Alright everybody, let's see if we can keep this one going. This is for the first letter (The weight of glory) in the book The Weight of Glory. Sorry for this confusing start, but we won't have this problem after this letter. Be certain to sign up for the e-mail updates, this way you will know when people leave comments.
Let us press on under the glory!
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In the last paragraph, Lewis says “And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner – no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment.” Again I am amazed by Lewis’ ability to summarize my complex, run-on thoughts with a mere sentence. I have spent much time meditating over the concept of tolerance, our cultures greatest good and most important character trait. As a Christian, mere tolerance is not an option last Jesus has left open to me. I have been commanded to love. Love desires what is best for the other; tolerance is neither concerned with the good or bad of the other. Tolerance seems to imply indifference; “You do what you want and I will do what I want.” Love implies having the difficult conversations and awkward silences. Besides, tolerance is what you have for things like pain or your crazy cousin Scott who you would really rather not be at the family dinners because he drives you crazy but you invite him and welcome him anyway because he is family, you tolerate him. You invite him because as family you love him, and love covers a multitude of sins which allows you to tolerate him. And so love often leads to tolerance, but mere tolerance will never lead to love. Since tolerance may often grow out of love, I certainly do not mean to say that tolerance is bad; only that it ought not be the apex of human relational disposition as it has become in our culture. We have replaced the positive ethic of love and concern with the neutral ethic of tolerance.
I think Brad's distinction between charity and tolerance is a very helpful one. I am particularly intrigued by the observation that tolerance is a "neutral ethic" which "seems to imply indifference." Love, as Brad points out, may lead to tolerance, but tolerance will never lead to love. This is certainly true, though I would add that one of the more disconcerting dimensions of Christian charity (and there are many)is that while it can sometimes lead to tolerance, it can at other times lead to precisely the opposite--or at least to what many would perceive as the opposite. If love truly desires the good of the other, then at times this requires a certain degree of intolerance, particularly towards the sin which prevents that other from glorifying God or being used by Him. But not only does true charity lead to an intolerance for sin, it also leads finally to an intolerance for tolerance. For I cannot remain indifferent to the spiritual fate of those I love. It is significant, I think, that Lewis sees tolerance as a "parody" of love--a caricature or hollow imitation of the real thing.
At the same time, it is interesting to note that Lewis implicitly gives us at least two examples of concepts which well-meaning people often mistake for love. The first of these counterfeit concepts, which actually comes at the end of the essay, is the one to which Brad has directed us--"tolerance," or "indulgence." The second, which comes at the very beginning of the essay (and incidentally, there is an amazing structural integrity to this essay in that it ends, in a sense, where it begins), is "Unselfishness": "I do not think this is the Christian virtue of Love. The New Testament has lots to say about self-denial, but not about self-denial as an end in itself." If tolerance is an ethic of neutrality, as Brad rightly observes, then Unselfishness is an ethic of negativity. True Christian charity stands in contrast to both of these. Genuine love is other-focused, not not-me-focused. This is not theological hair-splitting, though it may perhaps seem that way. Unless we recognize love's radical orientation towards otherness, we will be forever trapped in the selfishness of Unselfishness. To echo Brad's earlier distinction: love will lead to true unselfishness, but unselfishness will never lead to real love.
I wonder sometimes if the position of tolerance has made such a big impact on our society (and I think it to be most common in our society and ones like it) because it seems to be the "middle position". Extreme views, beliefs and positions are very much looked down upon. I do not mean to come against the virtue of moderation, but even such a Christian virtue as moderation should not be held moderately, it should be held with an extremist's passion. It is true that the middle position is the one to be held at times, but then so again is the extreme position. I would be wary of the person who did not take an extreme view against Nazi Germany or the KKK. I find it ironic that this disposition towards tolerance and the middle position is so strong in America, a country whose foundations are built upon extremists. Don’t forget, we slaughtered the British because they charged us a few more pennies for our tea and celebrate it as the Boston tea party. Cheers!
Yes, undoubtedly there are those who find tolerance appealing because they are somehow naturally inclined to the "middle." I think, though, that many people find tolerance appealing simply because it's relatively easy. Unlike genuine charity, it doesn't require one to get his or her hands dirty. The position that "I'm ok and you're ok" is, as we have noted, a position of indifference. It has the effect of precluding any profound knowledge of otherness, without which we are acting from ignorance rather than understanding. We like to believe, of course, that tolerance (in our modern sense) is some kind of enlightened virtue--a form of respecting otherness. In reality, however, modern tolerance annihilates the deep knowledge of the other that can only come through love. Tolerance may acknowledge otherness in a limited sense, of course--as when we recognize that a given person is "different" from us, when we see that s/he is "not-me"--and it even establishes a sort of relationship with that other. But this relationship to the other is one which fundamentally keeps the other at arm's length. It is, one might argue, rooted as much in a fear of the other's difference as it is in any kind of noble desire to honor the other's otherness. By contrast, love, and only love, is the condition of real knowledge; and only real knowledge can enable a genuine respect for the other.
To return to Lewis, I have something of a pet theory (not very well worked out at this point and probably open to all sorts of qualifications) which, for the purposes of argument, I'll state here in rather sweeping terms. I think many of Lewis's writings--his entire corpus perhaps--is really directed against the notion of "disinterestedness," the belief that human beings can or ought to approach people, events, etc. in some kind of ideal state of objectivity. I think we see this at play in the opening paragraphs of "The Weight of Glory" where Lewis is working hard to distinguish Christian morality-- which, as Lewis argues, is always, in a sense, "interested"--from the sort of Kantian morality that seems to deny moral worth to any act carried out with the knowledge that we might reap some benefit from acting as such. How different Lewis's view is from our usual (Kantian) ethical emphasis! Even more importantly, however, I think we see another version of this idea near the conclusion of the essay where Lewis offers his application to end all applications:
"It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour.... It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you say it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations."
