C. S. Lewis
Given my
age, it is perhaps understandable that I have developed an interest in matters eschatological
(def: of last and final things). Do not
be alarmed: I plan to outlive my cat, which – since she sleeps 22 hrs./day –
promises to be essentially immortal. Nevertheless, I have undertaken some serious
reading lately, much of which involves books by C.S. Lewis. Yes, that Lewis, the one responsible for The Chronicles of Narnia, and other
imaginative literature, much of it aimed at children. Surprisingly, he also was a philosopher (he
would have denied it), as well as what is described, surprisingly, as a “Christian
apologist”. Altogether he wrote so many books,
and that before Microsoft Word, that he must literally have lived at his
desk. Of course, Winston Churchill wrote
easily as many words, and had time left over to save the world.
Well,
anyway, I just finished Lewis’s book Surprised
by Joy. It is a skinny little
volume, but contains an incredible collection of elegantly presented, but totally incomprehensible, prose. Surprised by Joy purports to be an account of Lewis’s early life
and his conversion from arrogant atheism to Christianity. I guess it is, but unless you studied Great
Literature and Philosophy at Oxford in the early 20th century, no
way in hell can you be sure. Every
third line contains a reference to some great author’s masterpiece – and, not
only have you not read that masterpiece, you probably have never even heard of its author! Surprised
by Joy must have been written for a half dozen Oxbridge intellectuals;
Lewis certainly didn’t have me in mind.
So, give
this book a pass. The last chapter may
be worthwhile, but you can’t escape the suspicion that the bulk of the book was
written just to show off.
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