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C.S. Lewis

C.S. Lewis


Clive Staples Lewis was born in Ireland, in Belfast on 29 November 1898. His mother was a devout Christian and made efforts to influence his beliefs. When she died in his early youth her influence waned and Lewis was subject to the musings and mutterings of his friends who were decidedly agnostic and atheistic. It would not be until later, in a moment of clear rationality that he first came to a belief in God and later became a Christian.

C. S. Lewis volunteered for the army in 1917 and was wounded in the trenches in World War I. After the war, he attended university at Oxford. Soon, he found himself on the faculty of Magdalen College where he taught Mediaeval and Renaissance English.

Throughout his academic career he wrote clearly on the topic of religion. His most famous works include the Screwtape Letters and the Chronicles of Narnia. The atmosphere at Oxford and Cambridge tended to skepticism. Lewis used this skepticism as a foil. He intelligently saw Christianity as a necessary fact that could be seen clearly in science.

"Surprised by Joy" is Lewis's autobiography chronicling his reluctant conversion from atheism to Christianity in 1931.
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But I don't understand. Is judgment not final? Is there really a way out of Hell into Heaven?" ... "Son," he said, "ye cannot in your present state understand eternity ... But ye can get some likeness of it if ye say that both good and evil, when they are fully grown, become retrospective. Not only this valley but all this earthly past will have been Heaven to those who are saved. Not only twilight in that town, but all their life on earth too, will then be seen by the damned to have been Hell. That is what mortals misunderstand. They say of some temporal suffering, 'No future bliss can make up for it,' not knowing that Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory.
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Ungit tells me things. I hear of terrible doings in this land, mortals aping the gods and stealing the worship due
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It is enough for the present,” said the Director. “This is the courtesy of Deep Heaven: that when you mean well, He always takes you to have meant better than you knew. It will not be enough for always. He is very jealous. He will have you for no one but Himself in the end. But for tonight, it is enough.
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Lord, I am Ungit.’ But there was no answer.
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I !” said Lucy. They came nearer and nearer, all very quietly. “But where are the guests?” asked Eustace. “We can provide that, Sir,” said Rhince. “Look!” said Edmund sharply. They were actually within the pillars now and standing on the pavement. Everyone looked where Edmund had pointed. The chairs were not all empty. At the head of the table and in the two places beside it there was something--or possibly three somethings.” “What are ?” asked Lucy in a whisper. “It looks like three beavers sitting on the table.” “Or a huge bird’s nest,” said Edmund. “It looks more like a haystack to me,” said Caspian. Reepicheep ran forward, jumped on a chair and thence on to the table, and ran along it, threading his way as nimbly as a dancer between jeweled cups and pyramids of fruit and ivory salt-cellars. He ran right up to the mysterious gray mass at the end: peered, touched, and then called out: “These will not fight, I think.
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El león abrió las fauces, pero no salió ningún sonido; exhalaba, un largo y cálido aliento, que pareció balancear a todos los animales igual que el viento balancea una hilera de árboles. En las alturas, desde un punto situado más allá del velo de cielo azul que las ocultaba, las estrellas volvieron a cantar; era una música pura, serena e intrincada. Entonces se produjo un veloz fogonazo parecido a una llamarada -que no quemó a nadie- procedente del cielo o del mismo león, los niños sintieron que toda su sangre hormigueaba, y la voz más profunda e impetuosa que habían oído jamás empezó a decir: -Narnia, Narnia, Narnia,despierta. Ama. Piensa. Habla. Sed Árboles Andantes. Sed Bestias Parlantes. Sed Aguas Divinas.
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Não, não há escapatória. Não existe céu com um pouco de inferno nele – não tentemos reter isso ou aquilo do mal em nossos corações ou em nossos bolsos. Satanás deve sair, cada fiapo, cada fio de cabelo.” (George MacDonald) O poeta inglês William Blake (1757-1827) escreveu 'O Casamento do Céu e do Inferno'. Se escrevo sobre o Divórcio, não é porque me julgue à altura para antagonizar com tão grande gênio, nem porque tenha pleno conhecimento do que ele queria dizer. No entanto, em um sentido ou outro, é constante a tentativa de fazer tal casamento. Essa tentativa baseia-se na crença de que a realidade nunca se apresenta a nós como uma escolha inevitável entre 'isso ou aquilo'; de que, com habilidade, paciência e (sobretudo) tempo suficiente, seria possível encontrar uma maneira de acomodar as duas alternativas; e de que a simples evolução, adaptação ou refinamento conseguirá, de algum jeito, transformar o mal em bem, sem que sejamos interpelados a rejeitar, de modo definitivo e integral, aquilo que desejamos conservar. Essa crença é, a meu juízo, um erro desastroso. Você não pode levar toda a bagagem consigo em todas as viagens; em alguma jornada, sua mão e seu olho direitos podem estar entre as coisas que você terá de deixar para trás. Não vivemos num mundo onde todos os caminhos são como raios de um círculo, que, se suficientemente percorridos, gradualmente se aproximariam um do outro e, ao fim, convergiriam no centro; vivemos, sim, num mundo onde cada caminho, depois de alguns quilômetros, se bifurca e onde cada uma das duas ramificações, por sua vez, se biparte novamente; e, em cada encruzilhada, você precisa tomar uma decisão. Mesmo no nível biológico, a vida não é como um