If we lived in the ever-present consciousness that others, all others, are not "mere mortals," then we would necessarily be living in Christian charity. And charity, by definition, is interested.
There are a few extremely important topics that Lewis brings up in this essay. We have discussed some already, but I certainly do not want to miss some of the others. The frightening thing is that I believe most Christians are unaware of these eternal truths.
Our desires and passions are good. They are a gift from God, not a temptation of the enemy.
“Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us…[w]e are far too easily pleased. …If a transtemporal, transfinite good is our real destiny, then any other good on which our desire fixes must be in some degree fallacious, must bear at best only a symbolic relation to what will truly satisfy.”
In Psalms 37:4-5 (NIV) it says “Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the LORD; trust in him and he will do this.”
The phrase “He will give you” is the word “Natin” which means to ascribe, add, cause, put, place. So, as we delight ourselves in God, He gives us our desires. He doesn’t give us what we desire, He gives us the desires. I find this in my own life, as I continue to press into God, my desire for Him increases and I am most satisfied when I experience His presence. My satisfaction is what God desires for as John Piper so perfectly stated “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.”
Consider Jesus’ interaction with the Samaritan woman at the well from John 4 (MSG).
10 Jesus answered, "If you knew the generosity of God and who I am, you would be asking me for a drink, and I would give you fresh, living water." …
13 Jesus said, "Everyone who drinks this water will get thirsty again and again. 14 Anyone who drinks the water I give will never thirst—not ever. The water I give will be an artesian spring within, gushing fountains of endless life." 15 The woman said, "Sir, give me this water so I won't ever get thirsty, won't ever have to come back to this well again!" 16 He said, "Go call your husband and then come back." 17 "I have no husband," she said. "That's nicely put: 'I have no husband.' 18 You've had five husbands, and the man you're living with now isn't even your husband. You spoke the truth there, sure enough."
The thing that Jesus highlights is that her desires were placed in the wrong things. He doesn’t talk to her about her sins; he talks to her about her thirst! God has placed in her a desire for affection and love and she attempted to satisfy this by having relationships with several men. After drinking from this well, she was still thirsty. Only God offers water that will not only satisfy, but also pour forth from our insides. We will become worshipers.
The lie from the beginning is that God is holding out on us. When Satan tempted Eve, it was by trying to get her to focus on limitations instead of the abundant blessings. His current method is to convince us that the desires are bad and that we shouldn’t desire because God will be upset with us. The trick is the same but approached from opposite directions. He is either holding out on us or He is upset that we had the desires in the first place. But I am told that I must believe that “He rewards those who earnestly seek him” (Heb 6); and I am reminded “how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Mat 7); and that God will “satisfy the desires of every living thing” (Psalms 145). But this is just the beginning, our desires are truly too weak. We need to upgrade our desires and thirst and hunger more. When you ask someone for great things, it shows that you believe that they are great enough to supply those desires; I ask my bride for more love than my children and my children for more love than my dog. The love and blessings that I should ask of God must be of infinite value, which is what glorifies Him. Consider how the following verse marries these two concepts of our desire and God’s glory:
Ephesians 3:20-21 (NIV)
20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Ultimately, this desire shall be fulfilled by having God and him bestowing glory upon us. This would be the next big topic Lewis centers upon. Ahh… to hear those words “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Someday. Soon perhaps… but probably not too soon. I have more to do well. I have more to do to prove my faithfulness (prove to myself perhaps). And good… well, “the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is a Monday morning.”
Let us press on, under the glory.
With the notion of "desire," I think you've hit on the very center of "The Weight of Glory." The issue for Lewis is not so much that we have the wrong desires as that we desire the wrong thing--that we have a tendency, in Augustinian terms, to substitute a lesser good for a higher good.
Consider, for instance, the passage to which you drew our attention: "...Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us...." There are a couple of interesting points worth noting in this passage. First, the theology here is quintessentially Augustinian, I think, and it recalls Augustine's distinction in On Christian Doctrine between "uti" (that which is to be used) and "frui" (that which is to be enjoyed). Only God, says Augustine, is to be enjoyed. Now I think one very interesting question about this text is whether Lewis finally departs from this Augustinian perspective at some point, but clearly Lewis is here accepting something like the ordo amoris--the order of loves. We have a tendency, then, to attempt to fulfill our desire for God by turning to sex, drink, knowledge, whatever--a tendency, in Augustine's terms, to enjoy that which we ought only to use. Of course, this also suggests to some extent that our desire for God is, in fact, too weak, as Lewis points out. The fact is that we too often desire X, Y, or Z rather than God. The second interesting point, however, has to do with the fact that Lewis is here using the language of degree rather than kind, that is, it is not that we lack a certain sort of desire but rather that we lack a certain sort of intensity in our desiring. Now what I find especially interesting here is that Lewis seems to be suggesting that (a)we have some rudimentary desire for God; and (b) that all desire bears some trace of this ultimate desire.
(a) This has been referred to as Lewis's "Argument from Desire," and contrary to first appearances perhaps, Lewis is just as much in apologetics mode here as he is in Mere Christianity. The point is that there exists a (universal?) desire in us which, if we only recognized it, points us heavenward. Again, one thinks here of Augustine's cor inquietum, a restless hungering for something that can here find no satisfaction.
