"And I, John, saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband."
Throughout the history of Judaism and its daughter-faith, Christianity, prophets and priests, kings and humble worshippers have spoken with hope of a heavenly Kingdom, whose order now co-exists with that of earth and will on some glorious future day be the sole order. In the twentieth century, a bright, crystalline vision of this Kingdom and its workings shines forth from the pen of Charles Williams and is powerfully delineated in his last novel, All Hallows' Eve.
Through all of Williams' work, from plays to poetry, from theology to literary criticism to the novels themselves, there run recurring images and themes dealing with the nature of the Kingdom and its citizenship, of how those who dwell therein fulfill the great commandments to love God with their whole heart, soul, and mind, and their neighbour as themselves. (Matthew 22.37-40) In examining these themes, we can learn much of how the Kingdom, according to Williams, operates -- of the relationship of time and eternity, fact and illusion, of the necessity of action and of the progress of the self toward redemption or damnation. Central to Williams' vision of the Kingdom and to an understanding of his thought are his two major themes of the Affirmation and Rejection of Images, and of co-inherence with its related principles of exchange and substitution.
"Co-inherence" was first used by the Early Church Fathers to describe the relationship between the divine and human natures of Christ, and was later adopted to describe the mutual indwelling of the three Persons of the Holy Trinity.1 In Williams, the word also refers to the relationship between the Creator, His creatures, and all the creation -- their interaction with, interdependence on, and indwelling of one another. This concept is captured in part by St. Paul's image of the Church as the Body of Christ, each member of which is necessary to the functioning of the whole; (1 Cor. 12.12-27) a perhaps more vivid picture may be found in C. S. Lewis's description of the Great Dance at the conclusion of Perelandra.2 The Great Dance is a phrase borrowed from Williams, being one of several images used by him to illustrate co-inherence.3
At the opening of All Hallows' Eve, the newly dead Lester Furnival finds herself in an archetypal London where all times past, present, and future are interwoven. Here at once we are introduced to the idea of the City, another image or metaphor for the co-inherent life used by Williams in a number of his books.
The City may be said to represent the Kingdom of God working among us both temporally and eternally; discipline, civility, order, hierarchy, and formal courtesy are some of its attributes. Its true citizens acknowledge by their mode of life their unity and mutual indebtedness -- "here citizenship meant relationship and knew it," says Williams.4 Williams was an Anglican, and it is worthwhile noting how often this theme of community is expressed in the Anglican liturgy. The Te Deum speaks of "the glorious company of the Apostles," "the goodly fellowship of the Prophets," and "the noble army of Martyrs," and The Apostle's Creed of "The Communion of Saints." In The Order for Holy Communion, Christians are referred to as "very members incorporate in the mystical body of thy Son, which is the blessed company of all faithful people." At baptism one is received "into the congregation of Christ's flock"; at death we are "partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light." (See The Book of Common Prayer, 1928 version, pp. 10, 15, 83, 280, 335-336.) In Williams' theology as in that of the Church Catholic, salvation is not a solitary affair. It is no accident that, in All Hallows' Eve, the background of the sorcerer Simon's portrait is a wilderness, anti-type of the City.
We are told that Lester's one link to the City in life was her husband, Richard; with him alone had she acknowledged co-inherence. Her care had otherwise been not for her fellow citizens, but for material things; her "best friend" Evelyn was never really liked by her, but used as a convenience and in superiority despised. (p. 15)
The idea of co-inherence is brought out as strongly in the story by the characters' failures in it as by their successes. In contemplating Lester after her death, Richard realizes that he had thought of her in relation only to himself, not to the City as a whole. (p. 46) Even in his own relationship with her she had been like a beaconing lighthouse which he had admired, visited, and used -- "but he had never gone in and lived in that strange turret." (p. 96) He remembers a walk with her in the woods which was interrupted by her desire to buy a magazine; he thinks of his unselfishness in going with her, then realizes that "he had not gone with her. He had gone to please her, to consider her, which was not at all the same thing" (p. 103) -- as the negative quality of unselfishness is a lesser thing than the positive virtue of Love. Yet in the very realization of failure he, like Lester, begins to tread the road back to the Centre of all co-inherence.
Other characters fail, and do not return. Evelyn, who in life was cruel to many and thought ill of all, admits in the first chapter that she hates everyone but Lester; and since her attachment to Lester is one of use and not acknowledged co-inherence, it too succumbs finally to hate. (pp. 18, 137) In the end she has sunken to the point where she can say of Betty, the victim whose society she relished most, "I don't want you now." (p. 239) Self, the false idol which stands eternal rival to the claims of the Kingdom, has absorbed her completely.
