Let me bring to your attention two recent books that belong in the library of every Christian college, Christian school, and Evangelical seminary—and in the personal libraries of many of their professors of English literature and theology–not to mention hordes of their students! Not to mention yours.
First is Deeper Magic: The Theology behind the Writings of C. S. Lewis (Baltimore: Square Halo Books, 2016). Diana Glyer says, “Williams has done the impossible: he has written a highly readable overview of C. S. Lewis’s theology. He draws from the deep well of a lifetime spent studying literature and theology and Lewis. My understanding has been greatly enriched; yours will be too. This book is a marvel.” Lewis was the greatest apologist and one of the most influential Christian thinkers and writers of the Twentieth Century. Yet until now we have not had a study of Lewis’s theology that was both comprehensive and critical, asking, “What is the theology that lies behind the Narnia books, the Space Trilogy, and the popular apologetics, and what are its strengths and weaknesses as a guide to biblical truth?” Clearly this book meets a critical need.
Then there is An Encouraging Thought: The Christian Worldview in the Writings of J. R. R. Tolkien (Cambridge, OH: Christian Publishing House, 2018). Jim Prothero writes, “This book on Tolkien is not only readable, it is profound. The counter-culture movement latched onto to The Fellowship of the Ring more than a decade after its 1954 publication and never let go. The ultimate irony is that many of those young people were looking for alternative world-views to traditional values. And all the while, Professor Tolkien was a devout believer writing stories that reflected precisely traditional Christian beliefs and values. Donald T. Williams explores all the nuances of that irony here with humor and insight.”
Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings was listed as the book of the century in three separate polls, and remains one of the most popular and beloved books of all time. And it was built on the biblical worldview of its author, as he himself said, “unconsciously so at first, but consciously in the revision.” That grounding in the Christian worldview is less obvious and in-your-face than in his friend Lewis’s books, but Williams brings it into clear focus here. Tolkien’s vision is a lens that lets us see the Gospel as true in the real world too. Williams is a good guide to why that is true and to what difference it makes.
Donald T. Williams (M.Div., Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, PhD, University of Georgia) is R. A. Forrest Scholar and Professor of English at Toccoa Falls College in the hills of NE Georgia. The author of eleven books and countless articles, he is a border dweller, camped out on the borders between theology and literature, serious scholarship and pastoral ministry, Narnia and Middle Earth. These books are most easily ordered from Amazon.
ANONYMOUS CORRESPONDENT: My faith seems very impractical and fanciful, as though it exists in one reality and my life in another. What I experience day in and day out seems to be empty of anything but the temporal, and I am only talking myself into believing in the eternal as there is really no proof for it besides half-guesses. Most Christians use Christianity for their own purposes, particularly myself. I find myself thinking things like, “This is all based on authority with no proof of anything. I could believe it if it actually worked in someone’s life; but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m supposed to bank everything on another, invisible world that I may get to some day, at which point everything will then be okay.”
I find this hard to share with many people because it would make them uncomfortable. Any books I get my hands on seem to not get close to touching this part of me that feels like it is dying.
A lot of it has to do with de-toxing from six terrible years in _____ with a lot of people who were very mean and ugly to one another. I find myself asking, “All my life I’ve built everything around this belief . . . and it really hasn’t gotten me anywhere. In fact, in some ways I’m just more hurt from believing it.” I find myself living practically like an agnostic. God doesn’t speak to people; God doesn’t make everything okay; we don’t really know if we’re eternal beings; and yet this God demands we limp through each day believing anyway. I’m not sure I have the energy to do that; in fact, trying to do it actually makes me a much gloomier, more short-tempered person.
Then I look at the person of Jesus and think, how lovely! Everything He said is so true of how we should treat one another, of how life should look. He spoke like no one else . . . and I find it hard to believe a bunch of guys just sat around and made that stuff up and organized themselves and were martyred for it just to fool everybody. And I find myself caught in the middle once again.
Words of wisdom?
