Tea With Lewis and Chesterton… and Alice

I can just picture it.  Lewis and Chesterton are having tea, talking about the impossibility of the reality the world is talking about, and the probability of greater morals existing in other worlds.  They both turn, Chesterton has a marmelade roll Lewis has brought with him halfway to his mouth.  Lewis’s teacup is suspended three inches above the saucer.  Both of them smile at the little blonde-haired girl next to them.  “What do you think, Alice? Do you think everything in Wonderland is impossible?”  And Alice probably said no, she didn’t.

And Chesterton would smile approvingly and continue complimenting Lewis on the “excellent marmelade,” and Lewis would nod and smile and begin observing how the world would be much better off if all little children were like Alice.

Reality.  The word used to hit me in the face.  I used to think of something covering up or tinting my passion for beauty.  When I thought of the stars, or flowers, or mountains, or love I got excited… My imagination felt alive.  I felt alive.  But then the word came—reality—and I felt guilty for thinking of those things.  It seemed as though reality was something that covered up the stars… something that made love seem “idealistic”… unreal…  Impossible—something people only dreamed of.  To me, reality seemed like finishing highschool at seventeen or eighteen. Going to college for 4+ years. Pursuing a career.  Maybe getting married between 27 and 35.  Maybe have a kid.  Maybe two.

Then I had a realization.  I suppose that means I came to terms with reality.  Reality is now my friend.  Facts and reality coincide… to an extent.  I see the flowers.  I can touch them, feel them, smell them.  There are flowers—that, in fact, is reality.  Reality isn’t something blurring the stars… it is the stars.  As for love, it’s the most realistic thing I can think of.  I was quite wrong in thinking there is no beauty in reality.  You could say that reality is beautiful, or that Beauty is reality, for there is a God.  Or it might be better to say that God is.  That is reality, because that is a fact. I was reading C.S. Lewis’s book Mere Christianity and I was struck by something he said towards the beginning.  Before now, I had never really thought about the existence of God being a fact. I thought that because not everyone believes in God, it couldn’t be a fact.  If I had thought seriously about this, I would have slapped myself very hard for that philosophy.  If I didn’t believe in God—why, my life would be the unrealistic one.

“If the universe was really without meaning, we should have never found that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe, and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should have never known it was dark. Darkwould be a word without meaning.” Further back he says: “My argument against God was that the universe seemed so cruel and unjust. But how had I got the idea of just and unjust? A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line. What was I comparing this universe with when I called it unjust? If the whole show was bad and senseless from A to Z, so to speak, why did I, who was supposed to be a part of the show, find myself in such violent reaction against it?” [Mere Christianity, book 2 chapter 1.]

It is so interesting to read how Lewis himself sees and describes how, when he was an Atheist, in the very act of proving that there is no God, he was proving that there is a God.  (I love reading Lewis—Mere Christianity is brilliant, and he’s really a fantastic writer.  When I read his fiction, I feel like I’m sitting right next to him, and he’s telling the story.  When I read his apologetics, I feel as though I am standing right there, arguing in a friendly way with him.)

Is reality, in fact, something cold and hard that you land on when you’re head is in the clouds?  Is the logician right when he says Wonderland is irrational and senseless?  It’s not just wonderland.  When I use this word, I am referring to any fantasie. (As opposed to fantasy—spelled with a y.)

Fantasie means more than Twilight or Harry Potter. (Sorry to any fans out there.)  It refers the beauty of mind and soul… the world in our subconscious, all things beautiful and imagined.  Things are only impossible when they cannot be imagined.  All possibility is contained within imagination.

If a child actually wondered if the moon were made of cheese, is it really impossible?  Perhaps the logician would say: “Yes, it is; cheese is made from curds.  It goes through a certain process, and it is impossible that there could be enough cows even in the world to make enough cheese to fill a moon.”  But the child has already had the idea.  The idea has become a possibility.  There is a certain amount of logic that must be combined in the imagination.  For instance, as soon as the possibility has been birthed with the idea, one must find out if the possibility is real.  For all we know, God might have made the moon out of cheese.  And he still could.  And once you admit that, you denounce the word “impossible.”

I have never seen a blue talking and smoking caterpillar.  I have never seen the Jabberwocky.  But because I have never seen them I can’t say that they don’t exist.  It simply hasn’t been proved to me that they don’t.

