Throughout the tumult of the mid-20th century a small but significantly influential group in Oxford, England, gathered nearly every Tuesday morning at “The Eagle & The Child.” Cloaked in a veil of smoke and over a scotch or brandy, they would quip, jest, and read their literary works aloud, subjecting themselves to the ingenious praise or ruthless ridicule of their compatriots. The group, in humorous and typical self-degrading style, referred to themselves as “The Inklings:” those who dabble in ink. Among their number were philosophers, physicians, poets, actors, painters, and scholars. The most notable Inklings – both of whose legacies continue to flourish today – were the Oxford intellect, Narnian mastermind, and “merely Christian” apologist, C.S. Lewis, and his close companion, philologist, poet, and author of “The Hobbit,” J.R.R. Tolkien.
I have, for the past decade, felt an inner connectedness to these men. Their imaginative brilliance in story-telling has shaped much of how I write, counsel, and teach. Their conviction that the modern has betrayed the historic – technology supplanting bravery, ingenuity, and legitimate friendship – is a conviction that I ardently share. As one biographer put it: “the great hope of the Inklings was to restore Western culture to its religious roots, to unleash the powers of the imagination, to re-enchant the world through Christian faith and pagan beauty.” I understand, appreciate, and equally embrace this aim.
Don’t take me for a fool. I do not suppose to have the intellect of Lewis or the imagination of Tolkien. I doubt they would have shared a bar-side table or a pipe-smoke with an ignorant Yank such as myself; but it is in this company – in belief and hope – that I find myself most comfortable. So, with proverbial pen in hand, I’d invite anyone who cares, to follow on this journey with me that I hope will inspire faith, unleash imagination, rediscover beauty, breed optimism, encourage candor, and defend Truth…