Day 63: The Insomniac, the Watched Kettle, and Leaving It to God (23rd September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The limits of moral effort, the gradual nature of change, and giving up the illusion of control.

• Source Material: Mere Christianity ("Leaving It to God")

My Reflection

Wow, this excerpt was a challenge. I began reading today’s passage without the slightest clue what Lewis was talking about. Thankfully, by the second paragraph, things started to make some sense, and by the end of the third, I finally felt I had a grasp on what he was trying to illustrate.

Lewis touches on the concept of change, noting that we often do not realise it is happening in the moment. I have had many instances in my later life where I have realised that I have changed in ways I never expected—or even noticed were occurring at the time. There are aspects of my personality where I feel I have truly ‘grown up’, and observing these only brings into sharp relief the areas where I haven't quite managed it yet!

His analogy of the anxious, sleepless man feels particularly relevant, as I suffer from insomnia from time to time. The harder you try to force sleep, the further away it gets. It is exactly like the old adage of the watched kettle that never boils. If we sit there monitoring our own minds for signs of spiritual growth, we are putting ourselves on the completely wrong track.

Lewis suggests that the ultimate realisation is abandoning our own efforts and 'leaving it to God'. While I understand the surrender he is advocating for, I would hope that this is not solely a one-sided surrender, but rather a joint effort between myself and the Divine. I hope I have made some sense of what Lewis is trying to describe today. I often finish reading his dense theology with a nagging doubt that I have perhaps completely misunderstood him, but I suppose sitting with that uncertainty is simply part of the process.

Historical Footnote (23rd September)

• 1938: Out of the Silent Planet (the first volume of Lewis's Space Trilogy) is published by The Bodley Head, London.

Day 62: The Spokes of a Wheel, Ivory Towers, and Waiting for Archimedes (22nd September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: God's desire for our "quality," the analogy of the wheel, and moving past a transactional faith.

• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt is one of those passages that leaves me finding the text deeply confusing and obscure. I read and re-read it several times this morning, desperately hoping for a sudden revelatory moment, but to no avail.

I do somewhat grasp the brilliant analogy of the spokes in the wheel. Lewis suggests that if every spoke is fitted perfectly into the central hub (God), they will inevitably be the correct distance from one another (our fellow creatures). It is a beautiful, practical image. But the majority of the surrounding passage feels like a prime example of Lewis’s dense, impenetrable theological logic—the kind of writing that inevitably makes me feel rather stupid.

Sometimes I think Lewis over-complicates his arguments, making them remote and inaccessible to the majority of people. This is deeply ironic, as his usual accessibility and clarity are exactly what drew me to his writings in the first place. Still, I am not deterred. I choose to see this density as a challenge. I am trusting that the struggle will offer rewards later on when that elusive ‘A-ha!’ moment finally arrives, much like Archimedes the Greek philosopher suddenly jumping out of his bath.

I do understand why people spend their entire lives studying his works in universities, but it is also precisely why I feel so frustrated when I mention his name to people and their only point of reference is his Narnia novels. When the public only knows him for magical wardrobes and talking lions, they completely miss the profound depths of his adult theology and the magnificent, cosmic scope of his science fiction like The Space Trilogy. He was such a massive public figure during the nineteen-forties and fifties, but like many greats, his most complex ideas have been quietly resigned to the ivory towers of academia. Keeping his broader catalogue alive—whether through daily blog reflections or visualising and adapting his other worlds—feels like a vital pursuit to bring him back down to earth.

Today’s reading ends with Lewis stating that God wants us to be creatures of a "certain kind or quality." Looking at my own confusion and scrambled egg logic today, I find myself genuinely wondering: am I a creature of a certain ‘quality’?

Day 61: Transactional Faith, Making a Deal with God, and the Sixpence Analogy (21st September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The illusion of earning good marks from God, transactional faith, and the analogy of the sixpence.

• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s passage immediately had my brow furrowed and a very large question mark hanging over my head. Lewis describes a kind of ‘transactional Christian’—someone who thinks they can strike a bargain with the Almighty or, as Kate Bush would so brilliantly put it, make a ‘deal with God’.

His description left me astounded. I do not think I have ever met a person who truly believes they could somehow put the Creator in their debt; in fact, I find the very idea laughable. Perhaps I am just approaching today’s passage from my own limited perspective, but my approach to faith is, and always will be, one of humility.

The recognition that I am not perfect and simply desirous of His love and care is how I approach my faith. Whilst I do not adhere to strict Christian theological dogma, I feel that my relationship with the divine is purely personal. It does not require any third-party validation—namely, the clergy, of whom I have very little trust. That being said, I am still happy sitting in a church and quietly enjoying the services it offers. I do not blindly follow scripture, either. Even though we are taught that biblical texts are the word of God and divinely inspired, I struggle to completely trust anything written by Man that purports to be absolute.

Lewis’s final example today—of a child asking for a sixpence in order to purchase a present for their father—also left me a bit confused. How else would a child be able to obtain the finances to buy a gift unless it was given by the parent? Obviously, the parent is ‘down a sixpence’ on the transaction, but surely the pure intention and good motive of the child is the true reward for the father, not the material gain.

Perhaps I have slightly misunderstood Lewis's core message here, which seems to be a recurring theme during my journey with his writings! Still, I genuinely hope that nobody out there is foolish enough to think that there could ever be a transactional element in a relationship with the Deity.