Simon is the book's most complete anti-type of co-inherence. The hierarchy proper to the City is that which exists for the help of its citizens; by contrast, Simon desires rulership that he might control and tyrannize. His means is magic, an abomination because it uses the fact of the interrelations of things to manipulate them and not to act upon them in love.5 The temptation he privately offers to his worshippers is a rejection of their part in the City -- "You are an exception," and "You are different; you are not under the law; you are particular." (pp. 57-58, 113) His mind is "very earnestly set upon himself"; (p. 61) his smile is a mere constriction of muscles, because -- "One cannot smile at no one, and there was no one at whom he could smile." (p. 65) His ambitions are doomed to futility, for his kingdom of sin and death, disavowing co-inherence, is divided against itself.
Like her master Simon's, Lady Wallingford's pleasure is in domination. Yet she is distinguished from him in that she has devoted herself not wholly to herself but to another, thus not wholly denying the co-inherence. It is this which offers her, as suggested in the book's final chapter, a chance of salvation. (p. 270)
I have said that the City is an eternal one; the co-inherence it represents is also one of time. Williams believes strongly in the power of the past to influence the present, and the present to redeem the past. There are an abundance of illustrations of this in All Hallows' Eve.
Lester's first conscious experience of the afterlife is a re-experiencing of a recent act of rejecting Richard; this recalls to her all her many rejections of him, and she sees the result of these to be her separation from him in death. (p. 6) As it is things material she has cared for in her earthly past, it is things she is now left to possess; her first apprehension of the City is one of lonely vacuity. (p. 9) Because she in courtesy once allowed the touch of an unwanted lover, she is able now to allow Evelyn's repulsive touch; because she acted once in life to interfere between Betty and Evelyn, she is potent to interfere in death. (pp. 17, 90) Paradoxically, her remembrance of all the times she did not help Betty determine her more fiercely to help her now. (pp. 122-123) She has thrust Richard away -- therefore she will not thrust Evelyn away. (p. 19)
Betty, having once rejoiced that Evelyn was dead, in reparation encourages Evelyn to talk to her and seeks to save her from the magic circle at her own peril. (pp. 236, 239, 259) Because a childhood nurse took it upon herself to baptize Betty, Betty has been protected from corruption by Simon's magic -- "saved from magic by a mystery, beyond magic." (p. 208)
Within the created time which expresses the eternity of the City, things become increasingly more themselves; in the thought of Williams as in that of C. S. Lewis, all things are always doing so in their progress toward heaven or hell. "Everything's always as bright as it can be and yet everything's getting brighter. Unless, of course it's dark," says Betty to Jonathan. (p. 206) The paintings of the City and of Simon seem to grow respectively into greater glory or evil the more they are studied.
In All Hallows' Eve, this progression towards ultimate selfhood does not end with death; Lester, who did little towards her own salvation in life, achieves it purgatorially. Evelyn, contrarily, does not desire purgation but regression into the earthly life; thus she is confirmed in the unredeemed selfhood she began to forge on earth. Midway into the book, Lester looks at her and sees
hate relieved from mortality, malice incapable of death. . . . what had looked at Lester from Evelyn's eyes, what now showed in her own, was pure immortality. This was the seal of the City, its first gift to the dead who entered it. They had what they were and they had it (as it seemed) forever. (p.138)
Richard, in describing his vision of the dead Evelyn to Jonathan, says, "She was -- fixed; as solid as you or me, but a deal more herself than either of us." (p. 144)
Simon, during the course of the book, becomes more and more the idiotic emblem of chosen delusion revealed in Jonathan's painting. Like Evelyn he regresses, to his own catastrophe; for
in sorcery as in sanctity there is no return. . . . No lover, of any kind, not even the lover of himself, can safely turn from maturity to adolescence. His adolescence is in his maturity. The past may be recalled and redeemed in the present, but the present cannot be forsaken for the past. (p. 241)
When in the final chapter Simon is swallowed up in God as symbolized by the rose and the rain, his vision of hell is a vision of himself in the false appearances he has created. (pp. 257-8, 263-266) So when Lester envisions the road she might have taken:
She saw it clearly -- for an aeon; this was what she wanted; this was what she was. This was she, damned; yes, and she was damned; she, being that, was damned. There was no help, unless she could be something other, and there was no power in her to be anything other. . . . she stood in a trance of horror at herself or at hell, or at both. . . .
