“I wonder what they do teach them at these schools.”
Professor Kirke, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe
In his relatively recent book Achieving Our Country (Harvard University Press, 1999), the noted postmodern philosopher Richard Rorty describes the attitude of American pragmatic culture as the “refusal to believe in the existence of Truth,” that is, Truth with a capital “T” in the sense of “something which has authority over human beings.”
For Rorty, and no doubt for many American citizens as well, only personal truths with a little “t” are possible, and they are best understood merely as “tools for achieving human happiness,” rather than as “representations of the intrinsic nature of reality.” With a tip of the hat to American poet Walt Whitman, Rorty celebrates their ideal of America as “the first nationstate with nobody but itself to please — not even God.” “We are,” Rorty claims, “the greatest poem because we put ourselves in the place of God…. We redefine God as our future selves.”
Consequently, Rorty wants Americans to be “curious about every other American, but not about anything which claims authority over America,” since in his estimation, “there is no standard, not even a divine one, against which the decisions of a free people can be measured.” Also finding support for his contention of truthlessness in John Dewey, Rorty asserts that we must “abandon the idea that one can say how things really are,” especially since “truth” is the result of “intersubjective consensus,” and not a verifiable description of genuine facts. Thus Rorty, this time with backing from Ralph Waldo Emerson, “has no room for the idea of a fixed standard by which deviance from the truth could be measured and denounced.” (1)
Now these are the words of an allegedly learned philosopher. But what about the views of ordinary, garden variety Americans on these matters of morality and truth? According to sociologist Alan Wolfe in his book One Nation, After All (Viking 1998), most middle class American citizens have learned to make it “in a world without fixed moral guidelines,” which means “not accepting God’s commands regarding right and wrong, but developing one’s own personal ethical standards.” Is it possible, then, to make genuine moral judgments? Are there any true things whatsoever? Apparently not, since most people, according to Wolfe, endorse what he calls the Eleventh Commandment: “Thou Shalt Not Judge.” This attitude of total tolerance, however, is possible only if there are no genuine guidelines by which to judge human attitudes and behavior. But in
Wolfe’s estimation, that is precisely the case. So, what’s true for me is true for me, and what’s true for you is true for you, even if the things we believe in and do are completely different. In our current culture, that’s ok! After all, in Wolfe’s judgment, there are more important issues, especially economic ones, that deserve our undivided attention. (2)
Now I can’t help but wonder if Richard Rorty and Alan Wolfe weren’t educated, perhaps early on, in the same spirit of moral relativism which C. S. Lewis cites in his great work The Abolition of Man as a source of the breakdown of the Western moral vision grounded in objective truth? Are they disciples of their own versions of Gaius and Titius and their Green Book? Did they read or were they taught by a contemporary equivalent of Orbilius? Could it be that these two contemporary intellectuals — among many others in other walks of life — are themselves examples of “trousered apes,” “urban blockheads,” and indeed, “men without chests”? Perhaps so.
In any case, they are presently promoting the kind of agenda that Lewis, in his own day, believed would lead not only to the destruction of society and the abolition of man, but also to the damnation of the human soul. Hence, we would be wise to listen most carefully to what this distinguished Oxford fellow and Cambridge professor has to say about these paramount issues of morality, truth,and the philosophy of education in what amounts to one of his most insightfuland prophetic works — The Abolition of Man.
Because C. S. Lewis believed that the Western world was in the process of rejecting the natural law tradition of objective right and wrong, and because he saw this rejection of real truth being taught in the school systems of his day, and because he believed that these two things added up would eventually amount to the collapse of society as he and others knew it, for these reasons he penned this defense of the natural law tradition in The Abolition of Man. His goal was nothing short of an attempt to salvage Western civilization. (5) For Lewis, the unmistakable turning point was the 18th century Enlightenment and the arrival of the modern era when the West went through its most catastrophic cultural transition, experiencing what he has referred to aptly as the “un-christening of Europe,” leading to the loss of the “old European” or “Old Western Culture,” and to the advent of a “post-Christian” age. (6) He explains the catastrophic significance of this cultural sea-change and paradigm shift in a companion essay on this topic, “The Poison of Subjectivism.” He writes:
Until modern times no thinker of the first rank ever doubted that our judgments of value were rational judgments or that what they discovered was objective. … The modern view is very different. It does not believe that value judgements are really judgements at all. They are sentiments, or complexes, or attitudes produced in a community by the pressure of its environment and its traditions, and differing from one community to another. To say that a thing is good is merely to express our feeling about it; and our feeling about it is the feeling we have been socially conditioned to have.
