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283 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 2, 1971
We should read old books more than new ones.
Christmas has three meanings: the religious holiday, the popular holiday of merrymaking and hospitality, and the commercial racket. The first should be observed, the second tolerated, the third condemned.
He did not like the carolers who came to his door. (This was because they were often year-round troublemakers who temporarily donned angelic expressions when soliciting money at Christmas.)
The welfare state enslaves its populace.
Anglican priests should know the lines of boundary between Anglican Christianity and two distortions: the broad slipperiness of modern liberalism on the one side, and Roman Catholicism on the other.
Archaic and traditional language in the Book of Common Prayer should be retained ("Miserable Offenders"); but watch out for undue veneration of the Authorized Version ("Modern Translations of the Bible").
We have no "right to happiness" in the way the phrase is usually meant. (Then, as now, it almost always means "sexual happiness.") A right is a freedom guaranteed by the laws of a society, but Lewis argues that those laws cannot guarantee a happy state for every individual. In the U.S.'s Declaration of Independence, which Lewis defends, there is of course the right to pursue happiness—that is, pursue it by means sanctioned by the nation and nature; but this is not an unlimited right or a promise of its realization. After all, Lewis comments, the people making the most noise about the "right to happiness" fail to fairly apply it outside the realm of transgressive sexual relationships: do we ever hear about the right of the ruthless CEO to make more money or of the nicotine addict to smoke more cigarettes just because those behaviors will bring them happiness?
The Nazis attempted to co-opt Wagner's mythology into their ideology, but it was a doomed project. The Nazis, after all, believed that might was right; theirs was a utilitarian worldview built on sheer power—the ultimate expression of survival of the fittest coupled with the optimistic arrogance of Aryan supremacy. But in Wagner's Ring Cycle, and in the broader Norse mythology of which it was the Romantic capstone, the looming background was always defeat. The gods were destined for a tragic fate; Odin had the right but not the might; and of all the world's religions, the Norse was the only one calling men to fight on the losing side ("First and Second Things").
Repenting of imaginary sins, especially on national scale, is not harmless but destructive ("The Dangers of National Repentance").
There should not be a Christian party or Christian platform in government ("Meditation on the Third Commandment").
The decline of religion may be a very good thing, in that it leaves little room for ambiguity or impostors: "When the Round Table is broken, one must follow either Galahad or Mordred."
Capital punishment should be maintained as a form of retributive justice (as opposed to remedial justice).
There's a difference between looking at and looking along. To look at something is to analyze it; to look along it is to be caught in the experience of it. One can look at a sunbeam filtering through the dust, or one can look along the sunbeam to see the outside world and the sun itself. One can analyze love or faith or courage as physical phenomena directed by physics, genetics, or Freudian or Marxist impulses, or one can be in love, or have faith, or take courage ("Meditation in a Toolshed"). This is really two ways of knowing: direct experience on the one hand, and analysis and abstraction on the other. The problem is that while we are experiencing something we cannot analyze it (who analyzes pain when impaled by a spear, or love in the nuptial embrace?), and when we do pause to analyze it we know longer really know the thing. And this is where myths, and the Christian myth especially, are so important: through myths we come the closest to experiencing in a concrete way what would otherwise be mere abstraction ("Myth Became Fact").
God relates to us in the same way Shakespeare relates to "The Tempest" ("Must Our Image of God Go?").
The people who wail that we are returning to paganism don't understand how much worse off we are than the pagans.