(b) "If a transtemporal, transfinite good is our real destiny, then any other good on which our desire fixes must be in some degree fallacious, must bear at best only a symbolical relation to what will truly satisfy." The italicized phrase is key, I think, for it underscores the point that all desire, however seemingly petty, bears some trace relationship to our ultimate desire for God. Our desire for food, for companionship, for sex, for fun--all of these potentially misplaced desires paradoxically bear a negative testimony, Lewis implies, to our one true desire for God Himself. Just as Augustine's notion of evil, which is the absence of good, provides in its very negation a shadow of God's positive goodness, so, according to Lewis, do our petty desires bear a shadowy testimony to God Himself.
The great irony, of course, is that if we only aligned our desires aright--if we could truly find rest in God alone--then the remainder of our lesser desires would begin to make sense. If we learned to enjoy God as we should, then we would be able to "use" things properly. As you pointed out, it is not that our desires are wrong, only that they are misplaced. The goal is not to "kill" our desires per se but to orient them rightly. The old chorus, "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus," almost gets it right. "Turn your eyes upon Jesus/Look full in His wonderful face/And the things of earth will grow strangely dim/In the light of His glory and grace." The truth, however, is not that the things of earth will grow strangely dim if we focus on Jesus; rather, the things of earth will appear as they never have before--in crystal clarity.
2 further points on your post Chad,
1) You said "The great irony, of course, is that if we only aligned our desires aright--if we could truly find rest in God alone--then the remainder of our lesser desires would begin to make sense."
Simply put, "Seek first his Kingdom and his righteousness and all these things shall be given to you." Though the context was on worrying about these things (food, clothes, shelter, etc) it isn't hard to imagine that Jesus was also referring to our desires for those things.
2) You mention Lewis' apologetic from desire...one of my favorites. It is of great importance that we live in a world with what are called "secondary characteristics." Many naturalistic philosophers have much difficulty with this truth. What I mean is this... the world in which we live is filled with aesthetic appeal, olfactory appeal, etc. Our senses are in a constant state of overdrive. There is no biological (naturalistic) explanation for why all of our senses are so stimulated all of the time. We have in a sense been created so that we may desire and enjoy. Much more I could say on this but I will let it marinate for a while.
Chad, it seems as though no one else is wanting to jump in the pool. Let me know when you would like to move on to the next chapter. There is no rush, and feel free to invite anyone to the conversation.
One more personal note, you truly humble me. Your writing is so well informed and proper I feel a bit like when I was in high school and I accidentally walked into the wrong classroom... Oh well, I may as well have a seat and learn what I can.
First, I genuinely appreciate your "personal" and very gracious words, but let me assure you that I can, without hesitation, say the same about you. If I didn't feel like I had something to learn from you, I certainly wouldn't be engaged in this sort of dialogue. I have the highest respect for your thoughts, which is why I look forward to these kinds of conversations.
Secondly, I'd love to hear more of your thoughts about the "secondary characteristics" argument, or what I've come to think of as the "aesthetic argument" for God's existence. Once it's "marinated" some more, I'd like to see you run with it.
Finally, I'd like to hear your thoughts on another central theme in "The Weight of Glory." Whenever I read this text I always feel like the proverbial white elephant in the room is the problem of "rewards," and how Lewis in particular understands this idea. In fact, I think the problem of rewards is really a collection of distinct but related problems, some of which Lewis addresses, some of which he hints at, and some of which he doesn't address at all. We might break these down as follows: (1)the problem of the apparent "selfishness" of a rewards system; (2) the problem of the relationship of grace to rewards; (3) the problem of the nature of our reward(s); and (4) the problem of the distribution of rewards. Of these problems, Lewis addresses only (1) and (3). Now I find Lewis's argument about the non-mercenary nature of some rewards quite compelling, and therefore I won't say anything else about it. With regards to #2 and #4, I have more questions than answers, some of which I'll articulate below. For the moment, however, I'd like to comment further on #3.
At one point (p. 34 in my text), Lewis collects the promises of Scripture regarding Heaven under "five heads": "(1) that we shall be with Christ; (2) that we shall be like Him; (3) with an enormous wealth of imagery, that we shall have 'glory'; (4) that we shall, in some sense, be fed or feasted or entertained; and (5) that we shall have some sort of official position in the universe...." He then asks a critical question: "'Why any one of them except the first?'" Why indeed? For some reason Lewis's answer struck me differently as I was reading the sermon this time than it ever had before. "The variation of the promises does not mean that anything other than God will be our ultimate bliss; but because God is more than a Person... a dozen changing images, correcting and relieving each other, are supplied." Now I think that during previous readings I had always missed the precise point Lewis is making here. I had always simply taken Lewis's point regarding the symbolic character of Scriptural representations of Heaven in general terms (thus, for example, we won't necessarily be "eating" literally)-- a common enough truth for all but the extreme literalist. But what struck me this time was the fact that Lewis is suggesting that each of these five heads bears a complementary relationship to one another, or more precisely, that the last four are all somehow symbolic representations of the first: "that we shall be with Christ." Somehow, then, "that we shall have some sort of official position in the universe" (#5) is actually a dim representation of what it means to find our fulfillment in God Himself, just as #2-4 are. This is important, I think, because it seems to put to rest a certain kind of conversation I've often heard among Christians who spend lots of time speculating about "heavenly rewards" and "heavenly treasures." What is the nature of our heavenly reward? God Himself.
Still, we are faced with problems #2 and #4, or at least I am. My primary question, then, is whether--based on our actions here on earth--certain of us will receive a greater share of the reward (i.e., more of God) than the rest of us. Now in one sense, I have no problem with the idea that not everything will be equally distributed in Heaven. Unlike some hyper-democratized people who believe that any hierarchy is intrinsically unfair, I happen to agree with Lewis that hierarchy enables a certain kind of joy that would otherwise be unavailable, namely, the joy of submission. (He alludes to this idea in "The Weight of Glory," though he develops it even further in Perelandra.) In another sense, though, this raises difficult questions, for having "less" of something implies a lack, and lack seems to imply the continued existence of desire--which brings me to another question. Will the desire Lewis speaks about ever be quenched, even in Heaven? If God is Infinite, will our spiritual hunger ever be satisfied? Is Heaven really a place of rest (as we so often like to think), or merely the next stage in our never-ending journey towards the "center" of God? Perhaps, in the end, there is finally a fundamental difference between heavenly desire (or heavenly "lack") and earthly desire (or earthly "lack"). But if so, in what does this consist? Thoughts?
