Miracles

This book by C.S. Lewis is a pull-no-punches logical apologetic about, as the title suggests, miracles. Often claimed by the non-religious as the most egregiously unbelievable aspect of religion, miracles are a philosophical sticking-point for many explorers of faiths that involve them. However - as Lewis argues - this is a misapprehension, applying assumptions of natural science to phenomena that are essentially supernatural. This is the crux of his argument throughout the book, the discontinuity between nature and "supernature", which having defined he goes on to explore and prod the logical interrelations between these two levels of reality for how knowable, probable, and believable they are. I won't do a full chapter-by-chapter breakdown for this book - simply conclude by saying that here is a book that is dazzlingly well-argued and difficult to refute without relying on unproveable assumptions that have nothing to do with science and everything to do with metaphysical faith. A great enlightening read for Christians who want to robustify their intellectual flexibility, and surely a challenging thought-provoker for those readers of no religion.

the Problem of Pain

This book by C.S. Lewis is a short but punchy apologetic for that ever-irksome question to the Christian - you know the one I mean, the theodicy, that is: "if God is perfectly good and totally powerful, why is there suffering?" His method of argument here is not theological in any meaningful sense; in fact he draws on existing Christian thought very little throughout, relying instead on rigorous resolute logical application and dissection of the concepts themselves as the appear at face value. This makes his points dazzlingly original, divorced as they are from the aggregated accumulation of two millennia of Christian philosophizing, and thoroughly compelling, as his arguments stand on their own two feet without dependence on a reader's acceptance or rejection of any particular orthodoxy (not to say that the theological implications of this book aren't in line with orthodox theology, but that simply isn't the line of argument taken).

   The first two chapters deal, in turn, with divine omnipotence and divine goodness; as stated there is very little here that could be described as serious or systematic theology, but Lewis's grasp of the logical implications around these concepts is on full display as he makes the case that neither of these presumed facts about God necessarily demand or even imply the total absence of suffering in said God's creation. In the following two chapters he discusses human wickedness (as a logically necessary possibility in a created order in which we assume human freedom, and as the source of much suffering) and the fallen nature of humankind (this is probably the most theological chapter of the book as it relies on The Fall as an existing theological framework - however, much to my surprise, this chapter also devotes considerable attention to the question of humanity's evolutionary history, and what a pre-Fall prehistoric homo sapiens may have been like in its relation to itself, God, and nature more widely). Then there is a pair of chapters about human pain (which largely consists of pretty basic logical inductions from the previous chapters) and the pain of animals (which I wasn't expecting much from given my critique of its related essay in this collection, but I take back my assumptions from that post that this probably wouldn't be a very strong chapter as I have to admit Lewis does actually have a nuanced and well-developed model of animal nature). This leads us up to a concluding pair of chapters in which we consider the eternal dimensions that lend either meaninglessness or meaningfulness to whatever degree of experienced pain the human life serves up - that is, Heaven and Hell. The Hell chapter walked territory that was very familiar to the concepts of Christianity that I've grown up with (much moreso than the universalism angled towards in Moltmann's theological system, even if I prefer that now) with a few key fresh insights - most especially, the notion that Hell is not imposed but chosen: its doors, Lewis states flatly, are locked from the inside. The Heaven chapter is reasonably speculative, as it is bound to have to be, but the picture he paints of eternal communion between God and His redeemed human creatures is devastatingly beautiful: the glorification of the Holy Trinity and the fulness of expressed and embodied freedom of people are one and the same thing, every unique individual who has ever lived and been brought into God's Kingdom finding their deepest and most everlasting joy in expressing their personal relationship to God in a way that only they could ever precisely manage, thus involving to the ultimate realness the diversity and unity of personhood. Finally there is an appendix wherein we are given a brief scientific overview of what physical and mental pain is understood to be; this adds virtually nothing to the arguments Lewis has been making, but it's nice to have for the possible reader who has, like the pre-enlightened Buddha, never experienced meaningful suffering.

   Overall this is an eminently readable and powerful intellectual-yet-accessible book about one of the thorniest issues in all of religion. Christian readers will find their faith sharpened and their apologetic capacities given a major leg-up; and non-Christians who rely on the issue of suffering to bolster their own rejection of the faith should find in here, if not absolutely guaranteed-to-be-convincing points, at least much challenging food for thought that should give even the most ardent atheist some humbling pause.