ME: You already hit on the key. Look at the person of Jesus. Jesus, exactly. Jesus, more. Jesus, not me and (especially) not those folks you’ve been around. Either He was more than just a martyr or there is no hope. You see the alternatives quite clearly. It’s Jesus or nothing. Pascal’s wager is still the best bet.
I know this sounds pretty empty when what you really need is not intellectual answers but emotional support, and it doesn’t seem like God is giving you any, and why not if He is actually there and all that loving? Do I have it about right? [I did.]
OK, then, it’s not a question of what is true but of what you are able to feel. I don’t have answers for that. Why we feel the way we do is often very complicated. You may have cut yourself off from God’s normal means of supplying emotional support by choosing to cast your lot with a group of legalists; it may have been abundantly available but you had made yourself incapable of receiving it (like C. S. Lewis for a time in A Grief Observed). I don’t know. I can only say that lots of saints have had the same struggle at various times (including me). I would just hug you if I could. Cyber hugs aren’t good enough, but it’s all I can give you today. And encourage you to start every day by reading the scene in The Silver Chair where Puddleglum stomps the fire and makes his speech about following Aslan. I don’t know what I would do without dear old Puddleglum. He’s my patronus.
And think about this: Could Lewis have written that scene if he, the greatest apologist and Christian intellectual of the 20th century, was not able to relate to where you are coming from? We are in good company, dear sister. Lift up your head!
[This seemed to help my friend. Will it help you? Only you can tell.]
For more unconventional apologetics from Dr. Williams, see his book Reflections from Plato’s Cave: Essays in Evangelical Philosophy and his other books from Lantern Hollow Press. To order, go to
Brian Shelton, Prevenient Grace: God’s Provision for Fallen Humanity. Anderson, IN: Francis Asbury Press, 2014. xi + 283 pp., n.p., pbk.
John Wesley famously cracked that Calvinism was “within a hair’s breadth of the truth.” One would not get any such impression from listening to either contemporary Calvinists or Arminians, who have been practicing polarization with great diligence ever since the passing of their respective masters. Toccoa Falls College VP for Academic Affairs Brian Shelton makes Wesley’s pronouncement plausible again with a much-needed study of Wesley’s doctrine of Prevenient Grace. Strangely neglected by contemporary Wesleyans, this doctrine is actually their strongest response to Calvinist critiques of their theology. Shelton treats it exegetically, historically, and theologically in a winsome book that deserves attention from people on both sides of the controversy. The book concludes with a very useful FAQ section called a “Synthesis of a Case for Prevenient Grace.”
Prevenient Grace is the proverbial hair’s breadth from the corresponding Calvinist doctrine of “Effectual Calling.” Both deal with the problem that in the Gospel faith and repentance are demanded of people who are incapable of rendering any such response, because they are dead in their trespasses and sins and the natural man cannot receive the things of the Spirit. It will be news to many Calvinists that there is an Arminian theology that takes this problem as seriously as they do and offers a similar solution: the enablement of the Holy Spirit is a necessary prerequisite to that response. The breadth of the hair lies here: Does the Spirit give that enablement to all men and women who hear the Gospel, or only to those who actually respond? Does He overcome all men’s sinful indisposition to the truth just enough so that they are able to make a free choice, or does He “call” those whom God foreknows so effectually that we can say that “whom He foreknew . . . He justified . . . and glorified” (Rom. 8:29-30)?
The exegetical section is the key. There are of course passages that can be taken as supporting either view (I’ve given one I think is on the Calvinist side above). Shelton shows what a responsible Arminian reading of them looks like. I think that in several of them the words can be taken either way, depending on the assumptions we bring to the text. In the end my own moderate reformed view remained intact. But I think Shelton has shown that constructive dialog between Evangelical Arminians and Gospel Calvinists needs to continue, and that both sides will profit from making this doctrine—and Shelton’s fine treatment of it—central in that discussion.
Scripture, as I said, seems to say (or at least imply) both Prevenient Grace and Effectual Calling. That is a sign that we need to live inside the hair. If that seems a rather narrow and constricted space, remember: Like the Tardis and a certain Narnian stable, it is bigger on the inside than the outside.
