The online journal of Luke Dockery

Category: Quotations (Page 1 of 16)

C.S. Lewis on Dogs and the Love of God

As regular readers of The Doc File have probably surmised, I am a big fan of C.S. Lewis. I reread Mere Christianity and The Chronicles of Narnia in 2020, and so far in 2021, I have reread The Screwtape Letters and am currently in the middle of The Problem of Pain.

I think there is a lot to like about Lewis’s writing, but one helpful quality is his ability to use helpful analogies to illustrate theological points. In The Problem of Pain, Lewis describes different ways in which it can be said that God “loves” humanity:

Another type is the love of a man for a beast—a relation constantly used in Scripture to symbolise the relation between God and men: ‘we are his people and the sheep of his pasture.’ This is in some ways a better analogy than the preceding, because the inferior party is sentient, and yet unmistakably inferior: but it is less good in so far as man has not made the beast and does not fully understand it.

Its great merit lies in the fact that the association of (say) man and dog is primarily for the man’s sake: he tames the dog primarily that he may love it, not that it may love him, and that it may serve him, not that he may serve it. Yet at the same time, the dog’s interests are not sacrificed to the man’s. The one end (that he may love it) cannot be fully attained unless it also, in its fashion, loves him, not can it serve him unless he, in a different fashion, serves it.

Now just because the dog is by human standards one of the ‘best’ of irrational creatures, and a proper object for man to love—of course, with that degree and kind of love which is proper to such an object, and not with silly anthropomorphic exaggerations—man interferes with the dog and makes it more lovable than it was in mere nature. In its state of nature it has a smell, and habits, which frustrate man’s love: he washes it, house-trains it, teaches it not to steal, and is so enabled to love it completely.

To the puppy the whole proceeding would seem, if it were a theologian, to cast grave doubts on the ‘goodness’ of man: but the full-grown and full-trained dog, larger, healthier, and longer-lived than the wild dog, and admitted, as it were by Grace, to a whole world of affections, loyalties, interests, and comforts entirely beyond its animal destiny, would have no such doubts. It will be noted that the man (I am speaking throughout of the good man) takes all these pains with the dog, and gives all these pains to the dog, only because it is an animal high in the scale—because it is so nearly lovable that it is worth his while to make it fully lovable. He does not house-train the earwig or give baths to centipedes. We may wish, indeed, that we were of so little account to God that He left us alone to follow our natural impulses—that He would give over trying to train us into something so unlike our natural selves: but once again, we are asking not for more love, but for less.

The Problem of Pain, 35-36



Lewis’s analogy is astute:

(1) Indeed, God does interfere in the lives of those who would be His followers. He does not leave us alone to follow our natural impulses and, instead, makes all sorts of demands upon us and calls us to live in ways that are decidedly unnatural (what can be more unnatural than voluntarily laying power aside to instead serve others, or foregoing the opportunity for retaliation when it is presented?) This can certainly be frustrating.

(2) However, as we mature beyond being spiritual “puppies” and begin to grow and be trained through the sanctification of God’s Spirit, it becomes easier to see the grace that was present, all along, in God’s demands. We are so much better off than if we had been left to our own devices.

Praise God for His interference, a great manifestation of His abundant love!

Restorationism and the Very Flawed Church at Corinth

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to take a graduate school class on 1-2 Corinthians, and as part of that class, read several commentaries and lots of articles. One of my favorite reads was Conflict & Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians by Ben Witherington III.

Here is one particularly insightful quotation from Witherington:

Careful attention to the historical and social matrix of the Pauline communities makes it clear that the early ekklesia [church] was far from perfect. As often as not, Paul was busy exhorting Christians to change their ways. If we believe that the Christian community of today should in some sense be biblically shaped and if we hold up the example of the Pauline communities, then we must say “go and do otherwise” at least as often as we say “go and do likewise.”

