Why do not all Christians become missionaries and why do not all citizens become soldiers in war? C. S. Lewis addresses questions such as these in his essay entitled “Learning in Wartime.” He first begins by illuminating the fact that war is simply a pinnacle of the permanent human condition. We are always quarreling and arguing, war just makes the quarreling blatant and obvious to all. In fact, Lewis writes, there are always distractions. Life is and has never been normal since the fall. Excuses will always exist for as to why we should or should not do something. The same can be applied to Christians and their choice of careers. Why are not all Christians pastors and missionaries? Perhaps the reason is because we often see these positions of Christianity as highest and most holy. They deal directly with God and the faith. This is our mistake. We limit ourselves and forget about the ordinary parts of life that need redeeming, where we can also reach out in faith. Pastoring and Missions are only pinnacles and specialized vocations in Christianity just as soldiers are in war.
Often times we feel as if conversion must be some grand experience, that it must be life changing and inspire all sorts of revivals in our life. We want conversion to be a highlight a period from black to white, secular to sacred. However, often this ideal conversion is found to be nonexistent in our lives. We do experience changes in our lives and revivals, but not always on the grand scale that we desire. C. S. Lewis writes that “I do not think I fully realized that one’s life, after conversion, would inevitably consist in doing most of the same things one had been doing before.” Conversion is a process. We hope for the same things, but now in a new spirit. We do many of the same things, but with a different attitude and motivation. Instead of a huge show, our conversion is often gradual. It starts by transforming us from the inside out.
At the end of his essay, C. S. Lewis begins to assert that each person has his or her own vocation and sphere of influence. I believe that he would agree with Plantinga where each Christian is acting in a kingdom within another kingdom. We each have a special job to do. God does not place in our hearts appetites in vain. Instead, we must work in humility for a greater God, a greater purpose than we may perceive now. C. S. Lewis writes, “But if we thought that for some souls, and at some times, the life of learning, humbly offered to God, was, in its own small way, one of the appointed approaches to the Divine reality and the Divine beauty which we hope to enjoy hereafter, we can think so still.”
Each of us must present our lives and work as a humble offering for the advancement of God’s kingdom. We do this in our own ways, no matter how small or large, grand or hidden. We are not attempting to build up a heaven here on earth, but rather serve as pilgrims spurring one another and creation on to a new permanent city.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Poison of Subjectivism
I find it interesting how Lewis writes, “After studying his environment, man has begun to study himself.” We believe that we have sufficiently observed and understand all that is around us and now attempt to explore the final frontier, ourselves. In fact, to do this we assume our own authority and reason by which we are able to see all other things. The funny thing, Lewis writes is that “it is as if we took out our eyes to look at them.” We try to observe ourselves, but in doing so are limited by being human. We are on the inside, not the outside. And thus, we settle for our own subjectivism. We accept our own reasons and observations about ourselves because we suppose they may yield truth or at least enough truth for us.
There is danger in this good-intentioned ignorance. When we accept our own practical reasons for truth, we often disregard or fail to remember the effects of the fall. By holding to our own presupposed standard, we eliminate the potential for a transcendental one and pledge our allegiance to an abstraction. We accept what we do not know because we believe we may know it. It is as if we are trying to remove our shoes, but yet still walk in them. I believe Lewis is recognizing our need for an Absolute Truth, an Absolute Standard. There needs to be an outside person who observes us, an outside source that determines the “good” and “better” in human thought.
Our desire for autonomy is incompatible with our desire for both democracy and freedom. Through subjectivism, each man becomes his own ruler; his life is relative to all others. Thus, he will accept and place his own ideas and beliefs above all others. This is only natural, to live by one’s own rules. However, it is here that democracy suffers. One’s opinion is elevated above another’s. There is no common man, but all gods. More it becomes anarchy, a game of survival of the fittest. And, in all this, we must recognize that our desire for freedom and understanding of the very word, freedom, assumes that there is a greater power. There are those who make rules and live under them. For us to be free, we must be free from something and someone must be setting us free. Perhaps, this power could be another human, but this would contradict our nature tendency to valuing our own subjective idea of thought. We would have to abdicate ourselves from our pretentious thrones of authority and submit ourselves to a God. For if man creates Law, then he is subject to break it himself or simply change it on a whim. The Law thus becomes subjective to his current state and situation, the fantasies and dreams of his mind.