Here we go…
Let’s tackle the secondary characteristics or secondary qualities thing first (actually, we probably won’t tackle it, but maybe we can push it around a little and call it demeaning names). Secondary qualities are properties that are had by substances and these properties produce some sort of response in the sensory apparatus of other substances. At this point, there are so many directions that I want to go in. First of all, there is the different types of properties; intentional properties (properties of the thoughts of or about the receiving substance) and intensional properties (properties of the “emitting” substance.) When I see a red book, is the redness an intentional property or an intensional property? Is it a property of the object or of the subject? This is a matter of fierce philosophical debate, but regardless of the position one holds, you still must deal with the question of what precisely are these intentional properties? Intentional properties have an “ofness” or an “aboutness” to them, a property that is incompatible with a physical object. Physical objects do not have “ofness” or “aboutness”, they simply are the object. When I have a memory of a red apple, I can in some sense “see” it. When I have a sensual memory of my first kiss with Cory, I can in some sense “feel” it. When I have a memory of my grandma’s house when she was baking cookies, I can in some sense “smell” it and “taste” it. What is happening with these senses? Certainly some type of mental connection is there, but there certainly isn’t a physical stimulus to cause these sensations even if there were physical stimuli to cause the sensations in the primary experiences.
I feel I am getting a bit too far off topic, so allow me to reign this in. Substances have properties within them that cause properties within our thoughts. It seems that nearly every substance in the universe is filled with enough of these secondary qualities to keep our senses busy forever… and beyond that we not only sense them in the primary encounter with these substances, but we also sense them in our thoughts and memories of these substances. In addition, these experiences tend to cause pleasure and make life more enjoyable. Why should we expect this without the existence of a God who loves us greatly? Some atheists may suggest that these properties are advantageous to both the object (a bright colorful flower may attract more bees and be able to reproduce more frequently) and the subject (I know not to eat certain foods because of their smell or taste). Agreed, but there is certainly no reason to expect the overwhelming amount of such properties. To say that we have these properties simply for evolutionary advantage when considering the amounts of these properties is as ridiculous as when you compare the lives of the 85% of Americans who claim to be followers of Christ with the life that Paul lived. Even if we accept the evolutionary response, it still doesn’t account for the vast joy that we experience from such things. The feel of the first day of fall, the beauty of the changing leaves, the taste of an ice cold beer and a juicy steak, the everything of a first kiss… it is these things that make life worth living. Just try to imagine a life void of any of these things. Even if the colors and tastes and smells still existed, what a blessing it is that these things are tied to some sense of appreciation and joy within us. The world seems to have been created for our enjoyment. I pity those Christians who can think of nothing but escaping this world; I too look forward to heaven but not as an escape from this world, rather as a fulfillment of this world…if it is this good already, imagine how amazing it will be when all things are as they were created to be, including my ability to really taste what God meant when He meant wine…Ahh, those lucky wedding guests so many years ago.
This leads me to your next set of questions. I personally don’t see a problem with the concept of us literally eating in heaven, I am willing to be wrong but I don’t see why it is such a ridiculous position and I don’t consider myself an extreme literalist (duh!). I do believe that the Bible teaches in a physical resurrection and the renewing of the earth. Jesus’ resurrection was of course our first-fruits and our resurrection will most likely be in the same manner his was. Considering the physical nature of His resurrection and ours to come, the physical nature of the world to come (we won’t be sitting on clouds playing harps), the fact that Jesus participated in “wordly” things after his resurrection such as eating on several occasions, and the vast number of portions of scripture which refer to physical rewards in heaven… I simply see no problem in holding this position. I in fact rather like the concept of having a “cheeseburger in paradise.” If anything, our lives will be more physical after the resurrection (think of Lewis’ representation of the solid beings in the Great Divorce). Now Lewis does suggest that the scriptural promises do not mean that anything more than God will be our ultimate bliss, but this does not imply that such things may not exist and bring pleasure. Just as a beautiful sunset here in the imperfect causes me to both glorify God and rejoice in him, so also may these blessings cause us to even more find bliss in God Himself in the perfect. Could not my bliss in God come through such things? The problem on earth is that we tend to make idols of these things, but certainly this won’t be a temptation in heaven. Now I confess that I also believe that there may be some symbolism in use here, but to suggest that it all is just saying “you get God” seems to fall a bit short. I think this applies to the concept of heavenly reward. If we accept the view that our heavenly reward is simply that we get God, do some get more of Him and others less? If the reward is God, and all get the same God in the same way in the same degree, why all of the talk of different levels of reward? Even if it is symbolic, it still must refer to some truth about heaven. I tend to believe that there must be some greater reward for some than for others and I see no reason why these rewards couldn’t be physical, provided that the through the reward we get in some means the Rewarder.
Finally, you ask will our desire ever be quenched to which I heartily and confidently say no. You rightly notice that God is infinite and the best we will ever become is finite without end. God is the set of all numbers and the best we can expect is 1,2,3,… Try as we may to continue adding digit after digit, we will never reach infinity. I believe that our desires will be sated, but never quenched. As each question is answered, five more will be added. As each desire is fulfilled, our finite desires will grow. Remember, the problem is that our desires are too weak, not too strong. Heaven is not a place of rest; it is a place of Shalom.