One reason we tend to commit the fallacy of idealism when we reflect on the early ekklesia is that we have assumed that the “determining factors of the historical process are ideas and nothing else, and that all developments, conflicts and influences are at bottom developments of, and conflicts and influences between, ideas.” Such a premise too often leads to the false conclusion that if we get our ideas about the faith right or if we emulate “the pattern” of the early ekklesia, then our Christian community will be what it ought to be.

But if we read Paul’s letters carefully, they reveal that right living and proper social interaction both within the Christian community and with the larger world were at least as much of a concern as right thinking, and evidently the early Christians had difficulties with all these matters.

Ben Witherington III, Conflict & Community in Corinth, p. xv

As many readers know already, and as I have written about before, I am a spiritual descendant of the American Restoration Movement, which is based on the premise that Christians should seek unity in God’s church by emulating the teachings of the New Testament and following the example of the early church. I believe that such an approach is fundamentally valid, but I think Witherington provides some important words of caution.

When we read about different congregations of the early church in the pages of Scripture, we come across some like the church at Corinth or some of the seven churches of Asia in the Book of Revelation that serve better as negative examples of what not to do rather than examples that we should try to follow today. So, when we say that we want to be like the church of the New Testament, we need to understand that we don’t exactly mean that, because the various New Testament congregations of which we are aware varied greatly in practice, and not all of them are worth emulating. Because of that, sometimes we might clarify our restorationist goals by saying that we want to be the church of the New Testament as conceptualized and instructed by apostolic teaching. But Witherington provides a caution here too, since having the right ideas and beliefs does not necessarily lead to right practices. And after all, what does it matter what we think if we don’t live right?

To me, none of this discredits the validity of the Restoration principle, but it does mean that we should be careful when we talk about it and as we seek to apply it. For example, rather than seeking to emulate the practices of the early church in wholesale fashion, we should examine biblical texts carefully to see where and how first century congregations were affirmed or reproved for their beliefs and practices, and choose to emulate them accordingly. Furthermore, we need to realize that faithful Christianity is about more than simply believing the right things; it also entails living in a certain way. As Witherington points out, the latter does not necessarily follow the former. At the same time, while it is true that right ideas do not guarantee right practices, it’s also true that wrong ideas make right practices nearly impossible.

While it’s true that right ideas don’t guarantee right practices, wrong ideas make right practices nearly impossible. Click To Tweet

God is concerned with both: He wants us to believe certain things, which in turn empower us to live a certain way. And from this perspective, the positive and negative examples of the early church, along with apostolic teachings preserved in the New Testament, are incredibly helpful.

Incarnation & Human Involvement In God’s Transformative Work

Several weeks back, I finished my series on The Chronicles of Narnia, and now I am thoroughly enjoying reading through Paul Ford’s Companion To Narnia: Revised and ExpandedIt is basically a reference work that discusses the process of C.S. Lewis writing the Chronicles, analyzes how they relate to the rest of his works, and provides encyclopedic entries for everything imaginable in the world of Narnia. I am just now in the Es, so I have a long way to go, but it has been a lot of fun to read.

A while back I read through the entry for Aslan, which, as you might expect, is incredibly lengthy, with the Great Lion being the central character of the Narnia series and Lewis’s imagined Christ Figure in the world of Narnia. In that entry, Ford makes an insightful comment on Lewis’s effort to point his readers to the implications of the incarnation:

[Aslan’s] encouragement of the now-revived lion with the phrase “us-lions” and his employment of the giant to break down the castle walls and the sheepdog to organize the creatures into a force that will be helpful in what will later be called the First Battle of Beruna are all instances of Lewis’s profound belief that one of the consequences of the incarnation (God’s desire to identify with us by becoming one of us) is that he wants our help in the process of transforming the world.[1]

In the Incarnation, God identifies Himself with humanity through Jesus of Nazareth entering the world stage in the form of a baby. In so doing, God affirms the goodness of creation and also His intention to partner with humanity in bringing about His purposes for that creation.



