Book Review: The Great Divorce - by C. S. Lewis

In an era when discussions of the afterlife often devolve into either saccharine platitudes or fire-and-brimstone warnings, C.S. Lewis's "The Great Divorce" stands as a masterwork of theological imagination that challenges readers to reconceptualize their understanding of both Heaven and Hell. Through a dreamlike narrative that pays homage to Dante while speaking in thoroughly modern terms, Lewis crafts a work that is simultaneously a spiritual guidebook, a philosophical treatise, and a compelling piece of fiction.

The premise is deceptively simple: a group of souls from Hell (here depicted as a dreary "grey town") takes a bus excursion to the outskirts of Heaven. What follows is a series of vignettes that illuminate the fundamental nature of human choice, divine grace, and the startling possibility that many might choose Hell over Heaven – not through a dramatic rejection of good, but through a quiet, persistent refusal to abandon their own carefully cultivated grievances, prejudices, and self-deceptions.

Lewis's genius lies in his ability to make profound theological concepts accessible through concrete imagery. The grass of Heaven is so real it pierces the insubstantial feet of the ghostly visitors. The weight of glory makes even a leaf too heavy for the uninitiated to lift. These vivid metaphors serve not merely as literary flourishes but as gateways to deeper understanding of spiritual transformation and the nature of reality itself.

The Architecture of Eternity

The book's central metaphor – that of the bus journey from Hell to Heaven's outskirts – provides a framework for exploring what Lewis sees as the fundamental choice facing every soul. The "grey town" of Hell expands eternally, its inhabitants constantly moving further apart, building new houses to escape their neighbors, creating a physical manifestation of the spiritual isolation that results from self-absorption. This portrayal stands in stark contrast to traditional images of Hell as a place of forced proximity and shared torment. Lewis suggests something far more psychologically astute: Hell is what happens when we get exactly what we think we want, carried to its logical extreme.

Heaven, by contrast, is almost unbearably solid and real. The visitors from Hell appear as translucent ghosts in comparison to the magnificent beings who were once mere men and women. Here, Lewis makes perhaps his most radical theological assertion: the saved souls are not simply restored to their earthly state but transformed into something far greater – they are "more themselves" than they ever were in life, their essential nature amplified and perfected rather than erased.

Theological Innovations and Orthodox Roots

While Lewis's vision might seem radical, it is firmly grounded in traditional Christian theology. His portrayal of Hell as a state chosen rather than imposed echoes Augustine's conception of evil as the absence of good rather than a positive force in itself. The book's title alludes to William Blake's "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell," but Lewis argues for their ultimate incompatibility – not because God refuses to unite them, but because their fundamental natures are mutually exclusive.

The influence of George MacDonald, who appears as the narrator's guide (much as Virgil guided Dante), is particularly evident in the book's emphasis on free will and the transformative nature of divine love. MacDonald's actual theological writings emphasized universal reconciliation, while Lewis stops short of this conclusion. However, both share a vision of God's love as something that does not override human choice but rather enables it in its fullest sense.

The Psychology of Damnation

What makes "The Great Divorce" particularly compelling is its psychological acuity. Lewis presents a series of encounters between the ghostly visitors and the bright spirits who try to persuade them to stay in Heaven. Each encounter illuminates a different way in which souls can become trapped in patterns of thinking that make Heaven impossible for them to accept.

Consider the ghost of the intellectual bishop, who has spent his life reducing Christian doctrine to metaphor and now cannot recognize truth when confronted with it directly. Or the possessive mother whose love for her son has become a form of idolatry, preventing her from experiencing the greater love that Heaven offers. These characters are not merely theological object lessons; they are psychologically complex portraits that readers might uncomfortably recognize in themselves.

The book's most chilling insight is that damnation often comes not through dramatic evil but through small, seemingly reasonable choices that gradually orient the soul away from God. The damned souls aren't necessarily wicked in any conventional sense – they're often quite respectable by earthly standards. Their tragedy lies in their inability to give up their carefully constructed self-justifications and self-images.

