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Second Thoughts: Mere Christianity [Book I]

A skeptical revisiting of the Christian apologetic classic; Book I of Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis.

My first real articulation of doubt occurred in eighth grade. I have no recollection of what prompted it, but I remember finding adequate resolution to my questions in the pages of C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. Well over a decade later, I’ve moved on to other thinkers, other ideas, other arguments. What I remembered of Lewis’ argumentation hadn’t aged well. But when Dave Burkum, pastor of the church I am a part of, put forth the challenge of reading Mere Christianity together as a congregation, I decided to pick it up again, and see how it held up.

Originally produced as a radio series during World War II in England, Lewis, a veteran of World War I, gave a simple and clear articulation of what he described as “mere” Christianity—that shared core of assumptions, beliefs and orientations that have inspired and provoked Christ-followers over the ages, in all limbs of the (lower-case c) catholic church.

Since this month’s discussion only focuses on Books I and II, that is all I’ll cover this month. I’ll follow up with Book II in a week or two, and then with Book III and Book IV in February and March, respectively.

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Section 1.1 of Book I begins with a heap of generalizations. Lewis appeals to a universal sense of reciprocity, which he later acknowledges is graded [in 1.2 he claims a line exists that separates the “Law of Human Nature” (an absolute) with “Rules for Decent Behavior” (socially constructed), but with no explanation of where that line lies, or how one might discover one from the other], with the possibility open of some people genuinely not knowing this “law of human nature”. A straw man is constructed that “does not believe in right or wrong”, but is cast aside before much damage is done. The chapter ends with Lewis’ axioms:

  1. Right and Wrong are real.
  2. None of us keep to the right.

If you followed Luke Muehlhauser and Alonzo Fyfe’s podcast on morality at all, you’ll notice right away the fuzzy language. What does it mean that Right is real? Euthryphro’s dilemma is casually tossed aside, and what it means for morality to even be “real” in any sense beyond is unexplained. What is clear in this prose is that right and wrong is not merely subjective to human experience, but somehow rests above it. Unfortunately, that’s simply not sufficient for moral argumentation.

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In Section 1.2, Lewis proactively addresses some potential objects to his argument; couldn’t this all be herd instinct or social convention? He attempts to ward of these encroachments with an appeal to conscience as a meta-instinct; since we require cues for whether our instincts are helpful or harmful, our conscience provides the judgement to sort our possible responses. It’s a little unclear which direction Lewis is going; it could be as simple as describing cognition itself, absent from any spiritual component, but it reads more along the lines of a sensus divinitas. He also insists, here and later in the book, on paralleling morality with mathematics. I’m not sure that’s the secure foundation he thinks it is, particularly after mathematicians such as Kurt Gödel and Gregory Chaitin have shaken the absolutist foundations of that discipline.

Towards the end of the section, Lewis makes an astute observation; that it’s not an impressive feat of morality to no longer burn witches once we no longer believe in them. This principle extends to the domain of desires, I believe. If I, having no desire to have sex with children, avoid pedophilia; what of it? That’s not particularly morally praiseworthy. Someone who has that desire and withstands temptation and instead seeks help, is morally praiseworthy in a way that I am not, even though in both cases, no children were molested. In the same sense, Lewis is on to something, and I think this is a type of thinking that pervades thoughts about the “Other”. As with desires, so with beliefs. Richard Beck wrote (in a blog post I can no longer find) about a similar dilemma between so-called “liberal” vs. “conservative” believers; the former, not considering the literal texts of the bible as binding, are much more able to adapt and adopt to shifts in cultural mores. The same effect exists in international politics, particularly between secular, European and American democracy activists and their Muslim counterparts, a phenomenon well discussed at The Immanent Frame.

Section 1.3-1.5 makes a series of assertions that range from problematic to flat-out wrong. Lewis says we ought to be unselfish because it’s good for society. Well, that’s all well and good, but it simply pushes the problem upward. Why is unselfishness good for society? An answer that is currently being floated is that unselfishness developed as a function of social bonding, longevity and through the benefits of mutual exchange and support. Even then, it’s relative, and the effect weakens with one’s degree of relationship. An innate propensity for sin layered over an original, uncorrupted creation doesn’t explain this gradation of selfishness as well as the evolution of human social relations does. (Plus, society rewards certain kinds of selfishness as “good”; what did Lewis make of that, I wonder?)

Conscience, Lewis also claims, implies a universal consciousness. I have no idea how this leap was made, nor whether there are any justifications for it. This, like the statement about our consciences being unobservable, strikes me as sheer assertion.

More interestingly, Lewis explains that conscience does not track with convenience, and can sometimes be quite inconvenient. He looks at the psychological and sociological reasons, and then jumps to a higher plane of argumentation, but I think moral questions simply fall into a sort of 47-body problem; theoretically solvable, but practically impossible to solve, therefore justifying the need to use heuristics instead.

Lewis closes with two evidences:

  1. The universe implies an artist.
  2. Our conscience implies a moral law.

Strangely, the first comes from nowhere, having been pulled from a back room at the last minute, and looking a bit disheveled. The second suffers from the problems discussed above, compounded by the caveat that according to Lewis, Christianity assumes you understand the moral law exists which you are guilty of; an assumption which, when coupled with his earlier admission that some people may not have the moral equipment with which to understand moral law, makes from some odd results when you argue that all people are culpable for their sins.

It’s a daring book but it feels as if Lewis, rather than grasping the doubts and concerns of the age and pushing through the terrors towards new answers, instead retreated gracefully and barred the windows, reinforced the doors. His epigram towards the end of Section 1.6 should be meditated on by the readers of this work:

If you look for truth, you may find comfort – if you look for comfort, you will find neither.
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