was the subject of the movie Shadowlands that was first produced by BBC in 1985 and later a Hollywood movie in 1993.
3. Cared for a woman married to another man
Admittedly this headline is a bit sensationalized, but it’s true! As a young man, Lewis made a vow to his friend, Paddy Moore, to care for Moore’s mother if he died. When Paddy was killed in World War I, Lewis made good on his promise and lived with Janie King Moore until just before she died. Moore, though separated from her husband, never divorced; however, it is not as scandalous as you might think. Moore’s daughter, Maureen (the future Lady Dunbar of Hempriggs), lived with them for several of those years. Also, Jack’s brother Warren lived in the same household with them for about two-thirds of the time they lived together. While some would have you believe there had to be a sexual relationship, as Lewis scholar Jerry Root has stated, it is really up to the those who make this claim to prove it.
4. Soldier in WWI and wounded in action
Speaking of WWI, Lewis voluntarily enlisted in the British army in 1917. The above-mentioned Paddy Moore was Lewis’s roommate at Keble College, Oxford, where they both received cadet training. They had met shortly after Lewis joined the Oxford University Officers’ Training Corps on April 30, 1917. On November 17 that year, he went to France as part of his service. He rarely said much about his life as a soldier, and so few of his experiences are known. We do know that he was hospitalized with pyrexia in February 1918, and two months later he was wounded on Mont-Bernanchon (near Lillers, France) during the Battle of Arras.
5. Wanted to be a poet
It’s no secret Lewis enjoyed writing, but his original passion was poetry. In 1919, before his 21st birthday, his first book, Spirits in Bondage: A Cycle of Lyrics, was published. Nearly all of the book was written when he was 16 or 17 years old. During that time, Lewis didn’t believe in God, and the material reflects that perspective. The book did not sell many copies. His next poetry book, Dymer, came out in 1926 and also did not sell well. While he never published a new book of poems during his lifetime, he did continue to write them and quite a few were released in a variety of publications during his lifetime. There were so many of them that less than a year after his death, Walter Hooper edited a collection simply called Poems.
6. Wrote three books under different names
Can you imagine Lewis not taking credit for books he wrote? While it may be difficult to consider, it’s true. Early in his career, his first two books of poetry, Spirits in Bondage and Dymer, were both credited to Clive Hamilton (Clive is his actual first name and Hamilton is his mother’s maiden name). Then, before he died, A Grief Observed was published (in 1961) under the pseudonym N. W. Clerk. That book recounts some of the sorrow Lewis experienced after the death of his wife. It was republished the year after his own death with him identified as the author.
7. Taught philosophy before English
While some are aware Lewis’s first full-time job was teaching English literature at Oxford University, far fewer know he had a temporary position (1924–25) as teacher of philosophy at Oxford. One of his degrees from Oxford was Literae Humaniores, which involves the study of classics, philosophy, and ancient history, which qualified him for the short-term post. In fact, he even applied for a philosophy position at Trinity College, Oxford (but failed to get it). The short-term position he did secure at University College, Oxford, was to teach during the absence of Edgar Frederick Carritt (who was Lewis’s tutor in philosophy). Carritt was on leave to teach at the University of Ann Arbor, Michigan.
8. Never was a professor at Oxford
As noted already, Lewis did teach at Oxford. While he taught there for 30 years, he was never given the title of Professor. Instead, he was merely a “don.” What’s the difference? A don in the UK is one who is a “tutor” or “lecturer” of a particular subject. A professor is often the head of a department and has a more flexible schedule. Less than ten years before his death, Lewis accepted a professorship of medieval and Renaissance English at Cambridge University.
9. Tolkien was instrumental in Lewis getting Cambridge position
Lewis was appointed to his professorship at Cambridge on October 1, 1954 (he officially began it on January 1, 1955). Ironically, even though the position was created for him, Lewis initially showed very little interest in it. His friends J. R. R. Tolkien, E. M. W. Tillyard, F. P. Wilson, and Basil Willey all played a role in Lewis getting the position, but Tolkien deserves special mention. As Alister McGrath recounts in C. S. Lewis: A Life: Eccentric Genius, Reluctant Prophet, after Lewis had twice declined the offer to teach at Cambridge, Tolkien wouldn’t let the matter go. He sought clarification from Lewis about why he refused the offer. Lewis thought he would have to move from his home of over two decades and live in Cambridge. This was not so, and thanks to not one but two letters written by Tolkien, the issue was settled. Or, at least everyone thought it was; unfortunately, Cambridge offered the position to their second choice before Lewis contacted the university. Fortunately, that person declined, and Lewis took the position when it was offered to him a third time.
10. Lewis’s encouragement helped get the Lord of the Rings published
Why was Tolkien so willing to help Lewis obtain the position at Cambridge? As you may have heard, they were friends from Lewis’s early days at Oxford. But did you know they were so close that Lewis actually read a version of The Hobbit about five years before it was published? He told his friend Arthur Greeves about it in a letter from 1933: “Since term began I have had a delightful time reading a children’s story which Tolkien has just written.” Not long after the book came out in 1937, Tolkien’s publisher wanted a sequel. As Diana Glyer recounts in Bandersnatch, Tolkien initially declined but eventually reconsidered. Early chapters of the sequel were shown to Lewis on March 4, 1938. Lewis gave feedback to Tolkien that he took to heart, which led to the rewriting of the first three chapters. As you might recall, The Lord of the Ringswas not published until the 1950s, but few know that, had it not been for Lewis, it might never have seen the light of day. Tolkien wrote in his letters about Lewis, “I owe to his encouragement the fact that … I persevered and eventually finished The Lord of the Rings.” | ||||
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] | 2013-12-19T09:15:00-08:00 | Fifty years after his death, Pepperdine faculty reflect on the authors influence on their scholarship and faith. | en | Pepperdine University | https://www.pepperdine.edu/magazine/fall-2013/remembering-cs-lewis.htm | “I went to visit a Methodist minister who lived down the street to ask him whether faith made any logical sense. He listened patiently to my confused (and probably blasphemous) ramblings, and then took a small book off his shelf and suggested I read it. That book was Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis. In the next few days, as I turned its pages, struggling to absorb the breadth and depth of the intellectual arguments laid down by this legendary Oxford scholar, I realized that all of my own constructs against the plausibility of faith were those of a schoolboy ...”
The Language of God:
A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief
Francis Collins
Director of the National Institutes of Health, Former Leader of the Human Genome Project
In a word, C. S. Lewis turned my whole theology on its head. In The Great Divorce, he intimates that the gates of heaven might actually be locked on the hell side, and not the other way around. That completely changed my view of God. All my life I thought that the greatest obstacle to heaven was God himself, as if God were trying to keep us out. Lewis helped me see how desperately God wants us in.
Lewis also helped me understand how God draws us to himself—through our longing for joy. He spoke of the nostalgic yearning we all feel, as he put it, for a far-off country that we have never yet visited. In Letters to Malcolm, Chiefly on Prayer, he said that the pleasures we experience are glimpses of what we long for—they are “patches of Godlight in the woods of our experience.” Those words raised the tantalizing possibility that my deepest longings might actually be the clue to the purpose for which I was made, and also a foretaste of what awaits me. As he put it in The Weight of Glory, “At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door ... But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumor that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.”
Gary Selby
Professor of Communication, Seaver College, and Director, Pepperdine University Center for Faith and Learning
Lewis is a storytelling apologist for a storytelling God, and his books opened up my theological imagination. My introduction was Mere Christianity, soon after my baptism and freshman year at Pepperdine. Lewis’ explanation of the shared hallway of Christian truths, with off- shooting rooms for denominations where individuals would be nourished, embedded a desire for ecumenical fellowship and an appreciation of the richness of Christian thought. I next devouredThe Screwtape Letters, and Lewis’ depiction of human nature convicted me of my sins. I’ll never forget the toast where Screwtape rants about how tasteless the people in hell are; there is no one truly evil, but there is a steady march of those adhering to a moralistic therapeutic deism.The Great Divorce gave me reassurance that while hell was real, God’s love was so great, anyone who truly sought him would be welcomed into his fold. One of the last works I read was where most people begin, the Chronicles of Narnia series. Having always struggled with the question of pain, I wept and wept inThe Horse and His Boy when Aslan reveals to Shasta that all of his perceived misfortunes are part of God’s divine providence and protection.
Christina Littlefield (’02)
Assistant Professor of Communication and Religion, Seaver College
The influence of C. S. Lewis on my life is akin to that of a box full of treasures that is kept hidden in a special place, opened from time to time, and its half-forgotten contents both reminding and exhorting to living life more profoundly. I suppose this Lewis box is the opposite of Pandora’s Box, in that when I opened the box containing the books, I discovered a richness of thought, a challenge to rightful living, and a personal comfort of a present and caring God. I first learned of C. S. Lewis when I read the Chronicles of Narnia as a child. I was enchanted by a world of talking animals, a rich variety of cultures, the adventures of the Pevensie children, and seeing the whole arc of a planet’s creation, fall, redemption, and destruction. And, of course, there is Aslan, a figure I did not completely understand but I felt the acceptance and love he offered. Later, as I was older, I read his more theologically oriented books and sophisticated stories such as the Perelandra trilogy. Revisiting these books from time to time, breathing in the magic and logic of Lewis’ stories and arguments, influenced me in becoming a Christian and an academic.
Robert B. Lloyd
Blanche E. Seaver Professor of International Studies, Associate Professor of International Relations, and Coordinator, International Studies Program, Seaver College
My first encounter with C. S. Lewis occurred in Florence, Italy, while studying abroad with Pepperdine. That year, for really the first time, I was being exposed daily to an all-you-can eat buffet of both new and ancient schools of thought and was overwhelmed with the range of different beliefs in the world around me. I started to question: “What if Christianity is just a religion prevalent in Europe and America during our time, and later when generations are looking back they will view it the with the same nostalgic interest as we do the myths of the Greeks or the fables of Aesop?” It was a scary thought really, and I started to crave wise and honest-minded discussions about religion and belief—discussions that brought everything to the table with openness and vulnerability. The best conversation of my year occurred between me and a frayed copy of Mere Christianity somewhere along the tracks to Prague. When I arrived back
a few days later, I returned the book to its shelf in the the Florence program library, and have hoped ever since that it might continue to make its way into the hands of future wanderers like me.
Jeff Hamilton (’03)
Director, International Programs, Seaver College
C. S. Lewis is the person most responsible for my conversion to Christianity and what advances I have made in the Christian life. When I was a religiously agnostic law student, someone picked me up while I was hitchhiking. He gave me a book by Lewis that cut straight to my heart, greatly increased my self-understanding, and showed me my need for Christ. Of special value was “The Greatest Sin” in Lewis’s Mere Christianity. Lewis’God in the Dock showed me that the Christian faith gives insight as to every aspect of life. HisThe Screwtape Letters taught me both to take the Devil seriously and to laugh at him. I have studiedMere Christianity with generations of law students. With unrelenting logic, Lewis forces us to consider the options—someone who made Jesus’ claims is either a lunatic, a liar, or the Lord of the Universe. Of special, often overlooked, value are the letters from Lewis included in Sheldon Vanauken’sA Severe Mercy, in which Lewis leads the author and his wife, as Oxford students, to faith, and then enables the author to deal with his wife’s tragic death from cancer.
Bob Cochran
Louis D. Brandeis Professor, and Director, Herbert and Elinor Nootbaar Institute on Law, Religion and Ethics, School of Law
C.S. Lewis has opened many doors for me. It started with a wardrobe into the land of Narnia and has led to seeing the world around me in a completely new way. Lewis often discussed how fantasy and fairy tale “baptized” his imagination. These fantastic stories whispered elements of the Gospel story to Lewis when he was a young boy and helped him recognize and accept the Gospel story as truth when he was older. They essentially prepared him for faith. As someone who studies the relationship between fairy tale and faith, Lewis' personal journey towards Christianity fascinates me. Similarly, his writings often baptize imaginations by inviting readers to recognize God’s story in the everyday world around them. Lewis saw God at work in and through everything. This idea has opened so many doors for me—doors through which I see glimpses of who God really is. Through Lewis’ work, I have come to understand that God speaks to us through many ways, infusing His story into the stories all around us, and baptizing our imaginations so that when we hear the Gospel story, we will recognize it and choose to believe it.
Caitlin Lawrence
Visiting Instructor of Communications, Seaver College
The biggest impact Lewis has had on my life is in my marriage. Before we were married, my wife and I both took a class on Lewis, taught by one of the all-time great C. S. Lewis admirers—Tony Ash at Abilene Christian University. We were both struck by the wisdom of Lewis’ writing about love. He made a distinction between “being in love” (which is an emotion) and a “truer” love (which is the decision to love another person selflessly). No emotion can (or should) be experienced all the time, so the experience of being in love can rise and fall throughout life. According to Lewis, if a relationship is based on the feeling of being in love, it will be hard to stay committed on an ongoing basis. Although it’s not even possible to maintain an emotion for a single week, it’s possible to maintain a commitment to a loving decision for a whole life. That had a profound impact on us when we committed to love each other for life; even when there are times when we don’t feel in love (as every couple experiences), we know we have a commitment that doesn’t fluctuate like feelings do.
Steve Rouse
Chair of the Social Sciences Division and Professor of Psychology, Seaver College
I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen:
not only because I see it,
but because by it I see everything else.
- C.S. Lewis
As a literary scholar, I cannot help but continue to be captivated by C.S. Lewis as he exemplifies a multifaceted scholar that achieved to connect “the self” with “the other” at multiple levels. He dared to interweave literature and fantasy in the highest academic terms and share it to both; the literary versed as well as to a broad public not related to the literary world. C.S. Lewis was profoundly human and profoundly Christian. He drew from those depths and shared precious thoughts and images that populated his writing. The readers of all ages were prone to let them be fascinated and initiated into the wonderful world of literary fantasy. He was a Christian that was not afraid to ask the hard questions and be challenged while challenging God to answer the difficult questions of life. In this scenario, the fantastic world did not detour very far from the mystical world, and in his fantastic literary works he accomplished what few had been able to manage: to merge both worlds into one without devaluating either of them. C.S. Lewis proposes a fantastic literary cosmogony allied to the mystical world establishing a passage where the earthly human experience can expand. In his own words: “Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither.”
Graciela S. Boruszko
Associate Professor of Hispanic Studies, Seaver College
PEPPERDINE HONORS C.S. LEWIS
To mark the 50th anniversary of his passing, the Center for Faith and Learning hosted a series of events to commemorate the life, influence, and enduring legacy of author C. S. Lewis.
ON OCTOBER 2, the Center for Faith and Learning presented Tom Key in a performance of his acclaimed one-man show, C. S. Lewis on Stage, where the actor drew on Lewis’ autobiography and characters from his works to put the audience in the presence of the author himself.
N ADDITION, British author Steve Turner visited Payson Library on November 7 to speak on Lewis’ impact on Christian philosophy and its relationship to the Christian worldview. Turner, whose own works explore the relationship between popular culture and religion, examined the author in the context of the 21st century and how 50 years after his death, his work continues to resonate and grow in the power of its message.
A SERIES OF CLUB CONVOS, discussion-based, small-group programs led by faculty, staff, or students focusing on topics aimed to deepen students’ understanding of Christianity, also honored the works of the beloved author. Events included an examination of spiritual warfare and temptation in The Screwtape Letters; a six-week analysis ofMere Christianity, Lewis’ thoughtful approach to choosing to believe and follow Christ; and a conversation onThe Problem of Pain, which seeks to advise how to reconcile pain, grief, and loss with a faith in a loving God. | |||||
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] | null | [] | 2013-11-01T15:40:36+00:00 | 22 November 2013 marks the 50th anniversary of the death... | en | University College Oxford | https://www.univ.ox.ac.uk/news/c-s-lewis-univ/ | 22 November 2013 marks the 50th anniversary of the death of one of Univ.’s most famous 20th century alumni, C S Lewis, author of the Narnia books and many works of theology, including The Screwtape Letters.
Although Lewis says little about his time at Univ in his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, there is much interesting information about his undergraduate years in Volume I of his collected letters, edited by Walter Hooper (London, 2000), and also in the diary he kept in 1922–7, edited by Walter Hooper with the title All My Road before Me (London, 1991).
The Lewis scholar Professor Joel Heck has created a detailed chronology of Lewis’s life, which will have more information about Lewis’s Univ years. You can read it at joelheck.com
To commemorate Lewis’s links with this College, we have put up images of some of the documents which relate to his time here.
Lewis came up to Univ in 1917, at the height of the First World War (see Fig. I), but left shortly afterwards to join up. He was badly wounded in France, but returned to Oxford in 1919 to resume his studies. He proved a brilliant student: in 1922, he got a First in Classics, and then decided to stay on for another year and do a second degree, this time in English. In one year, he worked through a syllabus which was expected to take students two years, and then in 1923 got another First.
While at Univ, Lewis was a keen member of the Martlets. In Lewis’s time the Martlets was a literary society, which held several meetings each term to discuss particular authors or books.
Lewis rose to become President of the Martlets, and regularly attended their meetings and their dinners.
Lewis would have liked to have remained at Univ as a Fellow, but there were no openings for him at the time. Instead in 1925, he was elected a Fellow of Magdalen College, where he would spend the next three decades.
Lewis, however, always kept in close touch with his first College. Until the 1940s, all Univ undergraduates reading English went to Magdalen to be tutored by him, and in 1959 he was delighted to be elected an Honorary Fellow of the College (the opening of his letter of thanks is reproduced at Fig. IV).
Published: 1 November 2013 | |||||
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] | 2009-08-20T02:54:00+00:00 | The first time I visited Oxford, in 1982, the porter at Magdalen College didn’t even recognize the name— C. S. Lewis. I had asked him if he could give me directions to Lewis’s former home in Headington Quarry. Obviously he could not and did not. Things have changed a lot ... | en | https://www.cslewis.com/wp-content/themes/cslewis/public/img/favicon.ico?v=1.2 | Official Site | CSLewis.com | https://www.cslewis.com/c-s-lewis-sat-here/ | The first time I visited Oxford, in 1982, the porter at Magdalen College didn’t even recognize the name— C. S. Lewis. I had asked him if he could give me directions to Lewis’s former home in Headington Quarry. Obviously he could not and did not.
Things have changed a lot since 1982. Now Lewis is remembered all around Oxford. At the pub where the Inklings met, at Magdalen College, and not least—at his parish church—Holy Trinity Headington Quarry, where a plaque now appears on the pew where C. S. Lewis sat with his brother Warren.
The first time I visited the church I only saw the outside and Lewis’s grave, shared with “Warnie”. Since that first visit I have returned to Holy Trinity a number of times and worshiped there. The church is well worth a visit if you happen to be in the Oxford area.
C. S. “Jack” Lewis’s connection to Holy Trinity Church stretches back to the time even before his return to Christian faith in 1931. Lewis wrote in Surprised by Joy:
“As soon as I became a Theist I started attending my parish church on Sundays and my college chapel on weekdays; not because I believed in Christianity, nor because I thought the difference between it and simple Theism a small one, but because I thought one ought to “fly one’s flag” by some unmistakable overt sign. I was acting in obedience to a (perhaps mistaken) sense of honour. The idea of churchmanship was to me wholly unattractive… though I liked clergymen as I liked bears, I had as little wish to be in the Church as in the zoo. It was, to begin with, a kind of collective; a wearisome “get-together” affair. I couldn’t yet see how a concern of that sort should have anything to do with one’s spiritual life. To me, religion ought to have been a matter of good men praying alone and meeting by twos and threes to talk of spiritual matters. And then the fussy, time-wasting botheration of it all! The bells, the crowds, the umbrellas, the notices, the bustle, the perpetual arranging and organizing. Hymns were (and are) extremely disagreeable to me. Of all musical instruments I liked (and like) the organ least. I have, too, a sort of spiritual gaucherie which makes me unapt to participate in any rite” (1).
It occurs to me that this paragraph is a good description of Lewis’s attitude toward attendance at his parish church not only at the beginning of his Christian life but right the way through to the end. Lewis’s first mention in his letters, of attendance at his parish church, was in a letter to Arthur Greeves written on January 10, 1931 (2). This, along with other references in Lewis’s letters and Warnie’s diary, provides some proof, if we needed any, that he did indeed begin attendance at college chapel and at his parish church after becoming a theist in Trinity Term of 1929 and prior to his return to full-bodied Christian faith in September 1931.
However, Lewis’s references to church attendance became more frequent in his letters after his conversion. On October 24, 1931 Lewis wrote to his brother about a pleasant tea time with the Reverend Wilfrid Savage Thomas, Vicar of Holy Trinity from 1924 to 1935 (3). Judging by Lewis’s references to Thomas in his letters, and Warnie’s references in his diary, both the Lewis brothers were, on the whole, pleased with Thomas as their vicar.
It is also clear from Jack’s letters and Warnie’s diary that in the early 1930’s both of the brothers did not take Holy Communion every Sunday. Both Jack and Warnie came back to faith in Christ around the same time, toward the end of 1931. And both took Communion again for the first time on the exact same day — Christmas 1931 — though Jack was at Holy Trinity Headington Quarry and Warnie was in Shanghai (4). Warnie planned at that time to henceforth take Communion four times per year. Jack, for his part, was displeased with the vicar trying to “make it a rule that you must communicate if you want to hear a sermon” (5). In other words, in his early days as a Christian Jack preferred to attend church services without always taking Communion. Warnie later summarized Jack’s early and later attitudes toward Communion in this way:
“… he had been a practising Christian again for some time when he said to me, of Communion: ‘I think that to communicate once a month strikes the right balance between enthusiasm and Laodiceanism.’ In later years he saw that ‘right balance’ differently and never failed to communicate weekly and on the major feast days as well” (6).
Jack summarized his own early view on the taking of Communion in a letter to his brother on January 17, 1932:
“I see (or think I see) so well a sense in which all wine is the blood of God—or all matter, even, the body of God, that I stumble at the apparently special sense in which this is claimed for the Host when consecrated. George Macdonald observes that the good man should aim at reaching the state of mind in which all meals are sacraments. Now that is the sort of thing I can understand: but I find no connection between it and the explicit ‘sacrament’ proprement dit” (7).
If Jack and Warnie were generally pleased with the Reverend Thomas as their vicar, they were certainly less delighted with his successor, the Reverend T. E. ‘Peter’ Bleiben. On September 10, 1939, one week after England declared war on Germany, Jack wrote to Warnie, reporting how unhappy he was with an extra petition which Bleiben added to the Litany that morning: “Prosper, oh Lord, our righteous cause.” Jack protested to the vicar regarding “the audacity of informing God that our cause was righteous—a point on which He may have His own view” (8).
It was on July 21, 1940, during a not too profitable sermon from the curate of Holy Trinity, The Reverend Arthur William Blanchett, that Jack was struck with the idea for a book which eventually became The Screwtape Letters (9). Screwtape’s second letter to Wormwood no doubt reflects some of Jack’s own experience in attending church services. Screwtape reminds Wormwood that when his patient goes inside the church building…
“… he sees the local grocer with rather an oily expression on his face bustling up to offer him one shiny little book containing a liturgy which neither of them understands, and one shabby little book containing corrupt texts of a number of religious lyrics, mostly bad, and in very small print. When he gets to his pew and looks round him he sees just that selection of his neighbours whom he has hitherto avoided. You want to lean pretty heavily on those neighbours. Make his mind flit to and fro between an expression like “the body of Christ” and the actual faces in the next pew. …Provided that any of those neighbours sing out of tune, or have boots that squeak, or double chins, or odd clothes, the patient will quite easily believe that their religion must therefore be somehow ridiculous. …Work hard, then, on the disappointment or anticlimax which is certainly coming to the patient during his first few weeks as a churchman” (10).
If this was reflective of Jack’s own experience in attending church then it seems natural to ask: why did he keep going? When asked during a “One Man’s Brain Trust” in 1944, “Is attendance at a place of worship or membership with a Christian community necessary to a Christian way of life?” Lewis answered:
“My own experience is that when I first became a Christian, about fourteen years ago, I thought that I could do it on my own, by retiring to my rooms and reading theology, and I wouldn’t go to the churches and Gospel Halls; and then later I found that it was the only way of flying your flag; and, of course, I found that this meant being a target. It is extraordinary how inconvenient to your family it becomes for you to get up early to go to Church. It doesn’t matter so much if you get up early for anything else, but if you get up early to go to Church it’s very selfish of you and you upset the house. If there is anything in the teaching of the New Testament which is in the nature of a command, it is that you are obliged to take the Sacrament, and you can’t do it without going to Church. I disliked very much their hymns, which I considered to be fifth-rate poems set to sixth-rate music. But as I went on I saw the great merit of it. I came up against different people of quite different outlooks and different education, and then gradually my conceit just began peeling off. I realized that the hymns (which were just sixth-rate music) were, nevertheless, being sung with devotion and benefit by an old saint in elastic-side boots in the opposite pew, and then you realize that you aren’t fit to clean those boots. It gets you out of your solitary conceit” (11).
Jack did indeed face opposition to his church attendance on the home front. Mrs. Moore would often taunt him on his return home each Sunday. “Back from the blood feast” she would say (12). Yet Jack did indeed continue on with church attendance, Mrs. Moore and boring sermons notwithstanding.
By 1940 Jack and Warnie even had their favorite pew at Holy Trinity. Near the front of the church on the left-hand side as one faces the altar was a pew beside a pillar just large enough to accommodate the two brothers (13). However, on Easter Sunday in 1940 there were so many people in church that Jack had to sit on the other side of the pillar and tightly wedged against it with his bottom resting on the angle at the end of the bench (14)! Apparently this was the general location in which the Lewis brothers sat for the rest of their church-going lives.
In a tape recording entitled Two People of the Foothills: Reminiscences of C. S. Lewis by the Reverend Canon R. E. Head, Vicar of Holy Trinity from 1956-1990, Lewis’s former pastor recalled the Lewis brothers sitting in the two-person pew next to the pillar. Head said that the Lewis brothers sat in that position so that they could see the altar and the pulpit but not be noticed by the rest of the congregation.
Douglas Gresham, Lewis’s step-son, who attended church with his step-father throughout the last decade of his life, remembers Jack sitting in a different place. In 1997 when Doug showed our mostly-American tour group around Holy Trinity Church he happened to mention to me how Jack sat behind the pillar during the service so that his facial expression could not be seen by the vicar, Ron Head.
“Was that because he disagreed with the vicar’s theology?” I asked.
“No,” said Doug. “It was not so much Ron’s basic theology that Jack objected to, but the slants that he put on it. Ron was a fine scholar of church history and by intellect a High Church Anglican. However, in his sermons there were often many things that would cause a spasm of pain or perhaps a look of total boredom to cross Jack’s face. Sitting as he did out of sight of Ron, Jack could yawn if he had to without causing pain to a man whom he regarded as something of a bore, one who had become lost in the trivial aspects of his calling whilst ignoring some of the essential ones. Ron was a very nice and indeed I think a good man and none of us would have hurt him for the world.”
In fact Jack referred to Ron Head as “a very trying curate” in a letter written to Mrs. Mary Van Deusen on April 22, 1954 (15). Head was curate at Holy Trinity from 1952 to 1956, prior to serving as vicar. On December 28, 1953, Lewis wrote to the same Mrs. Van Deusen and said:
“I think someone ought to write a book on ‘Christian life for Laymen under a bad Parish Preist’ for the problem is bound to occur in the best churches. The motto wd. be of course Herbert’s lines about the sermon ‘If all lack sense, God takes a text and preaches patience’” (16).
At that time Lewis was suffering from “the virtual extinction of Morning Prayer in favour of an 11 o’clock Celebration.” When Ron Head arrived at Holy Trinity Church Holy Communion was celebrated at 8 a.m. and Morning Prayer at 11 a.m. Lewis preferred the early service because there were no hymns. Head was responsible for reversing the times of these services, an action which Lewis found irritating though not impossible to submit to. Lewis wrote to Van Deusen,
“Perhaps we are put under tiresome priests chiefly to give us the opportunity of learning this beautiful & happy virtue: so that if we use the situation well we can profit more, perhaps, than we shd. have done under a better man” (17).
In our own age in which “church shopping” is so prevalent we have much to learn from the unwavering discipline of C. S. Lewis in regard to church attendance. Despite the fact that Lewis seldom “got anything out of” the sermons in his parish church, he never went looking for another congregation. He believed in attending services at the church closest to his home and that was that. Lewis was determined to go to church, not for what he could get out of it, but for what he could put in, namely—worship. Lewis understood well the temptation of searching for a church that would “suit” him; he once delineated this temptation in another letter from Screwtape to Wormwood:
“My dear Wormwood,
You mentioned casually in your last letter that the patient has continued to attend one church, and one only, since he was converted, and that he is not wholly pleased with it. May I ask what you are about? Why have I no report on the causes of his fidelity to the parish church? Do you realise that unless it is due to indifference it is a very bad thing? Surely you know that if a man can’t be cured of churchgoing, the next best thing is to send him all over the neighbourhood looking for the church that “suits” him until he becomes a taster or connoisseur of churches” (18).
C. S. Lewis was determined not to become such a “connoisseur of churches”. As he wrote to Mary Van Deusen, “Is there not something especially good (and even, in the end, joyful) about mere obedience (in lawful things) to him who bears our Master’s authority, however unworthy he be—perhaps all the more, if he is unworthy?”
In summary it is evident that C. S. Lewis faced the same temptations that every Christian faces who attends church for many years. What sets Lewis apart from most of us is that he learned how to resist those temptations; and thereby he gained certain lifelong and perhaps eternal benefits from attending the same parish church for all of his Christian life. With regard to church attendance, as in so many other areas of Christian experience, we have much indeed to learn from this famous apologist and fellow pilgrim.
—————————————
Will Vaus is the author of Mere Theology: A Guide to the Thought of C. S. Lewis and The Professor of Narnia: the C. S. Lewis Story. You can find him on the internet at www.willvaus.com. | ||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 82 | https://www.1517.org/articles/cs-lewis-on-joy | en | C.S. Lewis on Joy | [
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] | null | Articles | en | https://www.1517.org/articles/cs-lewis-on-joy | The joy of which Lewis speaks is a deep yearning of the soul not unlike the nostalgia we feel upon seeing a favorite childhood object once again.
Have you ever reached a point where you felt completely emptied of joy?
I have. In fact, I have been in that situation multiple times. Perhaps you have as well. After all, there are many circumstances in life that can make us feel this way: grief over the loss of a loved one, failures in our endeavors, clinical depression, or simply the constant background anxiety of living in a world under sin’s curse. There are a billion things that can steal our joy, but only one source from which we can receive it.
Back in 2018, I was suffering through a time of intense mental depression and anxiety set off by my physical experience of chronic pain and fatigue. The longer I was trapped in that condition, the more overtly spiritual it became, so that I felt as if the devil himself was upon my back. Modern people tend to call this a crisis of faith. Martin Luther called it an Anfechtung: a spiritual trial or testing.
There are a billion things that can steal our joy, but only one source from which we can receive it.
I could hardly separate the pain in my body from the pain in my soul. They seemed to feed off one another in a kind of unholy alliance, and I was emptied of joy, such that I doubted I would experience it again.
It was at that critical point in my life that I began reaching out for something that might help to restore my joy. John Piper had written a short work for people experiencing depression in which he links the joy to our satisfaction in God. He showed compassion for depressed persons but encouraged them to work toward a point where they could have joy again, since that is how one must glorify God: by being satisfied in him.
Sadly, this advice was not helpful to me. Try as I might, I could not conjure joy within myself. The fact that I was in the situation at all was proof of my inability.
I found a rather different definition of joy in C.S. Lewis’ autobiographical work, Surprised by Joy. Early in the book, Lewis speaks of “an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction.” To this feeling, he gave a name.
“I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and from Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again. Apart from that, and considered only in its quality, it might almost equally well be called a particular kind of unhappiness or grief. But then it is a kind we want. I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and pleasure often is.” (Surprised by Joy: The Shape of my Early Life, 19.)
Lewis’ definition of joy is radically different from the one commonly used in modern conversation. We tend to imagine happiness and joy as synonyms, but according to Lewis, they could also be antonyms. For the joy of which Lewis speaks is a deep yearning of the soul not unlike the nostalgia we feel upon seeing a favorite childhood object once again. Only in Lewis’ case, he was not looking backward in yearning, but forward.
He encountered this sudden feeling of joy—an uncontrollable longing overtaking his person—in response to several different things, but most especially in his encounters with the great legends of centuries past. When Lewis read of Siegfried riding through the forest, off to gain the treasure of the Nibelungs, he would feel joy. In his adulthood, the works of George MacDonald also had this effect on him.
As a lover of the old Germanic tales, it makes sense that Lewis came to equate this feeling with the German Romantic notion of Sehnsucht, meaning “holy longing.” What he was calling joy was in fact not the end in itself, but a kind of sign pointing toward the end.
Lewis writes, “Joy itself, considered simply as an event in my own mind, turned out to be of no value at all. All the value lay in that of which Joy was the desiring. And that object, quite clearly, was no state of my own mind or body at all.” (p. 269).
When I came to view my own difficulties through the lens of Lewis’ work, I realized that I was not so much rebelling against God as longing for him.
There is something very Augustinian about Lewis’ understanding of desire, for like St. Augustine, Lewis came to see God as the point toward which his desires were being turned, and the joy itself as the work of the Holy Spirit which gifted it to him. He says something very like this in his conclusion: “As for what we commonly call Will, and what we commonly call Emotion, I fancy these usually talk too loud, protest too much, to be quite believed, and we have a secret suspicion that the great passion or the iron resolution is partly a put-up job.” (p. 290).
For joy is a gift graciously bestowed on us by God himself.
“I had hoped that the heart of reality might be of such a kind that we can best symbolize it as a place,” Lewis writes. “Instead, I found it to be a Person.” (p. 282). In surrendering to God, Lewis’ gaze was no longer turned inward, but outward. “To believe and to pray were the beginning of extroversion. I had been, as they say, ‘taken out of myself.’” Or as others might say, extra nos: outside one’s self.
When I came to view my own difficulties through the lens of Lewis’ work, I realized that I was not so much rebelling against God as longing for him. The absence of his felt presence, which I lamented so deeply, was in fact a yearning for the beatific vision which my Christian forbears had sought century after century. I was full of Sehnsucht. Even as my world crumbled around me, I sought desperately for the lone rock upon which I might stand. That is what the Bible calls hope, and it does not disappoint us.
“Joy was not a deception,” Lewis assures his readers. “Its visitations were rather the moments of clearest consciousness we had, when we became aware of our fragmentary and phantasmal nature and ached for that impossible reunion which would annihilate us or that self-contradictory waking which would reveal, not that we had had, but that we were, a dream.” (p. 271).
Even so, I pray for the fulfillment of those beautiful lines of John Donne: | ||||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 58 | https://victoriamag.com/life-home-of-c-s-lewis/ | en | The Life and Home of C. S. Lewis | [
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correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 41 | https://www.millersbookreview.com/p/giving-thanks-for-c-s-lewis | en | Giving Thanks for C.S. Lewis | [
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] | 2023-11-22T12:00:16+00:00 | It’s the 60th Anniversary of His Death: Here’s to His Life and Ongoing Influence | en | https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F1a3818bd-6994-425e-ad5e-846891377ae8%2Ffavicon.ico | https://www.millersbookreview.com/p/giving-thanks-for-c-s-lewis | November 22 this year marks the sixtieth anniversary of C.S. Lewis’s death. I can recall reading a newspaper obituary about Lewis my grandmother kept. She preserved the entire paper. The event was buried in the back—just a few inches of text. The rest of the paper, or at least the majority of it, was dedicated to reporting the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.
Both men died the same day. Coincidentally, they both answered to “Jack.” Though popular, this Irish author and academic couldn’t rival America’s departed head of state. Coverage of Lewis’s passing was swamped by pages and pages of copy about the death of Kennedy. Naturally, that’s why my grandmother kept the issue.
Reflecting on the date and what it signifies, I spent some time reading about Lewis’s final years. Biographies by A.N. Wilson, George Sayer, Alan Jacobs, and Alister McGrath offered helpful windows into his waning days.
Bad Health, Good Spirits
A bachelor until late in life, Lewis eventually wed, but the marriage was brief. His wife, the American Joy Davidman, died of cancer in 1960 after just four years of marriage. Following her death, the grieving Cambridge professor found himself a single dad to Joy’s two boys.
Then, some eleven months later, Lewis began experiencing difficulty peeing. Doctors concluded that his prostate was significantly enlarged and that his kidneys were infected, spreading toxins through his bloodstream and causing cardiac trouble. His condition didn’t go unnoticed by friends. One recalled that he looked “very ill.” Another said he appeared “unwell.”
Besides giving him blood transfusions—the only solution before dialysis—doctors put Lewis on a low-calorie diet and ordered him to quit smoking. He disobeyed. “If I did [comply], I know that I should be unbearably bad tempered,” he told George Sayer. “Better to die cheerfully with the aid of a little tobacco, than to live disagreeably and remorseful without it.”
Sayer says that Lewis “never lost his sense of humor.” Indeed, he was famously good natured, even amid dire circumstances. On July 15, 1963, he suffered a heart attack and slipped into a coma. Friends feared the worst; some came and prayed; a priest gave the sacrament of extreme unction. Amazingly, an hour after the sacrament, Lewis awoke, revived, and asked for a cup of tea.
True to form, he found a joke in it. “I was unexpectedly revived from a long coma,” he wrote Sister Penelope, an Anglican nun with whom he frequently corresponded. “Ought one honor Lazarus rather than Stephen as the protomartyr? To be brought back and have all one’s dying to do again was rather hard.”
The joke reflects a more serious poem Lewis had written a few years prior, “Stephen to Lazarus”:
But was I the first martyr, who
Gave up no more than life, while you,
Already free among the dead,
Your rags stripped off, your fetters shed,
Surrendered what all other men
Irrevocably keep, and when
Your battered ship at anchor lay
Seemingly safe in the dark bay
No ripple stirs, obediently
Put out a second time to sea
Well knowing that your death (in vain
Died once) must all be died again?
Though his health improved some, Lewis resigned his position at Cambridge and settled into life at his home, the Kilns.
Walls of Books
Though Lewis began suffering acute delusions at this time, Jacobs records another story that captures his humor and good spirits. Following his resignation, Lewis sent his recently engaged secretary, Walter Hooper, to collect his things from his rooms at Cambridge—including an extraordinary number of books for which the Kilns had little available room. Back at the house, writes Jacobs,
some comedy ensued when Lewis talked Hooper into building a wall of books around the sleeping body of Alec Ross, Lewis’s live-in nurse, who had chosen the wrong time and place to take a nap.
Books always formed a key part of Lewis’s life, just as Lewis’s books have now long formed a key part in the lives of many others. They’ve been part of my mental atmospherics for more than three decades now.
I read the Space Trilogy in high school and my first year in college, followed by Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. I read Till We Have Faces then as well and have come back to it several times since. Somewhere in that period I also read Sayer’s biography, Jack, for the first time.
A friend’s dad was a minister and had a dust-jacketless hardcover of Lewis’s God in the Dock he’d given his son. In those dark days before Amazon and AbeBooks, this was a treasure of inestimable value. I traded my friend a nearly-complete set of Charles Williams’s novels to secure the all-important book of essays.
Williams was a close friend of Lewis and wrote a series of eerie novels, characterized as supernatural thrillers. One, The Place of the Lion, imagined Plato’s forms breaking into the material world and influenced Lewis’s creation of his most memorable character, Aslan.
Some years later I wanted to reread Williams’s novels. I lucked out and found the set at a used bookstore. I’ve since given them away again. But I had—and still have—the pearl of great price, Lewis’s God in the Dock, and have been able to make much use of it. In time I found and purchased many other Lewis volumes: The Four Loves, Christian Reflections, Studies in Words, Miracles, The Weight of Glory, Present Concerns, and more.
The Narnia stories actually came late for me. I only read them in my thirties. It’s the same story with Reflections on the Psalms and The Discarded Image, which I first read some thirteen or fourteen years ago.
I haven’t checked, but I would guess I quote Lewis more than any other single author. I have more books by him than any other (except maybe St. Augustine). And I keep returning to them. I’ve probably read Till We Have Faces five or six times at this point. I particularly enjoy rereading his essays.
Lewis was always a serious rereader. “I can’t imagine a man really enjoying a book and reading it only once,” he once wrote a friend. Rereading “is one of my greatest pleasures.”
Final Pages
Holed up at the Kilns in those final months, Lewis reread the Iliad and other books. Sayer lists not only the Iliad and the Odyssey but mentions that he read them in Greek, that he read the Aeneid in Latin. He also read “Dante’s Divine Comedy; Wordsworth’s The Prelude; and works by George Herbert, Patmore, Scott, Austen, Fielding, Dickens, and Trollope.”
Surrounded by his books, Wilson says that Lewis “remained . . . propped up in the very room where Joy had spent so many heroic hours suffering.”
And then he joined her.
It was Friday, November 22. Lewis was cheerful but had a hard time staying awake. He ate breakfast, got dressed, answered some letters. After lunch, his brother Warnie “suggested he would be more comfortable in bed, and he went there.”
Warnie took him tea at four. An hour and a half later he heard a crash. Lewis had collapsed at the foot of his bed. Unconscious, as Warnie recorded, “He ceased to breathe some three or four minutes later.”
Lewis wrote dozens of books, some of profound literary, cultural, theological, and psychological insight. He never imagined the lasting influence he would have. “After I’ve been dead five years,” he told his friend Owen Barfield, “no one will read anything I’ve written.” Indeed, after quitting his post at Cambridge, he worried about dwindling funds; he didn’t see how his royalties would last.
He needn’t have worried. Lewis’s books have long outlived him. There’s a story there, too, of course. I tell it here. In the meantime, there’s no better way to give thanks for Lewis’s life and work this time of year than pulling a favorite volume off the shelf and settling in between the pages.
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correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 1 | 1 | https://www.cslewis.org/resource/walkguide/ | en | C.S. Lewis Walking Tour of Oxford Centre | [
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] | null | [] | 2013-03-01T01:16:51+00:00 | A walking tour of the Oxford centre, featuring many of the places that Lewis frequented. | en | C.S. Lewis Foundation | https://www.cslewis.org/resource/walkguide/ | (Prepared by Kim Gilnett with assistance from Stan Mattson and Michael Ward)
Caveat
Please be aware that this is an outdoor walking tour, and NOT a tour of the interiors of the locations you’ll be seeing. The buildings on the tour may not be open and available to the general public.
General Recommendations
Distance: 3 1/2 Miles
Time Required: 2 Hours
Start this walking tour in the early afternoon so your arrival at Magdalen College will be during visiting hours, 2:00pm to 6:15pm daily.
Wear good, comfortable walking shoes.
Wear light, but waterproof, clothing. We can’t promise anything about the weather except that it will be varied.
Stop along the way when anything catches your interest. There is a great deal to see in Oxford.
Recommended Route
1. Begin this walk in front of the world-famous Blackwell’s Bookshop on Broad Street, directly across the street from the Sheldonian, Oxford’s most illustrious meeting hall designed by Christopher Wren. (You’ll love Blackwell’s!)
2. When facing Blackwell’s you will notice a tiny pub on your left. The White Horse, which seems almost part of the shop. A short distance to your right, beyond the traffic lights and on the corner, you’ll see The King’s Arms pub.
Humphrey Carpenter, in his excellent book, The Inklings, reports that Lewis and his friends used to meet in these two pubs during the war (and at the Mitre on the High Street) because of a beer shortage “caused largely by thirsty American troops waiting for D-Day.” The shortage meant that the Inklings could not always rely on their favourite haunt, The Eagle and Child (also known as “The Bird and Baby”) to provide refreshment.
From the diary of Major Warren Lewis (C.S. Lewis’s brother), we read of the death of Charles Williams on Tuesday, May 15, 1945:
“I felt dazed and restless [at the news of Williams’ death], and went out to get a drink: choosing unfortunately the King’s Arms, where during the winter Charles and I more than once drank a pint after leaving Tollers [J.R.R. Tolkien] at the Mitre, with much glee at “clearing one’s throat of varnish with good honest beer” as Charles used to say. There will be no more pints with Charles: no more “Bird and the Baby”: the blackout has fallen, and the Inklings can never be the same.”
3. Continue on past The King’s Arms along Holywell Street. As you proceed down one of the most wonderful streets in Oxford, notice a little side street called Bath Place. If you wish to take a short detour, stroll down this lane to the renowned and ancient pub, The Turf Tavern. It is one of the few places where you can order the old English drink, Mead.
4. Back on Holywell Street, notice the Holywell Music Room across the street. Built in the 1740’s, it is the oldest surviving building in Europe designed exclusively for concerts.
5. Continue walking down Holywell Street until you come to the corner of Mansfield Road. Turn into Mansfield and stop by the first house on your right. It was here that Lewis spent his first night in Oxford in December 1916.
From Surprised By Joy, by C.S. Lewis:
“My first taste of Oxford was comical enough. I had made no arrangements about quarters and, having no more luggage than I could carry in my hand, I sallied out of the railway station on foot to find either a lodging-house or a cheap hotel; all agog for “dreaming spires” and “last enchantments.” My first disappointment at what I saw could be dealt with. Towns always show their worst face to the railway. But as I walked on and on I became more bewildered. Could this succession of mean shops really be Oxford? But I still went on, always expecting the next turn to reveal the beauties, and reflecting that it was a much larger town than I had been led to suppose.
Only when it became obvious that there was very little town left ahead of me, that I was in fact getting to open country, did I turn round and look. There behind me, far away, never more beautiful since, was the fabled cluster of spires and towers. I had come out of the station on the wrong side and been all this time walking into what was even then the mean and sprawling suburb of Botley. I did not see to what extent this little adventure was an allegory of my whole life. I merely walked back to the station, somewhat footsore, took a hansom, and asked to be driven to “some place where I can get rooms for a week, please.”
The method, which I should now think hazardous, was a complete success, and I was soon at tea in comfortable surroundings. The house is still there, the first on the right as you turn into Mansfield Road out of Holywell. I shared the sitting room with another candidate, a man from Cardiff College, which he pronounced to be architecturally superior to anything in Oxford. His learning terrified me, but he was an agreeable man. I have never seen him since.”
6. Walk a short distance along Mansfield Road and then turn right into Jowett Walk. (Benjamin Jowett was a famous 19th Century Oxford figure and Master of Balliol College). Proceed to the end of Jowett Walk, stop and look ahead and to your left. There you will see one of Oxford’s forgotten treasures, St. Cross Parish Church. Built on an ancient foundation as the parish church of the Holywell Manor, the chancel arch of the Church of St. Cross dates from the mid-12th Century. It is the setting of the wedding between Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey in Dorothy L. Sayers’ mystery, Busman’s Honeymoon.
NOTE: St. Cross is a Special Collections Centre of Balliol College and is not open to the general public without prior appointment. See their website for information and visit here for their enquiry form.
Make sure you take time to visit the adjoining St. Cross Cemetery. As you enter, notice a small map that will lead you to the graves of Hugo Dyson, Austin Farrer and Charles Williams, all members of Lewis’s circle of friends. Also you can find the resting place of Kenneth Grahame, author of the classic children’s book, The Wind in the Willows.
7. Upon leaving the cemetery, go back towards Jowett Walk and continue past it (the pavement becomes very narrow). You are now in Longwall Street. On your left, you will find a substantial section of the old city wall. Behind that wall is the Magdalen College Grove with its unique deer park. You will see it better when you enter Magdalen College.
8. Continue to the very end of Longwall Street where it meets the busy High Street. Turn left and walk past the entrance of Magdalen College on to the center of Magdalen Bridge, which spans the River Cherwell.
9. As you turn to face Magdalen College, you will find one of the most beautiful sights in all of Oxford, the glorious Magdalen Tower. Built between 1490 and 1510, it is more than 150 feet high.
10. Looking down from the bridge, over the parapet, you will very likely see a number of punts on the Cherwell River. This is a great place to rent a punt for an afternoon on the slow-moving river.
11. Retrace your steps to the entrance of Magdalen. There is a small fee for visiting. It is highly recommended that you pay a little more for the guided tour. These tours are generally given by current students who can often take you into areas to which you would otherwise not be allowed. We also recommend that you purchase one of the guidebooks. It will give valuable information on Magdalen College. Allow at least 45 minutes to visit the college.
12. During your visit to Magdalen, don’t miss:
The New Building: Dating from 1735 (hence “New!”), this imposing building provided C.S. Lewis with a beautifully situated suite of rooms. They were on the second floor (first floor by English reckoning), near the middle. The two windows directly to the right of the protruding center section, above the wisteria, were Lewis’. It was here that Lewis was converted to a belief in God (theism).From Surprised by Joy, by C.S. Lewis:
“You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all of England.”
Addison’s Walk: Named after the great English man of letters and graduate of Magdalen, Joseph Addison, this was a favourite walking place for Lewis and his friends. From They Stand Together: The Letters of C.S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves:
” September 1931 He [Hugo Dyson] stayed the night with me in College… Tolkien came too, and did not leave till 3 in the morning… We began (in Addison’s Walk just after dinner) on metaphor and myth – interrupted by a rush of wind which came so suddenly on the still warm evening and sent so many leaves pattering down that we thought it was raining….
We continued on Christianity: a good long satisfying talk in which I learned a lot….
October 1931 Now what Dyson and Tolkien showed me was this: that if I met the idea of sacrifice in a Pagan story I didn’t mind it at all: and again, that if I met the idea of god sacrificing himself to himself…. I liked it very much… provided I met it anywhere except in the Gospels… Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us in the same way as the others, but with tremendous difference that it really happened…. Does this amount to a belief in Christianity? At any rate I am now certain (a) that this Christian story is to be approached, in a sense, as I approach the other myths; (b) that it is the most important and full of meaning. I am also nearly sure that it happened…. “
Deer Park: The deer in this special reserve are kept as part of the Magdalen College grounds. Once a year one of these magnificent beasts has the great honor of becoming the feast for Magdalen College and its guests.
From C.S. Lewis’s Letters:
” My big sitting room looks north and from it I can see nothing, not even a gable or a spire, to remind me that I am in town. I look down on a stretch of ground which passes into a grove of immemorial forest trees, at present coloured autumn red. Over it stray deer. They are erratic in their habits. Some mornings when I look out there will be half a dozen chewing the cud just underneath me, and on others there will be none in sight — or a little stag (not much bigger than a calf and looking too slender for the weight of his antlers) standing and sending through the fog that queer little bark which is these beasts’ “moo.” It is a sound that will be as familiar to me as the cough of the cows in the field at home for I hear it day and night.”
The Hall (included on guided tour only): Notice the fine woodwork of the screen. It dates from the end of the reign of Elizabeth I or the beginning of James I.
The Chapel: After Lewis’ conversion to Christianity in 1931, he used to attend weekday services in the College chapel.
13. After completing your tour of Magdalen College, step out of the Porter’s Lodge and cross the road. In front of you is the Botanic Garden, open to the public. This is the oldest garden of its kind in England and contains many rare and interesting specimens. It is built on an ancient Jewish burial-ground as is Magdalen College.