[one final thing I will say, that has nothing to do with the text of this book in itself - if you're going to read this, I would strongly recommend trying to find a physical version, as the Kindle version that I read it through (and that is linked above) is quite poorly formatted, with certain sections where there seem to be chunks missing, and them being missing means there could only have been a few words or perhaps whole pages that I didn't get included in the edition I read; it still held together as a book, but it would have been nice, having bought a book, to get the whole text]

Compelling Reason

This book is a collection of essays by C. S. Lewis, author of the Narnia series and perhaps the most famous 20th-century British Christian apologist. The essays range in subject matter from ethics, theology, aesthetics, cultural concerns, and vaguer trains of thought. I will give each essay a brief outline critique before offering my thoughts on the collection as a whole.

1. "Why I am not a pacifist" - an impassioned, largely balanced, pragmatic argumentation against pacifism, which I think just about succeeds on its own merits even though it barely delves deep enough into moral philosophy to make its point well. Certainly a filibusterous failure from my point of view.
2. "Bulverism" - a study into a plague of modern thinking, which is how people will oftentimes approach an argument by showing why their opponent must be wrong before demonstrating that they are wrong. An original and genuinely compellingly insightful essay.
3. "First and second things" - a pretty bland reflection on myth, cultural memory, and authenticity.
4. "Equality" - a rather kneejerk if you ask me take on egalitarianism, which wears its complete lack of engagement with political philosophy almost proudly on its sleeve.
5. "Three Kinds of Men" - a mercifully short and horribly shallow categorisation of all of humanity into the eponymous trio of camps. Not helpful.
6. "Horrid Red Things" - an intriguingly original reflection on assumption, truth, pragmatic value, and shared understanding: robustly common-sense & widely applicable.
7. "Democratic Education" - makes a couple of interesting-sounding points but overall falls at the same hurdle as [4]; largely comes across, especially to a 21st-century reader, as unsympathetic elitist huff.
8. "A Dream" - anecdotal recount of a dream about the Home Guard; I honestly struggled to see what point if any this one was trying to make.
9. "Is English Doomed?" - a despairing take on the decline of academic English studies which is largely, if not utterly, disproven by historical educational trends since.
10. "Meditation in a Toolshed" - an original and pleasurably-imaginative musing on how to best balance objectivity and subjectivity in one's perspective.
11. "Hedonics" - another highly original and entertaining reflection on the nature of pleasure, and the deplorable lacuna in intellectualism of studying it for its own sake so that it can be better propagated.
12. "Christian Apologetics" - originally read to an audience of Anglican priests and youth leaders in the Church of Wales, this is a robust and engaging and open sketch of the challenges and opportunities of its title matter.
13. "The Decline of Religion" - a level-headed take on the secularisation of British society that had started to rear its head in Lewis's lifetime to the shock of the religious establishment, even though it was merely, as he argues, the manifestation of trends that had been bubbling away for centuries.
14. "Religion Without Dogma" - for my money the best essay in the book: Lewis, with zero philosophical academic weight but a wealth of common sharp logic, strips the concept of religion of everything it can bear to lose while still being worthy of the name to discover if there is an acceptably universal minimal form of it. His rigour in this endeavour paired with actual scholarly study could fill an entire series of theology books, but ultimately for his conclusion that Christianity suffices the lowest-common-denominator middle-ground seems to me well made.
15. "Vivisection" - a fairly utilitarian anthropocentric reflection on the topic, that if you ask me bares the underdevelopment of Lewis's thinking on animal being and rights (not simply because I disagree with him - I don't, in places, but rather that he uses them as a springboard into human concerns with a clear lack of having landed on a satisfactory understanding of them in themselves.)
16. "Modern Translations of the Bible" - a sane and uncontroversial (nowadays at least, unless you're one of those KJV-only purist nutjobs) take on alternate English versions of scripture: all points in here are completely justified by the proliferation and worth of such translations in the years since this was written.
17. "On Living in an Atomic Age" - weirdly jovial in its Christian nihilism; Lewis here pays no attention to international relations or ecology and merely goes off on a sprawling tangent about the value of purposeful life over mere survival (as if the two were wholly disconnected concepts) and lands at a conclusion that I understand but think is morally entitled and politically bankrupt.
18. "The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment" - a two-parter in which first the essay and then a response to two critiques of aforesaid essay lay out Lewis's (oh, how shall I say) interesting perspective on the nature of crime and punishment. From a purely moral standpoint I understand his perspective but on a pragmatic level I think he completely fails to grapple with any serious philosophical notion of justice and on a social level he makes "logical" leaps into un-contextualised territories to make his points that left me simply scratching my head at his paranoia.
19. "The Pains of Animals" - this one opens with a letter by a Dr. Joad, critiquing the chapter in Lewis's book The Problem of Pain on this essay's topic, and then follows with Lewis's reply. We already know Lewis's grasp of animals [see 15] is weak to put it mildly, so even though respectably he does admit that his points here are "speculative", the fact that he would have devoted a chapter in one of his books to this subject is intellectually sloppy and from an apologetic standpoint even irresponsible (especially considering what he said in [12] about the responsibilities of apologetics).
20. "Is Theism Important?" - a brief but cogent dissection of the line between intellectual faith and spiritual or personal faith, and how these are or aren't bridged.
21. "Xmas and Christmas" - not even an essay, just a prolonged whinge about the secularisation of the holiday. Zero intellectual content but a fun[ish] read.
22. "Prudery and Philology" - the least consequential thing in the whole book; this is basically just a spiralling diatribe about how problematic it is or isn't that words for genitals are often rude.
23. "Is History Bunk?" - a fairly interesting look into the nature of historical study and where exactly judgement or critique comes into it; I struggle to see any meaningful application of these ideas anywhere they aren't already being wholeheartedly engaged with though.
24. "Willing Slaves of the Welfare State" - the half-baked political thinking Lewis proudly showed off in [4] and [7] is now applied on a global level, with zero economic understanding displayed and zero substantive philosophy utilised, to draw us into an alarmist sketch of global future dystopia under the guise of universal wellbeing.

