What We Can Learn From The Inklings' Lost Art of Conversation

In 1933, a funny talking, reading, and writing club arose in Oxford, England. Members included C.S. Lewis – Chronicles of Narnia, Mere Christianity, Miracles –  and J.R.R. Tolkien –Lord of the Rings, with characters Bilbo Baggins, Sam, and the dragon Smaug. They called themselves “The Inklings.” Most importantly, they met often, laughed often, and cheerfully talked.

They did not judge each other, did not always agree, and might be deep or light. They met at a pub, “Eagle and Child,” or at each other’s homes. Some wrote nothing; others wrote poems, stories, little reflections. They read their creative works aloud. Gently, they quarreled over religion, freedom, and politics, all in the context of truth-seeking and friendship.

What strikes me, thinking back on “The Inklings,” is how wonderful that club must have been, a happy group of thinkers, cheerful, unafraid to disagree, none thinking it was courageous to listen. They wrote, read, took criticism, laughed a lot – gathered often.

How could we – as a society – have lost that ability, that security, confidence to think, to listen, to speak boldly, let others do the same, take criticism lightly, never mind write? Can we still do that? Of course. Do we often invite such a conversation? No, not so much.

Were these folks special? Some were, since they wrote well. Others were listeners. Among us, we have those skills, whether we use them or not. But do we use them very often? No.

Here is another thing: The Inklings respected each other, whether one wrote, offered thoughtful criticism, or just nursed a lager and listened. They were not self-conscious, rude, angry, or profane. They accepted differences, avoided judgment, and were hard to offend.

They ranged from atheist to deeply spiritual, spoke to each other with depth, respect, ideas, and metaphors, seeking to affirm, dispute, and consider big ideas, and allowing themselves to be persuaded by truth. C.S. Lewis, who would become one of Christianity’s deepest writers, began as an atheist and was profoundly influenced by his friend Owen Barfield.

Looking around, the answer to why so few seem able to endure the frank exchange of ideas has much to do with fear, insecurity, conformity as a habit, non-thinking, acceptance of others’ thinking for our own, tiredness of mind, unfamiliarity with logic, absence of effort.

What worries lovers of history – and conversation – is that being offended is becoming a way of life. That way of life, tolerating nothing but agreement, weakens the individual and the society, making non-thinking the new normal, and oppression much easier.

What these writers, thinkers, and listeners – the “Inklings” – knew in their day, the early pre-war years of the 1930s, is that an honest exchange of ideas is vital for the survival of the individual –  emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, but also of society at large.

The other secret they knew is that we seldom listen to each other in the heat of the moment, even in the quiet of exchanging data. When we listen to each other is when we take the truths we know and work them into stories.

There is a reason that – nine decades later – people still know The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. The truths to which those writers spoke are timeless: the quest for truth, difficulty in finding it, resilience needed to believe and to pursue it.

Embedded in such stories – writing, thinking, and listening – are truths hard to find and retain any other way. Where does it begin? In conversation, a willingness to think, advance ideas, listen to others, and respond. If we lose that, we lose our ability to understand the world, and to preserve what matters in – and beyond – it. Where, alas, are the “Inklings?”