Donald T. Williams, PhD
For more writing by Dr. Williams, visit https://lanternhollow.wordpress.com/store/ and order Stars Through the Clouds: The Collected Poetry of Donald T. Williams, Reflections from Plato’s Cave: Essays in Evangelical Philosophy, or Inklings of Reality: Essays toward a Christian Philosophy of Letters, all from Lantern Hollow Press: poems and prose in pursuit of Goodness, Truth, and Beauty!
Though he does not use the phrase, we could define faith as C. S. Lewis presents it as “openness to revelation.” Uncle Andrew hears the music of Narnia’s creation as noise because that is all he is willing to hear. The liberal theologian in The Great Divorce refuses answers and can never experience the Christian faith as true because he has closed himself to the very possibility: “For me, there is no such thing as a final answer” (GD 43).
The ultimate expression of unbelief is the Dwarfs in the stable, whose cynicism forces them to experience violets as manure. “’You see,’ said Aslan. ‘They will not let us help them. They have chosen cunning instead of belief. Their prison is only in their own minds, yet they are in that prison; and are so afraid of being taken in that they cannot be taken out’” (TLB 185-6).
Lucy or the Dwarfs: That is the choice that lies before us at every moment of our lives. Which are we making?
This month LHP is highlighting some of our readers’ favorite previous posts from our authors. We hope you enjoy them!
When we think of The Chronicles of Narnia, Susan is not, perhaps, the first character that comes to mind. She is robust and relatively well developed, but she also seems to be more of a supporting character. After all, it is Lucy who leads the children into Narnia and seems to form the strongest bond with Aslan. Edmund is the traitor redeemed, and Peter becomes the High King. Susan’s most unique aspect is also one of the most controversial points of The Chronicles: She is the only one of the four Pevensie children to fall away and not make it into Aslan’s country at the end of The Last Battle. This has upset a couple of generations of readers now, and it has led to charges of sexism against her creator, C. S. Lewis. For many people, Susan’s fall is one of the worst points of the books; it bothers them enough that they can’t let it go. Fortunately, there is much more to Susan and her situation than what her critics imply.
As early as Prince Caspian, we see hints of something happening to Su. When Lucy sees Aslan, Susan knows in her heart of hearts that she is telling the truth. She refuses to admit it, even to herself, and later feels horribly guilty about it. At the end of the book, Susan and Peter are returned to our world where they are expected to grow up and apply all of the lessons learned in Narnia. By the time we meet them again in The Last Battle, their paths have diverged dramatically.
When the group meets inside the stable, in Aslan’s country, Susan is notably absent. When that fact is brought up, Susan is described as “no longer a friend of Narnia.” Jill notes that she pays attention to “nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up.” Su has even gone so far as to deny Narnia’s very existence: “Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.” As such, she isn’t on the train when the wreck occurs, and she isn’t granted entrance into Aslan’s country at that point. 
This subplot has provoked (and continues to provoke) howls of outrage. J. K. Rowling made the comment to Time magazine that “There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.”  Phillip Pullman, who constructed an atheistic fantasy series that has been described as sort of the “anti-Narnia,” stated that,
In other words, Susan, like Cinderella, is undergoing a transition from one phase of her life to another. Lewis didn’t approve of that. He didn’t like women in general, or sexuality at all, at least at the stage in his life when he wrote the Narnia books. He was frightened and appalled at the notion of wanting to grow up. Susan, who did want to grow up, and who might have been the most interesting character in the whole cycle if she’d been allowed to, is a Cinderella in a story where the Ugly Sisters win.
I would argue that Rowling and Pullman have misrepresented Lewis’s point entirely. In fact, they may well have done so for the simple reason that they “got” it all too well. Lewis is making a comment so pointed that it has made millions of people uncomfortable, which is something we aren’t used to seeing in Narnia. It seems to come out of the proverbial blue, and people simply react to it with hostility rather than really trying to understand it. 