If there is a law that pick-pockets shall go to prison, it implies that there is an imaginable mental connection between the idea of prison and the idea of picking pockets. And we know what the idea is. We can say why we take liberty from a man who takes liberties. But we cannot say why an egg can turn into a chicken any more than we can say why a bear could turn into a fairy prince.  As ideas, the egg and the chicken are further off from each other than the bear and the prince; for no egg in itself suggests a chicken, whereas some princes do suggest bears.  Granted, then, that certain transformations do happen, it is essential that we should regard them in the philosophic manner of fairy tales, not in the unphilosophic manner of science and the “Laws of Nature.” When we are asked why eggs turn to birds or fruits fall in autumn, we must answer exactly as the fairy godmother would answer if Cinderella asked her why mice turned to horses or her clothes fell from her at twelve o’clock. We must answer that it is magic. It is not a “law,” for we do not understand its general formula.  It is not a necessity, for though we can count on it happening practically, we have no right to say that it must always happen… We risk the remote possibility of a miracle as we do that of a poisoned pancake or a world-destroying comet.  We leave it out of account, not because it is a miracle, and therefore an impossibility, but because it is a miracle, and therefore an exception. All the terms used in the science books, “law,” “necessity,” “order,” “tendency,” and so on, are really untinellectual, because they assume an inner synthesis, which we do not possess. The only words that ever satisfied me as describing Nature are the terms used in the fairy books, “charm,” “spell,” “enchantment.” They express the arbitrariness of the fact and its mystery. A tree grows fruit because it is a magic tree. Water runs downhill because it is bewitched.  The sun shines because it is bewitched. – G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, Chapter IV

I had to try very hard not to type out the whole book just now. I think he has a point.  In his book Orthodoxy, Chesterton cleverly combines logic and fantasie in a wonderful way.  He makes fantasie a reality, and reality a fantasie.  Is there anything blasphemous about saying a tree grows because it is magic?  No, there is not.  Because a tree does not grow by any law or power of our own.  It grows by a supernatural power, something altogether outside of our understanding.

So why should the world of dreams and imagination and idealism be praised?

There is a flow to history and culture. This flow is rooted and has its wellspring in the thoughts of people. People are unique in the inner life of the mind —what they are in their thought world determines how they act.  This is true of their value systems and it is true of their creativity. It is true of their corporate actions, such as political decisions, and it is true of their personal lives. The results of their thought world flow through their fingers or from their tongues into the external world. This is true of Michelangelo’s chisel, and it is true of a dictator’s sword. – Francis A. Schaeffer, How Should We Then Live? Chapter I.

Because it determines how we live.  It is not only the imaginative person who has a thought world.  Even the mathematician (I am very unjust towards mathematicians) has a thought world.  Even in his logical mind there are thoughts that determine his actions.  I’m sure even he has had dreams at night about yellow rabbits eating chinese takeouts. (Sorry – bit tired here.) But at any rate, think of what the world would be like if everybody was a logician.  We would all be the same.  Where’s the fun in that?  What if everybody was an idealist? Everybody would be the same – still no fun.  And note – idealist here does not mean Sir-Thomas-More-Utopia-Idealism.  Or Avatar, for that matter.

Napoleon Bonaparte had dreams.  Most people would have called him idealistic, but he almost succeeded in becoming the emperor of the world. He almost made his dream a reality.  The world was thrown into chaos because of one man.  His dreams, his thoughts, his idealism helped shape the world.

Fairy tales might be the most realistic thing on earth. Why? Because a true fairy tale always has a knight-in-shining-armor, always a damsel in distress, always a dragon or evil witch or king of some sort.  Why is this realistic?  Because Christ is the knight-in-shining armor, the Church is the damsel in distress, and the dragon is the devil.  The consequence of the dragon is the judgement that’s inevitable unless a savior comes to save her from the thing she cannot save herself from.  That is why fairy tales are realistic. And if they are, reality is no longer a stone wall you walk into when you think you’re walking on clouds.

Makes me think of love.  Is love idealistic? Yes, because it ought to be.  Idealistic because true love is perfect.  The love on this earth that is exchanged between people is warped and shadowed by sin.  Yet, in marriage vows you will hear the phrase: “Love her as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.”  Perhaps our view on love is a bit irrational.  Love itself is not a fraud; it is the idea that depraved humans came up with and accompany love with that is a fraud.   If you read Ezekiel 16 you will see that love is not about obsessing over someone, or even saying: “I love you.”  It’s a sacrifice.  It’s a sacrifice of life, on the part of a perfect person, for a person who’s wronged again and again.  Love is a covenant.  And a covenant is more holy and sacred and beautiful than any kiss in the moonlight.

Lots of rabbit trails here.  Where were we?

If J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis were such great thinkers, then why did they write fantasie?  If G.K. Chesterton was such a great writer and thinker, why did he uphold fairy tales?  Because fantasie reflects the world we live in today.  There might not be a Jabberwocky, but there is a president Obama. (Okay, sorry.)  You might not find someone by the name of Sauron here but you will find someone very, very similar.  That great Being who created middle-earth and spun melodies out of the stars, Iluvatar, might not be found by that name here, but you will find Him, certainly, if you search for him.

