Tag Archives: Perelandra

Wonder of Incarnation -> wonder of Creation


hehagiatrias

Another of the last few posts from my Getting Medieval: An Exploration with C S Lewis. Sorry the posts are sporadic – enjoying a wonderful junket in England. Was at the Kilns this afternoon – now back in London. 🙂

Attention to the Incarnation can also renew our sense of the wonders of Creation, as God not only Created the world but also came and participated in it, and in the process gave Creation a renewed dignity. The Incarnation is also, as John of Damascus argued at the Second Nicene Council in 787 (and the church agreed with him and made his position dogma), the warrant for the sacramental understanding of human-made material things such as icons.

First, the Incarnation prevents us once and for all from the temptation to talk about Creation – or any part of creation – as if it were inherently evil. For if it were inherently evil, then God could not have joined himself to it: “It has always been realized in the main tradition of Christianity that if the Word was made flesh, matter can never be regarded as evil in itself.”[1] Darrel Amundsen strengthens the connection by observing that “individuals or groups (e.g., Gnostics, Manicheans, Marcionites) on the periphery of Christianity who conceived of matter as inherently evil also balked at the doctrine of the Incarnation.”[2]

Second, in fact, this raising up of creation was the real and final purpose of the Incarnation. Lewis has this in Perelandra: “All which is not itself the Great Dance was made in order that He might come down into it. In the Fallen World He prepared for Himself a body and was united with the Dust and made it glorious for ever. This is the end and final cause of all creating, and the sin whereby it came is called Fortunate and the world where this was enacted is the centre of worlds. Blessed be He!”


[1] Herbert Butterfield, quoted in Darrel W. Amundsen, Medicine, Society, and Faith in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), p. 332; cited in n. 23.

[2] Amundson, p. 332.

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C S Lewis on the Incarnation: Theosis, “coming down and drawing up,” the Great Dance, and statues coming to life


Iconnativity

In this third post from the final chapter of my Medieval Wisdom: An Exploration with C S Lewis, I delve deeper into Lewis’s Incarnational theology and spirituality:

The Incarnation ennobles us, draws us up into God, and thus makes us our “best selves”

As well as pointing up our moral nature and demanding that we choose well, the Incarnation, for Lewis, performs an astounding work of drawing us up into the divine presence. Lewis launches into his key apologetic work Mere Christianity with this observation: “At the beginning I said there were Personalities in God. Well, I’ll go further now. There are no real personalities anywhere else. Until you have given up your self to Him you will not have a real self.”[1] This is a version of the classical Christian teaching of theosis, formulated by Athanasius, who said that “God became man so that we can become gods.” That startling language does not mean that we become what God is in his essence, but rather that we are re-attached to the divine life, which overcomes the death at work in us because of the Fall. He came to earth, to flesh, in order to lift us back up with him.

“Lewis has a couple of unique ways of describing the Incarnation. In Letters to Malcolm, he suggests that the Incarnation can be described as Heaven drawing Earth up into it. He asserts that when God the Son took on the human body and soul of Jesus, he took on with it the whole environment of nature—locality, limitation, sleep, sweat, aching feet, frustration, pain, doubt and death. Continue reading

Getting medieval on matter – C. S. Lewis and “stuff”


This morning I’m going to try to knock out some C. S. Lewis material for the “creation chapter” in Getting Medieval with C S Lewis. Since Joe Ricke’s invitation to submit an abstract for the 2014 International Medieval Congress in Kalamazoo, Michigan came as I was working on this chapter, here’s what I shot back to him. In some form, it will work its way into this chapter:

When he contemplated the material world, Lewis appreciated both its quiddity (‘thatness’) and its sacramentality (its quality of pointing beyond itself to another world). He loved a good storm – and the stormier the better – just because of it being so marvelously what it was. He appreciated the beauty of a waterfall as something inherent and objective – and was concerned for the souls of those who did not (in his Abolition of Man).But he also appreciated that when he saw the waterfall, he was seeing both water and something infinitely greater. Toward the end of his life he wrote to a friend about his aging and increasingly malfunctioning body: “I have a kindly feeling for the old rattle-trap. Through it God showed me that whole side of His beauty which is embodied in colour, sound, smell and size.”

Lewis really did believe he could see God’s own beauty through his sense perceptions of the material. Continue reading