Day 60: Squeaky Boots, Celestial Score-Sheets, and Gods with Feet of Clay (20th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: Spiritual complacency, judging our neighbours, and the danger of feeling superior.

• Source Material: The Screwtape Letters

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt comes from my dreaded Screwtape Letters, a book I frequently struggle with. The upside-down logic regarding the 'Enemy' (God) always trips me up, making it one of Lewis's most confusing works for me. That being said, I do find a lot of humour in it and marvel at the sheer creativity of his concept.

From my meagre understanding, Screwtape is advising Wormwood to keep his ‘patient’ in a state of spiritual complacency. The goal is to ensure the man's own faults remain entirely obscured by his harsh opinions and judgements of the people in the next pew. Personally, I have never felt that simply declaring myself a Christian elevates me above anyone else. I certainly do not believe there is some kind of ‘celestial score-sheet’ where my beliefs and actions promote me above my neighbours.

I did laugh at the vividly specific image of the man with the squeaky boots. It perfectly evokes a time when we would regularly repair our shoes—a task this particular miser is evidently too mean to pay for!

More broadly, reading this passage made me reflect on how my perception of Lewis himself has changed over the last sixty days. When I started this project, he was a literary and theological hero who could do absolutely no wrong. Now, he has become a person whom I respect greatly, but one I can confidently disagree with from time to time. I know this is a much healthier, more mature viewpoint, yet it is still filled with a quiet sadness. It is always a little bittersweet to realise that your gods have feet of clay.

Historical Footnote (20th September)

• 1926: Dymer is published by J. M. Dent, London, under the pseudonym of Clive Hamilton.

• 1942: Lewis delivers the first of nine talks on "Christian Behaviour" over the BBC. These talks are later expanded and become Book 3 of Mere Christianity.

Day 59: The Impossible Checklist, Quitting Smoking, and Real Temptation (19th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The reality of temptation, acknowledging our pride, and discovering our true flaws by trying to be good.

• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt began with another profound “Oh no, here we go…” moment for me. Lewis asserts right out of the gate that we are proud. It is a jarring statement in a modern world where we are continually encouraged to take pride in ourselves and our accomplishments.

I did, however, laugh in recognition at the line, “No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good.” This particular sentence stood out to me when I previously read Mere Christianity years ago, and its truth remains undeniable. Yet, I must admit I struggle with—if not suffer outright anger and irritation at—the way religion often wields this truth. It frequently feels as though Christianity constantly hammers home the idea that we are all fundamentally terrible people who must continually beg for forgiveness.

This rigid dogma can have devastating real-world consequences. I know of someone’s mother who was once told by her priest that she would ‘go to Hell’ if she did not carry her baby to term, even though medical doctors had explicitly warned her that an underlying heart condition meant giving birth would most likely kill her. It is this kind of militant, merciless application of theology that pushes me away.

I want to believe in a benevolent creator. I want to believe there is another existence after this one ends. But this endless litany of character flaws that religion brings up feels like some sort of impossible checklist designed to beat the individual down until they only see the negatives in themselves—negatives that, conveniently, only adherence to strict doctrines will solve.

When Lewis talks about temptation, it brings to mind the experience of trying to give up smoking, something I have attempted many times. You begin with the best of intentions, but as time passes, the craving grows, and it becomes progressively harder. It is only in the depths of that resistance that the real test begins, just as Lewis describes fighting against the wind rather than lying down. I understand, or at least I hope, that Lewis is speaking in broader terms about our weakness in the face of the tests life throws at us, rather than handing us another stick with which to beat ourselves.

It saddens me that faith and belief, which ought to be a source of quiet joy and comfort, are so often twisted into an oppressive checklist. I recognise I am not perfect. Frankly, I don’t want to be perfect.

Historical Footnote (19th September)

• 1914: Lewis (age fifteen) is sent to William T. Kirkpatrick at Great Bookham, Surrey, to be tutored by him until March 1917. Kirkpatrick becomes the most influential teacher in Lewis's education.

• 1955: Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life is published by Geoffrey Bles, London.

Day 58: Faith in Training, Changing Moods, and Preventing the Drift (18th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: Managing our changing moods, faith as a daily habit, and how people drift away.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity ("Faith in Training")

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt is wonderfully straightforward, and for once, I find myself in complete agreement with Lewis without any need to lock horns. In fact, he accurately and perfectly describes exactly the type of Christian I am.

Yesterday, I wrote about my faith being quiet, fragile, and reliant on reason rather than fiery, unshakeable passion. Lewis captures this reality perfectly today by defining faith simply as the art of holding onto things your reason has already accepted, in spite of your changing moods. It is incredibly validating to hear one of the greatest theological minds admit that, even as a committed Christian, he had days where the whole thing looked very improbable. We are not failing when our moods rebel; we are just being human.

The danger, as Lewis astutely points out, is not usually being defeated by a brilliant, logical argument against Christianity. It is simply drifting away. It is allowing our core beliefs to become dependent on the weather, the state of our digestion, or whatever mood we happen to wake up in. If we do not train our faith, we become "dithering creatures."

His solution is entirely practical: we must deliberately hold these doctrines before our mind every single day. As I read his instruction that belief must be continually fed through daily reading and reflection, it suddenly struck me that this very blog—sitting down to read, dissect, and write about these texts every single morning—is exactly the kind of daily 'training' he is advocating. Belief does not automatically remain alive; it requires the discipline of showing up, even on the days when the mood simply isn't there.