   Overall I think this is a pretty hit-and-miss collection. Some, like [2], [11] and [14], are definitely worth a read and are original and robust. Many others just smack of rather bland conservative cynicism from a man whose position as a public intellectual privileges him to talk about anything he wants regardless of how much he actually understands the complexities or nuances or the topic (or fields of study entire) at hand. Readers looking for a whole book's-worth of biting, truly compelling argument as Lewis is known for in his Christian writings will only find perhaps 30-40% of such a books-worth here, but anyone interested in his way of thinking should still find this an interesting read.

the Last Battle

This book is C. S. Lewis's final instalment in The Chronicles of Narnia - and oh boy, if you were to read back through this month's worth of posts you would see me saying some pretty ungenerous things about this saga. Not undeservedly, I will say. As much love as I have for Lewis as a Christian apologist in my experience so far his fiction is streets behind that of the man who turned him to Christ in the first place.

    Plot-wise it's relatively simple - there's a sneaky ape called Shift who finds the skin of a dead lion and persuades his donkey friend called Puzzle to wear in and pretend to be Aslan so that he can take rulership of Narnia to his own benefit. King Tirian, a descendant of Caspian, tries to clear matters up but soon becomes embroiled in the larger schemes. Eventually Eustace and Jill (from prior books) are summoned and start making more headway in unravelling the conspiracy, eventually even summoning as a bonus Peter, Edmund and Lucy (Susan is not allowed as she apparently doesn't believe in Narnia anymore) to help thwart the plot. Which they do. The actual eponymous "last battle" is extremely short and small-scale, even if it's very important for the story itself - but what makes this book a worthy conclusion to a seven-novel saga is its final three or four chapters. Basically, having achieved everything that that world was meant to, Narnia just ends, under the controlling supervision of Jesus Aslan. As disparaging as I may at times have been of this series throughout these posts I genuinely do think their moral core is incredibly strong and edifying, especially for children readers or listeners, and this final segment is where in my opinion that shines through the strongest - this last bit of the saga where Narnia is being wrapped up back into the fabric of creation is not only the most powerful part of the series but some of the most beautiful allegorical fantasy I've read anywhere. Lewis is very clearly trying to communicate some of the boundless hope found in Christian concepts of the transition between the dying creation of post-Fall Earth and new-Built Heaven - and it shows, in glorious imagery and a resoundingly satisfying conclusion to the whole series of seven novels.

