Thursday, 4 November 2010

Was Charles Williams a bad example?

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Charles Williams (1886-1945) was a strange man.

Great friend of C.S. Lewis and the Oxford Inklings circle at the end of his life, he inspires very divergent responses.

To Lewis, and TS Eliot, he was a man of advanced spirituality, and apparent holiness. His 'theological' writings and novels have a very strong following (including, for what it is worth, the current Archbishop of Canterbury - who is President of the Charles Williams society - and a scholar of C.W's works. This at least means that C.W. really is intelligent and subtle - because the Archbish can certainly judge that kind of thing).

On the other had there are those who find C.W. creepy, pretentious, and at best a hazardous guide to spirituality - at worst an actively dangerous advocate of magic and demonic flirtations - altogether a character prone to an unhealthy degree of fascination with power and perversity.

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While on the whole I find Williams valuable and stimulating, at times I too veer towards the idea that he was not a good example.

His Letters to Lalage certainly confirm the creepy side of his nature - there is something vampiric about his hyper-charged, perverse, platonic sexual relationship with this beautiful and intense young woman (only a year before his death).

The letters to his wife are just plain dishonest: evasive, elaborately deceptive, fearful, terribly sad...

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On the whole, my impression is that Williams was someone who lived very close to the edge - very close to utter despair.

I think he kept himself distracted - he seems always to have been 'busy' or in company, to have made-himself busy and have collected company - which I take as a sign he was actively avoiding silence and solitude.

He sought extreme situations in order to generate energy, in order to feel in contact with life.

And he did this (justified this) primarily to re-direct these energies and meanings into 'poetry'.

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C.W.'s work is always slapdash, his writing is deliberately and habitually obscure, he is pretentious - for example in his verse, which is a mixture of contrivance and accidental effects. (Although apparently effective enough to fool C.S Lewis and perhaps T.S Eliot - neither of whom were what I would call poets themselves. Tolkien, who was - albeit rarely - a real poet, could never get anything for C.W's verse.)

And C.W. would not have disagreed with me, I am sure - he knew what he was doing and why.

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I do blame C.W. for his refusal to admit that he was not a real poet; because a lot of his worst behaviour was designed to get energy and inspiration for generating his fake poetry.

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His 'big ideas' about positive theology, the City, the way of affirmation of images - are good ideas badly expressed - perhaps because they are undermined by his personal need for them?

The writings on exchange, co-inherence etc are either simple, banal and wrong; or else expressed so complexly, defensively and obscurely as to be ineffective communications. Indeed, they are quasi-magical, or therapeutic, rather than Christian ideas.

His idea that romantic love is a viable alternative to the ascetic is purely speculative, and in the absence of even a single real world example of its validity or effectiveness, seems merely special pleading for his own irrational and un-admirable obsession (despite being married) with a younger (and un-admirable) woman. 

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But he did have some extraordinary insights - at least it seems to me.

Here and there, in Descent into Hell and The Place of the Lion; and quite often in his best prose like the Descent of the Dove and He came down from Heaven, he really does seem inspired, and produces wonderful momentary clarifications.

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Lewis and the Inklings knew nothing of Williams disreputable behaviours; they saw only his good side, and they loved the man.

There is indeed much to love about him - he gave of himself very freely.

In sum, he is one of those maddening people that seems just one small psychological step away from being really valuable, perhaps even a saint? - but he never did take that step. So his legacy is flawed and his character almost as much demonic as holy.

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That step was simply to acknowledge that he was not a poet, not a real poet - not that which he so much wanted to be.

It was this rather small dishonesty with himself which caused nearly all of C.W's troubles.

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1 comment:

  1. Not a poem.

    I see Christianity working in this way:

    It is everywhere, it is in everything that is living and non-living. It is in the void and where there is plenty of matter. It is in the processes, on their sides, above them and under them, but it is also in total chaos. Minimal borders can contain it, but it is also there, to where it did not seem to move.

    Majority, minority, congregation; political party; town small or big, association, community; you just name a group.

    It works, works and works, there too where nobody knew work were done.

    Crazy people might speak it, and alcoholics and drug addicts. The most intelligent and sane people, clear blue sky, nothing clouding their minds, will write it. Anything in between, too.

    Amidst ridicule and invectives it builds a house.

    Imperfection doesn't turn it away; perfection, it is already there.

    War cannot kill it, oppression refines it, through soft peace and lazy prosperity it endures.

    It takes your hand in failure and defeat, it is your friend when you are rejected and excluded, and it reminds you when you win and succeed.

    Atheists cannot help but speak it, the faithful testify it with their lives.

    It is beside the children and opens the gates of Heaven when you die.

    From birth to death.

    It is the most comprehensive thing.

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    What do I mean by this?

    I don't mean that stones, voids, trees etc. have spirits in them. I tell a little real life story:

    I was working in a hospital. One day an alcoholic was brought in, his life wobbling at the edge of knife. His wife had died, and other things in his life were in a downward spiral too. He had slept in trash cans and drunk toxic alcohol. When his state was more stable, nurses took him to a profound shower. Shower detached boards of smudge from his skin, and there were many parasites in it.

    After some time, he started to be in better shape, but thin and weak. He came to office shuffling along and asked for pen and paper. At the day of his release from the hospital, he silently left two papers on the office table. In them were two religious thank you -poems to the doctors and nurses. So touching they were that several nurses started to cry while reading, and all others had misty eyes and lumps in their throats. One nurse, who other nurses called politely "tough bitch", came to see what it is all about. She had likely seen hundreds of alcoholics during his work years. I told him the story, and she said coldly: "Oh, really. Let me see." She read and I saw how jolts went through her and mist welled up in her eyes. She couldn't read to the end, she collapsed to the nearest chair and cried.

    The alcoholic was a stone that was rejected by all the builders. No secular system could use him in any way, and people around him eschewed and despised him. But Jesus made him a corner stone for one day and guided his hand. On that beautiful day the alcoholic changed several lives and saved several souls.

    I don't know what happened to him after that day.

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    The first mercy of God is that He is ready to do something for so insignificant beings compared to Him as we. God can use and influence any materials, animals, persons and groups he sees fit for His purposes. Anybody from low IQ people to the most intelligent intellectuals can do work for God.

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    The following song does not represent the highest religiousness, but it can build bridges from the decadent liberal entertainment to higher levels, open the road of Christianity to those who have been led astray. From amidst advertising and the crown jewel of liberal secular industry rises Christianity:

    http://owlcityblog.com/2010/10/25/my-hope-is-found/

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