This will be a close look at the writing of C.S. Lewis in A Grief Observed, specifically pages 24-28. Beginning with, “Kind people have said to me,” and ending with “unendurably as before it.”
1. Representation of the text:
In the struggle of dealing with the loss of his wife, Lewis had no doubt been around people who had wished to comfort him. However, this comfort was hardly uplifting. During his grief, he battled with real issues about God, reality, love, and anguish. Even in his broken state, Lewis’ intellect would not suffer him peace, but instead led him to question and pick apart the “kind words” of those he encountered.
He imagined life on earth as no more than the story preceding eternal non-physical existence. The time he spent with his wife merely two beings, briefly physical, coming into contact for a short time, only to be torn apart. Now, when life had been stolen from him, for he would consider H. a great deal of his life, the sweet promises of religion are nearly bitter. What leads us to think our earthly comfort zone will be restored in eternity? Certainly not the Scripture.
Lewis did not fear his wife’s total unhappiness in death, for her last words confirmed her peace. But, why, he wondered, do we suppose that death ushers in the end of all kinds of pain? Why would the hand of God be that much kinder after death? Why would God’s educational hurting be inconsistent? Why would the one left alone feel pain while the one who left felt nothing but perfect joy?
2. Why this text deserves focus:
At the very least this passage asks questions that are not, and should not, be answered quickly and easily. From direct questions about things like God’s consistency in allowing hurt, to indirect questions about the habitat of heaven, Lewis brought up ideas that don’t have pat answers.
Further, it’s apparent that there are a great deal of minute details involved with serious grief that are unimaginable to those who have not experienced them. Lewis suffered through a tremendous amount of emotional and psychological pain to reach these thoughts (I won’t call them conclusions), so it would be ridiculous to assume that we could grasp their fullness without any effort.
3. What this could mean:
On page 25 Lewis says, “I know that the thing I want is exactly the thing I can never get.” He speaks of his physical connection and life with his wife. Revelation 21:4 says that heaven is a place where the former things will have passed away. Is he now merely a former thing to his wife? The unknown is a scary thing.
On page 27 Lewis questions why people think all anxiety and torment ends with death. Specifically he asks, “Why should separation (if nothing else) which so agonizes the lover who is left behind be painless to the lover who departs?” Why does he seem to ignore the first half of that verse that clearly indicates that, “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying, [nor] pain.”? I struggled with how such a wise man, seemingly full of the spirit, could overlook this part of the passage. I thought, perhaps, because the verse says that God will wipe away pain, Lewis might have imagined that this relief is only immediate upon death in our hopes and dreams. Still, to absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8) . . . can we feel anguish in the presence of the God?
Maybe the point here is not how Lewis could question the idea of a believer’s immediate and complete happiness upon death, for can we confidently disagree? Maybe the point is the depth which grief can reach. Lewis was in a deeper grief than he had ever been before. Maybe his closeness with God caused his grief to be so severe. Still, Lewis never abandoned his faith fully. On page 25 he said he would listen gladly about the truth of religion and submissively about its duty.
Also on page 25, Lewis warns that he will question the understanding of those who offer him religion as a consolation in his grief. Clearly grief leads to understanding. In fact, that might be another idea at the core of Lewis’ agony: If understanding comes with pain, is death the final pain that grants infinite understanding? If God wipes away pain and sorrow, what if our idea of pain and sorrow are faulty? What if the trials we endure on earth are only painful and sorrowful to our physical bodies? To put it less plainly, what if pain and sorrow are only such to our minds? Can our spirits endure pain and sorrow in such a way that they aren’t so painful? If we are aware that the pain we feel is entirely for our benefit, can we still consider it an afflicting sorrow? Is there a way for our eternal spirits to be in pain, but with such peace and knowledge that we are able to endure them in a manner consistent with God’s wiping away of our tears?
Unfortunately, there will always be more questions here than answers. What does this interpretation even mean? One theme in this book is confusion. Who am I to dissipate this confusion? Certainly, this really isn’t a definitive reading, but perhaps it can prove useful. Maybe even only by reaching the awareness of the unanswerable. Maybe those in dire agony, searching for a solution can find relief in knowing that there isn’t one, save time, possibly, if you have enough.
4. More support from the text for these ideas:
The very first line of the book points to the concept of grief being more than one can anticipate, even with some level of preparation. Lewis observes that he was never told “that grief felt so like fear.” (3) From this it is reasonable to infer that he has, in his life, heard ideas about what this type of grief might be like. The very first thing he writes asserts that what he heard was not enough. That nothing had prepared him.
Lewis says “it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination.” (36-37) Can you imagine this? Of course not. Theory and intellect will never suffice in preparing the mind for the wiles of the heart.
Lewis does touch on the idea of understanding coming only through grief. He points out that H. would have understood it even better. If grief became so suddenly real to him, then it must mean that the grief he thought he understood all this time was actually beyond him. He considers his old faith and sympathies to be a house of cards. On page 38 he suggests that H. would have said, “the sooner it was knocked down the better. And only suffering could do it.”
Finally, through all of this confusion, Lewis reaches the finality of finite ignorance. On page 75 he says, “We cannot understand. The best is perhaps what we understand least.”
5. Why this matters:
I see two possible purposes for examining a text such as this: Empathy or counsel for others experiencing grief, and sanity for experiencing it firsthand.
First, what might we feel or do when others experience such grief? Lewis mentions that he must not have prayed genuinely for others who had felt the touch of death, because he clearly had never cared if they were alive. If we can begin to understand the agony through realizing that we can’t, our prayers might be able to come from our spirits and hearts, not only our minds. And, just maybe, words of hope are not what the hurting need. Maybe instead of, “I understand how you feel. Everything will be fine.” we ought to offer, “I have no concept of how you feel. Everything will simply be.” What if grief can only endure in its truest form when it has a foothold of false hope for a satisfying solution?
Second, what might we do when we experience such grief? Lewis describes thoughts so convoluted and sick, that I believe those who have experienced them may not be aware of them, or able to articulate them, which would quickly lead to an inability to deal with them. The answers are not clear, and might not be available. As a Christian, I was always confident that my faith in eternity would see me through any grief I might suffer, but now? Now my confidence is in the fact that I have card castles everywhere in my faith. My fear is in the truth that “only suffering” can knock them down. I am confident that I am not, and will not be, prepared to deal with true grief when it hits me first. I could imagine that this scrutiny would equip me, but that would be naive and seem to miss the point. All one can do is try not to worry about tomorrow and brace for the impact, even though the only thing we can know for sure is that, no matter how hard we brace, true grief will leave us limp. Maybe it’s only when we stop tensing up after the impact that we can begin to heal.
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