@ Nancy

The book "Till We Have Faces" by C.S. Lewis had a profound spiritual impact on me, unlike most books that typically stay on an intellectual or entertainment level. I kept thinking, "Why didn't I read this sooner?" (It had been on my list for years). However, I believe I wouldn't have understood it as deeply as I did now, and I attribute that to my decision to fully embrace my Christian faith and accept Jesus as the Son of God who incarnated and resurrected—with no more questions or doubts, just faith. This choice has been truly liberating for me. Although *Till We Have Faces* is not explicitly a Christian book, it beautifully reflects the themes of voluntary sacrifice, selfless love, suffering, and the mystery of the divine by retelling the myth of Psyche and Eros from the perspective of Psyche’s sister, Orual. Her journey through profound grief and blame toward the gods ultimately leads her to inner transformation and peace at the end of her life. C.S. Lewis’ personal faith undeniably influenced his writing, often exploring spiritual and philosophical themes through the lens of myth and allegory, as we see in this book. I want to briefly mention a few topics that gave me pause: ### The case against the gods > ‘But, your eyes being open, you saw no such thing.’ > ‘You don’t think—not possibly—not as a mere hundredth chance—there might be things that are real though we can’t see them?’ > ‘Certainly I do. Such things as Justice, Equality, the Soul, or musical notes.’ > ‘Oh, grandfather, I don’t mean things like that. If there are souls, could there not be soul-houses? (p. 161). It was clever of the author to make Psyche's palace invisible to mortal eyes, as this allows readers to relate to Orual's struggle with the nature of reality. Orual faces the abyss that humans encounter when witnessing the limits of reason. > If what I saw was real. I was in great fear. Perhaps it was not real. I looked and looked to see if it would not fade or change. Then as I rose (for all this time I was still kneeling where I had drunk), almost before I stood on my feet, the whole thing was vanished. (p. 150). Even though Orual has a glimpse of the divine, she makes an important decision that will mark her for the rest of her life: she chooses to neglect recognizing her vision as the sign she had been asking for, and instead looks for other possible explanations. She thinks the gods are cruel and untrustworthy, and also blames them for their lack of clarity in their messaging. She expresses that if they wanted her to understand something, they are at fault for not being clear. > The gods never send us this invitation to delight so readily or so strongly as when they are preparing some new agony. We are their bubbles; they blow us big before they prick us. (p. 111). Orual reached her breaking point when the gods twisted what she believed to be real: her experiences and her life story. She interpreted this event as a mockery by the gods, and so decided to write a book from her perspective—a case against them—without realizing that, in doing so, she was writing a case against herself: > Now, you who read, judge between the gods and me. They gave me nothing in the world to love but Psyche and then took her from me. But that was not enough. They then brought me to her at such a place and time that it hung on my word whether she should continue in bliss or be cast out into misery. They would not tell me whether she was the bride of a god, or mad, or a brute’s or villain’s spoil. They would give no clear sign, though I begged for it. I had to guess. And because I guessed wrong they punished me—what’s worse, punished me through her. And even that was not enough; they have now sent out a lying story in which I was given no riddle to guess, but knew and saw that she was the god’s bride, and of my own will destroyed her, and that for jealousy. As if I were another Redival. I say the gods deal very unrightly with us. For they will neither (which would be best of all) go away and leave us to live our own short days to ourselves, nor will they show themselves openly and tell us what they would have us do. For that too would be endurable. But to hint and hover, to draw near us in dreams and oracles, or in a waking vision that vanishes as soon as seen, to be dead silent when we question them and then glide back and whisper (words we cannot understand) in our ears when we most wish to be free of them, and to show to one what they hide from another; what is all this but cat-and-mouse play, blindman’s buff, and mere jugglery? Why must holy places be dark places? (pp. 283-284). I have always believed in God as Jesus, yet I understand Orual's accusations. I have questioned "unfair" situations, victimized myself, and blamed God. I have also saddened the beautiful souls of believers when, in my state of rebellion, I harshly questioned their faith, even as they were showing me Christ's love. I saw myself in many of Orual's attitudes With time, I have come to understand that humans can move between reason and faith, each requiring different skills. Dismissing either is dangerous. Reason protects us from deception but it can also blind us from truths. Faith is part of what gives us purpose in life, it comes with uncertainty but also with a blessing: > Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. -John 20:39. ### Dying before dying This part of the book was truly inspiring to me because I have been obsessed with these words for a long time [^1]: > If you die before you die, you won't die when you die. -Inscription at St. Paul's Monastery on Mt. Athos. So I recognized them in the text: > Die before you die. There is no chance after. (p. 318). Orual explains what the gods meant by “dying before dying”: > Then I remembered that conversation which his friends had with Socrates before he drank the hemlock, and how he said that true wisdom is the skill and practise of death... But by the