rio, e sim como uma árvore. A vida não flui no sentido da unidade, mas, ao contrário, afasta-se dela, e as criaturas se diferenciam entre si à medida que se aprimoram. O bem, quando amadurece, distingue-se não apenas do mal, mas também de outro bem. Não creio que todos aqueles que optam por caminhos equivocados pereçam, mas seu resgate consiste em serem colocados de volta na estrada certa. Uma operação de adição pode ser corrigida: mas isso só pode ser feito retornando até encontrar o erro e refazendo o cálculo a partir dali; nunca simplesmente prosseguindo. O mal pode ser desfeito, mas não pode 'evoluir' para o bem. O tempo não o cura. O feitiço deve ser revertido, aos poucos, 'com sussurros de trás para frente, de poder disjuntivo' (peça ‘Comus’, do poeta inglês John Milton – 1608-1674) – ou, então, o encanto não cessará. É 'uma coisa ou outra'. Se insistirmos em preservar o Inferno (ou mesmo a Terra), não veremos o Céu: se aceitarmos o Céu, não poderemos guardar sequer o menor e o mais íntimo 'suvenir' do Inferno. Acredito, com efeito, que toda pessoa que alcançar o Céu descobrirá que o que abandonou (mesmo que seja arrancando seu olho direito) na verdade não era nada: que o cerne daquilo que estava ansiosamente procurando, mesmo em seus desejos mais pervertidos, estará lá, além das expectativas, aguardando por ela nos 'Países Altos'. Nesse sentido, os que tiverem completado a jornada (e somente estes) poderão verdadeiramente dizer que o bem está em tudo, e o Céu, em todo lugar. Entretanto, deste lado da estrada, não devemos tentar antecipar essa observação retrospectiva. Se o fizermos, provavelmente estaremos abraçando o falso e desastroso avesso e fantasia de que tudo é bom e de que todo lugar é o Céu. Mas e a terra? – você perguntará. Imagino que, no fim, ninguém a achará um lugar muito diferente. Penso que, se escolhida em prejuízo do Céu, a terra acabará se revelando uma mera região no Inferno e, se colocada em segundo lugar, depois do Céu, se mostrará desde o início como uma parte do próprio Céu.
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his education had had the curious effect of making things that he read and wrote more real to him than things he saw.
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-Criaturas, os doy vuestro ser -dijo la voz prominente y alegre de Aslan-. Os entrego para siempre este país de Narnia. Os doy los bosques, las frutas, los ríos. Os doy las estrellas y me entrego yo mismo a vosotros. Las criaturas mudas que no he elegido también os pertenecen. Tratadlas con cariño y amadlas pero no volváis a comportaros como ellas, no sea que dejéis de ser Bestias Parlantes. Pues provenís de ellas y a ellas podéis regresar. No lo hagáis.
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The complaint was the answer. To have heard myself making it was to be answered. Lightly men talk of saying what they mean. Often when he was teaching me to write in Greek the Fox would say, ‘Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that’s the whole art and joy of words.’ A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the centre of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?
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Your love—all love—is of inexpressible value to me.
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and I don't think we can do anything for him. It only makes him worse if you try to be nice to him.
topics: bothersome , narnia , nice  
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You also want to take away from them everything which makes life worth living and not only from them but from everyone except a parcel of prigs and professors.
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sweeter
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I have said she had no face; but that meant she had a thousand faces.” - Queen Orual
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No, no hay salida. No hay cielo que contenga un poco de infierno. No hay plan que mantenga esto o aquello del demonio en nuestros corazones o en nuestros bolsillos. Nuestro Satán debe marcharse, completamente.” GEORGE MACDONALD
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In his company she had that curious sensation which most married people know of being with someone whom (for the final but wholly mysterious reason) one could never have married but who is nevertheless more of one’s own world than the person one has married in fact. As
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Pam, Pam—no natural feelings are high or low, holy or unholy, in themselves. They are all holy when God’s hand is on the rein. They all go bad when they set up on their own and make themselves into false gods.
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Much that was unjust and still more that was simply unintelligible seemed to be accepted, not only without resentment, but with a certain satisfaction provided only that it was striking. Even about his present situation he showed very much less curiosity than Mark would have thought possible. It did not make sense, but then the man did not expect things to make sense. He deplored the absence of tobacco and regarded the “Foreigners” as very dangerous people; but the main thing, obviously, was to eat and drink as much as possible while the present conditions lasted.
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What I'd like to understand," said the Ghost, "is what you're here for, as pleased as Punch, you, a bloody murderer, while I've been walking the streets down there and living in a place like a pigstye all these years." "That is a little hard to understand at first. But it is all over now. You will be pleased about it presently. Till then there is no neet to bother about it." "No need to bother about it? Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" "No, not as you mean. I do not look at my self. I have given up myself. I had to, you know, after the murder. That was what it did for me. And that was how everything began.
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