14. As you face the Botanic Garden, turn right and walk back towards the center of Oxford along the High Street (known to many simply as “the High”).
15. Continue along the High until you reach the Eastgate Hotel, which is on the corner of Merton Street. Since Tolkien was a Fellow of Merton College and Lewis of Magdalen College, the Eastgate was a convenient place for them to meet.
C.S. Lewis in a letter to his brother, November 1939:
” On Thursday we had a meeting of the Inklings — you and Coghill both absent unfortunately. We dined at the Eastgate. I have never in my life seen Dyson so exuberant — “A roaring cataract of nonsense.”
16. If you wish, you may take a detour down Merton Lane to Merton College. If you do, be sure to come back to this point to resume your tour.
17. As you return to the High, turn left and continue along the High. You will immediately find the Examination Schools on your left. Here and in other venues, Lewis, Tolkien and Williams presented their lectures to Oxford students.
C.S. Lewis in a letter of February 1940:
“On Monday Charles Williams lectured, nominally on [Milton’s] Comus but really on Chastity. Simply as criticism it was superb-because here was a man who really cared with every fibre of his being about “The sage and the serious doctrine of virginity” which it would never occur to the ordinary modern reader to take seriously.”
18. Carry on along the High Street, passing Logic Lane on your left, and you come to University College. It was here that the young C.S. Lewis arrived on April 26, 1917 to begin his academic studies as an undergraduate.
His rooms were on staircase XII, Room 5 of the Radcliffe Quad. When the young Lewis interrupted his studies to join the army, he had the good fortune to stay in Oxford and train at Keble College. He often would return to University College (known as “Univ.”) for weekends.
C.S. Lewis in a letter of July, 1917:
“You can’t imagine how I have come to love Univ., especially since I left. Last Saturday evening when I was sleeping alone, I spent a long time wandering over it, into all sorts of parts where I had never been before, where the mullioned windows are dark with ivy that no one has bothered to cut since the war emptied the rooms they belong to.”
Lewis was to take a double first in Literae Humaniores (more commonly known as “Classics”); he completed his studies with a first in English in 1923.
19. Leaving Univ. through the Porter’s Lodge, cross over the High Street, walk back towards Magdalen for a short way and you will come to Queen’s Lane. Turn left down Queen’s Lane and, as you pass St. Edmund Hall (“Teddy Hall”) on your right, notice the church of St. Peter’s-in-the-East. Now converted into the Teddy Hall Library, this church was attended often by Lewis (on Wednesdays) for Holy Communion.
20. Continue along Queen’s Lane, noticing how quiet it becomes. On your right is New College. On your left is The Queen’s College and then All Soul’s College. You will pass under a bridge which is where Queen’s Lane becomes New College Lane.
21. Continue along New College Lane until you pass under another bridge which connects two buildings belonging to Hertford College. This bridge is sometimes called “the Bridge of Sighs.” Stop here and look to your left and you will see what is perhaps the most impressive architectural view in all England: the square tower of the Bodleian Library, the round dome of the Radcliffe Camera and, beyond that, the soaring spire of the University Church. Begin to walk past these buildings.
22. To your right is the famous Bodleian Library (the main library of Oxford University) where Lewis spent many hours reading and studying. The Radcliffe Camera is part of the Bodleian and contains mostly books on theology and English.
The University Church of St. Mary the Virgin (you’ll find the best view of Oxford from its tower!) is where Lewis delivered his famous war-time sermon, “The Weight of Glory.”
23. Walk past University Church and out onto the High Street. Turn right. You may wish to visit Hall Brothers Tailors and Merchants at 119 High Street. Established in 1860, they are the perfect place to purchase a silk bow tie which was required for high table dinner in college. Halls is one of the finest clothiers in England.
24. You will pass Brasenose College on your right and, as you advance along the High Street, you will reach the Mitre Hotel (also on your right). This was another favorite spot for C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and friends.
25. Carry on up the High Street until you reach a cross-roads. Pause for a moment. In front of you is Carfax Tower, so-called from the French “carrefour,” meaning crossroads. In contrast with the quiet Queen’s Lane, this area is one of the busiest places in Oxford.
26. Turn right into Cornmarket Street and walk past all the shops until you come to Broad Street. Ahead of you and on your right you will see St. Mary Magdalen’s Church. Lewis used to frequent this church for confession.
27. Walk alongside the church (known as “Mary Mag”) and you will come upon the Martyrs’ Memorial, built in remembrance of the 16th century martyrs, Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley, who were burned at the stake nearby. Cross the street (carefully). On your left you will see the Randolph Hotel, a wonderful place for high tea (reservations recommended).
28. Continue to your right past the famed Ashmolean museum, down the wide, tree-lined road called St. Giles (so named after St. Giles’s Church at the far end). On your left you will come to the most famous Lewis pub, The Eagle and Child (also known as “The Bird and Baby”). It was here that the Inklings met informally every Tuesday morning to drink and to discuss the books they were reading (and writing). In 1962, after a remodeling of the Bird and Baby (one of many), they moved across the street to The Lamb and Flag.
From Lewis’ Out of the Silent Planet:
“[Ransom, after arriving back on earth,] contrived to get into a lane, then a road, then into a village street. A lighted door was open. There were voices from within and they were speaking English. There was a familiar smell. He pushed his way in, regardless of the surprise he was creating in the bar. “A pint of bitter, please,” said Ransom.”
29. This seems like a good place to end the Lewis tour, unless, of course, you have the time and energy for one of Jack’s favorite walks. A late afternoon walk to The Perch (a quaint, thatch-roofed pub on Binsey Lane across the Port Meadow) for a pint and conversation, followed by a stroll along the Isis River to The Trout (the most glorious of pubs) for dinner.
30. If you can’t take the walk from The Perch to The Trout, do go directly to The Trout via taxi or auto. You’ll not regret it. In any and all events, do take your time. Enjoy yourself and, by all means, return! | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 20 | https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-25031909 | en | CS Lewis honoured with Poets' Corner memorial | [
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] | 2013-11-22T02:11:32+00:00 | Writer CS Lewis is honoured on the 50th anniversary of his death with a memorial stone in Westminster Abbey. | en | BBC News | https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-25031909 | Writer CS Lewis has been honoured with a memorial stone in Westminster Abbey later, 50 years after his death.
The stone has been placed in Poets' Corner, alongside renowned literary figures including Chaucer and Dickens.
Former Archbishop of Canterbury Dr Rowan Williams - a fan of his work - gave the main address at the ceremony.
Lewis, born in 1898, is best known for the Chronicles of Narnia series, which has sold 100 million copies worldwide and been adapted for screen and stage.
His other work includes The Screwtape Letters and the Ransom Trilogy novels.
The writer was also a respected Oxford scholar and literary critic, while his book Mere Christianity was adapted from a series of BBC radio broadcasts, which sought to explain Christian teachings to a wider audience.
CS Lewis's memorial stone is set in the floor of Poets' Corner - though he was not known for poetry - and is inscribed with lines from one of his theological lectures : "I believe in Christianity as I believe the sun has risen. Not only because I can see it but because by it I can see everything else."
Around 1,000 guests from around the world attended the service to unveil the stone.
A prayer was read by the Rev Adrian Dorrian, the current rector of St Marks' church, Dundela, in Belfast, where the writer's grandfather was the first rector.
Douglas Gresham, the son of Lewis's wife Joy, spoke at the service. The story of the author's marriage to her was told in the film Shadowlands.
A conference looking at the impact of Lewis's work has also been taking place at the abbey, while a festival celebrating his life and work has been held in his hometown of Belfast.
Clive Staples Lewis - known as Jack to his family - died on 22 November 1963 at the age of 64, the same day President JF Kennedy was assassinated.
Other literary greats to be commemorated in Westminster Abbey's South Transept are Samuel Johnson, John Keats and the Bronte sisters. | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 39 | https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/tip-sheet/article/81733-10-things-you-probably-didn-t-know-about-c-s-lewis.html | en | 10 Things You (Probably) Didn't Know About C.S. Lewis | [
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] | null | [] | null | Including: Lewis gave away his royalties and how he helped Tolkien write 'The Lord of the Rings.' | en | /apple-touch-icon.png | PublishersWeekly.com | https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/tip-sheet/article/81733-10-things-you-probably-didn-t-know-about-c-s-lewis.html | In the meticulous biography Becoming C.S. Lewis, the first of a planned trilogy, Harry Lee Poe chronicles Lewis’s first 20 years: it is the death of Lewis’s mother, when he was nine years old, that Poe asserts caused Lewis (1898–1963) to ponder life’s big questions and the problem of suffering. Poe closely examines Lewis’s education, starting with two years at Wynyard School in England—a miserable place known for beating its students—then short stints at other schools, before, at age 14, studying under William Kirkpatrick, who influenced Lewis’s atheist beliefs (Lewis’s conversion to Christianity didn’t occur until his 30s). This excellent work will have readers eagerly anticipating the next volume. Poe shares some little-known facts about the writer.
C.S. Lewis gained acclaim as a children’s author for his classic series The Chronicles of Narnia. He also gained acclaim for his popular apologetics, including such works as Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. What is more, he gained acclaim as a science fiction writer for his Ransom Trilogy. Furthermore, he gained acclaim for his scholarly work in Medieval and Renaissance literature with The Allegory of Love and A Preface to Paradise Lost. Many writers have their fleeting moment of fame before their books become yesterday’s child – all the rage and then has-been. Remarkably, Lewis’s books in all of these areas have remained in print for seventy, eighty, and ninety years. Over the years, the print runs have grown.
Even though several movies and stage plays have told the story of Lewis, along with a handful of biographies, many people who know of his work may be surprised by the Lewis they do not know.
1. Lewis was not English. He was Irish. Because of his long association with Oxford University, and later with Cambridge, many people assume he was English. When he first went to school in England as a boy, he had a strong Irish accent. Both the students and the headmaster made fun of young Lewis, and he hated the English in turn. It would be many years before he overcame his prejudice against the English.
2. Lewis could not play team sports. Perhaps it would be better to say that he could not succeed at team sports. One of the features of human anatomy that separates us from the lower primates is the two-jointed thumb, which helped us enormously in the development of technology and civilization. Lewis and his brother Warnie had only one joint in their thumbs which left them hopeless at throwing, catching, or hitting balls. As a result of his failure on the playing field, young Lewis was subjected to ridicule and abuse from the other students at school and made to feel unworthy to draw breath.
3. Lewis was a shy man. In spite of his great skill at debate and his mastery of the platform in holding an audience of hundreds in the palm of his hand, Lewis was shy in everyday encounters with other people he did not know. His enormous publishing success came in spite of his inability to put himself forward instead of from any effort on his part to market himself.
4. Lewis gave away the royalties from his books. Though he had only a modest salary as a tutor at Magdalen College, Lewis set up a charitable trust to give away whatever money he received from his books. Having given away his royalties when he first began this practice, he was startled to learn that the government still expected him to pay taxes on the money he had earned!
5. Lewis never expected to make any money from his books. He was sure they would all be out of print by the time he died. He advised one of his innumerable correspondents that a first edition of The Screwtape Letters would not be worth anything since it would be a used book. He advised not paying more than half the original price. They now sell for over $1200.
6. Lewis was instrumental in Tolkien’s writing of The Lord of the Rings. Soon after they became friends in the 1920s, J. R. R. Tolkien began showing Lewis snatches of a massive myth he was creating about Middle Earth. When he finally began writing his “new Hobbit” that became The Lord of the Rings, he suffered from bouts of writer’s block that could last for several years at a time. Lewis provided the encouragement and the prodding that Tolkien needed to get through these dry spells.
7. Lewis had a favorite kind of story. Lewis loved Norse mythology and science fiction, but his favorite kind of story was the journey to the world’s end on a great quest to gain that most valuable prize, the great unattainable thing. He found this story as a teenager in the medieval story of the quest for the Holy Grail. It is the plot of Spenser’s The Fairie Queene and of George MacDonald’s Phantastes. It would be a plot he incorporated into The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and The Pilgrim’s Regress.
8. Lewis earned two degrees at Oxford. Lewis had planned to have a career as a philosopher, teaching at Oxford University. When he could not get a job upon graduation, he remained at Oxford an additional year and did a second degree in English literature. He could complete the degree in only one year because he had read the books in the English syllabus for his pleasure reading when he was a teenager. In the end, he taught English literature instead of philosophy.
9. Lewis’s first book was a collection of poetry he wrote as a teenager. Before he planned to be a philosopher, the teenage Lewis hoped to become a great poet. He wrote poetry with the hope of publishing his work and gaining fame. He returned to England after being injured in France during World War I and published his collection as Spirits in Bondage under the pen name of Clive Hamilton. | ||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 36 | https://sojo.net/articles/legacy-cs-lewis-50-years-after-his-death | en | The Legacy of C.S. Lewis, 50 Years After His Death | [
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] | 2013-10-29T10:23:37-04:00 | When he died on Nov. 22, 1963 hardly a soul blinked in Northern Ireland where he was born or in England where he spent most of his working life as one of the world’s greatest Christian apologists. | en | /sites/all/themes/sojo2019/images/favicons/apple-touch-icon-57x57.png | Sojourners | https://sojo.net/articles/legacy-cs-lewis-50-years-after-his-death | CANTERBURY, England — When he died on Nov. 22, 1963 hardly a soul blinked in Northern Ireland where he was born or in England where he spent most of his working life as one of the world’s greatest Christian apologists.
Clive Staples Lewis was a week short of 65 when he suffered a heart attack at his home in Oxford. The obituary writers barely noticed his demise, in part because he died on the same day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.
British indifference to Lewis half a century ago will be examined at a one-day seminar at Wheaton College on Nov. 1, co-sponsored by the Marion E. Wade Center, the Institute for the Study of American Evangelicals and Wheaton College’s Faith and Learning program.
Lewis may be the most popular Christian writer in history, with millions of copies of his books sold, the vast majority in the United States where his influence is far greater than in his native country.
Was it Lewis’ modesty or British fear of discussing religion that fueled such indifference in Britain and Ireland?
A mixture of both, said Paul Johnson the prominent British journalist, author and former editor of the left-leaning New Statesman magazine.
Writing in the Catholic Herald, Johnson, a leading British Roman Catholic, said he first met Lewis when he was a student at Magdalen College, Oxford University, where Lewis was a don, specializing in Renaissance literature.
“When I knew him, just after the Second World War,” wrote Johnson, “he was famous for his work in English literature. … When we went for walks together, we discussed Chaucer and Dickens, Shakespeare and Dryden. The Chronicles of Narnia were never mentioned. Indeed, I had no idea he wrote stories.”
Half a century later, his books sell between 1.5 million and 2 million copies a year.
C.S. Lewis was born in Belfast, on Nov. 29, 1898. His father, Albert James Lewis, was a lawyer; his mother, Florence Augusta Lewis, was the daughter of an Anglican vicar.
His mother died of cancer in 1908 when C.S. (known as “Jack” to family and friends) was 9.
Shattered by her death, Lewis abandoned his inherited faith at the age of 15 and threw himself into a study of mythology and the occult.
In 1916, when he was just 17, Lewis was awarded a scholarship at University College, Oxford. World War I was raging, and the following year he joined the army.
He served in the Somme Valley in France with an English infantry division and experienced the horrors of mass slaughter.
He was wounded when a British shell falling short of its target killed two of his colleagues.
After the war, he returned to Oxford and in 1925 was elected a fellow and tutor in English literature at Magdalen College where he served until 1954.
His conversion to Christianity was slow and laborious. Reluctantly, he fell under the influence of Oxford colleague and friend J.R.R. Tolkien and G.K. Chesterton, who met every Tuesday morning at a local public house in Oxford and formed a debating club called ”Inklings.”
In his autobiography Surprised by Joy, he said that the night he turned from atheism to Christianity he became “the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”
Tolkien and Chesterton were disappointed that their new convert turned towards the Church of England, not Rome.
C.S. Lewis went on to write acclaimed books about Christianity — The Screwtape Letters, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Space Trilogy, Mere Christianity, Miracles and The Problem of Pain — the latter written after he watched his American-Jewish wife, Joy Davidman Gresham, die of bone cancer in 1960.
The following year, Lewis experienced medical problems and on Nov. 22, 1963 he collapsed in his bedroom. He is buried in the churchyard of Holy Trinity Church, Headington, near Oxford — now a place of pilgrimage.
Celebrations of his life will be held throughout November in Belfast. On Nov. 22, he will be honored with a memorial in Poets’ Corner, Westminster Abbey, where the kings and queens of England are crowned and where some of the world’s greatest writers are buried.
His friend Johnson said Lewis, along with Tolkien, provide a counterbalance to the enormous flood of atheist literature, especially in children’s books.
“It is one of Lewis’ great merits that his tales can be read with equal pleasure by teenagers and grown-ups,” said Johnson. “He is thus, in a sense, the answer both to Richard Dawkins and Harry Potter.” | ||||
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] | 2023-06-02T06:10:42-05:00 | C.S. Lewis is one of the most influential voices in modern Christianity. The 20th Century British writer and lay theologian has profoundly impacted Christians around the world and brought many atheists and agnostics to faith in Jesus. | en | Premier Insight | https://www.premierinsight.org/program/the-c-s-lewis-podcast/ | One person whose faith was greatly encouraged by the writings of C.S. Lewis is Professor Alister McGrath. Both men were raised in Northern Ireland, studied at Oxford University and went on to become professors there. They also both came to faith from atheism slightly later in life. Alister has written numerous books on C.S. Lewis, including a seminal biography C.S. Lewis – A Life.
Listen to new episodes every Monday, where Ruth Jackson and Professor Alister McGrath will focus on the profound and challenging ideas from C.S. Lewis, providing thoughtful insights that answer questions that impact culture today.
” I owe C.S. Lewis immeasurably, for he took me from “half-convinced” wanderer to full-fledged Christian. Now, thirty years later my faith has endured, and I want to give others that gift. If I could I’d give much more, but for now please take this small donation. I’m loving the dynamic between Ruth Jackson and Professor Alister McGrath. One idea – start responding to the big Twitter/YouTubers who have big influences. We need to meet this culture where it is and then take them back to faith! “
A listener of C.S Lewis
About Alister McGrath
Professor Alister McGrath is the Andreas Idreos Professor of Science and Religion at Oxford University. He holds three Oxford doctorates: a doctoral degree in molecular biophysics, a Doctor of Divinity degree in theology and a Doctor of Letters degree in intellectual history. McGrath is a prolific author on many topics including science, faith, apologetics, CS Lewis, doctrine and church history.
McGrath regularly engages in debate and dialogue with leading atheists. He has written many books and articles on numerous topics. His academic books include his widely-used textbooks Christian Theology: An Introduction, The Christian Theology Reader and Theology: The Basics.
His more popular books cover topics such as religion and science, the new atheism and Christian doctrine. Among McGrath’s general readership books are The Dawkins Delusion? Atheist Fundamentalism and the Denial of the Divine, Mere Apologetics: How to Help Seekers and Skeptics Find Faith and Why God Won’t Go Away: Engaging the New Atheism. Alister has written numerous books on C.S. Lewis, including a seminal biography C.S. Lewis – A Life.
McGrath is married to psychologist Rev Dr Joanna Collicutt McGrath with whom he has authored several books and they have two grown-up children. You can find out more about Professor Alister McGrath at his website http://alistermcgrath.weebly.com/ | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 4 | https://www.cslewis.org/resource/walkguide/ | en | C.S. Lewis Walking Tour of Oxford Centre | [
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Caveat
Please be aware that this is an outdoor walking tour, and NOT a tour of the interiors of the locations you’ll be seeing. The buildings on the tour may not be open and available to the general public.
General Recommendations
Distance: 3 1/2 Miles
Time Required: 2 Hours
Start this walking tour in the early afternoon so your arrival at Magdalen College will be during visiting hours, 2:00pm to 6:15pm daily.
Wear good, comfortable walking shoes.
Wear light, but waterproof, clothing. We can’t promise anything about the weather except that it will be varied.
Stop along the way when anything catches your interest. There is a great deal to see in Oxford.
Recommended Route
1. Begin this walk in front of the world-famous Blackwell’s Bookshop on Broad Street, directly across the street from the Sheldonian, Oxford’s most illustrious meeting hall designed by Christopher Wren. (You’ll love Blackwell’s!)
2. When facing Blackwell’s you will notice a tiny pub on your left. The White Horse, which seems almost part of the shop. A short distance to your right, beyond the traffic lights and on the corner, you’ll see The King’s Arms pub.
Humphrey Carpenter, in his excellent book, The Inklings, reports that Lewis and his friends used to meet in these two pubs during the war (and at the Mitre on the High Street) because of a beer shortage “caused largely by thirsty American troops waiting for D-Day.” The shortage meant that the Inklings could not always rely on their favourite haunt, The Eagle and Child (also known as “The Bird and Baby”) to provide refreshment.
From the diary of Major Warren Lewis (C.S. Lewis’s brother), we read of the death of Charles Williams on Tuesday, May 15, 1945:
“I felt dazed and restless [at the news of Williams’ death], and went out to get a drink: choosing unfortunately the King’s Arms, where during the winter Charles and I more than once drank a pint after leaving Tollers [J.R.R. Tolkien] at the Mitre, with much glee at “clearing one’s throat of varnish with good honest beer” as Charles used to say. There will be no more pints with Charles: no more “Bird and the Baby”: the blackout has fallen, and the Inklings can never be the same.”
3. Continue on past The King’s Arms along Holywell Street. As you proceed down one of the most wonderful streets in Oxford, notice a little side street called Bath Place. If you wish to take a short detour, stroll down this lane to the renowned and ancient pub, The Turf Tavern. It is one of the few places where you can order the old English drink, Mead.
4. Back on Holywell Street, notice the Holywell Music Room across the street. Built in the 1740’s, it is the oldest surviving building in Europe designed exclusively for concerts.
5. Continue walking down Holywell Street until you come to the corner of Mansfield Road. Turn into Mansfield and stop by the first house on your right. It was here that Lewis spent his first night in Oxford in December 1916.
From Surprised By Joy, by C.S. Lewis:
“My first taste of Oxford was comical enough. I had made no arrangements about quarters and, having no more luggage than I could carry in my hand, I sallied out of the railway station on foot to find either a lodging-house or a cheap hotel; all agog for “dreaming spires” and “last enchantments.” My first disappointment at what I saw could be dealt with. Towns always show their worst face to the railway. But as I walked on and on I became more bewildered. Could this succession of mean shops really be Oxford? But I still went on, always expecting the next turn to reveal the beauties, and reflecting that it was a much larger town than I had been led to suppose.
Only when it became obvious that there was very little town left ahead of me, that I was in fact getting to open country, did I turn round and look. There behind me, far away, never more beautiful since, was the fabled cluster of spires and towers. I had come out of the station on the wrong side and been all this time walking into what was even then the mean and sprawling suburb of Botley. I did not see to what extent this little adventure was an allegory of my whole life. I merely walked back to the station, somewhat footsore, took a hansom, and asked to be driven to “some place where I can get rooms for a week, please.”
The method, which I should now think hazardous, was a complete success, and I was soon at tea in comfortable surroundings. The house is still there, the first on the right as you turn into Mansfield Road out of Holywell. I shared the sitting room with another candidate, a man from Cardiff College, which he pronounced to be architecturally superior to anything in Oxford. His learning terrified me, but he was an agreeable man. I have never seen him since.”
6. Walk a short distance along Mansfield Road and then turn right into Jowett Walk. (Benjamin Jowett was a famous 19th Century Oxford figure and Master of Balliol College). Proceed to the end of Jowett Walk, stop and look ahead and to your left. There you will see one of Oxford’s forgotten treasures, St. Cross Parish Church. Built on an ancient foundation as the parish church of the Holywell Manor, the chancel arch of the Church of St. Cross dates from the mid-12th Century. It is the setting of the wedding between Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey in Dorothy L. Sayers’ mystery, Busman’s Honeymoon.
NOTE: St. Cross is a Special Collections Centre of Balliol College and is not open to the general public without prior appointment. See their website for information and visit here for their enquiry form.
Make sure you take time to visit the adjoining St. Cross Cemetery. As you enter, notice a small map that will lead you to the graves of Hugo Dyson, Austin Farrer and Charles Williams, all members of Lewis’s circle of friends. Also you can find the resting place of Kenneth Grahame, author of the classic children’s book, The Wind in the Willows.
7. Upon leaving the cemetery, go back towards Jowett Walk and continue past it (the pavement becomes very narrow). You are now in Longwall Street. On your left, you will find a substantial section of the old city wall. Behind that wall is the Magdalen College Grove with its unique deer park. You will see it better when you enter Magdalen College.
8. Continue to the very end of Longwall Street where it meets the busy High Street. Turn left and walk past the entrance of Magdalen College on to the center of Magdalen Bridge, which spans the River Cherwell.
9. As you turn to face Magdalen College, you will find one of the most beautiful sights in all of Oxford, the glorious Magdalen Tower. Built between 1490 and 1510, it is more than 150 feet high.
10. Looking down from the bridge, over the parapet, you will very likely see a number of punts on the Cherwell River. This is a great place to rent a punt for an afternoon on the slow-moving river.
11. Retrace your steps to the entrance of Magdalen. There is a small fee for visiting. It is highly recommended that you pay a little more for the guided tour. These tours are generally given by current students who can often take you into areas to which you would otherwise not be allowed. We also recommend that you purchase one of the guidebooks. It will give valuable information on Magdalen College. Allow at least 45 minutes to visit the college.
12. During your visit to Magdalen, don’t miss:
The New Building: Dating from 1735 (hence “New!”), this imposing building provided C.S. Lewis with a beautifully situated suite of rooms. They were on the second floor (first floor by English reckoning), near the middle. The two windows directly to the right of the protruding center section, above the wisteria, were Lewis’. It was here that Lewis was converted to a belief in God (theism).From Surprised by Joy, by C.S. Lewis:
“You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all of England.”
Addison’s Walk: Named after the great English man of letters and graduate of Magdalen, Joseph Addison, this was a favourite walking place for Lewis and his friends. From They Stand Together: The Letters of C.S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves:
” September 1931 He [Hugo Dyson] stayed the night with me in College… Tolkien came too, and did not leave till 3 in the morning… We began (in Addison’s Walk just after dinner) on metaphor and myth – interrupted by a rush of wind which came so suddenly on the still warm evening and sent so many leaves pattering down that we thought it was raining….
We continued on Christianity: a good long satisfying talk in which I learned a lot….
October 1931 Now what Dyson and Tolkien showed me was this: that if I met the idea of sacrifice in a Pagan story I didn’t mind it at all: and again, that if I met the idea of god sacrificing himself to himself…. I liked it very much… provided I met it anywhere except in the Gospels… Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us in the same way as the others, but with tremendous difference that it really happened…. Does this amount to a belief in Christianity? At any rate I am now certain (a) that this Christian story is to be approached, in a sense, as I approach the other myths; (b) that it is the most important and full of meaning. I am also nearly sure that it happened…. “
Deer Park: The deer in this special reserve are kept as part of the Magdalen College grounds. Once a year one of these magnificent beasts has the great honor of becoming the feast for Magdalen College and its guests.
From C.S. Lewis’s Letters:
” My big sitting room looks north and from it I can see nothing, not even a gable or a spire, to remind me that I am in town. I look down on a stretch of ground which passes into a grove of immemorial forest trees, at present coloured autumn red. Over it stray deer. They are erratic in their habits. Some mornings when I look out there will be half a dozen chewing the cud just underneath me, and on others there will be none in sight — or a little stag (not much bigger than a calf and looking too slender for the weight of his antlers) standing and sending through the fog that queer little bark which is these beasts’ “moo.” It is a sound that will be as familiar to me as the cough of the cows in the field at home for I hear it day and night.”
The Hall (included on guided tour only): Notice the fine woodwork of the screen. It dates from the end of the reign of Elizabeth I or the beginning of James I.
The Chapel: After Lewis’ conversion to Christianity in 1931, he used to attend weekday services in the College chapel.
13. After completing your tour of Magdalen College, step out of the Porter’s Lodge and cross the road. In front of you is the Botanic Garden, open to the public. This is the oldest garden of its kind in England and contains many rare and interesting specimens. It is built on an ancient Jewish burial-ground as is Magdalen College.
14. As you face the Botanic Garden, turn right and walk back towards the center of Oxford along the High Street (known to many simply as “the High”).
15. Continue along the High until you reach the Eastgate Hotel, which is on the corner of Merton Street. Since Tolkien was a Fellow of Merton College and Lewis of Magdalen College, the Eastgate was a convenient place for them to meet.
C.S. Lewis in a letter to his brother, November 1939:
” On Thursday we had a meeting of the Inklings — you and Coghill both absent unfortunately. We dined at the Eastgate. I have never in my life seen Dyson so exuberant — “A roaring cataract of nonsense.”
16. If you wish, you may take a detour down Merton Lane to Merton College. If you do, be sure to come back to this point to resume your tour.
17. As you return to the High, turn left and continue along the High. You will immediately find the Examination Schools on your left. Here and in other venues, Lewis, Tolkien and Williams presented their lectures to Oxford students.
C.S. Lewis in a letter of February 1940:
“On Monday Charles Williams lectured, nominally on [Milton’s] Comus but really on Chastity. Simply as criticism it was superb-because here was a man who really cared with every fibre of his being about “The sage and the serious doctrine of virginity” which it would never occur to the ordinary modern reader to take seriously.”
18. Carry on along the High Street, passing Logic Lane on your left, and you come to University College. It was here that the young C.S. Lewis arrived on April 26, 1917 to begin his academic studies as an undergraduate.
His rooms were on staircase XII, Room 5 of the Radcliffe Quad. When the young Lewis interrupted his studies to join the army, he had the good fortune to stay in Oxford and train at Keble College. He often would return to University College (known as “Univ.”) for weekends.
C.S. Lewis in a letter of July, 1917:
“You can’t imagine how I have come to love Univ., especially since I left. Last Saturday evening when I was sleeping alone, I spent a long time wandering over it, into all sorts of parts where I had never been before, where the mullioned windows are dark with ivy that no one has bothered to cut since the war emptied the rooms they belong to.”
Lewis was to take a double first in Literae Humaniores (more commonly known as “Classics”); he completed his studies with a first in English in 1923.
19. Leaving Univ. through the Porter’s Lodge, cross over the High Street, walk back towards Magdalen for a short way and you will come to Queen’s Lane. Turn left down Queen’s Lane and, as you pass St. Edmund Hall (“Teddy Hall”) on your right, notice the church of St. Peter’s-in-the-East. Now converted into the Teddy Hall Library, this church was attended often by Lewis (on Wednesdays) for Holy Communion.
20. Continue along Queen’s Lane, noticing how quiet it becomes. On your right is New College. On your left is The Queen’s College and then All Soul’s College. You will pass under a bridge which is where Queen’s Lane becomes New College Lane.
21. Continue along New College Lane until you pass under another bridge which connects two buildings belonging to Hertford College. This bridge is sometimes called “the Bridge of Sighs.” Stop here and look to your left and you will see what is perhaps the most impressive architectural view in all England: the square tower of the Bodleian Library, the round dome of the Radcliffe Camera and, beyond that, the soaring spire of the University Church. Begin to walk past these buildings.
22. To your right is the famous Bodleian Library (the main library of Oxford University) where Lewis spent many hours reading and studying. The Radcliffe Camera is part of the Bodleian and contains mostly books on theology and English.
The University Church of St. Mary the Virgin (you’ll find the best view of Oxford from its tower!) is where Lewis delivered his famous war-time sermon, “The Weight of Glory.”
23. Walk past University Church and out onto the High Street. Turn right. You may wish to visit Hall Brothers Tailors and Merchants at 119 High Street. Established in 1860, they are the perfect place to purchase a silk bow tie which was required for high table dinner in college. Halls is one of the finest clothiers in England.
24. You will pass Brasenose College on your right and, as you advance along the High Street, you will reach the Mitre Hotel (also on your right). This was another favorite spot for C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and friends.
25. Carry on up the High Street until you reach a cross-roads. Pause for a moment. In front of you is Carfax Tower, so-called from the French “carrefour,” meaning crossroads. In contrast with the quiet Queen’s Lane, this area is one of the busiest places in Oxford.
26. Turn right into Cornmarket Street and walk past all the shops until you come to Broad Street. Ahead of you and on your right you will see St. Mary Magdalen’s Church. Lewis used to frequent this church for confession.
27. Walk alongside the church (known as “Mary Mag”) and you will come upon the Martyrs’ Memorial, built in remembrance of the 16th century martyrs, Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley, who were burned at the stake nearby. Cross the street (carefully). On your left you will see the Randolph Hotel, a wonderful place for high tea (reservations recommended).
28. Continue to your right past the famed Ashmolean museum, down the wide, tree-lined road called St. Giles (so named after St. Giles’s Church at the far end). On your left you will come to the most famous Lewis pub, The Eagle and Child (also known as “The Bird and Baby”). It was here that the Inklings met informally every Tuesday morning to drink and to discuss the books they were reading (and writing). In 1962, after a remodeling of the Bird and Baby (one of many), they moved across the street to The Lamb and Flag.
From Lewis’ Out of the Silent Planet:
“[Ransom, after arriving back on earth,] contrived to get into a lane, then a road, then into a village street. A lighted door was open. There were voices from within and they were speaking English. There was a familiar smell. He pushed his way in, regardless of the surprise he was creating in the bar. “A pint of bitter, please,” said Ransom.”
29. This seems like a good place to end the Lewis tour, unless, of course, you have the time and energy for one of Jack’s favorite walks. A late afternoon walk to The Perch (a quaint, thatch-roofed pub on Binsey Lane across the Port Meadow) for a pint and conversation, followed by a stroll along the Isis River to The Trout (the most glorious of pubs) for dinner.
30. If you can’t take the walk from The Perch to The Trout, do go directly to The Trout via taxi or auto. You’ll not regret it. In any and all events, do take your time. Enjoy yourself and, by all means, return! | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 1 | 18 | https://www.historyspage.com/post/cs-lewis-inklings-memories-walter-hooper | en | CS Lewis and The Inklings: Memories of Lewis' Secretary, Walter Hooper | [
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"Solomon Schmidt"
] | 2022-01-09T08:52:22.024000+00:00 | This paper contains priceless memories of the time Walter Hooper spent with two great men who were lions of the Christian faith. | en | History's Page | https://www.historyspage.com/post/cs-lewis-inklings-memories-walter-hooper | Introduction by Solomon Schmidt
In November of 2020, Walter Hooper only had a few weeks left to live. This limitlessly kind and unassuming man was spending his last days in an Oxford nursing home, his body and mind weakening each hour. I gave my friend a call, and a frail voice answered the line. When I offered to read him something by C.S. Lewis, though, Mr. Hooper verbally perked up and listened for several minutes to words written by his dear friend.
That was one of the very last times I talked to Walter Hooper, after nearly two years of weekly phone conversations that sometimes lasted two hours. He was the kindest and most humble man I have ever known, and also one of the most fascinating. Having been C.S. Lewis’s secretary, friends with J.R.R. Tolkien, and an acquaintance of Pope John Paul II, Mr. Hooper had plenty of interesting (and occasionally funny!) memories to share that no one else alive today would be able to.
After C.S. Lewis died in 1963, Walter Hooper decided to devote the rest of his life to preserving Lewis’s legacy. Fast-forward fifty-eight years, and today, we can look back and see that is exactly what he did. As literary executor of the C.S. Lewis Estate, Mr. Hooper edited a multitude of previously unpublished books and essays by Lewis, wrote several reference and biographical books on Lewis, and also made sure that none of Lewis’s works ever went out of print.
******
January 8, 2021, was a sad day. England had just been hit by a second wave of the coronavirus, and the country was in lockdown. Gray clouds blanketed the skies over Oxford, and a gentle rain fell as a handful of mourners gathered at St Aloysius Gonzaga Church, where J.R.R. Tolkien and Walter Hooper used to attend daily mass. As I looked at the stained-glass surrounding me and shivered inside the cold church, I thought of how sunny it was in England the last time I had visited. It was the summer of 2019, and Mr. Hooper was still alive. We visited for a while at his apartment, where pictures of him with Lewis and John Paul II adorned the walls, and then had a wonderful dinner together at The Trout, a 400-year-old Oxford pub.
On the day of his funeral, though, I felt lonely and very far away from 2019. But then, I was reminded of a wonderful story about Mr. Hooper, which one of his godsons told during a moving eulogy at the funeral. Many years back, a college student disparagingly asked Walter Hooper how he felt about having lived his life in another man’s shadow. The student was referring to C.S. Lewis, but in his reply, Mr. Hooper transcended the student’s spite and pettiness. “It feels wonderful,” he said. “And I would do it all over again, because it was a Bright Shadow.” The student did not realize it, but Mr. Hooper was referencing a phrase that C.S. Lewis used to refer to Jesus Christ. For at the end of the day, as I was reminded, Walter Hooper was first and foremost a devout, passionate Christian, whose faith fueled his entire life and work.
After the requiem mass finished, everyone filed out of the church and drove in a slow procession to Wolvercote Cemetery. My friend’s body had been placed in the ground just a stone’s throw away from where the remains of J.R.R. Tolkien lie.
Even though Walter Hooper is no longer with us, I believe that his work will live on for many generations. The paper you are about to read contains priceless memories of the time he spent with two great men who were lions of the Christian faith and dramatically changed the course of literary history. Mr. Hooper gave me this document a few years ago, and it has never been published for free access online before. I hope you enjoy reading it and basking in the bright shadow that was Walter Hooper’s life and work.
— Solomon Schmidt, December 2021
The Transcript of Walter Hooper's Oxford Lecture
"I keep telling myself that I should apologise for the amount of autobiography this talk contains. That is because my friendship with Lewis, compared to that of many others, such as his brother Warnie, Professor Tolkien, and Owen Barfield, was of very short duration. Even so, each of Lewis’s friends saw him from an individual and particular angle, and while I wish for your sake you could have had Warnie or Owen or Tolkien as your speaker, those men are in Heaven and I am grateful to you for accepting my individual and particular angle instead.
My introduction to Lewis’s writings goes back to May 1953 when I was nearing my final term at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. This was the time of the Korean War and all young men were worried whether they’d be allowed to finish their degree before they were drafted into the army.
The draft board had promised to leave me alone for a few months, and in that happy place during a happy time of my life, I was introduced to J.B.Phillip’s Letters to Young Churches: A Translation of the New Testament Epistles (1947). It contained an Introduction by C.S. Lewis. I’d never heard his name before, and I read the Introduction simply because it was there. It made a total conquest of me. [[I’ve been trying ever since 1953 to explain to others why that brief article – now published as ‘Modern Translation of the Bible’ in God in the Dock – had such a powerful impact. What came through the introduction was not simply information about the Epistles but something about Lewis.]] I believe now, and I think I sensed it in 1953, that I’d stumbled upon someone whose faith was as certain as that of the Apostles. Lewis believed – or so it seems to me – with the certainty of St Peter and those who had been with Jesus.
After a number of deferments I finished my degree and I went straight into the army and Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Days before I was drafted I found a copy of Lewis’s Miracles, and this went with me. During basic training I kept Miracles hidden beneath my shirt, which made for a good deal of discomfort during callisthenics and bayonet practice. However, in those little ten-minute breaks between firing bazookas and throwing grenades, I managed to read a page or so. If a book can hold your interest during all that excitement, and while you’re crawling under barbed wire in a muddy trench, it is a very, very good book.
I began corresponding with Lewis shortly after this. In that first letter from Lewis, dated 30 November 1954, he emphasised this very thing. I don’t think he wanted me to think too highly of him because he began by saying, ‘I am glad if I have been the instrument of Our Lord’s help to you: in His Hands almost any instrument will do, otherwise none. We should, I believe, distrust states of mind which turn our attention upon ourselves.’
We continued to correspond, and it was while I was lecturing on English Literature at the University of Kentucky at Lexington in the early 1960s that I began writing an academic book about Lewis – never completed. This led Lewis to invite me to come and see him if I should come to Oxford. Up until this time I would have been a very happy and contented young man if I could but see Lewis. But this was a chance to actually meet him.
I went to Oxford in June 1963. I had an appointment with Lewis at the house – The Kilns, Kilns Lane in Headington Quarry – on Monday the 10th June. However, I’d been warned that his house, some five miles from Oxford, was very difficult to find, and on Friday afternoon, the 7th June, almost as soon as I’d arrived in Oxford, I went out to see if I could find his house. No one in Kiln Lane could tell me where he lived, but someone showed me where his housekeeper lived, and I went there. The housekeeper, Mrs Miller, said she’d just seen him arrive back from Cambridge, and she urged me to go and call on him.
I arrived at The Kilns about 4 o’clock. The house face uphill, and when I walked round to the front door I saw a man with his back to the window reading. I rang the bell and regretted bitterly that I was bothering Lewis. Never had I seen myself in so unfavourable a light – an ignorant, provincial Tar Hell calling on this great man! But it was too late to flee. Someone was unlocking the door, and there stood C.S.Lewis.
It turned out that I’d arrived at tea time, a favourite time of the day for Lewis who was a great, a monumental tea drinker. ‘You can’t get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me,’ he said one time. I too was a lover of tea, but my intake had never been as gargantuan as his. As soon as we’d finished one pot of tea, Lewis would go to the kitchen and make another, and another. I was quite a shy young Southern American at that time, but after what seemed gallons of it, I asked if I might be shown the ‘bathroom.’ Remember, I’d only just arrived in England, and I did not then know that in most homes the bathroom and the toilet are separate rooms.
With a touch of mock formality Lewis conducted me to what was really the bathroom. He flung down several towels, produced several tablets of soap, and before closing the door on me he asked if I had everything I needed for my ‘bath.’ ‘Oh, yes!’ I said with some alarm. By this time I was very uncomfortable, and I finally got up enough nerve to go back in the sitting-room and say that it was not really a ‘bath’ I wanted. Lewis was roaring with laughter, and he said, ‘Now that will break you of those silly American euphemisms. Let’s start over again. Where do you want to go?’
There I was, catapulted right into a far more interesting life than I’d imagined was to be had, and pretty soon we were talking about everything under the sun, Lewis constantly making verbal distinctions, and catching me out on logical points. I remember a valuable distinction he made that afternoon. I asked which of his books he thought ‘best,’ and his answer was Perelandra. He then asked which I ‘liked’ the most. Thinking we were talking about the same thing, I said, ‘Well, I agree with you that Perelandra is the best of your books.’ ‘I didn’t ask which you thought “best”,’ said Lewis, ‘but which you like most.’ ‘Oh, in that case, I said the one I like most, and indeed more than any book, is That Hideous Strength.’ ‘Don’t you see the difference? said Lewis. ‘You may think one thing better than another, but you might like something else better.’ The effect of all this clear talk was that by the time I had to leave I liked Lewis so much that I foresaw a life ahead of me that would be very dull compared to the few hours I’d just had.
Lewis walked with me to the bus stop, with a visit to his local pub, the Ampleforth Arms, which was just beside it. I remember that on that brief walk I was surprised that Lewis had turned out to be so much more than I imagined he would be. I remember thinking, ‘I love this dear man.’ We’d just finished our pint when the bus arrived. I assumed this meeting had replaced the one on Monday and I thanked Lewis for giving me so much of his time. He looked surprised, and said, ‘you’re not getting away! You’re coming to the Inklings meeting on Monday.’
As you probably know, the Thursday evening meetings of the Inklings ended in 1949, but the Tuesday morning meetings continued, with one alteration. After Lewis became a Professor at Cambridge in 1955, he came home for the weekend and went back to Cambridge on Monday afternoon. For this reason, the meetings were changed to Monday mornings. In 1962 they moved the venue from the Bird and Baby across the street to the Lamb and Flag.
Professor Tolkien was not at the first meeting I attended, but his son Christopher was there, along with most of the other Inklings, [[Colin Hardie, Public Oratory of the University, Fr Gervase Mathew, Dr Humphrey Havard, Commander James Dundas-Grand, R.B. McCallum, Master of Pembroke College, John Wain (not the cowboy) and Roger Lancelyn Green.]] I’d never witnessed anything like the conversation on that occasion. Lewis by no means did all the talking, or even much of it. He picked up on something I said, and threw it like a ball around the room. The subject was commented on by others, and pretty soon I was saying things that certainly did not represent my usual way of talking. We all know people who make us feel insecure and around whom we sound like fools. Lewis was the opposite. He brought you out. He encouraged you. You were your best in his company. By the time we’d had our pints and pork pies, and the meeting was ended, I was stunned at what had happened. To paraphrase Shakespeare, Lewis was not only ‘witty in himself’, but the ‘cause of wit’ in other men. Remembering that first Inklings meeting, I believe it was the first time I detected in Lewis what he once defined as love of one’s neighbour – ‘a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.’
Lewis invited me back to the Kilns on Wednesday. He then suggested I come out on Sunday so we could go to Communion together at Holy Trinity Church. After the service that Sunday we returned to the Kilns for breakfast. Lewis enjoyed cooking breakfast, and there was excellent conversation over fried eggs, bacon, sausage and toast.
After this we settled into a regular routine of thrice-weekly meetings: Monday at the Lamb and Flag, Wednesdays at The Kilns, and Sundays when we went to Church together. Lewis’s brother, Warnie, was at this time in Ireland. One of his stepsons, Douglas, was at home, and the other who I soon met, David, was in a College in London. The others who made up the ‘Kilns family’ were Lewis’s house-keeper, Mrs Miller, who lived in Kiln Lane, and his gardener and general factotum, Fred Paxford, who had been with Lewis since 1930. He remains in my memory as a man of immense integrity, completely dedicated to ‘Mr Jack’ as he called Lewis.
Lewis’s marriage has recently been made the subject of a film, Shadowlands. But at the time I found it hard to remember that Lewis had been married, and I said that he didn’t strike me as a marrying man. ‘That’s because we were together such a short time,’ he said, ‘and besides, I’ve always been a bachelor at heart.’ It was, however, indirectly through Joy that I came to understand something important about Lewis – his relish for what he called ‘rational opposition.’
One day after the Inklings meeting, Dr Havard - or ‘Humphrey’ as Lewis called him - drove three of us out to the Trout pub at Godstow. This beautiful old 14th century pub was one of Lewis’s favourite places, and while having our sandwiches outside, beside the river, Lewis told me what Joy had said about Southern men – which was that they dominated women. He asked what I had to say about the matter. I felt trapped. I didn’t agree with Joy, but I was afraid of saying so lest he be offended. I’d been brought up to think that if you didn’t agree with someone’s likes or dislikes you didn’t like him. Absurd as this may be, I think it is true of many people on this side of the Atlantic. It was certainly true of me, and up until this occasion it prevented me from enjoying ‘rational opposition.’ I tried to avoid a straight answer, but Lewis was persistent. ‘Do you agree with her?’ he asked. ‘Well, no,’ I said, ‘Then, what do you disagree with?’ he asked. ‘Everything,’ I said finally, ‘She was totally wrong.’
While Humphrey and I were inside getting more beer, I asked if he thought I had offended Lewis. ‘Good heavens, No!’ he said. ‘He loved his wife, but he didn’t always agree with her!’ I soon came to realise that for Lewis conversation was always about something, that the purpose of it was to argue towards truth. Furthermore, I sensed that this arguing towards truth has been one of the things Lewis enjoyed about Joy, perhaps was one of the main reasons they became friends in the first place.
[[Dr Havard was Lewis’s doctor and it was his bad luck to diagnose the aches and pains in Joy’s leg as fibrositis – rather than the cancer it actually was. Whether his wrong diagnosis made things worse in the end I don’t know. But, not surprisingly, it turned Joy totally against Humphrey, and during the period of the marriage Lewis rarely saw his old friend. After I’d been with Humphrey a number of times Lewis told me how sad he was he had to stop seeing him. ‘But,’ he said, ‘after Joy died we met up again and have continued as always. Wasn’t that good of him?’ He went on to say: ‘He was not a good doctor – but he was a good friend.’ ]]
Ever since I’d read Miracles during basic training I’d wondered what Lewis’s conversation would be liked. It was first and foremost very like his books: not that his conversation sounded ‘bookish’, but that his books are like his conversation. You know, don’t you, that nearly all Lewis’s works are written in the first person? Even Lewis had to repeat himself occasionally, and I remember him saying several things exactly as they appear in his books.
The main difference was that, whereas his books say what they say and that is it, his conversation was, to quote Hebrews, ‘alive and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit.’ It was as if the words in his books came alive, expressing far more than print is capable of. Lewis had no ‘small talk’ so far as I could tell, and one would never have used around him such a lazy expression as ‘Whatever.’ As I said, he was always arguing towards truth. That was both the terror and the joy of conversation with him. But I loved every minute of it. His arguments were so impersonal, in a very good sense, that I began thinking of the subject under discussion as something visible there on the table in front of us. It wasn’t about Lewis; it wasn’t about you; it was about it – the subject under discussion. Because his conversation was so ‘alive and active’ it was hard to remember all but fragments. Reading his books is a very close approximation to being in Lewis’s company and hearing his talk. But whereas you can stop reading a book, you had to be on your toes all the time with Lewis. Once when I wasn’t sure how to answer something I said, ‘Well, it’s all very interesting.’ ‘What?’ he said. ‘Have we finished that conversation?’ ‘Oh, no!’ I said, and back to it we went. As one of Lewis’s pupils said to me one time, ‘Arguing with Lewis was like entering a beauty contest. You had to be prepared to be told, ‘You’d damned ugly.’
For many of us everything in the Scriptures is more or less settled, and we quit thinking of what the Scriptures contain. For Lewis nothing in the Bible became trite or dulled by convention. I remember him talking about ‘poor Lazarus,’ who had to die all over again. I wondered who this ‘poor Lazarus’ was. ‘Is Lazarus a neighbour?’ I asked. ‘No,’ said Lewis, ‘he was the brother of Mary and Martha.’ I almost blurted out ‘Oh, you mean a Biblical character,’ as though Lazarus was not real as you and I are. ‘Oh I don’t think he knew he was “Biblical”,’ said Lewis. As it turned out Lewis was writing a poem about Lazarus and he was toying with the notion that, as Lazarus had to die again after Our Lord had brought him back from the grave, he and not St Stephen should be called the Church’s pro-martyr. Thereafter I saw not only Lazarus but everything recorded in the Gospels in an entirely new light.
I have always loved cats, and I soon made friends of the two at The Kilns. There was ‘Snip’ a Siamese that had belonged to Joy and which Lewis called his ‘step-cat’. The other was Old Tom. He had been a great mouser in his day, but he was old now and had lost his teeth. My heart almost froze when I heard Lewis’s housekeeper urging Lewis to have Old Tom ‘put down’. ‘No’, said Lewis, ‘Tom is a pensioner now.’ After that Tom was put on a pension of fish. He had his housekeeper cook fish several times a week and debone it for the old Cat. Once when Lewis and I were walking down the lane we met Old Tom coming our way. As we passed, Lewis lifted his hat. ‘He’s a pensioner’, he whispered to me.
