C.S. Lewis once referred to the writings of G.K. Chesterton as dangerous to the man who wanted to remain an Atheist. Largely through the astounding reasoning of Chesterton, C.S. Lewis finally relented and gave his life to God.
I've been so intrigued by Chesterton's influence on C.S. Lewis, that I finally bought my first Chesterton book- a little book simply called Orthodoxy. I say it's little only because of it's meager length (115 pages). But this book is by no means small. It has taken me weeks to wade through the currents and depths and mysteries of Chesterton's incredible arguments. Rarely have I read a more demanding and challenging book intellectually. Orthodoxy, as the rest of Chesterton's writings, I've learned are not to be read flippantly. You can't glean much from a cursory read. You must chew and chew and chew in order to savour the wonderful richness of this text.
Chesterton, who lived from 1874 to 1936, took on a prevailing worldview in his day that believed everything was only material and nothing was spiritual. It was the idea that everything could be explained fully through rationale and that everything could be proven scientifically. From the first word of the preface to the last word of the book, Chesterton presents his own journey of thought that led him to a life of wonderment of God. Life is more than a set of rules and logical systems, Chesterton argued. Life has mystery. He wrote:
The real trouble with this world of ours is not that it is an unreasonable world, nor even that it is a reasonable one. The commenest kind of trouble is that it is nearly reasonable, but not quite. Life is not an illogicality; yet it is a trap for logicians. It looks just a little more mathematical and regular than it is; its exactitude is obvious, but its inexactitude is hidden; it's wildness lies in wait. (61)
Beautiful stuff. Deep rich flowing reasoning that in the end leads the reader to love the mystery of God. But, wow, I need a dictionary and a venti extra hot hazelnut latte to get through some of his thoughts. For instance, check out this conclusive statement about the "truth-telling" nature of Christianity. Chesterton reflects on the unattractiveness of Christianity compared to the alluring marketing of materialism. Be prepared to wiggle your lobes:
The outer ring of Christianity is a rigid guard of ethical abnegations and professional priests; but inside that inhuman guard you will find the old human life dancing like children, and drinking wine like men; for Christianity is the only frame for pagan freedom. But in the modern philosophy the case is opposite; it is its outer ring that is obviously artistic and emancipated; its despair is within. (109)
At times I laughed, impressed by Chesterton's whit. At one point, concerning the egotistical pursuit of all knowledge, he said that "the men who really believe in themselves are all in lunatic asylums." (7) He also argued that rational thought is not always so rational when it denies mystery by comparing eggs and bears. He said "as ideas, the egg and the chicken are further off from each other than the bear and the prince; for no egg in itself suggests a chicken, whereas some princes do suggest bears." (36-37)
I recommend this book, if not for its historical value and its mind-stretching phrases, then for it's brilliant style of argumentation. Poetic and systematic, conclusive and mysterious, Orthodoxy is a book that shines. I end this review with an extended quote from the very end of the book... Chesterton's embrace of the mystery and majesty of Christ:
And as I close this chaotic volume I open again the strange small book from which all Christianity came; and I am again haunted by a kind of confirmation. The tremendous figure which fills the Gospels towers in this respect, as in every other, above all thinkers who ever thought themselves tall. His pathos was natural, almost casual. The Stoics, ancient and modern, were proud of concealing their tears. He never concealed His tears; He showed them plainly on His open face at any daily sight, such as the far sight of His native city. Yet He concealed something. Solemn supermen and imperial diplomatists are proud of restraining their anger. He never retrained His anger. He flung furniture down the front steps of the Temple, and asked men how they expected to escape the damnation of Hell. Yet He restrained something: I say it with reverence; there was in that shattering personality a thread that must be called shyness. There was something that He hid from all men when He went up a mountain to pray. There was something that He covered constantly by abrupt silence or impetuous isolation. There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth. (114-115)
