Not wisely but too well
I saw a Lent article today in the online Catholic Herald - Three lives, three loves, one destination. I read it because the blurb mentioned CS Lewis, and I've been thinking about him lately ... about his friendship with Bede Griffiths,, about the movie Shadowlands, about his book Miricles, and how the third chapter was supposedly rewritten after he lost a debate with philosopher Philippa Foot, about what he said of The Lord of the Rings ... here is a book that will break your heart.
Though I started to read the article because of Lewis, I came away with much more - The glory of the Christian faith lies in the Resurrection, our belief in the binding up of the broken-hearted, all those who love not wisely and those who love too well. Here it is below...
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Perhaps it was the recent heralding of Lent on Ash Wednesday and the priest’s solemn intoning of the words: “Remember man thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return,” as he made a swift dark smudge on my forehead that drove me to wander round Wolvercote cemetery in north Oxford. All those long, regular rows signifying man’s mortal end – and then I alighted on the gravestone of J R R Tolkien. He died in 1973, predeceased by his wife, Edith. Under her name he had the name “Luthien” incised; under his own name the word “Beren”. As Tolkien lovers know, these two characters occur in The Silmarillion, his most fascinating and least accessible mythological work. They concern the story of an immortal elf-woman and a mortal man, who fall in love, embark on a desperate mission together in defiance of the great powers of the world and ultimately find happiness together. Tolkien’s courtship of Edith, whom he met in his orphaned youth, was marked by the harsh injunction of his guardian, a priest of the Birmingham Oratory, that he must have no contact with her of any kind for the duration of his undergraduate years at Oxford. Tolkien obeyed the order; his subsequent marriage was faithful and enduring but – according to his friends – not entirely content. Howbeit, in his memory and imagination Edith always remained the true companion of his heart, evidenced by the poignant lapidary inscription.
Tolkien led me to the grave of another Inkling, with whom he passed some of the most fruitful hours for youthful fiction in this country, over beer in the Eagle and Child pub: that of C S Lewis, buried with his brother, Warren, in Headington Quarry parish churchyard. Lewis died in 1963, 10 years before his brother, who had Shakespeare’s heavy words from King Lear, “Men must endure their going hence”, put on the gravestone. This sentiment must have tugged at the heart of Lewis, who as a child in Belfast had to endure his mother’s death from cancer. Many years later he experienced another death: that of his wife, Joy Davidman, from the same disease after an all-too-brief romance that he was to memorialise eloquently in A Grief Observed.
I ended my Lenten funerary ramble back in the Chilterns, in Ellesborough churchyard at the grave of the woodcarver, mystic and spiritual writer, Caryll Houselander. She died in 1954 and the inscription reads: “Grant to the soul of thy servant / a place of cool repose / the blessedness of quiet / the brightness of light.” Caryll had never married; the great, doomed love of her life was the spy Sidney Reilly, who disappeared in the gulag in 1925, presumed shot by the Russians. Reilly, a man of mystery and of legendary charm – and also a bigamist – left behind him a string of sad mistresses and at least two wives. His extraordinary life inspired a book, Ace of Spies, that later became a television series. Caryll, who met him during her lonely girlhood in London during the First World War, kept his photo by her bedside for the rest of her life, faithful even as he was faithless.
Three lives; three loves; three inscriptions; but by the end I felt curiously buoyed up, not downcast, by the memory of these three persons whose lives had informed my afternoon’s meditation. The glory of the Christian faith lies in the Resurrection, our belief in the binding up of the broken-hearted, all those who love not wisely and those who love too well. Whatever sorrows Tolkien, Lewis and Houselander suffered during their lives, they are now with God. Roll on Easter.
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Though I started to read the article because of Lewis, I came away with much more - The glory of the Christian faith lies in the Resurrection, our belief in the binding up of the broken-hearted, all those who love not wisely and those who love too well. Here it is below...
