The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses

Lewis raises two questions: whether serving in war is morally bad, morally indifferent, or morally obligatory, and, more generally, how to decide what is good or evil.

The usual answer to the second question is that one decides based on one’s conscience. However, Lewis posits that conscience is persuadable and, as such, is not a separate faculty but rather the whole person engaged in a moral question. Further, conscience can be understood in two senses: either as an inner voice telling the individual to do what is right or as the specific judgment about the content of right and wrong. Conscience in the first sense “is always to be followed” (65), but conscience in the second sense can be mistaken.

There is a parallel between conscience and reason, which consists of the act of judging between truth and falsehood. The act of reason begins with the reception of facts, which may come from either experience or authority. Once the facts are understood, reason performs a “simple act” of perception, known as intuition. Third, reason arranges various facts to yield a series of such intuitions. Rational intuition cannot be produced by argument or persuasion; either one has it, or one doesn’t. Thus, “Proof rests upon the unprovable which has to be just ‘seen’” (67).

Conscience functions in a way directly analogous to reason, consisting of facts, intuition, and reasoning. The main difference between the two is that while reason’s intuitions may be corrupted by passions, the intuitions of conscience are almost certain to be so corrupted. This is because conscience deals with matters that pertain to the individual personally, involving emotions and the will. For this reason, authority is even more important in checking the activity of conscience, and moral training for the conscience must begin as early as possible, before the age of reason. 

Lewis then turns to the morality of pacifism. He begins by ruling out one possible argument in favor of pacifism: a supposed intuition that “all killing of human beings is in all circumstances an absolute evil” (71). Although this principle might be arrived at by reasoning or authority, it cannot be a basic moral intuition because it is not self-evident, as evidenced by the fact that people debate it.

The case for pacifism begins with the (universally agreed upon) fact that “war is very disagreeable” (72). Pacifists would argue further that “wars always do more harm than good” (73). However, this proposition is not a historical fact; history holds examples of useful wars as well as of useless wars. Lewis then considers candidates for an intuition supporting pacifism. He considers two propositions: first, that violence to an individual is lawful only if it stops short of killing, and second, that killing of individuals is lawful but that the mass killing of war is not.

While conceding that reducing violence is always a good thing, Lewis rejects the idea that killing is always wrong; in some cases, it may be “the only efficient method of restraint” (76). As to the second proposition, Lewis rejects the notion that war is categorically worse than other evils because it implies a “materialist ethic” in which “death and pain are the greatest evils” (77)—a view with which Lewis disagrees. A greater evil, in Lewis’s view, would be the suppression of a “higher” civilization or religion by a “lower” one. Lewis does not see any “cogent arguments” that war is so great an evil that submission to a conquering country is preferable.

Next, Lewis considers the plan of some pacifists to end war by increasing the number of pacifists. Lewis concludes that this would be counterproductive, as pacifist countries would be swallowed up by non-pacifist ones. More broadly, Lewis rejects panaceas for human ills as unrealistic; instead, humans should concentrate on working “quietly away at limited objectives” (79).

Finally, Lewis considers arguments for pacifism from authority, which he divides into special or general and human or divine. The immediate secular authority for Lewis is the society to which he belongs (England), and this society has decided against pacifism by declaring war. In addition, the moral and cultural tradition of England, and of civilization more broadly, is and has been against pacifism and in favor of “righteous war.” Lewis concedes that some give little weight to historical human authority, but Lewis finds this attitude rooted in a (for him false) doctrine of linear progress.

Next, Lewis considers divine authority, namely Christianity. Lewis finds that the Christian theological tradition permits participation in war. A Christian case for pacifism, therefore, must rest in Christ’s own utterances. Examining Jesus’s statements in the gospels, Lewis finds that the injunction to turn the other cheek refers not to war but to smaller-scale conflicts in everyday life. Further, scriptural persons such as John the Baptist and St. Paul assume military participation as a matter of course. Any other interpretation, Lewis argues, is tantamount to a self-projecting revisionism.

Finally, Lewis examines whether pacifism might show the “secret influence of any passion” (88). The fact is that war “threatens every temporal evil” (89), whereas pacifism threatens “almost nothing” aside from some “public opprobrium.” Pacifism even offers advantages in the continuance of a comfortable life and easy availability of work. Lewis sums up his case of why he is not a pacifist: Although it may after all be the case that pacifism is right, he finds it unlikely, given that tradition, authority, and logical argument are against it, and given that personal wishes are likely to influence the decision in favor of it.