This is, in large part, what it means to be created in God’s Image; we are God’s representatives, bearing His authority to carry out the task He has given us. This is the picture we have of Adam and Eve in the garden: God giving them the task to steward and cultivate His creation, partnering with Him, under His authority, to take care of it and develop it.

Tragically, Adam and Eve fail to live up to their vocation. In the bitterest of ironies, they clutch after the forbidden fruit hoping to become like God, failing to realize that they already were! And humans have similarly failed ever since then.

In the bitterest of ironies, Adam and Eve clutch after the forbidden fruit hoping to become like God, failing to realize that they already were! Click To Tweet

In the Incarnation, Jesus comes to show us a different way. He perfectly reflects the divine image, obeying the Father’s will in all things. Rather than seeking after power or God-likeness, He willingly lays it down and lives as a servant, even to the point of dying on the cross.

Those of us who would follow Jesus are called to imitate His example. The vocation that God bestowed upon humanity in the garden has not changed: still, we are encouraged to take up our crosses and join in God’s mission. In The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, the resurrected Aslan could have defeated all evil, established his reign and rule, and brought about the transformation of the world all on his own, but he chose not to. And this, as Ford points out, is no accident: Lewis was simply reflecting the biblical teaching that the all-powerful God chooses to bring about the redemption of all things in collaboration with human agents of new creation.

One of the great truths of the incarnation is that God brings about the transformation of the world—new creation—through His partnership with humanity.


[1]  Paul Ford, Companion to Narnia: Revised Edition (San Franciso: HarperCollins, 2005): 60.

Lament For A Son: The Demonic Awfulness Of Death

This is part of a sub-series of posts under a larger, loosely-united series entitled A Theological View of Suffering.


I have been writing some reflections on Nicholas Wolterstorff’s Lament For A SonOne of many elements of the book that I appreciated was Wolterstorff’s emphasis on the “demonic awfulness” of death (p. 54).

All too often, I think that Christians can lapse into a very naturalistic worldview where we say things like, “death is just a natural part of life.” We say this to help bring perspective to our circumstances, and in the sense that, yes, all humans die, this statement is true.

But it is decidedly untrue in the sense that death is not a part of God’s plan; it is not a feature of life as God envisioned it and is, thus, wholly unnatural. Death became a reality as a result of sin (this is, in fact, precisely what God warned Adam and Eve about). Paul describes death as the “last enemy to be defeated” and in John’s Revelation, Jesus is depicted in magnificent glory as the Living One who was dead but is now alive, and who holds the keys to Death and Hades: through His resurrection, Jesus has cracked open the tomb of Death and declared His mastery over this ancient enemy, and the Day will come when it will be no more.



From a Christian perspective, we can realize that Death does not have the last say because of the victory of Jesus and that the sting of death is minimized in the face of this reality, but Death is still an enemy. It is not something to be civilized or sanitized with platitudes about it being a “natural part of life”.

Referring to sentiments similar to this, Wolterstorff says:

“I find this pious attitude deaf to the message of the Christian gospel. Death is here understood as a normal instrument of God’s dealings with us. “You have lived out the years I’ve planned for you, I’ll just shake the mountain a bit. All of you there, I’ll send some starlings into the engine of your plane. And as for you there, a stroke while running will do nicely.”

The Bible speaks instead of God’s overcoming death. Paul calls it the last great enemy to be overcome. God is appalled by death. My pain over my son’s death is shared by his pain over my son’s death. And, yes, I share in his pain over his son’s death.” (67)

But, although death is awful, Jesus tells His disciples, startlingly, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” From the perspective of a society that champions youth, achievement, and happiness, and where people put on a smile and declare that things are “fine” while they are dying inside, this seems like a bizarre statement from Jesus. Why would He say such a thing?