But if this is so, then we might have been conditioned to feel otherwise. ‘Perhaps’, thinks the reformer or the educational expert, ‘it would be better if we were [conditioned to feel otherwise]. Let us improve our morality.’ Out of this apparently innocent idea comes the disease that will certainly end our species (and, in my view, damn our souls) if it is not crushed; the fatal superstition that men can create values, that a community can choose its ‘ideology’ as men choose their clothes. (7)
The occasion for Lewis to crush this fatal superstition of autonomous values creation arose in the midst of the tumult of World War II when the University of Durham invited Lewis to present the prestigious Riddell Memorial Lectures on February 24-26, 1943. These lectures were presented on the evenings of these three successive dates, and were published later that same year by Oxford University Press as The Abolition of Man.
Regarded by many as one of the best defenses of the “natural law tradition” in the twentieth century, in this work Lewis suggests that there is an objective moral order in the universe and that every human being possesses an innate or natural understanding of what is essentially right and wrong. Though Lewis does not argue explicitly from Scripture or as a Christian theist (p. 60), nonetheless the notion of natural law is supported in the New Testament by the Apostle Paul in Romans 2: 14-16.
Rom. 2:14 For when Gentiles who do not have the Law do instinctively the things of the Law, these, not having the Law, are a law to themselves, Rom. 2:15 in that they show the work of the Law written in their hearts, their conscience bearing witness, and their thoughts alternately accusing or else defending them, Rom. 2:16 on the day when, according to my gospel, God will judge the secrets of men through Christ Jesus (NASB).
Lewis summarizes this idea of this natural law “written on the heart” in all its Judeo-Christian, Greco-Roman glory. Thus he stands in the tradition of the giants of the West such as Plato, Aristotle, Augustine and Aquinas who defended the same. But Lewis also draws upon the wisdom of the East, including Confucius as well as the sages of Hinduism, and he even selects the Chinese term “Tao” — meaning “the way” — as his symbol for objective truth and the natural law tradition. Indeed, Lewis shows that this concept of objective truth and morality is not just a Western ideal, but is in fact a global phenomenon. Not only does he draw on Western thinkers in support of this notion, but he also documents its broad recognition in an appendix to the book that provides clear, substantial illustrations of the Tao in eight fundamental moral categories derived from diverse thinkers and civilizations worldwide.
These universal testimonies are central to Lewis’s capable articulation and defense of the existence of the Tao — which others have referred to as the “presences,” the “fixities” or the “permanent things.” Debate over this issue has only intensified since Lewis’s day, especially with the advent of postmodernity and deconstructionism. Indeed, the question of Truth — of True Truth — is the question of our time. It is a debate that is determinative for our global civilization, our country, our communities, our churches, and for our very own lives. In our current situation verging on cultural suicide, we need some prophetic “Lewis-light” to help us see the way. (8)
But we must remember that a crucial battleground where this issue about truth and morality is contested is in our schools from kindergarten to Ph.D. programs. Lewis clearly recognized this, and so we must remember that The Abolition of Man is not only an apologetic for the natural law, but as its often overlooked subtitle indicates, is also a “reflection on education with special reference to the teaching of English in the Upper Forms of Schools.” While Lewis’s thoughts about teaching and learning are scattered here and there in a variety of his writings, the first chapter of The Abolition of Man is particularly important to understanding his overall philosophy of education and pedagogy. Here his twin concerns about objective truth and the teaching enterprise come together, for in exposing the fraudulent content of English textbooks and their malevolent effects, he simultaneously reveals his understanding of what is entailed in a genuine liberal education. My task in the rest of this presentation, then, is to explain the heart of his educational vision in the context of his arguments for natural law. This I will do in the form of nine essential themes, followed by a summary of crucial ideas for reflection and application in our own lives and schools today.
Philosophy of Education
In the opening chapter of The Abolition of Man, Lewis asserts that the purpose of education is to teach genuine truth and virtue to students, and to reinforce such teachings by the cultivation of the appropriate affections that would shape genuine human character and simultaneously protect young people from banality and corruption. Modern education, however, was bent upon debunking objective truth and virtue and the emotions that fortified them.
