Sunday, January 09, 2005
Wisdom I could've thought of...via C.S. Lewis
"what do they choose, these soul who go back (I have yet seen no other)? And how can they choose it?"
"Milton was right" says my Teacher, "The choise of every lost soul can be expressed in the words, 'better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.' There is always something they insist on keeping even at the price of misery. There is always something they prefer to joy- that is, to reality. You see it easily enough in a spoiled child that would sooner miss its play and its supper than say it was sorry and be friends. You call it the Sulks. But in adult life is has a hundred fine names- ...Self-Respect and Tragic Greatness and Proper Pride."
"Then is no one lost through the undignifed vices, Sir? Through mere sensuality?"
"Some are, no doubt. The sensualist, I'll allow you, begins by pursuing a real pleasrure, through a small one. His sin is the less. But teh time comes on when, though the pleasure becomes less and less and the cracing fiercer and fiercer, and the though he knows that joy can never come that way, yet he prefers to joy in the mere fondling of unappeasable ust and would not have it taken from him. He'd fight to the death to keep it. He'd like well to be able to scratch; but even when he can scratch no more he'd rather itch than not."
"Milton was right" says my Teacher, "The choise of every lost soul can be expressed in the words, 'better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.' There is always something they insist on keeping even at the price of misery. There is always something they prefer to joy- that is, to reality. You see it easily enough in a spoiled child that would sooner miss its play and its supper than say it was sorry and be friends. You call it the Sulks. But in adult life is has a hundred fine names- ...Self-Respect and Tragic Greatness and Proper Pride."
"Then is no one lost through the undignifed vices, Sir? Through mere sensuality?"
"Some are, no doubt. The sensualist, I'll allow you, begins by pursuing a real pleasrure, through a small one. His sin is the less. But teh time comes on when, though the pleasure becomes less and less and the cracing fiercer and fiercer, and the though he knows that joy can never come that way, yet he prefers to joy in the mere fondling of unappeasable ust and would not have it taken from him. He'd fight to the death to keep it. He'd like well to be able to scratch; but even when he can scratch no more he'd rather itch than not."