“Who then are the mourners? The mourners are those who have caught a glimpse of God’s new day, who ache with all their being for that day’s coming, and who break out into tears when confronted with its absence. They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm of peace there is no one blind and who ache whenever they see someone unseeing. They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one hungry and who ache whenever they see someone starving. They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one falsely accused and who ache whenever they see someone imprisoned unjustly. They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one who fails to see God and who ache whenever they see someone unbelieving. They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one who suffers oppression and who ache whenever they see someone beat down. They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one without dignity and who ache whenever they see someone treated with indignity. They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm of peace there is neither death nor tears and who ache whenever they see someone crying tears over death. The mourners are aching visionaries.

Such people Jesus blesses; he hails them, he praises them, he salutes them. And he gives them the promise that the new day for whose absence they ache will come. They will be comforted.

The Stoics of antiquity said: Be calm. Disengage yourself. Neither laugh nor weep. Jesus says: Be open to the wounds of the world. Mourn humanity’s mourning, weep over humanity’s weeping, be in agony over humanity’s agony. But do so in the good cheer that a day of peace is coming.” (84-86)

Death is awful. It is an enemy, and it should drive us to mourn. But as Christians, we mourn with the knowledge that the days of death are numbered, and the Day will come when mourning will be no more.

Lament For A Son: Speaking Into Suffering

This is part of a sub-series of posts under a larger, loosely-united series entitled A Theological View of Suffering.


I have been writing some brief reflections on Nicholas Wolterstorff’s excellent Lament For A SonOne aspect of this little book that I really enjoyed was Wolterstorff’s discussion of what we should say to people when they are suffering.

Hopefully, many of us have heard and heeded the warnings to not be like Job’s friends, who sat with him in comfort for several days and then began to talk, only to make matters much worse. I would wager that anyone who has experienced significant pain and loss has also dealt with “miserable comforters” like Job’s friends.

And yet, while we should be careful about what we say to those who are suffering, we should not let the fear of saying the wrong thing prevent us from saying anything or from avoiding the suffering person altogether.

“What do you say to someone who is suffering? Some people are gifted with words of wisdom. For such, one is profoundly grateful. There were many such for us. But not all are gifted in that way. Some blurted out strange, inept things. That’s OK too. Your words don’t have to be wise. The heart that speaks is heard more than the words spoken. And if you can’t think of anything at all to say, just say, “I can’t think of anything to say. But I want you to know that we are with you in your grief.”

Or even, just embrace. Not even the best of words can take away the pain. What words can do is testify that there is more than pain in our journey on earth to a new day. Of those things that are more, the greatest is love. Express your love. How appallingly grim must be the death of a child in the absence of love.” (34)

While Wolterstorff offers grace to those who blurt our “strange, inept things,” he does offer a caution for the sort of thing that should not be said:

“But please: Don’t say it’s not really so bad. Because it is. Death is awful, demonic. If you think your task as comforter is to tell me that really, all things considered, it’s not so bad, you do not sit with me in my grief but place yourself off in the distance away from me. Over there, you are of no help. What I need to hear from you is that you recognize how painful it is. I need to hear from you that you are with me in my desperation. To comfort me, you have to come close. Come sit beside me on my mourning bench.” (34)

And, finally:

“Some say nothing because they find the topic too painful for themselves. They fear they will break down. So they put on a brave face and lid their feelings—never reflecting, I suppose, that this adds new pain to the sorrow of their suffering friends. Your tears are salve on our wound, your silence is salt.” (35)

This brings us back to what I said in the beginning. While care should certainly be used in what we say to those who are suffering, ignoring the sufferer out of concern that we may say something hurtful is, itself, a hurtful act. In many ways, it may feel like just being with those who are suffering and expressing our love for them is “the least we can do”, but in a very real sense, it’s also the most we can do.

It reminds me of a Swedish proverb that I have come to love: “Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow.”

Increasingly, I have come to realize how much we live in a society that seeks to avoid and minimize death as much as possible. In such an environment, the sort of meaningful presence that Wolterstorff suggests does not feel natural, and is something that we may be tempted to avoid. But as followers of Jesus, we must seek to “bear one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6.2); we must speak into the suffering, whether we use words or not.

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