I know I was not very clear in this message, but I have had Colette sitting on my lap splashing me with her drink throughout…Praise God! I speak confidently, but that is only an illusion to make points that I don’t know if I agree with wholeheartedly. So feel free to disagree and push me on much of this.
Another thought...
How can our desires be completely sated and yet we still continue to desire more? Here is a useful analogy. When you are filling a water balloon, is there ever a time when the balloon is not filled with water? Of course not, but there is always room for more water if the balloon continues to expand.
Also, let us not lose sight in all of our theologizing that God is the one who chose to teach us to expect different levels of reward in heaven, to expect a great banquet, to expect to become rulers, etc. Even if God is speaking metaphorically here, it is still His metaphor and chosen for what must be a great reason. It would be best for us to picture it in such terms since it is the picture He gave us. Perhaps He said it because it is how things will be, perhaps it is because it is necessary for us to live our lives with this picture for our jollification, after all it makes me happy to think that great rewards await me and it causes me to strive towards perfection in Christ.
Just some thoughts.
This is great stuff, Brad, and you've made me think about a lot of things. In the hopes of furthering both our thinking processes, let me "push back" on your thoughts a bit, as you suggest. First, though, a quick word about the "secondary qualities" argument. I don't have much to say in response here, mostly because this argument seems to make good sense to me. It did, however, remind me of a point Philip Yancey once made with reference to G.K. Chesterton. To paraphrase: we often ask why there is so much evil in the world, but we must also ask why there is so much good in the world. Now to your other thoughts...
I suppose my first question for you is a basic one, namely, where do you see yourself either agreeing or disagreeing with Lewis? Take, for instance, the following statement: "Now I confess that I also believe that there may be some symbolism in use here, but to suggest that it all is just saying “you get God” seems to fall a bit short." It seems to me that Lewis is in fact suggesting that there is a great deal of symbolism in the Scriptural depiction of heaven and that he is also saying that this symbolism, in the end, all points back to the basic idea that we find our fulfillment in God. What I'm wondering, then, is whether you see yourself disagreeing with Lewis (or disagreeing with my reading of Lewis), whether you see yourself as somehow qualifying Lewis, or whether you see yourself as being in full agreement with him. It seems to me that perhaps you want to suggest that the gap between signifier and signified is closer than we might think, that is, that the Scriptural language about heaven is, in fact, closer to the literal end of things than to the figurative. Now I realize, of course, that symbols by their very nature never correspond perfectly with what they represent, but it seems to me that whereas Lewis is saying that Scriptural statements about heaven may have a literal dimension, you want to say that these statements may have a symbolic dimension. The distance between you may still be relatively slim, but I think it is important nonetheless.
As for me,I think there are two opposite mistakes that we, as Christians, can fall into when we're pondering heaven. The first is to imagine it as an entirely sensuous place, or rather, to imagine it as nothing more than an intensification of pleasures which we already experience on earth. (This raises the vexed question of how, exactly, this world relates to the next. Keats once made the argument that we can actually know something of heavenly beauty since if a beauty exists here on earth, and heaven is even more beautiful, then heaven must, at the very least, include the lesser beauty. This may or may not be consistent with the Christian view...) So, for instance, chocolate tastes good here, but it will taste absolutely heavenly in the hereafter. This, I think, is closer to the Islamic conception of paradise. The other mistake, however, is to imagine heaven as lacking any sort of sensory appeal--to think of it entirely in disembodied, spiritual terms. This, as you know, is more Platonic than Christian. And as you rightly point out, the Bible does teach the resurrection of the body, and thus it seems there will be some sort of "bodily" dimension to heavenly existence. Consequently, the truth, I believe, is probably somewhere in between these two extremes. Now like you, I am not willing to bet anything that I'm right because all talk about the specific details of heaven is, in the end, purely speculative.
Still, we might legitimately ask whether there is any danger in reading the Scriptural images of heaven more literally--viz., whether we ought to imagine ourselves enjoying a "cheeseburger in paradise." My answer is, "perhaps." First, our tendency as human beings is to forget that however eating a cheeseburger in paradise may be similar to eating a cheeseburger on earth, there would also be something radically "other" about the experience of eating a cheeseburger in heaven. (Incidentally, it's interesting to note in this regard that Lewis even cautions us against taking the idea of "being with Christ" too literally. He reminds us that we have a tendency to "smuggle" in ideas of proximity, etc.). The tendency, in other words, is to fall into the first trap and forget that heavenly pleasures are not only different in degree but also different in kind (or so I think at least). The second problem, I fear, is that we have no way of knowing for sure whether "physicality" means the same thing in heaven as it does on earth. The Bible states that there will be a "new" heaven and a "new" earth, so how are we to know that our resurrected bodies will function in the same way as our current ones do? It's not that "physicality" itself is the problem (this would land us in the Platonic trap); rather, it's that we simply don't know for sure what physicality, sensuality, etc. really "mean" in a new heaven and a new earth. Finally, you suggest that we may be able to enjoy God through enjoying things, and I agree completely that if this is the case in heaven, then our usual temptation to idolatry would be entirely absent. But then there is something in me (and I realize this is one of those "gut feeling" kinds of arguments, but then so is Lewis's to some extent) which makes me feel like this simply isn't good enough. And here's where perhaps I'm wont to read Augustine (and Lewis) in a certain way. When Augustine says that only God is to be enjoyed, I tend to take him at his word. I can imagine a scenario in which a heavenly cheeseburger would be "good in its place," but then "good in its place" is not God Himself, just like an apple is good, but nowhere near as good as sex. But, you may say, does this stop me from enjoying the apple? Of course not. But this is where the analogy breaks down, for we're not talking about good things in their places, we're talking about GOOD ITSELF. Apples and sex are still both relative goods, but when we talk about heaven we're talking about the source of all goodness. Moreover (and this gets us back to the endless desire idea), if God is infinite and we will never come to the end of Him in heaven, then won't we be busy enough exploring God Himself?