There is danger in this good-intentioned ignorance. When we accept our own practical reasons for truth, we often disregard or fail to remember the effects of the fall. By holding to our own presupposed standard, we eliminate the potential for a transcendental one and pledge our allegiance to an abstraction. We accept what we do not know because we believe we may know it. It is as if we are trying to remove our shoes, but yet still walk in them. I believe Lewis is recognizing our need for an Absolute Truth, an Absolute Standard. There needs to be an outside person who observes us, an outside source that determines the “good” and “better” in human thought.
Our desire for autonomy is incompatible with our desire for both democracy and freedom. Through subjectivism, each man becomes his own ruler; his life is relative to all others. Thus, he will accept and place his own ideas and beliefs above all others. This is only natural, to live by one’s own rules. However, it is here that democracy suffers. One’s opinion is elevated above another’s. There is no common man, but all gods. More it becomes anarchy, a game of survival of the fittest. And, in all this, we must recognize that our desire for freedom and understanding of the very word, freedom, assumes that there is a greater power. There are those who make rules and live under them. For us to be free, we must be free from something and someone must be setting us free. Perhaps, this power could be another human, but this would contradict our nature tendency to valuing our own subjective idea of thought. We would have to abdicate ourselves from our pretentious thrones of authority and submit ourselves to a God. For if man creates Law, then he is subject to break it himself or simply change it on a whim. The Law thus becomes subjective to his current state and situation, the fantasies and dreams of his mind.
Plantinga - Chapter Three - Fall
In Engaging God’s World, chapter three concerning the fall, Plantinga quotes Wendell Berry who asserts that “formlessness is a peculiarly human evil… caused by inattention, irresponsibility, carelessness and ignorance of consequence.” I cannot say that I entirely agree with this statement, or at least would like to raise a few questions in order to clarify what is being meant. Genesis 1:1-2 speaks of the earth as being “formless and void” while God’s spirit hovered over the waters. Is this Genesis formlessness the same as the formlessness spoken of by Wendell Berry? For if it is the same, then Wendell Berry’s formlessness seems to imply negligence by some greater power, a human or perhaps could we say God. Thus, I wonder might this concept be applied to God’s presence over the formless world. Was God negligent? Of course, we are overlooking the fact that Wendell Berry says formlessness is a human evil. But don’t our actions contain at least a hint of truth or a slight enough representation to that of God’s. I find formlessness as existing only because of its dependence an individual. Could Wendell Berry’s statement be taken too far and assume God as irresponsible, careless, inattentive, and ignorant before creation?
Plantinga explains the consequences of the fall as “extending far and wide.” The fall goes so far as to affect our thinking processes. This I find is very interesting. We resist the truth. Even when what is right is placed before us, we sometimes willingly choose what is wrong. It is as if we are deceiving ourselves on purpose. There is a double danger in this. First, blatantly, we are deceiving ourselves. And then, secondly, we must deceive ourselves again so that we do not realize we initially deceived ourselves. It seems to be an infinite circle of treachery and deception. We too suffer because of the fall, not just creation. And, perhaps the fall is much more detrimental to us than we make it out to be. Our ignorance and autonomy blinds us from the speck in our own eyes.
