In the example, the authors of the textbook imply that there are no sublime things in the world, only feelings of sublimity within us. The first, "Men Without Chests," begins with an example taken from a grade school grammar textbook.
Most people I know want absolutely nothing to do with Christianity, to the extent that, for example, a friend of mine told me that despite my fervent recommendation, he refused to listen to anything by Leonard Cohen because he "heard he sang about religion." Though this particular book is not about Christianity, if you are of the camp that really doesn't want to hear the first word from someone who is religious, you may find this book annoying.
With gentle, honest, understanding hands he wraps his palms around the neck of that worldview and proceeds to strangle it until it is dead, dead, dead. He takes hold of the worldview that led you to him. He welcomes you into a warm place, like visiting your grandparents at Christmas when you were eight years old. Lewis invites the mind into a conversation, using humor, commonplace observations, and logic. The lifeline of depression, the fuel from which it draws all of its power, is the mind's misguided belief that it is able to encompass the complete truth about past, present, and future. His genius, and the reason he's always been a comfort to me, lies in his ability to convince me that the world as it appears to be, the world that seems so oppressive, is not the whole story. His books are short, readable, and filled with an uncanny amount of wisdom. When, as occasionally happens, time drags on and things don't get any better, I put the bourbon away and take out C. When things get bad, I take out the bourbon.
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