I am painfully aware of the fact that this argument is far from incontrovertible--it could be, for instance, that God's goodness is somehow partially "contained" or manifested in a heavenly cheeseburger, or that I can only know God's goodness indirectly through heavenly cheeseburgers, or some such thing. But then this once again jars with my earnest hope that though we now see through a glass darkly, we will one day see face to face. In short, I can't help thinking that God's "veiled" goodness is a function of earthly existence, and that one of the greatest pleasures of heaven will be the simple fact that the veil no longer exists. Heaven, I'm suggesting, and I have a sense that Lewis would agree (though I may be wrong and you may want to suggest an alternative reading), is ultimately about the Beatific Vision. I'm almost to the point, in fact, of imagining heaven in terms of the "eternal stare"--not a static stare, mind you, but a dynamic one.
One last thing: You are absolutely correct to remind us that it is God Himself who has set down these images of heaven for us, and as a result, these images are unquestionably authoritative. Lewis himself makes this very point. The question, though, is how we ought to interpret these images. Are they literal--will we be eating in heaven as we now understand eating?--or are they symbolic? I prefer the latter, not because I don't enjoy eating, or because I can't imagine a sublime form of gastronomic bliss (could heaven really be full of perfect Chicago-style hot dogs?!), but because any form of eating seems incomparable to God Himself.
Thoughts??
You ask where I see myself, whether I agree or disagree with Lewis. That is a tough question. First, let me confess that I am in a place where I could be moved comfortably between the 2 extremes you mention and would be perfectly comfortable. What I hold to strongly is that one extreme without the other is unbalanced. There is a literal dimension to the promises, otherwise you put too much strain on the biblical passages and force a symbolic reading when a literal is the most reasonable one. There is also a symbolic dimension to the promises also because it seems clear that the Bible is trying to point us toward something that is completely other and beyond our experience (is hell eternal blackness or eternal fire, the two are not compatible as we use the terms). I guess I think of it this way: if I promised Elijah over and over that we would have a feast after he finished pre-school, he may be excited about going to McDonalds (his literal interpretation) but I intend to take him to Chuck-E-Cheese (did I just relate Chuck-e-cheese with the heavenly wedding feast? Forgive me Lord). He has never experienced CeC before and no expectation of it and I know he would enjoy it much more than McD. His literal interpretation was misinformed, it was merely symbolic of the greater gift which he could not understand. But, and here is the important part for me, the desire that I placed in him by suggesting the feast and was in his mind as McD will be completely fulfilled. He will still eat, but the eating isn’t the primary focus. Bad analogy, but I think you get the point. There is a reason that we are told to focus on eating, ruling, etc and it would be best for us if we consider those ideas as literal because God told us to. Also, it seems to me that man was created to in some sense rule and have dominion, to eat, and to work. The picture we have before the fall is in the garden which must be cared for. Adam had to name all of the animals and have dominion over them. This is all before the fall mind you. I do not suggest that heaven is a return to Eden, but the picture of heaven is the replacement of a garden with a city. A city implies more will be happening, not less. We have been promised that we will once again eat from the tree of life. I assume you take this as literal in the genesis account, why not in the revelation account? For me, the burden of proof seems to be on the person who wants to suggest that this is all figurative. Symbolic I am OK with, because symbolic ties together literal and figurative. My wedding ring is a symbol of my love and it is a literal representation of that love, clearly the symbolic representation is the more important, but we completely lose that beautiful symbol if I lose the literal ring. As far as where I am with respect to Lewis… I think he slides on this continuum as well. As a speaker, I understand his desire to present both sides powerfully so that he can move people away from the two extremes. In this essay, he seems to be moving toward a more figurative position to draw out the literalists into the realm of the mystics. But also consider the passage in Great Divorce with the woman who has an entourage in heaven, Lewis is clearly suggesting that there are different levels of glory in heaven. So in the end, it seems to me that you may be placing too strong of an emphasis on Lewis’ comments about symbolism. I think Lewis holds firm to some sort of combination of the two extremes, but of course you are my superior in this area so I feel foolish disagreeing with you.
You said “The Bible states that there will be a "new" heaven and a "new" earth, so how are we to know that our resurrected bodies will function in the same way as our current ones do? It's not that "physicality" itself is the problem (this would land us in the Platonic trap); rather, it's that we simply don't know for sure what physicality, sensuality, etc. really "mean" in a new heaven and a new earth.” My only thought on this is to look at the one example that we do have, Jesus’ resurrected body. He still ate and drank and walked around and cooked breakfast, but there was also something completely other about his appearances (he could hide his identity, he may have been able to appear and disappear at will, etc).
I will pause here so we can focus the conversation a bit better and so that I don’t ramble too much.