A final comment on chapter three is that I found it intriguing how Plantinga suspects that nobody actually pursues objective learning. We all have presuppositions and a worldview which will affect the way we view something. It is impossible to remove the device by which we view and interpret our surroundings. It is like C. S. Lewis’s idea of a human removing his eyes so that he can study them. The thought is absurd and practically impossible. Plantinga writes that we all pursue committed or socially located learning. “Everybody’s learning is faith-based,” influenced by our personal and inherent system of beliefs. Thus, the question is not whether a person has faith in someone, but in what or whom. Each individual must recognize some standard to direct their life. Our learning is subjective to our system of beliefs. And, with this in mind, we must be careful to acknowledge our faults and miserable attempts at autonomy. We must commit ourselves to truth and an Absolute Law and God
Plantinga explains the consequences of the fall as “extending far and wide.” The fall goes so far as to affect our thinking processes. This I find is very interesting. We resist the truth. Even when what is right is placed before us, we sometimes willingly choose what is wrong. It is as if we are deceiving ourselves on purpose. There is a double danger in this. First, blatantly, we are deceiving ourselves. And then, secondly, we must deceive ourselves again so that we do not realize we initially deceived ourselves. It seems to be an infinite circle of treachery and deception. We too suffer because of the fall, not just creation. And, perhaps the fall is much more detrimental to us than we make it out to be. Our ignorance and autonomy blinds us from the speck in our own eyes.
A final comment on chapter three is that I found it intriguing how Plantinga suspects that nobody actually pursues objective learning. We all have presuppositions and a worldview which will affect the way we view something. It is impossible to remove the device by which we view and interpret our surroundings. It is like C. S. Lewis’s idea of a human removing his eyes so that he can study them. The thought is absurd and practically impossible. Plantinga writes that we all pursue committed or socially located learning. “Everybody’s learning is faith-based,” influenced by our personal and inherent system of beliefs. Thus, the question is not whether a person has faith in someone, but in what or whom. Each individual must recognize some standard to direct their life. Our learning is subjective to our system of beliefs. And, with this in mind, we must be careful to acknowledge our faults and miserable attempts at autonomy. We must commit ourselves to truth and an Absolute Law and God
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Mere Christianity
C. S. Lewis leads us into a hall within his book, Mere Christianity. There are several doors leading into different rooms. It is our decision to choose which of these rooms we will enter, “for the hallway is a place to wait in, a place from which to try the various doors, not a place to live in.” Therefore, logically, the hallway is the worst place to be. It is better, or shall I say, more preferable to enter a room, despite what surprises may lie inside.
Each door represents a different denomination within the Christian faith, from Catholicism, to Presbyterianism, to Baptist, to Christian Reformed. Each is separate from the others, which we often exaggerate; however, they all branch from the same hall. Each denomination could be seen as a shoot growing from a larger stump. C. S. Lewis attempts to create a “mere Christianity” in his book. He wants to focus on the beliefs we all hold as a universal church, the fundamentals to the Christian faith.
What I found interesting in C. S. Lewis’s hallway analogy was that we often choose our door because of its paint or paneling. This is quite a mistake on our part. We are simply choosing the most appealing denomination, the church whose service, message, or music makes us feel best. Instead of this superficial and cosmetic approach to choosing a denomination and church, we should be asking “Is there truth here: is holiness here?” We need to leave behind personal preference and pride. The door we choose should be based on where we find the most light, where God is most present and guiding.
A major portion of C. S. Lewis’s first four chapters in Mere Christianity concerned a universal Moral Law. We are all too familiar with Natural Law and readily observe its effects and submit ourselves to its reign. If we did not, there would be dire consequences. The opposite is with Moral Law. In fact, if we were to look at the human race from the outside, you could not observe Moral Law. Man is too inconsistent. The Natural Law is seen, but man chooses whether or not he lives by Moral Law.
So does this Moral Law actually exist? C. S. Lewis addresses this question by appealing to our basic behavior and instincts. If someone steals your place in line, you get mad. If someone offers their seat even when you are late for the show, you are greatly flattered and appreciate the act. If someone does some shameful act, he attempts to hide it. Why do we feel and act this way? We cannot deny a Moral Law? If we did, our behavior betrays us. We make excuses for many of our actions. Are not these excuses proof enough for some Moral Law that we believe we should be living by? Don’t we acknowledge a Moral Law of Right and Wrong when we quarrel with each other? If not, then our quarreling and arguments are meaningless, no one would be right. Instead, we butt heads because one person must seem to have more of the Moral Law.
