![]() ![]() If it’s true that our real destiny is a good that transcends this temporal, finite world, then any other good on which our desire fixes must be in some degree fallacious, bearing at best only a symbolical relation to that which will truly satisfy. If it’s true that we were made for heaven, then three things would also be true: (1) this desire for our proper place would already be within us (2) this desire would not yet be attached to its true object (3) this desire would appear to be the rival of its object (namely, heaven). What is the object of our reward? And what must be true about the connection between the desire and the reality? As our desire increases, our fear of this being a mercenary desire eventually recedes to the point of being an absurdity. But those of us who have not yet attained this reality cannot know it in the same way, and cannot even begin to know it at all except by (a) continuing to obey and (b) finding the first reward of our obedience in our increasing power to desire the ultimate reward. Those who have gone to glory are in the first category, seeing that everlasting life is the consummation (proper/natural reward) of earthly discipleship. The Christian life in the here and now fits best into the third category. In this third category, the emerging desire itself is a kind of preliminary reward. To answer this objection, we have to recognize that there are three kinds of relationships between and action and a reward: (1) an unnatural reward (e.g., a man marrying for money) (2) a proper or natural reward (e.g., a man marrying for love-i.e., the reward is the activity itself in consummation) (3) a proper or natural reward that is not known by the actor until the reward is actually received (e.g., a boy learning Greek, where there is a gradual transition from drudgery to enjoyment, and only as he approaches the reward does he begin to enjoy it for its own sake). Objection: Desiring a Reward Makes One a Mercenary The problem is not that we have too much pleasure, but that we are far too easily pleased with that which is second best. The latter says our desires are too weak. The former says our desires are too strong. The ethic of negating desire comes from Kant and the Stoics, whereas the ethic that appeals to the desire for our own good comes from the New Testament. Love sees self-denial as containing within it an appeal to desire, since it is good to desire and hope for the enjoyment of our own good. Unselfishness sees self-denial as an end in itself, such that it is bad to desire and hope for the enjoyment of our own good. But that means that something negative has replaced something positive, as unselfishness is foregoing good for ourselves, while love is securing good for others. UnselfishnessĪlmost all good men today would identify the highest virtue as unselfishness in contrast to love, which is how Christians of old would answer. ![]() If you have to choose between reading this post and reading the original, by all means go back to Lewis! But if you could use some motivation or guidance, or simply want a substantial overview of the whole thing, I’ve tried my best to summarize the whole thing, tracing the various places Lewis takes us in this profoundly and edifying meditation. But what is the argument of the piece as a whole? Do we know that Lewis takes some surprising turns in this address, such as focusing more upon the glory we will receive from God than upon the glory that we will render to his name? ![]() ![]() Or we might know his section observing that we have never met a mere mortal. Many of us know the famous opening, where Lewis observes that we have settled for mud pies in the slum, ignorant of a holiday at the sea, and that we are far too easily pleased. I suspect that this celebrated address is more “sampled” than read straight through and understood in full. ![]()
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