Historical Footnote (18th September)

• 1908: Lewis (age nine) is enrolled at Wynyard School, Watford, England.

• 1913: Lewis (age fourteen) is enrolled at Malvern College with a scholarship.

Day 57: "I Want to Believe", Anaesthetics, and a Fragile Faith (17th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: Faith by reason, the battle against emotion and imagination, and the analogy of anaesthetics.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity ("When Worlds Collide")

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt looks at a concept which was the initial attraction of Lewis’s writings for me: the concept of ‘Faith by Reason’.

As a child, Religious Education was a weekly lesson, along with daily prayers and hymns at morning assembly. I was also part of the school choir, and I spent many of my happiest school days attending church services, reading lessons to the congregation, and celebrating special services like Easter and Christmas. However, as a child, Christianity seemed akin to a fairy story. You had a feeling that it might be true, or it might not. Much like Mulder from The X-Files, "I wanted to believe."

This started a lifetime struggle as I oscillated between belief and non-belief. It was not until my mid-thirties, when I started reading Lewis’s non-fiction—such as The Great Divorce, The Problem of Pain, and Mere Christianity—that my eyes were opened to Christianity in a way no lessons at school ever achieved.

Even now, I still consider myself what some might call a "lukewarm Christian." I do not possess the fiery, passionate, unshakeable faith I have witnessed in others. Mine is quiet, fragile, and constantly tested.

This fragility perfectly echoes Lewis’s brilliant analogy of the anaesthetic. My reason can be perfectly convinced of a truth, just as a patient knows the surgeon is trained and the mask is safe. Yet, when the mask comes down—or when life presents a terrifying or challenging moment—the childish panic and doubt set in. It is not reason taking away the faith; it is simply emotion and imagination running wild.

In my youth, if an idea or view did not perfectly match my own, that panic would make me reject it instantly. Now, understanding this battle between reason and emotion, I feel much more confident. I can listen to differing and opposing ideas with much more compassion. Instead of reacting with immediate emotional defence, I allow myself the space to let these ideas ferment in my mind, coming to decisions from a much cooler, reasoned viewpoint.

Day 56: The Lost Meaning of Temperance, Jolly Drinkers, and Preferring Dogs (16th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The true definition of temperance, abstention versus moderation, and intemperance in everyday hobbies.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt examines the concept of temperance. Writing from a 2026 perspective, this word seems to have fallen completely out of fashion. It immediately brings to mind images of stern Victorian groups from the Temperance movement, solely focused on the total abstention from alcohol.

I grew up on licensed premises as a child, so I know first-hand how alcohol can affect people. From a child’s perspective, I just assumed I was surrounded by very jolly people. I never actually saw anything which I would consider negative, and I strongly suspect that people simply had a different relationship to alcohol in those times.

There always seems to be a long list of things that Christianity prohibits; in fact, most religions hold attitudes which are often at odds with those from a secular background. However, today Lewis brilliantly expands the concept of temperance far beyond the doors of the local pub. He broadens it to include everyday ‘vices’, such as a man's obsession with a motor-bicycle, or a woman who loves clothes, bridge, or her dog too much.

All these examples seem firmly grounded in the gender stereotypes of his era—that is not a criticism, merely an observation of the time he was writing in. But his underlying point is incredibly sharp: just because an obsession does not make you fall down in the middle of the road does not mean it is healthy. Although, regarding his final example of loving a pet too much, I must confess that I personally find canine companionship preferable to that of a human on most occasions!

Historical Footnote (16th September)

• 1954: English Literature in the Sixteenth Century Excluding Drama is published by Clarendon Press, Oxford.

Day 55: Perfection-Fatigue, Charity Scams, and Being Wise as Serpents (15th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: Prudence as a virtue, investigating charity, and maintaining a grown-up's head alongside a child's heart.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt, if I am entirely honest, creates a sense of ‘perfection-fatigue’ in me. Lewis lists ways of being which require continual evaluation and improvement. It sometimes feels as though we are not permitted to simply live as who we are—trying to quietly provide for our families, care for ourselves, and support others—without constantly scrutinising every single motive and action. Of course, we should all strive to improve ourselves; it is natural to want to see our lives moving in a positive direction. But at what mental cost, if every one of Lewis’s strict directives must be constantly adopted?

However, on the specific subject of charity and prudence, Lewis and I find ourselves on the exact same page. He rightly points out that giving to a cause does not excuse us from investigating its validity. When Lewis wrote this, he could never have conceived of platforms like GoFundMe or JustGiving, nor the sheer plethora of online charity appeals we face today. I recently watched a deeply disturbing documentary where a parent deliberately manufactured their child’s illness in order to fraudulently obtain large sums in donations. The money was spent on unnecessary frivolities, all at great physical harm to the child. Lewis could never have imagined the depths to which some people would sink to fool the public into handing over their money.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the constant appeals for money between television programmes can be overwhelming. Because of this, I keep one single charity dear to my heart: The Salvation Army. I support them not just for their vital work in addressing the plight of homelessness in the UK, but for deeply personal reasons. They were instrumental in helping me find and contact my father’s family, which ultimately led to a rich and deeply loving relationship between myself and my late step-mother.

My situation is not unique, and because of their transparency, I feel entirely confident that my donation is going toward helping others in similar crises. My pragmatic advice would be to always give to charity, provided you can genuinely afford it, and only when you are confident they are legitimate (always check with the UK Charity Commission).

