“I doubt whether we are sufficiently attentive to the importance of elementary text-books,” begins one of my favorite books by C. S. Lewis. As an English teacher, I am conscious of the importance of the books I and my students read, and this awareness leads me to re-read The Abolition of Man every few years.

The title of this short classic, published in 1947, might lead the prospective reader to think Lewis is writing another of his science fiction works or perhaps a prediction of the doom of mankind by nuclear war. Instead, he is writing a warning that educators can subtly—or not so subtly—remove their students’ seat of emotion or heart, destroying their ability to value what is good and true and to detest that which is bad and evil. Leaders who reject traditional values seek to numb or destroy the heart and create a generation of “men without chests” who are not truly men (human) at all. If they succeed, they will achieve the abolition of man.

Lewis begins by discussing an English textbook that criticizes a tourist viewing a waterfall for saying that it is sublime. The textbook writers instruct their young readers that although the tourist “appeared to be making a remark about the waterfall,” he was actually making “a remark about his own feelings” (14). At first sight, this might not seem to be a critical distinction. In fact, I might tend to agree with the textbook writers. But as Lewis continues his critique, it is clear that such thinking can destroy mankind.

The truth is that the waterfall is sublime. Intrinsic to the waterfall is something that deserves an emotional reaction of sublime feelings. After explaining the truth about this particular waterfall, Lewis goes on to explore other universal values common to all cultures. Certain actions and experiences by their very nature arouse in us approval or disapproval. The starry sky produces a sense of awe and wonder. Showing respect for parents and elders just feels right. Murder by its very nature calls us to respond with condemnation. Child abuse naturally shocks and appalls us. It is the goal of educators to see that the young develop these appropriate reactions to the universe around them.

This, of course, is where Christian education excels. As Christians, we hold traditional values—in truth, the only values anyone can rationally live by, as Lewis goes on to explain. Christian educators may without embarrassment or reserve explain to their students the magnificence of mathematics, the splendor of science, and the poignancy of a poem, as well as the ugliness of sin in human history. Christian teachers actively work to instill in their students proper responses to our world. Christian teachers strive for the edification of man, not for his abolition.

Lewis, C. S. The Abolition of Man. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1970.

What do you say when someone dies? I have read the comments of many grieving people who have been hurt by tactless remarks from their “miserable comforters.” Fear of offending someone who is already hurting has often made me feel awkward and self-conscious. Sometimes it has stopped me from saying anything, perhaps making me look uncaring when, in fact, I feel deep concern for the other person. Other times, I wonder if perhaps my self-consciousness has caused me to say something unintentionally offensive.

For the past nine months I have been on the receiving end of condolences, and either I have remarkably unself-conscious, thoughtful, socially adept, and caring friends (a very likely possibility), or I have chosen to appreciate the fact that they care enough to express their concern and would never knowingly offend me. I cannot remember receiving a single hurtful comment.

I have been impressed that even strangers are quick to say the right thing when they learn of my loss. I have had to make many phone calls changing accounts to my name or taking care of my husband’s business affairs. Without exception, before conducting the business at hand, the person will say, “First of all, let me offer my condolences,” or “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss,” or some other expression of concern.

Frequently I receive phone calls for Ted from telemarketers—usually stereotyped as rude people, right? They, too, are so taken aback when I tell them Ted has died that they quickly offer their condolences and tell me they will update their records. They don’t even think to ask me if I would like to contribute to their worthy cause!

Today was an exception. I received a phone call from a cheery woman asking for Ted. Since she didn’t say “Theodore,” I thought she might be a personal acquaintance who was unaware he had passed away. I braced myself to tell her the news. “May I ask who is calling?” I said. She gave the name of her charity. I told her Ted had died last September. “Will you repeat that?” she asked. I repeated it. “Oh, no problem,” she replied. “I’ll update our records.”

No problem? I think not. But I console myself that one fewer telemarketer will be dialing my number.