Mere Christianity (C.S. Lewis) 04 - Chapter 2. Some Objections

Part 1. Right and Wrong as a Clue to the Meaning of the Universe

Chapter 2. Some Objections

C.S. Lewis presented two key observations in Chapter 1:

First, every human being on this earth holds a strange belief—that he ought to behave in a certain way—and he cannot seem to rid himself of that belief. Second, in practice, people do not live according to that standard. He develops his argument by firmly establishing the idea of a “Law of Human Nature,” “Moral Law,” or a “Rule of Right Behavior.”

We all understand well what it means to be stimulated by instincts such as maternal love, sexual instinct, or appetite. It means we feel a strong desire or urge to act in a certain way. (...) But feeling a desire to help someone and feeling that we ought to help—whether we want to or not—are very different things.

He emphasizes that moral law is not merely a simple impulse but a kind of directive or command that tells us whether to follow or resist that impulse. The core of moral law is not simply a desire to act, but an awareness that we must act.

Let’s suppose you hear someone calling for help in a dangerous situation. You’ll likely feel two conflicting desires: one to rush over and help (this comes from herd instinct), and another to avoid danger (this comes from the instinct of self-preservation). But you will also discover a third thing within yourself that tells you to “suppress the impulse to run away and amplify the impulse to help.” (...) If the moral law is the tune we are to play, then instincts are merely the keys on the piano. Just as the sheet music that tells us when and which key to press cannot be one of the keys itself, the moral law cannot be one of the instincts.

The Moral Law is not one among many instincts, but the standard that selects and coordinates those instincts. Lewis explains that this third mechanism in our minds sometimes directs us to follow the weaker instinct, which shows that moral law is a standard that transcends instinct.

Sometimes, in order to gain the strength to do what is right, we feel an obligation to awaken our imagination and stir up our compassion to stimulate our herd instinct. The act of trying to strengthen one instinct over another is clearly not instinctual behavior. (...) Saying that some impulses—like maternal love or patriotism—are good, and others—like sexual or combative impulses—are bad, is a mistake. It’s just that there are more situations where we must suppress sexual or combative impulses than those where we must suppress maternal love or patriotism. Yet there are also situations, such as for married men or soldiers, where it is necessary to encourage sexual or combative impulses. Likewise, failing to suppress maternal love or patriotic feelings might result in unjust outcomes for other children or nations. Strictly speaking, impulses are not inherently good or bad.

All instincts and impulses are necessary in balance, much like nutrients in the human body. But that doesn’t mean we live relying on instincts alone. Moral law plays the role of directing us when and where to suppress or encourage certain instincts, and this cannot be explained by mere instinctual drives.

One of the most dangerous things we can do is to pick a single instinct from our nature and make it into an absolute that must be followed at all costs. There is no instinct which, once made into an absolute guide, will not turn us into devils.

Though obvious, he warns that even humanitarianism, when followed uncritically, can destroy justice. This implies that moral law must be a standard above all instincts.

We all learned multiplication tables in school. But a child who grows up alone in the desert wouldn’t know them. Still, we can’t say multiplication tables are merely human customs—that humans created them and could have made them differently if they wanted.

He emphasizes that even truths passed down through education can be fundamentally true. Moral law, too, may be transmitted through cultural learning, but its internal structure follows a universal reality.

There are two reasons why I place the “Law of Human Nature” in the same category as mathematics. First, as I said in Chapter 1, moral views of one era or one country may differ from those of another, (...) but the differences are not that great (...) and there exists a common law that runs through all those moral codes.

Despite surface-level differences, humanity has always shared similar moral principles everywhere and at all times, suggesting that moral law is a universal standard, not a subjective one.

The second reason is this: (...) The moment you say one morality is better than another, you are in fact judging both according to some standard. (...) That standard you used to compare the two moralities must be something different from both. In reality, you are comparing them to what may be called the “true morality,” thereby admitting that there is a real “rightness” unaffected by human opinion, and that some moral views are closer to that real “rightness” than others.

He argues that the very fact we can speak of superiority or comparison between moralities proves that an absolute and objective standard—“true morality”—must exist.

The reason your idea of New York may be more or less correct than mine is that the city of New York exists independently of our thoughts. If what you or I say about New York were merely “a city drawn in my own imagination,” then how could one version be more correct than another? In such a case, truth and falsehood would not even be an issue. Similarly, if “rules of right conduct” were merely things approved by various nations by chance, then saying that one nation’s approval is more correct than another’s would be meaningless.

Through this analogy, Lewis argues that moral law is not just a personal or social product, but exists as an objective reality.

Some people exaggerated the differences between moralities because they failed to distinguish between differences in morality and differences in beliefs about facts. (...) The clear fact is that we no longer burn witches not because we’ve grown more moral, but because we no longer believe witches exist. That is, there’s no difference in moral principles. Only our beliefs about facts have changed. Thinking witches don’t exist is a major intellectual advancement. But refraining from witch hunts because we no longer believe in witches is not a moral advancement.

He points out that many apparent differences between moralities actually stem from misunderstandings or lack of knowledge about facts, emphasizing that moral law itself has consistently remained like an eternal truth.

Conclusion

Through logical reasoning and rich analogies, Lewis consistently argues that “moral law” is not merely the result of human conscience or social learning, but a transcendent and universal standard. Without this standard, we would be unable to speak of moral progress or judgment, nor distinguish between reformers and notions of good and evil.

Where, then, does this transcendent and universal standard come from?

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