Once in awhile it is interesting to grow an article by degrees and to allow it to branch off in various directions without worrying about it imparting anything more than a sense of the subject being considered. A thesis that is permitted to gnarl and curl might produce some admirable effect that a methodical arrangement is incapable of. The reader of a discursive article has the advantage—if told beforehand of the article’s discursive character, that is—of being relieved of his duty to pinpoint each and every connection that the loose-jointed article sketchily exhibits. By a relaxed hold on the article, moreover, the reader’s mind may be eased into that elastic humor from which musing prompts follow-ups if not projects of one’s own. This article came to be as I began to muse on common dangers that I noticed among sophisticated writers and critics of fiction. It is more academic than I am in the habit of writing. Despite this drawback, the dangers pointed out in it require me to extract it from my cabinet and include it as one of my installments on cultural criticism. Though ‘classic fiction’ and ‘literary fiction’ may be used synonymously, for the purpose of this essay my categories are these: classical fiction (ancient Greek or Roman), classic fiction (modern classics), literary fiction (post-classic highbrow), and pulp fiction (lowbrow.)
Recently an excellent discussion came over the radio about how the Hindu religion is introduced into communities where other faiths predominate. One method is to offer seemingly innocuous Yoga classes. This brings Hinduism in gradually and by stealth. Mantras are assigned for new clients to repeat, the true meanings of which are withheld or lied about. Thus, unsuspecting newcomers who have adopted Yoga for no other reason than to unwind are tricked into worshiping false gods. Once the connection to the spiritual world has been made in this way, forces have begun to exert their pull; subsequently, these new enthusiasts are drawn to continue what they had never started if only they had known that Yoga is a conduit to Hinduism.
Just as Yoga is a channel to Hinduism, classic fiction is an avenue leading to more sophisticated compromises. The hook is not a mantra in an unknown tongue, but a tongue well-spoken in a handsomely bound book.
Because the novel is usually about characters moving toward the end of a storyline, fiction is more apt to addict readers than non-fiction. Add a literary aesthetic, or an ornate style, and the appeal is enhanced even more. Some readers are hooked on fiction of an inelegant sort, which, invariably, is contemporary if not scatological as well. If such persons were to develop a taste for genteel composition, they would soon be, unless grounded in something more beneficial and satisfying than fiction, prostrated before the 19th century classics. Should their palates be made sensitive enough to savor refined productions, their attachment would be more decided than their former obsession with baser material because that which is more beautiful more strongly attracts and holds. This attachment would be more hazardous because the better written word may be so adorned with beauty, that sin gains, with little protest, the approbation of the reader; furthermore, because of its ingenious presentation, the reader can be hoodwinked into falsehood. When it comes to books, delicacies are more dangerous than common fare. C. S. Lewis, though not in the same league as John Bunyan, nevertheless exhibited more panache than most famous authors of the 20th century have. There is no doubt that the man was too fond of fiction, and that, because of this love, he did not adequately ground himself in theology; therefore and thereby, his theology, informed and influenced by mythology, accidentally endangered his readers. C. S. Lewis was influenced to a fault by the literature of the fabulous. This is evident in the way spiritual realities are sometimes described in his writings, like when (I can’t remember where) he speaks of Jesus heaving sin upon his shoulder, which reminds us, not of what literally happened, but of something that a mythological god might do. This is dangerous to the reader, for it can induce him to romanticize the cross. C. S. Lewis was the victim of fiction; his readers are victims through his non-fiction, notwithstanding his valuable contributions. Is it extreme to assert that his non-fiction is jeopardous? Well, he says this in his essay, Christianity and Literature: “I am not here supporting the doctrine of total depravity, and I do not say that the New Testament supports it.” How wrong is C. S. Lewis on this point? How total is man’s depravity since the Bible says that the sinner is ‘dead in sins’? (Ephesians 2.5.) Man is totaled; this is why he must be born again. The reason why C. S. Lewis made this fundamental trespass in theology was because he was a man of fiction more than non-fiction. It is anecdotal that he read the works of Shakespeare in the space of just one year. That is misdirected dedication.