Consequently, Lewis, who could not remain silent about this important matter, takes up the task of debunking these modern debunkers. Issues of such magnitude needed exposure and correction, not only to preserve educational heritage of the West, but also to save its young charges and the society they would inherit and lead from destruction.
So Lewis begins with the frightening theme of mis-education as it was manifested in two real textbooks used in teaching English literature in the upper schools in Great Britain. The first work he discusses under the pseudonyms of Gaius and Titius and calls The Green Book. The second he refers to only by its author under the assumed name of Orbilius. (9) Both books pretend to teach lessons in literature, when in fact what they are imparting is faulty philosophy and facile literary criticism in which the whole of human culture — ethics, theology, politics, and so on — is at stake (p. 20).
In The Green Book, for example, Gaius and Titius argue that all sentences presumably expressing objective value (e.g., “The waterfall is sublime”) are really about the emotional state of the speaker, and not about anything real in the world, whether it be a waterfall or anything else. But the consequences of this instruction in “emotivism,” as it is properly called, are huge. What The Green Book teaches is that all apparent statements of real value are in fact subjective and trivial, even though the average schoolboy or schoolgirl will not necessarily at the time draw this conscious philosophic conclusion. Nonetheless, an essential assumption or a basic attitude is instilled in the heart of the student, which some ten years later, “its origin forgotten and its presence unconscious[,] will condition him [the student] to take one side in a controversy which he has never recognized as a controversy at all” (p. 20).
In other words, what a young child is taught early on has a mysterious way of shaping that child’s heart and essential vision of life. Plato certainly recognized how impressionable students were as well as the incredible power of narrative and musical education, prompting him to censor heavily what stories and songs could be taught to his future guardians and political leaders (The Republic 3). Horace also observed how significant childhood influences were in shaping adult perspectives, as did St. Augustine, who quotes Horace’s memorable line that, “new vessels will for long retain the taste of what is first poured into them” (The City of God 1. 3). This is all quite similar to the biblical proverb that advises
parents to “Train up a child in the way he should go, [so that] even when he is old he will not depart from it” (Prov. 22: 6, NASB).
Indeed, these insights were not lost on Lewis who complains not only about the effects of bad philosophy, but also about how the cheap kind of textual interpretation practiced by Gaius and Titius (and Orbilius) fails to instill in students the right kinds of insights and responses to “the grace of great things.”
As Lewis puts it, Gaius and Titius, while teaching him nothing about letters, have cut out of his soul, long before he is old enough to choose, the possibility of having certain experiences which thinkers of more authority than they have held to be generous, fruitful, and humane (p. 23). …That is their day’s lesson in English, though of English they have learned nothing. Another little portion of the human heritage has been quietly taken from them before they were old enough to understand (p. 25).
The real problem with this bad philosophy and poor literary analysis, according to Lewis, is not just that students are exposed to wrong ideas and inept interpretations. Rather, the result of this poor instruction overall is that it produces students with uncultivated souls which is our second theme. Lewis refers to those with uncultivated souls rather colorfully as “trousered apes” who, for example, can never think of the Atlantic Ocean as anything more than so many million gallons of cold salt water. He also uses the memorable expression “urban blockheads” for whom, he says illustratively, a horse is never regarded as anything more than an old fashioned means of transportation. However, good philosophy and literature, rightly taught, should make young people capable of recognizing the true glory and excellence residing in such tremendous realities as oceans and animals, not to mention the rest of life and creation.
But then it occurs to Lewis, laying aside his hermeneutic of charity, that Gaius, Titius, and Orbilius may specifically wish to produce “trousered apes” and “urban blockheads” through their scholarly efforts. As Lewis puts it, “They may really hold that the ordinary human feelings about the past or animals or large waterfalls are contrary to reason and contemptible and ought to be eradicated. They may be intending to make a clean sweep of traditional values and start with a new set” (p. 25). If this is the case, then these thinkers are presenting philosophical rather than literary ideas. Consequently their books deceive parents, students and school administrators who expect to find within them the insights of professional grammarians rather than the misleading notions of amateur philosophers (p. 26).
But Lewis pauses momentarily and wonders what seemingly motivates Gaius, Titius, and Orbilius to propagate their philosophy under the guise of literary criticism. Maybe they do what they do because well-done literary criticism is a very difficult task, and it’s just easier to undermine traditional values. Or perhaps their efforts are targeted at curbing student sentimentality with sober thinking, an effort that is a typical professorial aspiration.
