While this paper is concerned almost exclusively with the paragraph on catastrophic conversion, it is noteworthy that the presence of Christian influence is not limited to a few isolated passages that are ostensively Christian. From a philosophical point of view, perhaps the most obvious evidence that Lewis is writing under the influence of Christianity is his apparent assumption that truth is a unity and cannot be bifurcated. In the early twenty first century even most Christians naively submit to the idea that empirically verifiable truth or scientific truth is somehow more true than truth that is learned through imagination, intuition, or even faith. Lewis does not concede this artificial bifurcation, and his assuming the oneness of truth may be, by postmodern standards, the most obvious evidence that he is playing by a different set of rules. This worldview manifests itself when, for example, Lewis quotes scripture as authoritative: “We know from scripture …” (48). The paragraph on catastrophic conversion is not an anomaly in a work that is otherwise secular.
I recall my own response to the paragraph on conversion when I first read the book in the early 1990s. I was pastor of a small congregation in the hills of Appalachia, and I was thinking very earnestly about evangelistic endeavors. After reading the section dealing with catastrophic conversion, I told my wife, “Someone could get saved reading this book.” Was that Lewis’ goal?
As much as a part of me would be delighted to answer “yes” to that question, honesty compels me to admit that it probably was not his immediate goal. The paragraph on conversion is not an evangelistic excrescence. But I also rule out the possibility that it is an academic excrescence. It is not an excrescence at all. Rather, in the course of academic investigation, Lewis’ own personal experience with catastrophic conversion affords him insight that others might (and do) easily miss. Thorough academic investigation was integral to who C. S. Lewis was. Thorough commitment to Christ was also integral to his personality. What comes from Lewis’ pen is unavoidably Christian scholarship, as long as he remains true to himself, because he was a Christian scholar. In the “catastrophic conversion” paragraph Lewis writes, “faith, inevitably, even unconsciously, flows out into works of love at once. [The converted person] is not saved because he does works of love: he does works of love because he is saved” (33). The same basic idea applies to Lewis as a scholarly writer. Faith, inevitably, even unconsciously, flows out into works of scholarship at once. He is not a Christian scholar because he writes works of Christian scholarship; he writes Christian scholarship because he is a Christian scholar. In writing about catastrophic conversion, he does not need to quote third party authorities; he personally knows what he is writing about.
This results in what for me, and I suspect for others, is one of the most effective and attractive features of Lewis’ scholarship: reading his work is very much like having a conversation with a learned and winsome friend who has thought deeply about issues that interest me much. His writings are not riddled with endless and pedantic scholarly references. There is a remarkable lack of footnotes in his essays and books. Any fair-minded observer will quickly be impressed with Lewis’ vast acquisition of knowledge. His breadth of reading is stunning. He is, however, like the honeybee that gathers nectar from many sources but makes her own honey. His mind has been nourished and strengthened by many writers and teachers, but now his own writing is the distillation of his own thought. Amid the vast possibilities for ostentation open to a man remarkable for his ability to remember nearly everything he ever read, he clearly takes the advice of Sidney’s muse who chided him with, “Fool, look in your heart and write” (Astrophel and Stella 1). And he also demonstrates the loving, calm attitude of George Herbert who wrote, “Nor let them punish me with loss of rhyme, who plainly say, “My God, my King.”” It has been well said that preaching is Truth mediated through personality. Similarly, in C. S. Lewis we have literary scholarship mediated through personality – Christian personality.
It really is inevitable that Lewis presents a sympathetic understanding of Christian issues. As a true believer, he cannot help it, nor can anyone else unless he pretends to be something other than who he really is. This principle is relevant not only when considering the work of a Christian scholar; it is applicable to the work of virtually everyone involved in scholarship. It is almost a truism that what a scholar knows and loves will influence what he perceives and how he communicates with his students and readers. Feminist critics will perceive feminism and they are expected to discuss it sympathetically, ardently, and with a view to proselytize. Similar liberties are granted to Marxist critics, Freudian critics, etc. The same geniality is not usually extended to Christian scholars, and this is irrational and it is unjust, but happily, in most situations, it does not warrant loud protest, and that for two reasons.
First, Christianity is true. It is not simply comforting, convenient, or “true for me;” it is true. Because it is true then it is right to live by it, teach by it, and interpret literature according to it. We live in a universe that was created by Jesus Christ and Jesus Christ holds it together. In the end we will all stand before him, and he will judge us. There are rewards for faithfully following Christ and for helping others to understand truth and follow Christ. These rewards are far better than academic recognition and career advancement (cf. Lewis’ own experience), and if one suffers a demotion or loses his position as a result of following Christ, he will be all the more richly rewarded. This is not a situation that warrants loud whining.