Once again, some very challenging points. Let me start by saying that I think the danger in any conversation of this sort (especially the longer it continues) is that we have a tendency to become entrenched in our positions for the sake of argument rather than in the interests of truth. So let me be clear: I consider the entire conversation to be largely speculative, and like you, I tend to see the truth as being somewhere in between the two traps I mentioned in my previous post. It may turn out that you are entirely correct, and frankly, that would be fine with me! :)
I also agree with you completely (as does Lewis) that there is both a literal and a figurative element to the Scriptural images about heaven. Indeed, as you point out, this really amounts to nothing more than saying that these passages are "symbolic." A symbol, by its very nature, both reveals and conceals. Its relationship to its signified is, as you know, one of "is-is not." Thus far, then, we are in total agreement. The question for me, however, is not whether there is a literal element to the Scriptural images (which there is), but what precisely this literal element is. If I'm reading you correctly, you are suggesting that an image of heavenly eating will equate somehow to the actual act of eating, whether that means a heavenly cheeseburger, some kind of spiritual food we can't yet imagine, or what have you. What I am suggesting, by contrast--and what it seems to me that Lewis may be suggesting--is that the image of "eating" refers somehow to one aspect of what it means to find our fulfillment in God. There is thus a literal element--finding our fulfillment in God--but the image does not refer literally to "eating." To deny any literal component would be to suggest that it ultimately means nothing. This is clearly not what I am suggesting, nor is Lewis. Rather, I'm suggesting that earthly "eating" refers to some very real dimension of what it means to find our fulfillment in God Himself. As I said in an earlier post, Lewis seems to see each of our earthly desires as a shadow of our one desire for God. Hence, we might say that earthly "hunger" is an image of our ultimate desire for God, and the image of "eating" suggests that such a desire will be satiated (though not necessarily by literal eating).
To make my point clearer it may help to draw upon your own analogy about McDonald's and Chuck E Cheese. For you, it seems important that Chuck E Cheese is still a form of eating. It may be different food and different sorts of pleasure, but eating is pretty much the same at McDonald's as it is at Chuck E Cheese. For me, however, it's not the eating that's important, but the desire and the fulfillment. It's not, in other words, the eating of the pizza at Chuck E Cheese, but the fact that Chuck E Cheese satisfies a hunger in a more profound way than the eater could have imagined. Again, there is literal fulfillment here in that a literal hunger finds a literal satisfaction, but for me, the eating itself just isn't that important.
Remember, too, that I am simply offering a reading of Lewis here, and I am more than open to the possibility that he may be read differently. So, at the risk of trying your patience, let me ask you once more how you view your own reflections in relation to the "The Weight of Glory..."
You said: “If I'm reading you correctly, you are suggesting that an image of heavenly eating will equate somehow to the actual act of eating, whether that means a heavenly cheeseburger, some kind of spiritual food we can't yet imagine, or what have you.”
You are very close to what I am getting at. You are correct about my view of the food being some kind of heavenly (not spiritual) food that we can’t yet imagine, but I am also suggesting that the act of eating may also be some kind of heavenly action which can best be understood by thinking of eating as it is now. Does that make sense? Where I think you and perhaps Lewis go too far is in suggesting that there won’t be anything like the act of eating, literal or figurative. I think there is an importance to the action. I suggest this for a couple of reasons.
First, we must remember to not isolate this promise. Along side this promise we should also consider the concept of some sort of hierarchy in heaven, the concept of heavenly eternal reward, the concept of glory, etc. I’m not sure I want to let go of these without further argument.
Second, God is the one who gave us these promises, and even if they are only symbols it would be best for us to use His symbols. It seems that He is using things that we are familiar with to describe things that we have never seen. In light of this, any description or analogy we attempt to give to these heavenly truths will be a diminishment of the picture God has given us. If there were a better way to think of it, He would have used that instead of the picture that He did give. We may give further analogies, but none are to be taken in preference to the one God gave.
Third, It is good for us to take God seriously on these promises because it spurs us on toward a higher living. The Bible is filled with promise after promise for the faithful. Beyond that, the promise of some sort of hierarchy and rulership for the faithful on earth inclines us to be faithful and disciplined. This is more needed in the US church than anywhere as we have become so focused on grace that we have lost sight of works. We have equated works with merit, which is a false equation. So in a sense, in order to live well we ought to believe and live assuming that these promises will be fulfilled in some literal manner.
Fourth, I have never heard any sort of argument against taking these literally. I tend to think that these views arise out of the view that all that is physical is bad. Without good reason, we should not prefer a figurative explanation to a literal (symbolic as it may be) explanation.
Finally, why ought we view heaven as being so completely different from the earth on which we live now? The physicality of heaven and our resurrected bodies, the new heavens and earth, the lion laying down with the lamb… it seems that things will be much as they are now, just without distortion and imperfection. Perhaps like Adam, we will work during the day and walk with God in the cool of the evening.
It does seem that I disagree with what Lewis is teaching in this paper, though I hate to admit it. However, if you balance it with Great Divorce I think you see a more literal perspective coming from him.
I'm finding this dialogue quite provocative, and if nothing else, I praise God that it has lifted my thoughts to heaven in new ways. In the interests of both unity and clarity, let me begin by enumerating the points on which I think we agree (of which there are many!). We both agree:
(1)that the Scriptural images of heaven are authoritative. But this, of course, is not our point, but Lewis's. No one is suggesting that we can simply supply our own images at will. I am not, for instance, saying that it is just as appropriate to refer to heaven in terms of, say, a luxury cruise as it is to refer to heaven using the Scriptural image of feasting;
(2)that one image of heaven is not enough; rather, God supplies us with numerous images (e.g., glory, rule, etc.) to balance one another and to complete the picture of our heavenly peace. But once again, this too is Lewis's point. (Incidentally, the question of "eating" is merely a representative example of the dilemma associated with the sign/signified problem we've been discussing. I don't think either of us mean to suggest that "eating" is somehow the symbol of heaven.)
(3)that heaven is a literal place, and that the Scriptural images of heaven point to some kind of actual, i.e., literal, reality in that place;
(4)that heaven will have both a bodily and a spiritual dimension;
(5)that heaven involves some kind of "reward," which will likely be distributed "unevenly" according to what we merit here on earth; and
(6)that it is a generally sound exegetical principle to prefer a literal reading of a passage of Scripture if there is no good reason not to take it literally.