“This Moral Law tells us what tune to play; our instincts are merely the keys.” C. S. Lewis says that because mankind recognizes a type of decent behavior, we must believe then in some Moral Law. Our instincts are our choices. They are the beats of a song, a song which we often speed up and slow down with our inconsistent counting. I believe that through this acknowledgement of a Moral Law, C. S. Lewis is really in part directing our attention towards the possibility of an Absolute Truth, an Absolute God.
A final piece of C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity I’d like to bring out is his concept of a unified church. The church has many differences, thus many denominations. Each denomination has problems with the others; they quarrel over who is right and who is wrong. C. S. Lewis in his preface writes that “Our divisions should never be discussed except in the presence of those who have already come to believe that there is one God and that Jesus Christ is His only Son.” Too often we Christians broadcast our inter-denominational disputes to the entire world, and as a result, we present a divided, quarrelsome picture of the church. We harm our image for the sake of arguing trivialities, often not even reaching end all conclusions. Perhaps, C. S. Lewis writes, we should concern ourselves with highlighting our similarities rather than our differences. Maybe we should live as a “holy Catholic Church,” a universal church living under the same banners. Christ prayed to the Father that we would be one. Let us not get caught on trivial differences and forget our unity and purpose in Christ.
Each door represents a different denomination within the Christian faith, from Catholicism, to Presbyterianism, to Baptist, to Christian Reformed. Each is separate from the others, which we often exaggerate; however, they all branch from the same hall. Each denomination could be seen as a shoot growing from a larger stump. C. S. Lewis attempts to create a “mere Christianity” in his book. He wants to focus on the beliefs we all hold as a universal church, the fundamentals to the Christian faith.
What I found interesting in C. S. Lewis’s hallway analogy was that we often choose our door because of its paint or paneling. This is quite a mistake on our part. We are simply choosing the most appealing denomination, the church whose service, message, or music makes us feel best. Instead of this superficial and cosmetic approach to choosing a denomination and church, we should be asking “Is there truth here: is holiness here?” We need to leave behind personal preference and pride. The door we choose should be based on where we find the most light, where God is most present and guiding.
A major portion of C. S. Lewis’s first four chapters in Mere Christianity concerned a universal Moral Law. We are all too familiar with Natural Law and readily observe its effects and submit ourselves to its reign. If we did not, there would be dire consequences. The opposite is with Moral Law. In fact, if we were to look at the human race from the outside, you could not observe Moral Law. Man is too inconsistent. The Natural Law is seen, but man chooses whether or not he lives by Moral Law.
So does this Moral Law actually exist? C. S. Lewis addresses this question by appealing to our basic behavior and instincts. If someone steals your place in line, you get mad. If someone offers their seat even when you are late for the show, you are greatly flattered and appreciate the act. If someone does some shameful act, he attempts to hide it. Why do we feel and act this way? We cannot deny a Moral Law? If we did, our behavior betrays us. We make excuses for many of our actions. Are not these excuses proof enough for some Moral Law that we believe we should be living by? Don’t we acknowledge a Moral Law of Right and Wrong when we quarrel with each other? If not, then our quarreling and arguments are meaningless, no one would be right. Instead, we butt heads because one person must seem to have more of the Moral Law.
“This Moral Law tells us what tune to play; our instincts are merely the keys.” C. S. Lewis says that because mankind recognizes a type of decent behavior, we must believe then in some Moral Law. Our instincts are our choices. They are the beats of a song, a song which we often speed up and slow down with our inconsistent counting. I believe that through this acknowledgement of a Moral Law, C. S. Lewis is really in part directing our attention towards the possibility of an Absolute Truth, an Absolute God.