Lewis takes a moment to elaborate on this second possible academic motivation of replacing pupils’ emotional excesses with a good dose of rationalism. From his own teaching experience, however, he discovered that for every sappy student, there are at least three who are emotionally stunted and “need to be awakened from the slumber of cold vulgarity” (p. 27). Gaius, Titius, and Orbilius misunderstand the real condition and pressing educational needs of young people. So, in one of the most famous lines from this book, Lewis asserts to the contrary that “The task of the modern educator is not to cut down jungles but to irrigate deserts” (p. 27). The true pedagogical goal is not to destroy rank emotions, but to supplant them with proper ones. After all, emotionally starved students are easy prey to manipulation, and one way or another, their intellectually unprotected and famished passional nature will eventually be satisfied one way or another, for better or for worse. At the heart of education, then, is the third theme of the cultivation of student affections that are just, ordinate, and appropriate and in alignment with the ultimately real in all things.
But this is exactly what Gaius, Titius, and Orbilius seek to undermine through their scholarship. That is, their goal is to debunk objective values and the proper emotions corresponding to them. To explain what this threesome seeks to discredit along with its far-reaching results, Lewis must first describe the historic, objectivist tradition and its sources as our fourth basic theme. In short, it is the impartial truth about reality, morality in particular, and how human responses ought to be rightly adjusted to the way things actually are. In Lewis’s own words,
It is the doctrine of objective value, the belief that certain attitudes are really true, and others really false, to the kind of thing the universe is, and the kind of things we are. … And because our approvals and disapprovals are thus recognitions of objective value or responses to objective order, therefore emotional states can be in harmony with reason, or out of harmony with reason…. No emotion is, in itself, a judgment; in that sense all emotions and sentiments are alogical. But they can be reasonable or unreasonable as they conform to Reason or fail to conform. The heart never takes the place of the head, but it can and should obey it (p. 31).
Lewis bases his commitment to this kind of metaphysical and psychological realism on eight classic sources including (1) Shelley’s comparison of human sensibilities properly tuned to an Aeolian Lyre, (2) Traherne’s notion of prizing things according to their true value, (3) St. Augustine’s order of the loves (ordo amoris) in which every object is given the kind of love it deserves, (4) Aristotle’s dictum that the aim of education is to make the pupil like and dislike what he ought, (5) Plato’s philosophy of educating future political rulers to have the right responses to those things which are truly pleasant, likeable, disgusting and hateful, (6) Hinduism’s Rta as the great pattern of nature or supernature revealed in the cosmic order, in
the moral virtues, and in the ceremony of the temple, (7) the Chinese Tao as the reality beyond all predicates, the abyss which existed before the creator himself, that is, nature, the way, and the road, and finally (8) the Jewish Law or Torah which was regarded by Israelites as true.
Regardless of its source — whether Western or Eastern, ancient, medieval or modern — Lewis chooses to refer to this timeless doctrine of objective values and their coordinate emotions by the Chinese name of the Tao. This symbol denotes the foundational, axiomatic, self-evident set of first principles for all morality, and thus for him it forms the quintessential human rationality and wisdom. Historically, a truly human life consisted in ethical conformity to this structural Logos, and this was the celebrated purpose of the educational enterprise. As Lewis says, “For the wise men of old the cardinal problem had been how to conform the soul to reality, and the solution had been knowledge, self-discipline, and virtue” (p. 83).
The worldview of The Green Book, however, is entirely contrary to this. For Gaius and Titius, there were only soulish emotions, but no final reality to which to conform them. Formerly, to ascribe an emotional response to an object was itself justified by the nature of the object perceived, “just as to say that a shoe fits is to speak not only of shoes but of feet” (p. 32). But this objective reference point for human feeling is precisely what Gaius and Titius systematically eliminate from consideration apriori. For them, sentences containing predicate values (e.g., “the waterfall is sublime”) “refer solely to emotion” (p. 32) and nothing more. According to this way of thinking, therefore, facts like waterfalls are valueless, and values like sublimity are factless, and no reconciliation between facts and values or values and facts is possible. A debunked Tao debunks meaning itself, and we are left with nothing but our own irrational thoughts and feelings wandering aimlessly in our hearts and minds, that is, our solipsism.