I think this approach perfectly fits the biblical concept Lewis highlights today: we should be as harmless as doves, but as wise as serpents.

Historical Footnote (15th September)

• 1952: The Voyage of the "Dawn Treader" (the third volume written in The Chronicles of Narnia) is published by Geoffrey Bles, London.

Day 54: Scrambled Egg Logic, Portia’s Rain, and Taking Kindness at Face Value (14th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The elevation of mercy, the danger of superficial kindness, and the exhausting scrutiny of our motivations.
• Source Material: The Problem of Pain

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt delves into the concept of mercy and how Lewis feels it ‘trumps’ all other virtues. He also seems to strongly object to the word ‘Humanitarianism’, deeming it a covert form of cruelty.

I must confess, I often find myself at odds with Lewis on his language and his relentless need to dissect human behaviour. As far as I am concerned, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck... then it is a duck. People’s kindness should be taken at face value. Actions speak louder than words, and this has always been my primary yardstick when evaluating people’s motivations.

This continual scrutinisation of one’s underlying motives is utterly exhausting. Honestly, it feels like a "Screwtapian" device designed to make us constantly doubt our own goodness. Whenever I dive into philosophy, I hope to find clear answers from those deemed to be wise, but reading Lewis in his dense academic mode often leaves me feeling as though I should be relegated to a remedial class!

Lewis warns that we shouldn't pat ourselves on the back just because we "wouldn't hurt a fly" while sitting comfortably. He insists that true kindness requires a tangible "sacrifice." But to summarise my own scrambled egg logic, I find myself disagreeing with his insistence that mercy must always be costly or painful.

Instead, I am reminded of Portia’s brilliant speech from Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, where she implores Shylock: “The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.” She makes my point exactly. You cannot forcefully strain or manufacture true mercy. It should flow naturally. While Lewis argues for sacrifice, Portia reminds us that sometimes kindness is just a natural, unforced grace. I firmly believe that we do not need to constantly pick apart every kind act in an attempt to find ourselves wanting. Sometimes, gentle rain is just gentle rain.

Day 53: On Giving, Locking Horns with Lewis, and the Limits of Charity (13th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The obligation of charity, giving until it "pinches," and overcoming the fear of financial insecurity.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today feels like a lecture from Lewis rather than his usual gentle, convincing arguments. Perhaps it feels this way because the text hits home, and I feel that I am exactly the kind of person he is talking about.

Initially, Lewis discusses the idea of a utopian society where there is no poverty, noting that some argue we should work towards producing this society rather than focusing on current people in need. He rightly points out that we must do both; working toward a better society does not excuse us from giving in the meantime.

Where Lewis and I lock horns today is on the extent of that giving. Lewis encourages us to give so much that it actively impacts our own financial situation, stating the only safe rule is to "give more than we can spare," even to the point of "endangering your own position."

I find this an untenable situation. Just a few days ago, I mentioned the phenomenon of charity-fatigue and recalled the story of an elderly woman who gave so much to various appeals that she ended up bankrupt and in need of charity herself. The idea that one should spend more than one can afford seems frankly nonsensical. While driving yourself to the brink of ruin might be viewed by some as the height of philanthropy, I seriously doubt it is sustainable in the long term.

Personally, I maintain a regular monthly donation to a chosen cause, and I donate to other charitable causes as and when I am able. My philosophy is simple: give where you can, when you can, and ignore what other people think of you. Lewis seems to suggest that if our charity does not hamper our lifestyle, it is too small. But I cannot help feeling that sensible, sustainable giving over a lifetime achieves far more good than burning through your resources until you become the very person needing rescue.

Day 52: No Manufactured Feelings, Precarious Faith, and a Vicar's Comfort (12th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: Loving God as an act of the will, the danger of manufacturing devout emotions, and the absolute constancy of God's love.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s excerpt sees Lewis reminding us about love and faith, concepts that can often feel intensely abstract in the context of the Deity. Lewis highlights a particular struggle of mine relating to the commandment that one must love God. My own faith can be so precarious. When I am trying to live a Christian life and uphold those values, the weight of it all can feel completely overwhelming at times.

When these doubts arise and I struggle to find those "devout feelings" Lewis mentions, I am reminded of a story my late step-mother told me. When my father, David, passed away, she was visited by the local vicar to discuss the funeral service. She confessed to the vicar that she was deeply concerned about the service because David did not actually believe in God.

The vicar gently replied, “…while David may not have believed in God, God believed in him.”

I feel this beautiful sentiment has a direct parallel with what Lewis is saying today about our relationship with God. Whilst we as humans may struggle, doubt, and waver in our feelings, God does not. God is constant. I find this thought profoundly comforting in times of doubt. We do not need to sit around trying to artificially manufacture devout emotions.

There is a line in a song dealing with the fragility of human existence that echoes my feelings precisely: “We make it up as we go along.” We are all just doing our best, navigating precarious faith day by day. Lewis reassures us that this is entirely acceptable, because the foundation of our faith is not our fleeting emotions, but rather a Love that is never wearied by our indifference.

Day 51: Compound Interest, Small Acts, and When the World is 'Too Peopley' (11th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The "compound interest" of good and evil, small acts of kindness, and treating others with charity.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s passage was a wonderful surprise. It contained absolutely no intellectual jargon, complex philosophical concepts, or obscure references that left me scrambling for a dictionary. The entire passage made complete, immediate sense. It felt like I was back in the company of the C.S. Lewis I first came to know and appreciate.