A final piece of C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity I’d like to bring out is his concept of a unified church. The church has many differences, thus many denominations. Each denomination has problems with the others; they quarrel over who is right and who is wrong. C. S. Lewis in his preface writes that “Our divisions should never be discussed except in the presence of those who have already come to believe that there is one God and that Jesus Christ is His only Son.” Too often we Christians broadcast our inter-denominational disputes to the entire world, and as a result, we present a divided, quarrelsome picture of the church. We harm our image for the sake of arguing trivialities, often not even reaching end all conclusions. Perhaps, C. S. Lewis writes, we should concern ourselves with highlighting our similarities rather than our differences. Maybe we should live as a “holy Catholic Church,” a universal church living under the same banners. Christ prayed to the Father that we would be one. Let us not get caught on trivial differences and forget our unity and purpose in Christ.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Screwtape's Letters
It is interesting how “the safest road to Hell is the gradual one-the gentle slope soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.” Perhaps we not worry about our major sins so much, but rather those small temptations that we often find ourselves indulging in. And, perhaps these small indulgences are not quite temptations and sin as we formerly know it, but rather divergences from our intended purpose. A good book itself is enough to serve as a distraction from our religious duties. Even conversations and sleep can lead us astray from spiritual growth. They seem so innocent and by nature even beneficial, but could be filling our lives with nothing.
Wormwood encourages his junior devil to draw his patient into nothing, to fill his life with very small sins, doubtless sins, minimal compared to spectacular wickedness. Wormwood desires that his junior apprentice leave his patient in a state of being half awake, the state of nothing. This life where in the end a man will say, “I now see that I spent most of my life in doing neither what I ought nor what I liked.” The small indulgences, the books, the ads, the slight conversations, the innocent educational TV shows serve to lead a man away from his religious duties. He keeps making weak resolutions that this will be the last time of procrastination, only to be broken again. He attempts to slowly forget his Christianity, to let sleeping worms lie.
What I found extremely interesting in this letter was the concept of temptation as a game. If the junior devil tempts his patient too much, he will wake to his current status and danger. However, if the junior devil does not tempt his patient enough, his patient will lose interest and fall back to his religious duties. It is a game of cat and mouse. A type of perfectly concocted soup in which too much salt, wrecks the flavor, but not enough bores the pot. In addition, it is not the magnitude of the sin that matters, but rather the end all effect, to “edge a man away from the light and out into the Nothing.” “Murder is no better than cards if can do the trick.” In fact, perhaps the sin is more effective when it is minimal, when it is allowed to pile upon itself little by little. And thus, we may eventually become creatures too weak and fuddled to recognize the pile rising behind us, threatening to fall behind our backs onto our heads.
Wormwood encourages his junior devil to draw his patient into nothing, to fill his life with very small sins, doubtless sins, minimal compared to spectacular wickedness. Wormwood desires that his junior apprentice leave his patient in a state of being half awake, the state of nothing. This life where in the end a man will say, “I now see that I spent most of my life in doing neither what I ought nor what I liked.” The small indulgences, the books, the ads, the slight conversations, the innocent educational TV shows serve to lead a man away from his religious duties. He keeps making weak resolutions that this will be the last time of procrastination, only to be broken again. He attempts to slowly forget his Christianity, to let sleeping worms lie.
What I found extremely interesting in this letter was the concept of temptation as a game. If the junior devil tempts his patient too much, he will wake to his current status and danger. However, if the junior devil does not tempt his patient enough, his patient will lose interest and fall back to his religious duties. It is a game of cat and mouse. A type of perfectly concocted soup in which too much salt, wrecks the flavor, but not enough bores the pot. In addition, it is not the magnitude of the sin that matters, but rather the end all effect, to “edge a man away from the light and out into the Nothing.” “Murder is no better than cards if can do the trick.” In fact, perhaps the sin is more effective when it is minimal, when it is allowed to pile upon itself little by little. And thus, we may eventually become creatures too weak and fuddled to recognize the pile rising behind us, threatening to fall behind our backs onto our heads.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Plantinga Chapter 2 - Creation
Plantinga begins chapter two of his book, Engaging God’s World, with creation. He explores the existence and origin of creation. Either creation was intentional and necessary or it was an accident, Plantinga concludes. An accident seems utterly hopeless when compared to an intentional creation. In fact, Plantinga writes that if there is a God, then it would be his very nature to create, a sort of imaginary love. G. K. Chesterton writes, “The whole difference between construction and creation is… that a thing constructed can only be loved after it is constructed; but a thing created is loved before it exists.” God did not create on an accident or whim. Instead, the act of creation fit God. He was being God.
