iconoclasm, n. [icono-, and Gr. klan, to break.]
1. the act of breaking or destroying images; especially, the destruction of objects of veneration, as pictures and images in churches.
2. the act of attacking or ridiculing traditional and venerated institutions or ideas.
All reality is iconoclastic. - C. S. Lewis in A Grief Observed
I fell right in with this brief, rich chronicle of Lewis' reaction to his wife's untimely death. Comprised of diary entries and originally published under a pseudonym, the book reveals Lewis’ progression from initial anguish to a place of resolution. We see the process by which he regains his equilibrium, mercifully, and comes to terms with both Joy’s death and God Himself. I am grateful for this glimpse into a great mind, heart, and soul which, when taken in, ennobles my own inner convolutions. (Which are hardly so lovely, worthy, or brilliant.)
I had been warned – I had warned myself – not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. They were part of the programme. We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ and I accepted it. I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination....The case is too plain. If my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. The faith which ‘took these things into account’ was not faith but imagination. AGO, pp. 36-37, emphasis added
You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you...only a real risk tests the reality of a belief. pp. 22-23
On what do we truly set our faith, those of us who profess Christian belief? Do we set it on images -- conceptual images? On favorite thoughts? On reality as we perceive it? On earthly pleasures and comforts? I think we all know the answer. But the sad truth is that all of this is idolatry. Yet, I wonder, can we help it? Is it possible to walk in faith even...50%? We get used to our beliefs and to the way we live, and we come to rely upon these things whether they are truly reliable or not.
I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels likes suspense. It comes from the frustration of so many impulses that had become habitual. p. 47
I will confess that two of my greatest fears are having the rug pulled out from under me as far as my orientation to the world, my general understanding (my security – oops) goes, and, related to that, having my own identity changed drastically. Another is pain – pain, whether mental, emotional, or physical – greater than I can bear (I’ve been there more than once, and lived to tell about it!).
Yet I fear that the farther we get from pain and suffering, the farther we get from God.
The more we believe that God hurts only to heal, the less we can believe that there is any use in begging for tenderness. p. 45
All of our efforts to avoid pain and discomfortmust therefore be vanity, even idolatry. But, truly, can we help it?
What do people mean when they say, ‘I am not afraid of God because I know He is good’? Have they never been to a dentist? p. 43
Change, whether great or small, self-directed or imposed from outside, is very difficult. It takes great effort mentally, emotionally, and physically for us to cope or adapt. In other words, it stresses us in our humanness.
...a burly, cheerful labouring man, carrying a hoe and a watering pot came into our churchyard and, as he pulled the gate behind him, shouted over his shoulder to his two friends, ‘See you later, I’m just going to visit Mum.’ He meant he was going to weed and water and generally tidy up her grave...A six-by-three-foot flower bed had become Mum. That was his symbol for her, his link with her. Caring for it was visiting her. May this not be in one way better than preserving and caressing an image in one’s own memory? The grave and the image are equally links with the irrecoverable and symbols for the unimaginable. But the image has the added disadvantage that it will do whatever you want. It will smile or frown, be tender, hay, ribald, or argumentative just as your mood demands. It is a puppet of which you hold the strings. (emphasis added) pp. 21-22
Yes, a puppet of which you hold the strings...
Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are there in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask – half our great theological and metaphysical problems – are like that. p. 69