What the book is trying to say is that sex and the emergence of femininity aren’t sufficient ends in and of themselves. Su isn’t kept out of Narnia because she discovered sex, she is kept out because she idolized it to the point that all other things–including Aslan and Narnia itself–were placed in subjection to it. Growing up became not simply a natural process of maturation, but rather a stylized, exclusive state of being that precluded everything else. Worse, the idealized state of anything has no existence in reality.  Susan was chasing moonshine, when the real world around her could offer her much more. Polly noted this when she remarked,
“Grown-up indeed,” said the Lady Polly. “I wish she would grow up! She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she’ll waste the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race to the silliest time of one’s life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can.” 
Susan has not, in fact, grown up at all. What she has done is take on an empty obsession, a false idealization of what being “grown-up” means, and that keeps her from experiencing life as a whole. That obsession has led her away from Narnia, and not “lipstick” at all. Lewis’s critics are mistaking a symptom for the disease.
None of this involves a denigration of women or real, meaningful sex. In fact, it is a very positive portrayal of a broader, deeper form of femininity where the value of one’s soul isn’t determined by one’s social circle or sex appeal. Those things have their places, but cannot be ends in and of themselves.
This is made doubly clear in Lewis’s depiction of Susan in The Horse and His Boy. While far from perfect, she is shown to be completely confident in her own beauty and sexuality. During the story, she is even considering marriage–which obviously implies an approval of sex. So, it is clear that the Susan we see referenced in The Last Battle isn’t an inevitability; she could and in fact had taken another, better path before.
Of course, much of that level of nuance is obviously lost on Lewis’s critics. They simply see a criticism of modern conceptions of sex and maturity. They assume that Lewis’s criticism must fit into a certain sort of mold and, if it doesn’t, they are determined to forcibly conform it to their strawman assumptions.
I think that is a normal, human reaction, by the way. We all want to be told that “We’re OK.” We all want to know that our wants, our desires are indeed good, right, and normal. What Lewis is getting at is a philosophy that is directly antagonistic to modern definitions of feminism, especially its glorification of sex and female sexuality as an ultimate arbiter of meaning. When that point is challenged, especially in a way that implies that there is something more, something greater, the reactions are naturally instinctual and visceral. We don’t want to understand the details because, perhaps, the details may just prove us wrong. I can’t say I would necessarily respond differently were the tables turned on me– “There but for the grace of God go I!”
One final point: Most of Lewis’s critics assign a finality to Susan’s position that simply isn’t justified. Susan isn’t turned away at the door of the stable–she simply isn’t there when it was closed on Narnia. There are other doors into Aslan’s country from many other worlds, including our own. Susan did not die in the train wreck that sent the others into Aslan’s country. As Lewis noted, “there is still plenty of time for her to mend, and perhaps she will get into Aslan’s country in the end–in her own way.” 
What’s more, since Lewis did not consider Narnia to be his own private domain–he regularly encouraged his younger correspondents to write Narnia stories of their own–perhaps the final word has yet to be written on Susan. While I doubt the Lewis estate would tolerate the publication of such a story these days, perhaps someone who understands what really happened to Susan should write it nonetheless. Lewis left the door open to Susan. It is now up to our own imaginations–not his–to take her through it.
And so, “Further up and further in!”
 C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle, (New York: Harper-trophy, 2004), 154.
 Of course, applying Pullman’s own method to his own statements, I might ask why he himself is so biased against “ugly” women that he apparently objects to them “winning” on occasion. In fact, I am quite disturbed by his use of bigoted visual stereotypes regarding facial structure and arbitrary gravitational measurement, when he should be celebrating the empowerment of a traditionally downtrodden and forgotten underclass.
 To illustrate this tendency, just think of Christmas Day (or some other event that you hold dear). The time we are in never seems to be “as real” or “as perfect” as times past. Worse, our idealized memory often distracts us from our enjoyment of a perfectly good present.
 Lewis, The Last Battle, 2004.
 Letter to Martin, 22 January 1957, Letters to Children, (New York: Touchstone, 1995), 67.