I don’t remember Lewis ever bringing up any of his books, but if one came up in the course of the conversation he would talk about it. I don’t think Lewis had any opinion of himself or his writings. Of course he was interested in what was in the books or they would never have been written. But he was without conceit. I think if someone, who didn’t know either of us, heard us talking about Lewis’s books he would get the impression that I had the greater knowledge of them. On one occasion I quoted the whole of my favourite poem, Lewis’s ‘Scazons’ published in The Pilgrim’s Regress. He listened very carefully, and when I finished he asked if I’d make him a copy. ‘But it is your poem!’ I explained. ‘Is it?’ he said. ‘Well, it’s not half bad is it?’
This should not, perhaps, surprise us for, as I’ve said Lewis had no opinion of himself, and he more than once said to me, ‘You think too highly of my books!’ If asked what I thought the main difference between Lewis and the average modern man I would have to say that Lewis was interested in almost everything outside himself, modern man is mainly interested in himself.
Lewis did not particularly like talking about his own books, but when he did it was because the subject of those books were of interest to both of us, and not because he had written them. It would be odd if a man could not retain an interest in something he had spend years writing about. I found that Lewis liked the Narnian books almost as much as I did, and for the same reason. When he discovered that my favourite character was Puddleglum the Marshwiggle in The Silver Chair, he revealed that Puddleglum was modelled on his gardener, Fred Paxford, whom I had come to know well.
Paxford was like Puddleglum in being outwardly very pessimistic, but inwardly very optimistic. Once Lewis mentioned the resemblance I saw it at once. Paxford had been marvellous to me since I first visited The Kilns, and there was nothing he would not do for ‘Mr Jack’ as he called Lewis. Although I never knew him to go to church, he was forever signing hymns, sometimes so loud he had to be quieted down. When I asked if he were married, and he gave me what I learned was his standard answer to that question. Some of you ladies may not like it, but Paxford always quoted this little poem when he was asked why he didn’t marry:
A little puff of powder,
A little touch of paint,
Makes a woman look
Just like what she ain’t!
Lewis gave me a perfect example of why Paxford and Puddleglum were so much alike. Joy’s great ambition was to go to Greece, and in 1959, before they realised that her cancer had returned, Roger Lancelyn Green and his wife June had urged them to join them in a trip to Greece. However, by the time of the trip, April 1960, Joy’s cancer had returned, and Lewis was very apprehensive about the trip. He told me that he and Joy were in the taxi, about to leave for the airport to fly to Greece, when Paxford came to see them off. Leaning through the window of the car, he said, ‘Well, Mr Jack, there was this bloke just going on over the wireless. Says an airplane just went down. Everybody killed – burnt before recognition. Did you hear what I said Mr Jack? – burnt beyond recognition!’ ‘And on that note,’ said Lewis, ‘we flew to Greece.’
While Lewis looked in robust health to me, he had been ill for several years with an infected kidney and prostate gland. The surgeon wouldn’t operate on him because his heart was too weak. Now, suddenly, his health began giving him trouble. When I went out to The Kilns on Sunday morning, 14 July, I found him in his dressing gown, looking very ill. He could hardly sit up, and after asking for tea, he could not hold the cup. He told me he was going into the Acland Nursing Home the next day for a blood transfusion, and he asked if I would stop in England and act as his private secretary, beginning immediately. I accepted with the understanding that I’d go back to the States in the autumn to teach another term in my college, after which I’d return in January 1964 to resume my job with him.
The next day, 15 July, Lewis went to the hospital for an examination, where he had a heart-attack and went into a coma. The doctors did not expect him to regain consciousness, but to everyone’s surprise Lewis came out of his coma – and asked for his tea!
By the next day he wanted to catch up with his letter writing, and I was with him most of the day over the next two weeks taking dictation and helping in various ways
It was during the time he was in the hospital that I became familiar with one of the most surprising things I learned about his private life. I learned of it through answering his correspondence with his lawyer-friend, Owen Barfield. From the time Lewis began making money from his Christian writings, beginning with the serialisation of The Screwtape Letters in 1941, and later the radio talks which were published at Mere Christianity, Lewis refused to touch a penny of it. Instead he sent the publishers and the BBC a list of widows and orphans and directed that the money be sent to them. Lewis did not understand the difference between gross and net profit, and in the spring of 1942 he discovered to his horror that he owed a hefty tax bill on monies he’d given away. Before things got out of hand, his friend, Owen Barfield, a lawyer, intervened and helped Lewis set up a charitable trust – called the Agape Fund or ‘Agapargyry’ as they called it. Thereafter, and until Lewis’s marriage in 1957, Lewis had two-thirds of his income pay into the ‘Agapargyry’ for the supplying of anonymous gifts to various people in need, but especially widows and orphans. The Agape Fund was restored after Joy died in 1960 and was continuing. I learned about it from the letters I was writing to Owen Barfield about the present state of the Agapargyry.
Two things flashed across my mind. One was the poorness, almost the poverty, of the way Lewis lived at The Kilns. When I arrived there I discovered that almost everyone smoked, but that there was only one ashtray in the house. I had to beg Lewis to allow me to buy several cheap ones to litter about the place to avoid the house catching fire. The new ashtrays went unnoticed. Lewis nearly always flicked his ashes across the rug in his study. ‘Ashes are good for rugs,’ he said, ‘but only men believe it!’ I learned too that when the new housekeeper, Mrs Miller, moved to the Kilns in 1952 she found the blackout curtains still up. These coarse black curtains had been necessary during wartime, but the war had long been over, and Mrs Miller asked Lewis if they couldn’t be replaced. He saw no reason to waste money on curtains. In that case, asked Mrs Miller, would he mind if she washed them? Luckily, in the course of being washed the blackout curtains dissolved into ink, and had to be poured out. The Kilns got new curtains.
In talking with Lewis about the Agape Fund, I realised that he was not altogether comfortable about ending it when he married. But Owen Barfield assured him that it had been necessary. I, for my part, knowing what a plain, almost threadbare, life he lived, was stunned that he had been so extremely generous. ‘Why,’ I asked plainly, ‘did you give away so much?’ The simplicity of his answer took my breath away. ‘God was so good in having me,’ he said, ‘that the least I could do was give away most of what I made in His name.’ When was the last time we said, ‘God was so good in having me’? When was the last time we said that?
Lewis had me move into The Kilns while he was in the hospital, and after he got home we settled down to some of the most interesting weeks of my life. Lewis the champion of reason was still very much in evidence, but I sensed more gentleness in his manner. Lewis usually had a cup of tea or coffee after lunch, and following this I usually left him alone in his study sitting in his easy chair. I suspected that he had a nap when I was out of the room, and one day, before I closed the door behind me I said, ‘Jack, do you ever take a nap?’ ‘Oh, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘On the other hand,’ he went on, ‘sometimes a nap takes me!’ When you think about it you see how right he was. Get into your pyjamas in the middle of the afternoon, close the curtain, get into bed - and nothing happens. But relax in your easy chair with a good book, and when you wake you realise the nap took you.
At the doctor’s advice, Lewis retired from his Chair of English at Cambridge, and we settled down to a life which seemed to make him happy. Immediately after breakfast, he dictated his letters to me, wanting to have that onerous duty out of the way. He always had me read his letters back to him, commenting that ‘It’s as important to please the ear as the eye.’ We take it for granted that his writing is both beautiful to read and beautiful to hear, but this was hardly a matter of chance. He told me that when he was writing something – nearly always with a nib pen – he ‘whispered’ the words aloud to himself.
Now that Lewis had retired from his Chair in Cambridge, and had a little unaccustomed leisure, he spent his time writing, meeting his Inkling friends, enjoying a pint in his local, discussing the books he hoped to write, and enjoying his time at The Kilns. If his brother had returned from Ireland he would have been perfectly content.
Expecting that we’d be together for years, after I returned from teaching one final term in the States, Lewis wanted me to get to know all the Inklings. The one I hadn’t met was J.R.R.Tolkien, and Lewis had me ring the Professor and invite him to tea. Mrs Tolkien was ill and he couldn’t join us.
I will return to Lewis in a moment, but let me say that I didn’t meet Professor Tolkien until I’d returned to Oxford after Lewis’s death. He invited me to his house in 76 Sandfield Road, and this was to be the first of many meetings over the next ten years.
To this day I don’t understand why some of Lewis’s biographies, namely Humphrey Carpenter and A.N.Wilson, insist that the friendship between Lewis and Tolkien ‘cooled’ near the end of Lewis’s life. Lewis had already complained to me that he saw less of Tolkien because his wife insisted on his spending more time at home. Now here was Tolkien complaining about the same thing – seeing so little of Jack. He explained, however, that he’d given up the Thursday evening meetings in Magdalen College some years before because he felt he ought to spend, not only more time with his wife, but his children. He made two important points about Jack during our first meeting. He sensed that I didn’t understand what I’d heard about Jack being unpopular with many of his colleagues at Magdalen College, Oxford, and he explained it to me:
‘In Oxford,’ he said, ‘you are forgiven for writing only two kinds of books. You may write books on your own subject whatever that is, literature or science, or history. And you may write detective stories because all dons at some time get the flu, and they have to have something to read in bed. But what you are not forgiven is writing popular works, such as Jack did on theology, and especially if they win international success as his did.’ He went on to say that Jack was ‘driven to write his theological books by his conscience.’
Tolkien loved Lewis very much and I always got the impression that he acted very much like an older brother to Lewis. After we got to know one another he said, ‘Jack was always been “taken in” by someone. First it was Mrs Moore – the mother of Lewis’s friend who was killed in the war – then it was with Charles Williams. And then it was Joy Davidman.’
What they meant to one another as Inklings is incalculable. You are probably wondering what part Lewis played in Tolkien’s works of Middle Earth. When I was editing Lewis’s letters I found one in which he told his Belfast friend, Arthur Greeves, of a visit Tolkiien paid to his Magdalen rooms in 1929. ‘Tolkien is the man I spoke of,’ he wrote to Arthur, ‘when we were last together – the author of the voluminous unpublished metrical romances.’ When I asked Tolkien if what they were reading was The Lord of the Rings, he explained that this was long before the Ring, and the work referred to was The Simarillion. He went on to say that at that time his interests were not in stories but in the material that eventually made up the Appendices to the Ring, history, languages, and genealogies. ‘But you know what a boy Jack was,’ said Tolkien. ‘He had to have a story – and that story, The Lord of the Rings – was written to keep him quiet!’ He said Lewis’s great contribution to him was encouragement. [[Many have asked about Lewis’s ‘influence’ on Tolkien, and Lewis made that matter very clear. ‘As for anyone incluencing Tolkien,’ he said, ‘you might as well try to influence a bandersnatch.’ Tolkien paid me the compliment of introducing me to his family, and in all my fifty years in England no one has been as marvellous to me at the Tolkien family.]]
Now to return to Lewis and the summer of 1963. Sometimes I was the occasion of Lewis’s humour. It was evident to everyone I knew, and now even C.S.Lewis, that I could hardly speak without making use of Lewis’s thought, and giving full credit to Lewis with my constant refrain of ‘As C.S. Lewis has said.’ After we’d come to know one another he invited me to call him ‘Jack,’ and for a while he was almost like two people to me: the author of my favourite books, and Jack Lewis the friend who would never speak of his own work unless pressed. Quoting one of his books one day, I suddenly realised how it must sound to him. ‘As C.S. Lewis has said,’ I said, ‘Oh, but you are C.S. Lewis!’ Thereafter he made it a joke between us, and whenever he wanted anything done, he might say, ‘As C.S. Lewis has said “I would like a pot of tea.” As C.S. Lewis has said, ‘You will go and make it.” As C.S.Lewis has said, “I will drink it!”’
During this time Lewis sent me to Cambridge to sort out his belongings in Magdalene College. It was inevitable that I meet the Librarian of the Pepys Library, and when I got home Lewis asked what I thought of him. The Librarian had the reputation of being a sensational bore, and I told Lewis the man succeeded in interesting me by the sheer intensity of his boringness. ‘Yes,’ Lewis admitted, the man is a great bore. ‘But let us not forget,’ he said, ‘that Our Lord might well have said, “As ye have done it unto one of the least of these my bores you have done it unto me.’
Lewis told me many times that I valued his writings too much, and he was always amused when he saw me scribbling something he said in my little notebook. ‘I know what the divine joke on you would be,’ he said near the end of the summer. ‘I might utter my last words and you won’t be here to write them down!’
As it turned out, I wasn’t. I was in between classes at the University of Kentucky on 22 November 1963 when a colleague told me President Kennedy had been shot. Later that day we learned that the President was dead. Horrible as that was, I was still looking forward to joining Lewis in January. I was just drifting off to sleep in my bed that night when Lewis’s step-son, Douglas Gresham, rang to tell me that Jack had died the same hour as President Kennedy.
I was very depressed for a while. But some of Lewis’s friends persuaded me to return to Oxford anyway, and almost as soon as I came to know Lewis’s brother Warnie, he invited me to begin editing his brother’s literary remains. So in a sense I really have been working as Lewis’s secretary these last fifty years. In any event, when I see what has happened to his writing I think we all have reason to be joyful. Over the years since Lewis’s death so many of his works have been discovered, collected, and talked about that if you dropped me down onto a desert island with copies of Lewis’s works my life would be almost as rich as it is now.
In conclusion, I hope you will allow me to make this boast. I have waited fifty years to tell the world that I won an argument with Lewis. Not many can make that claim. Lewis was worried about what his brother would live on when he - C.S.Lewis - died, and this because he was sure that upon his own death his books would stop selling. ‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘What’d you mean, “no?”’ he said. ‘This happens,’ he said, ‘to nearly all authors. After they die their books sell for a while, and then trail off to nothing.’ ‘But not yours!’ I said. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Because they are too good - and people are not that stupid.’
Well, you see who won that argument. And yet, if Lewis was wrong about anything, wasn’t this precisely the one thing he ought to have been wrong about. But such was his humility, his attention always turned away from himself. And if Lewis got one thing not only right, but terrifically right, it was his prediction that I was stuck forever with the phrase even he could not cure me of - ‘As C.S. Lewis has said.’" | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 15 | https://apilgriminnarnia.com/2021/05/06/an-old-pictorial-map-of-central-oxford-are-there-links-to-c-s-lewis-fiction/ | en | An Old Pictorial Map of Central Oxford (Are There Links to C.S. Lewis’ Fiction?) | [
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] | 2021-05-06T00:00:00 | A couple of months ago, I wrote about “'The Country Around Edgestow': A Map from C.S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength by Tim Kirk." Tim Kirk's fantasy map was part of an early Mythlore article, "Arthurian & Cosmic Myth in That Hideous Strength" by Margaret Hannay (1970). I have confessed before that I have tried to | en | A Pilgrim in Narnia - a journey through the imaginative worlds of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and the Inklings | https://apilgriminnarnia.com/2021/05/06/an-old-pictorial-map-of-central-oxford-are-there-links-to-c-s-lewis-fiction/ | A couple of months ago, I wrote about “‘The Country Around Edgestow’: A Map from C.S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength by Tim Kirk.” Tim Kirk’s fantasy map was part of an early Mythlore article, “Arthurian & Cosmic Myth in That Hideous Strength” by Margaret Hannay (1970). I have confessed before that I have tried to work out some of the local (i.e., the ones on Earth) places in C.S. Lewis’ Ransom Cycle. Though I spent a day hiking with Rev. Stephen Winter–the “Wisdom from the Lord of the Rings” blogger–hoping to feel Lewis’ real schoolboy environment of Malvern and environs behind Dr. Ransom’s earthly home base, I am ill equipped to succeed in this quest. But in writing my article, “What is the Significance of Worc(h)ester in C.S. Lewis’ Ransom Cycle?,” I became intrigued by the possibilities of real places in C.S. Lewis’ mind that sit behind his fictional English towns and countrysides.
One of Lewis’ key terran fictional places is “Edgestow,” the home of Bragdon Wood, Bracton College, and the literary centre of the events in That Hideous Strength. In my reading about Lewis and Arthurian literature, I happened upon Margaret Hannay’s piece, which included Tim Kirk’s map of “The Country Around Edgestow.” As a reading tool, I have come to like this fairly detailed Edgestow pictorial map. With the help of Mythlore editor Janet Brennan Croft, Tim Kirk kindly gave me permission to share the map on A Pilgrim in Narnia. You can download a PDF of Hannay’s article with Kirk’s map in context here. And there is a clearer, zoom-able version of the map here.
Continuing on my irresponsible musings like “What is the Significance of Worc(h)ester in C.S. Lewis’ Ransom Cycle?” and connections between Lewis’ real life hills and towns in his fiction, I found Tim Kirk’s map opened up some imaginative possibilities for me–even if they did not answer all the questions I would like to ask. During the pretty great discussion that followed that post, Tolkien historian John Garth–having recently written a visual and literary history, The Worlds of J.R.R. Tolkien–asked this perceptive question: “There’s quite a bit of Oxford in that map, isn’t there?”
Since I lack the artistic and geographic skills to really capture that comparison or assess it if I saw it, I left the question behind. And then, in a box of materials from one of C.S. Lewis’ past students, Dr. E.L. Edmonds, I found this map tucked into an old guidebook. There is a bit of damage and my photography skills are limited, but it certainly does give some scope for imaginative comparison with Tim Kirk’s Edgestow map. I will allow you good folk to have fun making links and noting differences.
If you drag and drop the map into most browsers, you should be able to make it bigger to look for details.
And because it can be fun to note a change in perspective, time, and technology, you may enjoy this interactive aerial photograph that gives a 360° view of Oxford. Scrolling over with your mouse will let you explore various sites of Oxford, but it is even cooler with your phone or tablet, as the camera rolls as you do (If your experience of WordPress does not load the interactive photo, click through to Facebook you can see the picture). | |||||
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] | null | [] | null | Discover artworks, explore venues and meet artists. Art UK is the online home for every public collection in the UK. Featuring over 300,000 artworks by over 50,000 artists. | en | https://artuk.org/skins/artuk/img/artuk_32_32.ico | null | Most people assume that the well-known author, C. S. Lewis, writer of The Chronicles of Narnia series of children's stories, was English. He was, in fact, born and brought up in East Belfast on the northeast coast of pre-partition Ireland. He spent many happy times with his brother Warnie walking and cycling around the gentle hills around Craigantlet and north Down.
His mother died when C. S. Lewis, known by his friends and family as 'Jack', was only nine years old. His father, solicitor Albert Lewis, who had just lost his father, and 10 days later, his brother, was unable to cope and sent his younger son to, what turned out to be, a brutal public school in England, where he felt he learnt nothing.
Apart from a few months attending Campbell College in East Belfast, Lewis never again permanently lived in Ireland, but spent more than 60 holidays in Belfast, counties Down, Antrim and Donegal and, after the First World War, created his own Irish household in Oxford with Irish servants and all the best traditions of Irish hospitality. He loved to correct people who said he was English, and confirm that he was a proud Irishman and, more specifically, an Ulsterman, inspired throughout his life by the landscapes of his native Ulster.
After further unhappy experiences in the English public school system, including at Malvern College looking out onto the Malvern Hills, Worcestershire, Lewis was privately tutored by Ulsterman William T. Kirkpatrick, his father's old headmaster from Lurgan College, who was then living in Bookham, Surrey.
Kirkpatrick's robust approach to logical discussion, his atheism (having trained as a Presbyterian minister), and his unusual teaching methods all had a profound influence on the young Lewis and enabled him to gain entrance into Oxford University and work on his ambition to become a great poet. His start at Oxford was delayed by the Great War and although Lewis, as an Irishman, could have avoided serving in the armed forces, he chose to join up and fought in the trenches of the Western Front in northern France.
C. S. Lewis' father's failure to travel to England to see him off to France, where he might have been killed, seriously damaged their relationship. At the Front, he was injured by a shell which killed a soldier beside him and was invalided back to England, where, again, his father failed to come and visit him. He published a book of poetry, written before and during the war, but soon realised that his traditional approach to poetry, which rhymed and scanned, had been superseded by the more modernist poetry of poets like T. S. Eliot and Ezra Pound, which he detested.
While convalescing, he developed a relationship with Mrs Janie Moore from Pomeroy, County Tyrone, the mother of an army friend who was killed on active service in France, who was only 10 years younger than Lewis's mother would have been. Although she was not divorced from her husband, they moved in together, along with Mrs Moore's daughter, and he had to keep this relationship secret from his father and the university. It also put him under immense financial pressure. They lived together for many years until her death in 1951.
At Oxford, Lewis took 'Greats', which included Greek and Roman languages, philosophy, history and literature and achieved a first in only two years and then took a degree in English in only one year, again achieving a first. He then had an anxious period trying to find academic employment, before being offered a temporary one-year lectureship in Philosophy, before finally being appointed a fellow in English at Magdalen College Oxford.
His first prose book, called The Allegory of Love, on the theme of medieval courtly love, was published in 1936 to critical acclaim. At Oxford, Lewis had two meetings with famous Irish poet W. B. Yeats, who had inspired his poetry, although by that stage had become deeply interested in esoteric spiritualism.
In 1930, following the death of his father in September 1929, whom Lewis regretted having treated so badly, he came to a belief in God, from his previous philosophical idealism, and within the following year, become a Christian and began writing works of apologetics. He also began writing science fiction books, beginning with Out of the Silent Planet, published in 1938.
During the Second World War, Lewis, who had little experience of children, and Mrs Moore, took in children who were evacuees from the threatened blitz in London. This may have prompted him to begin to write children's stories. From his childhood, he had always loved fairy stories, which he continued to re-read as an adult. The first of the Narnia stories, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, was published in 1950.
Various places in Ireland are believed to be inspirations for mythical places in his Narnia stories. However, the only one he personally highlighted as having inspired his 'idea of Narnia', was the view of the Mourne Mountains from Rostrevor, County Down, which has its own fairy glen.
While living in Oxford, he would often speak fondly of the magic of Ireland, particularly the province of Ulster, which would inspire his imagination: 'I yearn to see County Down in the snow, one almost expects to see a march of dwarfs dashing past. How I long to break into a world where such things were true.' In his essay On Stories, Lewis wrote 'I have seen landscapes, notably in the Mourne Mountains and southwards which under a particular light made me feel that at any moment a giant might raise his head over the next ridge.' Despite spending most of his life in England, he said that 'I have no patriotic feeling for anything in England…but as to Ireland, no-one loves the Hills of Down (or Donegal) more than I'.
Many Lewis scholars have also argued that the capital of Narnia, Cair Paravel, which appears in six of the Narnia books, was inspired by the derelict cliff-top Dunluce Castle, which can be seen on the north coast of County Antrim, near Castlerock where he holidayed with his mother and brother several times as a child.
The castle of Cair Paravel on its little hill towered up above them; before them were the sands, with rocks and little pools of salt water, and seaweed, and the smell of the sea and long miles of bluish-green waves breaking for ever on the beach. And oh, the cry of the seagulls! Have you heard it? Can you remember? (The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, Chapter 17)
It lay empty during the White Witch's tyrannical reign in the Age of Winter and was restored to use when the Pevensie children were crowned there and fulfilled the prophecy, which ushered in the Golden Age of Narnia. During Narnia's conquest by the Telemarines, the grand castle fell in the Battle of Cair Paravel.
In February 1950, Lewis began writing a follow-up Narnia story, Prince Caspian: The Return to Narnia. It contains the same four Pevensie siblings as the first story and a similar mishmash of characters from various myths and legends, as well as talking animals. It was another gripping fantasy adventure yarn involving the Pevensie children and the mystical talking lion, Aslan, who again comes to the rescue at the end.
In the story, although only a year had passed in England, 1,300 years had passed in Narnia. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy Pevensie are at the train station on their way back to school, but find themselves magically transported to a wood on an island near an old, ruined castle, which they explore. Only when Susan finds a pure gold chessman do they eventually realise that they are in the royal city of Cair Paravel in Narnia, where they once ruled as kings and queens. They find the ancient treasure chamber where Peter's sword and shield, Susan's bow and arrows, and Lucy's diamond bottle of magical cordial, which Aslan had given them, had been stored.
Although Lewis was known for his use of words in a range of genres: poetry, science fiction, apologetics, and English literature and criticism, he said that his inspiration was often in the form of a picture in his mind rather than words or an initial storyline. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe began life, not as an emerging narrative, but as a visual picture in his mind of a faun in a snowy wood carrying an umbrella and parcels. Initially, he had no conception of Aslan the lion. He then built the story up from this initial image of the faun in his head.
As a child, Lewis loved to read all kinds of books that were readily available in the family home and write stories about talking animals and draw his own characters. He even contemplated illustrating The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe himself, before wisely choosing Pauline Baynes on the recommendation of J. R. R. Tolkien.
From 1914 onwards, Lewis maintained a close friendship with Arthur Greeves who lived near the family home in East Belfast and shared his love for Norse mythology, as visually portrayed by Arthur Rackham in his book of illustrations of Wagner's Ring Cycle.
Unlike Lewis, Greeves was an accomplished painter and musician, but as a child was diagnosed with a weak heart, so spent little time in employment or travelling outside of Belfast, except for two years at the Slade School of Fine Art in London, and going on holiday with Lewis. Their extensive correspondence has provided a useful insight into the more personal side of Lewis from his teenage years on.
Lewis was never offered a professorship by Oxford, because of the popularity of his Christian apologetics and fiction writing, both science-fiction and children's stories, which were looked down on by his fellow academics. Tolkien, however, used his influence to encourage Cambridge University to create a new professorship in Cambridge specifically for him, which he eventually accepted on the basis that he could stay living in The Kilns in Oxford over the weekends and holidays, meeting up with his fellow Inklings on a Monday morning before taking the slow train to Cambridge.
At this time, he was being pursued by American poet and novelist Joy Gresham, née Davidman, as portrayed in the Holywood film Shadowlands. She had moved to Oxford with her two boys to get close to him. When she contracted cancer, he agreed to marry her secretly in a registry office to avoid her being deported back to the USA when her visa was not renewed. When it looked like she was dying, he agreed to them being married by a priest in the hospital in March 1957. Her cancer then went into remission and she recuperated in The Kilns and, with the eventual development of a romantic relationship, the pair travelled to Ireland for a honeymoon in The Old Inn, Crawfordsburn, and Donegal.
Less than two years later, they travelled to Greece for a holiday, before her death in July 1960. Lewis wrote notes of his feelings of grief over Joy's death, which were published anonymously as A Grief Observed in September 1961. Lewis continued to write and publish, but his own health deteriorated, and he died at home on 22nd November 1963.
His life was celebrated with the building of C. S. Lewis Square in East Belfast surrounded by sculptures of a series of Narnia characters, as well as The Searcher.
Roger Courtney, freelance consultant, writer and facilitator | |||||
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] | null | [] | 2010-01-31T00:00:00 | If author, Christian apologist, and Oxford University don C. S. “Jack” Lewis had lived to see his Narnia tales become not only cherished children’s literature, but also an early 21st century movie screen success story, he probably would have been astonished. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe garnered $740 million… | en | https://s1.wp.com/i/favicon.ico | Christian World Traveler | https://christianworldtraveler.wordpress.com/2010/01/31/a-walk-about-c-s-lewis-oxford/ | If author, Christian apologist, and Oxford University don C. S. “Jack” Lewis had lived to see his Narnia tales become not only cherished children’s literature, but also an early 21st century movie screen success story, he probably would have been astonished. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe garnered $740 million worldwide. If any of that take had come into Lewis’s hands, it’s likely he would have given most of it away.
His was a simple life, we learned during a walking tour of sites Lewis frequented around Oxford. He didn’t drive a car, took in orphans, animals, and houseguests, and gave away half of what he earned. His greatest entertainment was intellectual and animated conversation and jousting, especially with friends such as J.R.R. Tolkien, whose Lord of the Rings also brought great posthumous fame and fortune.
Around town, Lewis cut the profile of the quintessential professor in a rumpled old tweed coat whose pockets had burn holes from his ever-present pipes. The “Professor,” as his Oxford neighbors called him, had an unassuming demeanor and wasn’t much for small talk. Yet he had many loyal friends.
The storyteller and intellect behind the myths, the magic, and the expositions, was also often called a “country man” – a bit of a dig at his lack of elitism. Yet when he died November 22, 1963 (the same day John F. Kennedy was assassinated), he left the world a legacy of allegorical literature and apologetics that has only burgeoned in appeal since his exit.
Diane and I are Lewis’ admirers, so we included a couple of Oxford nights and a walking tour of his home turf into our recent ramble through England’s Cotswolds region. As we walked in his steps, we gained a better understanding of the man whose words and teachings continue to magnetize fans of all ages.
We slept two nights in the charming and strategically located Macdonald Eastgate Townhouse Hotel on historic High Street. First evening in town, we had some pub grub at The Mitre, a fixture on the main drag where Lewis sometimes took a meal.
Our lodging put us inside the contemporary pulse of Oxford’s medieval town and gown ambience, and next to Magdalen College, where Lewis was elected a Fellow in 1925. He taught Medieval and Renaissance literature there until 1954, when he was elected a Professor at Madgalen College, Cambridge. Originally a 17th century coaching inn with modern updates and a charming breakfast room, the Eastgate is where Lewis first met his future wife, Joy Gresham. In the film Shadowlands, however, actor Anthony Hopkins as Lewis made the proposal to actress Debra Winger in the Eastgate’s venerable sister hotel, Macdonald Randolph Hotel, where we had a white-cloth dinner following the day tour.
To begin our tour, our guide Terry Bremble recommended we take a taxi from Eastgate over to Headington Quarry, Lewis’ suburban village neighborhood. That was home base for Lewis and his older brother Warren, “Warnie,” from 1930 to 1963. The neighbors referred to the pair as “The Professor,” and “The Major,” in recognition of their academic and military vocations. The brothers were lifelong best friends and seldom seen apart. Warnie never married; Lewis’ marriage to Joy was brief because of her premature cancer death at age 45.
Inside the mid-19th century Holy Trinity Church, the Lewises sat in the same pew for Sunday morning and Evensong worship year after year. Ronald Head, a former vicar of the church, said the brothers attended most church social events, but few congregationalists in the immediate community were aware of Lewis’ fame. Inspiration for The Screwtape Letters, Head believed, came to Lewis while he was sitting in church during the World War II years. Opposite the Lewis pew are shimmering engraved glass Narnia windows, installed in 1991 to commemorate the church’s famous connection. The windows feature the castle, the lion Aslan, a flying horse, and other animals from the stories.
The brothers’ final resting place is in the churchyard, amid tall pine trees and ivy-covered stone walls. The side by side graves are identified by simple stone markers that project no fame or notoriety. No hallowed Westminster Abbey crypt for this 20th century intellectual giant. He probably would have refused such an offer anyway.
As we strolled out the church gate, Terry pointed to The Masons Arms public house across the street. Built in 1872, the old watering hole was well known to the Lewis brothers. Some speculated the two men often left church early because they wanted to enjoy a pint or two on their way home, as some of today’s parishioners most probably do. The pub became part of the working class neighborhood in the mid-19th century, where stone was quarried for local buildings, including those of the university.
The way to The Kilns, the former Lewis home, is a quiet residential street, lined with middle-class brick homes and ivy-covered walls. Now owned by the California-based C. S. Lewis Foundation, the house was purchased by the foundation and rescued from oblivion in the mid-1980’s. Open for tour by appointment, it serves as residence for visiting Lewis scholars.
Teresa Kipp, the American housekeeper in residence, welcomed us and showed us around the modest rooms where Jack, Joy, her two sons Douglas and David, Warnie, Mrs. Miller the housekeeper, and Fred Paxford, the gardener, spare cook, and general handyman, lived with a ginger cat and huge shaggy poodle. Built in 1922, the house was jointly purchased in 1930 by the Lewis brothers. Jack lived there until his death, as did Warnie, who outlived his younger brother by ten years.
Though structural changes remain intact from Lewis’ days, what Kipp presented us was a well-maintained modest home with few similarities to the way it was. Still, as we looked at the rooms, a wardrobe in the upstairs hallway, a typewriter that Warnie used to answer Jack’s correspondence, and a few of Jack’s pipes on a sideboard, we sensed something of its famous resident.
“When Lewis lived,” Kipp told us as we stood before the expansive window in the downstairs study, “the ceiling and walls in this room were coated with black residue from pipe smoke. Stacks of books and papers made it difficult to walk around. Blackout curtains from the war hung on the windows.” It was clearly a bachelor’s enclave, she said – until Joy came along and made it more livable. Joy’s bedroom was downstairs and apart from Jack’s upstairs bedroom and study, which he often entered from an outside second story staircase.
“Many who knew Lewis say his décor was his imagination,” said Kipp, “and there was probably nowhere on this property that his imagination took flight more than it did on the lake and woodlands to the rear of the house.” Indeed, many have speculated that the Narnia tales were born near or maybe even from a boat on those waters.
We dodged the ever-present cyclists in Oxford’s center city as we made our way into some of the university’s awesome architectural treasures. Though the city has a youthful contemporary beat, its façade is medieval and unique. The ancient halls and walls, gardens, and towers of the various colleges captivated us – for the centuries of history they hold and their Lewis connections.
Magdalen College’s pastoral and open setting is due to its location outside the original city gates. Open and green, it has a riverside location and the peaceful Addison’s Walk, which ends in front of a stone inscribed with a Lewis poem, “What the Bird Said Early in the Year.” The college’s great bell tower is one of Oxford’s most prominent skyline features at 144 feet high. Built in the late 15th century of stone, the Magdalen Great Tower contains bells dating to the 17th century. On special occasions, they ring.
University College is Oxford’s oldest center of learning, founded in 1249. Lewis left his native Belfast and entered it in 1917 with a scholarship. Originally devoted to students of theology, it is location for the Divinity School, a stunning 15th century medieval building whose ceiling consists of elaborate Gothic fan vaulting. Lewis listened to lectures in this hall, and spent hours in the adjacent Bodleian Library, one of the world’s greatest repositories of medieval literature, local history, and early printing. The library joined the university in 1410, and in the 1600’s, it became a legal deposit library for copies of all books printed in Britain.
Inside another frequent Lewis pub stop on bustling St. Giles Street, we encountered more walls we wished could talk. The Eagle and Child pub – otherwise known as the Bird and Baby – was the favored watering hole for The Inklings, Lewis’ famous group of literary friends who included Tolkien. Lewis wrote of the “golden sessions” – philosophical and literary conversations they had beside a blazing fire within the Rabbit Room.
On a wall near the bar is a note to the landlord from the Inklings, written in 1949 during one of their meetings. It bears their signatures and states they have drunk to his health. It made me wonder, after so much posthumous success, what Lewis and Tolkien might talk about today if they were both still around. | ||||
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] | null | [] | null | English Hospitality Trevor Cairney I can remember exactly where I was when I heard the news that John F. Kennedy had been assassinated. I was just eleven years old and JFK was a political giant who seemed to have inspired just about every young boy and girl across the western world. His life and story had touched me in | en | //www.case.edu.au/cdn/shop/t/2/assets/favicon.ico?v=3870832477517430271483674001 | CASE | https://www.case.edu.au/blogs/case-subscription-library/on-holidays-with-c-s-lewis | English Hospitality
Trevor Cairney
I can remember exactly where I was when I heard the news that John F. Kennedy had been assassinated. I was just eleven years old and JFK was a political giant who seemed to have inspired just about every young boy and girl across the western world. His life and story had touched me in a special way. I had no idea who Clive Staples Lewis was, let alone that he had died on the same day. C.S. Lewis was born on November 29 1898 in Belfast, Northern Ireland, to Albert J. Lewis (1863-1929) and Florence Augusta Hamilton Lewis (1862-1908). Lewis died at 5:30 p.m. at his home ‘The Kilns’ in Oxford on Friday, November 22 1963, one week before his 65th birthday. His death was overshadowed by the momentous assassination of the President. Little more than 30 people attended a small funeral service and burial at his home church, Holy Trinity in Headington Quarry, Oxford, while the world mourned the loss of the President. World leaders from many nations made their way to Washington to farewell John F. Kennedy, and millions watched on television. In the same week a small group of close family and friends farewelled Lewis. The guests included his close friend J.R.R. Tolkien, who was a key player in his conversion.
I was an adult before I discovered the Narnia Chronicles written by Lewis, and it was a further ten years before I became a Christian and understood for the first time the significance of his writing. Later his biblical scholarship was to have a significant impact on me. On the 6th November 2006 I made a pilgrimage to Holy Trinity in Headington to see his church and visit his grave. It was to be a moving time marked by an experience of English hospitality that would have warmed the heart of Lewis. As we wandered around the graveyard a couple in their 80s emerged from the locked church and asked if they could help. We mentioned that we were from Australia and simply came to see the church and the grave of Lewis. “Come in,” they urged, “we’ll make you a cuppa and show you around.” After tea and scones, they did indeed ‘show us around’ and in the process regaled us with tales of their and others’ memories of Lewis and his brother. They showed us the favoured pew where Lewis and his brother Warren Hamilton (‘Warnie’) Lewis sat each week, with Clive always preferring to sit as close as possible to one of the central pillars. They showed us the Narnia window, and spoke of Lewis’s involvement in the church. They then led us out to his simple grave, we chatted some more, we wished each other God’s richest blessings and parted, no doubt not to see each other again until that blessed day when they, we and Lewis himself will be gathered around the throne of God worshipping him eternally (Revelation 7:9-17).
Lewis on the Bible, the Bible on Lewis
Greg Clarke
C.S. Lewis is sometimes hauled over the coals for his allegedly low view of Scripture. I have always found this criticism of him confusing. Lewis never presents a "theology of the Bible" or a "guiding sacred hermeneutic", and for that I am truly grateful. What Lewis does consistently is approach Scripture on its own terms: certainly, as forms of literature, interconnected and grounded in culture; but even more importantly as the transforming Word of the Spirit of God. Ironically, it is Lewis's respect for the nature of Scripture that draws criticism from some Christian readers.
Lewis was highly skeptical of modern biblical scholarship, with its atomizing and demythologizing instincts. Instead, he urged readers to notice and study the literary forms of Scripture, allowing such devices as imagery, rhetoric, myth and genre to light the path to the truth. For Lewis, these are the creative means by which God communicates with his creatures.
Lewis clearly does approach the Bible through the lens of historical church ("The basis of our Faith is not the Bible taken by itself but the agreed affirmation of all Christendom, to wh[om] we owe the Bible itself")[1] and perhaps would count as a Barthian ("It is Christ himself, not the Bible, who is the true word of God. The Bible, read in the right spirit and with the guidance of good teachers will bring us to Him”)[2]. But the labels are largely unhelpful. In contrast, reading his works of literary criticism, apologetics, cultural analysis and ‘amateur’ theology, one is struck by his deep personal devotion to the morally convicting character of Scripture, his compendious knowledge of the history of its interpretation, and his subtle sensitivity to the implications of biblical stories and teachings.
In a lovely blend of Platonic philosophy and Christian humility, Lewis’s final position on Scripture can be expressed in a simile: it is like a mirror, in which we are to gaze in order to truly see ourselves and the world, not dictating what we see, but seeing what God has revealed:
“Originality” in the New Testament is quite plainly the prerogative of God alone; even within the triune being of God it seems to be confined to the Father. The duty and happiness of every other being is placed in being derivative, in reflecting like a mirror.[3]
[1] Walter Hooper (ed), The Collected Letters of C.S.Lewis Vol III, HarperCollins, New York, 2007, p.653.
[2] Hooper, Letters III, p.246.
[3] C.S.Lewis, “Christianity and Literature” (1939) in Christian Reflections (ed. Walter Hooper), Geoffrey Bles, London, 1967, p.6.
Sharpen Your Conversations in Lewis' Toolshed
Chris Swann
You get talking with a friend about their objections to Christian faith. The conversation starts to gather momentum. You seem to be getting more and more opportunity to speak personally about Jesus and about the reasons for your trust in him.
But suddenly there’s a metaphorical screeching of the wheels. You feel a sickening jolt.
Perhaps you’ve struck a fissure in the conversational rails, colliding with some unforeseen personal investments around an issue like same-sex marriage.
Or perhaps you’ve rounded a corner too quickly, barrelling at speed into some aspect of apologetics that you expected to bluff your way through using second-hand facts and figures (about the fine tuning constants in the universe or whatever).
Or perhaps you were too well-prepared, and allowed your ability to speak at length and in detail on your personal field of expertise to hijack your desire to talk about Jesus.
Whichever way it happened, your once pleasant and apparently promising conversation has been derailed—and may even be careening out of control towards some ominously looming interpersonal cliffs…
If you’ve ever found yourself in this situation then maybe, like me, you have something to learn from C.S. Lewis’s famous ‘Meditation in a Toolshed’._
Lewis introduces his meditation by recounting his experience of standing in a darkened toolshed. A single sunbeam, originating from a crack at the top of the door, cuts across the shed.
After describing the difference between his experience of looking at the sunbeam and looking along it to see the scene outside, he generalises this to two approaches to knowledge: the ‘external account’ of something, and knowing about something ‘from inside’.
For Lewis, this important distinction was itself an apologetic tool. It helped him challenge the hubris of the ‘scientific’, modernist approach to knowledge—especially its inveterate insistence on the absolute superiority of the ‘external account’.
But for me, it’s more significant as a way to sharpen my sense of how to answer questions.
To begin with, it helps me ask myself questions about how well my responses ‘look along’ my faith towards the One who is its object. A classic biblical passage about this is 1 Peter 3:15:
But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect…
In these terms, does my response move out of my reverence for Jesus? Or is it shaped by other forces—like my desire to win the argument or gain approval?
Likewise, I’m learning that it’s one thing to launch a battery of apologetic arguments or draw on conversational tactics that I’ve carefully gathered and memorized, but it’s something quite different to give the reason for my hope in Christ. For, ultimately, giving the reason for my hope is something that, if I were to do it, might possibly help my conversation partner look along my testimony to see Jesus, rather than simply looking at it to see how intelligent (or well-rehearsed) I am.
On Planet Narnia
David Scarratt
Planet Narnia by Michael Ward is an answer to the ‘problem of composition’ of the Narnia Chronicles: whether the series has a unifying principle, and whether the elements that strike many readers as out of place (such as Father Christmas in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, or Bacchus in Prince Caspian) can be fitted coherently into a non-arbitrary structure. Two features of the composition of the Chronicles are patent: they have something to do with presenting Christianity in a positive light, and they are stories for children. Ward offers detailed evidence that there is an organising principle that makes sense of these other features and influences the distinctive form of each book according to its place in an overarching scheme.
The scheme that Ward believes unifies the Narnia Chronicles is derived from an area of Lewis’s own expertise, the literature of the Middle Ages. A particular conception of the structure of the cosmos runs through much of this literature, and Lewis explored this cosmic model in some of his lectures and academic works, The Discarded Image being an important instance. The planets are key to this scheme—the planets as understood in the Middle Ages, that is: the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Seven ‘planets’, to go with seven Chronicles of Narnia. Ward’s contention is that each book reveals the influence of the planetary spirit under which it was born.
Thus, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe manifests the spirit of the literary Jove: a wise and benevolent ruler bringing peace to his domain. Prince Caspian is imbued with a Martial ethos, both the tragedy and the honour of war, but mingled with an older sylvan association of Mars. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is Sun-struck and golden, The Silver Chair Moon-lit and pale. Mercury and Venus in their various guises govern The Horse and His Boy and The Magician’s Nephew, respectively, and The Last Battle has Saturnine qualities. Ward combs Lewis’s academic, poetic and popular writing for his views on the nature and connotations of each planet, then presents many instances of these elements emerging in details in the corresponding story. In each case, Ward claims that Aslan is presented in a way that reinforces the atmosphere and spirit of the story: Aslan is the all-in-all of this planetary, or rather cosmological, system.
Ward makes the case that each book reflects characteristics of its governing planet persuasively. There is a mass of detail, well-presented with comprehensive background material. Where more work could be done is in demonstrating that these characteristics are largely confined to the respective book, and are not instead all jumbled together throughout the series. The elements Ward presents in support of his claims are sometimes not exclusive to one book, and the relative numbers often seem too small to discriminate. But while there are dissenters, many have found the case convincing. For me, the interest this cosmological model held for Lewis, and the attitude he expresses towards it in works like The Discarded Image and some of his scholarly essays, make the general thesis very plausible.[1]
For its clear presentation of ideas that obviously appealed to Lewis, and its insightful analysis not just of the Narnia Chronicles, but incidentally of other works by Lewis, including some lesser-known pieces, the book is a richly rewarding read.
[1] A documentary called The Narnia Code presents a less rigorous, and more easily consumable version of Ward’s argument, and a book based on the documentary has been published under the same title.
'My Friend of Friends'
Bradley M Wells
Like many self-confessed Anglophiles, I can’t resist a pilgrimage to the ‘Eagle and Child’ in Oxford whenever I am back in the Mother Country. This small but sacred pub, symbolically located on St Giles Road opposite the Martyrs’ Memorial and just down from Pusey House, stands as a shrine to that famous group of Oxford writers, The Inklings. On the wall in one of the drinking booths is a collection of photographs of the key members of the group. Most prominent, right in the centre, are the pictures of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien; the two men who would go on to be giants of twentieth century literature, and perhaps more importantly for the publican, the establishment’s biggest tourist drawcard.
Whether or not you sit down in that booth and have an empathic pint of cider, it is hard not to feel the inner glow of this place. The Inklings have taken on mythical status and are rightly remembered as a paradigm of ideal companionship, or what Lewis calls the laudable and rare phenomenon of ‘Clubbableness’.[1] But was it also a paradigm of what Lewis identifies as ‘divine Friendship’—that ‘happiest and most fully human of all loves; the crown of life and the school of virtue?’[2]
To find an answer to this question you need to cast your eye just a little further out from the centre of these photographs and toward the less familiar figures. Here you will see a photograph of a slightly quirky looking figure who holds the key—Charles Williams.
Rather than Tolkien, or any other Inkling for that matter, it was Lewis’s relationship with Charles Williams that came closest to being a genuine experience of the true love that is divine Friendship. The uniqueness of their relationship is fittingly acknowledged in Lewis’s seminal work on friendship, The Four Loves. In his only explicit reference to a personal friend in this book, he cites his affection for Williams as an example of the divine joy when both friends ‘see the same truth’.[3] It was in Williams that Lewis found his experience of true Friendship, of the type that ‘exhibits a glorious “nearness by resemblance” to Heaven itself’.[4] Here was ‘a relation between men at their highest level of individuality’.[5] Even their first contact was prophetic. Guided by divine providence perhaps, they spontaneously felt compelled to initiate first contact at the same time, unbeknown to each other, when Lewis wrote to Williams to congratulate him on his novel, The Place of the Lion, just when Williams was writing to Lewis in response to his reading of The Allegory of Love. One likes to imagine the letters passing each other that day in May 1936 through the Royal Mail as an act of what Williams would call ‘Exchange’. Whether the inspiration was earthly, divine or more likely both (what Williams would call ‘co-inhered’), the synchronicity between the two men was immediate and intense, whereby, in Lewis’s words, their ‘friendship rapidly grew inwardly to the bone’.[6]
Williams was immediately invited to attend The Inklings while still living in his beloved London, but it was with his ‘forced exile’ to Oxford at the start of the War in 1939 that the two men’s lives became truly entwined. Lewis quickly became Williams’s greatest advocate among the Academe, declaring of his lectures on Milton’s Comus: ‘as criticism it was superb... [the Divinity School] had probably not witnessed anything so important since some of the great medieval or Reformation lectures’.[7] Williams’s literary, theological and critical reputation continued to grow at Oxford and he was awarded an honorary MA in 1943, again partly due to the lobbying efforts of Lewis.
Williams’s impact upon The Inklings while at Oxford was equally immediate and profound. Indeed, as Lewis explains, he soon became the key figure in the group:
The importance of [Williams’s] presence was indeed, chiefly made clear by the gap which was left on the rare occasions when he did not turn up. It then became clear that some principle of liveliness and cohesion had been withdrawn from the whole party: lacking him, we did not completely possess one another.[8]
Williams’s friendship also had a significant impact upon Lewis’s own writings. That Hideous Strength, being Lewis’s third book in his Science Fiction Trilogy, is clearly influenced by Williams’s style, including the Arthurian subject matter and even the language, which is directly taken from Williams’s own Taliessin mythology. Even Lewis’s short story ‘The Shoddy Lands’[9] is based on Williams’s depiction of the afterlife in All Hallows Eve (1945).[10]
The depth of their professional and personal friendship can be seen most clearly in the impact that Williams’s premature death in 1945 had upon Lewis. Not only would The Inklings ‘never be the same again’,[11] Lewis was personally devastated by this ‘greatest’ loss of his ‘masculine angel, spirit burning with intelligence and charity’.[12] However, William’s death also had a profound spiritual effect on Lewis, who declared, ‘no event had so corroborated my faith in the next world as Williams did simply by dying’.[13]
The spirit of Williams would indeed stay with Lewis the rest of his life. Like a timeless co-inhered character from one of Williams’s novels, his ‘divine Friend’ would stay with him and be invoked whenever needed. One of Lewis’s students noted much later how Lewis ‘had a near-fanatical devotion to Charles Williams’,[14] and he continued to cite Williams when trying to explain difficult literary or theological concepts, such as when explaining to a correspondent the true power of prayer:
The really efficacious intercession is Christ’s, and yours is in His, as you are in Him, since you became part of His ‘body’, the Church. Read Charles Williams on Co-inherence in almost any of his later books or plays (Descent of the Dove, Descent into Hell, The House of the Octopus).[15]
So, in the year when we remember Lewis’s death, we would be wise to also consider an earlier one. With the death of Charles Williams, Lewis’s ‘friend of friends, the comforter of all our little set [The Inklings], the most angelic man’[16] entered the divine City, only to be re-united with his true friend some eighteen temporal years later. And while the full significance of this unique friendship is yet to be acknowledged, its fruits are unmistakable in the impact each had upon the other’s writings and the broader development of theology and literature in the twentieth century.
Perhaps it is time we moved that photograph of the quirky-looking fellow on the wall in the ‘Eagle and Child’ just a little bit closer so that these long-departed friends can be re-united in image here and now, as they co-inhere in eternal reality.
Bradley M Wells
Bradley is currently completing his PhD in English Literature at The University of Sydney where he is Vice Master of Wesley College. He is a founding member of ‘The Sydney Inklings’.
[1] C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves (Bles, 1960), p77.
[2] Ibid., p69.
[3] Ibid., p83.
[4] Ibid., p74.
[5] Ibid., p72.
[6] C.S. Lewis (ed.), Essays Presented to Charles Williams (Oxford University Press, 1947), Preface pviii.
[7] C. S. Lewis, The Collected Letters ed. Walter Hooper (Harper Collins, 2004), Vol 2, pp345f. These lectures by Williams prompted Lewis to re-read Milton’s Paradise Lost and present his subsequent Ballard Matthews Lectures at University College, North Wales in 1941, which was enlarged to form his Preface to Paradise Lost published in 1942 and dedicated to Williams.
[8] Essays Presented to Charles Williams, Preface pxi.
[9] Published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction 1956.