She concludes that what she is seeing is "her own extreme." (pp. 89-90)
Related to co-inherence are Williams' principles of substitution and exchange. Exchange is the giving and taking by which we express our co-inherent citizenship in the Kingdom; its modes include substitution (discussed later), sacrifice, forgiveness, and reconciliation. It is this affirmation of the truth of co-inherence in acts of love, or that truth's rejection in failure to act or acting in antagonism, which are in Williams the measure of a soul's salvation or damnation.
When Betty, on her journey to the City, encounters her past self and relieves that self's unhappiness with her present joy, she thinks of how "helping herself was almost like helping another, and helping another was much like helping yourself." (p. 80) In Williams' theology, our own help lies in helping others; it is our duty to accept help as well as to offer it; we are meant, in the co-inherence, to need one another. Lester, when she is hesitating to enter Lady Wallingford's house in response to Betty's weeping, thinks, "Betty must really learn to stand up for herself," then counters, "Must she indeed?" (p. 94)
In order to go on to full redemption, Lester needs Betty's forgiveness for her past neglect; until she receives this she is at Betty's mercy, "the victim of her victim." (p. 131) She requests that Betty make an effort to remember that neglect; Betty makes the effort because Lester desires it -- "So simple is love-in-paradise." (p. 132) Lester depends upon exchange again when, inhabiting the dwarf body, she borrows two pence in order to make a phone call to Richard. (pp. 225-226) Even Simon, according to the laws of magic which are to Williams the laws of nature, cannot send Betty permanently into the spirit world without drawing out another spirit to take her place. (pp. 108-109)
By contrast, Simon and Lady Wallingford have "never exchanged that joyous smile of equality which marks all happy human or celestial government." (p. 166) The blasphemous smile between Simon and Evelyn is not true exchange but "the breach of spiritual law." (p. 116) Says Williams:
The exchange of smiles -- if that which had no thought of fair courtesy could be called exchange . . . passed between them. Separately, each of them declined the nature of the City; which nevertheless held them. Each desired to breach the City; and either breach opened -- directly and only -- upon the other. Love to love, death to death, breach to breach; that was the ordering of the City, and its nature. It throve between Lester and Betty, between Richard and Jonathan, between Simon and Evelyn; that was its choice. How it throve was theirs. (p. 141)
It is interesting to note the use Williams makes of language as a medium of exchange. To Lester in her new life in the City, words communicate a very exact and literal meaning -- notice her response to her own ejaculations of "Oh my God" and "Oh Hell." (pp. 19-20, 94) To Evelyn, words are a means not of exchange but of imposing herself on others; she has no interest in benefiting others by her speech or listening to others' speech to her own benefit; when she speaks it is to speak ill. Simon has perverted the medium of language even further; he strives willfully to rob words, including the Divine Name, of all meaning, as if in so doing he might unsay the Word that created. (pp. 107-108, 151)
Williams' principle of substitution, which is given full exposition in the chapter of Descent into Hell entitled The Doctrine of Substituted Love,6 is a mode of exchange which involves a literal interpretation of the New Testament command to "Bear ye one another's burdens." (Gal. 6.2) Williams believes that we can, should, and must take on one another's burdens of pain and fear; but this does not mean to him anything so mild as 'sympathizing.' If I, in the physical sphere, am burdened by a heavy parcel and you offer to carry it with me so that we are bearing equal weights, this is an illustration of sympathy. If you offer to carry it for me, then you will henceforth bear the whole weight and I will be relieved of it -- this is substitution.7
Williams believed and practiced the theory that we can relieve the spiritual burden of another by 'carrying' it for them; that, having accepted their pain by an act of will, we can enter into it imaginatively as if it were our own and so suffer it in their stead. What Christ did for all of us in dying upon the Cross that we might live, we are meant to do in a more humble sense for one another as subjects of his Kingdom.
The most striking instance of substitution in All Hallows' Eve is that of Lester for Betty in Chapter Seven. When Simon attempts the spell to send Betty into the spirit world, which will to earthly appearances kill her, Lester voluntarily steps into Betty's place and becomes the object of the spell instead. She begins to experience the death intended for Betty, then is herself saved by another substitution -- she feels the wooden beams of the Cross supporting her. (pp. 158-160) She is able to be Betty's substitute, because Christ has been hers. Williams makes the point that Lester's substitution is efficacious, as was Betty's baptism, even though she does not precisely understand what she is doing. (p. 164)
Later in the same scene, Lady Wallingford experiences the Cross also, but to her it is an experience of imprisonment because she has not accepted its atoning substitution. (p. 168) Lester desires to be a substitute for Evelyn as she had been for Betty -- "if she could be a kind of frame for Evelyn, like the frame to which she had held or by which she had been held -- perhaps Evelyn could rest there a little." (pp. 183-184) But Evelyn, tragically, also refuses substitution.
