1
A warm-up act as good as the main act. Most readers consider introductions, prefaces, and forewords to books as completely optional, likely a waste of time, and probably an exercise in prefatory flattery for the author. I won't tattle on foreword writers to say that they often don't read the book they are introducing (but it happens, quite a bit). But every once in a while, an introduction is so superb, so thoughtful that it rivals the book itself; it becomes a standalone essay quoted so often that one forgets it was actually an introduction to another work. C.S. Lewis's preface to Athanasius's On the Incarnation (St. Vladimir's Press) is just such an introduction.
2
How do you get a reader to read, really read, an old book? This, Lewis knew, was his challenge. Lewis was writing a preface in AD 1944 for a book that was written sometime just before AD 373. For the modern reader, “old book” means outdated (literally), difficult to read, and relatively impractical for the pressing needs of our day. Lewis had his work cut out for him. And yet, (and yet!) in a few paragraphs, Lewis brings his devastating wit and whim not to argue for reading just this old book but to convince Christians to read many old books in serial fashion.
3
The tension: intimidation and first-hand knowledge. Unless you are already a bibliophile with antique sensibilities, old books likely intimidate you. What do you have in common with a 4th-century church father? Will he use complex vocabulary? Did he even have an editor to ensure the book would be readable? These and other questions bully the modern reader to avoid old books. And yet, there is the desire that most readers have to read the book rather than a book about the book. Many more Christians have heard about Athanasius than have actually read him. This tension goes for all old and famous writers. We learn from others what we should think about men who have, in fact, left us their OWN writings on what we should think about them. Reading primary sources avoids the game of intellectual telephone—one scholar reads the original source, tells someone about it with his own thoughts, who tells someone else about it with their own thoughts, who tells someone else . . . and pretty soon you don't know where Athanasius ends and the thoughts of his critics and commentators begin. You can avoid trying to sort out what is original and what isn't by just reading the original, primary source, if you can get over your intimidation. Which you should.
4
Problem and prescription—50% or better yet, 75%. But if we followed Lewis's advice to read old books, would we read Lewis? Lewis confesses that he is a writer of modern books and very much appreciates his readers. Is there no place for modern books? Of course there is. So what does CSL prescribe? For every modern book you read, read one old book. I think this prescription to be too weak for what is ailing the modern reader. My recommendation is three old books for every modern book (and make sure, as best as you can, that the modern book is actually worth the time you will spend reading it).
5
The avoidance of errors and the error of avoidance. If you avoid old books, you will not avoid modern errors. And this is Lewis's advice. We all have blind spots that are common to those who share a birthday within fifty years in either direction of our own. We don't know what we don't know. It was Stephen King who called reading (and writing) a form of time travel. When we read Athanasius, we are having a conversation across time with someone who is very much like us and yet shares with us what Lewis calls "mere Christianity." When we read old Christian books, we trace the thread of the faith once handed down to the saints, even as it continues to be handed down to new saints. There is no other way (that I know of) to correct for the intellectual deficits of our modern moment than to read books that were not written in or near our modern moment. As Lewis says, "The only palliative is to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books."
6
Of pipes and pencils. Lewis has a famous saying, oft quoted, about pipes, pencils, and how to read a book. But that little quip, excellent advice in and of itself, is only half of a larger thought. The modern reader of not just old books, but old theological books may be tempted to believe that said books will be old, crusty, and well, not devotional (whatever that means). Lewis, from experience, believes this temptation to be unwarranted. He eases the anxiety of the would-be old book reader writing, "For my own part I tend to find the doctrinal books often more helpful in devotion than the devotional books, and I rather suspect that the same experience may await many others. I believe that many who find that 'nothing happens' when they sit down, or kneel down, to a book of devoition, would find that the heart sings unbidden while they are working their way through a tough bit of theology with a pipe in their teeth and a pencil in their hand." It is good advice, even the piece about pipes and pencils.
7
The finale of the preface. This, then, is part of the genius of Lewis's preface. He spends most of his little essay making the convincing case that Christian readers would do well to read old, very old, Christian works. He only mentions Athanasius at the very end. At this point, the reader of the preface should be convinced that old books are not intimidating and should be read. So what old book should the modern Christian read? Well, the one to which this preface is attached. Athanasius was a godly and bold Christian, erudite and a gifted writer, who just happened to write (in the 4th century) a classic work on the incarnation of Christ, a work that has stood the test of time. All that is left to the reader is to tolle lege. And when the reader has finished On the Incarnation in a sitting or two, he should tolle lege another old book and find that Lewis said exactly what he needed to say to convince a generation of modern Christian readers that old Christian books are not just tolerable but enjoyable.