[10] See Bruce Edwards, C. S. Lewis: Life, Works and Legacy (Praeger, 2007), p158.
[11] Humphrey Carpenter, The Inklings (Allen and Unwin, 1978), p200. Citing Warnie Lewis’s diary entry on the day of Williams’s death, 15 May 1945.
[12] Essays Presented to Charles Williams, Preface pix.
[13] Ibid., pxiv.
[14] H. M. Blamires, undated post-1963 letter quoted in Warren H Lewis (ed.) Letters of C.S. Lewis (New York: Brace & World, 1966), pp18f.
[15] Lewis, The Collected Letters. Letter to Rhoda Bodle, Oct 24th 1949.
[16] Letter by C.S. Lewis cited in Douglas Gilbert and Clyde Kilby, C.S. Lewis: Images of His World (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1973), p48.
On the Pleasures of Reading
Rosemary Albert
No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally (and often far more) worth reading at the age of fifty –except of course, books of information. The only imaginative works we ought to grow out of are those which it would probably have been better not to have read at all.[1]
Few of the Wise Sayings of C. S. Lewis have given me as much ruminative pleasure as this one, from his essay On Stories.[2] What does he mean?
If we look for a tidy definition of ‘worth’ we will look in vain. Lewis begins his essay, On Stories, by describing his reading experiences in terms of the ‘pleasure’ they have given, and this not equally available from all books, and not available to all readers. (To his surprise he discovered that many readers did not enjoy stories in the same way he did; their enjoyment was of a different kind to his.) We’re not usually encouraged to take pleasure seriously, but Lewis seems to have no trouble doing so. For him the pleasure depended on the quality of the imaginative experience. Rider Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines ‘lays a hushing spell on the imagination’[3] another story merely provides excitement. What it ‘does to us’ separates one book from another. The quality of his imaginative response to Jack the Giant Killer depends on ‘the hero surmounting danger from giants’.[4] Such stories give increasing pleasure when reread, because the suspense is out of the way, and the reader is free to enjoy the ‘poetry’,[5] the quality of imaginative experience that is its enduring worth.
And imaginative literature can take us to places where realistic story or theorems can never go. If we have read The Hobbit, if we know Dorothy Sayer’s The Man Who Would be King[6], or the story of Oedipus, we will be familiar with stories of prophecy and fulfilment, where sometimes the very efforts to thwart the prophecy bring about its fulfilment says Lewis. We have ‘seen ... what has always baffled the intellect.’ The effect on him is both ‘awe’ and ‘bewilderment’. ’It may not be like ‘real life’ in the superficial sense, but it sets before us an image of what reality may well be like at some more central region.’[7]
So to explain what is ‘worth reading’ he gives us accounts of experience, not abstractions. A book that is worth reading is a book that gives us access to the deeper imagination. The kind of reading that is happening is the indication that it is worthwhile. Allow it to have its effect on us, he says. He takes up this idea in An Experiment in Criticism[8], more explicitly directing us to the elements of the work itself, to form and idea: to the words, to the rhythm, to the evocative nature of good writing, to design, pattern and content before settling for a definition: A good book is one which invites and permits good reading. If it invites, we can take a closer look to see what makes it work; it is worthy of further inquiry into its literary qualities. It should at least entertain, give pleasure; this is the entry test.
The enjoyment of literature needs no justification, Lewis argues. Yet its great value for him is this: it enables us to ‘see with other eyes’;[9] ‘it admits us to experiences not our own’.[10]
I had neglected imaginative literature for decades for more ‘important’ things. When I read Robert Fagle’s translation of The Odyssey[11] for the first time soon after turning fifty, and travelled Homer’s ‘wine dark sea’ (how strangely evocative are those words), when I saw with other eyes the ancient world, somehow akin to the ancient world of the Bible yet new to me, I realised that my world would never be quite the same. I had travelled somewhere and returned, changed.
I enjoy reading and I want to share this pleasure with those I love, and so choosing books for our children and grandchildren keeps me busy. I intend to give experiences, when I choose books, but it is always an experiment. Tastes vary. They won’t all pass Lewis’ final exam, but I do hope there will be pleasure wrapped within each book.
[1] C. S. Lewis, On Stories, In Of This and Other Worlds Ed. Walter Hooper (London: HarperCollins 1982) p.27.
[2] On Stories, pp.15-33.
[3]Ibid p.18
[4] Ibid p.20 The emphasis is his
[5] Ibid p. 30
[6] Her play cycle on the life of Christ
[7] On Stories pp.27-28 The emphasis is his
[8] C. S. Lewis, An Experiment in Criticism (Cambridge:Cambridge University Press 1961)
[9] Experiment p.137
[10] Ibid p.139
[11] Homer, The odyssey Tr. Robert Fagles (New York:Penguin Books 1997)
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] | null | Clive Staples Lewis (29 November 1898 – 22 November 1963), commonly referred to as C. S. Lewis or Jack by his friends, was an Irish author and scholar. Lewis is known for his work on medieval literature, Christian apologetics, literary criticism and fiction. He is best known today for his... | en | /skins-ucp/mw139/common/favicon.ico | The Chronicles of Narnia Wiki | https://narnia.fandom.com/wiki/C._S._Lewis | C. S. Lewis was born in Belfast, Ireland in 1898, into an Anglican family. His grandfather, Thomas Hamilton, was an Anglican vicar. As a teenager, he abandoned the Christianity of his home and became interested in mythology and the occult. He enrolled in Oxford, but his studies were interrupted by World War I. He enlisted, was commissioned, and was then wounded in action. While convalescing, he became very close to Jane Moore, the mother of a fellow soldier. They were close, and even lived under the same roof for years, though the details of their relationship are unclear. In part as a result of his friendship with J. R. R. Tolkien, Lewis came to believe in God at age 31 and in Jesus Christ two years later. He married Joy Gresham, first in a civil ceremony of convenience and later in a Christian ceremony. She died of bone cancer soon thereafter. Lewis himself died of renal failure in 1963.
Childhood[]
Clive Staples Lewis was born in Belfast, Ireland (now in Northern Ireland) on November 29, 1898. His father was Albert James Lewis (1863-1929), a solicitor whose father had come to Ireland from Wales. His mother was Flora Augusta Hamilton Lewis (1862-1908), the daughter of a Church of Ireland priest. He had one older brother, Warren Hamilton Lewis (Warnie). At the age of four, shortly after his dog Jacksie was hit by a car, Lewis announced that his name was now Jacksie. At first he would answer to no other name, but later accepted Jacks which became Jack, the name by which he was known to friends and family for the rest of his life. At six his family moved into Little Lea, the house the elder Mr. Lewis built for Mrs. Lewis, in Strandtown, Northern Ireland.
Lewis was initially schooled by private tutors before being sent to the Wynyard School in Watford, Hertfordshire, in 1908, the same year that his mother died of cancer. Lewis's brother had already enrolled there three years previously. The school was soon closed due to a lack of pupils—the headmaster Robert "Oldie" Capron was soon after committed to an insane asylum. Tellingly, in Surprised By Joy, Lewis would later nickname the school "Bergen-Belsen concentration camp|Belsen". There is some speculation by biographer Alan Jacobs that the atmosphere at Wynyard greatly traumatized Lewis and was responsible for the development of "mildly sadomasochistic fantasies". Four of the letters that the adolescent Lewis wrote to his lifelong friend Arthur Greeves (out of an overall correspondence of nearly 300 letters) were signed "Philomastix" ("whip-lover"), and two of those also detailed women he would like to spank.
After Wynyard closed, Lewis attended Campbell College in the east of Belfast about a mile from his home, but he left after a few months due to respiratory problems. As a result of his illness, Lewis was sent to the health-resort town of Malvern, Worcestershire, where he attended the prep-school Cherbourg House (known to Lewis as "Chartres"). It was during his time at Cherbourg at the age of 13 that he abandoned his childhood Christian faith and became an atheist, becoming interested in mythology and the occult.
In September 1913 Lewis enrolled at Malvern College, where he would remain until the following June. Later he would describe its culture as a "burning desert of competitive ambition" relieved only by the "oasis" of pederastic loves between upperclassmen and the younger students, though he would also call this a "perversion".[1] After leaving Malvern he moved to study privately with William T. Kirkpatrick, his father's old tutor and former headmaster of Lurgan College.
As a young boy, Lewis had a fascination for anthropomorphic animals, falling in love with Beatrix Potter's stories and often writing and illustrating his own animal stories. He and his brother Warnie together created the world of Boxen, inhabited and run by animals. Lewis loved to read, and as his father's house was filled with books, he felt that finding a book he had not read was as easy as "finding a blade of grass." He also had a mortal fear of spiders and insects as a child, and they often haunted his dreams.
As a teenager, he was wonderstruck by the songs and legends of what he called Northernness. These legends intensified a longing he had within, a deep desire he would later call "joy." He also grew to love nature the beauty of nature reminded him of the stories of the North, and the stories of the North reminded him of the beauties of nature. His writing in his teenage years moved away from the tales of Boxen, and he began to use different art forms (epic poetry and opera) to try to capture his newfound interest in Norse mythology and the natural world. Studying with Kirkpatrick ("The Great Knock", as Lewis afterwards called him) instilled in him a love of Greek literature and mythology, and sharpened his skills in debate and clear reasoning.
World War I[]
Having won a scholarship to University College, Oxford in 1916, Lewis enlisted the following year in the British Army as World War I raged on, and was commissioned an officer in the third Battalion, The Somerset Light Infantry. Lewis arrived at the front line in the Somme Valley in France on his eighteenth birthday.
On 15 April 1917, Lewis was wounded during the Battle of Arras, and suffered some depression during his convalescence, due in part to missing his Irish home. On his recovery in October, he was assigned to duty in Andover, England. He was discharged in December 1918, and soon returned to his studies. Lewis received a First in Honour Moderations (Greek and Latin Literature) in 1920, a First in Greats (Philosophy and Ancient History) in 1922, and a First in English in 1923.
While being trained for the army Lewis shared a room and became close friends with another cadet, "Paddy" Moore. The two had made a mutual pact that if either died during the war, the survivor would take care of both their families. Paddy was killed in action in 1918 and Lewis kept his promise. Paddy had earlier introduced Lewis to his mother, Jane King Moore, and a friendship very quickly sprang up between Lewis, who was eighteen when they met, and Jane, who was forty-five. The friendship with Mrs. Moore was particularly important to Lewis while he was recovering from his wounds in hospital and his father refused to visit him. His father probably didn't visit him because he was not acting as a Christian should.
Janie Moore[]
There has been some speculation among some Lewis scholars as to the nature of the relationship between Lewis and Janie Moore. Lewis for most of his life introduced Moore as his "mother" to all his acquaintances. Lewis was exceptionally reticent on the matter in his autobiography, writing only "All I can or need to say is that my earlier hostility to the emotions was very fully and variously avenged". The biographer A. N. Wilson declared categorically that they had been intimate during the period of his convalescence, but this seems to be based on few and poorly interpreted letters, and owes something to Wilson's tendency to psychological interpretation. Walter Hooper, Lewis's literary executor, allowed that it was possible, but as a late acquaintance his data are all derivative, as are Wilson's. George Sayer, who was a student of Lewis and later a friend, wrote that, after talking to Jane Moore's daughter, he was quite certain that they were lovers. At any rate, their friendship was certainly a very close one. In December 1917 Lewis wrote in a letter to his childhood friend Arthur Greeves that Jane and Greeves were "the two people who matter most to me in the world".
After the war, in 1918 or 1919, Lewis and Moore shared a house, although Lewis also kept rooms at his college, and in 1930, they and Lewis's brother, Warren Lewis, moved into "The Kilns", a house in Risinghurst, Headington (a suburb of Oxford). They all contributed financially to the purchase of the house, which passed to Lady Dunbar of Hempriggs, Moore's daughter, when Warren died in 1973.
Moore has been much criticized for being possessive and controlling and making Lewis do a lot of housework. However, she was also a warmhearted, affectionate and hospitable woman who was well liked by her neighbours at The Kilns. "She was generous and taught me to be generous, too", Lewis said to his friend George Sayer.
Moore suffered from dementia in her later years and was eventually moved into a nursing home, where she died in 1951. Lewis visited her every day in this home until her death.
"My Irish life"[]
Lewis experienced a certain cultural shock upon first arriving in England: "No Englishman will be able to understand my first impressions of England," Lewis wrote in Surprised by Joy. "The strange English accents with which I was surrounded seemed like the voices of demons. But what was worst was the English landscape... I have made up the quarrel since; but at that moment I conceived a hatred for England which took many years to heal."
Since boyhood Lewis immersed himself in Irish mythology and Irish literature and expressed an interest in the Irish language. He developed a particular fondness for W. B. Yeats, in part because of Yeats’ use of Ireland's Celtic heritage in poetry. In a letter to a friend Lewis wrote, "I have here discovered an author exactly after my own heart, whom I am sure you would delight in, W. B. Yeats. He writes plays and poems of rare spirit and beauty about our old Irish mythology." In 1921, Lewis had the opportunity to meet Yeats on two occasions, since Yeats had moved to Oxford.
Surprised to find his English peers indifferent to Yeats and the Celtic Revival movement, Lewis wrote: "I am often surprised to find how utterly ignored Yeats is among the men I have met: perhaps his appeal is purely Irish if so, then thank the gods that I am Irish." Early in his career, Lewis considered sending his work to the major Dublin publishers, writing: "If I do ever send my stuff to a publisher, I think I shall try Maunsel, those Dublin people, and so tack myself definitely onto the Irish school." After his conversion to Christianity, his interests gravitated towards Christian spirituality and away from Celtic mysticism.
Perhaps to help cope with his homesick feelings, Lewis, occasionally, expressed a somewhat tongue-in-cheek chauvinism toward the English. Describing an encounter with a fellow Irishman he wrote: "Like all Irish people who meet in England we ended by criticisms of the inevitable flippancy and dullness of the Anglo-Saxon race. After all, ami, there is no doubt that the Irish are the only people... I would not gladly live or die among another folk."
Due to his Oxford career, Lewis did indeed live and die among another folk, and he often expressed regret at having to leave Ireland. Throughout his life, he sought out the company of his fellow Irish living in England and visited Northern Ireland regularly, even spending his honeymoon there. He called this "my Irish life".
Conversion Back to Christianity[]
Although raised in a church going family in the Church of Ireland, Lewis became an atheist at the age of 13, and remained as such until he was 31 years old. His separation from Christianity began when he started to view his religion as a chore and as a duty; around this time he also gained an interest in the occult as his studies expanded to include such topics. Lewis quoted Lucretius as having one of the strongest arguments for atheism:
Nequaquam nobis divinitus esse paratam
Naturam rerum; tanta stat praedita culpa
Had God designed the world, it would not be
A world so frail and faulty as we see.
Though an atheist at the time, Lewis later described his young self (in Surprised by Joy) as being paradoxically "very angry with God for not existing".
Influenced by arguments with his Oxford colleague and friend J. R. R. Tolkien, and by G.K. Chesterton's book, The Everlasting Man, he slowly rediscovered Christianity. He fought greatly up to the moment of his conversion noting that he was brought into Christianity like a prodigal, "kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance to escape." He described his last struggle in Surprised by Joy:
"You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England."
After his conversion to Theism in 1929, Lewis converted to Christianity in 1931. Lewis's 1931 conversion followed a long discussion and late-night walk with his close friends Tolkien and Hugo Dyson; after it Lewis converted to Christianity, while on his way to the Zoo with his brother, and joined the Church of England—somewhat to the regret of the devout Roman Catholic Tolkien, who had hoped he would convert to Catholicism. It should be noted that Chesterton was a Catholic as well.
Although a committed Anglican, Lewis' beliefs in many respects inclined to the Catholic rather than the Protestant tradition; for example, he accepted the Catholic doctrine of mortal sin, implying that he believed Christians could lose their salvation (which is at odds with Reformed views on justification. This opinion was expressed by the demon Screwtape, in his book The Screwtape Letters.
Lewis was also sympathetic to the Catholic doctrine of Purgatory. His references to the subject in his final work, Letters to Malcolm, find him taking a line similar to the Roman Catholic theologian John Henry Newman's approach in "The Dream of Gerontius".(It seems likely that Newman in turn took his position from Catherine of Genoa's "Purgation and Purgatory".)
Also, Lewis is sometimes considered to have serious elements of Orthodox Christianity belief. Literary and church figures quote his works as sources of Lewis' hidden Orthodox Christian belief. | ||
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http://www.cslewis.org/resources/chronocsl.html
1898
Clive Staples Lewis was born on November 29 in Belfast, Northern Ireland, to Albert J. Lewis (1863-1929) and Florence Augusta Hamilton Lewis (1862-1908). His brother Warren Hamilton Lewis had been born on June 16, 1895.
1905
The Lewis family moved to their new home, Little Lea, on the outskirts of Belfast.
1908
Flora Hamilton Lewis died of cancer on August 23, Albert Lewis (her husbands) birthday. During this year Albert Lewis father and brother also died. In September Lewis was enrolled at Wynyard School, Watford, Hertfordshire referred to by C.S. Lewis as Oldies School or Belsen. His brother had entered in May 1905.
1910
Lewis left Belsen in June and, in September, was enrolled as a boarding student at Campbell College, Belfast, one mile from Little Lea, where he remained until November, when he was withdrawn upon developing serious respiratory difficulties.
1911
Lewis was sent to Malvern, England, which was famous as a health resort, especially for those with lung problems. Lewis was enrolled as a student at Cherbourg House (which he referred to as Chartres), a prep school close by Malvern College where Warnie was enrolled as a student. Jack remained there until June 1913. It was during this time that he abandoned his childhood Christian faith. He entered Malvern College itself (which he dubbed Wyvern) in September 1913 and stayed until the following June.
1914
In April, Lewis met Arthur Greeves (1895-1966), of whom he said, in 1933, After my brother, my oldest and most intimate friend. On September 19, Lewis commenced private study with W.T. Kirkpatrick, The Great Knock, in Great Bookham Surrey, with whom he was to remain until April 1917. William T. Kirkpatrick (1848-1921) was former Headmaster of Lurgan College, County Armagh, Northern Ireland, from 1874-99. Albert Lewis had attended Lurgan from 1877-79 and later was Kirkpatricks solicitor. After Kilpatrick retired from Lurgan in 1899, he began taking private students and had already successfully prepared Lewis brother, Warnie, for admission to the Royal Military College at Sandhurst.
1916
In February, Lewis first read George MacDonalds, Phantastes, which powerfully baptized his imagination and impressed him with a deep sense of the holy. He made his first trip to Oxford in December to take a scholarship examination.
1917
From April 26 until September, Lewis was a student at University College, Oxford. Upon the outbreak of WWI, he enlisted in the British army and was billeted in Keble College, Oxford, for officers training. His roommate was Edward Courtnay Francis Paddy Moore (1898-1918). Jack was commissioned an officer in the 3rd Battalion, Somerset Light Infantry, on September 25 and reached the front line in the Somme Valley in France on his 19th birthday.
1918
On April 15 Lewis was wounded on Mount Berenchon during the Battle of Arras. He recuperated and was returned to duty in October, being assigned to Ludgerhall, Andover, England. He was discharged in December. His former roommate and friend, Paddy Moore, was killed in battle and buried in the field just south of Peronne, France.
1919
The February issue of Reveille contained Death in Battle, Lewis first publication in other than school magazines. The issue had poems by Robert Bridges, Siegfried Sassoon, Robert Graves, and Hilaire Belloc. From January 1919 until June 1924, he resumed his studies at University College, Oxford, where he received a First in Honour Moderations (Greek and Latin Literature) in 1920, a First in Greats (Philosophy and Ancient History) in 1922, and a First in English in 1923. His tutors during this time included A.B. Poynton for Honour Mods, E.F. Carritt for Philosophy, F.P. Wilson and George Gordon in the English School, and E.E. Wardale for Old English.
1920
During the summer, Paddy Moores mother, Mrs. Janie King Moore (1873-1951) and her daughter, Maureen, moved to Oxford, renting a house in Headington Quarry. Lewis lived with the Moores from June 1921 onward. In August 1930, they moved to Hillsboro, Western Road, Headington. In October 1930, Mrs. Moore, Jack, and Major Lewis purchased The Kilns jointly, with title to the property being taken solely in the name of Mrs. Moore with the two brothers holding rights of life tenancy. Major Lewis retired from the military and joined them at The Kilns in 1932.
1921
W.T. Kirkpatrick died in March. Lewis essay Optimism won the Chancellors English Essay Prize in May. (No copy of Optimism has been found as of this date.)
1924
From October 1924 until May 1925, Lewis served as philosophy tutor at University College during E.F. Carritts absence on study leave for the year in America.
1925
On May 20, Lewis was elected a Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, where he served as tutor in English Language and Literature for 29 years until leaving for Magdalene College, Cambridge, in 1954.
1929
Lewis became a theist: In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed.... Albert Lewis died on September 24.
1931
Lewis became a Christian: One evening in September, Lewis had a long talk on Christianity with J.R.R. Tolkien (a devout Roman Catholic) and Hugo Dyson. (The summary of that discussion is recounted for Arthur Greeves in They Stand Together.) That evenings discussion was important in bringing about the following days event that Lewis recorded in Surprised by Joy: When we [Warnie and Jack] set out [by motorcycle to the Whipsnade Zoo] I did not believe that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did.
1933
The fall term marked the beginning of Lewis convening of a circle of friends dubbed The Inklings. For the next 16 years, on through 1949, they continued to meet in Jacks rooms at Magdalen College on Thursday evenings and, just before lunch on Mondays or Fridays, in a back room at The Eagle and Child, a pub known to locals as The Bird and Baby. Members included J.R.R. Tolkien, Warnie, Hugo Dyson, Charles Williams, Dr. Robert Havard, Owen Barfield, Weville Coghill and others. (See Humphry Carpenters The Inklings for a full account of this special group.)
1935
At the suggestion of Prof. F.P. Wilson, Lewis agreed to write the volume on 16th Century English Literature for the Oxford History of English Literature series. Published in 1954, it became a classic.
1937
Lewis received the Gollancz Memorial Prize for Literature in recognition of The Allegory of Love (a study in medieval tradition).
1939
At the outbreak of World War II in September, Charles Williams moved from London to Oxford with the Oxford University Press to escape the threat of German bombardment. He was thereafter a regular member of The Inklings.
1941
From May 2 until November 28, The Guardian published 31 Screwtape Letters in weekly installments. Lewis was paid 2 pounds sterling for each letter and gave the money to charity. In August, he gave four live radio talks over the BBC on Wednesday evenings from 7:45 to 8:00. An additional 15-minute session, answering questions received in the mail, was broadcast on September 6. These talks were known as Right and Wrong.
1942
The first meeting of the Socratic Club was held in Oxford on January 26. In January and February, Lewis gave five live radio talks on Sunday evenings from 4:45 to 5:00, on the subject What Christians Believe. On eight consecutive Sundays, from September 20 to November 8 at 2:50 to 3:05 p.m., Lewis gave a series of live radio talks known as Christian Behavior.
1943
In February, at the University of Durham, Lewis delivered the Riddell Memorial Lectures (Fifteenth Series), a series of three lectures subsequently published as The Abolition of Man.
1944
On seven consecutive Tuesdays, from February 22 to April 4 at 10:15 to 10:30 p.m., Lewis gave the pre-recorded talks known as Beyond Personality. Taken together, all of Lewis BBC radio broadcast talks were eventually published under the title Mere Christianity. From November 10, 1944 to April 14, 1945, The Great Divorce was published in weekly installments in The Guardian. (The Guardian was a religious newspaper that ceased publication in 1951; it had no connection with the Manchester Guardian.)
1945
Charles Williams, one of Lewis very closest of friends, died on May 15.
1946
Lewis awarded honorary Doctor of Divinity by the University of St. Andrews.
1948
On February 2, Elizabeth Anscombe, later Professor of Philosophy at Cambridge, read her Reply to Mr. C.S. Lewis Argument that Naturalism is Self-refuting to the Socratic Club; Anscombes argument caused Lewis to revise Chapter 3 of Miracles when it was reprinted by Fontana in 1960. Later in the year, Lewis was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.
1951
Mrs. Moore died on January 12. Since the previous April, she had been confined to a nursing home in Oxford. She is buried in the yard of Holy Trinity Church in Headington Quarry, Oxford. Lewis lost the election for the position of Professor of Poetry at Oxford to C. Day Lewis. In December, he declined election to the Order of the British Empire.
1952
Lewis was awarded the honorary degree of Doctor of Letters by Laval University, Quebec. In September, he met Joy Davidman Gresham, fifteen years his junior (b. April 18, 1915 - d. July 13, 1960), for the first time.
1954
In June, Lewis accepted the Chair of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge. He gave his Inaugural Lecture, De Descriptio Temporum, on his 56th birthday and gave his last tutorial at Oxford on December 3. His review of Tolkien Fellowship of the Ring appeared in Time and Tide in August.
1955
Lewis assumed his duties at Cambridge in January. During his years at Cambridge, he lived at Magdalene College, Cambridge, during the week in term and at The Kilns in Oxford on weekends and during vacations. Lewis was elected an Honorary Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, and was also elected a Fellow of the British Academy.
1956
Lewis received the Carnegie Medal in recognition of The Last Battle. On April 23, he entered into a civil marriage with Joy Davidman at the Oxford Registry Office for the purpose of conferring upon her the status of British citizenship in order to prevent her threatened deportation by British migration authorities. In December, a bedside marriage was performed in accordance with the rites of the Church of England in Wingfield Hospital. Joys death was thought to be imminent.
1958
Throughout 1957, Joy had experienced an extraordinary recovery from her near terminal bout with cancer. In July of 1958, Jack and Joy went to Ireland for a 10-day holiday. On August 19 and 20, he made tapes of ten talks on The Four Loves in London. Lewis was elected an Honorary Fellow of University College, Oxford.
1959
Lewis was awarded the honorary degree of Doctor of Literature by the University of Manchester.
1960
Subsequent to learning of the return of Joys cancer, Jack and Joy, together with Roger Lancelyn Green and his wife, Joy, went to Greece from April 3 to April 14, visiting Athens, Mycenae, Rhodes, Herakleon, and Knossos. There was a one-day stop in Pisa on the return. Joy died on July 13 at the age of 45, not long after their return from Greece.
1963
Lewis died at 5:30 p.m. at The Kilns, one week before his 65th birthday on Friday, November 22; the same day on which President Kennedy was assassinated and Aldous Huxley died. He had resigned his position at Cambridge during the summer and was then elected an Honorary Fellow of Magdalene College, Cambridge. His grave is in the yard of Holy Trinity Church in Headington Quarry, Oxford. Warren Lewis died on Monday, April 9, 1973. Their names are on a single stone bearing the inscription Men must endure their going hence. Warnie had written, ...there was a Shakespearean calendar hanging on the wall of the room where she [our mother] died, and my father preserved for the rest of his life the leaf for that day, with its quotation: Men must endure their going hence. --W.H. Lewis, Memoir, in Letters of C.S. Lewis.
ON THE SUBJECT of DAVID GRESHAM:
the historian Cecil Roth held a Readership in Jewish Studies at Oxford from the beginning of World War 2 to the early 60s. After that, he was the editor of the Encyclopedia Judaica up to his death in 1970. His biography was written by his wife. The material quoted below came from a chapter where she describes their activities with the Jewish community in Oxford. I found out about this material from Dr. Edwin Browns book, In Pursuit of C. S. Lewis, where he gives a part of the quoted material.
Irene Roth wrote:One never knew who might turn up at our Sabbath At Homes, particularly during the years immediately following the war. I remember how one Saturday afternoon during the early 1960s I saw a young boy, accompanied by two undergraduates, walking toward the house. He appeared to be about sixteen years old, still a schoolboy rather than a university student.
Cecil never found it very easy to start a conversation with strangers and since only a few visitors were present at the time, the silence became stained. Finally I broke the ice and asked the young man what college he was attending. Perhaps, I thought, our new guest was older than he looked.
I am at Magdalen College School, he said. My friends from the synagogue brought me here today because they thought you would not mind my joining them. Then he turned to Cecil and, in a very superior tone of voice, said, My name is David Gresham. I believe you know my stepfather, sir. He lives at Headington. Hes C. S. Lewis.
Cecil could hardly believe his ears. Was it possible that Lewis, the famous author and Anglican theologian, could have a stepson sufficiently interested in Judaism to attend the synagogue and to invite himself to our Sabbath afternoon reception?
The story of David Gresham turned out to be a remarkable one. His mother, Joy Davidman Lewis, an American novelist and poet, had come of a Hassidic family, but her father had already broken with Orthodoxy. She herself had married a Gentile by the name of Gresham. They had two sons. Eventually, she divorced Gresham and came to England to study at Oxford under C. S. Lewis. She and Lewis were married, but she died in 1960 while still in her forties, leaving her two sons in Lewiss charge. The elder, a normal, contented schoolboy, was a loyal member of the Church of England. But David, the younger, had turned to the faith into which his mother had been born, and had in fact become ultra-Orthodox in his beliefs. His mothers writings had featured the Jews, particularly one shohet (ritual slaughterer), in an unsympathetic manner. David informed his stepfather, and later also Cecil, that he wsa going to become a ritual slaughterer in order to present this type of Jewish religious functionary to the world in a more favorable light. Lewis had no idea what all this meant, but he showed great patience and tolerance for the boys demands, far more than did the Jewish undergraduates with whom David had begun to associate. Eventually David taught himself Yiddish, purchased traditional Hassidic garb, fur hat and long caftan (which, however, he was restrained from wearing) and frequently refused to speak to women, including myself.
Eventually Cecil advised C. S. Lewis to remove David from Magdalen College School, where the headmaster was even more unhappy with his pupil than the boy himself was about being there. Cecil suggested that David be sent to an Orthodox Talmudical academy. C. S. Lewiss reply to Cecils letter reflects the dilemma which the Hassidic boy presented to his Christian stepfather. Dear Roth, he wrote. Thank you very much for your kind and most cheering letter. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kind interest in the whole matter. If David opens out and gives me the least encouragement Ill try to say something much as you suggest. Otherwise it would be like trying to open an oyster with a paper knife!
When last heard of, David Gresham was living in Meah Shearim, the ultra-Orthodox quarter of Jerusalem.
Cecil Roth, Historian Without Tears | ||||||||
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] | 2013-09-27T00:00:00 | C.S. Lewis had such a great range of influence because of the depth of his relationship with Christ and his consistent care of souls through letters. | en | /assets/2/badges/dg_icon_60x60-e01123da83aba718535ae330a87c24d9675c6a0ebf5ebcdb7f80e35f2f6e051d.png | Desiring God | https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/c-s-lewis-and-the-care-of-souls | The title of my talk is C. S. Lewis and the Care of Souls. That might sound like a rather strange talk. As much as Lewis is well known as a writer of fantasy, a writer of popular theology, and a first-rate apologist, I’m convinced that this man is sometimes not recognized for the soul physician that he was. So I’ll be talking about that.
Regarding my sources, you can’t see what I have documented my comments with, but if you should go to the Marion E. Wade Center at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois in the western suburbs of Chicago what you’ll find there is a treasure trove of Lewis materials. I talked to Marjorie Mead (who’s the associate director there) because she knew I was coming and she said, “Welcome everybody at the Desiring God conference to come to Wheaton.” She said, “You don’t have to be a scholar who’s doing research. You don’t have to be attached to Wheaton. Come and see the museum, see the things.”
But I’m drawing today upon virtually thousands of letters that C. S. Lewis wrote as well as numerous oral history interviews that my wife and I did in the 1980s. From the mid eighties to the early nineties, we interviewed many, many people that knew C. S. Lewis well personally. So a lot of what I’m saying today, I’ve drawn from letters that he wrote to people over the years. We heard today that Warren Lewis, his brother, estimated that there were 12,000 people he wrote to, and to some of those people he wrote numerous letters.
A Great Range of Influence
Well, I want to begin by pointing out that, as you know, C. S. Lewis’s range of influence is enormous. It’s very wide ranging. His influence is really nothing short of phenomenal. He published over 30 books when he was alive and when he died, in the years of the wake of his death, people like Walter Hooper began to find his things and bring them together. And more and more books came out. In fact, J. R. R. Tolkien, one of Lewis’s close friends says, “Jack’s the only man I know that wrote more books after he died than he did when he was alive,” because they just kept coming out and they still do.
But the question I want to raise here is, how do we account for his enormous range of influence? Because today Lewis’s books sell much more widely than they did when he was alive. His books are in nearly 50 different languages. They’ve been translated into many languages and there have been movies made about what he wrote. Two movies were made about his relationship with his wife, Joy Davidman. There’ve been stage drama presentations. His influence is enormously wide.
So how do we account for this? You could say, “Well, it’s simple. Lewis had a brilliant mind. He was a genius.” Yes he was. You might say, “He had had the best education money could buy in the English speaking world. He attended Oxford. He’d been tutored by one of the best minds in all of the United Kingdom. He had friends who were brilliant and iron sharpens iron.” But we could go on and on with those assets. And quite a few people in the world have had those things — first-rate minds, well-disciplined and demanding academic environments, friends who are very intelligent and encourage one another. There has to be something more.
Relational Depth with Christ
The first thesis I want to present in what I’m saying this afternoon is this: I believe that C. S. Lewis’s influence was wide when he was alive and it’s growing ever wider today because his relationship with Jesus Christ was so deep. He has a wide range because of the depth of the relationship.
I had a seminary professor years ago who gave me one of the best pieces of advice I think anybody could ever give someone, whether you’re preparing for ministry or doing something else. He said, “Dorsett, never worry about the breadth of your influence. Everything in the culture will have you worrying about that. You focus on the depth of your relationship with Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit will take care of the breadth the way he wants it to be.” I believe that was Lewis. I believe Lewis instinctively knew that.
Lewis’s depth of ministry must be seen in the context of his commitment to growing spiritually. Just a few weeks before he died, an American named Sherwood Wirt contacted Lewis and asked him a question. Listen to this:
What is your view of the daily discipline of the Christian life, the need for taking time to be alone with God?
He went on to say, in essence:
A lot of Americans are saying that daily devotions to be in prayer to read Scripture is a yolk of legalism. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing that. What do you think, Mr. Lewis? What do you think?
And here’s Lewis’s response. Listen to this. He’s of course referencing Matthew 6:5–6 as his authority:
Why, we have our New Testament regimental orders. I would take it for granted that everyone who becomes a Christian would undertake this practice. It is enjoined on us by our Lord Jesus Christ. And since they are his commands, I believe in following them. It is always just possible that Jesus Christ meant what he said when he told us to go seek the secret place and close the door.
That’s the fresh side of Lewis, isn’t it? That just never grows old.
Scripture and Prayer
Well, Lewis certainly worked on the depth of his ministry by reading Scripture. My wife and I had the privilege of discovering a large portion of C. S. Lewis’s library that had been sold off after he died and it had been preserved, bought by an institution, and they couldn’t keep it. And we went and looked at it. A donor gave us the money to have it purchased by the Marian E. Wade Center. Among the things we learned, we learned what books he read a lot of, some of them he had put marginal notes in and written in the end papers.
But we also found among his things Bibles that he had worn out, virtually worn them out. He’d wear out Bibles in English and he’d wear them out in Greek because he could read and write Greek, even Koine Greek, as easily as he could English, which was his language of course. So he was a student of Scripture. He also, as an Anglican, employed the English Book of Common Prayer for daily devotion. So beyond his own regular Bible reading, among the things that happen if you use the lectionary in the Book of Common Prayer is that you read through the whole book of Psalms every month. So he was in the Psalms’ school of prayer every month as well as all of his other Bible reading.
Beyond that, Lewis was a man devoted to prayer. When I wrote the book Seeking the Secret Place on his spiritual formation, I was absolutely astounded at his balanced prayer life. I don’t have time to talk about all this, but he got up early in the morning and got along with the Lord and prayed. And then when term was on at Oxford, he’d go to dean’s prayers, which was morning prayer in the Anglican tradition at a modern college at the university.
He also was involved in corporate prayer frequently, not only in those morning prayer sessions, but he was a churchman. He was committed to the local church. In fact, he said in more than one place, when people said, “Well, I have a relationship with Jesus, but I don’t think going to church is all that important,” Lewis said, “The New Testament knows nothing of individualized Christianity. You’re called to be part of the body of Christ and to give what talent and gift you have to serve the brothers and sisters and then let them serve you with what they have.”
He was into Scripture, and he was into prayer. And he not only prayed a lot, but he prayed for people all over the world. He was very Pauline in this sense. As you read Paul’s epistles, you know Paul had a prayer network. He prayed for the Ephesians, the Thessalonians, the Colossians, and the Philippians. But he also solicited prayer for himself because he knew he needed it. Lewis did the same thing. He corresponded with people in New Zealand, Australia, Canada, the United States, and as far out as India, all over the United Kingdom. And he would say, “I’m praying this for you. Would you pray for me? Please pray for me.” So he has got a prayer network going on.
Confession, Accountability, and Spiritual Intimacy
Lewis also, beginning in 1940, approximately a decade after he had become a believer, began to go almost every week on Fridays to an Anglican monk named Father Walter Adams. And this man became his spiritual director. A lot of people don’t like that phrase. I say, “director,” and people think that’s bad news. It’s a mentor. It was somebody that was discipling him, if you will. And among the things he got from Father Walter Adams was that Lewis learned the importance of confession. It wasn’t that he had to confess to a priest. He knew he didn’t have to do that.
Scripture says, “If you confess your sins to God, he is faithful and just to forgive you and to cleanse you from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9), but Adams taught him you need to go to a safe place where nobody’s going to talk about it and confess the sins that you’re committing, confess the temptations you’re wrestling with, and then be held accountable when you come back next week with someone asking you, “Are you getting this done? Have you restored that? Have you ceased from doing this?”
So that began to strengthen the depth of his relationship with the Lord. Adams also taught him something else, and this is really important. He began to teach him that Jesus Christ wants a deeply intimate personal relationship with you, and that can only happen through the precious Holy Spirit. So you need to be open. You need to seek intimacy with the Lord and begin to talk to him in prayer as if he’s sitting right there with you, because he is.
Well, I say these things and I lay them out quickly because this is so important. Without this, I don’t think Lewis could possibly have had the impact he had and have it grow the way it is now because of all the spiritual realities involved.
Consider 2 Chronicles 16:9. You know this text, at least I’m sure most of you do, but I like to think of it this way and I have a feeling that it even applies right here this afternoon:
The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to give strong support to those whose heart is blameless toward him . . .
You see, on one level, Lewis wasn’t that special of a person. In many ways, he was no different than you and I. But he really was trying to be a man who said, “Lord, use me.” A hymn that he loved is one of Charles Wesley’s hymns (“O For a Thousand Tongues”), and one of the verses in the hymn says:
My gracious master and my God Assist me to proclaim, Too spread through all the earth abroad The honors of thy name.
Lewis knew, and you know this, that any man or woman who prays that from the bottom of their heart, God will answer that. He will use you in ways that maybe you’ll never see, but he will use you to build his kingdom and bring glory to himself.
Practical Obedience
I want to add one more item here, and I could go on. Here’s one more item about Lewis’s death, and that is he became radically obedient to the Lord Jesus Christ. He read the Scriptures. It’s like that piece I read about how we have our regimental orders about going to the secret place and praying. Why would anybody debate that? So Lewis would go through his new Testament, go through the Gospels and say, “What’s Jesus commanding?” Among the things he commanded was that we share the gospel. We have a Great Commission after all. It’s not a great suggestion. We have orders. And then Lewis learned with this deep dependency on Jesus, and many of you know this, that sometimes when you’re just alone with him talking to him and praying, you sense that hand touching you and there’s a nudge to do something, just a nudge. It’s from God. It’s not unbiblical, and it’s like a call that brooks no refusal.
Lewis heard this, and he told his friend Tolkien about it. I heard from Owen Barfield who was Lewis’s close friend. Lewis had said, “One morning in prayer, I knew the Lord said to me, ‘Jack, I want you to answer every piece of fan mail that comes to you.’” C. S. Lewis said, “The doorway into the kingdom of God is obedience.” So he set out to do that, and lest you think it was just a lot of legalism, it was not at all. He felt he had a call on his life. He had a call on his life to answer the mail.
I found a letter that Lewis wrote to an American man, Mr. McClain, in 1945, and Lewis’s letter to the man begins with this phrase, “I always answer fan mail,” and it’s for this reason that thousands of these letters exist, in which Walter Hooper has edited three massive volumes of these letters, but there’s more stuff that hasn’t even been found yet. Most people aren’t going to sit down for bedside reading and get through three massive volumes of letters, but increasingly there are little collections coming out on different areas where Lewis was a spiritual advisor and a soul physician to people. My friend Marjorie Mead and I at Wheaton, in the 1980s, edited a little book of C. S. Lewis’s letters to children. They’re phenomenal letters. We were talking about that last night, Brian. Lewis was committed to obeying the Lord in the large things and the small things.
Lewis, the Soul Physician
The first thesis was that the depth of Lewis’s ministry explains the breadth of it, but my second thesis is this: I think his writing ministry related to soul care will live on even longer than his fiction and apologetics. I’m no futurist. I’m no prophet, but I can tell you this, I believe that those letters of spiritual care will live on for decades because they talk to the real conditions of real human beings.
Personally, I’ve photocopied some of these letters. I give them out to students. I give them out to men and women in my mentor groups. I give them out to people in our church when there’s a letter there that’ll address a soul issue. You see, Lewis never thought of himself as a soul physician. He never thought of himself as a pastor. He never saw himself as a spiritual director. In fact, he didn’t like to sit down one to one with people to do spiritual talk. But his letters were carefully written and sent to people to address the issues that they were wrestling with.
Sustaining the Weary with a Word
I’m going to tell you about one stack of letters. I’m going to tell you a story about what happened in 1985. My wife and I were in England and we were doing oral history interviews of people who knew Lewis, and we went to see a woman though I’m not going to tell you her name. In the published letters now the new editions have put her name on it, but I used a fictitious name in the book Seeking a Secret Place because I frankly wanted her anonymity protected. I’ll call her Grace, though that wasn’t her name.
My wife and I went to see her. She opened her home to us, gave us tea and cake, and we had a long interview and we had a tape recorder getting things she had to say about her relationship with Lewis. And then she brought out a stack of letters, a huge stack of letters, and she walked over and she handed me the stack of letters. She said, “C. S. Lewis began writing to me in the 1930s when I washed out at Oxford University. I had to leave. I didn’t make it. I didn’t pass the exams.” She said, “I wrote to him, and he began to write to me, and I have letters that go down to the early 1960s.” And here was this stack of letters.
They looked like somebody’s family Bible that they loved or their devotional reading that they used every day. It looked like some Anglican’s prayer book that always used it. Maybe it was like somebody’s copy of My Utmost for His Highest that they’ve used day after day, year after year, incredibly carefully stacked up. And when you looked at it in the paper, you could see where the oil on her fingers had rubbed off and there was discoloration, which showed how she had read these over and over again. And she handed them to me and she said, “You need to take these and have them in the collection because I want to honor the man that helped me so much.”
I looked at my wife and I looked at the letters, and I said, “Grace, I can’t take your letters. They’re too important to you. What I would like is permission to photocopy them. We’ll go tomorrow and photocopy them with your permission, and I’ll give you the originals back.” She wept for joy. Her generosity was, “I’m going to give them to you,” but her prayer must have been, “Lord, help me. I don’t want to give these up because they’re so important to me.”
They were so important because what she said was this, think on this for a moment. She said, “I was going to take my life after I washed out at Oxford. I was on the brink of suicide. If Lewis hadn’t cared to write to me and carefully write to me, I wouldn’t have made it.” She said, “Then I got married and my marriage was very difficult. It never would’ve lasted if he hadn’t patiently read my letters and carefully written back and given me spiritual help on how to get some healing so that I could be a more functional person in this marriage.”
She, in many ways, was a very wounded and troubled soul. She said, “Then I had a daughter who was extremely difficult. I don’t think I could have survived raising her with without having a nervous breakdown if Mr. Lewis hadn’t cared enough for me to write and give me some guidance.” And these letters, just that one collection, were so rich with materials that not only applied to Grace but applied to me and to others in so many ways. He was a soul physician.
Here’s the other thing. Lewis told Owen Barfield, “I don’t know why God has me write all these letters.” He called it the bane of his existence. He said, “This is a burden that really gets oppressive.” By the middle of the 1940s, because of the serialization of The Screwtape Letters, which then came out as a book, letters started pouring in and they kept pouring in and pouring in. By 1945 or 1946, he said he got dozens of letters each week that he had to sit down and, for most of them, handwrite answers with pen and ink. As you might have heard in one of the sessions earlier today, occasionally his brother would take dictation and type a letter for him, but Jack would dictate it and Jack would sign it.
But by the time The Chronicles of Narnia came out, he got many more. Imagine getting 200 to 250 letters a week. He was busy in the academic world. He had demands as a professor. He had publishing obligations and things he wanted to write, and then he was inundated with this mail that he feels he had to respond to. Imagine that. But he did, and that these letters were efficacious and extremely important is witnessed by the fact that they’ve survived. So many people saved them like this woman handing us this enormous stack and saying, “I can’t tell you how God blessed me here.”
Tough Love
Mary and I went through these letters that night, and then we photocopied them the next day. Some of the things were fascinating. This woman became a Christian because of letters Lewis wrote. She wasn’t a believer when she washed out at Oxford. She would ask him questions about the faith, and in one letter, we don’t see what she wrote to him, but we can read between the lines and she had talked to us about it the next day. She filled in what she had written about. She told us that Lewis said to her, “You’re never going to get well until you get to know Jesus Christ, and you’re never going to get to know Jesus Christ until you start reading those Gospels and listening to Jesus.”
And she told us, “I sent him back a letter after I had read through the four Gospels and said, ‘I don’t like him. I’m listening, but I don’t like him. What guy is invited to someone’s house for dinner, and then berates the host in front of his guest. I find him abrasive. I don’t like him.’” And she has this letter that Lewis wrote back. He said, “Jesus is not on trial, you are. Your opinion of Jesus ultimately makes no difference in this world except to you, but his opinion of you does. He’s calling you to be his. But you’re going to have to surrender your pride before you can enter into his kingdom and into this relationship.” This is tough love. This is not what we call today “seeker friendly.” He’s kicking people, saying, “Get moving here.”
One time, she also violated one of his rules, and the rule was that you don’t come and see him personally unless he gives you permission. He didn’t like to do one-to-one interviews on these things. He tutored students, but he didn’t want to do soul-doctor stuff. He didn’t see himself as a counselor.
Well, she showed up one afternoon with her daughter, and her daughter was an obstreperous, unruly little wretch, evidently, and she just raised Cain in the house and caused all kinds of problems. Grace told us when we were there, “I wrote back to Lewis and said to him, ‘I’m so sorry that my daughter behaved so wretchedly. However, I was oppressed as a child, and I don’t want her as a young girl growing up thinking women have no right to say anything. I want her to be a leader because I think she’s very intelligent, so I don’t want to discipline her. I’ll oppress her.’” Lewis wrote back a beautiful letter. He said, “I have no doubt your daughter will be a leader someday. She’s clearly very precocious, but nobody can learn to lead until they’ve learned to follow, and you’re going to destroy her opportunity to be a leader because you’ve never taught her to obey and to follow.” He said, “You need to get this thing turned around.”
How many people would do that? How many people would even see it that way? Then at one point, the daughter was having what she called “nervous problems.” She was going to send her somewhere. First, she went to a psychiatrist and then to a clinical psychologist. She asked Lewis what he thought. Lewis said, “I think your daughter’s nervousness is not that big a deal. All kinds of young people have issues. I’d be very careful where I sent her and what I had done because psychiatry and psychoanalysis is like surgery on the soul.” And he said, “You better be certain who that surgeon is. The problem is that a lot of the psychiatrists and psychologists are not Christians, and if you don’t have a Christian, you’re going to have some surgery done on your daughter that could be very destructive. So you need to be very careful and very prayerful about what you do.” It’s fascinating the things that he’d take time to write about that.
No Ordinary People
To the daughter, he wrote letters and sometimes he’d illustrate them to her. In his sermon that was delivered in 1940 at St. Mary the Virgin in Oxford, called The Weight of Glory — and this is part of the genius of all these letters — he said, “In God’s economy, there are no ordinary people. Everybody is precious to the Lord. Every soul you encounter, if you could see what they’re going to look like in glory, you’d be tempted to fall down and worship them. Or they’re going to be so hideous in where they’re going at the end of time that you would flee and utter horror.” There are no ordinary people. Everybody is destined to one of these routes or the other, and we have a responsibility to do all we can to help people grow into that Christ-likeness, not into that evil likeness.
So therefore, every piece of mail is important. A little child, 12 years of age from America can write a letter and he would take as much trouble answering that as he would to some man of power in Parliament because there are no ordinary people. You see, you never know who you’re talking to. You never know what God is doing in their lives. “There are no ordinary people,” he said.
Meeting Needs with Ink
Well, Lewis wrote letters not only to the woman I’m calling Grace. He wrote letters to thousands of people — inquirers, seekers after God, recent converts who wanted help in learning how to grow in grace, people that were into sin, others who were struggling with guilt for sin they committed and wrestling with temptations, people that were battling melancholia or spiritual depression, people who had fears in their lives that were enormous, and then people who were utterly afraid to die. Lewis wrote to all of them carefully and laid out carefully things he thought might help them.
One woman in the United States wrote to him, and she wrote to him over the years. In fact, these letters have been preserved in a volume entitled Letters to an American Lady. She was a bit of a hypochondriac, I think, as you read between the lines. And she was always writing Lewis and always seeking guidance on how to deal with this and that. Well, she had some serious problems where she was really suffering physically, and she wrote to Lewis and she said, “The pain is almost unbearable, and furthermore, I’m afraid I’m going to die.” So he wrote back, as a good pastor would, speaking the truth, and he said, “I’m so sorry about your physical pain. I too have suffered pain at times. It’s awful, and I promise to be in prayer for you and ask the Great Physician to heal you.”
He continued, “But fear of dying? You’ve given your life to Christ. What do you have to fear? In fact, it might be an opportunity for you to shed this tent that is so burdensome and painful.” You see, there was encouragement here, but also positive encouragement on another line, not playing into her pity party, but saying, “Wake up.” It’s so rich. He wouldn’t dodge tough issues, in all kinds of things.
There was one man that wrote to him. My wife said, “Be careful that you even mention this topic,” but I think I should, given the culture we live in. A man wrote to him and said, “Do you think masturbation is sin?” I’ve copied this letter and given it to hundreds of men. Lewis said, “Well, we’ve come a long way from believing that it’s going to cause all kinds of physical or mental problems.” He said, “But I’ll tell you there’s a huge problem,” and let me just summarize what he said in a very long letter.