Yet a kind of substitution does operate even among the damned, for it is a doctrine not less true for being perverted. Lady Wallingford is spoken of as being full of rage, some of which is her own, but some Simon's "which he had dismissed for her to bear." (p. 170) And in the final chapter, when Simon attempts to murder Betty by means of the wax image, Lady Wallingford bleeds into the image and is substituted for Betty; she becomes the mindless shell she and Simon desired to make of their daughter. (pp. 245-246, 253, 270-271) It is significant that in these instances of perverted substitution the exchange is not voluntarily accepted but imposed.
The various modes of exchange are "the Acts of the City" -- the Acts of all the saints in heaven and earth which, at the dawning of All Hallows or All Saints, manifest themselves as rain to Simon's destruction. To Williams, saving love must not remain a vagary of emotion, but express itself concretely in action.
In Chapter One, Evelyn means to excuse herself from guilt by protesting, "I haven't done anything"; yet in this very admission she condemns herself. (pp. 18-20) Lester dimly begins to realize this when she replies, "No. I know. Nor have I -- much," and, "Evelyn, let's do something now." (p. 20) The grace given Betty on her journeys to the City is not to be grace without labour, but a grace given her for the purpose of giving again, which she begins to fulfill as she heals those not truly healed by Simon. (p. 270)
Evil, to Williams, is ineffectual. Simon orders his worshippers to prevent the dwarf from entering the magic circle; they are powerless to obey him. (pp. 253-254) Of them and the other characters in the Hall by Holborn at the moment of crisis when the sorcerer is about to murder Betty, Williams says: "They were all now in a world of simple act. The time for thought, dispute, preparation was done. They were in the City. They were potent to act or impotent to act, but that was the only difference between any of them." (pp. 260-261) We must participate in the life of the Kingdom; not to do so is to choose exclusion from it.
In his principle of co-inherence, Williams expounds on the nature of the love the King's subjects are commanded to have for one another -- but what of the nature of their love for the King Himself? It is this love from which all other loves spring which Williams considers in his second major theme of the Affirmation and Rejection of Images.
The Way of Affirmation consists in recognizing the immanence of God in all things, and says that appreciation of whom and what God has made may lead us to appreciation of Himself. The Way of Rejection concentrates on the transcendence of God, the recognition that God is never fully contained in His creation; it says that we must renounce all lesser images if we would apprehend His.8 These two Ways have been expressed by the paradox "This also is Thou; neither is this Thou," and tend generally to illustrate, respectively, Catholic or Protestant thought in their attitudes toward the use of images.9
While Williams insists that a complement of both these Ways is necessary to the life of every Christian, and that none of us can walk the Kingdom's narrow road by only affirming or only rejecting -- as in All Hallows' Eve Lester realizes that "love [is] a union of having and not-having" (p. 181) -- yet he contends that Christians are usually called primarily to one Way or the other.10 Williams himself was a practitioner of the Way of Affirmation. Explains C. S. Lewis:
[Williams was] a romantic theologian in the technical sense which he himself invented for those words. A romantic theologian does not mean one who is romantic about theology but one who is theological about romance, one who considers the theological implications of those experiences which are called romantic. The belief that the most serious and ecstatic experiences either of human love or of imaginative literature have such theological implications, and that they can be healthy and fruitful only if the implications are diligently thought out and severely lived, is the root principle of all his work.11
In All Hallows' Eve, the painting of the City illustrates the Way of Affirmation; for in it light, symbolizing God, does not reside solely in the hidden sun, but is immanent in everything in the City. (pp. 27-28) (Contrast Jonathan's reference to the Rejection of Images when he says of the painting, "This, I now see, is compromising with light by turning it into things. Remains to leave out the things and get into the light." [p. 29])
Since Richard does not yet know or love God, Lester is his best image of the Good; as such she, like God according to the Affirmative Way, is illustrated by all lesser goods:
More stable than rock, more transient in herself than rivers, more distant-bright than stars, more comfortable than happy sleep, more pleasant than wind, more dangerous than fire -- all known things similes of her; and beyond all known things the unknown power of her. (p. 48)Lester is Richard's 'God-bearing image'; it is her irreconcilability with the image of Simon which saves Richard from the latter's spell.