    So, as I said in my post about the first of these, and as I do for all sequences of posts about series of books rather than singulars, I have been reserving my overall reflections until this last one.* Thankfully that doesn't mean I have to spew out an absurdly long thing here as my totality of thought looking back on the Chronicles of Narnia are pretty simple. I could even do it in a mere four point-paragraphs. Here goes:

1. Clive Staples Lewis is a far better non-fiction writer than he is fiction. I mean, I haven't read all his fiction, but I haven't read all his non-fiction either, but on balance I think this is a fair assessment of just how the communicative parts of his brain work best. Though that said, The Screwtape Letters is technically fiction and is my favourite thing of his that I've read to date... so... don't take me seriously.
2. All of these characters are pretty dull. Their flaws are obvious and superficial if they exist at all, their approach to problems is pragmatically plot-development-oriented, and they all have they same manner of dialogue. All except Jesus Aslan, of course, but he's a special case.
3. Speaking of Jesus Aslan, it bears to mention that fellow Inkling Tolkien was not a fan of the Narnia series because, among other given reasons, he thought its religious allegory was too on-the-nose. And he was right. But then the two authors had different purposes; J.R.R. was seeking to create an agelessly original yet academically-legitimate mythology for the English peoples, while C. S. just wanted to make children excited about discipleship in a new, engaging way. Different strokes, innit? (see image below)
4. Overall recommendation: I think I would have enjoyed this series far more if I'd been at all familiar with it as a child. Obviously I saw the movies as the were coming out in the early 2000's, but though my parents read the whole series to most of my siblings they never did with me - I was already in too deep with my own literary taste, I suppose. But that said I do think that Christian allegory or not this is a very rich and entertaining series of fantasy novels, that even despite its evangelical bent is by no means proselytizing literature and can be enjoyed on its own merits as fantastical story, with relatable (if arguably a bit predictable) protagonists and a lot of thematic & plot developments that can be on their own terms pretty thought-provoking to a young mind.

So yeh, overall, I don't think this seven-novel series quite deserves the hype it seems to have of being in the same ilk as Tolkien and Le Guin for the best fantasy series of the 20th century, but it has a lot going for it and I can easily imagine younger readers absolutely eating this up. Go for it.

* One additional thing I will say - the editions I were reading was a box-set of seven separate volumes as opposed to the single volume linked in these posts, but I couldn't find it in online booksellers. I don't know about the linked version but mine had copies of all the original black-and-white illustrations from the first-published novels - and while I appreciate their inclusion I can't say that they were of a notable quality and their addition didn't really do much for me.

the Silver Chair

This book is the penultimate instalment (in chronological reading order anyways) of C. S. Lewis's Narnia series, and is HANDS-DOWN the weirdest. Eustace, from the last book, along with his vaguely-apparently-friend-from-school Jill, gets sucked back into Narnia in what seems to me an obfuscatorishly strange train, but never mind; once back there Prince Caspian is now in old age, so Trumpkin the dwarf and Puddleglum the marsh-wiggle are the main guides around the magical world; there's the eponymous silver chair with an ancient curse on it, at one point they go way deep underground into the realm of 'earthmen', Jesus Aslan shows up eventually - everything you may expect by this point from a Narnia novel. I did enjoy reading this more than most of the rest of the series, but I think largely out of a sense of bewilderment than actually being impressed by the prose or the story being told.

the Voyage of the Dawn Treader

This book is the fifth instalment of C. S. Lewis's Narnia saga, and though it follows directly on from the worst (the last one) it is a breath of fresh air when it comes to narrative imagination. Lucy and Edmund (who you may know from prior instalments) along with their odious cousin Eustace are sucked once more into the magical realm, where they find themselves on a pretty questionable sea-voyage under the captainship of Caspian (from prior book) who is on a quest to re-discover the lost lords of Narnia. This book is pretty episodic, with chapters or chunks of chapters having very little bearing on each other but telling interesting little self-contained bits; that said it is an engrossing and entertaining part of the overall Chronicles, and without wanting to give too much of a spoiler - the voluntary, even excited, sacrifice made by Reepicheep toward the end was the most emotional I've gotten reading this whole series so far. So there's that, I suppose.