Lewis writes about the "compound interest" of our daily choices. I strongly believe that small acts of kindness make a massive difference to people; we never truly know how they might impact someone's life. But Lewis also hits on a painful truth: it is infinitely harder to be ‘charitable’ to people you find difficult to like or understand. That is the real challenge.

I am currently in a situation where someone I thought was a friend has begun to exhibit behaviours with which I strongly disagree. This has inevitably led me to distance myself from them, creating a highly negative impression in my mind. I often sit and think that I need to rise above these feelings—to adopt a kinder, more charitable approach—but something stubborn inside me resists. I ask myself, 'Why should I, when they are so mean and horrible to me?'

While I have not made much progress in resolving this internal conflict, I do attempt to be ‘kinder’ toward them, holding onto the hope that the friendship might eventually return to what I once thought it was. Lewis’s assertion that good and evil increase at compound interest is a stark reminder that these little daily decisions matter. A small act of kindness today might just be the "capture of a strategic point" that Lewis describes, preventing a vicious circle of resentment.

Sometimes, I have to laugh when someone I know refuses to go out and interact with the wider world, describing it simply as being "too peopley." I can deeply relate to that attitude! But, as today's reading makes clear, navigating the messy, difficult business of interacting with others is just something we have to continuously work on in our daily lives.

Day 50: The Rule of Love, Natural Altruism, and the Shopkeeper's Dilemma (10th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: Acting as if we love, natural altruism versus spiritual duty, and the danger of seeking gratitude.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s passage discusses love in the context of one’s neighbours. I do not take Lewis literally when he uses the term ‘neighbour’ as meaning only those who happen to live right next door to us; I feel he simply means anyone we come into contact with during our daily lives.

Lewis suggests that if we act as if we love someone, we will eventually come to actually love them. While I appreciate the sentiment, I feel that most people I know are already naturally helpful and willing to support others when they can. Altruism is a natural state for many—it is what I consider to be a fundamental part of human nature. There are always exceptions to every rule, but it is rare that I meet people completely devoid of this characteristic. I genuinely cannot remember a time when I offered help to someone purely for selfish reasons, or calculated what benefit it could bring me, unless it was a strictly mutual arrangement.

Of course, there are always those ready to take advantage of human kindness. My local shopkeeper recently offered credit to a customer, who promptly ran up a £280 bill and then vanished without a trace. The shopkeeper told me they are now incredibly wary of offering credit to anyone else, and I feel they have very good reason to be. Our natural altruism can easily be bruised.

Yet, my default position is always to try and help where I can. I like feeling helpful; I think most of us do. No doubt Lewis would have something to say about that and my potentially misguided motivations. He warns today that doing a good turn just to show what a "fine forgiving chap you are," or waiting around for gratitude, will only lead to disappointment. Perhaps he would view my enjoyment of being helpful as a flaw. But to me, if the action is good and the person is helped, questioning the purity of the underlying emotional motivation feels like overcomplicating the simple, decent act of being human.

Historical Footnote (10th September)

• 1905: George MacDonald, the Scottish author whose writings greatly influenced Lewis, dies at age eighty.

• 1956: Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold is published by Geoffrey Bles, London.

Day 49: Charity-Fatigue, Global Guilt, and the True Meaning of Love (9th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The modern distortion of charity, charity-fatigue, and love as a state of the will.
• Source Material: Mere Christianity

My Reflection

Today’s passage discusses ‘Charity’, exploring its original meaning versus a Christian definition. The word elicits many different reactions. While some see it as a purely instinctual act of giving, I cannot help but notice that others use it as a way of feeling somewhat superior. I am reminded of J. B. Priestley’s play, An Inspector Calls, where Mrs Birling sits on a charitable board dispensing money to ‘fallen’ women. She uses her power through charity to condemn a young woman to a life of destitution, ultimately ending in the girl taking her own life. Mrs Birling has no regrets, openly admitting that she felt the girl was "not deserving."

When I watch television today, I am continually struck by the relentless barrage of appeals for money: the war in Ukraine, the Middle East, famine, the prevention of female circumcision in Africa, acts of cruelty to animals, drought-ridden countries, abused bears and donkeys—the list is endless. I well remember a press article a few years ago about an elderly woman who felt so desperately sorry for people that she subscribed to so many charities she ended up bankrupt.

I call this "charity-fatigue." The endless "global guilt" heaped upon us by the media leaves one feeling completely powerless. It forces us to choose who we help, because we simply cannot help everyone. I am also deeply irritated by the use of so-called "celebrities" who leverage their status to add weight to these campaigns.

To manage this, I made a personal choice to give to one charity, and only one. I give what I can afford as a monthly donation. I often feel that governments around the world could do so much more, but instead, they use the threat of world conflict as a reason to invest in the machinery of war rather than ending hunger and poverty. In the West, many of these issues do not directly affect our daily lives, and that detachment only compounds the sense of powerlessness.

The proverb "charity begins at home" remains highly relevant; within our own country, there are people in desperate need of support, such as the homeless, not to mention the never-ending stream of requests for medical research into cancer and Alzheimer's. I also think the mega-rich—figures like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk—could do so much more. Perhaps I am unaware of their actual philanthropic work, but spending millions upon millions to send rockets into space while people on Earth die unnecessarily speaks volumes.