In addition, Plantinga challenges our idea of glorifying God. Look at a tree or cow for instance. They are glorifying God by being what God intended them to be, chewing grass, producing calves, carrying out photosynthesis, growing tall and bushy towards the sky. Everything an animal or plant or any inanimate object for that matter seems to be glorifying God twenty four seven. They glorify God by being what God intended them to be. As for humans, however, it seems that it requires a conscious effort to glorify God. It’s almost as if we must decide when to choose to glorify God. Perhaps our intelligence and freewill muddles our minds as well as our sinful nature. We as humans must choose to express the gifts of God written about in James 1:17. However, God is able to obtain glory from all and anything. Creation was constructed to flourish and glorify God.
I enjoyed reading Plantinga’s reasons for why humans are like God. The first is that God gives human beings authority in the created world. He gives us “responsible dominion.” We are not conquerors of creation but stewards. The second reason is that “we image God when we live in loving communion with each other.” This relates back to his previous chapter and C. S. Lewis’s writings concerning shalom, a flourishing wholeness, perichoretic glory. We image God by imaging Christ. This implies that we display godly knowledge, righteousness, and holiness. The third and final reason for why humans are like God is that “we image God by conforming to Jesus Christ in suffering and death.” We must express a self-giving love, a sacrificial love. We are disciples to Jesus and thus not greater to our master. Instead, as in that time period, we must follow our rabbi in his footsteps, doing exactly what he would do. When we lose our life for Christ, we will find it in him.
In addition, Plantinga challenges our idea of glorifying God. Look at a tree or cow for instance. They are glorifying God by being what God intended them to be, chewing grass, producing calves, carrying out photosynthesis, growing tall and bushy towards the sky. Everything an animal or plant or any inanimate object for that matter seems to be glorifying God twenty four seven. They glorify God by being what God intended them to be. As for humans, however, it seems that it requires a conscious effort to glorify God. It’s almost as if we must decide when to choose to glorify God. Perhaps our intelligence and freewill muddles our minds as well as our sinful nature. We as humans must choose to express the gifts of God written about in James 1:17. However, God is able to obtain glory from all and anything. Creation was constructed to flourish and glorify God.
I enjoyed reading Plantinga’s reasons for why humans are like God. The first is that God gives human beings authority in the created world. He gives us “responsible dominion.” We are not conquerors of creation but stewards. The second reason is that “we image God when we live in loving communion with each other.” This relates back to his previous chapter and C. S. Lewis’s writings concerning shalom, a flourishing wholeness, perichoretic glory. We image God by imaging Christ. This implies that we display godly knowledge, righteousness, and holiness. The third and final reason for why humans are like God is that “we image God by conforming to Jesus Christ in suffering and death.” We must express a self-giving love, a sacrificial love. We are disciples to Jesus and thus not greater to our master. Instead, as in that time period, we must follow our rabbi in his footsteps, doing exactly what he would do. When we lose our life for Christ, we will find it in him.
The Weight of Glory
C. S. Lewis delves into the weight of glory. Either we shall live in eternal shame or eternal glory and fame C. S. Lewis writes. It is our desire as humans that we gain God’s approval. We seek to be acknowledged by God just as the Bible verse says, “Well done my good and faithful servant.” This desire for approval is in response to God’s love for us. We love God because he first loved us. The only problem with this is that we often forget our purpose in life, we are depraved beings tainted by sin. Sometimes we see ourselves as school boys, “working for marks, or to escape punishment, or to please his parents, or, at best, in the hope of a future good which he cannot at present imagine or desire.” C. S. Lewis defines this type of life as that of a mercenary. We know we will get a reward, but do not know what it is until we have received it. Sometimes this life is exciting and other times boring. We may get sick of waiting for our reward, or perhaps, we may find ourselves preliminarily rewarded by desiring the future reward. Hence, it often seems that the anticipation up to an event is greater and more exciting than the event itself.