Prince Caspian

This book is the fourth chronological instalment of C. S. Lewis's Narnia saga, and in my opinion by far the simplest to summarise. Basically the same four kids from book two (see earlier this month in the blog) get whisked back to Narnia, where it turns out that despite having been a very short time for them in England, 1300 years have passed there, and the realm is now in crisis as the usurper Miraz has displaced the true heir to the throne, the eponymous. You know. So obviously Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy have to track him down and help him battle to reclaim rule over Narnia and they do, without much by way of real narrative struggle. I mean, there are obstacles, but written in such a way that even a six-year-old having this read to them could see no real reason to worry as the plot armour of Good Prevailing is so thick. The worst of the series so far.

the Horse and His Boy

This book is the third of C. S. Lewis's Narnia saga, and arguably the weirdest. Though that is very arguable indeed, as all of them are arguably pretty weird. What's weird about this one though is that is has almost zero bearing on the characters or plot of the other six novels in this saga. It follows Shashta, a poor boy from Calormen, who escapes slavery with a talking horse called Bree, eventually meeting up with a girl called Aravis (who also has a talking horse) with whom he tries to escape to Narnia in the far north but along the way they get into all kinds of political scrapes and intrigue. Oh, and Jesus Aslan shows up briefly of course. I really don't know exactly what Lewis was trying to say with this book. It adds virtually nothing to the larger saga, even thematically, as everything that is communicated through subtext is replicated better in other places across this series of seven shortish novels. This one does have a handful of good moments though. Don't take my perplexity at its existence as an excuse to skip it if you're actually reading through the Narnia saga.

the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

This book by C. S. Lewis is the second (by chronological reading order) book in the Chronicles of Narnia series, and easily the most famous from that world. To the point that even in a mere plot-summary post I don't see the point in writing all that much as surely anyone literary enough to be reading a blog about books will be at least tangentially familiar with the plot of what is, arguably, the most famous children's fantasy novel of the 20th century perhaps after The Hobbit, so yes, this will be a short one.

    Siblings evacuated from London during the blitz, Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy wind up staying with an eccentric elderly relative. During a game of hide-and-seek one of them (in case you're lucky enough to be unfamiliar I won't say which) discovers a whole other magical world hidden in the back of a wardrobe, but the other siblings don't believe this. Until they all get there, then they do. But there's an evil witch who wants to kill Jesus Aslan. So the children have to make so very mature decisions and lead a war against evil in the realm of Narnia - which, shock and horror, they win, so they get to become monarchs despite only having been in the place for like a few days. I don't know. Don't even get me started on the literary-political implications of the way C. S. Lewis treats monarchy in this series of novels. Anyway, NEXT

the Magician's Nephew

This book is the first novel (not in writing order but in reading order which is the order I read them in and thus am blogging them in) in C. S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia series. As I tend to do with all series of books, I will reserve my overall reflections and recommendations until the last post in the series, and here simply resign myself to a spoiler-free-as-can-be plot summary.

    Digory and Polly, two childhood friends, are playing in a garden when uncle Andrew invites them into his attic and tricks them into touching magic rings that transport them into another world. The exact otherness of these worlds are not really specified by the narrative, but they go through several different dimensions of place until they run into a scary lady called Jadis, who then tags along with them, back to England which she tries to take over, until they end up in a new place - Narnia, in the process of its being created ex nihilo by Aslan the Jesus-lion. Jadis has a hissy fit and throws away the lamp-post she'd been using as a weapon; it grows into a whole new lamp-post - then Aslan says hello to Digory and Polly, and uncle Andrew and the cab-driver who for some reason has come with them, Aslan summons the cab-driver's wife from England and makes her and him the new King and Queen of Narnia, and Digory and Polly go back to normal reality with uncle Andrew. It's a weird story, I know. I've left out a few details but nothing that really has any bearing on the rest of the books in the series other than that you should know that Jadis is still annoyed and knocking about Narnia somewhere, and Andrew stole a magical apple that he planted into his garden that might someday grow into a tree large enough that you could, if you wanted, make a wardrobe out of its wood... and one has to wonder whether said wardrobe would maintain some kind of magical linkage to the realm of its origin?

the Screwtape Letters

This book by Clive Staples Lewis is an indisputable classic of modern popular theology. It's comprised of a series of thirty-one letters* written from Screwtape to his nephew, named Wormwood - both being eternally employed in the demonic art of tempting humans into sinful states (seemingly an industrial effort concerned with harvesting souls for tortuous consumption by those same demons).

   All these letters comprise advice and criticism on Wormwood's work (he being a junior tempter) on the life a particular English everyman during the Second World War - Screwtape's advice, being the intentions of an efficient devil, reads with a topsy-turviness that is consistently disorienting yet refreshing in its clarity of perspective on human nature and weakness; it is as clever a book as it is simple, as funny as serious, and even through the backwardsness of this choice of voice Lewis's insight into spiritual-moral efforts in people's lives rings loud, warmly darkly and sharply challenging to the reader as the letter's contents penetrate so incisively the contours of the general conscience.