Idealism is not something to be scorned.  It is something to be admired.  The pursuit of perfection exists, though perhaps that pursuit ends in heaven, when we are fully sanctified.  Reality is beautiful, and idealism is beautiful.  But you cannot have one without the other in order for them to be beautiful. Idealism, as we understand it, becomes foppish and empty.  Realism, the logician’s world, without idealism, because hard and empty.  There must be a perfect blend.

To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain. The poet only desires exaltation and expansion, a world to stretch himself in. The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits. – Orthodoxy, chapter II.

Belief must come without explanation.  If Christianity could be understood, there would be no reason to believe.  The whole point of belief is that you must put your faith in something you are absolutely certain of, but that is not fully explained.  Because Christianity isn’t.  There is a degree of mystery, a depth of understanding that is beyond our human comprehension.  If I understood that, they would have to add a fourth person to the Trinity.

That is why it is a hundred times easier for a child—who still maintains the child-like imagination and simple faith— to believe that God created the earth out of nothing than for the scientist.  Yet how beautiful it is when the scientist, logician, and mathematician all lay aside their stuff about laws and impossibilities and believe with the same child-like faith this truth.

So why do I like Alice in Wonderland? Book and movie? Because the idea of something different – of oversized mushrooms and flowers with faces, of smoking caterpillars and mad March hares and a mad hatter – appeals to me.

Even in the physical appearance of the story, the colors and shapes provide such an artistic picture that’s different from things you see in this earth.  It astonishes me, yet it’s not surprising.  I love it, and who can say it’s impossible? I saw it – just the other night.  And I’ve read about it numerous times.  I can’t really get in my car and go there, but I can draw up mental images.  In my thought world I have already made friends with the March Hare (who is one of my favorite characters.) And our relationship is one of the quirkiest, oddest things you’ve ever seen.

I also maintain that dead people are the most interesting ones to talk to.  I would also say that while people alive on this earth are walking around and doing things, dead people understand everything and have a greater level of brilliance because they are dead.  I am jealous of them, because they have seen, as soon as they are dead, the whole value of living.  They know where they are right, and where they are wrong.

I wonder – would Chesterton, now that he is dead, still hold to everything he said in Orthodoxy?  Would Lewis wish The Chronicles of Narnia unpublished?  Would J.R.R. Tolkien still think about Lord of the Rings as though that world actually existed in some form?  Well, I would hope that they would, because I think that they’re absolutely right.

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6 thoughts on “Tea With Lewis and Chesterton… and Alice

  1. Seems like we had a similar conversation not too long ago, Rubies! Thanks for sharing!
    I’ve been solidifying my own ideas about reality while writing a short story I’m working on. I involves changing from a world completely of illusion that exists only in two people’s imagination, to coming back to reality. The reality of the world we live in with all it’s beauty, and sin. So I appreciated your post!

  2. Reality is found in the truth of God, Ruby. God is not limited as we are and yet He gives us these minds and hearts. How large will we let God stretch our minds? How full will we let God fill our hearts? Can He use things in our lives such as fantasie, fiction?…undoubtedly. It is the truth of God that we find there, in them that He uses to stretch us, to help us wrap our mind around Himself and the beautiful truth of Himself and what He is doing in our lives, through our lives and other people. A woman who is letting God enlarge the borders of her heart and mind is a fortunate and privileged young lady. Keep letting God stretch you, girl !