As a fifth theme, then, we must recognize the colossal difference between programs of education that stand either inside or outside of the Tao. Inside the Tao, the teaching task is to impart to students the responses to things that are in themselves right. This is to be done regardless of how many people fail to make such responses, for in cultivating these proper responses their true humanity consists. As Lewis states in his third Abolition lecture,
In the older systems both the kind of man the teachers wished to produce and their motives for producing him were prescribed by the Tao — a norm to which the teachers themselves were subject and from which they claimed no liberty to depart. They did not cut men to some pattern they had chosen. They handed on what they had received: they initiated the young neophyte into the mystery of humanity which overarched him [student] and them [teachers] alike. It was but old birds teaching young birds to fly (p. 71).
Outside the Tao, however, the teaching task is to debunk all sentiments as non-rational, sentiments which must either be removed entirely (i.e., “cut down jungles”) or replaced with new responses that have nothing to do with truth, ordinacy, or justness. In this case, teaching is a form of manipulation, just as a poultry keeper prepares young birds for the market. Lewis elaborates on this again in his third lecture.
Values are now mere natural phenomena. Judgements of value are to be produced in the pupil as part of the conditioning. Whatever Tao there is will be the product, not the motive, of education. The conditioners have been emancipated from all that. It is one more part of Nature which they have conquered (p. 71).
The difference, then, on the one hand, is between the propagation of the universal human heritage of objective values and just sentiments into which students are initiated, and on the other hand, the propagandizing of a new set of subjective values by which people are manipulated as pawns by their teachers. As Lewis illustrates, these two frameworks radically change what a father means when he teaches his son that it is a sweet and seemly thing for him to die for his country. Within the Tao, the father is advocating the possibility of a truly noble death for his boy on behalf of his country, but without it, he is merely coaxing him into an action that may cost him his life. Thus, the option in all educational situations — both formal and familial — is between true virtue and pure pragmatism.
Nonetheless, philosophically justified virtues on their own are insufficient to make a person truly good. So, Lewis proceeds to our sixth theme and demonstrates that “without the aid of trained emotions the intellect is powerless against the animal organism” (p. 35). Syllogisms alone will not sustain the soldier in the heat of battle, whereas the crudest sentiment for flag or country will keep him at his post despite adversity. Would you rather play high stakes poker with a gentleman who feels there are simply some things that a gentleman just does not do, or would you rather play with a philosopher trained by Gaius and Titius?
Here is the point in black and white: while our minds know what is right and wrong almost instinctively, if there is not a corresponding desire in the heart to do what is right and to avoid the wrong, then no amount of good reasoning one way or another will motivate us to proper action.
In drawing on Plato who taught that reason is able to rule the appetites only through the spirit, so Lewis argues that “the head [which knows right and wrong] rules the belly [i.e., the animal appetites] through the chest” [i.e., ordinate affections and just sentiments]!
That is, only as the “chest” as the seat of the affections and sentiments, is rightly trained by habit to respond fittingly to objective values, will it be able to control the baser desires of the body and foster authentic virtue in a person. This central element bridges the gap between mind and body and is what makes human beings human. As Lewis puts it, “The Chest — Magnanimity — Sentiment — these are the indispensable liaison officers between cerebral man and visceral man. It may even be said that it is by this middle element that man is man: for by his intellect he is mere spirit and by his appetite mere animal” (p. 36). This explains why earlier on, Lewis argued that the cultivation of fertile and generous emotion — not the cutting down jungles but the irrigating of deserts — is the primary task of all responsible educators. In addition to teaching the truth to the mind, they must also nurture the right order of the loves in the heart. For indeed, our loves are our motivations, as St. Augustine once wrote, and wherever we go and whatever we do, it is our loves that inspire us and take us there.
But this is exactly the problem: modern educators, like Gaius and Titius and their breed, are producing “men without chests” or more generally, people without substantive virtue or character, which is our seventh theme. In debunking objective values in favor of epistemic relativism, modern teachers and professors simultaneous thwart the proper formation of this central element of the soul in which our genuine humanity consists. If it is also true that the mind alone, apart from the cultivation of the right kinds of desires in the heart, is unable to control the lusts of the body, then this helps explain the reason for the barbaric character and conduct of countless numbers of people today.