death which is wisdom I supposed he meant the death of our passions and desires and vain opinions. And immediately (it is terrible to be a fool) I thought I saw my way clear and not impossible. To say that I was Ungit meant that I was as ugly in soul as she; greedy, blood-gorged. But if I practised true philosophy, as Socrates meant it, I should change my ugly soul into a fair one. And this, the gods helping me, I would do. I would set about it at once. (pp. 321-322). These words brought me to the central Christian teaching of "dying to self" or "crucifying the old self”, which is only achieved through divine intervention. The idea of dying before dying is described by Paul as follows: > I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. -Galatians 2:20 ### Dreams Orual was stubborn and tried to fix her sorrow by another form of dying: completely changing her identity and true nature by neglecting herself and becoming someone else. This might seem similar to “dying before dying”, but the latter just comes through an act of humility and surrender by recognizing that only divine mercy can prevent us from going astray and truly heal. Orual, however, relied on her own strength and pride to endure her suffering. She hid behind a veil and metaphorically killed herself. > I had worn a veil because I wished to be secret. I now determined that I would go always veiled. I have kept this rule, within doors and without, ever since. It is a sort of treaty made with my ugliness. There had been a time in childhood when I didn’t yet know I was ugly. Then there was a time (for in this book I must hide none of my shames or follies) when I believed, as girls do—and as Batta was always telling me—that I could make it more tolerable by this or that done to my clothes or my hair. Now, I chose to be veiled. The Fox, that night, was the last man who ever saw my face; and not many women have seen it either. (p. 205). > I am the Queen; I’ll kill Orual too. (p. 256). By writing her book, Orual finally reaches a state where she is ready for divine intervention. Ultimately, she removes her veil. The following is one of the most important paragraphs: > Not many days have passed since I wrote those words no answer, but I must unroll my book again. It would be better to rewrite it from the beginning, but I think there’s no time for that. Weakness comes on me fast... Since I cannot mend the book, I must add to it. To leave it as it was would be to die perjured; I know so much more than I did about the woman who wrote it. What began the change was the very writing itself. Let no one lightly set about such a work. Memory, once waked, will play the tyrant. I found I must set down (for I was speaking as before judges and must not lie) passions and thoughts of my own which I had clean forgotten. The past which I wrote down was not the past that I thought I had (all these years) been remembering. I did not, even when I had finished the book, see clearly many things that I see now. The change which the writing wrought in me (and of which I did not write) was only a beginning—only to prepare me for the gods’ surgery. They used my own pen to probe my wound. (p. 287). Through random encounters, dreams, and visions, the gods showed Orual what she had been missing her whole life. One specific dream (or vision) caught my attention and made me think that C.S. Lewis had a profound insight while writing this masterpiece: Orual had a vision in which she presented her case against the gods in a courtroom before a judge. The assembly was made up of gods and ghosts, some of whom she knew. When the judge asked her to read her complaint, she had a scroll that was not the book she had written while recounting the story of her life. But she read it anyway until the judge said "enough," and she understood that she had read it over and over. The judge asked if she had her answer, and she replied "yes." > The complaint was the answer. To have heard myself making it was to be answered. (p. 335). This was incredible, and I could relate. I have had similar dreams in which I have a book in my hands—a book I know I wrote. Suddenly, I become lucid and tell myself, "Here is the answer; when I read it, I will know." This has been a recurring dream, and it's interesting because there are insights we only have access to on a deeper inner level. I have also dreamed of conversing with Jesus, repeating certain words, some of which I do not even remember. I interpret these kinds of dreams as follows: > In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. -Romans 8:26 I think that C.S. Lewis, speaking through Orual and the Fox, understands this and writes: > Lightly men talk of saying what they mean. Often when he was teaching me to write in Greek the Fox would say, ‘Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that’s the whole art and joy of words.’ A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the centre of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces? (p. 335). I am very impressed with how the author explored Orual's life through her own eyes, enabling the reader to understand her transformation once she finally confronted her shortcomings and humbly accepted divine wisdom. With this new knowledge, she could finally see her path from a different perspective. Furthermore, the reader was able to appreciate the role of the gods: they weren’t meant to alleviate Orual’s suffering, but rather to lead her to see that it had a purpose—to transcend. This story made me reflect on my own journey and acknowledge Jesus's presence and mercy in my life and His selfless love as the key to transformation. --- This book resonated so deeply with me. I absolutely recommend it. To C.S. Lewis, thank you—your words truly touched my heart. --- ### References: Lewis, C. S.. Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold. Kindle Edition. [^1]: See: https://habla.news/u/nancyqa@mynostr.space/1691458659942