   I cannot recommend this book enough.** For Christian readers it will be an entertaining, humblingly realistic and intellectually playful reflection on the life of a disciple; for those of other faiths (or none) its meditations on the subtleties of influence and growth in personal harmony will still probably to a considerable degree still ring true, exposing the absurdities and dangers of leaving ourselves on auto-pilot.

* Plus final text of a speech Screwtape makes to a dinner party audience of fellow senior tempters; an elaborate toast to the capacities of human tendencies to make their work so much easier than it could be.

** Quite literally, it seems.
   This is the third time I've read this book (previously when aged fifteen and nineteen) but the fourth copy of it I've owned - it's one of those which I recommend with such enthusiasm, and which other people have heard is worth reading so much, that they keep getting lended and forgottenly kept. Fortunately copies are commonly attainable from the second-hand section of Christian bookshops for £2 or less, which makes this process of occasional informal spiritual resource dissemination actually pretty viable on the whole.

the Abolition of Man

This book, a small primer against relativism by that intellectual giant of 20th-century Christendom, yes, none other than Clive Staples Lewis, wasn't as good as I'd expected. An interesting but entirely supererogatory pair of facts about the particular copy I read are that it (a) is 60 years old and (b) belongs to Portrush Presbyterian Church: my friend Dave accidentally stole it, brought it back from Northern Ireland to Sheffield where he goes to uni with me, read it, lent it to me, and now presumably intends to return it quietly to its rightful place across the narrow sea.

   The book itself is more academic and targeted than Lewis's usual nonfiction; rather than writing an uplifting and convincing Christian message to a general audience, here he seeks to resolutely sort out an important argument for a more educated audience. While he was without a doubt a formidable intellectual, I don't think this is his forté - especially given the subject matter. At the height of modernism which gave rise to post-modernism and the explosion of critical sociocultural theories that make winning arguments so much the harder, here we see him writing about the dangers of subjectivism in a compelling, but nowhere near tight enough, little mess of three essays.

   His first essay concerns education, and how values of subjectivism secretly embedded in texts will yield a nefariously relativistic pull on the consciences and judgements of the educated in years to come. His second essay considers how, through the modernistic reduction of things with values to mere things for scrutiny, such a relativistic hegemony could grow and win; he frames such a process as the continuation of man's dominance over nature into man's dominance over metaphysics. His third essay laments this predicted victory, as the prevalence of relativism as an intellectual and moral habit for human thinkers would, he sees it, be 'the abolition of man', as by separating from absolute value (a set of fundamental moral truths that he refers to, interestingly, as the Tao) our own capacity for decision and analysis, we're effectively surrendering to a free-for-all, a constructivist postmodern landscape in which anything goes, which means nothing goes. In an appendix, he leaves us with a compilation of snippets of wisdom* from a variety of civilisatons round the world, that he considers to contain something of the Tao: these universal values underpinning human moral agency, thinks Lewis, are something that have been noted and prized by almost every society, and that is reflected in their great wisdom texts.

   It's worth pointing out that largely, I agree with him. Objective truth does exist, modernism did seek in its quest for progress and human flourishing to prod questioningly at it, and this was reflected strongly in educational and intellectual developments. However, the breadth and simplicity of the points Lewis makes in this book reveal that he is actually just quite weak at doing analytical philosophy and very weak at writing about critical theory, so we can't expect his attempt to bring down major trends in both of them from within to be a resounding success. Even though a lot of it seems to make intuitive sense, his arguments are sloppy and even his framing and understanding of the philosophical and theoretical trends he's lambasting not nuanced enough to take seriously as a full critique. His style, which strives for openness and clarity while at the same time verging on metaphorical phrasing and depending too much on imagery and convention, doesn't help here at all. Subjectivism (not to mention its myriad offspring schools-of-thought) isn't, I don't think, the correct or best broad view we should have about morality or any sociocultural issue, but rejecting all critical and postmodernistic theories out of hand because they smell of it simply isn't an option. Reality, especially in this kind of normative realm, is incredibly horribly multifariously complex, and we need subjective viewpoints, we need a wide array of theories and responses, not only just to try to work out answers to these kinds of issues but to understand them in a helpful way at all.**