So far, so good. Clearly, however, we seem to be disagreeing about something (however minor), and I think that something has to do with #6. I happen to think that there is a fairly good reason, or reasons, to de-emphasize the literal reading of certain eschatological passages in favor of a symbolic reading. Now note carefully that I am not now denying that heaven may, in the end, include some activity like what we now call eating. (Again, any talk of the details of heaven is utterly speculative.) What I am saying, however, is that, even if this is true, it's not the most important component of the eating image--that is, what eating symbolizes is, in the end, more important than any literal act of heavenly eating that may turn out exist. Let me see if I can clarify my position a bit.
You write: "...I am also suggesting that the act of eating may also be some kind of heavenly action which can best be understood by thinking of eating as it is now." On this we also agree 100%. Where we disagree, however, as you know, is on the extent to which we ought to interpret "eating" in terms of actual eating. For you, I think, the symbolism in earthly "eating" basically consists in the fact that it refers to an intensified, or slightly altered, form of heavenly eating; but eating is eating nonetheless. For me, however, the symbolism in earthly "eating" points to something else, namely, a certain kind of hunger/satisfaction dynamic. There may be eating in heaven as we now understand eating, but that's not the most important thing for me. What's more important is the symbolic dimension of eating--that it represents my ultimate satisfaction in God Himself. Perhaps the best way to put it would be this: "eating" for me may be best understood in terms of something like "feeding" on God. There is thus something like eating in heaven, but not necessarily a literal eating.
But I think it may be more profitable to move to a couple passages of Scripture to try to demonstrate why I want to prioritize a symbolic reading of certain passages. First, we might take Rev. 21:6, for example: "He said to me: 'It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life." Now, could it be the case that there is a literal spring of water in heaven, which none of us have to pay for, from which God will dip to quench our thirst? Of course; nothing is beyond the power of God. But I think to take this literally as an image of what heaven will really be like is to misunderstand a) the theological purpose of the passage; and b) the conventions of apocalyptic literature like Revelation. Even if there is a literal spring in heaven, the literal part is not the important part. The important part is that our burning desire (for God!) will finally be satisfied entirely. Think, too, of a passage you referred to in one of your earlier posts--the passage in John 4 about Jesus' encounter with the woman at the well. Jesus offers to give the woman "living water," but as we all know, what he was really offering her was Himself. Eating, hunger, thirst, etc. therefore have a profound theological significance throughout the Bible, and whatever else we do with such passages, we must take them first in this sense, which, as it turns out, is itself nothing but a form of literal interpretation. (Christ and His salvation are REAL!) Here, though, the literal referent is God rather than actual water.
Or, to take another example (one which alters the image for us), consider Rev. 21:15ff., where John describes the heavenly Jerusalem. "The wall was made of jasper, and the city of pure gold, as pure as glass. The foundations of the city walls were decorated with every kind of precious stone...." Again, could this be a literal depiction of what heaven will be like? Yes, it could (though I have to confess that my sinful, earthly aesthetic tastes currently find heaven a bit gaudy). But the important thing here is not that John is giving us the exact architectural blueprints for the heavenly city but that this image symbolizes total, sublime, and (what is presently) incomprehensible Beauty.
One final word before I conclude this obnoxiously long post. Why, you might justifiably ask, would God give us physical images of heaven if their primary intent is to point us to the spiritual reality of our fulfillment in God? I offer two brief responses. First, I am not suggesting that our fulfillment in God will lack all physical dimensions. Once again, this would be to fall into a form of hyper-Platonism. If nothing else, recall that I've already made reference to the Beatific Vision as our final end. I believe that we will quite literally "see" God (though of course we will be seeing with the eyes of our "spiritual body," but I won't address that now). Secondly, I think God gives us physical images because, quite frankly, I think the thought of gazing on God tends to bore most of us. Most of us, if we're being honest, probably find the job of the seraphim in Rev. 4 rather monotonous. "So...we're all just going to be sitting around praising God?" I can hear someone ask. The point is that, in our sin, we don't "get" how amazing this experience really is, so in order to give us a fleeting glimpse of this, God says something like: "You know the joy you feel when you're at a big party, eating food and laughing with friends? Worshiping me in heaven is a little bit like that..."
Great. I completely agree with everything you said, sincerely I do. I agree completely that it is the symbolic, or spiritual truth that is the emphasis and most important aspect. I also would add, as you know, that we will still be doing other things in heaven (eating, working, ruling, worshiping, singing, etc.). I think this is my sticking point. Again, I agree completely with you on all of your points, I just don't want the "less important" aspect to be ignored because to do so is, as you mention, far too hyper-platonic. I mostly want to hold onto it because of the physical nature of the resurrection and therefore of the new earth and heaven. Since we will be physical beings in a physical world, it seems logical and necessary that we do physical things. So in short, I agree that the main point is that having God will be like having a huge party... but I also believe that there will still be huge parties to celebrate with each other.
I too have enjoyed thinking deeply about these things, but it is always difficult to think too long about heaven. Thank you for your patience with my ignorance. I am trying.
I am not suggesting anything, but at what point would you like to move onto the next chapter?
"...it is always difficult to think too long about heaven." Wise words, indeed. I know we both agree that, whatever heaven turns out to be like, we certainly won't find ourselves wishing it was any different. For now, I think, that's about all we can say for sure. Let's promise to pick this conversation up again once we get there, ok?
I'm ready to move on if you are, though you'll have to give me a few days to re-read the next essay ("Learning in War Time," right?). It's been several years since I've read through this one. If our conversation about the next essay is as profitable to me as this one has been, I'm looking forward to it eagerly. Thanks, Brad, for your willingness to take time to discuss these things...
Whenever you're ready, go ahead and post something. I'll jump in as soon as I've finished the text.
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