Reading The Screwtape Letters Is Exhausting

A Book Review / Decent into Madness

Reading The Screwtape Letters is honestly just fucking exhausting. How can such a short book be such an endurance test? “So you want to be a good Christian,” asks Lewis. “Well, you can’t merely act like a good Christian or you’ll mistake doing good deeds for truly loving God! But don’t think being a Christian is just symbolic: you have to do good deeds! But also know in your heart you love God, regardless of your actions! But don’t think it’s all heart: Christianity is of the mind as well. But not too much mind! But not too much heart! And once you get it all exactly right, watch out, that’s hubris! But don’t feel too much shame at the hubris because that’s an excuse to retreat from God into self-hatred! But the hubris is bad too! Get the exact perfect mix of hubris and shame right! But don’t spend too much time thinking about getting it right: you should be thinking of God during that time! But don’t think just thinking of God is the same as being a Christian! Have we talked about actions yet? Have we? HAVE WE?”

I loved this book when I was a kid. I guess I’m more cynical now. I know I’m more cynical now. I want to say, “Just tell me what to do, Clive,” but all I can hear is his reply: “WELL IF I SIMPLY TELL YOU WHAT TO DO THAT MEANS YOU WOULDN’T REALLY BE—”

Christ. Can’t I just have a desire and act in a way that fulfills my desire without poisoning my soul? Nope. Here comes C. S. fucking Lewis, “WELL SORRY OLD CHAP BUT YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT THAT WAS A DEVIL LEADING YOU AROUND THE WHOLE TIME BECAUSE—”

Hey! Maybe C. S. Lewis is an agent of Satan! That could be it! Maybe what God really wanted was for me to figure that out! Maybe! Maybe! Maybe! WHO FUCKING KNOWS? Well, I’m exhausted. I hate this. I hate existing. I wish nothing existed instead of something. If God is responsible for something existing instead of nothing then I hate God. “Oh ho ho, ah, hee hee hee,” laughs Screwtape, “NOW WE’VE GOT HIM!”

I get it. I get that it’s me who’s broken. That Lewis’s advice is good and wholesome and true. I am very, very sad about the fact that I’m too rotten to take it. Too many years of depression. Too many steps down the wrong path. Too late for me. But thanks, thanks—thanks for the endless, miserable, neurotic second-guessing. And here comes Lewis: “SECOND-GUESSING?! BUT THAT JUST MEANS YOU’RE LOOKING TOO FAR INWARD INSTEAD OF—” No, actually, the opposite. God, every fucking thought is just—I don’t know. Never fucking mind.