He said, “The Lord is calling us to get outside of ourselves. In fact, the great sin, the sin of pride, is that we want to get absorbed with ourselves and make everything about us. The problem with self-sexual stimulation is that the man gets himself in a phony world that doesn’t exist, where he has a harem of women fawning over him, telling him how wonderful he is, and there’s not one demand on him to offer anything. Consequently, what’s happened is that this guy is getting himself in a prison of his own design. He’s being imprisoned further into himself. So the problem with this act is that it’s driving you further into yourself. Jesus wants to get you out of yourself to become your true self and your relationship with him.”
I think that’s brilliant. It’s brilliant. And he took time to write about these things to people because he knew it was important and he cared.
A Constant Encourager
I’ve read through so many of Lewis’s Letters, and I’m not bragging about that. I was paid to do that for a number of years. Imagine getting paid to search for Lewis’s letters and to read them and write about him. I mean, it was a grand thing, something I was very grateful for. But Lewis was effective in these letter writings, and they still speak so loudly to us because he treated each person that wrote to him with dignity, as I said, “there are no ordinary people.”
But he also was always an encourager, despite the tough love and the Jeremiah, Amos-like, prophetic talk to people about things. Ultimately, he was always building people up. He was an encourager.
Believing All Things
Third, and certainly related to it, Lewis was always hopeful. Regardless of who you were, how much bondage you were in, how many people you had messed up, Lewis had such a high view of Jesus Christ that he saw every broken person as hopeful. It wasn’t that he was anthropocentric and said, “You can do it with a little self-help. Let’s have the right kind of attitude,” and cheer them on. He said, “Jesus Christ will never ask you to do something that he won’t help you do. Jesus Christ’s Spirit is alive, and he’ll come into you. If he calls you to break out of this, if he calls you to do this, like answer the mail or whatever it is, he will help you do it.” He said, “This is what the apostle Paul meant when he said, ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me’ (Philippians 4:13).” It was not prosperity theology. It was a Christ-centered, gospel message.
He also was very helpful in his letters because he was honest about himself. He would point to some of the garbage cans in his life. He didn’t take the lid off and take everything out for everybody to look at, but he was willing to be honest when somebody wrote saying, “I’m battling temptation. It’s just overwhelming me.” He would say, “I know all about that.”
In one letter, he said, “If you slip and fall, don’t panic. Get up and walk home. We’re like little children coming home from school. We slip and fall into the mud. We’re covered with dirt. We arrive at the house and the loving mother is there to meet us at the door. ‘Come on in. The hot bath is drawn. Clean clothes are laid out for you. A towel is in the drying cupboard. Let’s get cleaned up and get on with the evening.’” What a beautiful image. When we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).
These letters are replete with these things. He didn’t say, “Gee, I can’t imagine anybody doing that,” or, “I can’t imagine this and that.” But he always pointed to the Lord Jesus Christ. He always pointed to Christ.
Excerpts from Lewis’s Letters
Let me read to you something. I want to read to you some pieces from a couple of letters. One woman in the United States in New Jersey wrote and said, “We have a reading group and we read your things.” You can tell by what Lewis writes that that’s what they’re doing. And he wrote letters to her over the years and she was a very well-meaning person. She thought she was encouraging C. S. Lewis by reporting that her friends are reading his works and attempting to emulate him. And that letter elicited this response. He said, “Sister, I am shocked to hear that your friends are thinking of following me. I wanted them to follow Jesus Christ. They’ll get over this confusion, I think.”
In the same spirit of encouraging people to look at Jesus and stay focused on him, one of the last letters Lewis wrote before he died was to a little girl in the United States. We don’t know what she asked, but he wrote a tender letter to this little girl, and he was a very sick man at this point. He said, “If you continue to love Jesus Christ, nothing much can go wrong with you, and I hope you may always do so.” Isn’t that precious? I tell you, he had a raging fever. He had a terrible infection, and he was still doing that.
About 25 years after C. S. Lewis died, I talked to a few of his friends and acquaintances doing oral history interviews and asked them if they were aware that Lewis felt burdened by all the letters he had to write, and they all agreed he did. Clyde Kilby, who directed the C. S. Lewis collection at Wheaton and founded it, said one of Lewis’s acquaintances and an early student talked to him and helped him see. He said, “There’s no shred of evidence on Lewis’s part that he thought his letters might eventually be published. He had no sense that they would take their place on shelves beside his other books.” But as he wrote to an English girl in the late 1940’s, he said to her, “The important part of spiritual life is keeping on doing what Jesus requires, even when you don’t understand why.” Lewis didn’t understand why he had to write all that mail, but he knew he was supposed to and he did it.
A Word on the Supper
He wrote to a little girl, and he was the godfather to this little girl, and she happened to be in the Anglican tradition and was going to be confirmed and have her first communion on a given Sunday. She wrote and asked him if he would come to her first communion, and he was not able to go because he had to take care of this woman who became a surrogate mother to him, Mrs. Moore. And he said, “I can’t get away and come down to London on Sunday, but I’m going to do two things that a godfather does,” and it was obvious what he meant. He sent some money and said, “Your mother will show you what to do with this.” And then he said this, “When you take your first communion, you already know this is an important thing . . .” See, in that tradition, it wasn’t just a memorial. It was you that really met Christ. As Lewis said in Letters to Malcolm, “Holy communion is like a hand from a hidden country reaching out and touching you. Christ’s presence is there.”
So Lewis said to the little girl, “When you go to receive your first communion and you take the elements, you might expect to feel something. Maybe God will grant you that, and should that happen, praise him and thank him. But you might not feel anything, and if you don’t, that’s okay. That’s his will for you right now. But the important thing is that you keep taking communion regularly because Jesus commanded it. He said, ‘Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’”
And then he concluded this portion of the letter with these words, “After I surrendered to Christ and went back into the church and became a communicating member of the Anglican church again (that means he started receiving communion again), I don’t think I felt anything for five years, maybe longer. I didn’t feel anything. I was just going through the motions.” But he said, “I went forward in faith, but now I look back and I realize that because I obeyed him, he was strengthening my soul and transforming me to be a little bit more in his likeness.” How many people would take that time to write to a little girl? You might say, “Well, that was his goddaughter.” Yes, but he wrote the same kinds of things to other people.
Meager Offerings to a Great God
To end my talk now, and I’m down to less than a minute, Lewis’s writings will live on for a long time because of the depth of his relationship with Jesus. He attempted to practice what he preached. He answered the mail, despite his inability to see wider purposes. He practiced faithfulness in the most mundane things, offering up small things as a few letters each day afforded him an opportunity, I think, to give over his meager loathes and fishes to Jesus Christ, like that little boy in the Gospels. But unlike the lad with the bits of food, Jack Lewis did not live to see the Lord multiply his gifts, but gifts they were. | ||||
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But Jack, as C.S. Lewis’s friends knew him, was not bothered by fashion. It is not that he was slovenly. On the contrary, he was meticulous about the precise use of words, the quality of evidence presented in arguments, and the meter in verse. Nevertheless, the style and condition of personal attire was near the bottom of his list of concerns, whereas books and ideas were among his top priorities.
Early Influences
Lewis was born into a bookish family of Protestants in Belfast, Ireland, November 29, 1898. His father, Albert, and his mother, Florence Augusta Hamilton, possessed first-rate minds, and they were members of the Church of Ireland. Eclectic in their reading tastes, they purchased and read many books, and their love for the printed word was passed on to their children. Jack and Warren (his only sibling, three years his senior) were not only read to aloud and taught to read, they were encouraged to use the large family library.
In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis recalled early memories of “endless books.” “There were books in the study, books in the dining room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds,” he remembered, and none were off limits to him. On rainy days—and there were many in northern Ireland—he pulled volumes off the shelves and entered into worlds created by authors such as Conan Doyle, E. Nesbit, Mark Twain, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
After brother Warnie was sent off to boarding school in England, Jack became somewhat reclusive. He spent more time in books and an imaginary world of “dressed animals” and “knights in armor.” But he did more than read books, he wrote and illustrated his own stories as well.
If Warren Lewis’s exile across the Irish Sea to school in 1905 drove Jack further into himself and books, his mother’s death from cancer in 1908 made him even more withdrawn. Mrs. Lewis’s death came just three months prior to Jack’s tenth birthday, and the young man was hurt deeply by her passing. Not only did he lose a mother, his father never fully recovered from her death. For many years thereafter, both boys felt estranged from their father, and home life was never warm and satisfying again.
The death of Mrs. Lewis convinced young Jack that the God he encountered in church and in the Bible his mother gave him was, if not cruel, at least a vague abstraction. Four or five years later, by 1911 or 1912, and with the additional influence of a spiritually unorthodox boarding school matron, Lewis forsook Christianity and became an avowed atheist.
By autumn 1914 C.S. Lewis was somewhat adrift. He had lost his faith and his mother, and he felt alienated from his father. He was extremely close to his brother, but they saw one another only on holidays. A new friendship was beginning with a fellow student, Arthur Greeves, but it was interrupted in September when C. S. Lewis was sent to Great Bookham, Surrey, to be privately tutored by W.T. Kirkpatrick, a brilliant teacher and friend of Lewis’s father.
“The Great Knock,” as the Lewis family dubbed Mr. Kirkpatrick, had a profound effect upon the teenaged youth. He introduced him to the classics in Greek, Latin, and Italian literature, and helped him make a beginning in German. Kirkpatrick not only led Lewis to great books, he pushed him to understand them in the original languages. A most demanding tutor, Kirkpatrick helped Jack learn how to criticize and analyze, and he taught him how to think, speak, and write logically. Consequently, after nearly three years with Kirkpatrick, C.S. Lewis was tough—minded and widely read. Many years later, Lewis wrote in Surpised by Joy that “My debt to him is very great, my reverence to this day undiminished."
The debt was large indeed. Kirkpatrick helped the young man prepare for scholarship examinations at Oxford, and the demanding mentor played no small role in Lewis’s outstanding performance at University College, where he took highest honors in honour moderations, greats, and English in 1920, 1922, and 1923 respectively.
If Kirkpatrick taught Lewis to think critically—to demand evidence for even the most casual assertions—— Oxford introduced him to a wide horizon of ideas. Whereas Lewis’s hard—pressing mentor had helped him reinforce his atheism, a few associates at Oxford forced him to re—examine his belief in a universe without God.
Oxford Years
Lewis entered the world of Oxford in 1917 as a student, and he never really left. Despite an interruption to fight in World War I and his professorship at Cambridge beginning in 1955, he always maintained his home and friends in Oxford. He loved the bookshops, the pubs, and the Bodleian Library, and he revelled in the company of local men who loved to read, write, and discuss books. His attachment to Oxford was so strong that when he taught at Cambridge from 1955 to 1963 he commuted back to Oxford on weekends so that he could be close to familiar places and beloved friends.
It was in Oxford that Lewis pursued things of the mind with fervor. Ideas, books, and debates were ordinary fare in this heady environment. With no particular purpose in life beyond stimulating his imagination, feeding his intellectual curiosity, and writing for publication and posterity, he thoroughly enjoyed academic life. In 1919 he published his first book, a cycle of lyrics titled Spirits in Bondage, which he wrote under the pseudonym Clive Hamilton. In 1924 he became a philosophy tutor at University College. Then in 1925 he was elected a Fellow of Magdalen College, where he tutored in English language and literature. The next year his second volume of poetry, Dymer, was published under the name Clive Hamilton.
Alongside the generally self—centered life Lewis was leading, he demonstrated a loyal and generous nature. When his college roommate, Paddy Moore, was killed in World War I, Jack befriended Paddy’s mother, Mrs. Janie King Moore, and her adolescent daughter Maureen. Then in 1920, after completing his first degree, Lewis decided to share lodgings with them so that he could more carefully look out for their needs.
Spiritual Awakening
This gesture of kindness did more than help Mrs. Moore and Maureen; it got C.S. Lewis outside of himself and taught him patience. The association with the Moores also introduced him to Mrs. Moore’s brother, a combat veteran who suffered from a severe war—inflicted nervous disorder. This personal encounter apparently shook Lewis’s confidence in materialism, because a letter he wrote in 1923 to his friend Arthur Greeves suggests a slight spiritual awakening. It seems that the “Doc,” as the Moores and Lewis referred to him, came to stay with the trio for three weeks. During the visit “Doc” underwent an ordeal of extreme mental torture. After the attack, when the poor wretch was hospitalized, Lewis wrote to his friend that “Doc” had believed he was in Hell. He wore out his body in the “awful mental tortures,” and then died from heart failure “unconscious at the end thank God.” Lewis concluded his observation by suggesting it is “a damned world—and we once thought we could be happy with books and music!"
The spiritual awakening continued, enhanced by reading books by George MacDonald and G.K. Chesterton. One MacDonald volume called Phantastes had a powerful impact on his thinking. “What it actually did to me,” wrote Lewis, “was to convert, even to baptize my imagination.” At Oxford Lewis continued to read MacDonald, and he imbibed G.K. Chesterton as well. The latter author’s books, especially The Everlasting Man, raised serious questions about the young intellectual’s materialism. While MacDonald and Chesterton were stirring Lewis’s thoughts, a close friend, Owen Barfield, with whom he spent much time during and after their student years, pounced on the logic of Jack Lewis’s atheism. Barfield became a theist, and then a Christian, and he frequently badgered Lewis about his materialism. So did Nevill Coghill, a fellow student and lifelong friend who was brilliant, yet was, to Lewis’s amazement, “a Christian and a thoroughgoing supernaturalist."
Soon after joining the English faculty at Magdalen College, Lewis met two more Christians, Hugo Dyson and J.R.R. Tolkien. These men became close friends of Lewis. He admired their brilliance and their logic. Soon Lewis recognized that most of his friends, like his favorite authors——MacDonald, Chesterton, Johnson, Spenser, and Milton——held to this Christian angle of vision which threatened his whole world view. Gradually during the 1920s, two paths were converging in Lewis’s mind: one was reason, the other intuition. In 1929 these roads met, and C.S. Lewis surrendered and admitted that “God was God, and knelt and prayed.” Within two years the reluctant convert admitted that Jesus Christ is the Son of God—God Incarnate. With this revelation the Oxford don became a communicant in the Church of England.
A New Life
Christian history shows that when men and women meet Jesus, recognize His Nature, and then decide to trust and follow Him, they become strikingly different people. Those who convert——who turn around and obey Christ’s command to “follow me” are clearly people with changed lives. If evidence of conversion is a new life, C.S. Lewis was obviously a believer after 1931. Many changes were apparent. His life now had a purpose—to know and obey God. This came to fruition most demonstrably in his writing. Earlier efforts to become a poet were laid to rest. The new Christian devoted his talent and energy to writing prose that reflected his recently found faith. Within two years of his conversion Lewis published The Pilgrim’s Regress: An Allegorical Apology for Christianity, Reason and Romanticism. This little volume opened a thirty-year stream of books on Christian apologetics and discipleship that became a lifelong avocation. Between 1933 and his death in 1963, C.S. Lewis wrote books including the seven volume Chronicles of Narnia, The Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce, and Mere Christianity, that nudged atheists and agnostics toward the faith, and encouraged and nurtured believers.
As a good steward and responsible professional, Lewis did not ignore his academic discipline. He wrote literary history and criticism such as The Allegory of Love: A Study in Medieval Tradition, Rehabilitations and Other Essays, and English Literature in the Sixteenth Century Excluding Drama. These books are still widely read and highly regarded.
Despite the large quantity and high quality of his academic publications, Lewis became known as a literary evangelist. The tone and impact of his theological and apologetical books help account for this reputation, as did his own assertion in a rejoinder to his critic, Dr. W.N. Pittenger, published in The Christian Century November 26, 1958, where Lewis admitted that most of what he wrote “is evangelistic."
A Growing Reputation
If Christianity altered Lewis’s writing habits, the publication of those books had a palpable effect on his personal life. First of all, the change was manifested in the mail. Once Lewis’s books became popular, which they did by the 1940s, he was inundated by letters. Because the famous author believed it was God’s will for him to answer most of this mail himself, and because he was convinced, as he said in “The Weight of Glory,” that there are “no ordinary people,” he took time to write with care to each correspondent regardless of age, education, or place in society. This enterprise consumed many hours each week.
Furthermore, life with fame was laden with other pressures. There were numerous invitations to entertain guests, grant interviews, give lectures, and preach sermons. Writing, to be sure, is a lonely enterprise. This Lewis understood. And even though he felt called by God to write, he likewise felt it was required of him to counsel those who made the pilgrimage to The Kilns, his home on the edge of Oxford. Frequently he believed it was his calling to explain the Christian faith to people over BBC radio, and to the airmen at the RAF bases during World War II.
Preaching sermons, giving talks, and expressing his theological views over the radio throughout the United Kingdom bolstered Lewis’s reputation and increased his book sales. With these new circumstances came other changes—not the least being a marked upswing in annual income. Throughout the 1920s Lewis had been getting by on little money. During his student years his father provided an allowance, and Jack supplemented that in various ways. Nevertheless, money was always scarce. And when the young academician took on the responsibility for Mrs. Moore and her daughter, finances were always tight even with the regular tutorial stipend.
As book royalties mounted during the late 1940s, and continued to spiral upward thereafter, C.S. Lewis refused to upgrade his standard of living. Partly out of disdain for conspicuous living, but mostly out of commitment to Jesus Christ, he established a charitable fund for his royalty earnings. Neither the extent nor the recipients of C.S. Lewis’s charity are fully known. Indeed, he made valiant efforts to conceal this information. It is known that he supported numerous improverished families, underwrote education fees for orphans and poor seminarians, and put monies into scores of charities and church ministries.
A Late Marriage
The outreach of Lewis’s books and the impact of his charity conspired to make still another significant change in his lifestyle. During the last decade of his earthly pilgrimage, Lewis’s world was invaded by an American woman and her two children. In autumn 1952 Joy Davidman Gresham, who had become a Christian partly because she read The Great Divorce and The Screwtape Letters, visited her spiritual mentor in England. Soon thereafter her husband abandoned her for another woman. In the meantime the divorcee, a writer in her own right, moved to London with her two adolescent boys, David and Douglas. Joy Davidman Greshem gradually fell into financial trouble. Her acquaintance with C.S. Lewis led to his underwriting the boarding school education of David and Douglas. From charity and common literary interests grew a deep friendship, and eventually agape became eros. They were married in 1956. Joy was sixteen years Lewis’s junior, but that did not prevent a happy marriage. A savage case of cancer, however, cut short their life together. After several years of reprieve from an earlier and nearly fatal bout with cancer, Joy Lewis passed away in Oxford July 13, 1960.
Joy’s entry into Jack’s life brought much happiness. As he wrote to one friend soon after their marriage, “It’s funny having at 59 the sort of happiness most men have in their twenties ... ‘ Thou hast kept the good wine till now.’ “ Joy brought C.S. Lewis love, companionship, and two stepsons, complete with all of the delights and problems that naturally come in such circumstances. Furthermore, Mrs. Lewis brought insights, ideas, and a new angle of vision. Raised in a Jewish home, and having written a book on the Ten Commandments, Smoke on the Mountain, she encouraged him to renew his writing of apologetics, in particular Reflections on the Psalms. Her influence on what Jack considered his best book, Till We Have Faces, was so profound that he told one close friend she was actually his co-author.
Critics Emerge
C.S. Lewis’s marriage to Joy Davidman did not enhance his reputation in Great Britian. Long assumed to be a confirmed bachelor, the esteemed professor not only married late in life, he married an American who was at once Jewish, divorced, and personally rather abrasive. In brief, the marriage did not set well with most of Mr. Lewis’s friends and acquaintances. The critics notwithstanding, Jack’s faithful brother Warren— who lived at The Kilns with Jack before, during, and after the years with Joy—supported him, as did a few other close friends.
C.S. Lewis was hurt by the disapproval of his old friends and colleagues, but it was by no means a new experience for him. Although he enjoyed the conviviality of weekly get—togethers with fellow Inklings (intellectuals and writers who met regularly to exchange ideas and share in good conversation), and the prodigious successes of his books, Lewis was frequently under attack for his decidedly Christian lifestyle. Close friends, among them Owen Barfield and J.R.R. Tolkien, openly disapproved of Lewis’s evangelistic speaking and writing. And if the opprobrium of fellow believers was unpleasant, it was mild compared with the attacks from colleagues and strangers who did not share the Oxford author’s faith.
It is common knowledge that Lewis’s “Christian” books caused so much disapproval that he was more than once passed over for a professorship at Oxford, with the honors going to men of lesser reputation. It was Magdalene College at Cambridge University that finally honored Lewis with a chair in 1955 and thereby recognized his original and important contributions to English literary history and criticism. Along with Lewis’s international reputation, ever-growing royalties, and thousands of fans throughout the English-speaking world, came increasing alienation. Did Lewis take comfort in his Lord’s warning in the Sermon on the Mount that his disciples would indeed be insulted and persecuted? We do not know.
Lewis died at The Kilns on November 22, 1963. He is buried beside his brother, who lived ten more years, in the cemetery of Holy Trinity Church, Headington Quarry, Oxford. His letters and books, and the lives these writings touch, are his legacy. CH
By Lyle W. Dorsett | ||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 3 | 67 | https://library.pepperdine.edu/news/posts/2021-11-c-s-lewis.htm | en | Celebrating C.S. Lewis | [
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Pepperdine Libraries commemorates the birth and lasting literary and theological legacy of renowned British author and theologian Clive Staples Lewis, born November 29, 1898.
Born in Belfast and baptized in the Church of Ireland, C.S. Lewis attended preparatory schools in England before entering Malvern College on scholarship in 1913, where he developed an interest in Celtic and Norse literature. In 1916 during the First World War, Lewis received a scholarship to University College Oxford, and upon arrival, applied to join the Officers' Training Corps in order to be commissioned as an officer. Lewis was wounded in battle in April 1918.
After the war, Lewis earned a "Triple First" at Oxford, receiving First Class Honours in Classical Moderations in 1920, literae humaniores in 1922, and English Language and Literature in 1923. In 1925, he was elected a tutor of Magdalen College Oxford, making the acquaintances of colleagues such as philosopher J.A. Smith, theologian Clement Charles Julian Webb, and grammarian Charles Talbut Onions. In the 1930s, Lewis held weekly meetings with J.R.R. Tolkien and friends as part of his group, the "Inklings".
In 1929, Lewis underwent a religious transformation in which he rediscovered his faith, eventually converting from agnosticism to Christianity. He allegorically detailed his experience in his work The Pilgrim's Regress (1933). Writing later in his autobiography Surprised by Joy, Lewis stated, "You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England. I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the Divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms."
By the 1940s, Lewis was featured heavily as a speaker and lecturer. Literary scholar Jonathan D. Evans wrote, "His emergence from a successful but nonetheless relatively obscure academic career into the limelight of popular acclaim was the result largely of four series of programs broadcast by the BBC in 1941 and 1942 in which Lewis responded to the invitation of James W. Welch to give "a series of talks on something like 'The Christian Faith As I See It-By A Layman.'"" Lewis went on to complete two major works on Christianity, The Screwtape Letters in 1942, and Mere Christianity in 1952. In 1942 at Oxford, he founded the Socratic Club, a Christian discussion group.
The Chronicles of Narnia, seven works of fantasy published between 1950 and 1956, are among his most famous and influential works. According to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, "Lewis wanted these books to answer the question: 'What might Christ be like if there really were a world like Narnia and he chose to be incarnate and die and rise again in that world as he actually has done in ours?'"
Pepperdine Libraries holds several works by or about C.S. Lewis in both print and ebook formats, including:
Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life
The Pilgrim's Regress: An Allegorical Apology for Christianity, Reason, and Romanticism
Mere Christianity
The Screwtape Letters
Miracles: A Preliminary Study
Chronicles of Narnia
Sehnsucht: The C.S. Lewis Journal
Further reading & works cited
Bosky, Bernadette Lynn. "C(live) S(taples) Lewis." In British Fantasy and Science-Fiction
Writers, 1918-1960, edited by Darren Harris-Fain. Dictionary of Literary Biography Vol. 255. Detroit, MI: Gale, 2002. Gale Literature Resource Center (accessed November 23, 2021).
https://go-gale-com.lib.pepperdine.edu/ps/i.do?p=LitRC&u=pepp12906&id=GALE|H1200010575&v=2.1&it=r&sid=bookmark-LitRC&asid=459e537d.
C.S. Lewis. "The Question of God. Surprised by Joy | PBS." Accessed November 23, 2021. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/questionofgod/ownwords/joy.html.
erinhorakova. "C.S. Lewis in the Great War." Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers in the Great War (blog), March 13, 2014. https://fantastic-writers-and-the-great-war.com/war-experiences/c-s-lewis/.
Evans, Jonathan D. "C(live) S(taples) Lewis." In Modern British Essayists: Second Series, edited by Robert Lawrence Beum. Dictionary of Literary Biography Vol. 100. Detroit, MI: Gale, 1990. Gale Literature Resource Center (accessed November 23, 2021). https://go-gale-com.lib.pepperdine.edu/ps/i.do?p=LitRC&u=pepp12906&id=GALE|H1200006245&v=2.1&it=r&sid=bookmark-LitRC&asid=b44597b5.
Gehring, Michael J., and William J. Abraham. "C. S. Lewis: An Unusual Evangelist." In The Oxbridge Evangelist, 1st ed., 1–35. Motivations, Practices, and Legacy of C.S. Lewis. The Lutterworth Press, 2017. https://www-jstor-org.lib.pepperdine.edu/stable/j.ctvj4sx2v.
"Lewis, Clive Staples (1898–1963), Writer and Scholar | Oxford Dictionary of National Biography." Accessed November 23, 2021. https://www-oxforddnb-com.lib.pepperdine.edu/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-34512. | |||||
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This article is about a literary group. For the video game characters, see Inkling (Splatoon).
The Inklings were an informal literary discussion group associated with J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis at the University of Oxford for nearly two decades between the early 1930s and late 1949. The Inklings were literary enthusiasts who praised the value of narrative in fiction and encouraged the writing of fantasy. The best-known, apart from Tolkien and Lewis, were Charles Williams, and (although a Londoner) Owen Barfield.
The more regular members of the Inklings, many of them academics at the University, included:
More infrequent visitors included:
Guests included:
Roy Campbell
E. R. Eddison
"Properly speaking," wrote Warren Lewis, "the Inklings was neither a club nor a literary society, though it partook of the nature of both. There were no rules, officers, agendas, or formal elections."[7] As was typical for university groups in their time and place, the Inklings were all male. Readings and discussions of the members' unfinished works were the principal purposes of meetings. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings,[8] Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet, and Williams's All Hallows' Eve were among the novels first read to the Inklings. Tolkien's fictional Notion Club (see "Sauron Defeated") was based on the Inklings. Meetings were not all serious; the Inklings amused themselves by having competitions to see who could read the notoriously bad prose of Amanda McKittrick Ros for the longest without laughing.[9]
The name was associated originally with a society of Oxford University's University College, initiated by the then undergraduate Edward Tangye Lean around 1931, for the purpose of reading aloud unfinished compositions. The society consisted of students and dons, among them Tolkien and Lewis. When Lean left Oxford in 1933, the society ended, and Tolkien and Lewis transferred its name to their group at Magdalen College. On the association between the two 'Inklings' societies, Tolkien later said "although our habit was to read aloud compositions of various kinds (and lengths!), this association and its habit would in fact have come into being at that time, whether the original short-lived club had ever existed or not."[10]
Until late 1949, Inklings readings and discussions were usually held on Thursday evenings in C. S. Lewis's rooms at Magdalen. The Inklings and friends also gathered informally on Tuesdays at midday at a local public house, The Eagle and Child, familiarly and alliteratively known in the Oxford community as The Bird and Baby, or simply The Bird.[11] The publican, Charlie Blagrove, let Lewis and friends use his private parlour for privacy; the wall and door separating it from the public bar were removed in 1962. During the war years, beer shortages occasionally rendered the Eagle and Child unable to open and the group instead met at other pubs, including the White Horse and the Kings Arms.[13] Later pub meetings were at The Lamb and Flag across the street, and in earlier years the Inklings also met irregularly in yet other pubs, but The Eagle and Child is the best known.[14]
The Marion E. Wade Center, at Wheaton College, Illinois, has holdings on the Inklings Owen Barfield, C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Dorothy L. Sayers and Charles Williams. These include letters, manuscripts, audio and video tapes, artwork, dissertations, periodicals, photographs, and related materials. Wheaton also has a creative writing critique group inspired by the Inklings called "WhInklings".
The Mythopoeic Society is a literary organization devoted to the study of mythopoeic literature, particularly the works of J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and Charles Williams, founded by Glen GoodKnight in 1967 and incorporated as a non-profit organization in 1971.[15]
Among the journals that focus on The Inklings is Journal of Inklings Studies (2011–).[16]
In Swan Song (1947) by Edmund Crispin a discussion takes place between Professor Gervase Fen and others in the front parlour of the Eagle and Child.
"There goes C. S. Lewis", said Fen suddenly. "It must be Tuesday."
The Late Scholar (2013) by Jill Paton Walsh is a sequel, set in 1951, to the Lord Peter Wimsey novels of Dorothy L. Sayers. Wimsey, now 17th Duke of Denver, is investigating a mystery in the fictional St Severin's College, Oxford with his friend Charles Parker, now an assistant chief constable.
"Right," said Peter. "How about lunch, Charles? We could spin out to the Rose Revived." [on the Thames about 7 miles from Oxford]
Charles looked bashful. "I have heard," he said carefully, "that there is a pub in Oxford at which C. S Lewis often takes lunch."
"There is indeed", said Peter. "But he lunches with a group of cronies … Right, on with our overcoats and it's off to the Bird and Babe."
Three of the best-known members of the Inklings – Tolkien, Lewis, and Williams – are the main characters of James A. Owen's fantasy series, The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica. (Warren Lewis and Hugo Dyson are recurring minor characters throughout the series.) The existence and founding of the organization are also alluded to in the third novel, The Indigo King. (The timeline of the books is different from the historical timeline at points, but these are dealt with part way through the series by the explanation that the books take place in a history alternative to our own.)[17]
Carpenter, Humphrey (1979), The Inklings: CS Lewis, JRR Tolkien, Charles Williams and their Friends, ISBN 0-395-27628-4
Carpenter, Humphrey (1981), The Letters of JRR Tolkien, London: George, Allen And Unwin, ISBN 0-04-826005-3
Duriez, Colin; Porter, David (2001), The Inklings Handbook: The Lives, Thought and Writings of CS Lewis, JRR Tolkien, Charles Williams, Owen Barfield, and their Friends, ISBN 1-902694-13-9
Duriez, Colin (2003), Tolkien and CS Lewis: The Gift of Friendship, ISBN 1-58768-026-2
Glyer, Diana Pavlac (2007), The Company They Keep: CS Lewis and JRR Tolkien as Writers in Community, ISBN 978-0-87338-890-0
Glyer, Diana Pavlac (2015), Bandersnatch: CS Lewis, JRR Tolkien, and the Creative Collaboration of the Inklings, ISBN 9781606352762
Karlson, Henry (2010), Thinking with the Inklings, ISBN 978-1-4505-4130-5
Kilby, Clyde S.; Mead, Marjorie Lamp, eds. (1982), Brothers and Friends: The Diaries of Major Warren Hamilton Lewis, San Francisco: Harper & Row, ISBN 0-06-064575-X
Knight, Gareth (October 2010), The Magical World of the Inklings, Barfield, Owen, foreword (new & expanded ed.), Skylight, ISBN 978-1-908011-01-5 .
Segura, Eduardo; Honegger, Thomas, eds. (2007), Myth and Magic: Art According to the Inklings, Walking Tree Publishers, ISBN 978-3-905703-08-5
Zaleski, Philip and Carol (2015). The Fellowship: The Literary Lives of the Inklings: J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Owen Barfield, Charles Williams. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. ISBN 978-0374154097. | ||||||
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] | null | [] | 2023-11-22T00:00:00 | On this day 60 years ago C. S. Lewis died. For most people, this day is remembered as the day of the assassination of U.S. President John F. Kennedy. For that reason, Lewis was often not mentioned. The only silver lining in that is that his writing seems so immediate, a person could be forgiven… | en | Christianity 201 | https://christianity201.wordpress.com/2023/11/22/remembering-c-s-lewis-on-the-60th-anniversary-of-his-passing/ | On this day 60 years ago C. S. Lewis died.
For most people, this day is remembered as the day of the assassination of U.S. President John F. Kennedy. For that reason, Lewis was often not mentioned. The only silver lining in that is that his writing seems so immediate, a person could be forgiven for thinking he is still alive.
For the first time I can remember, I am repeating something from our quotations series. Today, all the quotations are not only by the same author — C. .S. Lewis — but from the same book, Mere Christianity. The scripture verses are not part of the quotations, but have been added by me afterwards!
I also wish to say something about the pictures. The one below is of the type more commonly seen, but in researching Lewis afresh for November, 2023, I discovered the above picture of a younger Lewis, and decided to include both. (I apologize for not noting the source of the younger picture.)
Also, this time around, there an excerpt below from a piece about Lewis I wrote for other media.
“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”
And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. II Cor. 3:18
“A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is… A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in.”
“When a man is getting better he understands more and more clearly the evil that is still left in him. When a man is getting worse he understands his own badness less and less.”
Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
James 4:7
“[To have Faith in Christ] means, of course, trying to do all that He says. There would be no sense in saying you trusted a person if you would not take his advice. Thus if you have really handed yourself over to Him, it must follow that you are trying to obey Him. But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get to Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you.”
As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.”
Luke 9:57
“I remember Christian teachers telling me long ago that I must hate a bad man’s actions but not hate the bad man: or, as they would say, hate the sin but not the sinner. …I used to think this a silly, straw-splitting distinction: how could you hate what a man did and not hate the man? But years later it occurred to me that there was one man to whom I had been doing this all my life — namely myself. However much I might dislike my own cowardice or conceit or greed, I went on loving myself. There had never been the slightest difficulty about it. In fact the very reason why I hated the things was that I loved the man. Just because I loved myself, I was sorry to find that I was the sort of man who did those things.”
All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
Isaiah 64:6
“God made us: invented us as a man invents an engine. A car is made to run on petrol, and it would not run properly on anything else. Now God designed the human machine to run on Himself. He Himself is the fuel our spirits were designed to burn, or the food our spirits were designed to feed on. There is no other. That is why it is just no good asking God to make us happy in our own way without bothering about religion. God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there.”
Such hope never disappoints or deludes or shames us, for God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit Who has been given to us.
Romans 5:5 (AMP)
Here’s the link to the quotations. There are eight pages. Choose a couple that I have not selected here, read them slowly to get an idea of what they’re about, and then ask yourself, what scripture verse might I attach to Lewis’ thoughts on this subject?
About Clive Staples Lewis
It’s been 60 years since November 22, 1963. A day etched in memory as the day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.
For every breaking news story, there is often another story that gets pushed off the front page. Such is the case here.
The same November day, writer C. S. Lewis died.
A recent article in The Catholic Review noted that Lewis’ books are actually gaining popularity all these years later, as are his academic writings.
Until recently, paradoxically, C.S. Lewis had been largely ignored at Oxford University, where he taught for three decades until his early death from bone cancer Nov. 22, 1963. He gained greater recognition in the United States, which he never visited.
A writer at the C.S. Lewis Foundation notes:
I’ve often thought he would have been an intimidating man to hang out with. He and his wife Joy played Scrabble in five languages, including Chaucerian English. Lewis kept up a correspondence with an Italian priest in Latin, the only language they had in common. Of the hundreds of books in his library, a visitor could pick one at random, start to read aloud any sentence – and listen to Lewis quote the rest by memory.
N. T. Wright adds that
Millions around the world have been introduced to, and nurtured within, the Christian faith through his work where their own preachers and teachers were not giving them what they needed. That was certainly true of me.
Lewis did not see himself as having a “crisis” conversion to the faith, but compared it to someone in a sleeper car onboard a European train, who wakes up and realizes he is in another country. Theologians refer to this as “process” conversion.
If you haven’t already met “Jack,” as his friends called him, start with the book Mere Christianity, but read it slowly, perhaps only a few pages per day.
His life and death are being marked around the world this month by everything from lectures to concerts. | |||||
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] | 2023-09-21T13:00:44+00:00 | Last Tuesday, an off-campus home transformed into Oxford. Students shared hors-d’oeuvres and discussed theology and literature well into the night. Even a British accent filled the room. | en | Hillsdale Collegian | https://hillsdalecollegian.com/2023/09/bringing-oxford-to-campus-students-start-c-s-lewis-society/ | Last Tuesday, an off-campus home transformed into Oxford. Students shared hors-d’oeuvres and discussed theology and literature well into the night. Even a British accent filled the room.
The new Hillsdale C.S. Lewis Society hosted the soiree as part of its first event on Sept. 12. The evening began with a lecture, “C.S. Lewis on Power,” from Michael Ward, associate faculty of Theology and Religion at Oxford University. Students and professors, including Ward, then attended the soiree afterward at Egypt, an off-campus home near the Oak Grove Cemetery, for light fare and desserts.
“We want to do academic discussion combined with food, community, fellowship, and professors and students intermingling,” said senior Luke Hollister, the society’s president.
The society plans to feature two to three evening lectures per semester covering C.S. Lewis, the Inklings, and related thinkers and topics, followed by a gathering where students and professors can continue the discussion and enjoy food and refreshments.
C.S. Lewis is best known for “The Chronicles of Narnia,” “The Space Trilogy,” and various published lectures. A member of the Inklings, he held academic positions at both Oxford and Cambridge Universities, making him a favorite scholar among Hillsdale students who study abroad with Ward.
The society’s mission statement says it was founded “to promote the Lewisian spirit of joyful curiosity among the ladies and gentlemen of Hillsdale by facilitating serious academic engagement, while aspiring to the hospitable atmosphere of an Oxonian dinner party.”
Hollister, senior Michael Hoggat, and juniors Justus Hume and Mark den Hollander started the society this semester. The students said they were inspired by the culture of hospitality and dinner parties they found while studying in Oxford. They modeled the society after the Oxford C.S. Lewis Society.
“All four of us in leadership had an experience in Oxford of the Oxford dinner party, and we also saw an academic engagement in Oxford that we didn’t really see in Hillsdale in the same way,” Hollister said.
The idea of a C.S. Lewis Society at Hillsdale began when Ph.D. student and alumnus Joshua Waechter ’20 attended an Oxford C.S. Lewis Society meeting this past May. Waechter was a member of the society while pursuing his masters degree at Oxford, and he said the group was his first time encountering a place like Hillsdale at the university.
Waechter said he wanted to introduce the experience of the Oxford society to Hillsdale and proposed it to Ward, who passed the suggestion along to Hoggatt and Hollister.
“Hillsdale is also a bit of an Anglophile campus,” Waechter said. “I saw it as a way of bringing that culture to Hillsdale.”
Ward, the senior advisor of the Oxford C.S. Lewis society, compared it to Hillsdale’s new society.
“The societies are quite similar — the lecture and Q&A followed by socialization,” Ward said. “That’s the Oxford tradition.”
Ward said the society will solidify the dialogue already happening at Hillsdale about Lewis and the Inklings, serving as a “gravitational pull” to continue that conversation in an informal setting.
“Lewis wrote fiction and about literary criticism and religion — all three of those things will serve as topics,” Hollister said. “We also want to talk about other people within the Inklings because Lewis and company is the goal we’re going for.”
The society also recruited the help of junior and former pastry chef Mark den Hollander, the group’s minister of hospitality. Before transferring to Hillsdale last year, den Hollander studied pastry and confectionery at Le Cordon Bleu in London.
“We wanted to help bring the sense of culture and hospitality they have in the Oxford C.S. Lewis Society,” Hoggatt said. “Mark is an excellent pastry chef and also really skilled with hospitality.”
Hoggatt said the club will also give students the opportunity to present their own ideas about Lewis and the Inklings.
“We want to create an environment for undergraduate and graduate students to practice doing research and presenting their own work publically,” Hoggatt said. “They can present a 10 to 15 minute paper as an opener for the main speaker.”
The society plans to host at least one more event this semester.
“We want to show that passive acceptance of information is not as impactful as when you receive information from a lecture and discuss it with your friends, professors, and the speaker.” Hollister said. “There’s this academic community you probably won’t get past college.” | |||||
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The Soft Hills of Down: An Irish Childhood
“I was born in the winter of 1898 at Belfast, the son of a solicitor and of a clergyman’s daughter.” On 29 November 1898, Clive Staples Lewis was plunged into a world that was simmering with political and social resentment and clamouring for change. The partition of Ireland into Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland was still two decades away. Yet the tensions that would lead to this artificial political division of the island were obvious to all. Lewis was born into the heart of the Protestant establishment of Ireland (the “Ascendancy”) at a time when every one of its aspects—political, social, religious, and cultural—was under threat.
Ireland was colonised by English and Scottish settlers in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, leading to deep political and social resentment on the part of the dispossessed native Irish towards the incomers. The Protestant colonists were linguistically and religiously distinct from the native Catholic Irish. Under Oliver Cromwell, “Protestant plantations” developed during the seventeenth century—English Protestant islands in an Irish Catholic sea. The native Irish ruling classes were quickly displaced by a new Protestant establishment. The 1800 Act of Union saw Ireland become part of the United Kingdom, ruled directly from London. Despite being a numerical minority, located primarily in the northern counties of Down and Antrim, including the industrial city of Belfast, Protestants dominated the cultural, economic, and political life of Ireland.
Yet all this was about to change. In the 1880s, Charles Stewart Parnell (1846–1891) and others began to agitate for “Home Rule” for Ireland. In the 1890s, Irish nationalism began to gain momentum, creating a sense of Irish cultural identity that gave new energy to the Home Rule movement. This was strongly shaped by Catholicism, and was vigorously opposed to all forms of English influence in Ireland, including games such as rugby and cricket. More significantly, it came to consider the English language as an agent of cultural oppression. In 1893 the Gaelic League (Conradh na Gaeilge) was founded to promote the study and use of the Irish language. Once more, this was seen as an assertion of Irish identity over and against what were increasingly regarded as alien English cultural norms.
As demands for Home Rule for Ireland became increasingly forceful and credible, many Protestants felt threatened, fearing the erosion of privilege and the possibility of civil strife. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Protestant community in Belfast in the early 1900s was strongly insular, avoiding social and professional contact with their Catholic neighbours wherever possible. (C. S. Lewis’s older brother, Warren [“Warnie”], later recalled that he never spoke to a Catholic from his own social background until he entered the Royal Military College at Sandhurst in 1914.) Catholicism was “the Other”—something that was strange, incomprehensible, and above all threatening. Lewis absorbed such hostility towards—and isolation from—Catholicism with his mother’s milk. When the young Lewis was being toilet trained, his Protestant nanny used to call his stools “wee popes.” Many regarded, and still regard, Lewis as lying outside the pale of true Irish cultural identity on account of his Ulster Protestant roots.
The Lewis Family
The 1901 Census of Ireland recorded the names of everyone who “slept or abode” at the Lewis household in East Belfast on the night of Sunday, 31 March 1901. The record included a mass of personal details—relationship to one another, religion, level of education, age, sex, rank or occupation, and place of birth. Although most biographies refer to the Lewis household as then residing at “47 Dundela Avenue,” the Census records them as living at “House 21 in Dundella [sic] Avenue (Victoria, Down).” The entry for the Lewis household provides an accurate snapshot of the family at the opening of the twentieth century:
Albert James Lewis, Head of Family, Church of Ireland, Read & Write, 37, M, Solicitor, Married, City of Cork
Florence Augusta Lewis, Wife, Church of Ireland, Read & Write, 38, F, Married, County Cork
Warren Hamilton Lewis, Son, Church of Ireland, Read, 5, M, Scholar, City of Belfast
Clive Staples Lewis, Son, Church of Ireland, Cannot Read, 2, M, City of Belfast
Martha Barber, Servant, Presbyterian, Read & Write, 28, F, Nurse—Domestic Servant, Not Married, County Monaghan
Sarah Ann Conlon, Servant, Roman Catholic, Read & Write, 22, F, Cook—Domestic Servant, Not Married, County Down
As the Census entry indicates, Lewis’s father, Albert James Lewis (1863–1929), was born in the city and county of Cork, in the south of Ireland. Lewis’s paternal grandfather, Richard Lewis, was a Welsh boilermaker who had immigrated to Cork with his Liverpudlian wife in the early 1850s. Soon after Albert’s birth, the Lewis family moved to the northern industrial city of Belfast, so that Richard could go into partnership with John H. MacIlwaine to form the successful firm MacIlwaine, Lewis & Co., Engineers and Iron Ship Builders. Perhaps the most interesting ship to be built by this small company was the original Titanic—a small steel freight steamer built in 1888, weighing a mere 1,608 tons.
Yet the Belfast shipbuilding industry was undergoing change in the 1880s, with the larger yards of Harland and Wolff and Workman Clark achieving commercial dominance. It became increasingly difficult for the “wee yards” to survive economically. In 1894, Workman Clark took over MacIlwaine, Lewis & Co. The rather more famous version of the Titanic—also built in Belfast—was launched in 1911 from the shipyard of Harland and Wolff, weighing 26,000 tons. Yet while Harland and Wolff’s liner famously sank on its maiden voyage in 1912, MacIlwaine and Lewis’s much smaller ship continued to ply its trade in South American waters under other names until 1928.
Albert showed little interest in the shipbuilding business, and made it clear to his parents that he wanted to pursue a legal career. Richard Lewis, knowing of the excellent reputation of Lurgan College under its headmaster, William Thompson Kirkpatrick (1848–1921), decided to enrol Albert there as a boarding pupil. Albert formed a lasting impression of Kirkpatrick’s teaching skills during his year there. After Albert graduated in 1880, he moved to Dublin, the capital city of Ireland, where he worked for five years for the firm of Maclean, Boyle, and Maclean. Having gained the necessary experience and professional accreditation as a solicitor, he moved back to Belfast in 1884 to establish his own practice with offices on Belfast’s prestigious Royal Avenue.
The Supreme Court of Judicature (Ireland) Act of 1877 followed the English practice of making a clear distinction between the legal role of “solicitors” and “barristers,” so that aspiring Irish lawyers were required to decide which professional position they wished to pursue. Albert Lewis chose to become a solicitor, acting directly on behalf of clients, including representing them in the lower courts. A barrister specialised in courtroom advocacy, and would be hired by a solicitor to represent a client in the higher courts.
Lewis’s mother, Florence (“Flora”) Augusta Lewis (1862–1908), was born in Queenstown (now Cobh), County Cork. Lewis’s maternal grandfather, Thomas Hamilton (1826–1905), was a Church of Ireland clergyman—a classic representative of the Protestant Ascendancy that came under threat as Irish nationalism became an increasingly significant and cultural force in the early twentieth century. The Church of Ireland had been the established church throughout Ireland, despite being a minority faith in at least twenty-two of the twenty-six Irish counties. When Flora was eight, her father accepted the post of chaplain to Holy Trinity Church in Rome, where the family lived from 1870 to 1874.
In 1874, Thomas Hamilton returned to Ireland to take up the position of curate-in-charge of Dundela Church in the Ballyhackamore area of East Belfast. The same temporary building served as a church on Sundays and a school during weekdays. It soon became clear that a more permanent arrangement was required. Work soon began on a new, purpose-built church, designed by the famous English ecclesiastical architect William Butterfield. Hamilton was installed as rector of the newly built parish church of St. Mark’s, Dundela, in May 1879.
Irish historians now regularly point to Flora Hamilton as illustrating the increasingly significant role of women in Irish academic and cultural life in the final quarter of the nineteenth century. She was enrolled as a day pupil at the Methodist College, Belfast—an all-boys school, founded in 1865, at which “Ladies’ Classes” had been established in response to popular demand in 1869. She attended for one term in 1881, and went on to study at the Royal University of Ireland in Belfast (now Queen’s University, Belfast), gaining First Class Honours in Logic and Second Class Honours in Mathematics in 1886. (As will become clear, Lewis failed to inherit anything of his mother’s gift for mathematics.)
When Albert Lewis began to attend St. Mark’s, Dundela, his eye was caught by the rector’s daughter. Slowly but surely, Flora appears to have been drawn to Albert, partly on account of his obvious literary interests. Albert had joined the Belmont Literary Society in 1881, and was soon considered one of its best speakers. His reputation as a man of literary inclinations would remain with him for the rest of his life. In 1921, at the height of Albert Lewis’s career as a solicitor, Ireland’s Saturday Night newspaper featured him in a cartoon. Dressed in the garb of a court solicitor of the period, he is depicted as holding a mortarboard under one arm and a volume of English literature under the other. Years later, Albert Lewis’s obituary in the Belfast Telegraph described him as a “well read and erudite man,” noted for literary allusions in his presentations in court, and who “found his chief recreation away from the courts of law in reading.”
After a suitably decorous and extended courtship, Albert and Flora were married on 29 August 1894 at St. Mark’s Church, Dundela. Their first child, Warren Hamilton Lewis, was born on 16 June 1895 at their home, “Dundela Villas,” in East Belfast. Clive was their second and final child. The Census return of 1901 indicates that the Lewis household then had two servants. Unusual for a Protestant family, the Lewises employed a Catholic housemaid, Sarah Ann Conlon. Lewis’s long-standing aversion to religious sectarianism—evident in his notion of “mere Christianity”—may have received a stimulus from memories of his childhood.
From the outset, Lewis developed a close relationship with his elder brother, Warren, which was reflected in their nicknames for each other. C. S. Lewis was “Smallpigiebotham” (SPB) and Warnie “Archpigiebotham” (APB), affectionate names inspired by their childhood nurse’s frequent (and apparently real) threats to smack their “piggybottoms” unless they behaved properly. The brothers referred to their father as the “Pudaitabird” or “P’dayta” (because of his Belfast pronunciation of potato). These childhood nicknames would become important once more as the brothers reconnected and reestablished their intimacy in the late 1920s.
Lewis himself was known as “Jack” to his family and friends. Warnie dates his brother’s rejection of the name Clive to a summer holiday in 1903 or 1904, when Lewis suddenly declared that he now wished to be known as “Jacksie.” This was gradually abbreviated to “Jacks,” and finally to “Jack.” The reason for this choice of name remains obscure. Although some sources suggest that the name “Jacksie” was taken from a family dog that died in an accident, there is no documentary evidence in support of this.
The Ambivalent Irishman: The Enigma of Irish Cultural Identity
Lewis was Irish—something that some Irish seem to have forgotten, if they knew it at all. While I myself was growing up in Northern Ireland during the 1960s, my recollection is that when Lewis was referred to at all, it was as an “English” writer. Yet Lewis never lost sight of his Irish roots. The sights, sounds, and fragrances—not, on the whole, the people—of his native Ireland evoked nostalgia for the later Lewis, just as they subtly but powerfully moulded his descriptive prose. In a letter of 1915, Lewis fondly recalls his memories of Belfast: “the distant murmuring of the ‘yards,’” the broad sweep of Belfast Lough, the Cave Hill Mountain, and the little glens, meadows, and hills around the city.
