Cs lewis poem on being human. On Being Human by Clive Staples Lewis 2022-10-13
Cs lewis poem on being human Rating:
Cs Lewis was a British writer and scholar best known for his work in the field of literature, particularly in the areas of fantasy and Christian apologetics. One of Lewis' most famous poems, "The Weight of Glory," explores the theme of being human and the unique qualities that make us so.
In this poem, Lewis begins by describing the weight of glory that all humans carry within themselves, a weight that is often hidden or overlooked by others. He writes that "we are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea."
Lewis argues that as humans, we have the capacity for greatness and for true joy, but we often choose to ignore these possibilities in favor of fleeting pleasures and distractions. He writes that "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 talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship."
This idea of the inherent value and potential of every individual is central to Lewis' understanding of what it means to be human. He believes that each person has the capacity to achieve great things and to experience true joy, but it is up to us to choose to pursue these things.
Lewis also touches on the idea of suffering and how it can be a source of growth and transformation for humans. He writes that "the Christian God is a God who, in a sense, is always in exile, always stranded at this point of time, always in the process of becoming incarnate." In other words, God suffers alongside us and understands our pain, and it is through this suffering that we are able to grow and become more like Him.
Overall, "The Weight of Glory" is a thought-provoking and beautifully written poem that explores the complexities and potential of being human. It encourages us to embrace our potential and to seek out true joy and meaning in life, rather than settling for the fleeting pleasures of the world.
C.S. Lewis has a different take on Christmas. Here’s what he had to say
The refreshing feel of it is like drinking summer. All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you. Among the asses stubborn I as they I see my Saviour where I looked for hay; So may my beastlike folly learn at least The patience of a beast. They understand the beginnings of all fundamental truths. If any faint suspicion of your existence begins to arise in his mind, suggest to him a picture of something in red tights, and persuade him that since he cannot believe in that it is an old textbook method of confusing them he therefore cannot believe in you. This is something an angel never could experience. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.
Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. Lewis was a british poet and writer. When they meant to pray for courage, let them really be trying to feel brave. Arise my body, my small body, we have striven Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven. Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying, Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear, High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal Huge Principles appear. He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity; down further still, if embryologists are right, to recapitulate in the womb ancient and pre-human phases of life; down to the very roots and seabed of the Nature. Rather, let us look at the way that form and content are often inextricably bound to each other.
"Among the Oxen": A Reflection on C.S. Lewis' Christmas Poetry
We want to suck in, He wants to give out. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous C S Lewis poetry as well as classical and contemporary poems is a great past time. I know the senses' witchery Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see; Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be. I see the chasm. The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap;But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance Of sun from shadow where the trees begin, The blessed cool at every pore caressing us -An angel has no skin. Lewis, the speaker continues to list things that only humans experience.
We may at first be surprised by this. It is sung from the perspective of the donkey who lovingly carried Mary on her long journey to Bethlehem, the cow who donated the manger in which Christ lay, the sheep who gave up his wool for the swaddling clothes, and the dove who gently sang the Christ child to sleep on the night of his birth. So far so relatively simple! The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest. One must face the fact that all the talk about His love for men, and His service being perfect freedom, is not as one would gladly believe mere propaganda, but an appalling truth. Affection is described as family love, the love of mother to her child, for example. The simplest is to turn their gaze away from Him towards themselves.
Why should I leave this green-floored cell, Roofed with blue air, in which we dwell, Unless, outside its guarded gates,Long, long desired, the Unearthly waits Strangeness that moves us more than fear, Beauty that stabs with tingling spear, Or Wonder, laying on one's heart That finger-tip at which we start As if some thought too swift and shy For reason's grasp had just gone by? The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes On death, and why, they utterly know; but not The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries. Lewis from scholars who have written far and wide about his stories, his theology, and his world. And everything you are was making My heart into a bridge by which I might get back From exile, and grow man. He strove and wrought at A thousand clarities; from his brows sprang With earnest mien Stern Athene; The cold armour on her shoulders rang. Jove stared On overbearing And aching splendour of the naked rocks. People complain that he was not such a good poet as a writer.
Lewis reflects on the same aspect of the Christmas story. From prison, in a prison, we fly; There's no way into the sky. They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it Drink the whole summer down into the breast. When they say they are praying for forgiveness,let them be trying to feel forgiven. The tremor on the rippled pool of memory That from each smell in widening circles goes, The pleasure and the pang —can angels measure it? I never had a selfless thought since I was born. He made the pleasures: all our research so far has not enabled us to produce one.
10 Essential Truths from C.S. Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters
S Lewis claimed Christianity, claiming that it was supported by logic and evidence that he could not counter. . But what is the form of the poem? Fresh-robed In flesh, the ennobled Spirits carousing in their myriads reeled; There was frolic and holiday. Lewis was deeply concerned to make form and content inseparable in his verse see, for example, the letter he wrote to his fellow poet, Ruth Pitter on 24 July 1946. All of these delicacies are things that the speaker believes only humans can experience.
All we can do is to encourage the humans to take the pleasures which our Enemy has produced, at times, or in ways, or in degrees, which He has forbidden. But if we then pay attention to the internal rhymes, we see that the scheme Lewis has set himself is in fact far more complicated. I know the senses' witchery Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see; Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be. We are empty and would be filled; He is full and flows over. A long Process, clearly, a slow curse,Drained through centuries, left them thus.