The God-bearing image for Betty is Jonathan; when Simon speaks the words peace, joy and love, we are told that to Betty those words 'mean' Jonathan. (p. 73) Lester is also a God-bearing image for Betty; that is why Betty was compelled to follow her at school. (p. 135)
Amid Simon's recitation of the reversed Tetragrammaton, Betty speaks Lester's name; and as that name is a "tender mortal approximation to the Name" of God, it counteracts the spell. (p. 162) Williams expands on this idea later in the same scene when he has Lester think of how "the word which was both water and wine . . . had cleared her mind. . . . [It] was like a name, and the name was something like Richard, and something like Betty and even not unlike her own. . . ." (p. 164). By obeying the commandment to love our neighbours as ourselves we partially fulfill the command to love God, for it is His glory reflected in them and in us that we are loving.
On the other hand, "If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple." (Luke 14.26) Love of God must be overwhelmingly first, and must sometimes entail the rejection of earthly fulfillment of human love when that interferes with the health of the soul.
The primary examples in All Hallows' Eve of the Way of Rejection are the realizations of both Lester and Richard that they must be willing to lose each other in the separation of death in order to find their greater good, which is also the Kingdom's good. This necessity is a horror to them -- as the Cross, though the means of salvation, was a horror to our Lord -- as in some ways the Cross must be to each of us, working contrary as it does to our human nature. Williams writes of Richard's experience:
He had seen something which, in the full sense of the words, ought not to be, and never before had he felt the full sense of the words. This was what everything that ought not to be was -- this quiet agreement that it should be. It was a breach in nature and therefore in his own nature. . . . He could not disbelieve Lester when she spoke of going; he could not even doubt that it ought to be. But except for that 'ought to be' the coldness in his heart was indistinguishable from the earlier chill. The new birth refused him. He was as yet ignorant of the fact that this was one method of its becoming actual. He despaired. (p. 238)
Richard, in fearing the yet greater separation of her spirit's withdrawal from him, cannot see that the degree of separation from Lester he has already undergone has been the beginning of his redemption. Lester, for all her pain, understands the necessity of Rejection better:
Her heart sank; without him, what was immortality or glory worth? and yet only without him could she even be that which she now was. . . . Of any future union, if any were to be, she could not begin even to think; had she, the sense of separation would have been incomplete, and the deadly keenness of the rain unenjoyed. (pp. 256-257)
When speaking earlier of the Affirmative Way, I confined myself to those illustrations in the book where persons or things perceived as good bear the Image of God. Williams' concept of Affirmation goes further than this; for to him the key to the redeemed life of the Kingdom lies in affirming the good in all facts even when we cannot see it there. Love, to Williams, rejoices in fact, especially in God who is the source of all Facthood; evil is the refusal to know fact, the choosing of illusion. Of man's fall from grace, Williams has said: "The Adam . . . knew good, they wished to know good and evil. Since there was not -- since there was not and never has been and never will be -- anything else than the good to know, they knew good as antagonism."12 He defines repentance as "a passionate intention to know all things after the mode of heaven . . . to know the evil of the past itself as good, and to be free from the necessity of the knowledge of evil in the future; to find right knowledge and perfect freedom together; to know all things as occasions of love."13
All things, Williams says -- and means it. Lester, in the body of the dwarf, gazes into a Thames filthy with pollution; and we are told that to her eyes of faith
it was not a depressing sight. The dirtiness of the water was, at that particular point, what it should be and therefore pleasant enough. The evacuations of the City had their place in the City; how else could the City be the City? Corruption (so to call it) was tolerable, even adequate and proper, even glorious. These things also were fact. They could not be forgotten or lost in fantasy; all that had been, was; all that was, was. A sodden mass of cardboard and paper drifted by, but the soddenness was itself a joy, for this was what happened, and all that happened, in this great material world, was good. (p. 222)
For those sensitive to the beauties of God's creation and to man's ruination of them, this is a 'hard saying' indeed; yet in its similarity to the Scriptural injunctions to give thanks always for all things, it bears authority. (Eph. 5.20, 1 Thess. 5.18)
Exploring the theme of fact vs. illusion as it is found in All Hallows' Eve, we are told when introduced to Evelyn that her voice is "inaccurate." (p. 12) "Hell is always inaccurate," Williams has said14 -- i.e., not conforming to fact. In contrast, as Richard mentally praises Lester, he thinks of "the infinite accuracy of his wife's intelligence." (p. 47)
Williams was a scholar of Dante and much influenced by him; and it is Dante who in The Inferno speaks of the souls in hell as having lost the good of the
The 'peace' Simon offers to his worshippers is that of blindness to undesired fact -- "It's quite good for them to be hypnotized; they're much happier." (p. 57) To him, there is "no fact to which the Name [of God] is correspondent." (pp. 151-152) Rather than accept the evidence of his own demise in Betty's report of the future, he concludes that "the future was not therefore as she had said. The alternative possiblity -- that the future was as she had said and that he would so soon have utterly vanished from the world -- was too dreadful for him. He encouraged his mind into illusion." (p. 240) Simon refuses even the first step upon the road to life; he neither affirms the revealed will of God nor rejects his own when it is in error.