Lewis’s definition actually cuts through a lot of this modern noise. He says that charity is not merely "alms" or an emotion; it is a "state of the will." If charity is a deliberate state of the will rather than a fleeting emotional reaction to a television advert, then my decision to quietly and consistently support one single cause is perhaps closer to Lewis's definition of Christian love than bankrupting oneself out of global guilt.

Historical Footnote (9th September)

• 1960: Studies in Words is published by Cambridge University Press.

Day 48: Learning as a Weapon: Escaping Group-Think and Judgement (8th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The purpose of education, the necessity of history, and combating the "nonsense" of the present age.
• Source Material:  "Learning in War-Time" (The Weight of Glory)

My Reflection

Today’s passage discusses learning and its power to combat ignorance, yet once again, Lewis’s opening sentence initially utterly confounded me. His assertion that "if all the world were Christian, it might not matter if all the world were uneducated" felt deeply concerning. I have always felt that faith is a matter of personal choice, and someone who is not a Christian may still be highly educated; one certainly does not trump the other.

In his opening paragraph, Lewis constructs arguments that feel unnecessarily complex and militant. What initially drew me to his writings was his accessibility, but today’s text relies on terms like "good" and "bad" philosophy, and "muddy heathen mysticisms." It left me feeling that he was writing from a rigid position of judgement—an attitude that feels fundamentally at odds with a Christian stance of grace.

However, stepping back to look at when this was written changes the entire complexion of the passage. Lewis preached this in the autumn of 1939 to Oxford undergraduates who were questioning whether their university degrees even mattered while Europe plunged into World War II. When he speaks of "muddy heathen mysticisms which deny intellect altogether," he isn't just throwing out a general judgment; he is directly attacking the irrational, anti-intellectual ideology of Nazi Germany. He is telling these guilty students that education is not a luxury—it is their intellectual armour against fascism.

With that context, the second half of the passage resonates deeply with me. As the old saying goes, "those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it." We absolutely must learn from our mistakes. While societal attitudes rightfully change—typically driven by the young, whose natural approach is to reject the past in order to bring about more inclusive ways of living—we still need an intimate knowledge of history to measure that progress.

I completely agree with his closing sentiment. Travel, whether physical or through the broad study of history, stretches the mind. It helps us understand that there are other ways of living, shielding us from the Orwellian "group-think" relentlessly promoted by the government and the media. As Lewis brilliantly points out, the scholar who has lived in many times is wonderfully immune to the "great cataract of nonsense that pours from the press and the microphone of his own age."

Historical Footnote (8th September)

• 1947: Lewis appears on the cover of Time magazine, with the caption "Oxford's C. S. Lewis, His Heresy: Christianity."

• 1958: Reflections on the Psalms is published by Geoffrey Bles, London.

Day 47: Word Salad, Frustration, and Learning as a Vocation (7th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: Frustration with dense texts, learning for its own sake, and intellectual honesty.
• Source Material:  "Learning in War-Time" (The Weight of Glory)

My Reflection

When I began this project to spend a year with C.S. Lewis, I was full of confidence. I genuinely felt a deep connection between myself and his philosophies, believing his writings spoke to me in a way no other author did.

Today’s passage, however, elicited feelings of total incomprehension. It felt like an absolute ‘word salad’. I found it highly ironic that a passage discussing the concept of learning was the very thing that made me feel so uneducated. I have no problem looking up new words—the Oxford English Dictionary has always been my reliable ‘go-to’—but today, the OED was of little help. I re-read the passage over and over, hoping for some revelatory insight, but to no avail. Previously, I noted that Lewis often leaves me with more questions than answers; today, he left me with neither, which I found incredibly frustrating.

I fell at the very first hurdle. Lewis writes that a man's upbringing and talents are a "tolerable index of his vocation." Having stepped back and wrestled with it, I now see he simply means a reasonable indicator. If you have a talent or a passion for learning, that is a reasonable sign that learning is exactly what you are meant to be doing with your life.

Then came the Francis Bacon quote about offering "the author of truth the unclean sacrifice of a lie." This was completely lost on me at first glance. What Lewis is actually arguing here is surprisingly profound: if you are pursuing knowledge, you must be honest. If you twist your research, your art, or your learning to artificially force a "holy" or religious conclusion, you are lying. You are offering God (the author of truth) a lie, which is an "unclean sacrifice."

I am deeply passionate about learning. It is something I undertake every single day, whether technical, philosophical, or creative. Once the fog of Lewis's archaic academic language lifted, I realised that he is actually validating this exact passion. He is saying we do not need to make our intellectual pursuits overtly religious to give them value. We can pursue knowledge and beauty simply for their own sake, and God makes no appetite in vain.

Historical Footnote (7th September)

1953: The Silver Chair (the fourth book written in The Chronicles of Narnia) is published by Geoffrey Bles, London.

Day 46: The Simple Life, the Infinite Claim, and the Paradox of Faith (6th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The paradox of God's infinite claim and the continuation of ordinary, natural human life.
• Source Material:  "Learning in War-Time" (The Weight of Glory)

My Reflection

Today, Lewis continues to confound me. The opening sentences of today’s passage seem to directly contradict each other. Lewis speaks in absolute terms, stating that one’s religion must occupy the whole of one’s life, leaving no room for a "middle way" between the claims of God and the claims of culture.

