In his 1940 essay The Dangers of National Repentance, C.S. Lewis took aim not at the notion of repentance itself, but at a creeping distortion of it: what he calls “national repentance.” The concept is somewhat reminiscent of Australia’s “National Sorry Day,” an annual occasion for White Australians to reflect on how poorly their White ancestors supposedly treated the Indigenous people.
Originally published in The Guardian and later collected in volumes such as Undeceptions and Christian Reunion, the essay offers a poignant warning to Christians, particularly the young and idealistic, about the self-deceptions lurking behind these sorts of calls to repent collectively for a nation’s supposed inherited sins.
At first glance, Lewis admits, national repentance can appear noble. In the minds of many, it stands in contrast to the “self-righteous nationalism” so often blamed for war. In 1940, many young Christian intellectuals in England were eager to claim responsibility for the nation’s role in the growing global conflict. They seemed willing to share in the guilt of policies and decisions made long before they were of age, or even alive. Lewis, however, challenges this feigned humility as not only misguided, but dangerous.
He argues that “England” is not a moral agent but a civil society—its actions are those of its government. As such, when a young man repents for “England’s sins,” he is not confessing his own failures, but condemning others, often his political opponents or elders. The language of “we” used in this context, Lewis warns, masks a subtle evasion. By calling the government “we,” and not “they,” young Christians give themselves license to criticise others and their leaders uncharitably, all while cloaked in the virtuous garb of repentance and humble confession. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
The deeper danger, Lewis says, lies in this displacement of true personal repentance. It’s easier, more palatable, to condemn the sins of one’s country—or more accurately, one’s neighbours—than to grapple with one’s own flaws. Even worse, the supposed humility of national repentance often hides a self-righteous spirit. It becomes a way of enjoying moral superiority, of indulging in scorn toward those with whom one disagrees politically or culturally, especially figures who Lewis suspects might often resemble the penitent’s own father. It is, as Lewis has dubbed it elsewhere, a form of “Chronological Snobbery.”
True repentance, Lewis insists, is costly and uncomfortable. It demands we scrutinise our own hearts, not simply displace blame onto the faceless collective. The sins young Christians should be confronting, he suggests, are not foreign policy failures, but their own failings and the failings of their own generation.
Lewis ends his essay with an apt note to the Church. Yes, the Church has a duty to call for national repentance—but only from those who approach the task with reluctance and integrity. The one who criticises their mother for the sake of Christ may be righteous—if it is done with love, struggle, and sorrow. But if they enjoy rebuking her, then something darker is at work.
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