A Rabbity Sort of Fellow

Reading: Man or Rabbit?, C. S. Lewis

Upon reading this, I at once felt guilty and somewhat peeved, because, as usual, Lewis has successfully put into words that which I struggled and stuttered over when trying to speak to my friend about Christianity. What I was attempting so poorly to make him understand was precisely the same point Lewis makes: one cannot live a good life without Christianity.

The problem, Lewis says, is not necessarily that Christianity will automatically make a person good. Evidently the question, 'can a man lead a good life without believing in Christianity?' leads to the question, 'can I?' and that further still to, 'need I bother about it? Mayn't I just evade the issue, just let sleeping dogs lie?' Lewis is rather pointedly clear about his response: "The man is shirking. He is deliberately trying not to know whether Christianity is true or false, because he foresees endless trouble if it should turn out to be true." Perhaps the most frustrating part of talking to this friend of mine is that very statement. He has no desire to find out whether Christianity is true or not; "I'm happy where I am," he tells me, much to my frustration (after all, just moments before he was complaining to me about just how unhappy he was).

He is in danger, though, according to Lewis. He has heard, he has asked the question, and he is ignoring the answer. "Honest rejection of Christ, however mistaken, will be forgiven and healed," writes Lewis. "But to evade the Son of Man, to look the other way, to pretend you haven't noticed . . . to leave unopened certain letters in a strange handwriting because they might be from Him--this is a different matter." Rejection of Christ is intolerable, inhuman. To me, personally, it is heartbreakingly appalling that one would so easily reject such a beautiful, glorious gift simply because it would mean they were wrong. Even Lewis states, "You may not be certain yet whether you ought to be a Christian; but you do know you ought to be a Man, not an ostrich, hiding its head in the sand." The contempt of Lewis is scalding; he holds no patience for such a man.

The beauty of Christianity is that either it works, or it doesn't. If it works, "the secret of the universe is waiting for you." Everything makes sense in the context of Christianity; there is purpose, there is meaning; everything is both valuable and beautiful. If it does not work, then it is the greatest sham on earth, powerful enough to deceive even the best of men. In either case, living a good life is no longer important; the goals have changed. If it is true, it must be shared. If it is not, it must be exposed. Any Christian, then, believes it is true.

But Christianity, as you may have heard, is no picnic. It is not denied, of course, that "Christianity will do you good," but the catch is that it is not necessarily the happy-go-lucky-I'll-win-the-lottery-today kind of good that people seem to be looking for. I imagine Lewis must have been rather frustrated with the blindness of these fellows asking this question, because his response is rather blunt: "And the first bit of good it will do you is to hammer into your head (you won't enjoy that!) the fact that . . . you can't be 'good' (not for twenty-four hours) on our own moral efforts." Farther on, (Oh! How I wish I were as eloquent a Lewis!) he writes that as we have been given Divine Life, it is required that our rabbit-like morality is to be swallowed up; "We are to be re-made." The pain of such is almost unbearable, but healthy, like the pain of lifting and carrying a large amount of weight, or the pain that comes while healing occurs. It is almost impossible to bear, the wait seems too long. But although "we shall bleed and squeal as the handfuls of fur come out," it is the final goal we look forward to. "And then, surprisingly, we shall find underneath it all a thing we have never yet imagined: a real Man, an ageless god, a son of God, strong, radiant, wise, beautiful, and drenched in joy."

Now I ask you: What person in their right mind would reject such a promise?

"Morality is a mountain which we cannot climb by our own efforts; and if we could, we should only perish in the ice and unbreathable air of the summit, lacking those wings with which the rest of the journey has to be accomplished. For it is from there that the real ascent begins. The ropes and axes are 'done away' . . .

And the rest is a matter of flying."