I find this kind of theological absolute extremely exhausting and restrictive. It immediately makes me question my own validity. If faith must occupy the whole of my life, does being a Christian mean I need to be in a state of constant, conscious prayer? Must I be continually, verbally offering every single action to God? Under the microscope of Lewis’s relentless academic intensity, I sometimes wonder if I have any faith at all. I am a simple man, living a simple life, doing simple things, bothering no-one. What kind of Christian does that make me?

Lewis leaves me with a profound sense of inadequacy until he introduces the solution to his own paradox. He points out that Christianity does not exclude ordinary human activities. Christ went to wedding parties; St. Paul told people to simply get on with their daily jobs; and under the Christian banner, the arts and learning flourish.

Lewis is not demanding that we replace our natural lives with a rigidly "holy" one. When we are simply going about a quiet day, working a standard job, or enjoying a meal with friends, we do not need to be actively reciting prayers. The faith is not in the constant thinking about God; it is the foundation underneath the activity. The act of living a quiet, decent life becomes the offering itself.

As Lewis concludes:

"Christianity does not simply replace our natural life and substitute a new one; it is rather a new organisation which exploits, to its own supernatural ends, these natural materials."

My simple life is the natural material. I do not need to overcomplicate it.

Historical Footnote (6th September)

• 1954: The Horse and His Boy (the fifth book written in The Chronicles of Narnia) is published by Geoffrey Bles, London.

Day 45: Rendering to Caesar: The Danger of Blind Duty and the White Feather (5th September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The limits of political obligation, the analogy of the drowning man, and refusing total allegiance to the state.
• Source Material:  "Learning in War-Time" (The Weight of Glory)

My Reflection

Today, Lewis and I lock horns. His views on war, duty, and obligation come from a very particular era, and reading them today makes me deeply uncomfortable. As someone who profoundly distrusts the machinery of war, reading Lewis invoke terms like "religious duty" to justify participating in a conflict instantly raises red flags.

It always seems to me that it is old men who send young men off to die. I strongly believe that many wars are orchestrated by unseen powers to keep the global population in a continual state of fear and anxiety, staggering from one crisis to the next. Lewis uses the analogy of rescuing a drowning man to explain duty, but to me, this falls flat. There is a vast moral difference between plunging into the sea to save a life on the English coast and taking up arms to actively end someone else's.

When people start attaching military duty to religious conviction, it morphs into a "holy war"—a terrifying concept we are currently battling on a global scale, where extremists feel justified in taking lives for their own beliefs. Reading this, I suspect that in an earlier time, my refusal to blindly accept this rhetoric would undoubtedly have earned me a white feather of cowardice.

Yet, despite my visceral reaction to his premise, Lewis arrives at a conclusion I actually agree with. He warns that while a man may be called to die for his country, "no man must, in any exclusive sense, live for his country."

Lewis is issuing a stark warning against extreme nationalism and totalitarianism. He is arguing that if you surrender your entire identity, intellect, and soul to a nation, a political party, or a war effort, you are rendering unto Caesar what belongs to God. In an age where governments and leaders use guilt, fear, and rhetoric to treat people as disposable assets, it takes immense courage to retain your own conscience. We must never allow a political cause to consume our humanity.

Day 44: The Senselessness of Conflict and the Continuation of Life (4th September)

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The reality of active service, the continuation of human life, and the illusions of war and religion.
• Source Material:  "Learning in War-Time" (The Weight of Glory)

My Reflection

I have very little to say about today’s passage itself, except that the very idea of fighting in a war terrifies me. There is simply no way I could hold a weapon, aim it at another human being, and hope to kill them. I know that countless young men in the past, forced by conscription, have faced this exact, horrifying dilemma.

An ancestor of mine was killed at the age of twenty-one in the Boer War. His body still lies somewhere in South Africa. All I have left of him is a faded photograph and a name. It all seems so utterly senseless. I cannot imagine how someone of the Christian faith can easily reconcile this idea of ‘justified’ murder. It reminds me of my school history lessons where we were taught about the Crusades—their grand justifications and bloody outcomes—all of which now seem so tragically pointless. Looking at the world today, even though our current conflicts are not explicitly called crusades, history is inevitably repeating itself. The bloodshed continues for reasons which, on the surface, seem different, but in reality, are driven by the exact same impulses.

Lewis, writing from his own brutal experience in the trenches of the First World War, strips away the romanticism of combat. He notes that the civilian’s idea of active service is a fantasy. On the front line, the grand narrative of the 'allied cause' fades away, and ordinary human life stubborn continues. Soldiers still read, still think rationally or irrationally, and still seek out aesthetic or sensual satisfactions.

Neither conversion to a faith nor enlistment in an army obliterates our basic humanity. But for me, that realisation makes the reality of war even more stark. To know that the young men in the trenches—or those fighting today—are still just ordinary people trying to read a book or hold onto their minds makes the machinery of war feel all the more devastating.

Day 43: Life on the Precipice: Creating Beauty in a World of Conflict (3rd September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The illusion of "normal life," human resilience, and the drive to create during times of crisis.
• Source Material:  "Learning in War-Time" (The Weight of Glory)

My Reflection

Today’s passage explores human nature in the light of conflict. Lewis argues that there has never been a time of absolute peace, and if we had waited for perfect security in order to create, we would never have done so. The ideal of global peace often seems unobtainable—something of a fool’s errand.