  3. Reminds me of a quote from Picasso: “Everything you can imagine is real.”

    The passage from Mere Christianity was excellent – most thought-provoking. The very thought of something necessitates its existence. Not only that, however, Lewis also conjectures how he had an idea of what was just and unjust. We were born with an innate longing for the divine for we are the image of the divine. Without satiating that longing, no human existence can be whole. “There is a God-shaped vacuum in every heart” (Blaise Pascal). In every diversion and practice lies the potential for obsession in an effort to satisfy the human need. People will, unknowingly, devour something – be it a pastime, vocation, or another person – in hopes of fulfilling what they don’t realize they need. And such will continue without end until the Savior is found – but to find the Savior, we must acknowledge the fundamental point of this post: reality is not physical, but spiritual. We are spiritual beings and all that is truly real is spiritual. The corporeal was created by the incorporeal, of the incorporeal, and for the incorporeal. A time existed when it did not; and a time will exist when it no longer does. Therefore, it is secondary to the incorporeal. “By faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that the things which are seen were not made of things which are visible.” (Hebrews 11:3) Hence, the things we see were made of things we can’t see! If what we see is real, then what we can’t see MUST be real as well. The original and foundational essence/substance of EVERYTHING is nothing we can perceive audibly, tactually, palataly, or kinesthetically. Everything we perceive in those manners is transitory, and it exists for the sake of our spiritual life. Also, everything tangible will expire in time – including time itself! If the incorporeal is not real, than NOTHING is real for eventually all corporeality will die away. Additionally, everything corporeal is tainted with impurity – all of this world is imperfect. It can not last forever for, if it does, then we will have no basis on which to believe in a God. But we have the hope that God will come to wipe away the imperfection, and this hope will save us for it is rooted in a faith of the perfect incorporeal. “For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope. For why does one still hope for what he sees?” (Romans 8:24) “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1) If faith is the substance of things hoped for and hope must be for something unseen, then true faith can only be rooted in the immaterial, for everything which is material can be seen. So, if the immaterial is not real, then faith is not real; and if faith is not real, then life has no value. Only by faith in something we can’t see, and the acknowledgment of its reality, can we be Christian. Placing faith in anything other than the spiritually divine is irreconcilable with true Christianity. This is, of course, why Christ famously said in Matthew 6, “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:” All of the Christian’s walk is a daily test of how much He will place into the Savior’s hands. “I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all. But whatever I have placed in God’s hands, that I still possess.” (Luther) “Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My words will not pass away.” (Luke 21:33) Only when we have that same realization which Luther did – and act on it! – will we ever be able truly experience God for ourselves. Reality is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, but “now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know even as I am also known.” (1 Cor. 13:12) Oh can we ever wait until then!

    What is the conclusion of it all? We need God; every person alive needs God. It is not a choice we can make. We can choose to accept God – even whether to acknowledge Him – but we can not choose whether or not we need God. We are not complete without a spiritual element from a spiritual entity without flaw – and only one source can meet that criteria.

    One of my favorite posts that you’ve done, Ruby. Exceptionally composed. Goethe said, “Few people have the imagination for reality.” I’ve privileged to know one of them. You’ll be happy to know I recently downloaded both Heretics and Orthodoxy. Have no idea if I will ever have the time to read them. I have never been so busy in my life. After all, I have been wanting to comment on this post since the day you submitted it – no kidding – and this is literally my first chance to do so. Academics are essentially occupying every second right now – I love it and am not complaining at all – and I am afforded little time for much else. But, I did just download both books in their entirety onto my laptop here.

    One point which I feel is worth mentioning. Your penultimate paragraph was startling to read from a Christian person and a bit perplexing. I can not determine whether or not you were speaking of “talking to the dead” allegorically in the sense of imagining that you are talking to them. I certainly hope that is what you meant! However, you said that they (the dead) know where they are right and wrong. Well, Ruby, consider this. “For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing.” (Ecc. 9:5) That is very plain and quite difficult to misconstrue. If you earnestly feel that the dead do know something, I would strongly encourage you to sincerely pray about it, Ruby, for embracing such views is bordering on dangerous territory. The devil is after our minds and will try to seize them any way he can. So, I strongly disagree with the point that the dead know anything whatsoever based on that text and I would greatly caution you in “talking to them” either – if you ever feel that you are really talking with a dead person, you are much closer to a demonic spirit that you should be. I recently heard a profoundly powerful sermon concerning the devil and his agencies. Don’t EVER think for one second, Ruby, that you – or any human – can, by yourself, stand up to a demon or the devil for a millisecond. Such is arrogant foolishness. Recall what the devil was able to do with the man in the Gadarenes – such is the utter degradation which Satan would take the human race if he had mastery it. That man was nothing on his own to defend himself against the devil, and it was ONLY with Christ’s presence that the devils fled. The story poignagnly illustrates Christ’s superiority and human’s inferiority the devil. So, don’t talk to the dead. You can’t, and if you do, you are in grave danger. “Have NO fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness.” (Eph 5:11) This may be just my sentiment on the issue, but I think it is not without foundation.

    Again, wonderful post. Thanks for sharing. I am more than ready to have tea with Lewis and Chesterton again! :-) (we can skip Alice next time ;-)

    Oh, I find Thomas More’s Utopia quite disagreeable! That is not MY utopia to be sure! ;-)

    • Ryan –

      I wasn’t going to reply to this, but your last paragraph demanded it.

      I believe the dead that Eccelesiastes is talking about and the dead I am talking about are two different things. I meant that as soon as a person is dead, he is before God. The whole of his life will be clear to him, then. That is what I meant. And in my head, I do hold conversations with people who have since… deceased. I talk with them about things they’ve written, or things they’ve done. It’s more like an exercise of the mind, for me to start thinking like that person and how they would answer. I think Ecclesiastes is talking more about the physical dead… A dead body knows nothing, a soul knows a lot.

      Thanks for your comment! :)
      ~Ruby Jean

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