Your usual ramblings in defense of
your actions are growing tiresome, and I will not shield your every mistake
from the review of your superiors. Your concerns about his churchgoing and
“love” life remain unchanged, and if you’d only return to the instructions I
have already deigned to lay before you, you’d find an answer. My concern lies
in a passing comment that you seem to believe is insignificant--the patient’s
revival of interest in poetry.
Are you blind to the effects of this
turn? The serious study of poetry may be the nearest he ever comes to that
which the Enemy calls Truth (aside from the words of His own blasphemous book),
for poetry is not a mere outpouring of ideas cleverly phrased, as prose so
often is (with the help of our more competent tempters), but rather the nearest
point to which a writer’s pen touches the soul in a glimpse of divine Truth.
For poetry is one of the Enemy’s favorite tools in the adorning of Truth. It
teaches while it entertains. It leaves short, lasting impressions that, if left
to unfold naturally, could result in irreparable damage. Furthermore, verse is
the most perfect showcasing of the logic, wit, and intellect with which He has
endowed His creatures, so that even the most base and seemingly wretched of
poets cannot help but leave a trace of the Enemy.
No, what you must do is make the
patient study a poem not as an intimate piece of writing, but as an abstract
form of past art irrelevant to his present time. Let him dig for undiscovered
coals in the diamond mine--obscure interpretations that leave him to speculate
on fruitless thoughts. Let him compare the piece to his own cultural standards
and critique it for its lack of sensitivity and modern propriety. Never let his
mind slip to the notion that this couplet could possibly mean anything to him.
Moreover, if he must continue in his
love of verse, make him content with the modern poets--Pound, MacLeish, and the
like. The best philosophy is that poems “should not mean but be,” for then
poetry becomes little more than a lofty appreciation for the tone and word
choice of his fellow artist. Keep him locked in his own era that he might not
open his eyes to the lineage of humbled souls dating back to the shepherd days
of that wretched David. Even so, be wary lest he stumble upon those who have
been called the War Poets, for though they seem dark and despairing, they too
begin to trifle with the soul and cast the mind to pondering matters of life
and death and the human condition. Such things, although valuable to the untrained
tempter, quickly lend themselves to themes too close to the Enemy’s eternity
and plan. There is one particular poet who seems to be toeing the line between
sound atheism and disastrous discovery, speaking of “the clouds of God’s hate”
and declaring that “Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth.” His
tempter had best handle him with great care if he wishes to avoid his patient’s
awakening to the significance of his own words. Remember, the Enemy takes great
pleasure in perverting our efforts in one man to transform the soul of another,
if not also his own.
Still, the best method of all is to
create an unexplainable disgust for the “intellectual snobbery” and highfalutin
nonsense that characterizes all poetry. Allow him to judge all poetry by that one
“hard poem” he read back in school and cast the whole lot aside for something
more relevant, such as the sports game on the radio or the barking dog next
door. Remember, one good sonnet could crumble all of the walls you now strive
to build.
Your
affectionate uncle
Screwtape
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