While I am not educated enough to immediately grasp all of his historical references, exploring them reveals exactly what he means. When he mentions "Periclean Athens," he is referring to the fact that while Athens was fighting the devastating Peloponnesian War, they were simultaneously building the Parthenon. When he mentions soldiers who "comb their hair at Thermopylae," he is pointing to the 300 Spartans who, facing certain annihilation by a massive Persian army, calmly sat and combed their hair as a cultural ritual of dignity before the battle. Lewis is arguing that people have always found the space to hold onto their humanity, be it in the face of the scaffold or in a condemned cell.

To me, this reads as a profound response to our current state of global affairs. We constantly see different cultures focusing on their differences, grappling for resources, or violently spreading ideologies while eradicating any culture they disagree with. I was struck recently while watching a cleric talking about Sharia Law, a system which would see someone like me executed merely for being who I am.

It is a sobering thought. I thank the Heavens that I live in the West where attitudes are different. Human life has always been lived on the edge of a precipice, but I am deeply grateful to live in a society that allows me the safety to exist, to think, and to create, rather than simply survive.

Historical Footnote (3rd September)

• 1939: Britain and France declare war on Germany. (Lewis preached the sermon "Learning in War-Time" exactly in this context, addressing students who felt guilty for studying while Europe was plunging into war).

Day 42: "War Never Changes": Fear, the Present Moment, and the Enigma of Time (2nd September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The weaponisation of time, the perpetual state of war, and finding reality in the Present.
• Source Material: The Screwtape Letters

My Reflection

Today’s passage takes us back to the ever-confounding Screwtape Letters. I was immediately struck by the mention of 'The War'. Reading this from our 2026 perspective, I was deeply saddened by the realisation that we are still living in an era defined by conflict. From the tragedy in Ukraine and the Middle East to global terrorism and the ever-increasing scourge of knife crime on our own streets, the list seems endless.

It brought to mind a famous phrase used in the opening scenes of the Fallout video game series: "War… war never changes."

It is easy to feel like a deluded conspiracist for thinking this, but something deep inside me believes that 'the powers that be' actively enjoy keeping the global population in a permanent state of fear. We stagger from one conflict to another to the point where this heightened state of anxiety is now simply the norm. As you read Screwtape’s tactics, the endless loss of human life and the misery inflicted seem to play directly into the hands of him and his minions.

Lewis’s writing in this particular book can often be difficult to decipher, and today’s final paragraph is nothing short of an enigma. Yet, when viewed alongside this modern state of perpetual fear, it actually starts to make profound sense.

Lewis is arguing that God wants us anchored entirely in the Present. Why? Because the Present is the only place where we actually exist. It is the only point in time where we have freedom, where we can take action, bear a burden, or give thanks.

Screwtape’s strategy is to drag our minds away from the Present. By keeping the population locked in "tortured fear" about the future—worrying about the next war, the next crisis, or the next global disaster—the devils successfully paralyse us. If we are constantly terrified of a tomorrow we cannot control, we become completely useless in the reality of today. Your feeling that we are being deliberately kept in a state of fear is not deluded; according to Lewis, it is exactly how the enemy operates.

Historical Footnote (2nd September)

• 1939: The first children evacuated from war-time London arrive at The Kilns.

• 1973: J. R. R. Tolkien, Lewis's lifelong friend, colleague, and fellow Inkling, dies at age eighty-one.

Day 41: No Exceptions: The Frustration of Dogma and the Ninety-Nine Per Cent (1st September)

 

The Reading Today

• Daily Theme: The absolute demand for forgiveness, the "inexcusable," and daily provocations
• Source Material: "On Forgiveness" (The Weight of Glory)

My Reflection

Not a great start to the new month. When I read today’s excerpt, my immediate thought was, “Oh no, Jack, here we go again. Not more of the same…” I am genuinely beginning to feel a rift developing between myself and my hero, Mr. Lewis.

His use of the word "inexcusable" intrigues me, primarily because I wonder how he arrives at his definition and how he compares the inexcusable in one person to that of another. When Lewis speaks of ignoring the "ninety-nine per cent" of apparent guilt that can be explained away, it felt deeply uncomfortable. To use a modern phrase, I felt triggered. It instantly reminded me of my own mother, for whom ninety-nine per cent was always considered a failure.

Then there are his examples of daily provocations: "the bossy mother-in-law, the bullying husband, the nagging wife, the selfish daughter, the deceitful son." I actually laughed out loud. They fall into such stereotyped categories that I wonder if it was a deliberate rhetorical choice on his part, or simply a product of his time.

But my deeper issue with today’s passage is this dogmatic approach to the human experience, which aggressively flattens everyone into the exact same category of "sinners in need of redemption." I completely agree that we all need forgiveness at times. However, to suggest that a person who has committed murder falls into the exact same moral category as someone who stole a loaf of bread because they were starving feels soulless and deeply misguided.

Perhaps I simply got out of bed on the wrong side today, but I feel that if Jack and I were in the same room right now, we would be having a rather heated discussion. Today’s passage left me deeply confused and a little annoyed. Let’s hope tomorrow’s reading offers something different.

Historical Footnote (1st September)

• September 1910: Lewis (age eleven) is enrolled at Campbell College, Belfast, for a period of four months.

• September 1913: Warren begins private studies with his father's former teacher, William T. Kirkpatrick, in Great Bookham, Surrey.