Richard, when falling under the spell of Simon, is delivered by the memory of the facthood of Lester -- significantly, an uncomfortable facthood, for he thinks of her in a moment of irritation. Jonathan's aesthetic philosophy carries out the same theme; to him good art is a product of "common observation and plain understanding," (p. 28) an ability to pierce the veil of illusion and see the facts for what they are. So it is that, when under Simon's spell, Richard thinks of Jonathan's painting with revulsion. "Art, he thought, should be persuasive." (p. 99) As Simon is persuasive, he might have added. To Williams, proper persuasion consists in speaking what is true, and leaving Truth to speak for Himself.
So it is that, for this reader, Williams' vision of the Kingdom as expressed in his art is so persuasive and powerful. T. S. Eliot has said that most religious poetry is bad poetry because it expresses what the poet thinks he ought to feel and not what he feels in fact.16 There is none of this dishonesty in Williams. He paints no portrait of perpetual happiness as the earth counts happiness for the community of Christ's saints; being one of their number, he speaks from experience of the joy of co-inherence but also of the sacrifice it requires, of the delight of contemplating the King's beauty in all He has made but also of the necessity of refusing one's whole heart to any lesser beauty than His. With common observation and plain understanding he records his glimpses of the splendour of heaven, and shows us plainly that all ways which lead there run past the Cross.
Thus when Williams tells us of the nature of the love for which the Kingdom's citizens are destined, we know that he speaks as one who has counted the cost and found it worth the exchange. On his witness, we can believe that the very horror of the wilderness is a shadow cast by the Glory of the City, that the fearful eve of All Hallows is a herald of the never-dimming Day of the Church Triumphant. With him and all saints we may earnestly pray, "Thy Kingdom come . . . in earth, as it is in heaven." (Matthew 6.10)
1 Glen Cavaliero, Charles Williams: Poet of Theology, (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1983), p. viii.
2 C. S. Lewis, Perelandra, (1944; rpt. New York: Macmillan, 1965), pp. 214-220.
3 See Charles Williams, The Greater Trumps, (1932; rpt. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1976), pp. 94-96.
4 Charles Williams, All Hallows' Eve, (1948; rpt. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1981), p. 189. Hereafter cited in text.
5 Cavaliero, p. 143.
6 Charles Williams, Descent into Hell, (1937; rpt. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1979), pp. 91-112.
7 See Descent, p. 98.
8 C. S. Lewis, "Williams and the Arthuriad," in Taliessin Through Logres, The Region of the Summer Stars, and Arthurian Torso, (Oxford University Press, 1948; rpt. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1974), p. 335.
9 See C. S. Lewis, The Allegory of Love: A Study in Medieval Tradition, (London: Oxford University Press, 1936; rpt. 1977), pp. 322-323.
10 "Arthuriad," p. 335.
11 Preface, Essays Presented to Charles Williams, (Oxford University Press, 1947; rpt. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1966), p. vi.
12 Charles Williams, He Came Down from Heaven, (London, 1938); quoted by Dorothy L. Sayers, "Dante and Charles Williams," in The Whimsical Christian, (1963; rpt. New York: Macmillan, 1978), p. 191.
13 Heaven, quoted by Cavaliero, p. 132.
14 Charles Williams, "John Milton," in The Image of the City, (London: Oxford University Press, 1958); quoted by Cavaliero, p. 130.
15 Dante, Canto III, v. 6, in The Inferno, trans. John Ciardi, (New York: Mentor, 1954), p. 42.
16 Quoted in Axis: The Newsletter for Christian Writers and Artists of Science Fiction and Fantasy [Santa Ana, CA], 1, (Summer 1985), 26.