Yet there is more to Lewis’s Ireland than its “soft hills.” Its culture was marked by a passion for storytelling, evident both in its mythology and its historical narratives, and in its love of language. Yet Lewis never made his Irish roots into a fetish. They were simply part of who he was, not his defining feature. As late as the 1950s, Lewis regularly spoke of Ireland as his “home,” calling it “my country,” even choosing to spend his belated honeymoon with Joy Davidman there in April 1958. Lewis had inhaled the soft, moist air of his homeland, and never forgot its natural beauty.
Few who know County Down can fail to recognise the veiled Irish originals which may have inspired some of Lewis’s beautifully crafted literary landscapes. Lewis’s depiction of heaven in The Great Divorce as an “emerald green” land echoes his native country, just as the dolmens at Legananny in County Down, Belfast’s Cave Hill Mountain, and the Giant’s Causeway all seem to have their Narnian equivalents—perhaps softer and brighter than their originals, but still bearing something of their imprint.
Lewis frequently referred to Ireland as a source of literary inspiration, noting how its landscapes were a powerful stimulus to the imagination. Lewis disliked Irish politics and was prone to imagine a pastoral Ireland composed solely of soft hills, mists, loughs, and woods. Ulster, he once confided to his diary, “is very beautiful and if only I could deport the Ulstermen and fill their land with a populace of my own choosing, I should ask for no better place to live in.” (In certain ways, Narnia can be seen as an imaginary and idealised Ulster, populated with creatures of Lewis’s imagination, rather than Ulstermen.)
The term Ulster needs further explanation. Just as the English county of Yorkshire was divided into three parts (the “Ridings,” from the Old Norse word for “a third part,” thrithjungr), the island of Ireland was originally divided into five regions (Gaelic cúigí, from cóiced, “a fifth part”). After the Norman conquest of 1066, these were reduced to four: Connaught, Leinster, Munster, and Ulster. The term province now came to be preferred to the Gaelic cúige. The Protestant minority in Ireland was concentrated in the northern province of Ulster, which consisted of nine counties. When Ireland was partitioned, six of these nine counties formed the new political entity of Northern Ireland. The term Ulster is today often used as synonymous with Northern Ireland, with the term Ulsterman tending to be used—though not consistently—to designate “a Protestant inhabitant of Northern Ireland.” This is done despite the fact that the original cúige of Ulster also included the three counties of Cavan, Donegal, and Monaghan, now part of the Republic of Ireland.
Where some Irish writers found their literary inspiration in the political and cultural issues surrounding their nation’s quest for independence from Great Britain, Lewis found his primarily in the landscapes of Ireland. These, he declared, had inspired and shaped the prose and poetry of many before him—perhaps most important, Edmund Spenser’s classic The Faerie Queene, an Elizabethan work that Lewis regularly expounded in his lectures at Oxford and Cambridge. For Lewis, this classic work of “quests and wanderings and inextinguishable desires” clearly reflected Spenser’s many years spent in Ireland. Who could fail to detect “the soft, wet air, the loneliness, the muffled shapes of the hills” or “the heart-rending sunsets” of Ireland? For Lewis—who here identifies himself as someone who actually is “an Irishman”—Spenser’s subsequent period in England led to a loss of his imaginative power. “The many years in Ireland lie behind Spenser’s greatest poetry, and the few years in England behind his minor poetry.”
Lewis’s language echoes his origins. In his correspondence, Lewis regularly uses Anglo-Irish idioms or slang derived from Gaelic, without offering a translation or explanation—for example, the phrases to “make a poor mouth” (from the Gaelic an béal bocht, meaning “to complain of poverty”), or “whisht, now!” (meaning “be quiet,” derived from the Gaelic bí i do thost). Other idioms reflect local idiosyncrasies, rather than Gaelic linguistic provenance, such as the curious phrase “as long as a Lurgan spade” (meaning “looking gloomy” or “having a long face”). Although Lewis’s voice in his “broadcast talks” of the 1940s is typical of the Oxford academic culture of his day, his pronunciation of words such as friend, hour, and again betrays the subtle influence of his Belfast roots.
So why is Lewis not celebrated as one of the greatest Irish writers of all time? Why is there no entry for “Lewis, C. S.” in the 1,472 pages of the supposedly definitive Dictionary of Irish Literature (1996)? The real issue is that Lewis does not fit—and, indeed, must be said partly to have chosen not to fit—the template of Irish identity that has dominated the late twentieth century. In some ways, Lewis represents precisely the forces and influences which the advocates of a stereotypical Irish literary identity wished to reject. If Dublin stood at the centre of the demands for Home Rule and the reassertion of Irish culture in the early twentieth century, Lewis’s home city of Belfast was the heart of opposition to any such developments.
One of the reasons why Ireland has largely chosen to forget about Lewis is that he was the wrong kind of Irishman. In 1917, Lewis certainly saw himself as sympathetic to the “New Ireland School,” and was considering sending his poetry to Maunsel and Roberts, a Dublin publisher with strong links to Irish nationalism, having published the collected works of the great nationalist writer Patrick Pearse (1879–1916) that same year. Conceding that they were “only a second-rate house,” Lewis expressed the hope that this might mean they would take his submission seriously.
Yet a year later, things seemed very different to Lewis. Writing to his longtime friend Arthur Greeves, Lewis expressed his fear that the New Ireland School would end up as little more than “a sort of little by-way of the intellectual world, off the main track.” Lewis now recognised the importance of keeping “in the broad highway of thought,” writing for a broad readership rather than one narrowly defined by certain cultural and political agendas. To be published by Maunsel would, Lewis declared, be tantamount to associating himself with what was little more than a “cult.” His Irish identity, inspired by Ireland’s landscape rather than its political history, would find its expression in the literary mainstream, not one of its “side-tracks.” Lewis may have chosen to rise above the provinciality of Irish literature; he nevertheless remains one of its most luminous and famous representatives.
Surrounded by Books: Hints of a Literary Vocation
The physical landscape of Ireland was unquestionably one of the influences that shaped Lewis’s fertile imagination. Yet there is another source which did much to inspire his youthful outlook—literature itself. One of Lewis’s most persistent memories of his youth is that of a home packed with books. Albert Lewis might have worked as a police solicitor to earn his keep, but his heart lay in the reading of literature.
In April 1905, the Lewis family moved to a new and more spacious home that had just been constructed on the outskirts of the city of Belfast—“Leeborough House” on the Circular Road in Strandtown, known more informally as “Little Lea” or “Leaboro.” The Lewis brothers were free to roam this vast house, and allowed their imaginations to transform it into mysterious kingdoms and strange lands. Both brothers inhabited imaginary worlds, and committed something of these to writing. Lewis wrote about talking animals in “Animal-Land,” while Warnie wrote about “India” (later combined into the equally imaginary land of Boxen).
As Lewis later recalled, wherever he looked in this new house, he saw stacks, piles, and shelves of books. On many rainy days, he found solace and company in reading these works and roaming freely across imagined literary landscapes. The books so liberally scattered throughout the “New House” included works of romance and mythology, which opened the windows of Lewis’s young imagination. The physical landscape of County Down was seen through a literary lens, becoming a gateway to distant realms. Warren Lewis later reflected on the imaginative stimulus offered to him and his brother by wet weather and a sense of longing for something more satisfying. Might his brother’s imaginative wanderings have been prompted by his childhood “staring out to unattainable hills,” seen through rain and under grey skies?
Ireland is the “Emerald Isle” precisely on account of its high levels of rainfall and mist, which ensure moist soils and lush green grass. It was natural for Lewis to later transfer this sense of confinement by rain to four young children, trapped in an elderly professor’s house, unable to explore outside because of a “steady rain falling, so thick that when you looked out of the window you could see neither the mountains nor the woods nor even the stream in the garden.” Is the professor’s house in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe modelled on Leeborough?
From Little Lea, the young Lewis could see the distant Castlereagh Hills, which seemed to speak to him of something of heartrending significance, lying tantalizingly beyond his reach. They became a symbol of liminality, of standing on the threshold of a new, deeper, and more satisfying way of thinking and living. An unutterable sense of intense longing arose within him as he contemplated them. He could not say exactly what it was that he longed for, merely that there was a sense of emptiness within him, which the mysterious hills seemed to heighten without satisfying. In The Pilgrim’s Regress (1933), these hills reappear as a symbol of the heart’s unknown desire. But if Lewis was standing on the threshold of something wondrous and enticing, how could he enter this mysterious realm? Who would open the door and allow him through? Perhaps unsurprisingly, the image of a door became increasingly significant to Lewis’s later reflections on the deeper questions of life.
The low, green line of the Castlereagh Hills, though actually quite close, thus came to be a symbol of something distant and unattainable. These hills were, for Lewis, distant objects of desire, marking the end of his known world, from which the whisper of the haunting “horns of elfland” could be heard. “They taught me longing—Sehnsucht; made me for good or ill, and before I was six years old, a votary of the Blue Flower.”
We must linger over this statement. What does Lewis mean by Sehnsucht? The German word is rich with emotional and imaginative associations, famously described by the poet Matthew Arnold as a “wistful, soft, tearful longing.” And what of the “Blue Flower”? Leading German Romantic writers, such as Novalis (1772–1801) and Joseph von Eichendorff (1788–1857), used the image of a “Blue Flower” as a symbol of the wanderings and yearnings of the human soul, especially as this sense of longing is evoked—though not satisfied—by the natural world.
Even at this early stage, then, Lewis was probing and questioning the limits of his world. What lay beyond its horizons? Yet Lewis could not answer the questions that these longings so provocatively raised in his youthful mind. To what did they point? Was there a doorway? And if so, where was it to be found? And what did it lead to? Finding answers to these questions would preoccupy Lewis for the next twenty-five years.
Solitude: Warnie Goes to England
Everything we know about Lewis around 1905 suggests a lonely, introverted boy with hardly any friends, who found pleasure and fulfilment in the solitary reading of books. Why solitary? Having secured a new house for his family, Albert Lewis now turned his attention to ensuring the future prospects of his sons. As a pillar of the Protestant establishment in Belfast, Albert Lewis took the view that the interests of his sons would be best advanced by sending the boys to boarding school in England. Albert’s brother William had already sent his son to an English school, seeing this as an acceptable route to social advancement. Albert decided to do the same, and took professional advice about which school would best suit his needs.
The London educational agents Gabbitas & Thring had been founded in 1873 to recruit suitable schoolmasters for leading English schools and provide guidance for parents wanting to secure the best possible education for their children. Schoolmasters whom they helped to find suitable positions included such future stars—now, it must be said, not chiefly remembered for having ever been schoolmasters—as W. H. Auden, John Betjeman, Edward Elgar, Evelyn Waugh, and H. G. Wells. By 1923, when the firm celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of its founding, over 120,000 teaching vacancies had been negotiated and no fewer than 50,000 parents had sought their counsel on the best school for their children. This included Albert Lewis, who asked their advice on where to send his elder son, Warren.
Their recommendation duly came through. It turned out to be stunningly bad advice. In May 1905, without making the more critical and thorough inquiries some would have expected of a man in his position, Albert Lewis packed the nine-year-old Warren off to Wynyard School in Watford, north of London. It was perhaps the first of many mistakes that Lewis’s father would make concerning his relationship with his sons.
Jacks—as Lewis now preferred to be called—and his brother, Warnie, had lived together in Little Lea for only a month, sharing a “Little End Room” in the top floor of the rambling house as their haven. Now, they were separated. C. S. Lewis remained at home, and was taught privately by his mother and a governess, Annie Harper. But perhaps his best teachers were the burgeoning stacks of books, none of which were forbidden to him.
For two years, the solitary Lewis roamed the large house’s long, creaking corridors and roomy attics, with vast quantities of books as his companions. Lewis’s inner world began to take shape. Where other boys of his age were playing games on the streets or in the countryside around Belfast, Lewis constructed, inhabited, and explored his own private worlds. He was forced to become a loner—something that unquestionably catalysed his imaginative life. In Warnie’s absence, he had nobody as a soul mate with whom he could share his dreams and longings. The school vacations became of supreme importance to him. They were when Warnie came home.
First Encounters with Joy
At some point around this time, Lewis’s already rich imaginative life took a new turn. Lewis later recalled three early experiences which he regarded as shaping one of his life’s chief concerns. The first of these took place when the fragrance of a “flowering currant bush” in the garden at Little Lea triggered a memory of his time in the “Old House”—Dundela Villas, which Albert Lewis had then rented from a relative. Lewis speaks of experiencing a transitory, delectable sense of desire, which overwhelmed him. Before he had worked out what was happening, the experience had passed, leaving him “longing for the longing that had just ceased.” It seemed to Lewis to be of enormous importance. “Everything else that had ever happened to me was insignificant in comparison.” But what did it mean?
The second experience came when reading Beatrix Potter’s Squirrel Nutkin (1903). Though Lewis admired Potter’s books in general at this time, something about this work sparked an intense longing for something he clearly struggled to describe—“the Idea of Autumn.” Once more, Lewis experienced the same intoxicating sense of “intense desire.”
The third came when he read Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s translation of a few lines from the Swedish poet Esaias Tegnér (1782–1846):
I heard a voice that cried,
Balder the beautiful
Is dead, is dead—
Lewis found the impact of these words devastating. It was as if they opened a door that he did not know existed, allowing him to see a new realm beyond his own experience, which he longed to enter and possess. For a moment, nothing else seemed to matter. “I knew nothing of Balder,” he recalled, “but instantly I was uplifted into huge regions of northern sky, [and] I desired with almost sickening intensity something never to be described (except that it is cold, spacious, severe, pale, and remote).” Yet even before Lewis had realised what was happening to him, the experience passed, and left him longing to be able to reenter it.
Looking back on these three experiences, Lewis understood that they could be seen as aspects or manifestations of the same thing: “an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction. I call it Joy.” The quest for that Joy would become a central theme of Lewis’s life and writing.
So how are we to make sense of these experiences, which played such a significant role in Lewis’s development, especially the shaping of his “inner life”? Perhaps we can draw on the classic study The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902), in which the Harvard psychologist William James (1842–1910) tried to make sense of the complex, powerful experiences that lay at the heart of the lives of so many religious thinkers. Drawing extensively on a wide range of published writings and personal testimonies, James identified four characteristic features of such experiences. In the first place, such experiences are “ineffable.” They defy expression, and cannot be described adequately in words.
In the second place, James suggests that those who experience them achieve “insight into depths of truth unplumbed by the discursive intellect.” In other words, they are experienced as “illuminations, revelations, full of significance and importance.” They evoke an “enormous sense of inner authority and illumination,” transfiguring the understanding of those who experience them, often evoking a deep sense “of being revelations of new depths of truth.” These themes clearly underlie Lewis’s early desriptions of “Joy,” such as his statement that “everything else that had ever happened to me was insignificant in comparison.”
Third, James goes on to emphasise that these experiences are transient; they “cannot be sustained for long.” Usually they last from a few seconds to just minutes, and their quality cannot be accurately remembered, though the experience is recognised if it recurs. “When faded, their quality can but imperfectly be reproduced in memory.” This aspect of James’s typology of religious experience is clearly reflected in Lewis’s prose.
Finally, James suggests that those who have had such an experience feel as if they have been “grasped and held by a superior power.” Such experiences are not created by active subjects; they come upon people, often with overwhelming power.
Lewis’s eloquent descriptions of his experience of “Joy” clearly fit into James’s characterisation. Lewis’s experiences were perceived as deeply meaningful, throwing open the doors of another world, which then shut almost immediately, leaving him exhilarated at what had happened, yet longing to recover it. They are like momentary and transient epiphanies, when things suddenly seem to come acutely and sharply into focus, only for the light to fade and the vision to recede, leaving nothing but a memory and a longing.
Lewis was left with a sense of loss, even of betrayal, in the aftermath of such experiences. Yet as frustrating and disconcerting as they may have been, they suggested to him that the visible world might be only a curtain that concealed vast, uncharted realms of mysterious oceans and islands. It was an idea that, once planted, never lost its imaginative appeal or its emotional power. Yet, as we shall see, Lewis would soon come to believe it was illusory, a childhood dream which the dawning of adult rationality exposed as a cruel delusion. Ideas of a transcendent realm or of a God might be “lies breathed through silver,” but they remained lies nevertheless.
The Death of Flora Lewis
Edward VII came to the English throne after the death of Victoria in 1901 and reigned until 1910. The Edwardian Age is now often seen as a golden period of long summer afternoons and elegant garden parties, an image which was shattered by the Great War of 1914–1918. While this highly romanticised view of the Edwardian Age largely reflects the postwar nostalgia of the 1920s, there is no doubt that many at the time saw it as a settled and secure age. There were troubling developments afoot—above all, the growing military and industrial power of Germany and the economic strength of the United States, which some realised posed significant threats to British imperial interests. Yet the dominant mood was that of an empire which was settled and strong, its trade routes protected by the greatest navy the world had ever known.
This sense of stability is evident in Lewis’s early childhood. In May 1907, Lewis wrote to Warnie, telling him that it was nearly settled that they were going to spend part of their holidays in France. Going abroad was a significant departure for the Lewis family, who normally spent up to six weeks during the summer at northern Irish resorts such as Castlerock or Portrush. Their father, preoccupied with his legal practice, was often an intermittent presence on these occasions. As things turned out, he would not join them in France at all.
In the event, Lewis enjoyed an intimate and tranquil holiday with his brother and mother. On 20 August 1907, Flora Lewis took her two sons to the Pension le Petit Vallon, a family hotel in the small town of Berneval-le-Grand in Normandy, not far from Dieppe, where they would remain until 18 September. A picture postcard of the early 1900s perhaps helps us understand Flora’s choice: the reassuring words “English spoken” feature prominently above a photograph of Edwardian families relaxing happily on its grounds. Any hopes that Lewis had of learning some French were dashed when he discovered that all the other guests were English.
It was to be an idyllic summer of the late Edwardian period, with no hints of the horrors to come. When hospitalised in France during the Great War a mere eighteen miles (29 kilometres) east of Berneval-le-Grand, Lewis found himself wistfully recalling those precious, lost golden days. Nobody had foreseen the political possibility of such a war, nor the destruction it would wreak—just as nobody in the Lewis family could have known that this would be the last holiday they would spend together. A year later, Flora Lewis was dead.
Early in 1908, it became clear that Flora was seriously ill. She had developed abdominal cancer. Albert Lewis asked his father, Richard, who had been living in Little Lea for some months, to move out. They needed the space for the nurses who would attend Flora. It was too much for Richard Lewis. He suffered a stroke in late March, and died the following month.
When it became clear that Flora was in terminal decline, Warnie was summoned home from school in England to be with his mother in her final weeks. Their mother’s illness brought the Lewis brothers even closer together. One of the most touching photographs of this period shows Warnie and C. S. Lewis standing by their bicycles, outside Glenmachan House, close to Little Lea, early in August 1908. Lewis’s world was about to change, drastically and irreversibly.
Flora died in her bed at home on 23 August 1908—Albert Lewis’s forty-fifth birthday. The somewhat funereal quotation for that day on her bedroom calendar was from Shakespeare’s King Lear: “Men must endure their going hence.” For the rest of Albert Lewis’s life, Warnie later discovered, the calendar remained open at that page.
Following the custom of the day, Lewis was obliged to view the dead body of his mother lying in an open coffin, the gruesome marks of her illness all too visible. It was a traumatic experience for him. “With my mother’s death all settled happiness, all that was tranquil and reliable, disappeared from my life.”
In The Magician’s Nephew, Digory Kirke’s mother is lovingly described on her deathbed, in terms that seem to echo Lewis’s haunting memories of Flora: “There she lay, as he had seen her lie so many other times, propped up on the pillows, with a thin, pale face that would make you cry to look at.” There is little doubt that this passage recalls Lewis’s own distress at the death of his mother, especially the sight of her emaciated body in an open coffin. In allowing Digory’s mother to be cured of her terminal illness by the magic apple from Narnia, Lewis seems to be healing his own deep emotional wounds with an imaginative balm, trying to deal with what really happened by imagining what might have happened.
While Lewis was clearly distressed at his mother’s death, his memories of this dark period often focus more on its broader implications for his family. As Albert Lewis tried to come to terms with his wife’s illness, he seems to have lost an awareness of the deeper needs of his sons. C. S. Lewis depicts this period as heralding the end of his family life, as the seeds of alienation were sown. Having lost his wife, Albert Lewis was in danger of losing his sons as well. Two weeks after Flora’s death, Albert’s elder brother, Joseph, died. The Lewis family, it seemed, was in crisis. The father and his two sons were on their own. “It was sea and islands now; the great continent had sunk like Atlantis.”
This could have been a time for the rebuilding of paternal affection and rekindling of filial devotion. Nothing of the sort happened. That Albert’s judgement failed him at this critical time is made abundantly clear in his decision concerning the future of his sons at this crisis in their young lives. A mere two weeks after the traumatic death of his mother, C. S. Lewis found himself standing on the Belfast quayside with Warnie, preparing to board the overnight steamer to the Lancashire port of Fleetwood. An emotionally unintelligent father bade his emotionally neglected sons an emotionally inadequate farewell. Everything that gave the young Lewis his security and identity seemed to be vanishing around him. Lewis was being sent away from Ireland—from his home and from his books—to a strange place where he would live among strangers, with his brother, Warnie, as his only companion. He was being sent to Wynyard School—the “Belsen” of Surprised by Joy.
CHAPTER 2
The Ugly Country of England: Schooldays
In 1962, Francine Smithline—a schoolgirl from New York—wrote to C. S. Lewis, telling him how much she had enjoyed his Narnia books and asking him for information about his own schooldays. In reply, Lewis informed her that he had attended three boarding schools, “of which two were very horrid.” In fact, Lewis continues, he “never hated anything as much, not even the front line trenches in World War I.” Even the most casual reader of Surprised by Joy is struck by both the vehemence of Lewis’s hatred for the schools he attended in England and the implausibility that they were worse than the death-laden trenches of the Great War.
One of the significant sources of tension between C. S. Lewis and his brother in the late 1950s was Warnie’s belief that Lewis had significantly misrepresented his time at Malvern College in Surprised by Joy (1955). George Sayer (1914–2005), a close friend who penned one of the most revealing and perceptive biographies of Lewis, recalls Lewis admitting later in life that his account of his time at Malvern was “lies,” reflecting the complex interaction of two strands of his identity at that time. Sayer’s recollection leaves readers of Surprised by Joy wondering about both the extent and motivation of Lewis’s reconstruction of his past.
Perhaps Lewis’s judgement here may have been clouded by his overwhelmingly negative initial impressions of England, which spilled over into his educational experience. As he later remarked, he “conceived a hatred for England which took many years to heal.” His aversion to English schools possibly reflects a deeper cultural dislike of England itself at this time, evident in some of his correspondence. In June 1914, for example, Lewis complained about being “cooped up in this hot, ugly country of England” when he could have been roaming the cool, lush countryside of County Down.
Yet there is clearly something deeper and more visceral here. Lewis simply does not seem to have fitted in to the public school culture of the Edwardian Age. What others saw as a necessary, if occasionally distasteful, preparation for the rigours of life in the real world was dismissed and vilified by Lewis as a “concentration camp.” What his father hoped would make him into a successful citizen came close to breaking him instead.
Lewis’s experience of British schools, following the death of his mother, can be summarised as follows:
Wynyard School, Watford (“Belsen”): September 1908–June 1910
Campbell College, Belfast: September–December 1910
Cherbourg School, Malvern (“Chartres”): January 1911–June 1913
Malvern College (“Wyvern”): September 1913–June 1914
Private tuition at Great Bookham: September 1914–March 1917
The three English schools to which Lewis took exception are presumably those he chose to identify by pseudonyms: Wynyard School, Cherbourg School, and Malvern College. As we shall see, his memories of his time at Great Bookham were much more positive, as was his view of its impact on the shaping of his mind.
Wynyard School, Watford: 1908–1910
Lewis’s first educational experience in England was at Wynyard School, a converted pair of dreary yellow-brick houses on Langley Road, Watford. This small private boarding school had been established by Robert “Oldie” Capron in 1881, and appears to have enjoyed some small success in its early years. By the time Lewis arrived, however, it had fallen on hard times, having only about eight or nine boarders, and about the same number of “day-boys.” His brother had already studied there for two years, and had adjusted to its brutal regime with relative ease. Lewis, with little experience of the world outside the gentle cocoon of Little Lea, was shocked by Capron’s brutality, and later dubbed the school “Belsen” after the infamous Nazi concentration camp.
While initially hoping that things would work out well, Lewis rapidly came to hate Wynyard, and regarded his period there as an almost total waste of time. Warnie left Wynyard in the summer of 1909 and went on to Malvern College, leaving his younger brother alone to cope with an institution that was clearly in terminal decline. Lewis recalled his education at Wynyard as the forced feeding and rote learning of “a jungle of dates, battles, exports, imports and the like, forgotten as soon as learned and perfectly useless had they been remembered.” Warnie concurred in this judgement: “I cannot remember one single piece of instruction that was imparted to me at Wynyard.” Nor was there any library by which Lewis might nourish the imaginative side of his life. In the end, the school was closed down in the summer of 1910 when Capron was finally certified as being insane.
Albert Lewis was now forced to review his arrangements for his younger son’s education. While Warnie went off to resume his education at Malvern College, Lewis was sent to Campbell College, a boarding school in the city of Belfast, only a mile from Little Lea. As Lewis later remarked, Campbell had been founded to allow “Ulster boys all the advantages of a public-school education without the trouble of crossing the Irish Sea.” It is not clear whether his father intended this to be a permanent arrangement. In the event, Lewis developed a serious respiratory illness while at Campbell, and his father reluctantly withdrew him. It was not an unhappy time for Lewis. Indeed, Lewis seems to have wished that the arrangement could have been continued. His father, however, had other plans. Unfortunately, they turned out not to be very good.
Cherbourg School, Malvern: 1911–1913
After further consultation with Gabbitas & Thring, Lewis was sent to Cherbourg School (“Chartres” in Surprised by Joy) in the English Victorian spa town of Great Malvern. During the nineteenth century, Malvern became popular as a hydrotherapy spa on account of its spring waters. As spa tourism declined towards the end of the century, many former hotels and villas were converted to small boarding schools, such as Cherbourg. This small preparatory school, which had about twenty boys between the ages of eight and twelve during Lewis’s time, was located next to Malvern College, where Warnie was already ensconced as a student. The two brothers would at least be able to see each other once more.
The most important outcome of Lewis’s time at Cherbourg was that he won a scholarship to Malvern College. Yet Lewis recalls a number of developments in his inner life to which his schooling at Cherbourg was essentially a backdrop, rather than a cause or stimulus. One of the most important was his discovery of what he termed “Northernness,” which took place “fairly early” during his time at Cherbourg. Lewis regarded this discovery as utterly and gloriously transformative, comparable to a silent and barren Arctic icescape turning into “a landscape of grass and primroses and orchards in bloom, deafened with bird songs and astir with running water.”
Lewis’s recollections of this development are as imaginatively precise as they are chronologically vague. “I can lay my hand on the very moment; there is hardly any fact I know so well, though I cannot date it.” The stimulus was a “literary periodical” which had been left lying around in the schoolroom. This can be identified as the Christmas edition of The Bookman, published in December 1911. This magazine included a coloured supplement reproducing some of Arthur Rackham’s suite of thirty illustrations to an English translation by Margaret Armour of the libretto of Richard Wagner’s operas Siegfried and The Twilight of the Gods, which had been published earlier that year.
Rackham’s highly evocative illustrations proved to be a powerful imaginative stimulus to Lewis, causing him to be overwhelmed by an experience of desire. He was engulfed by “pure ‘Northernness’”—by “a vision of huge, clear spaces hanging above the Atlantic in the endless twilight of Northern summer.” Lewis was thrilled to be able to experience again something that he had believed he had permanently lost. This was no “wish fulfilment and fantasy”; this was a vision of standing on the threshold of another world, and peering within. Hoping to recapture something of this sense of wonder, Lewis indulged his growing passion in Wagner, spending his pocket money on recordings of Wagner’s operas, and even managing to buy a copy of the original text from which the Rackham illustrations had been extracted.
Although Lewis’s letters of his Malvern period probably conceal as much as they reveal, they nevertheless hint of some of the themes that would recur throughout his career. One of those is Lewis’s sense of being an Irishman in exile in a strange land. Lewis had not simply lost his paradise; he had been expelled from his Eden. Lewis might live in England; he did not, however, see himself as English. Even in his final days at Cherbourg, Lewis had become increasingly aware of having been “born in a race rich in literary feeling and mastery of their own tongue.” In the 1930s, Lewis found the physical geography of his native Ireland to be a stimulus to his own literary imagination, and that of others—such as the poet Edmund Spenser. The seeds of this development can be seen in his letters home in 1913.
A significant intellectual development which Lewis attributes to this period in his life was his explicit loss of any remnants of a Christian faith. Lewis’s account of this final erosion of faith in Surprised by Joy is less satisfactory than one might like, particularly given the importance of faith in his later life. While unable to give “an accurate chronology” of his “slow apostasy,” Lewis nevertheless identifies a number of factors that moved him in that direction.
Perhaps the most important of these, as judged by its lingering presence in his subsequent writings, was raised by his reading of Virgil and other classical authors. Lewis noted that their religious ideas were treated by both scholars and teachers as “sheer illusion.” So what of today’s religious ideas? Were they not simply modern illusions, the contemporary counterpart to their ancient forebears? Lewis came to the view that religion, though “utterly false,” was a natural development, “a kind of endemic nonsense into which humanity tended to blunder.” Christianity was just one of a thousand religions, all claiming to be true. So why should he believe this one to be right, and the others wrong?
By the spring of 1913, Lewis had decided where he wished to go after Cherbourg. In a letter to his father of June 1913, he declares his time at Cherbourg—though initially something of a “leap in the dark”—to have been a “success.” He liked Great Malvern as a town, and would like to proceed to “the Coll.”—in other words, to Malvern College, where he could join his older brother, Warnie. In late May, Warnie announced that he wanted to pursue a military career, and would spend the autumn of 1913 at Malvern College, preparing for the entrance examination at the Royal Military College at Sandhurst.
However, things did not work out quite as expected. In June, Lewis won a scholarship to Malvern College beginning in September, despite being ill and having to take the examination in Cherbourg’s sickroom. But Warnie would no longer be there. He had been asked to leave by the headmaster after being caught smoking on school premises. (Both Lewis brothers had developed their lifelong habit of smoking by this stage.) Albert Lewis now had to work out how to prepare Warnie for the Sandhurst entrance examinations without any assistance from the masters of Malvern College. He found an answer—a brilliant answer, that would have significant and positive implications for his younger son a year later.
Albert Lewis had been a pupil at Lurgan College in Ireland’s County Armagh from 1877–1879, and had developed a great respect for his former headmaster, William Thompson Kirkpatrick (1848–1921). Kirkpatrick had arrived at Lurgan College in 1876, at which time it had only sixteen pupils. A decade later, it was regarded as one of the premier schools in Ireland. Kirkpatrick retired in 1899, and moved with his wife to Sharston House in Northenden, Cheshire, to be near their son, George, who was then working for Browett, Lindley & Co., Engine Makers of Patricroft, Manchester. However, it seems that Kirkpatrick’s wife had little enthusiasm for the industrialised Northwest of England, and the couple soon moved to Great Bookham in the “Stockbroker Belt” of the southern county of Surrey, where Kirkpatrick set himself up as a private tutor.
Albert Lewis acted as Kirkpatrick’s solicitor, and the two had occasion to correspond over what should be done with parents who refused to pay their sons’ school fees. Albert Lewis had asked Kirkpatrick’s advice on educational matters in the past, and he now asked for something more specific and personal: would Kirkpatrick prepare Warnie for the entrance examination to Sandhurst? The deal was done, and Warnie began his studies at Great Bookham on 10 September 1913. Eight days later, his younger brother started at Malvern College—the “Wyvern” of Surprised by Joy—without his older brother as his mentor and friend. Lewis was on his own.
Malvern College: 1913–1914
Lewis presents Malvern College as a disaster. Surprised by Joy devotes three of its fifteen chapters to railing against his experiences at “the Coll,” faulting it at point after point. Yet this accumulation of Lewis’s vivid and harsh memories curiously fails to advance his narrative of the pursuit of Joy. Why spend so much time recounting such painful and subjective memories, which others who knew the college at that time (including Warnie) criticised as distorted and unrepresentative? Perhaps Lewis saw the writing of these sections of Surprised by Joy as a cathartic exercise, allowing him to purge his painful memories by writing about them at greater length than required. Yet even a sympathetic reader of this work cannot fail to see that the pace of the book slackens in the three chapters devoted to Malvern, where the narrative detail obscures the plotline.
Lewis declares that he became a victim of the “fagging” system, by which younger pupils were expected to act as errand boys for the older pupils (the “Bloods”). The more a boy was disliked by his peers and elders, the more he would be picked on and exploited in this way. This was customary in English public schools of this age. What most boys accepted as part of a traditional initiation rite into adulthood was seen by Lewis as a form of forced labour. Lewis suggested that the forms of service that younger boys were expected to provide to their seniors were rumoured (but never proved) to include sexual favours—something which Lewis found horrifying.
Perhaps more significantly, Lewis found himself excluded from the value system of Malvern College, which was heavily influenced by the then dominant educational philosophy of the English public school system—athleticism. By the end of the Edwardian era, the “games cult” had assumed an almost unassailable position as the centrepiece of an English public school education. Athleticism was an ideology with a darker side. Boys who were not good at games were ridiculed and bullied by their peers. Athleticism devalued intellectual and artistic achievement and turned many schools into little more than training camps for the glorification of physicality. Yet the cultivation of “manliness” was seen as integral to the development of “character”—an essential trait that dominated the educational theories of this period in British culture. In all these respects, Malvern was typical of the Edwardian age. It provided what it believed was needed, and what parents clearly wanted.
But it was not what Lewis wanted. His “native clumsiness,” partly arising from having only one joint in his thumbs, made excelling in anything physical a total impossibility. Lewis seems to have made little attempt to fit into the school’s culture. His refusal to conform simply created the impression that Lewis was socially withdrawn and academically arrogant. As Lewis wryly remarked in a letter, Malvern helped him discover what he did not want to be: “If I had never seen the horrible spectacle which these coarse, brainless English schoolboys present, there might be a danger of my sometimes becoming like that myself.” To many, these remarks simply sound arrogant and condescending. Yet Lewis was clear that one of Malvern’s relatively few positive achievements was to help him realise that he was arrogant. It was an aspect of his character that he would have to deal with in the coming years.
Lewis frequently sought refuge in the school library, finding solace in books. He also developed a friendship with the classics master, Harry Wakelyn Smith (“Smewgy”). Smith worked with Lewis on his Latin and helped him begin his serious study of Greek. Perhaps more important, he taught Lewis how to analyse poetry properly, allowing its aesthetic qualities to be appreciated. Furthermore, he helped Lewis realise that poetry was to be read in such a way that its rhythm and musical qualities could be appreciated. Lewis later expressed his gratitude in a poem explaining how Smith—an “old man with a honey-sweet and singing voice”—taught him to love the “Mediterranean metres” of classical poetry.
Important though such positive encounters may have been for Lewis’s later scholarly and critical development, at the time they were ultimately intellectual diversions, designed to take Lewis’s mind off what he regarded as an insufferable school culture. Warnie took the view that his brother was simply a “square peg in a round hole.” With the benefit of hindsight, he believed that Lewis ought not to have been sent to a public school at all. Lewis’s lack of athletic prowess and his strong intellectual leanings immediately identified him as a “misfit, a heretic, an object of suspicion within the collective-minded and standardizing Public School system.” But at the time, Warnie was clear that the fault, if fault there were, lay in Lewis himself, not in the school.
It remains unclear why Lewis spends so much of Surprised by Joy dealing with his time at Malvern. It is true that he was invited to be a governor of the college in 1929, an invitation which caused him some amusement. Yet there is no doubt of Lewis’s despair at the time concerning his circumstances there, and his desperate attempts to persuade his father to move him to a more congenial place. “Please take me out of this as soon as possible,” he wrote imploringly to his father in March 1914, as he prepared to return to Belfast for the school holidays.
Albert Lewis finally realised things were not working out for his younger son. He consulted with Warnie, who was by then in his second month of training as a British army officer at Sandhurst. Warnie took the view that his younger brother had contributed significantly to his own deteriorating situation. He had hoped, he told his father, that Malvern would provide his brother with the same “happy years and memories and friendships that he would carry with him to the grave.” But it hadn’t worked out like that. Lewis had made Malvern “too hot to hold him.” A radical rethink was required. Since Warnie had benefitted from personal tuition from Kirkpatrick, Lewis should be offered the same. It is not difficult to discern Warnie’s irritation with his brother when he tells his father that “he could amuse himself by detonating his cheap little stock of intellectual fireworks under old K[irkpatrick]’s nose.”
Albert Lewis then wrote to Kirkpatrick, asking him for his advice. Kirkpatrick initially suggested that Lewis should resume his studies at Campbell College. But as the two men wrestled with the problem, another solution began to emerge. Albert persuaded Kirkpatrick to become Lewis’s personal tutor effective September 1914. Kirkpatrick professed himself overwhelmed by this compliment: “To have been the teacher of the father and his two sons is surely a unique experience.” It was still risky. Warnie had loved Malvern, yet Lewis had detested it. What would Lewis make of Kirkpatrick, who had been so good for Warnie? Kirkpatrick’s efforts had led to Warnie’s being ranked twenty-second out of more than two hundred successful candidates in the highly competitive entrance examination. Warnie’s military record shows that he entered Sandhurst on 4 February 1914 as a “Gentleman Cadet,” being awarded a “Prize Cadetship with emoluments.” His military career was off to a flying start.
Meanwhile, Lewis had returned home to Belfast for the vacation. In mid-April 1914, shortly before he was due to return for his final term at Malvern College, he received a message. Arthur Greeves (1895–1966) was in bed recovering from an illness and would welcome a visit. Greeves, who was the same age as Warnie, was the youngest son of Joseph Greeves, one of Belfast’s most wealthy flax-spinners. The family lived at “Bernagh,” a large house just over the road from Little Lea.
In Surprised by Joy, Lewis recalls that Greeves had been trying to initiate a friendship with him for some time, but that they had never met. Yet there is evidence that Lewis’s memory may not be entirely correct here. In one of his earliest surviving letters of May 1907, Lewis informed Warnie that a telephone had just been installed at Little Lea. He had used this new piece of technology to call Arthur Greeves, but had not been able to speak to him. This hints at a childhood acquaintance of some sort. If Lewis and Greeves had been friends around this time, it seems likely that Lewis’s enforced absence from Belfast at English schools had caused the existing relationship to wither.
Lewis agreed to visit Greeves with some reluctance. He found him sitting up in bed, with a book beside him: H. M. A. Guerber’s Myths of the Norsemen (1908). Lewis, whose love of “Northernness” now knew few bounds, looked at the book in astonishment: “Do you like that?” he asked—only to receive the same excited reply from Greeves. Lewis had finally found a soul mate. They would remain in touch regularly until Lewis’s death, nearly fifty years later.
As his final term at Malvern drew to an end, Lewis wrote his first letter to Greeves, planning a walk together. Though he was “cooped up” in the “hot, ugly country of England,” they could watch the sun rise over the Holywood Hills and see Belfast Lough and Cave Hill. Yet a month later, Lewis’s view of England had changed. “Smewgy” had invited him and another boy to drive into the country, leaving behind the “flat, plain, and ugly hills of Malvern.” In their place, Lewis discovered an “enchanted ground” of “rolling hills and valleys,” with “mysterious woods and cornfields.” Perhaps England was not so bad; maybe he might stay there after all.
Bookham and the “Great Knock”: 1914–1917
On 19 September 1914, Lewis arrived at Great Bookham to begin his studies with Kirkpatrick—the “Great Knock.” Yet the world around Lewis had changed irreversibly since he had left Malvern. On 28 June, Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated in Sarajevo, creating ripples of tension and instability which gradually escalated. Grand alliances were formed. If one great nation went to war, all would follow. A month later, on 28 July, Austria launched an attack against Serbia. Germany immediately launched an attack against France. It was inevitable that Britain would be drawn into the conflict. Britain eventually declared war against Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire on 4 August.
It was Warnie who was affected most immediately by this development. His period of training was reduced from eighteen months to nine, to allow him to enter active military service as soon as possible. He was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Royal Army Service Corps on 29 September 1914, and was on active service in France with the British Expeditionary Force by 4 November. Meanwhile, Lord Kitchener (1850–1916), Secretary of State for War, set out to organise the recruitment of the largest volunteer army that the nation had ever seen. His famous recruiting poster declaring “Your country needs you!” became one of the most familiar images of the war. Lewis could hardly have failed to feel this pressure to enlist.
While England lurched into a state of war for which it was not properly prepared, Lewis was settling in at Kirkpatrick’s house, “Gastons,” in Great Bookham. His relationship with Kirkpatrick would be of central importance, especially since his relationships with both his brother and father were by now somewhat strained and distant. Lewis travelled by steamer from Belfast to Liverpool, then by train to London. There he picked up a train from Waterloo Station to Great Bookham, where Kirkpatrick awaited him. As they walked together from the station to Kirkpatrick’s house, Lewis remarked casually, as a way of breaking the conversational ice, that the scenery in Surrey was somewhat wilder than he had anticipated.
Lewis had intended merely to begin a conversation; Kirkpatrick seized the opportunity to begin an aggressive, interactive discussion demonstrating the virtues of the Socratic method. Kirkpatrick demanded that he stop immediately. What did Lewis mean by “wildness,” and what grounds had he for not expecting it? Had he studied some maps of the area? Had he read some books about it? Had he seen photographs of the landscape? Lewis conceded he had done none of these things. His views were not based on anything. Kirkpatrick duly informed him that he had no right to have any opinion on this matter.
Some would have found this approach intimidating; others might think it to lack good manners or pastoral concern. Yet Lewis quickly realised that he was being forced to develop his critical thinking, based on evidence and reason rather than his personal intuitions. This approach was, he remarked, like “red beef and strong beer.” Lewis thrived on this diet of critical thinking.
Kirkpatrick was a remarkable man, and must be given credit for much of Lewis’s intellectual development, particularly in fostering a highly critical approach to ideas and sources. Kirkpatrick had a distinguished academic career at Queen’s College, Belfast, from which he graduated in July 1868 with First Class Honours in English, History, and Metaphysics. In his final year at Queen’s College, he had won the English Prize Essay under the nom de plume Tamerlaine. He was also awarded a Double Gold Medal by the Royal University of Ireland, the only student to gain this distinction that year. He applied unsuccessfully for the position of headmaster of Lurgan College when the college opened in 1873. There were twenty-two applications for the prestigious position. In the end, the school’s governors had to choose between Kirkpatrick and E. Vaughan Boulger of Dublin. They chose Boulger.
Undeterred, Kirkpatrick looked elsewhere for employment. He was seriously considered for the Chair of English at University College, Cork. His opportunity came, however, late in 1875, when Boulger was appointed to the Chair of Greek at University College, Cork. Kirkpatrick applied again for headmaster of Lurgan College, and was appointed to the position effective 1 January 1876. His ability to encourage and inspire his students became the substance of legend. Albert Lewis may have made many mistakes in arranging for his younger son’s education in England. But his biggest decision—based on his own judgement, rather than the flawed professional advice of Gabbitas & Thring—turned out to be his best.
Lewis’s highly condensed summary of his most significant tutors merits consideration: “Smewgy taught me Grammar and Rhetoric and Kirk taught me Dialectic.” For Lewis, he was gradually learning how to use words and develop arguments. Yet Kirkpatrick’s influence was not limited to Lewis’s dialectical skills. The old headmaster forced Lewis to learn languages, living and dead, by the simple expedient of making him use them. Two days after Lewis’s arrival, Kirkpatrick sat down with him and opened a copy of Homer’s Iliad in the original Greek. He read aloud the first twenty lines in a Belfast accent (which might have puzzled Homer), offered a translation, and invited Lewis to continue. Before long, Lewis was confident enough to read fluently in the original language. Kirkpatrick extended the approach, first to Latin, and then to living languages, including German and Italian.
To some, such educational methods will seem archaic, even ridiculous. For many students, they would have resulted in humiliating failure and loss of confidence. Lewis, however, saw them as a challenge, causing him to set his sights higher and raise his game. It was precisely the educational method that was best adapted to his abilities and his needs. In one of his most famous sermons, “The Weight of Glory” (1941), Lewis asks us to imagine a young boy who learned Greek in order to experience the joy of studying Sophocles. Lewis was that young boy, and Kirkpatrick was his teacher. In February 1917, Lewis wrote with great excitement to his father, telling him that he had been able to read the first two hundred lines of Dante’s Inferno in the original Italian “with much success.”
Yet there were other outcomes of Kirkpatrick’s rationalism that Lewis was less keen to share with his father. One of them was his increasing commitment to atheism. Lewis was clear that his atheism was “fully formed” before he went to Bookham; Kirkpatrick’s contribution was to provide him with additional arguments for his position. In December 1914, Lewis was confirmed at St. Mark’s, Dundela, the church where he had been baptised in January 1899. His relationship with his father was so poor that he felt unable to tell him that he did not wish to go through with the service, having ceased to believe in God. Lewis later used Kirkpatrick as the model for the character of MacPhee, who appears in That Hideous Strength—an articulate, intelligent, and highly opinionated Scots-Irishman, with distinctly skeptical views on matters of religious belief.
Was Lewis inclined to agree with Kirkpatrick on this matter? The only person to whom Lewis appears to have felt able to open his heart regarding his religious beliefs was Arthur Greeves, who had by now completely displaced Warnie as Lewis’s soul mate and confidant. In October 1916, Lewis provided Greeves with a full statement of his (lack of) religious beliefs. “I believe in no religion.” All religions, he wrote, are simply mythologies invented by human beings, usually in response to natural events or emotional needs. This, he declared, “is the recognised scientific account of the growth of religions.” Religion was irrelevant to questions of morality.
This letter stimulated an intense debate with Greeves, who was then both a committed and reflective Christian. They exchanged at least six letters on the topic in a period of less than a month, before declaring that their views were so far apart that there was little point in continuing the discussion. Lewis later recalled that he “bombarded [Greeves] with all the thin artillery of a seventeen year old rationalist”—but to little effect. For Lewis, there was simply no good reason to believe in God. No intelligent person would want to believe in “a bogey who is prepared to torture me for ever and ever.” The rational case for religion was, in Lewis’s view, totally bankrupt.
Yet Lewis found his imagination and reason pulling him in totally different directions. He continued to find himself experiencing deep feelings of desire, to which he had attached the name “Joy.” The most important of these took place early in March 1916, when he happened to pick up a copy of George MacDonald’s fantasy novel Phantastes. As he read, without realising it, Lewis was led across a frontier of the imagination. Everything was changed for him as a result of reading the book. He had discovered a “new quality,” a “bright shadow,” which seemed to him like a voice calling him from the ends of the earth. “That night my imagination was, in a certain sense, baptized.” A new dimension to his life began to emerge. “I had not the faintest notion what I had let myself in for by buying Phantastes.” It would be some time before Lewis made a connection between MacDonald’s Christianity and his works of imagination. Yet a seed had been planted, and it was only a matter of time before it began to germinate.
The Threat of Conscription
A somewhat darker shadow was falling on Lewis’s life, as it was on so many others. The ravages of the first year of war meant that the British army required more recruits—more than could be secured by voluntary enlistment. In May 1915, Lewis wrote to his father, outlining how he then saw his situation. He would just have to hope that the war would come to an end before he was eighteen, or that he would be able to volunteer before he was forcibly conscripted. As time passed, Lewis came to realise that he probably would be going to war. It was just a matter of time. The war showed no sign of an early victory, and Lewis’s eighteenth birthday was fast approaching.
On 27 January 1916, the Military Service Act came into force, ending voluntary enlistment. All men aged between eighteen and forty-one were deemed to have enlisted with effect from 2 March 1916, and would be called up as needed. However, the provisions of the Act did not apply to Ireland, and it included an important exemption: all men of this age who were “resident in Britain only for the purpose of their education” were exempt from its provisions. Yet Lewis was aware that this exemption might only be temporary. His correspondence suggests he came to the conclusion that his military service was inevitable.
Shortly after the March deadline, Lewis wrote to Greeves, borrowing Shakespeare’s imagery from the prologue to Henry V: “In November comes my 18th birthday, military age, and the ‘vasty fields’ of France, which I have no ambition to face.” In July, Lewis received a letter from Donald Hardman, who had shared a study with him at Malvern College. Hardman informed Lewis that he was to be conscripted at Christmas. What, he asked, was happening to Lewis? Lewis replied that he didn’t yet know. Yet in a letter to Kirkpatrick dated May 1916, Albert Lewis declared that Lewis had already made the decision to serve voluntarily—but wanted to try to get into Oxford first.
But events in Ireland opened up another possibility for Lewis. In April 1916, Ireland was convulsed with the news of the Easter Rising—an uprising in Dublin organised by the Military Council of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, aimed at ending British rule in Ireland and establishing an independent Irish Republic. The Easter Rising lasted from 24 to 30 April 1916. It was suppressed by the British army after seven days of fighting, and its leaders were court-martialled and executed. It was now clear that more troops would need to be sent to Ireland to maintain order. Might Lewis be sent to Ireland, rather than France, if he enlisted?
Meanwhile, Kirkpatrick had been pondering Lewis’s future. Taking his role as Lewis’s mentor very seriously, Kirkpatrick reflected on what he had discovered about his charge’s character and ability. He wrote to Albert Lewis expressing his view that Lewis had been born with a “literary temperament,” and showed a remarkable maturity in his literary judgements. He was clearly destined for a significant career. However, lacking any serious competency in science or mathematics, he might have difficulty in getting into Sandhurst. Kirkpatrick’s personal opinion was that Lewis should take up a legal career. Yet Lewis had no interest in following his father’s footsteps. He had set his sights on Oxford. He would try for a place at New College, Oxford University, to study classics.
Lewis’s Application to Oxford University
It is not clear why Lewis chose Oxford University in general, or New College in particular. Neither Kirkpatrick nor any of Lewis’s family had connections with either the university or the college. Lewis’s concerns about conscription had eased by this stage, and no longer preoccupied him as they once had. At Kirkpatrick’s suggestion, Lewis had consulted a solicitor about the complexities of the Military Service Act. The solicitor had advised him to write to the chief recruiting officer for the local area, based in Guildford. On 1 December, he wrote to his father to tell him that he was formally exempt from the Act, provided he register immediately. Lewis wasted no time in complying with this requirement.
On 4 December 1916, the matter of conscription having been resolved, Lewis travelled to Oxford to sit for the college entrance examinations. Confused by the directions he had been given, he took the wrong exit on leaving the railway station and ended up in the Oxford suburb of Botley. Only when he saw the open countryside ahead of him did he turn back and finally catch a glimpse of “the fabled cluster of spires and towers.” (The image of taking a wrong turn in life would remain with him.) He returned to the railway station and took a hansom cab to a guest house run by a Mrs. Etheridge at 1 Mansfield Road, just across the street from New College. There, he shared a sitting room with another hopeful candidate.