   So, this is a pretty interesting read, but I'm not sure what for. For a defense of objectivism, especially regarding morality, there are others that far better engage with the real intellectual climate and may even be easier-going. For a critical discussion of modern theoretical developments in the general field, there are literally thousands of better books. Christian readers might appreciate it as an often-unseen philosophical facet of the brilliant accessible apologist, though be warned, this is nowhere near as brilliant and nowhere near as accessible as his Christian writings. I'm not sure if it's even in print anymore, but here's a link to the full text online if you want to have a read:

https://archive.org/stream/TheAbolitionOfMan_229/C.s.Lewis-TheAbolitionOfMan_djvu.txt

* Some of the implied 'wisdom' here I find a bit suspect, but that's not a new surprise: C.S. Lewis's thinking has a few tendencies that I, were he alive and predisposed to converse with 21-year-old Yorkshiremen who think they're cleverer than they are and far less intellectually intimidating, would press him on. His writings reflect a patriarchal, militaristic, patriotic tendency that sit quite at odds with my effeminate cosmopolitan pacifism. Most of the 'wisdom' he's picked seems pretty legit though, and I do appreciate his sourcing it from more places than just Leviticus and Locke.

** I was a philosophy student, can you tell?

Surprised by Joy

This book, the autobiographical coming-of-spiritual-age story of that darling of 20th century Christianity, Clive Staples Lewis, is so deeply thought-provoking and insightful and wise that I actually have very little to say about it. I acquired it second-hand almost immediately after a stunned encounter with the fact that he was an atheist for much of his life. Surely, I thought, any mind as piercing as his sojourning from godlessness to joy in Christ would be worth reading. It was.

   What can I say? C.S. Lewis has a unique ability to describe combinations of feeling, thought, circumstance and motive to penetrate with alarming clarity the truth of what is going on in a person or an idea - and he is well able to apply this skill to the evolution of his own mindset. His overall journey can broadly be described as tasting "joy" early in life and commencing searches in art, philosophy, science and history to find clues as to where it might come from and how he might reliably attain its source (SPOILER ALERT: God). He explores how his conception of a worldview grows and changes, based on aesthetic taste, satisfactory narratives, his character's reaction to places in which he finds himself and people who challenge him, and (though these are surprisingly not as central as I expected) intellectual truths to which he assented.

   Exploratory reading of a huge assortment of books (especially myth and legend, the grandeur of which grounded his inkling of a more meaningful universal story than atheism provides) and formal education (from the violent aristocracies of Wyvern boarding school to the relentless logic of a tutor referred to as "the Knock") are the two main currents of growth and development in his coming-to-faith. A host of other places and people and circumstances are significant in the tale too, but I would rather not list them nor summarise them. From World War One to an aging father to frequent lengthy trips to and from Northern Ireland to tutoring at Oxford; Lewis's life, even the abridged aspects presented in this book, are far too wondrously individualistically interesting to do justice* even in his own words, let alone mine, which here are far fewer, less well-chosen, and read by almost nobody.

   It's very easy reading, which is just as well, because I was breezing through it during the days surrounding my last exam (I am, as of Thursday, free, thank goodness, at least until tomorrow when lectures start again, but hurrah nonetheless). It's insightful and challenging and I would recommend anyone read it; christians will find it an excellent source of pearls regarding wisdom, truth and goodness and one's acquisition of those things in coming to know God; non-christians will be entertained by his lucid cheery writing style and perhaps provoked to reflection by some of the ideas Lewis encounters in books or observes floating about his own worldview.

* Biographies always irk me slightly in that regard. They have value in that aspects of a life can be accentuated to shed light on a particular purpose or meaning, but the sheer inadequacy of reducing something as marvellous as human experience to words on pages is such that most endeavours to do so come across as superficial and sad. Autobiographies are slightly better, as at least it's the mind describing its own history. Truly though, if you want to make a point about something extrinsic, write non-fiction, and if you want to expose something of the untellable beauty of humankind, figure out fiction or poetry that manages. Sometimes I don't mind though, as with this book. The arc is so well-articulated and the points made so important and embedded in the biographical details themselves, that this is the first proper "autobiography" I've been able to engage with happily.**

** Except the political diaries of Chris Mullin and Tony Benn, but those are more of a direct continuous insight into the working life of leftist politicians, which is cool. Come to think of it, a huge amount of fiction I love is semi-autobiographical, and many essays, journalism pieces, and memoirs that I've enjoyed definitely are, not to mention well-worded anecdotes, or even much of the Bible... there appear to be blurred lines here. I'll have a think and come up with a better definition of what kind of biographical works I dislike next time I read one.