Literary Craftsmanship

Lewis's prose style in "The Great Divorce" represents a perfect marriage of form and function. The dreamlike quality of the narrative allows him to shift seamlessly between concrete description and abstract theological discussion. His use of the first-person perspective creates an immediacy that draws readers into the philosophical questions being explored, while the presence of George MacDonald as a guide provides opportunities for more direct theological exposition without breaking the narrative flow.

The author's background in medieval literature serves him well here. The book's structure echoes medieval dream visions, while its theological discussions draw on a rich tradition of Christian allegory. Yet Lewis manages to make these traditional forms feel fresh and relevant to modern readers. His descriptions of the ghostly visitors often employ a gentle humor that prevents the book from becoming oppressively serious despite its weighty themes.

Contemporary Relevance

While "The Great Divorce" was published in 1945, its insights feel particularly relevant to contemporary discussions of faith and spirituality. In an age often characterized by moral relativism and therapeutic deism, Lewis's insistence on the reality of objective truth and the necessity of transformation challenges both secular and religious readers to examine their assumptions.

The book's treatment of love is especially pertinent. Lewis shows how natural human love, when it becomes an end in itself rather than a channel for divine love, can become destructive. This speaks directly to our culture's tendency to elevate romantic and familial love to quasi-religious status, while also offering a more nuanced view than simple condemnation of such attachments.

Limitations and Criticisms

No review would be complete without acknowledging the book's potential limitations. Some readers might find Lewis's Protestant perspective on purgatory and sanctification at odds with Catholic or Orthodox teachings, though he's generally careful to present his ideas as speculation rather than doctrine. The book's abstract nature and focus on theological concepts might frustrate readers looking for a more conventional narrative.

Additionally, while Lewis's psychological insights are profound, his characters sometimes risk becoming mere representations of ideas rather than fully realized individuals. This is perhaps an inevitable consequence of the book's allegorical nature, but it can occasionally make the work feel more like a philosophical dialogue than a story.

The Weight of Glory

Perhaps the book's greatest achievement is its ability to make readers feel the weight and reality of spiritual choices. Lewis presents Heaven not as a reward for good behavior but as reality itself – something so real and substantial that those who have become accustomed to the shadows of their own making find it almost unbearably painful.

This vision of Heaven as ultimate reality rather than ethereal spirituality is particularly powerful. It suggests that the choice between Heaven and Hell is not so much about choosing between pleasure and pain as between reality and illusion, between truth and self-deception. The damned souls in Lewis's vision are not so much punished as they are allowed to continue in the directions they have chosen, with all that this entails.

Lastly

"The Great Divorce" stands as one of C.S. Lewis's most profound works, combining theological depth with literary creativity in a way that few other books have managed. It offers no easy answers but instead invites readers into a deeper contemplation of the nature of choice, reality, and divine love.

For Christians, the book provides a fresh perspective on traditional doctrines about Heaven and Hell while remaining fundamentally orthodox. For non-Christian readers, it offers valuable insights into human psychology and the nature of choice that transcend its specific religious framework.

The book's enduring relevance lies in its ability to make readers question their own choices and the directions in which those choices are leading them. As one of the bright spirits in the book observes, "There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says, in the end, 'Thy will be done.'" This simple statement encapsulates the book's central message about the nature of free will and its eternal consequences.

In an age when both religious and secular discourse often lacks nuance, "The Great Divorce" offers a sophisticated and challenging vision of ultimate things. It remains essential reading for anyone interested in the intersection of theology, psychology, and human choice – not because it provides all the answers, but because it asks the right questions in ways that continue to resonate long after the last page is turned.

As Lewis himself writes in one of the book's most memorable passages: "Nothing, not even the best and noblest, can go on as it now is. Nothing, not even what is lowest and most bestial, will not be raised again if it submits to death. It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. Flesh and blood cannot come to the Mountains. Not because they are too rank, but because they are too weak."

... RHW