
For those who still have their books open, Chapter 4 gives me the willies. Of unliterary readers Lewis says:
What was true in 1961 is true today. At a time when movement leaders lament their inability to "reach the young" and to instill in them an appreciation for their past, they lack a remedy. And it is sad to watch as an entire movement which has only a hammer treats every problem like a nail.
"The song in question should be commended primarily due to its doctrinely-rich lyrical content."
No, sorry; that old wheeze needs a rest.
As Tozer told us, we must feel in our hearts. We are currently thrashing about trying to recreate a doctrinally rich liturgy—which is a necessary thing: we can't look at the work of Garlock, Hamilton, Amy Grant and Reliant K without seeing a wasteland of the "doctrinely-rich". But it would seem obvious to the least astute fundagelical, we have piles and piles of "doctrine-rich" texts left to us by our fathers. Why aren't we returning to those?
Because they cannot be felt. We can no longer cultivate the imagination. We lack the power of the word. Hollywood captures the imagination. We can only regret that the Gospels don't have any compelling chase scenes or really impressive explosions. Without those things, without a suspenseful narrative, we have no way to touch the illiterate heart.
Let us be quite clear that the unliterary are unliterary not because they enjoy stories in these ways, but because they enjoy them in no other. Not what they have but what they lack cuts them off from the fullness of the literary experience. Those things ought they to have done and not left others undone. For all these enjoyments are shared by good readers reading good books. We hold our breath with anxiety while the Cyclops gropes over the ram that bears Odysseus, while we wonder who Phèdre….Likewise with liturgy and worship, it’s not that doctrine is not essential, it’s that what fundagelicals do is end with statements of pale orthodoxy.
Am I not enough, Mine own? enough,This transcends orthodoxy and its real value is overlooked by the doctrine-ferrets.
Mine own, for thee?
Hath the world its palace towers,
Garden glades of magic flowers,
Where thou fain wouldst be?
Fair things and false are there,
False things but fair.
All shalt thou find at last,
Only in Me.
Am I not enough, Mine own? I, for ever
and alone, I, needing thee?
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