But there is a real moral irony to this whole story which is our eighth theme. Given the moral collapse of our culture, we clamour for the very qualities of character that we make impossible to obtain. We cry out in our post-Oklahoma City bombing, post-Columbine, post-911, post-Enron and post-World Com culture for values and virtues, and yet we are destroying the foundations by which such things could be established. Everywhere we turn, we hear desperate calls for justice, courage, temperance and prudence, if not for faith, hope, and love. But why should we expect these things be cultivated if we have debunked the basis for them all? As Lewis concludes,
In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful (p. 37).
On this basis, and for our ninth and final theme, we can see easily why Lewis begins his second Abolition lecture by saying that “The practical result of education in the spirit of The Green Book must be the destruction of the society which accepts it” (p. 41). We can also understand why in the third lecture Lewis sees great potential for tyranny in a world where the ruling elites no longer believe in objective truth, where everything is reduced to a struggle for power, where few if any restraints are placed on what might be done to reshape the human race, and why, in short, without the Tao, unless something significant changes, he predicts the impending Abolition of Man.
Summary and Conclusion
What are our take home points from this discussion on C. S. Lewis’s philosophy of education in The Abolition of Man? Here is a summary of the key issues in light of the basic themes we have considered. In terms of miseducation, let’s pay closer attention to textbooks and their underlying philosophical assumptions, keeping in mind that what impressionable students are taught early on can shape their opinions and character for a lifetime. In terms of uncultivated souls, we must be careful to prevent curricular commissions and omissions from generating trousered apes and urban blockheads who lack the capacity to perceive God’s grandeur and the grace of great things.
In terms of the cultivation of student affections and the training of their emotions, we must realize that education is not an exclusively cognitive endeavor, and that the acquisition of truth must be reinforced by nurturing fertile and generous emotions since intellect alone is powerless against the bodily appetites. In terms of education inside or outside of the Tao, we must acknowledge the huge difference between the transmission of the universal human heritage of objective values and ordinate affections to which students must be introduced, and the promotion of a novel set of relative values by which students are managed as pawns by their teachers. In terms of men without chests, we must be aware of their abundant cultural presence and social liability and recognize what is at stake publicly and privately in shaping well-developed human beings in our systems of education.
In terms of the present moral irony that reigns in our schools, we should not expect any significant change in the intellectual quality or ethical character of our current graduates until the foundations of education in truth and morality are restored. If we proceed ahead in our current educational and cultural direction, our own society will be destroyed, and we will face a very undesirable human future, and eventually the judgment of God. This is likely to be the case if contemporary thinkers like Richard Rorty and Alan Wolfe have their way.
May the Church, however, take heed from these prophetic warnings of C. S. Lewis in The Abolition of Man, and may she seek to fulfill her vocation faithfully of proclaiming and living historic Christianity in this our present moment in history.
1. Richard Rorty, Achieving Our Country (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), pp. 27, 96, 22, 16, 34-35. This introduction was inspired by David Blankenhorn in the Fall 1998 issue of Propositions, a quarterly publication of the Institute for American Values.
2. Alan Wolfe, One Nation, After All (New York: Viking, 1998), pp. 10-11, 54.
3. C. S. Lewis, “The Poison of Subjectivism,” in Christian Reflections, ed. Walter Hooper(Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1967), p. 73.
4. Some of this material was taken from John G. West, s. v. “The Abolition of Man,” in The C. S. Lewis Readers’ Encyclopedia, pp. 67-69.
5. C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man Or Reflections on Education with Special Reference to the Teaching of English in the Upper Forms of Schools (New York: Simon and Schuster, A Touchstone Book, 1996). Page numbers in parentheses referring to The Abolition of Man are from this edition of the book.
6. C. S. Lewis, “De Descriptione Temporum,” in Selected Literary Essays, ed. Walter
Hooper (Cambridge: At the University Press, 1969), pp. 4-5, 12.
7. Lewis, “The Poison of Subjectivism,” pp. 73.
8. Peter Kreeft, C. S. Lewis for the Third Millennium (San Francisco: Ignatiuis, 1994), pp. 11-12.
9. The Green Book (1940) by Alex King and Martin Kelty (= Gaius and Titus).
Dr. David K. Naugle is chair and professor of philosophy at Dallas Baptist University where he has worked for seventeen years in both administrative and academic capacities. He earned a Th.D. in systematic theology, and a Ph.D. in humanities with concentrations in philosophy and English literature. He is the author of Worldview: The History of a Concept (Eerdmans 2002), which was selected by Christianity Today magazine as the 2003 book of the year in the theology and ethics.