The next morning, it snowed. The entrance examinations took place in the Hall of Oriel College. Even during daylight hours, Oriel Hall was so cold that Lewis and his fellow candidates wrapped up in greatcoats and scarves, some even wearing gloves as they wrote their answers to the exam questions. Lewis had been so engrossed in his preparations that he had forgotten to tell his father exactly when they were taking place. He found time to write to him halfway through the exams, telling him of his delight in Oxford: it “has surpassed my wildest dreams: I never saw anything so beautiful, especially on these frosty moonlight nights.” After completing the examinations, Lewis returned to Belfast on 11 December, telling his father that he believed he had failed to gain a place.
He was right—but only partially so. He had failed to gain a place at New College. But his examination papers had impressed the dons at another college. Two days later, Lewis received a letter from Reginald Macan (1848–1941), the master of University College, informing him that, since New College had decided not to offer him a place, he had been elected to a scholarship at University College instead. Would he get in touch to confirm the arrangements? Lewis’s joy knew no bounds.
Yet there was a cloud in the sky. Shortly afterwards, Macan wrote again to Lewis, making it clear that the changing situation concerning conscription would now make it a “moral impossibility” for any fit man over the age of eighteen to pursue studies at Oxford. Everyone in that category was now expected to enlist in the forces. Albert Lewis was anxious. If his younger son did not voluntarily enlist, he might be conscripted—and that would mean becoming a private soldier, rather than being an officer. What should they do?
In January 1917, Lewis returned to Oxford to discuss the situation further with Macan. Afterwards, he wrote to his father. A solution to their difficulty seemed to have been found. Lewis’s best chance of securing an officer’s commission in the British army was to join the Oxford University Officers’ Training Corps and apply for a commission on the basis of this training. Officers’ Training Corps had been established at Oxford and other leading British universities in 1908 as a means of providing “a standardized degree of elementary military training with a view to providing candidates for commissions” in the British army. By joining the Officers’ Training Corps immediately on his arrival at Oxford, Lewis would be fast-tracked towards an officer’s commission.
Yet only members of Oxford University could join the university’s Officers’ Training Corps. The admission process to Oxford University at this time involved two stages. First, a candidate had to secure a place at one of Oxford’s colleges. Lewis, having failed to gain a position at New College, had been awarded a scholarship to University College. This element of the process was thus completed. Yet admission to an Oxford college did not automatically mean acceptance by Oxford University. In order to ensure uniformly high standards across the colleges, the university authorities required new students to pass an additional examination—known as “Responsions”—in order to ensure they met its fundamental requirements. Unfortunately for Lewis, Responsions included a paper in basic mathematics—a subject in which he had virtually no talent.
Once more, Albert Lewis decided to draw on Kirkpatrick’s experience. If Kirkpatrick could help Lewis learn ancient Greek, surely he could teach him elementary mathematics. So Lewis returned to Great Bookham to complete his education. On 20 March, Lewis went back to Oxford to sit for this additional examination in the expectation that his military career would begin shortly afterwards. He then received a letter from University College informing him he could begin his studies on 26 April. The door to Oxford had been opened. But only partially.
Before Lewis would be able to complete his studies at Oxford, he would first have to go to war.
CHAPTER 3
The Vasty Fields of France: War
The French emperor Napoleon Bonaparte (1769–1821) once quipped that the best way of making sense of people is to find out what was happening in the world when they were twenty years old. A few weeks before 29 November 1918—the day that Lewis turned twenty—the Great War finally came to an end. Many felt guilty for surviving while their comrades had fallen. Those who served in trench warfare were permanently marked by the violence, destruction, and horrors they had experienced. Lewis’s twentieth year was shaped by his firsthand experience of armed conflict. He arrived in the trenches near Arras in northwestern France on his nineteenth birthday, and on his twentieth was still recuperating from the war wounds he had suffered.
The Curious Case of the Unimportant War
If Napoleon was right, Lewis’s world of thought and experience would have been irreparably and irreversibly shaped by war, trauma, and loss. We might therefore expect Lewis’s inner being to be deeply moulded by the impact of conflict and close brushes with death. Yet Lewis himself tells us otherwise. His experience of war was, he informs us, “in a way unimportant.” He seemed to view his experience at English boarding schools as much more unpleasant than the time he spent in the trenches of France.
While Lewis served on the battlefields of France in 1917 and 1918, experiencing the horrors of modern warfare, Surprised by Joy makes only scant reference to it. Lewis clearly believed that his woes during his year at Malvern College were of greater importance than his entire wartime experience—and, even then, seems to prefer to concentrate his narrative on the books he read and people he met. The unspeakable suffering and devastation around him had been filtered out. It had, Lewis tells us, been more than adequately written about by other people; he had nothing to add to it. His voluminous later writings make little mention of the war.
Some readers will feel there is a certain sense of imbalance and disproportion here. Why did Lewis spend three chapters of Surprised by Joy detailing his relatively minor woes at Malvern College and pay so little attention to the vastly more significant violence, trauma, and horror of the Great War? This sense of imbalance is only reinforced by a reading of Lewis’s works as a whole, in which the Great War is largely passed over—or, when mentioned, is treated as something that happened to someone else. It is as if Lewis was seeking to distance or dissociate himself from his memories of conflict. Why?
The simplest explanation is also the most plausible: Lewis could not bear to remember the trauma of his wartime experiences, whose irrationality called into question whether there was any meaning in the universe at large or in Lewis’s personal existence in particular. The literature concerning the Great War and its aftermath emphasises the physical and psychological damage it wreaked on soldiers at the time, and on their return home. Many students returning to study at Oxford University after the war experienced considerable difficulty adjusting to normal life, leading to frequent nervous breakdowns. Lewis appears to have “partitioned” or “compartmentalised” his life as a means of retaining his sanity. The potentially devastating memories of his traumatic experiences were carefully controlled so that they had a minimal impact on other areas of his life. Literature—above all, poetry—was Lewis’s firewall, keeping the chaotic and meaningless external world at a safe distance, and shielding him from the existential devastation it wreaked on others.
We can see this process in Surprised by Joy, where we find Lewis distancing himself from the prospect of war. His thoughts about the future possibility of the horrors of conflict seem to mirror his later attitudes towards the past actuality.
I put the war on one side to a degree which some people will think shameful and some incredible. Others will call it a flight from reality. I maintain that it was rather a treaty with reality, the fixing of a frontier.
Lewis was prepared to allow his country to have his body—but not his mind. A border was fixed and patrolled in his mental world, which certain intrusive and disturbing thoughts were not permitted to cross. Lewis would not run away from reality. Instead, he would negotiate a “treaty” by which reality could be tamed, adapted, and constrained. It would be a “frontier” that certain thoughts would not be allowed to penetrate.
This “treaty with reality” would play a critical role in Lewis’s development, and we shall have cause to consider it further in later chapters. Lewis’s mental map of reality had difficulty accommodating the trauma of the Great War. Like so many, he found the settled way of looking at the world, taken for granted by many in the Edwardian age, to have been shattered by the most brutal and devastating war yet known. Lewis’s immediate postwar years were dominated by a search for meaning—not simply in terms of finding personal fulfilment and stability, but in terms of making sense of both his inner and outer worlds in a way that satisified his restless and probing mind.
Arrival at Oxford: April 1917
To make sense of Lewis’s attitude towards the Great War, we must first explore how he went into battle. Having spent the first few months of 1917 at Great Bookham, trying (somewhat unsuccessfully, as it turned out) to master mathematics, Lewis went up to University College, Oxford, on 29 April. For the first time since the English Civil War, when Charles I had made his military headquarters in the city in 1643, Oxford had become a military camp. The University Parks were turned into a parade ground and training area for new recruits. Many of the younger dons and college servants had gone to war. Lectures, if given at all, were sparsely attended. The Oxford University Gazette, normally given over to announcements of lectures and University appointments, published depressingly long lists of the fallen. These black-bordered lists spoke ominously of the carnage of the conflict.
Having virtually no students by 1917, Oxford’s colleges had to find ways of coping with a drastic reduction in their income. University College, normally bustling, had only a handful of students in residence. In 1914, the college boasted 148 undergraduates in residence; this plummeted to seven in 1917. A rare group photograph of college members taken in Trinity Term 1917 shows only ten people. Under the emergency statutes introduced in May 1915, University College relieved seven of its nine tutorial fellows of their duties; there was little for them to do.
Faced with a collapse in student numbers, University College needed funds urgently. Its internal sources of income slumped from £8,755 in 1913 to £925 in 1918. Like many other colleges, it came to depend on the War Office as a source of income. University College rented out college rooms and facilities for use as troop barracks and military hospitals. Other colleges provided accommodation for refugees from war-torn Europe, especially Belgium and Serbia.
At this stage, much of University College was given over to use as a military hospital. Lewis was allocated room 5 on staircase XII in Radcliffe Quad. While Lewis may have been physically present in an Oxford college, he cannot really be said to have begun his Oxford education at this time. There was hardly anyone available to tutor him, and few lectures were being given anywhere in the university. Lewis’s early impressions of the college were dominated by its “vast solitude.” One evening in July 1917, he wandered through silent staircases and empty passages, marvelling at its “strange poetry.”
Lewis’s main object in coming into residence in the summer term of 1917 was to join the Oxford University Officers’ Training Corps. He submitted his application on 25 April, before arriving in Oxford. His application was accepted without difficulty five days later, this positive response partly reflecting the fact that Lewis had already served in the Combined Cadet Force at Malvern School. The college dean refused to arrange any academic tuition for him, on the grounds that his courses with the Oxford University Officers’ Training Corps would take up all his time. Undeterred, Lewis made a private arrangement to be taught algebra under John Edward Campbell (1862–1924) of Hertford College, who refused to accept any fee for his services.
Why this sudden concern to become proficient at mathematics, not normally seen as relevant to the study of the life and thought of the classical world? The answer lies partly in Lewis’s desire to pass Responsions, but mainly in Albert Lewis’s essentially correct perception that his son would stand a much better chance of surviving the war if he were to become an artillery officer. Much better to be bombarding the Germans from well behind the front lines than to engage in the lethal trench warfare that had already claimed so many lives. However, the Royal Artillery required a knowledge of mathematics on the part of its officers, especially trigonometry, that Lewis simply did not have at this stage. It soon became painfully clear to Lewis that he would never master this field. He gloomily informed his father that his “chances of getting into the gunners” were low, as they recruited only officers “who can be shown to have some special knowledge of mathematics.”
Lewis’s brief time at University College made a deep impression on him. He shared some of his feelings and experiences with Arthur Greeves, and rather fewer of them with his father and brother. He wrote to Greeves about the delights of bathing “without the tiresome convention of bathing things,” and the wonderfully atmospheric library of the Oxford Union Society. “I never was happier in my life.” He seems to have invented other experiences for his father’s benefit, being particularly anxious to conceal his increasingly trenchant atheism. He wrote to Albert Lewis about church and churches, but did not actually attend them.
Lewis was left in no doubt that he was being trained for trench warfare. His letters to his father towards the end of his time with the Officers’ Training Corps deal with the preparations for war in France, including his description of model trenches, complete with “dug outs, shell holes and—graves.” After appraising Lewis’s record, Lieutenant G. H. Claypole, the adjutant of the Oxford University Officers’ Training Corps, reported that Lewis was “likely to make a useful officer, but will not have had sufficient training for admission to an O[fficer] T[raining] U[unit] before the end of June. INFANTRY.” Lewis’s fate was sealed. He would be sent to an infantry unit—almost certainly to fight in the trenches of France.
The Officer Cadet at Keble College
The Great War ruined lives and shattered dreams, forcing many to abandon their hopes for the future in order to serve their country. Lewis is a classic example of the reluctant soldier—a young man with literary and scholarly ideals and ambitions, who found his life redirected and reshaped by forces over which he had no control, and which he ultimately could not resist. University College saw 770 students serve in the Great War; 175 of these were killed in battle. Even in his short time at University College in the summer of 1917, Lewis would have been aware of how many of the College’s undergraduates had gone to war, never to return. The fate of so many is captured in the sombre lines of the 1916 poem “The Spires of Oxford,” by Winifred Mary Letts (1882–1972):
I saw the spires of Oxford
As I was passing by,
The grey spires of Oxford
Against a pearl-grey sky;
My heart was with the Oxford men
Who went abroad to die.
Lewis would train alongside other young men of ideals and ambition, many seeing their enforced wartime service as “doing their bit” for their country, hoping to pick up their lives and start all over again once the war was over. Space allows us to note only one such example—the adjutant of the Oxford University Officers’ Training Corps, who fatefully recommended that Lewis serve in the infantry.
Gerald Henry Claypole (1894–1961) served as lieutenant in the 5th King’s Royal Rifle Corps. He resigned his commission on 8 February 1919 due to ill health. Jerry Claypole had a love of English literature, which eventually led him to become Senior English Master at King Edward VII School in Sheffield in 1941. He retired in 1958, and died in January 1961. His obituary in the school magazine commented on his strong belief “that literature was to be experienced and enjoyed, not to be made the subject of theorising and argument”—precisely the views that Lewis himself would later develop and champion. It is highly likely that Claypole would have read some of Lewis’s writings, not least his introduction to Paradise Lost. Would Claypole have realised that he had played such a significant role in the subsequent twistings and turnings of Lewis’s life? We shall never know.
What we do know is that on 7 May 1917, Lewis began training as a potential infantry officer in the British army. He was now irreversibly committed to active military service. By a welcome quirk of fate, this did not mean leaving Oxford and transferring to one of the many training camps then scattered throughout Britain. Lewis was transferred from the Oxford University Officers’ Training Corps and posted to E Company, No. 4 Officer Cadet Battalion, stationed at Keble College, Oxford.
A “School of Instruction” for Oxford students who were potential officers was established in January 1915. Some three thousand officer cadets passed through the school. In February 1916, with the needs of the war effort in mind, the British army altered its regulations concerning officer cadets. Potential officers would have to be trained at an Officer Cadet Battalion. Only those aged over eighteen years and six months, and who were already serving in the ranks or had attended an Officers’ Training Corps, were eligible to apply. Even though Lewis had been a member of the Officers’ Training Corps for only a few weeks, this was enough to allow him to train as a future officer at one of the Officer Cadet Battalions.
Two such units were based at Oxford: No. 4 Officer Cadet Battalion and No. 6 Officer Cadet Battalion. Each of these maintained a nominal strength of 750, and were billeted in otherwise empty Oxford colleges. No. 4 Officer Cadet Battalion consisted of five companies of cadets, from A through E. Lewis was assigned to E Company, and billeted in Keble College. Lewis was relieved to remain in Oxford. Having to live at Keble College was, however, another matter.
Keble was one of Oxford’s more recent collegiate foundations, with a grim reputation for its High Church Anglicanism and its somewhat Spartan living conditions. In founding Keble College in 1870, its sponsors had aimed to create an institution where an Oxford education could be made available for “gentlemen wishing to live economically.” As a result, living conditions in the college were frugal and austere at the best of times. The additional privations caused by the war meant that the college offered only the most basic of comforts to its unfortunate occupants.
Lewis had to leave a rather comfortable set of rooms at University College for “a carpetless little cell with two beds (minus sheets or pillows) at Keble.” Lewis shared this miserable room with Edward Francis Courtenay (“Paddy”) Moore, an officer cadet of almost exactly his own age, who had also been assigned to E Company of No. 4 Officer Cadet Battalion, joining the same day as Lewis himself: 7 May 1917. The majority of cadets who passed through Oxford on this course were not members of Oxford University. Some came from Cambridge; others—such as Moore—had little or no background in higher education. Although Moore had come to Oxford from Bristol, he had been born in Kingstown (now Dún Laoghaire), County Dublin. We see here an early example of Lewis’s tendency to become close to people of Irish extraction—such as Theobold Butler and Nevill Coghill—while in England.
Along with Moore, Lewis formed friendships with four other young men in E Company: Thomas Kerrison Dawey, Denis Howard de Pass, Martin Ashworth Somerville, and Alexander Gordon Sutton. Lewis could not have known it, but eighteen months later he would mourn his colleagues. “I remember five of us at Keble, and I am the only survivor.”
From his correspondence of this period, it seems that Lewis was initially drawn to Somerville, rather than to his roommate, Moore. Somerville, he tells his father in a letter written a few days after joining the battalion, is his “chief friend,” who, though quiet, is “very booky and interesting”; Moore, however, was a “little too childish for real companionship.” Yet Lewis had little time for reading now; days of trench digging and forced marches put an end to that. Only his weekends were free; these he spent back in his rooms at University College, catching up on his correspondence.
Yet as time passed, Lewis seems to have formed an increasingly close friendship with Moore. Lewis and his small group of friends went frequently to the nearby lodgings of Paddy’s mother, Mrs. Jane King Moore. Mrs. Moore, originally from County Louth in Ireland, had separated from her husband, a civil engineer in Dublin, and had temporarily moved to Oxford from Bristol with her twelve-year-old daughter, Maureen, to be close to Paddy. At that time, she had taken rooms in Wellington Square, not far from Keble College. When Lewis first met Mrs. Moore, she was forty-five years old—almost exactly the same age as Lewis’s mother, Flora, when she had died in 1908.
It is clear from correspondence that Lewis and Mrs. Moore found each other attractive and engaging. Lewis first mentioned this “Irish lady” in a letter to his father of 18 June. Mrs. Moore later wrote to Albert Lewis in October of that year, remarking that his son, who was her son’s roommate, was “very charming and most likeable and won golden opinions from everyone he met.”
The wartime Battalion Orders for No. 4 Officer Cadet Battalion, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel J. G. Stenning, have survived in the form of a yellowing set of duplicated foolscap sheets. These documents, covering the years 1916–1918, are clearly incomplete and do not give a full picture of the identity or activities of this training unit. Not all of the officer cadets are mentioned specifically by name, and some names are incorrectly entered. For example, Paddy Moore was initially registered as “E. M. C. Moore”—an error corrected a week later to “E. F. C. Moore.” Nevertheless, despite their incompleteness and errors, these records give us a good picture of the training Lewis would have received—courses in the use of the “Lewis gun” (as the Lewis Automatic Machine Gun was popularly known) and how to survive a gas attack, compulsory church parades on Sunday, rules about discussing military matters with civilians, arrangements for intercollegiate cricket matches, and physical trai | |||||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 1 | https://www.cslewis.org/resource/chronocsl/ | en | The Life of C.S. Lewis Timeline | [
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Clive Staples Lewis was born on November 29 in Belfast, Ireland (Northern Ireland today), to Albert J. Lewis (1863-1929) and Florence Augusta Hamilton Lewis (1862-1908). His brother Warren Hamilton Lewis had been born on June 16, 1895.
1905
The Lewis family moved to their new home, “Little Lea,” on the outskirts of Belfast.
1908
Flora Hamilton Lewis died of cancer on August 23, Albert Lewis’ (her husband’s) birthday. During this year Albert Lewis’ father and brother also died. In September Lewis was enrolled at Wynyard School, Watford, Hertfordshire referred to by C.S. Lewis as “Oldie’s School” or “Belsen”. His brother, Warren, had been enrolled there in May 1905.
1910
Lewis left “Belsen” in June and, in September, was enrolled as a boarding student at Campbell College, Belfast, one mile from “Little Lea,” where he remained until November, when he was withdrawn upon developing serious respiratory difficulties.
1911
Lewis was sent to Malvern, England, which was famous as a health resort, especially for those with lung problems. Lewis was enrolled as a student at Cherbourg House (which he referred to as “Chartres”), a prep school close by Malvern College where Warnie was enrolled as a student. Jack remained there until June 1913. It was during this time that he abandoned his childhood Christian faith. He entered Malvern College itself (which he dubbed “Wyvern”) in September 1913 and stayed until the following June.
1914
In April, Lewis met Arthur Greeves (1895-1966), of whom he said, in 1933, “After my brother, my oldest and most intimate friend.” On September 19, Lewis commenced private study with W.T. Kirkpatrick, “The Great Knock,” in Great Bookham Surrey, with whom he was to remain until April 1917. William T. Kirkpatrick (1848-1921) was former Headmaster of Lurgan College, County Armagh, Northern Ireland, from 1874-99. Albert Lewis had attended Lurgan from 1877-79 and later was Kirkpatrick’s solicitor. After Kilpatrick retired from Lurgan in 1899, he began taking private students and had already successfully prepared Lewis’ brother, Warnie, for admission to the Royal Military College at Sandhurst.
1916
In February, Lewis first read George MacDonald’s, Phantastes, which powerfully “baptized his imagination” and impressed him with a deep sense of the holy. He made his first trip to Oxford in December to take a scholarship examination.
1917
From April 26 until September, Lewis was a student at University College, Oxford. Three years after the outbreak of WWI in Britain, he enlisted in the British army and was billeted in Keble College, Oxford, for officer’s training. His roommate was Edward Courtnay Francis “Paddy” Moore (1898-1918). Jack was commissioned an officer in the 3rd Battalion, Somerset Light Infantry, on September 25 and reached the front line in the Somme Valley in France on his 19th birthday.
1918
On April 15 Lewis was wounded on Mount Berenchon during the Battle of Arras. He recuperated and was returned to duty in October, being assigned to Ludgerhall, Andover, England. He was discharged in December 1919. His former roommate and friend, Paddy Moore, was killed in battle and buried in the field just south of Peronne, France.
1919
The February issue of Reveille contained “Death in Battle,” Lewis’ first publication in other than school magazines. The issue had poems by Robert Bridges, Siegfried Sassoon, Robert Graves, and Hilaire Belloc. From January 1919 until June 1924, he resumed his studies at University College, Oxford, where he received a First in Honour Moderations (Greek and Latin Literature) in 1920, a First in Greats (Philosophy and Ancient History) in 1922, and a First in English in 1923. His tutors during this time included A.B. Poynton for Honour Mods, E.F. Carritt for Philosophy, F.P. Wilson and George Gordon in the English School, and E.E. Wardale for Old English.
1920
During the summer, Paddy Moore’s mother, Mrs. Janie King Moore (1873-1951) and her daughter, Maureen, moved to Oxford, renting a house in Headington Quarry. Lewis lived with the Moores from June 1921 onward. In August 1930, they moved to “Hillsboro,” Western Road, Headington. In October 1930, Mrs. Moore, Jack, and Major Lewis purchased “The Kilns” jointly, with title to the property being taken solely in the name of Mrs. Moore with the two brothers holding rights of life tenancy. Major Lewis retired from the military and joined them at “The Kilns” in 1932.
1921
W.T. Kirkpatrick died in March. Lewis’ essay “Optimism” won the Chancellor’s English Essay Prize in May. (No copy of “Optimism” has been found as of this date.)
1924
From October 1924 until May 1925, Lewis served as philosophy tutor at University College during E.F. Carritt’s absence on study leave for the year in America.
1925
On May 20, Lewis was elected a Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, where he served as tutor in English Language and Literature for 29 years until leaving for Magdalene College, Cambridge, in 1954.
1929
Lewis became a theist: “In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed….” Albert Lewis died on September 24.
1931
Lewis became a Christian: One evening in September, Lewis had a long talk on Christianity with J.R.R. Tolkien (a devout Roman Catholic) and Hugo Dyson. (The summary of that discussion is recounted for Arthur Greeves in They Stand Together.) That evening’s discussion was important in bringing about the following day’s event that Lewis recorded in Surprised by Joy: “When we [Warnie and Jack] set out [by motorcycle to the Whipsnade Zoo] I did not believe that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did.”
1933
The fall term marked the beginning of Lewis’ convening of a circle of friends dubbed “The Inklings.” For the next 16 years, on through 1949, they continued to meet in Jack’s rooms at Magdalen College on Thursday evenings and, just before lunch on Mondays or Fridays, in a back room at “The Eagle and Child,” a pub known to locals as “The Bird and Baby.” Members included J.R.R. Tolkien, Warnie, Hugo Dyson, Charles Williams, Dr. Robert Havard, Owen Barfield, Weville Coghill and others. (See Humphry Carpenters The Inklings for a full account of this special group.)
1935
At the suggestion of Prof. F.P. Wilson, Lewis agreed to write the volume on 16th Century English Literature for the Oxford History of English Literature series. Published in 1954, it became a classic.
1937
Lewis received the Gollancz Memorial Prize for Literature in recognition of The Allegory of Love (a study in medieval tradition).
1939
At the outbreak of World War II in September, Charles Williams moved from London to Oxford with the Oxford University Press to escape the threat of German bombardment. He was thereafter a regular member of “The Inklings.”
1941
From May 2 until November 28, The Guardian published 31 “Screwtape Letters” in weekly installments. Lewis was paid 2 pounds sterling for each letter and gave the money to charity. In August, he gave four live radio talks over the BBC on Wednesday evenings from 7:45 to 8:00. An additional 15-minute session, answering questions received in the mail, was broadcast on September 6. These talks were known as “Right and Wrong.”
1942
The first meeting of the “Socratic Club” was held in Oxford on January 26. In January and February, Lewis gave five live radio talks on Sunday evenings from 4:45 to 5:00, on the subject “What Christians Believe.” On eight consecutive Sundays, from September 20 to November 8 at 2:50 to 3:05 p.m., Lewis gave a series of live radio talks known as “Christian Behavior.”
1943
In February, at the University of Durham, Lewis delivered the Riddell Memorial Lectures (Fifteenth Series), a series of three lectures subsequently published as The Abolition of Man.
1944
On seven consecutive Tuesdays, from February 22 to April 4 at 10:15 to 10:30 p.m., Lewis gave the pre-recorded talks known as “Beyond Personality.” Taken together, all of Lewis’ BBC radio broadcast talks were eventually published under the title Mere Christianity. From November 10, 1944 to April 14, 1945, The Great Divorce was published in weekly installments in The Guardian. (The Guardian was a religious newspaper that ceased publication in 1951; it had no connection with the Manchester Guardian.)
1945
Charles Williams, one of Lewis’ very closest of friends, died on May 15.
1946
Lewis awarded honorary Doctor of Divinity by the University of St. Andrews.
1948
On February 2, Elizabeth Anscombe, later Professor of Philosophy at Cambridge, read her “Reply to Mr. C.S. Lewis’ Argument that ‘Naturalism is Self-refuting'” to the Socratic Club; Anscombe’s argument caused Lewis to revise Chapter 3 of Miracles when it was reprinted by Fontana in 1960. Later in the year, Lewis was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.
1950
The first book in the Chronicles of Narnia series, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, is released. The series became extremely popular and Wardrobe is one of Lewis’s most enduring and beloved books.
1951
Mrs. Moore died on January 12. Since the previous April, she had been confined to a nursing home in Oxford. She is buried in the yard of Holy Trinity Church in Headington Quarry, Oxford. Lewis lost the election for the position of Professor of Poetry at Oxford to C. Day Lewis. In December, he declined election to the Order of the British Empire.
1952
Lewis was awarded the honorary degree of Doctor of Letters by Laval University, Quebec. In September, he met Joy Davidman Gresham, seventeen years his junior (b. April 18, 1915 – d. July 13, 1960), for the first time.
1954
In June, Lewis accepted the Chair of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge. He gave his Inaugural Lecture, “De Description Temporum,” on his 56th birthday and gave his last tutorial at Oxford on December 3. His review of Tolkien’s Fellowship of the Ring appeared in Time and Tide in August.
1955
Lewis assumed his duties at Cambridge in January. During his years at Cambridge, he lived at Magdalene College, Cambridge, during the week in term and at The Kilns in Oxford on weekends and during vacations. Lewis was elected an Honorary Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, and was also elected a Fellow of the British Academy.
1956
Lewis received the Carnegie Medal in recognition of The Last Battle. On April 23, he entered into a civil marriage with Joy Davidman at the Oxford Registry Office for the purpose of conferring upon her the status of British citizenship in order to prevent her threatened deportation by British migration authorities. In December, a bedside marriage was performed in accordance with the rites of the Church of England in Wingfield Hospital. Joy’s death was thought to be imminent.
1958
Throughout 1957, Joy had experienced an extraordinary recovery from her near terminal bout with cancer. In July of 1958, Jack and Joy went to Ireland for a 10-day holiday. On August 19 and 20, he made tapes of ten talks on The Four Loves in London. Lewis was elected an Honorary Fellow of University College, Oxford.
1959
Lewis was awarded the honorary degree of Doctor of Literature by the University of Manchester.
1960
Subsequent to learning of the return of Joy’s cancer, Jack and Joy, together with Roger Lancelyn Green and his wife, Joy, went to Greece from April 3 to April 14, visiting Athens, Mycenae, Rhodes, Herakleon, and Knossos. There was a one-day stop in Pisa on the return. Joy died on July 13 at the age of 45, not long after their return from Greece.
1963
Lewis died at 5:30 p.m. at The Kilns, one week before his 65th birthday on Friday, November 22; the same day on which President Kennedy was assassinated and Aldous Huxley died. He had resigned his position at Cambridge during the summer and was then elected an Honorary Fellow of Magdalene College, Cambridge. His grave is in the yard of Holy Trinity Church in Headington Quarry, Oxford. Warren Lewis died on Monday, April 9, 1973. Their names are on a single stone bearing the inscription “Men must endure their going hence.” Warnie had written, “…there was a Shakespearean calendar hanging on the wall of the room where she [our mother] died, and my father preserved for the rest of his life the leaf for that day, with its quotation: ‘Men must endure their going hence’.” –W.H. Lewis, “Memoir,” in Letters of C.S. Lewis. | |||||
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] | null | [] | 2016-08-31T00:00:00 | Having thoroughly enjoyed my tour of the Bodleian, I booked a taxi to take me to Headington, the Oxford suburb where Lewis lived and died, where I'd booked a tour of his home, The Kilns. I asked to be collected from 'The Bodleian', then after hanging up, realised my folly. The Bodleian consists of… | en | https://s1.wp.com/i/favicon.ico | Citizen of Anvard | https://anvard.wordpress.com/2016/08/31/visiting-c-s-lewis-oxford-the-c-s-lewis-nature-reserve-and-the-kilns/ | Having thoroughly enjoyed my tour of the Bodleian, I booked a taxi to take me to Headington, the Oxford suburb where Lewis lived and died, where I’d booked a tour of his home, The Kilns. I asked to be collected from ‘The Bodleian’, then after hanging up, realised my folly. The Bodleian consists of 30 different buildings situated across the city. The staff and I wondered where it might appear. (Answer: opposite Blackwell’s.) I was duly driven to the C. S. Lewis nature reserve. When I gave him the address, the taxi driver upbraided me for having said that I was going to Headington. Apparently the reserve is considered to be in Risinghurst, not Headington. Shame on me for not knowing the difference between two adjoining areas in a city nearly 300 miles south of my home!
The journey took around 15 minutes, then the unsmiling driver deposited me at the entrance to Lewis Close. Yes, it’s in Risinghurst. Sorry. Excited about being so close to Lewis’ home, I walked along the street to the end, where the Kilns is situated. Having seen it in photos online, I recognised the house instantly. The sun was shining and the floral border outside the Kilns’ hedge looked glorious. I had about half an hour before I was due for my guided tour, so I continued past the house and along a narrow path, into the C. S. Lewis Nature Reserve.The reserve in modest in size at 2.5 hectares, so it was easy to negotiate the pathways which run through it. The reserve used to belong to Lewis, as part of the grounds of The Kilns. He and Warnie planted some of the trees there, and used to swim in the pond. It’s a little oasis of calm and green surrounded by housing, with the many colours of the trees reflected beautifully in the large pond (the old kiln’s clay pit). I followed the path through the trees, passing one or two other visitors on my way. After a short walk, I stopped at one of the benches provided and pulled out my packed lunch. Sitting in the quiet of this little woodland, I thought about how this was one of the hundreds of ideas, places, memories and stories which fed Lewis’ imagination when he set about writing the Chronicles. I wondered how Paxton, Lewis’ gardener and the inspiration for Puddleglum, managed such a large area. Finishing my lunch, I made my way back to Lewis Close.
I arrived at the Kilns in good time and frantically snapped away, taking pictures of the plue plaque, the garden and the well kept, inviting house, much to the amusement of a German couple sitting in the garden. The garden inside the hedge was much simpler than the borders outside, with a small lawn reached through a flower-covered arch. I took a seat, staring at the house. It was so strange to be somewhere I’d pictured and imagined for so long.
Gradually, the garden filled up, mostly with Americans. A smartly dressed man of indeterminate age and background appeared. He gave us a potted history of Lewis’ life. I listened attentively, and even braved answering a question about Lewis’ nickname. I was interested to note, but not at all surprised, that the uncertainty surrounding the nature Lewis’ relationship with Mrs Moore was not referred to. Entering the house, I was struck simultaneously by its homeliness (normally when you tour a house it is partly because it is grand) and its significance to anyone who loves Lewis’ books. So many ideas have poured out of this place, into so many people’s lives. We were shown into the living room, where a desk looks out into the garden. There was a feeling of familiarity, mixed with excitement. The house has been restored to look as it did in Lewis’ time, a style familiar to anyone growing up in Britain in the latter part of the 20th Century.
Next was the dining room, then the kitchen. In the hallway stood a large mirrored wardrobe. (I see what they did there!) Climbing the narrow stairs, we looked into Lewis’ old bedroom, with single bed, desk and fireplace. The tour was very interesting, and I enjoyed hearing anecdotes which were new to me, such as a story about Joy (Lewis’ wife) and her proficiency with a rifle.
Returning downstairs, we visited Warnie’s room (where I think the photographer Jonathan Kirkpatrick was in residence), Joy’s room and the room in which Lewis died. I felt a little odd at this point, as if I were invading someone’s privacy. What on earth Jack would have made of people touring his old bedroom I have no idea. The tour was much more personal than, say, the Bodleian tour. As the tour finished, I made an idiot of myself. Thinking it cost £8, I handed over a £10 note, and told the guide to put the change in the upkeep fund. The tour costs £10. Exit, stage left.
I know that The Kilns was of huge importance to Lewis, and I was really excited to be where so many of my favourite books were written. However, I think that the colleges and gardens I’d visited previously possibly gave me more clues about his inspiration and ideas than this peek into his domestic life did. Maybe the best way of all to find out more about Lewis is to read his books.
Further information:
http://www.bbowt.org.uk/reserves/cs-lewis-nature-reserve | ||||
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A scholar and author, Clive Staples Lewis left his mark on the realms of literary criticism, Christian apologetics, and fantasy stories. While children know him best for the seven Chronicles of Narnia, his religious writings such as Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters remain popular today, and his work on Milton, A Preface to Paradise Lost, is considered a standard critical work.
Born in Belfast, in the north of Ireland, Lewis was educated and lived most of his life in England. He served and was wounded in the trenches of World War I France, after which he completed his studies at Oxford University. In 1925, he was elected to a Fellowship in English Language and Literature at Magdalen College, Oxford, where he taught for thirty years. Beginning in the 1930s, Lewis and some friends often gathered informally to discuss their writings and other topics. This group known as "The Inklings" continued meeting regularly until the 1950s, and included such members as J.R.R. Tolkien, Owen Barfield, and Charles Williams. Lewis's popular success began in the 1940s with his BBC radio broadcasts (which later were compiled in written format as Mere Christianity) and publication of The Screwtape Letters. His autobiography, Surprised by Joy, is an engaging description of his journey to faith. In 1955, Lewis left Oxford for Magdalene College, Cambridge, where he was appointed Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Literature, a position he held for the rest of his life. It was also during the 1950s, that Lewis met and married Joy Davidman Gresham, an American writer, whose influence can be seen in Lewis's novel, Till We Have Faces as well as his study on the nature of love, The Four Loves. Joy's battle with cancer and her subsequent death were the subject of two different films both titled, Shadowlands. Lewis's own struggle with her loss is movingly captured in his book, A Grief Observed. After Joy's death in 1960, Lewis's health gradually declined. He died after an illness of several months in his home outside Oxford, on November 22, 1963, the same day President Kennedy was assassinated. Lewis was just a few days short of his 65th birthday.
Raised in a Christian home, Lewis abandoned his faith as a young man, but returned to God as an adult, acknowledging the deity of Christ after a long conversation with several of the Inklings on the nature of myth and truth. "I have just passed on from believing in God to definitely believing in Christ…" he wrote to a friend. "My long night talk with [Hugo] Dyson and Tolkien had a great deal to do with it." A member of the Anglican Church, Lewis's devout and vigorously reasoned faith is the subject of many of his works, and his impact on Christian thought during his life and after has been of tremendous significance. | ||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 53 | https://www.experienceoxfordshire.org/product/cs-lewis-jrr-tolkien-walking-tour-oxford/ | en | C.S. Lewis & J.R.R. Tolkien Tour – Experience Oxfordshire | [
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] | null | [] | 2017-03-07T21:11:15+00:00 | For all fans of the most well-known writers in the Oxford literary group known as The Inklings, this is the specialist walking tour to take! | en | Experience Oxfordshire | https://www.experienceoxfordshire.org/product/cs-lewis-jrr-tolkien-walking-tour-oxford/ | Description
From earnest discussions of fantasy worlds in the Eagle and Child pub, to the first inspiration of Narnia in St Mary’s Passage, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien’s masterpieces are interwound with Oxford and its university.
Having both studied and taught at Oxford University, the first seeds of their most well-known and beloved works began here. Follow in the authors’ footsteps around their favourite Oxford haunts and hear the stories of their time at the university.
Operating on selected Saturdays, this tour is perfect for those literarily inclined, fans of The Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, and who want to learn more about these two greats of The Inklings Society, and see where they lived and learned.
Book this as a private tour
For details on how to book this as a private tailor-made tour on this or a combination of themes, for yourself or family and friends, please call us on +44 1865 686 442 or see our Group and Private Tours page. Groups can also book by email at officialtours@experienceoxfordshire.org.
Meeting Point
All Oxford Official Walking Tours meet at the Cool Britannia gift shop entrance on the corner of Turl Street and Broad Street (Broad Street Numbers 23-25, OX1 3DH).
Group size
Groups are limited to 20 people to ensure that you have a safe and pleasant experience and can ask your Guide questions as you walk around with them.
More information
Your 2-hour tour will cover 1.5 – 2 miles walking (stopping every so often to admire the architecture and learn about the quirky university traditions) and not travelling further than a 10/15 minute walk away from the City centre and the Meeting Point OX1 3AS.
Guide dogs are welcome on all tours. Unfortunately, other dogs and pets are not allowed.
Children under 16 are welcome on this tour but must be accompanied by at least 1 adult per two children.
The City centre is very flat and walkable – however, some of the most ancient colleges do have steps. If you have any mobility difficulties, please let us know in advance by phone on +44 1865 686 442 or email officialtours@experienceoxfordshire.org before you book, so that we can arrange with the guide ahead of the tour how to best accommodate you.
Tours go ahead whatever the weather, however, we do advise you to come prepared and warmly dressed for winter, prepared for rain whatever the season with comfortable footwear.
We recommend the Park and Ride service. The nearest site will be signposted on your entry route to Oxford and the buses leave regularly. Please allow at least 20 minutes for the journey into the City Centre and ask for the stop nearest to the Visitor Information Centre in Broad St. For more parking information please see https://www.oxford.gov.uk/parking.
Brought to you by: | |||||
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] | null | [] | null | null | C.S. Lewis (1898 — 1963)
Clive Staples Lewis was born in 1898, 42 years after Freud. Along with his older brother and close companion Warren, Clive (or "Jack," as he preferred to be called) grew up in a middle-class household in Belfast, Northern Ireland with his father, who was a lawyer, and mother, a mathematician.
Lewis turned bitter toward religion early in life, catalyzed by the apparent ineffectiveness of his prayers to prevent his mother's death when he was 10. His sense of betrayal by God was heightened when he was sent off to a boarding school that he hated, in part because he found the religious exercises that were required of him there dull and contrived. His pre-university tour of duty in World War I only solidified his atheism, since the suffering he had witnessed and experienced seemed irreconcilable with the existence of a good God.
Lewis's burning ambition, from the age of about 15 onward, was to be a great poet. After receiving his degree in classics and philosophy from Oxford University in 1922 — a program which included the study of Freud's theories of psychology — he accepted a position as a fellow at Magdalen College and sought opportunities to get published. His main work at that point, Dymer, was a long poem that portrayed belief in God as a tempting illusion — one that had to be resisted. But he found that in his own life the question of God's existence would not let him go.
Surrounded by other scholars who were intensely interested in theological issues and writings, Lewis found his atheism challenged by literary critics Owen Barfield and Hugo Dyson, writer Charles Williams, and perhaps most famously, the medievalist J.R.R. Tolkien. As a result of his conversations with these scholars, as well as his own reading of classic Christian literature and the New Testament in Greek, Lewis converted to theism, and later Christianity in 1931.
This group of scholars, who called themselves "The Inklings," stayed together throughout the 1930s, meeting weekly to consider their Christian faith in light of the culture of scientific rationalism that was permeating the university at that time. Through their writings, including Lewis's trilogy Out of the Silent Planet and Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings series, they attempted to use their literary and rhetorical skills to defend the faith they had adopted.
For Lewis, the definition of love was what most sharply differentiated the Christian worldview from the secular worldview. In 1960, he wrote a book called The Four Loves, which compared the divine, unconditional love inherent in Christianity to the affection for family and friends and sexual love that Freud covered in his work. The difference, he said, was that the divine love enables a person to love without any direct personal benefit, while most other forms of love are at some level motivated by a desire to fulfill a self-interest. This unique form of love did not simply evolve from human experience, in Lewis's view, but rather, was implanted in every human being by God through what Lewis termed "the moral law."
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 followed this book with The Screwtape Letters, in which a senior devil teaches a young apprentice the tools of the trade, and The Problem of Pain, a treatise on suffering. By the 1950s, C.S. Lewis had become a famous figure and the most popular spokesman for Christianity in the English-speaking world.
While Lewis spent most of his life as a bachelor, he counted his brief marriage to Helen Joy Davidman, a novelist and a poet from New York, as his happiest period. Motivated in part by Lewis's work, Davidman had converted from Judaism to Christianity. The two married in a civil ceremony on Christmas Eve 1956, in the knowledge that Davidman had bone cancer and would likely not live a great deal longer. A period of remission gave them three years together, but the cancer finally claimed Davidman's life in 1960. The pain of this curtailed love affair gave rise in 1961 to A Grief Observed, a book in which Lewis wrestles with how to maintain one's faith in the wake of profound loss. On November 22, 1963, one week before his 65th birthday, and on the same day as Aldous Huxley and President John F. Kennedy, C.S. Lewis died.
Copyright © 2004 WGBH Educational Foundation | ||||||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 2 | 66 | https://www.rememberingalife.com/blogs/book-reviews/a-grief-observed-by-c-s-lewis | en | A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis | http://www.rememberingalife.com/cdn/shop/articles/AGriefObservedCover_1200x1200.png?v=1650572105 | http://www.rememberingalife.com/cdn/shop/articles/AGriefObservedCover_1200x1200.png?v=1650572105 | [
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] | 2021-02-08T15:30:00+00:00 | When I first read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis, published in 1961, like many, I was already familiar with the author – or so I thought. His beloved series The Chronicles of Narnia (1949-1954) rotated regularly through my reading list as a child; in fact, my mother recently reminded me... | en | Remembering A Life | https://www.rememberingalife.com/blogs/book-reviews/a-grief-observed-by-c-s-lewis | Reader Notes
May be of special interest to those who have experienced spouse/partner loss.
Recommended Audience
Recommended for young adults and adults 18 years and older, people supporting others who are grieving and spousal loss survivors.
Review
When I first read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis, published in 1961, like many, I was already familiar with the author – or so I thought. His beloved series The Chronicles of Narnia (1949-1954) rotated regularly through my reading list as a child; in fact, my mother recently reminded me that she had begun reading the series aloud to me when I was only two years old and quite incapable of grasping either the plot or the allegorical Christian subtext. Narnia has sold over 100 million copies and been translated into over forty languages and offers young readers adventure, hope, and the comfort of Christian ideals, including afterlife.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
This slim, meditative volume gives readers insight into a far more complex, private, and tormented Lewis than any of his other work. It can be interpreted as an almost-accidental memoir of intense personal loss. Unlike traditional memoirs, A Grief Observed does not provide the reader either a narrative arc or much biographical insight into the subject’s life. The text is comprised entirely of entries from Lewis’ private journals following the loss of his wife, poet Joy Davidman, who died of cancer on July 13, 1960. At the time of her death, she and Lewis had been married only four years. After compiling the text for publication, Lewis published it under the pseudonym N.W. Clerk; throughout the book, he refers to Joy only as “H.,” a veiled reference to her little-used first name, Helen. His authorship was only made public following his death.
“The death of a beloved is an amputation.”
I read A Grief Observed for the first time as a returning undergraduate at the University at Albany (SUNY), in a course titled Love & Loss in Literature and Life taught by Dr. Jeffrey Berman. Berman, a celebrated educator and prolific writer, had designed the course in response to the recent death of his own beloved wife, Barbara. In reading A Grief Observed then, I was struck by the raw pain influencing Lewis’ writing style and the circular questioning of himself, God, and the universe in his non-linear chapters; similarly, I was amazed that my recently-bereaved professor could teach this text.
It is intense. Individual lines hit one hard with the grief that can be felt in the author. Lewis grapples not only with memories of Joy but also with fears of forgetting her. He turns both toward and away from the God he devoutly followed for decades and writes, “don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand.” He likens himself to an amputee and argues that after such profound loss, one cannot ever truly be whole again. Importantly, Lewis does not merely write about his grief but from his space of grief, which may particularly resonate with readers.
“Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.”
Rereading this text in the many years since I took that course, I have come to appreciate far better the shared impetus of the author and my amazing professor – the need to undertake grief work. Only by working through our grief can we begin to acknowledge our loss and move forward in our mourning. Making sense of devastating loss is possible only by recognizing its presence, and our loved one’s absence, “spread over everything.” For anyone who is coming to terms with loss, particularly spousal loss, A Grief Observed is a compelling reminder that our mourning experiences are unique, that our beliefs following loss may indeed be tested, and that sometimes working through what Lewis terms the “mad midnight moments” of our grief may be the only way we can move forward.
Discussion Prompts
Some scholars speculate that Lewis insisted that A Grief Observed be published pseudonymously in order to avoid criticism from his Christian readers. We know that grief can challenge our religious or spiritual beliefs. Where in the text do you see Lewis’ faith challenged and how does he try to make sense of his relationship with God? Have you experienced any similar responses to loss?
Lewis asserts that “the death of a beloved is an amputation” and that, while he may “walk” again, or “get about on crutches,” he will “never be a biped again.” Have you experienced a loss that felt literally crippling in this way? Do you believe that after this type of “amputation,” one can regain wholeness?
A Grief Observed opens, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning.” What feelings and bodily sensations can you identify in relation to your grief experiences? How have these feelings and sensations changed as your grief journey progressed?
About the Reviewer | |||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 0 | 3 | https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/trevin-wax/visiting-the-home-and-grave-of-c-s-lewis/ | en | Visiting the Home and Grave of C. S. Lewis | [
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] | 2016-09-14T04:00:00+00:00 | Come along on a journey from the famous pub where Lewis and Tolkien discussed their writing, to the home and grave of C. S. Lewis. | en | /apple-touch-icon-57x57.png | The Gospel Coalition | https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/trevin-wax/visiting-the-home-and-grave-of-c-s-lewis/ | I wrote earlier this week about our brief visit to the UK, and how I felt less like a tourist seeing sights and more like a pilgrim giving thanks, on a quest to devote time and effort to a couple of men whose gifts have blessed me: C. S. Lewis and G. K. Chesterton. I’ve already written about our visit to Beaconsfield to see the home and grave of Chesterton. Today, the journey continues with our visit to The Eagle and Child, the Kilns, and the grave of C. S. Lewis.
The Inklings’ Haunt
As we left the library of a church in Oxford, we walked down the road toward The Eagle and Child, the famous pub where some of the greatest lights in English literature in the past century were known to dine. As soon as you enter, you are immediately struck by the small size of this pub. It is cramped yet cozy, as if the walls are heavy with its sense of history and yet lightened with the levity of its relaxed atmosphere. A surreal juxtaposition of seriousness and joy.
Our family had a hearty meal here, just down the hall from the Rabbit Room, the famous place where Lewis, Tolkien, Owen Barfield, Charles Williams, and others gathered around the stove and presented their recent writing, fully expecting the rest of the group to shower them with comments, praise, criticizing, or a good, old-fashioned skewering.
If you want to read an excellent book on the Inklings, start with Philip and Carol Zaleski’s recent tome, which delivers on its promise to trace the literary lives of the four primary members of this writing group. It’s stunning, really, just how much creativity burst from these conversations, the often-heated debates, and raucous laughter. The Inklings helped shape two of the greatest mythological worlds of our time: Middle Earth and Narnia.
I have always preferred Lewis’s world to Tolkien’s, even though I am in awe at the level of detail in the mythologies and languages that Tolkien created, to the point I recognize that Middle Earth is the more significant literary achievement. But Narnia has always been my first love as a fantasy world, ever since I was a child. Even today, whenever I spot a wardrobe, or a bench in a busy train station, or an old fashioned lamp post, I can’t keep my mind from flying away to the world where Aslan reigns.
The Kilns
I do not recommend you do what we did next. We drove out of Oxford and toward The Kilns, the home of C. S. Lewis from 1930 until his death in 1963. The Kilns is a study center nowadays, and yes, you are supposed to call and reserve a tour time, not just show up. But we only had a few hours to spend in the Oxford area, so we thought we’d at least drive by the house, even if we couldn’t go inside.
When we arrived, I walked around to the front door.
I noticed through the window two men in the front room. They acknowledged me and one of them came to the door. I never would have guessed that the stepson of C. S. Lewis would be the one to open the front door of the Kilns to me, but that’s exactly what happened. “I am a guest here as well, although I used to live here,” he told me.
Douglas was taking a break from being interviewed for a documentary about his life, and he welcomed me inside, where I was able to peek in the downstairs rooms and then take a few pictures in the garden. The warden was unavailable, but Douglas encouraged us to come back in a few hours when we could have a full tour of the premises. We were satisfied however in spending a little time in the garden and taking a few pictures. We’ll save the full tour for a future visit!
Holy Trinity Church
As we finished up at The Kilns, we drove down a few streets to Holy Trinity Church, where we walked over to the grave of C. S. Lewis.
Standing near the grave, my oldest son, himself a Narnia fan, commented on how modest the gravestone was. He didn’t think it reflected the fame or significance of such a great man. But that’s one of the truths about death, isn’t it? It levels us all.
We stood over the grave in silence, filled with gratitude for this man’s life, aware of how death extends its cursed claws and steals life from the earth, but also hopeful in the victorious voice of a resurrected Savior who will bring forth life once again from these deathly grounds.
Next, we spent a few moments inside Holy Trinity Church where Lewis and his brother, Warnie, worshiped for decades. The warden of the church answered a few of our questions and made sure we saw the Narnia window.
We were encouraged to sit in the pew where Lewis sat every week. When you think of the scholarship and literary legacy of men like Lewis, you sometimes forget to see them as churchmen—not pastors or church leaders, but laypeople who served God’s people and worshiped alongside their neighbors. Both Lewis and Chesterton are buried in churchyards. The gift they gave the world has most benefited the church, and in the end, the churches retain their earthly remains.