On earth, we are interacting with immortals. It is a very interesting idea that those “whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit” are not ordinary people. There are, in fact, no ordinary people. “You have never talked to a mere mortal” as C. S. Lewis puts it. Every day, we are either becoming immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. Every action we do is making us into our eternal being. We are constantly becoming something, whether that something is good or bad. How would we live if we actually realized our immortality? Would it be with perpetual solemnity? C. S. Lewis writes that we must express a certain merriment, that “which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously.”
To provide an answer for how immortals interact, we would at first have to believe that immortality exists. We must hold that there is an eternal life waiting for us after death, whether we like it or not. C. S. Lewis uses the simple human feeling of hunger to express our desire for heaven and eternal life. He writes, “But surely a man’s hunger does prove that he comes of a race which repairs its body by eating and inhabits a world where eatable substances exist.” Perhaps, our desire for a heaven proves the existence of heaven. This is not an accurate proof, but rather may be held as a very good indication that heaven may exist and that we may experience eternity after death.
C. S. Lewis concludes this longing for eternity and heaven with the idea that “heaven is, by definition, outside our experience.” Just as we long for earthly things, these desires simply reflect our desire for communion with God. We do not experience the entirety of heaven because we exist on earth at the moment. When you work towards a reward, you know you will get the reward; it’s just that you do not have the reward yet. This is where, I believe, C. S. Lewis shows his reformed side. He writes that “heaven is not really full of jewelry anymore than it is really the beauty of Nature or a fine piece of music.” We should not be saying as Christians, “I can’t wait to get to heaven.” Instead, we should ask, “How can I bring heaven here on earth?” God does not intend for Christians to sit around waiting for his power to restore creation. Rather, he takes us on as partners in this grandiose project, agents of renewal in his creation. It is our duty as Plantinga says to be stewards of creation, glorifying God in our responsible dominion over creation. We are able to do some good with God’s help. He enables us to bring his eternal kingdom down to this earth.
On earth, we are interacting with immortals. It is a very interesting idea that those “whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit” are not ordinary people. There are, in fact, no ordinary people. “You have never talked to a mere mortal” as C. S. Lewis puts it. Every day, we are either becoming immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. Every action we do is making us into our eternal being. We are constantly becoming something, whether that something is good or bad. How would we live if we actually realized our immortality? Would it be with perpetual solemnity? C. S. Lewis writes that we must express a certain merriment, that “which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously.”
To provide an answer for how immortals interact, we would at first have to believe that immortality exists. We must hold that there is an eternal life waiting for us after death, whether we like it or not. C. S. Lewis uses the simple human feeling of hunger to express our desire for heaven and eternal life. He writes, “But surely a man’s hunger does prove that he comes of a race which repairs its body by eating and inhabits a world where eatable substances exist.” Perhaps, our desire for a heaven proves the existence of heaven. This is not an accurate proof, but rather may be held as a very good indication that heaven may exist and that we may experience eternity after death.
C. S. Lewis concludes this longing for eternity and heaven with the idea that “heaven is, by definition, outside our experience.” Just as we long for earthly things, these desires simply reflect our desire for communion with God. We do not experience the entirety of heaven because we exist on earth at the moment. When you work towards a reward, you know you will get the reward; it’s just that you do not have the reward yet. This is where, I believe, C. S. Lewis shows his reformed side. He writes that “heaven is not really full of jewelry anymore than it is really the beauty of Nature or a fine piece of music.” We should not be saying as Christians, “I can’t wait to get to heaven.” Instead, we should ask, “How can I bring heaven here on earth?” God does not intend for Christians to sit around waiting for his power to restore creation. Rather, he takes us on as partners in this grandiose project, agents of renewal in his creation. It is our duty as Plantinga says to be stewards of creation, glorifying God in our responsible dominion over creation. We are able to do some good with God’s help. He enables us to bring his eternal kingdom down to this earth.
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