*********************************
Perhaps it was the recent heralding of Lent on Ash Wednesday and the priest’s solemn intoning of the words: “Remember man thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return,” as he made a swift dark smudge on my forehead that drove me to wander round Wolvercote cemetery in north Oxford. All those long, regular rows signifying man’s mortal end – and then I alighted on the gravestone of J R R Tolkien. He died in 1973, predeceased by his wife, Edith. Under her name he had the name “Luthien” incised; under his own name the word “Beren”. As Tolkien lovers know, these two characters occur in The Silmarillion, his most fascinating and least accessible mythological work. They concern the story of an immortal elf-woman and a mortal man, who fall in love, embark on a desperate mission together in defiance of the great powers of the world and ultimately find happiness together. Tolkien’s courtship of Edith, whom he met in his orphaned youth, was marked by the harsh injunction of his guardian, a priest of the Birmingham Oratory, that he must have no contact with her of any kind for the duration of his undergraduate years at Oxford. Tolkien obeyed the order; his subsequent marriage was faithful and enduring but – according to his friends – not entirely content. Howbeit, in his memory and imagination Edith always remained the true companion of his heart, evidenced by the poignant lapidary inscription.
Tolkien led me to the grave of another Inkling, with whom he passed some of the most fruitful hours for youthful fiction in this country, over beer in the Eagle and Child pub: that of C S Lewis, buried with his brother, Warren, in Headington Quarry parish churchyard. Lewis died in 1963, 10 years before his brother, who had Shakespeare’s heavy words from King Lear, “Men must endure their going hence”, put on the gravestone. This sentiment must have tugged at the heart of Lewis, who as a child in Belfast had to endure his mother’s death from cancer. Many years later he experienced another death: that of his wife, Joy Davidman, from the same disease after an all-too-brief romance that he was to memorialise eloquently in A Grief Observed.
I ended my Lenten funerary ramble back in the Chilterns, in Ellesborough churchyard at the grave of the woodcarver, mystic and spiritual writer, Caryll Houselander. She died in 1954 and the inscription reads: “Grant to the soul of thy servant / a place of cool repose / the blessedness of quiet / the brightness of light.” Caryll had never married; the great, doomed love of her life was the spy Sidney Reilly, who disappeared in the gulag in 1925, presumed shot by the Russians. Reilly, a man of mystery and of legendary charm – and also a bigamist – left behind him a string of sad mistresses and at least two wives. His extraordinary life inspired a book, Ace of Spies, that later became a television series. Caryll, who met him during her lonely girlhood in London during the First World War, kept his photo by her bedside for the rest of her life, faithful even as he was faithless.
Three lives; three loves; three inscriptions; but by the end I felt curiously buoyed up, not downcast, by the memory of these three persons whose lives had informed my afternoon’s meditation. The glory of the Christian faith lies in the Resurrection, our belief in the binding up of the broken-hearted, all those who love not wisely and those who love too well. Whatever sorrows Tolkien, Lewis and Houselander suffered during their lives, they are now with God. Roll on Easter.
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posted by crystal | 11:46 AM
3 Comments:
Crystal, nice post.
I went to the Eagle and Child pub in Oxford, specfically because of the Inklings. It was a moving experience. The excellent beer didn't hurt, either.
Have you ever read Humphrey Carpenter's book, The Inklings:
C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, and their friends? Carpenter also wrote Tolkien's biography.
Have you read Charles Williams? Did I already ask you that? I think you'd really like him. He was an Arturian specialist, friend of Tolkien and Lewis, obviously, but also of T.S. Eliot and Dorothy Sayers. I keep hoping someone will make films of his novels - they're pretty cool, kind of moody supernatural thrillers/mysteries. If you don't know his work, you might try All Hallow's Eve and War in Heaven.
Here's the Blurb for the latter book:
"The telephone was ringing wildly," begins Charles Williams's novel War in Heaven, "but without result, since there was no-one in the room but the corpse." From this abrupt--and darkly humorous--start, Williams takes us on a 20th-century version of the Grail quest, with an Archdeacon, a Duke, and an editor playing the old Arthurian roles. Throughout, Williams reminds us that these legends were above all about divine, not just human, romance. While filled with marvels and black magic, the novel also suggests that the devil just might be what the face of God looks like to those who have sought destruction, just as that face is love to those who have sought love. The choice, Williams affirms, is always ours. --Doug Thorpe
All of his novels are good.
Hi William,
no, I haven't read any of Williams, but what you posted sounds really interesting. My sister is a big fan of Dorothy Sayers, though (Lord Peter Whimsy?)
I like connections too :-). Another one - HP Lovecraft and Robert E Howard.
Thanks for this!
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