There is so much more I could write about our trip to England. At some point, I’d like to compare two ancient churches we visited (and a castle). But that will need to wait for another day. Back to regular blog posting next week! | ||||
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] | null | [] | null | C. S. Lewis continues to be one of the most read and beloved Christians. Explore his life, writings, career, and influential relationships. | https://www.logos.com/about-authors/c-s-lewis | 1898–1908
Childhood
Born Clive Staples Lewis to Albert and Flora Lewis on November 29, 1898, in Belfast, Northern Ireland, Lewis spent his early years, in his own words, surrounded by “endless books.” His father was a lawyer and his mother a mathematician, who grounded him in Latin, French, and English. When he was five, he requested to no longer be called “Clive” but “Jack,” which stuck among family and friends. When just six or seven years old, the family moved to a house called Little Lea, and his time spent there proved formative to who he would become as a writer. It was here Lewis described his first experience with “joy”—standing by a flowering currant bush at Little Lea, he suddenly remembered the toy garden in a cookie tin that his older brother, Warren, had once created. Of this moment he would later write in Surprised by Joy:
There suddenly rose in me without warning, as if from a depth not of years but of centuries, the memory of that earlier morning at the Old House when my brother had brought his toy garden into the nursery. It is difficult to find words strong enough for the sensation which came over me; Milton’s “enormous bliss” of Eden . . . comes somewhere near it. It was a sensation, of course, of desire; but desire for what?
This theme of joy would resurface throughout his life and is evident in his literary works.
Lewis and Warren were close and spent their childhood days reading books, writing, illustrating stories, and creating a magical, make-believe world. They took over the family attic, and as English professor and C. S. Lewis authority Chad Walsh writes in The Literary Legacy of C. S. Lewis, “made it their world, where they exercised their imaginations.” Lewis remembers his life as “far from ordinary,” what felt like, for him, another dimension.
Private tutors schooled him until he was nine when his mother died from cancer, turning his idyllic world upside-down (he would wrestle with why God would let his mother die throughout his life). Just three weeks later, his father sent him to Wynyard boarding school in England—which he disliked terribly.
1909–1925
Teenage years and World War I
After Wynyard closed, Lewis was sent to a local boarding school, Campbell College in Belfast, Ireland. He left just a few months later due to respiratory problems and ended up at Cherbourg House at Malvern College, England (like his brother) when he was almost 15. But those years were difficult—Lewis experienced intense bullying, and it was during this season he abandoned his Christian faith. However, he would later describe those dark years in Surprised by Joy as “the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me” (128), for at Malvern, Lewis would be tutored by William Kirkpatrick. Kirkpatrick had tutored both his father and Warren, his brother, and would prove influential in developing Lewis’ artistic talents and framing his career.
In 1914 he met Arthur Greeves, who became, next to his brother, his “oldest and most intimate friend.” The two shared a love of Norse mythology. Greeves taught Lewis to embrace and explore his feelings and was a consistent influence for Christ (years later, it would be to Greeves Lewis first disclosed his conversion). In 1916 Lewis received a scholarship to University College, Oxford, but just six months later, enlisted in the British Army and settled into the trenches of the Western Front. He fought, almost died, and lost his best friend, Paddy Moore, on the field. His time in military service ended on Christmas Eve, 1918.
Lewis longed to be a poet, and in 1919, while yet a teenager (and still an atheist), his poetry was published as a collection titled Spirits in Bondage under the pseudonym Clive Hamilton. Spirits in Bondage offers important insights into Lewis as a young artist. Karen Swallow Prior writes in the book’s introduction that “Many of the poems were written or revised during the year Lewis spent in the trenches of World War I in France and during his recovery from injuries sustained there,” and the last poem, “Death in Battle,” would have “served as Lewis’ farewell had he not survived the war.”
Around 1920 he connected with Paddy’s mom (whom Lewis promised Paddy he would look out for) and went to live with her and her younger daughter, Maureen. In 1925 he was appointed English Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, and he would spend the next 30 years there on a modest salary tutoring students in English language and literature. Those teaching years at Oxford are what gave him his writing “feet.”
1926–1931
Oxford and conversion
After publishing his narrative poem “Dymer” in 1926 (it didn’t sell well), Lewis set his dream of being a poet aside.
Also in 1926, Lewis met his friend and colleague, J. R. R. Tolkien—who shared his interest in myth and legend and played a key role in his return to the faith in 1930–1931. Lewis’ conversion happened first philosophically as he began to understand God and then through friendship, questioning, and contemplation as he discovered who Jesus is as God’s Son.
Tolkien and other philosophical and literary friends, like Dorothy L. Sayers (an English crime writer, poet, and Christian apologist) and Charles Williams (a poet, novelist, playwright, theologian, and literary critic), would deeply impact Lewis and transform his life. He and Tolkien continued their friendship, and by the mid-1930s, were spurring each other on in their academic and literary careers.
In 1930 he and Warren bought a home with Mrs. Moore called the Kilns, a large property in Risinghurst, Oxford, England. From here Lewis wrote many books (including the entire Narnia Chronicles; see below) and lived until his death. The Kilns (now known as the C. S. Lewis Home) became a transformative place for Lewis and is reminiscent of the worlds he created in his literature.
1932–1938
Academic career
In 1933 Lewis wrote his first book of popular fiction and theology, The Pilgrim’s Regress, but it wasn’t until 1936 that his academic career took flight with The Allegory of Love, which changed the way literary history was handled.
Also in 1933 Lewis and Tolkien started a literary group dubbed “The Inklings,” of which Williams was a part of too. The Inklings continued to meet for the next 16 years, and some of the most compelling literature in history would come from this group. In 1934 Lewis wrote English Literature in the Sixteenth Century for the Oxford History of English Literature series, which wasn’t published until 1954 but became classic.
Lewis published his first science fiction novel in 1938, Out of the Silent Planet, after a conversation with Tolkien. It voiced his concerns about evolutionism and affirmed his steadfast view that traditional belief in Jesus is what leads to salvation.
1939–1945
World War II
It wasn’t until World War II that Lewis became known as a Christian apologist. Works like Problem of Pain, Mere Christianity, The Case for Christianity, and Miracles, all written during this period, spoke powerfully and with a Christian view into the dark, war-weary culture.
In 1941 The Guardian published 31 “Screwtape Letters” in weekly episodes, published in 1942 as a book by the same name. In those “letters,” he wrote as a senior demon writing to a junior demon. The Screwtape Letters made him famous, elevating him to a nationally and internationally known Christian writer.
He served as president of the Oxford Socratic Club during this season, which opened debates between Christians and atheists (he was a popular debater on the forum). Those conversations spurred such work as Miracles, first published in 1947, a persuasive essay in Christian apologetics. Lewis became the Christian voice on BBC (1941–1944), where he broadcasted four talks on the Christian faith, making him a familiar voice to millions of listeners. Those talks eventually became Mere Christianity (published in 1952), one of the most important and beloved books on Christian apologetics of all time.
Lewis also gave nine memorable addresses during this time, eventually curated into the book The Weight of Glory, titled after what might be the most moving of the addresses. In it Lewis presented a clear and compelling discussion on forgiveness and faith.
1946–1960
Post WWII
From the Kilns (and while in poor health and exhausted), Lewis wrote the entire Narnian chronicles in just five or six years. These books dominated his life during this season, as did a woman named Joy Davidman, a Jewish American writer, former Communist, and convert to Christianity. Their friendship that started as pen pals deepened to love, and though Joy was not well (she was battling bone cancer), in what Lewis thought were her dying moments, he married her in 1957—but she recovered and went on to help reshape his career in his later years. Inspired by their relationship and her illness, he wrote several books, including a memoir Surprised by Joy (1955)—which, though a bit odd, reveals Lewis’ view of joy and how he felt drawn to God.
In 1954 he started work at Cambridge as a professor and chair in medieval and renaissance literature. This gave him more time to write the dozen or so books he published while there, including The Four Loves (March 1960). In it, he explores the four aspects of love (affection, friendship, sexual, and selfless), exposes the pitfalls in human love, and posits agape (selfless) love, the kind God has for men and women, is the kind that must be developed to nurture relationships.
A few months later on July 13, 1960, his wife Joy passed away from cancer, and though her death tested his faith, he remained steadfast in his convictions.
1963–present
Impact
Lewis wrote more than 40 books translated into more than 30 languages in various genres ranging from apologetics, cultural criticism, history, and spiritual growth to poetry, sci-fi, and fantasy.
But as Walsh writes in The Literary Legacy of C. S. Lewis, Lewis’ work is not a temporary phenomenon: “More than a third of a century after the American edition of Screwtape, the sales of his books are running higher than ever. Meanwhile, he has acquired whole new audiences, such as the children who read and reread the Chronicles of Narnia.” His books have sold over 200 million copies.
“Perhaps more than any other twentieth-century author,” writes Walsh, “C. S. Lewis has played a role in people’s understanding of the Christian faith akin to the one that hymns used to play. His strength lay in his use of the imagination rather than his expertise as either exegete or theologian.” | |||||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 3 | 8 | https://www.headington.org.uk/history/famous_people/lewis.htm | en | C. S. Lewis and Headington, Oxford | [
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] | null | [] | null | ../../favicon.ico | null | C. S. Lewis (1898–1963)
Clive Staples Lewis, who was born in Belfast, Ulster on 29 November 1898, came up to University College, Oxford in the summer of 1917, but within months went off to France to serve in the First World War. He came back to Oxford to complete his degree in the autumn of 1918, lodging with Mrs Jane King Moore (née Askins), known as Minto, who was born in Ireland on 28 March 1872 and was the mother of Edward Francis Courtenay Moore, a comrade of Lewis who had been killed in France at the age of 19 on 24 March 1918. Mrs Moore was separated from her husband, Courtenay Edward Moore,
Lewis's first house that he shared with Mrs Moore and her daughter Maureen Daisy Helen Moore (from 1918) was 28 Warneford Road in Cowley St John parish.
Lewis regarded Mrs Moore as his adopted mother; but some scholars have suggested that there was more to the relationship than this, even though she was 26 years his senior.
Lewis had associations with Headington from 1919, and it was his permanent home from 1929 until his death in 1963. Even between 1954 and 1963 when he was a Fellow of Magdalene College in Cambridge, he regularly returned by train to Headington for weekends and vacations.
Three addresses in All Saints (Highfield) parish, Headington
Mrs Moore and her lodger C. S. Lewis then moved to Headington, where they had three addresses:
(1) “Uplands”, 54 Windmill Road (1919)
As Uplands (right) was on the east side of the road, it was in the parish of All Saints', Highfield.
They lived here for less than a year.
(2) Hill View at 76 Windmill Road (1919–1922)
On 24 August 1919 Lewis returned from a two-day trip to Dublin to find that Mrs Moore had moved eleven houses down to a flat in 76 Windmill Road (below ), so he too had to move to his second Headington home. Again it was in All Saints' (Highfield) parish.
Lewis wrote to his brother on 24 August 1919:
Just a line to let you know of my arrival and of this change of the address – the Minto having left Uplands and come here [letter is headed “Hill View, Windmill Road]. Our landlady is a funny old woman, the wife of an Indian engine driver. I sleep on the sofa.”
This was the home of Mr & Mrs Albert Morris. Alfred Morris is listed at Gleanbury Cottage, Windmill Road in Kelly's Directory from 1911 to 1921 and at 76 Windmill Road in the 1911 census, where he is described as a jobbing gardener. It appears that the Morrises had given the new name Gleanbury Cottage to the house that was formerly called Hill View, but that C. S. Lewis was using the old name, which may still have been on the door. This house was again in All Saints (Highfield) parish, and In a letter to Greeves of 24 August 1919, Lewis described himself as living “in the solitudes of Highfield”.
Mrs Moore's daughter Maureen went to Headington School, and C. S. Lewis wrote to his brother in April 1921 describing how he attended a show there, “sneaking in alone a whimsical and unobserved male among miles of petticoat”.
Lewis completed his first degree while living here and was awarded a First in Greats (Philosophy & Ancient History) in 1922.
(3) Hillsboro House, now 14 Holyoake Road (original address 2 Western Road) (1922–1930)
On 28 July 1922 Lewis moved into a third Headington house with Mrs Moore and her daughter: Hillsboro House on Holyoake Road, the west side of which was again in All Saints' (Highfield) parish. They remained there until they moved into The Kilns on 10 October 1930, but Mrs Moore was subletting 28 Warneford Road and they appear to have returned there for a period from 5 September 1922. By June 1924 their charlady and friend at Hillsboro was Mrs Harry Joseph Phipps (nicknamed Phippy by Lewis): she lived at 151 Windmill Road, and Lewis claimed that Tolkien's way of communicating was the same as hers.
Below: Hillsboro House in September 2013
Left: The house still has its original name engraved over the right-hand side of the downstairs bay window
The address of Hillsboro House used to be 2 Western Road, but it is currently 14 Holyoake Road. Mrs Moore can be seen listed here in Kelly’s Directory for 1928, the first directory that covers Headington fully.
Hillsboro House was for many years the Oxford Chiropractic Clinic.
While living here Lewis completed a second Oxford degree, this time in English, in 1923, and in 1925 was elected a Fellow and Tutor in English at Magdalen College.
Lewis famously became a theist in 1926 while on the bus up to this Headington house:
The odd thing was that before God closed in on me, I was in fact offered what now appears to be a moment of wholly free choice. I was going up Headington Hill on the top of a bus. Without words, and almost without images, a fact about myself was somehow presented to me. I became aware that I was holding something at bay. I felt myself being given a free choice. I could open the door or keep it shut. I chose to open.
In 1929 he became a monotheist, and finally a Christian in 1931/2.
Mrs Moore is still listed at Hillsboro in Kelly's Directory for 1930, and in February that year it was reported in the Daily Telegraph that her daughter Maureen had qualified as a piano teacher in the licentiate examination of the Royal Academy of Music. .
On 10 October 1930 Lewis moved with Mrs Moore and her daughter to The Kilns, now in Risinghurst, Oxford but then outside the city.
Life at The Kilns, 1930 until his death in 1963)
At first Lewis’s older brother Warren Hamilton Lewis (known as Warnie), who was a Major in the Royal Army Service Corps, would have nothing to do with Janie Moore; but after the death of their father in 1929 Lewis persuaded Warnie to buy “The Kilns” (then outside the city of Oxford), together with him and Mrs Moore. The two brothers saw the house for the first time on Sunday 6 July 1930, and Lewis wrote in his diary the following day:
We did not go inside, but the eight acre garden is such stuff as dreams are made of. I never imagined that for us any such garden would ever come within the sphere of discussion. The house … stands at the entrance to its own grounds at the northern foot of Shotover at the end of a narrow lane, which is turn opens off a very bad and little used road, giving as great privacy as can reasonably be looked for near a large town. To the left of the house are the two brick kilns from which it takes its name – in front, a lawn and hard tennis court – then a large bathing pool, beautifully wooded, and with a circular brick seat overlooking it: after that a steep wilderness broken with ravines and nooks of all kinds runs up to a little cliff topped by a thistly meadow, and then the property ends in a thick belt of fir trees, almost a wood: the view from the cliff over the dim blue distance of the plain is simply glorious.
The Kilns (right) cost £3,300, and Lewis moved there with Mrs Moore and her daughter on 10 October 1930.
The ownership of The Kilns was put in Mrs Moore’s name, even though her Askins estate had borne less than half the cost. Hence in Kelly's Directory the listing of The Kilns (under Forest Hill) was under the name of Mrs J. K. Moore.
In June 1931 Lewis described in a letter to Arthur Greeves how he would go out on the lake at The Kilns before breakfast and dive into the lake and swim.
On 22 November 1931, the anniversary of the dedication of Holy Trinity Church, Lewis attended a special service there taken by the Revd Alured George Clarke, the Vicar of All Saints Church in Headington, and was very rude about his sermon in a letter to Warnie, stating “The matter was good enough, the manner detestable”.
When Warnie retired in 1932, he also came to live with them, and Alice Hamilton Moore, the widow of Dr Robert Moore of Bush Hills, Ireland) also lived there. She is thought to have been a friend of Mrs Moore rather than a relation of her husband, and another coincidence is that she shared the same middle name (Hamilton) as Warnie Lewis.
The 1939 Register shows the following people listed at the Kilns, with Mrs Moore and her daughter ahead of C. S. Lewis: Warnie is missing, as he had been recalled to active service in France on 4 September 1939
Janie K. MOORE (born 28 March 1872), married, unpaid domestic duties
Maureen D. MOORE (born 19 August 1906), single, music teacher
Clive Staples LEWIS (born 27 November 1890), single, Fellow & Tutor University
Annie HENRY (born 9 June 1896), single, Confectioner, Employee
Frederick W. PAXFORD (born 5 August 1898), single, Gardener & chauffeur
Alice H. MOORE (born 20 November 1853), widow, incapacitated (age)
Ellen E. CRUMMER (born 23 April 1921, single, domestic servant)
Muriel McC. YOUNG (born 23 April 1921), single, Domestic servant (Mrs CROCKER from 1941/2)
Joan E. MORRISON (born 24 February 1923), single, at school (Mrs FRETWELL from 1948)
Three names blacked out: these are probably young evacuees.
Mrs Moore's friend Alice Hamilton Moore died at the age of 85 soon after the Register was compiled and was buried in Holy Trinity churchyard on 6 November 1939.
On 27 August 1940 at Holy Trinity Church in Headington Quarry, Mrs Moore's daughter Maureen Daisy Helen Moore (33), described as a schoolmistress who lived at The Kilns, married Leonard James Blake (32), a schoolmaster from Hendon.
Mrs Moore died on 12 January 1951 and was buried in the same grave in Quarry as her friend Alice. Her estranged husband Courtenay Edward Moore outlived her by just five months, dying on 9 June 1951.
Lewis accepted the Chair of Mediaeval and Renaissance Literature at the University of Cambridge that year, but continued to keep “The Kilns” as his home.
The extensive grounds of this house, which was then out in the country, provided the inspiration for the Chronicles of Narnia, which started off as a tale told to children evacuated there from London in 1939. The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe was published nine years later in 1948.
The Kilns is in the parish of Headington Quarry, and Lewis attended Holy Trinity Church there with his brother. He first preached there on 29 March 1942, on the subject “Religion and pleasure”.
Lewis's brother Warnie, who had hitherto been the correspondent of Headington Quarry Church School, served Churchwarden at Holy Trinity from 1953 to 1956. The brothers (known to the Vicar (the Revd Canon R. E. Head as The General and The Professor) rarely missed Holy Communion at that church on a Sunday. In his reminiscences of C. S. Lewis, the Vicar says that they were also well known at the Mason's Arms pub, the nearest one to the church.
Mary Rogers gives two vignettes of Lewis in Headington in her article “C.S. Lewis — God’s Fool” in Oxford (the Journal of the Oxford Society) for November 1998:
Jack never minded looking a fool in a good cause. My sister-in-law tells me that he used to attend an annual party in Headington where guests were expected to arrive, not exactly in fancy dress, but to suggest some topic the hostess had decided upon. After Jack’s marriage to Joy, he brought her along, obviously much to her disgust. She had chosen not to represent some character in Poetry or Opera…. Lewis (of course) represented Wotan, wearing a black eye-shade over one eye — without embarrassment.
Another Lewis-the-fool story involved an elderly dog. Both brothers were animal lovers, and cared for each dog lovingly to his last breath. One, in its extreme old age (probably Baron or Mr Papworth, also known as “Tykes”) became very difficult, as we all do, in time. It was one of the rare sights of Headington to see Jack feeding an animal who was sensitive about being seen eating, and would not eat on home territory. So Jack would walk in front holding the dog dish in one hand, and a spoon in the other, ladling the food backwards over his shoulder to the following shambling dog, the leader being quite unmindful of the passersby and their reactions, as long as the dog got fed.
.
The brothers always sat in the same pew there, beside the pillar to St George. The Narnia window (right), designed and made by Sally Scott, was installed beside this pew in 1991. It was paid for out of the Howe Bequest in memory of the children of George and Kathleen Howe: William George Howe (1938-1954) and Gillian Margaret Howe (1945-1947).
On the left, the window depicts Aslan the Lion as the sun, with the word NARNIA in the rays of light coming from his mane.
On the right are the flying horse, the castle Cair Paravel, and a talking tree.
“Surprised by Joy”
In 1952 Lewis met Mrs Joy Gresham (née Davidman), an American who had been deserted by her husband. and their story is famously told in the film Shadowlands.
Lewis helped Joy to arrange the rental of 10 Old High Street, Headington (right) for herself and her two boys, David Gresham (born 1944) and Douglas Howard Gresham (born 10 November 1945) and she moved in during August 1953.
The house (opposite the present Waitrose) has a plaque over the downstairs window reading: “The former home of the writer Joy Davidman, wife of C. S. Lewis”.
Joy’s son Douglas Gresham was nearly eight years old when he moved into Old High Street in 1953. He said of the house: “It was a nice place partly because of the visitors who came, many of Oxford’s literary luminaries. Lewis himself of course, his brother Warnie, and J. R. R. Tolkien.”
C. S. Lewis continued to live at The Kilns, and had to look after his two teenage stepsons with the help of his brother.
Lewis survived his wife by three years. During his final illness, Father Ronald Head, the Vicar of Holy Trinity Church, visited him twice a week to administer communion.
Lewis died at “The Kilns” on 22 November 1963 (the anniversary of the consecration of Holy Trinity Church in 1849).
He was buried at Holy Trinity churchyard in a very plain grave (left). The quotation on the gravestone, “Men must endure their going thence”, is taken from King Lear: Lewis's mother had a calendar with a Shakespearian quotation for each day of the year, and that was the one on the day she died.
The report on his death in the Oxford Times of 29 November 1963 was very brief:
Prof. C. S. Lewis, who was Fellow and tutor at Magdalen College, Oxford, from 1924 to 1954 died on Friday at his home in Headington Quarry. Until his resignation last month because of ill health he was Professor of Medieval and Renaissance English at Cambridge University.
The son of a Belfast solicitor, Clive Staples Lewis served as a second lieutenant in the Somerset Light Infantry in France towards the end of the First World War. In 1918 he went up to University College, Oxford. He was best known outside the university for his books, especially his apologies for Christianity - among them The Screwtape letters.
Lewis's brother Warnie remained at The Kilns and died there on 9 April 1973. He was buried in the same grave as his brother.
Mrs Moore's daughter Maureen, who now styled herself Lady Dunbar, sold The Kilns after his death.
Mrs Moore's daughter Maureen Daisy Helen Moore (1906–1997)
(Mrs Leonard James Blake 1940–1965)
(Lady Dunbar of Hempriggs 1965–1997)
Maureen Daisy Helen Moore was born on 19 August 1906, the daughter of Courtenay Edward Moore (26 June 1870–9 June 1951) and Janie King Askins (28 March 1872 to 12 January 1951). She had an older brother Edward Francis Courtenay Moore (born 19 August 1906), who was the friend of C. S. Lewis and was killed in action on 24 March 1918.
She lived in Headington with her mother and C.S. Lewis for 21 years from 1919 to her marriage on 27 August 1940. She attended Headington School, and then became a music teacher.
Maureen and her husband Leonard James Blake had two children:
Richard Francis Blake (born in Oxford on 8 January 1945)
Eleanor M. Blake (born in Kidderminster, Worcestershire on 16 November 1949).
Her son Richard was educated at Charterhouse School.
By 1965 Maureen was living at The Lees in Malvern, where her husband Leonard Blake was Director of Music at Malvern College.
On 4 March 1965 the Birmingham Post reported that “Mrs Maureen Daisy Helen Moore or Blake” had lodged a claim in Edinburgh to a baronetcy of Nova Scotia and asked to be recognized as Dame Maureen Daisy Helen Moore or Dunbar, of Hempriggs, Baronetess. This followed the death in 1963 of her kinsman, Sir George Duff-Sutherland-Dunbar, 7th Baronet, and as the baronetcy was one of only four that can pass through the female line and she was successful at the Lyon Court.
Both children of Maureen (Lady Dunbar) and Leonard James Blake married:
On 27 December 1969 at St Catherine's Church, Gloucester her son Richard married Elizabeth Margaret Jane Lister, the only daughter of Mr & Mrs George Lister of Gloucester. He was styled Richard Francis Dunbar of Hempriggs. in the marriage announcement in the Daily Telegraph.
On 17 February 1973 at St Peter's Church Winchcombe her daughter Eleanor M. Blake married David Eldridge, youngest son of Lt-Col. & Mrs E. J. M. Eldridge of The Mill, Mill Lane, Prestbury, Cheltenham.
In 1986 Maureen, Lady Dunbar (described in the Western Daily Press as a “Cotswold aristocrat” was forced to sell her family's 500-year old castle, Ackergill Tower, on the north-east coast of Scotland. Apparently when Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother was staying at the Castle of Mey nearby she used to come to tea with Lady Dunbar.
Mrs Moore's daughter Lady Dunbar (Maureen) died on 15 February 1997 at the age of 90, leaving an estate of £349,587 net. Her grandson is now Sir Richard Francis Dunbar of Hempriggs, 9th Baronet. He has two daughters: Emma Katherine Dunbar (born 1977) and Fiona Blake Dunbar (born 1981).
Frequently Asked Questions about C. S. Lewis
by Mike Stranks of Holy Trinity Church (PDF)
Pictures of The Kilns, and how to get there
You Tube: Memories of C. S. Lewis in Headington
There is a much fuller entry on C. S. Lewis in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography
The ODNB online is available free to many public library users, including those in Oxfordshire:
put your library ticket number in the “Library Card Login” box | |||||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 3 | 92 | https://bitterwinter.org/50th-anniversary-of-tolkiens-death-a-previously-unknown-letter-c-s-lewis-and-inter-christian-dialogue/ | en | 50th Anniversary of Tolkien’s Death: A Previously Unknown Letter, C.S. Lewis, and Inter-Christian Dialogue | [
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"Marco Respinti"
] | 2023-09-02T01:29:00+00:00 | The great English writer died on September 2, 1973. An important testimony emerges from an unpublished letter of January 1969. | en | Bitter Winter | https://bitterwinter.org/50th-anniversary-of-tolkiens-death-a-previously-unknown-letter-c-s-lewis-and-inter-christian-dialogue/ | The great English writer died on September 2, 1973. An important testimony emerges from an unpublished letter of January 1969.
by Marco Respinti
While meditating on “the catholicity of the Reformation” from what I apprehended through history and conversations in the town of Bergerac, France, I came across an unpublished letter by English author and philologist J.R.R. Tolkien (1892–1973). My attention to its content was captured by both its relevance for the “Mere Christianity” theme, that I dealt with in previous “Bitter Winter” articles, and my personal intellectual curiosity, being the translator of the Italian edition of Tolkien’s 1976 “Letter from Father Christmas” and the revisor of the translation of his 1977 “The Silmarillion,” as well as the co-author of a book on Tolkien’s Roman Catholic faith.
A rich selection of Tolkien’s correspondence was published in 1981, edited by English biographer Humphrey Carpenter (1946–2005) and the author’s son and philologist Christopher J.R. Tolkien (1924–2020), but of course many other letters exist. Some letters sometimes find their way to auction houses, for the delight of wealthy collectors. A letter by Tolkien dated January 25, 1969, and sent to his friend Michael Bell from Poole (a coastal town in nowadays Bournemouth, Christchurch and Poole unitary authority area in county Dorset, England), was recently auctioned by Christie’s in London, the largest auction house in the world.
In the letter, Tolkien rejoices that his correspondent “became a Catholic,” while lamenting difficult times for Catholicism. Given the tone of his words and the date, 1969, it easy to understand that Tolkien refers to the so-called “post-Council” period, or the years that followed the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council of the Catholic church (1962–1965). In fact, after the Council, there were theologians and pastors who, favoring what in 2005 Pope Benedict XVI defined “a hermeneutic of discontinuity and rupture” in relation to the Catholic Tradition and Papal teachings, brought scandal and unrest in the church. Tolkien always sided with “the ‘hermeneutic of reform’,” or “renewal in the continuity of the one subject-Church which the Lord has given to us,” to use again Benedict XVI’s words. In his published correspondence, his position is unequivocal. In his 1969 letter auctioned by Christie’s, he makes again clear “that the powers of darkness (Gates of Hell) shall not prevail” against the “recognized and ordered institution (ecclesia) loyal to the See of Peter,” as per the promise of Jesus in the Gospels, while his flock may indeed suffer from turmoil.
Writing to Bell, Tolkien takes also the opportunity—as he often does in his letters—to pay a devout tribute to his “young, beautiful, and gifted mother,” Mabel Suffield Tolkien (1870–1904), for bringing him “as a small boy […] ‘out of the Land of Egypt’,” and dying “in a few years, largely owing to the poverty and griefs that followed her conversion.” In fact, a widow at the age of 26 in 1896, Mabel raised J.R.R. Tolkien and his younger brother, Hilary Arthur R. Tolkien (1894–1976), amongst rapidly increasing difficulties after she converted to Roman Catholicism. Passing also through High Church Anglicanism, Mabel was received into the Catholic Church in June 1900 with her two children and her sister, Edith Mary “May” Suffield Incledon (1865–1936). At this point, her sister May’s husband, a fierce adversary of Catholicism, stopped his financial aid to the widow—and forced his own wife May to become a lapsed Catholic. The situation precipitated when even the Suffield family, many members of which were Baptists and strongly opposed Catholicism, denied assistance to Mabel and the boys, and Tolkien’s mother fell ill to diabetes. With no money to buy adequate medicines and a household to manage, Mabel eventually died, leaving her sons to the care of Father Francis Xavier Morgan (1857–1935), a Roman Catholic priest in the Oratory of Birmingham.
In his 1969 letter, Tolkien comments all that with a laconic “the spirit of Ian Paisley was then almost normal.” He of course refers to Ian Paisley, Baron Bannside (1926–2014), the Protestant evangelical minister who founded the Free Presbyterian Church of Ulster, was the leader of the Democratic Unionist Party, and the First Minister of Northern Ireland from 2007 to 2008. Paisley was in fact famous as a staunch anti-Catholic agitator.
Further reflecting on the sea of troubles that Catholicism had in those years to sail in, and on the Gospels’ promise of the final victory of truth, in his letter to Bell Tolkien importantly adds: “Not, of course, that the free grace of God is withheld from any individual as such.” He cites the examples of C.S. Lewis (1898–1963), a quite different son of Ulster in comparison to Paisley.
Lewis was and author, literary critic, fine connoisseur of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, and lay Anglican theologian born in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The Anglican Lewis and the Roman Catholic Tolkien became excellent friends, and the cornerstone of the informal literary club “The Inklings” in Oxford, which Carpenter described in a classic book first published in 1978, and American scholars of religion Philip and Carol Zaleski further dealt with in 2016. Lewis went from atheism to theism in 1929, then finally to Christianity in 1931, also thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien and their common friend, Oxford University academician Hugo Dyson (1896–1975). He remained an Anglican for all his life, to a certain disappointment of Tolkien, who wished, and almost expected, that Lewis could become a Roman Catholic.
But Lewis was a strong advocate of what he called “Mere Christianity,” a position consistent with the informal movement that, especially in the English-speaking world, search for, or aspire to, a shared “basic orthodoxy” among different brands of Christians, aimed at retaining a non-negotiable loyalty to a set of fundamental doctrinal and moral principles for the sake of preserving the authenticity of the Christian message.
“A notable case was that of my dear friend C. S. Lewis,” Tolkien writes of his mate in his 1969 letter, “who arrived by degrees at a completely ‘Catholic’ position with regard to Our Lord, and especially to the Blessed Sacrament (in which at any rate he declared that our church was right).” Of course, the accent on the Blessed Sacrament is quite notable. The nature of the Eucharist was in fact one of the key points at the Reformation. Martin Luther (1483–1546), the initiator of Protestantism, advocated “consubstantiation”: this theological position holds that the substance of the bread and wine remain present in the Eucharist alongside the substance of the body and blood of Christ. Catholicism considers this unacceptable, affirming “transubstantiation”: in the Eucharist the substance of bread and wine change in the substance of the body and blood of Christ, while retaining their external characteristics only. Further reformers denied even Luther’ position and Luther strongly criticized them, but in later centuries many Reformed and Anglican Christians came to see things differently. This writer still struggles trying to understand some High Church Anglican theologians he once discussed the topic with, who wished to explain to him that they believe in transubstantiation, implying however, they said, “not a Thomist theological jargon, but an Augustinian one.” Tolkien would have had much to add to that.
Lewis, Tolkien observed, “was in fact Pope in his own individual Church.” It is an ironic remark but it contains a poignant truth. Lewis was and is one of the ultimate authorities on the “Mere Christianity” movement, which seems to have many direct and indirect disciples. “And I am sure God accepted him as that,” Tolkien wrote, invoking God’s mercy upon the great friend who had passed away four years before, who had remained “hostile to the R.C. Church and never I think ever attended to Our Lady.”
This writer had a few chances to discuss this topics and Lewis’s “implicit Catholicism” with the later Walter Hooper (1931–2020), an American who once was the writer’s personal secretary and then became the literary advisor of the Lewis’ estate. Hooper was an ordained Anglican priest since 1965 and became a Catholic in 1988. He was also a notable expert on the relationship between Lewis and Tolkien.
It is nice to underline this original contribution to a great spiritual exigence of our secular age on the very 50th anniversary of Tolkien’s death and in light of November 22’s 60th anniversary of the death of Lewis. | |||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 1 | 64 | https://www.nationalreview.com/2020/12/walter-hooper-r-i-p/ | en | Remembering Walter Hooper: C.S. Lewis Expert Brought Author’s Work to World | [
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"Joseph Loconte"
] | 2020-12-07T17:35:22-05:00 | Walter Hooper, the American who more than anyone else brought C.S. Lewis to the world, has passed away at the age of 89. | en | National Review | https://www.nationalreview.com/2020/12/walter-hooper-r-i-p/ | ||||||
correct_death_00033 | FactBench | 3 | 84 | http://inklingsclass.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-death-of-cs-lewiss.html | en | Inklings: The Death of C.S. Lewis's | [] | [] | [] | [
""
] | null | [] | null | People are captivated by C.S. Lewis's life. However, I recently became curious about his death. We all know him for his work within the worl... | en | http://inklingsclass.blogspot.com/favicon.ico | http://inklingsclass.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-death-of-cs-lewiss.html | ||||||
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] | 2018-11-22T00:00:00 | This year I introduced an occasional feature I call “Throwback Thursday.” This is where I find a blog post from the past–raiding either my own vault or someone else’s–and throw it back out into the digital world. This might be an idea or book that is now relevant again, or a concept I’d like to | en | A Pilgrim in Narnia - a journey through the imaginative worlds of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and the Inklings | https://apilgriminnarnia.com/2018/11/22/11-22-63-the-day-that-c-s-lewis-died/ | This year I introduced an occasional feature I call “Throwback Thursday.” This is where I find a blog post from the past–raiding either my own vault or someone else’s–and throw it back out into the digital world. This might be an idea or book that is now relevant again, or a concept I’d like to think about more, or even “an oldie but a goodie” that I think needs a bit of spin time.
This is a rewriting of a post from the 50th anniversary of C.S. Lewis’ death in 2013. Lewis died on the same day as American president John F. Kennedy and English public intellectual and dystopian writer, Aldous Huxley. Though Lewis died an hour before the President was assassinated, the Lewises had lived privately and the story was lost in a swirl of international news. On this 55th anniversary it is Thursday, but on 11/22/63 it was a Friday. That great album With the Beatles dropped that Friday morning and the 1st episode of Doctor Who ran later that night. Lyndon B. Johnson would later be sworn in as the 36th President of the United States as condolences poured in from around the world. Meanwhile, two of Britain’s voices, including the Narnian himself, quietly slipped out of this world.
Canadians just are not as good as Americans when it comes to iconic days. Let’s be honest: Canada Day isn’t nearly as interesting as Independence Day, though we do have our quaint county fair traditions. The American Civil War is one for history books, family legend, and blockbuster TV, while 10 to 1 odds it is unlikely the reader knows much about Canada’s founding moment, our Battle on the Plains of Abraham. From the landing of the Mayflower to 9/11, America sets its days in the hewn stones of history, while Canada plays Youtube reruns of Heritage Minutes that are mostly cool things Canadians did without anyone knowing they were Canadian–and often before there was such a thing as “Canada.”
The moment hit home for me on Aug 31, 1997, early in the morning on the East Coast. I can pinpoint where I was when I heard that Lady Diana died. It was a Sunday and I was on my way to church where I was a ministry intern. I was driving down a side road of the little community as my new wife and I were preparing to move to the village the next day. I remember the announcer’s voice, and the weather, and some sense of loss.
This is all firmly in my mind even though I had no real concern about this celebrity, really. But I still sealed the memory within me in the way people sealed in Nov 22, 1963, the assassination of John F. Kennedy. My memory of Lady Di’s crash is perhaps chiefly due to my grandfather’s wry sense of humour. On the eve of Diana’s epic, international funeral, Mother Teresa quietly passed away. Most people were focussed on things other than a nun in India. My grandfather, a seldom spoken man, commented:
“It really is poor timing on her part,” he said.
“Abominable timing,” I said.
“If she’d have thought it through, she might have waited,” he said.
“A real mistake in marketing,” I said.
On Feb 17, 2011, my grandfather died. It was a Thursday.
Though Canadians are lacking in the area of great days, I feel free to borrow UK and, especially, American iconic moments. I remember all the minutes of 9/11. It was a Tuesday. I was in rural Japan when I heard from our American landlords what had happened. My wife and I drove to the top of a mountain to get the English radio station from the American installation at the Yokota Air Base on the Kanto Plains. Then we mourned with the motley crew of ex-patriots under the weepy trees of Karuizawa. It was an international day of grieving, but it was an American day. Though we came from all parts of the world, on 9/11 we were all kind of American.
Then there was 12/22/63.
I am far too young to know the JFK moment as all middle-aged Americans do. I think I remember the death of John Lennon, also an assassination. I don’t remember any details as a five-year-old boy, except a general sense of sadness in the house. Strawberry fields forever and the like. It was a Monday.
In my own life, besides 9/11 and that week in June 1989 when things went bad in Tiananmen Square, there are dates I will never forget: Thursday, April 16, 1987; Sunday, Feb 4, 1990; Monday, Jul 2, 1990; Monday, Jan 3, 1994; Friday, May 9, 1997; Thursday, Nov 25, 2004; Friday, Feb 1, 2008. They are mine but they are not the world’s. No children salute as the motorcade of my memory travels by.
Despite the impact of 9/11, which is shaping American culture and politics up to this very minute, the weight of American days in memory is still heaviest on Nov 22, 1963. The death of Kennedy, which keeps appearing in this blog on C.S. Lewis’ death, continues to appear in American consciousness. When he died in Dallas, the news overwhelmed all other news throughout the world.
There were many things that happened that day. A police officer died with Kennedy, didn’t he? The Beatles released their second album. The political tides were shifting in Asia. Americans died in Vietnam as children there lost their homes. Many people in the world died that day, including Aldous Huxley, the author of Brave New World and dozens of other books. This was also the day that Wilhelm Beiglböck died comfortably in his home after having made a career out of doing live human tests on Jews in concentration camps as if they were lab rats, which in his mind they were.
Most eyes were turned away from his death. Perhaps that is best.
My grandfather quipped that Mother Teresa should have planned her death better. It doesn’t surprise me that she slipped away without much fanfare. She may not have thought she was worth the fuss anyway.
I suppose my grandfather would also have criticized C.S. Lewis for his inopportune death. If dying during the week of Lady Di’s memorial was bad, dying on America’s 1960s day of days is even worse. But that is what happened. On Nov 22, 1963, while Americans were glued to their television sets and radios, the news that C.S. Lewis died quietly in his bedroom slipped out into the world. Lewis had been recovering from an episode in the summer, but his health faded quickly in November. Lewis was one week shy of his sixty-fifth birthday. when he died. It was a Friday.
Almost no one paid attention to the death of one of the most popular authors of a generation. This probably would not have fazed Lewis, though he may have found it disappointing that neither his brother Warren nor his close friend Tolkien attended his funeral. I am not sure he ever really had a true sense of his importance as an author. He knew he was popular because he responded to the fan letters that poured in for years. But the popularity never truly settled within him. According to his step-son, Douglas Gresham, Lewis told his lawyer he didn’t need a literary estate since he would be forgotten in five year’s time. With book sales in the hundreds of millions—The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe is steadily moving toward 100,000,000 copies alone—I would suggest Lewis underestimated his impact.
If Lewis was forgotten on the day he died, it is no longer the case 55 years later. Five years ago, the semicentenary of Lewis’ passing became a year of jubilee. Beiglböck is mercifully forgotten. The Beatles are as important as ever, though I still miss John Lennon and they still aren’t as big as Jesus. Brave New World is a must-read, even if Aldous Huxley himself is obscured in time. 9/11 began a century—and closed one off, I hope—though I’m not sure Tiananmen Square did either of these things. Mother Teresa was canonized and Lady Di’s children are having children of their own. Doctor Who has nearly 850 episodes and is on its 13th doctor.
All calendar pages turn, and in the end, all days are just days. 55 years ago, C.S. Lewis finished his last day with tea. J.F.K.’s legacy is Cuba and Vietnam, Marilyn Monroe and the Moon, and the audacious idea that it was an American’s duty to serve, not to be served. Lewis’ legacy is far more modest: Oxford and Narnia, tea stains, smoke rings, and a few good words. I wonder, though, as we pass the few decades, if Lewis’ legacy may not continue to rise, while the days of America’s visionary martyr will prove to have been too short. Perhaps JFK died too soon, or perhaps Lewis simply had more to say.
Only the Ancient of Days can know for certain. The voices of great men and almost all women have passed away, no doubt. All stone turns to sand, I suppose. But I have a feeling that C.S. Lewis’ words are engraved in our human experience. So it is on this day that I think it is worth celebrating the artistic, literary, and spiritual legacy of C.S. Lewis. It is why I have dedicated years to helping American readers see the transformative project that Lewis undertook. And a few Canadians too, I suppose. | |||||
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"Death Month:... | null | [] | 2014-04-02T13:30:50 | C.S. Lewis was a prolific Irish writer and scholar best known for his 'Chronicles of Narnia' fantasy series and his pro-Christian texts. | en | /_assets/design-tokens/biography/static/images/favicon.3635572.ico | Biography | https://www.biography.com/authors-writers/cs-lewis | (1898-1963)
Who Was C.S. Lewis?
Writer and scholar C.S. Lewis taught at Oxford University and became a renowned Christian apologist writer, using logic and philosophy to support the tenets of his faith. He is also known throughout the world as the author of The Chronicles of Narnia fantasy series, which have been adapted into various films for the big and small screens.
Early Life
Clive Staples Lewis was born in Belfast, Ireland, on November 29, 1898, to Flora August Hamilton Lewis and Albert J. Lewis. As a toddler, Clive declared that his name was Jack, which is what he was called by family and friends. He was close to his older brother Warren and the two spent much time together as children.
Lewis was enraptured by fantastic animals and tales of gallantry, and hence the brothers created the imaginary land of Boxen, complete with an intricate history that served them for years. Lewis' mother died when he was 10, and he went on to receive his pre-college education at boarding schools and from a tutor. During WWI, he served with the British army and was sent home after being wounded by shrapnel. He then chose to live as a surrogate son with Janie Moore, the mother of a friend of Lewis' who was killed in the war.
Teaching Career at Oxford and Wartime Broadcasts
Lewis graduated from Oxford University with a focus on literature and classic philosophy, and in 1925 he was awarded a fellowship teaching position at Magdalen College, which was part of the university. There, he also joined the group known as The Inklings, an informal collective of writers and intellectuals who counted among their members Lewis' brother Warren and J.R.R. Tolkien. It was through conversations with group members that Lewis found himself re-embracing Christianity after having become disillusioned with the faith as a youth. He would go on to become renowned for his rich apologist texts, in which he explained his spiritual beliefs via platforms of logic and philosophy.
Lewis began publishing work including Spirits in Bondage in 1919 and the satirical Dymer in 1926. After penning other titles — including The Allegory of Love (1936), for which he won the Hawthornden Prize — he released in 1938 his first sci-fi work, Out of the Silent Planet, the first of a space trilogy which dealt sub-textually with concepts of sin and desire. Later, during WWII, Lewis gave highly popular radio broadcasts on Christianity which won many converts; his speeches were collected in the work Mere Christianity.
Books and Film Legacy
Lewis was a prolific author of fiction and nonfiction who wrote dozens of books over the course of his career. His faith-based arguments as seen in texts like The Great Divorce (1946) and Miracles (1947) are held in high regard by many theologians, scholars and general readers. His satirical fiction novel The Screwtape Letters (1942) is also a beloved classic. Lewis also continued his love affair with classic mythology and narratives during his later years: His book Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold (1956) featured the story of Psyche and Cupid. He also penned an autobiography, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life (1955).
Lewis' landmark series, The Chronicles of Narnia, has seen a number of on-screen iterations, including a cartoon version of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe that was released in 1979 and a 1989 film series. Additionally, in 2005, a big-screen adaptation of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe hit movie theaters, starring Tilda Swinton as the witch Jadis and Liam Neeson as the voice of Aslan. Two more Narnia films were brought to theaters as well: Prince Caspian (2008) and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010). A movie version of The Silver Chair was slated to hit theaters in the near future, with filming starting in the winter of 2018.
Lewis' relationship with his wife, Joy, has also been depicted in Shadowlands, presented as a play and two films; one of the film versions was directed by Richard Attenborough and starred Anthony Hopkins as Lewis.
'The Chronicles of Narnia'
During the 1940s, Lewis began writing the seven books that would comprise The Chronicles of Narnia children's series, with The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (1950) being the first release. The story focused on four siblings who, during wartime, walk through an armoire to enter the magical world of Narnia, a land resplendent with mythical creatures and talking animals. Throughout the series, a variety of Biblical themes are presented; one prominent character is Aslan, a lion and the ruler of Narnia, who has been interpreted as a Jesus Christ figure. (Lewis would assert that his Narnia stories weren't a direct allegory to the real world.)
Though the book received some negative reviews, it was generally well-received by readers, and the series retained its international popularity over the following decades.
Marriage
In 1954, Lewis joined the faculty of Cambridge University as a literature professor, and in 1956 he married an American English teacher, Joy Gresham, with whom he had been in correspondence. Lewis was full of happiness during the years of their marriage, though Gresham died of cancer in 1960. Lewis grieved deeply for his wife and shared his thoughts in the book A Grief Observed, using a pen name.
Death
In 1963, Lewis resigned from his Cambridge position after experiencing heart trouble. He died on November 22, 1963, in Headington, Oxford.
QUICK FACTS
Name: C.S. Lewis
Birth Year: 1898
Birth date: November 29, 1898
Birth City: Belfast
Birth Country: Ireland
Gender: Male
Best Known For: C.S. Lewis was a prolific Irish writer and scholar best known for his 'Chronicles of Narnia' fantasy series and his pro-Christian texts.
Industries
Fiction and Poetry
Journalism and Nonfiction
Astrological Sign: Sagittarius
Schools
University College, Oxford
Death Year: 1963
Death date: November 22, 1963
Death City: Oxford
Death Country: England
Fact Check
We strive for accuracy and fairness.If you see something that doesn't look right,contact us!
CITATION INFORMATION
Article Title: C.S. Lewis Biography
Author: Biography.com Editors
Website Name: The Biography.com website
Url: https://www.biography.com/authors-writers/cs-lewis
Access Date:
Publisher: A&E; Television Networks
Last Updated: April 20, 2021
Original Published Date: April 2, 2014
QUOTES | ||||
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] | null | Articles | en | https://www.1517.org/articles/sunshine-in-september-the-story-of-c-s-lewis-conversion | It was just another typical fall day at the Kilns outside Oxford, England. The day began at 8 am with a full English breakfast and plenty of tea, of course. There was talk of a trip to the zoo, but fog began rolling in, so a bit of disagreement ensued over the day’s activities. Jack and his brother Warnie decided to go on ahead using the motorcycle and sidecar, while the ladies would follow later in the car. As they set out on the way to the park, the fog slowly lifted, and the sun began to shine.
That unremarkable trip to the zoo on September 28, 1931, was the last in a long line of experiences that brought C.S. Lewis (Jack) back to the faith. Some people call it a conversion, but I see it more as a return home after a long and difficult journey. “The longest way round is the shortest way home.”
Lewis was brought up in the church as a boy in Belfast, Ireland. He had a happy and carefree childhood until his mother’s death to cancer when he was nine years old. His loss was traumatic and compounded by his father’s own despair and melancholy. Unable to function after his wife’s death, Jack’s father shipped both of his sons off to boarding school.
Those were difficult years for the Lewis boys. After boarding school came college, and soon after, they joined the fight in World War One. The harshness of life and the horrors of war led them away from God and the church. Jack would later say that he was “very angry with God for not existing.”* Fortunately, during this time, Jack was also introduced to George MacDonald and GK Chesterton, whose Christian worldviews influenced him sometimes without knowing it. “A young man who wishes to remain an atheist cannot be too careful of his reading.”
Back at Oxford after the war, one of the most important friendships of the century began when C.S. Lewis met JRR Tolkien. “Jack and Tollers,” as they were known, had a lot in common. They were both English professors who had a love for Norse mythology. They both lost their mothers at an early age. And they were both veterans who had fought in the Great War. These shared experiences would bring them together and strengthen their bonds of friendship and fellowship. They quickly became friends and enjoyed walking, talking, smoking, and drinking together. They would later establish the writers’ group known as the “Inklings,” which met at the Eagle and Child Pub in Oxford each week to read and discuss each other’s literary work.
Around this time, one of the fiercest atheists that Jack knew admitted that the evidence for the Gospels was surprisingly good, and that it seemed God had indeed entered into human history after all. “Rum thing. All that stuff about the Dying God. It almost looks as if it really happened once,” Lewis said. The core of Jack’s atheism began to crumble as friends, acquaintances, and even authors of the books he was reading were all ganging up on him regarding the truth about the existence of God.
That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. I finally gave in and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.
As he considered all of this, he finally let go of the reins and gave in. “That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. I finally gave in and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”
Jack now believed in God, but he was not a Christian yet. That would come two years later, in September of 1931. It began with a stroll along Addison’s Walk in Oxford and continued in conversation late into the night at Jack’s place. Tolkien, Lewis, and another friend, Hugo Dyson, were discussing all the old myths that they loved, and how Christianity was the one true myth of history, the one that actually happened.
Eight days later, after breakfast on September 28, 1931, Jack and Warnie headed out by motorcycle and sidecar on the way to the zoo. He would later write,
When we set out I did not believe that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, but when we reached the zoo I did. I had not exactly spent the journey in thought, nor in great emotion. ‘Emotional’ is perhaps the last word we can apply to some of the most important events. It was more like when a man, after a long sleep, still lying motionless on the bed, becomes aware that he is now awake. |