I recently read C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters on the recommendation of many friends from different periods of my life. Amazingly, it genuinely changed my perspective on religion. Whether this effect was a unique consequence of the book itself or whether any book about religion would have done it is a more difficult question to answer. But in thinking about the book, I was struck by a couple of various elements of the book that make it stand out in my mind. In particular, the epistolary nature of the book and the “flipped” perspective (of the demons’ point of view) strike me as particularly unique. The more I thought about it, the more I think that these choices, whether they were made deliberately or whimsically, contribute in a meaningful way to the book and the author’s purpose.
One of the key ideas that the book is attempting to convey is that language is a particularly messy, ambiguous language. One consequence of using and thinking and processing the world in that indefinite medium is that humans tend to use its slippery nature to lie to ourselves. In the opening salvo, Screwtape writes
Your man has been accustomed, ever since he was a boy, to have a dozen incompatible philosophies dancing about together inside his head. He doesn’t think of doctrines as primarily “true” or “false”, but as “academic” or “practical”, “outworn” or “contemporary”, “conventional” or “ruthless”. Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in keeping him from the Church.
The book reinforces this idea through both its epistolary structure and the “flipped” nature of the discussion. Because the book is written from the enemy”s point of view, the effect is that readers are much more cautious about accepting the text on the face of it. After all, if everything said is being twisted by the enemy, one would want to carefully consider the meaning and arguments conveyed by the words in order to refute them or disavow them. Which is precisely the effect that Lewis aims for (which Screwtape explicitly calls out above). Screwtape goes on, in several instances, to explain how to use jargon in various ways to conquer a human’s soul. But in addition to simply explaining the process by which jargon is used, the epistolary form of the novel offers a clever, but subtle, example of this process. At the end of the book, when Wormwood has failed, Screwtape says
How mistakenly now that all is lost you come whimpering to ask me whether the terms of affection in which I address you meant nothing from the beginning. Far from it! Rest assured, my love for you and your love for me are as like as two peas. I have always desired you, as you (pitiful fool) desired me. The difference is that I am the stronger. I think they will give you to me now; or a bit of you. Love you? Why, yes. As dainty a morsel as ever I grew fat on.
There is quite a bit to unpack here. Most directly, this is an example of how jargon has mislead people into losing their souls to demons. It is implied that Wormwood, whose soul is likely to be fed to Screwtape, asks about the contradictory terms of affection that Screwtape has been using. Screwtape responds here by twisting the word love. This is a clear twist on our classic understanding of the word love, at least of God’s love, and it’s also a divergence from Screwtape’s previous explanation of love. This is a clever, profound twist of irony that is enabled through the epistolary nature of the book. As readers, bringing in outside context of letters, expect the customary note of affection “My dear Wormwood” at the top of each letter. And we get to feel even more betrayed because in part, we play the role of Wormwood because we are reading letters meant for Wormwood. We get to see what seems to be sound advice, at least in the context of the demons, deteriorate into jargon and become a twisted mess in a book about being cautious of jargon. From the start of the novel to the end of the novel, Lewis’s structural choices are obviously contributing to the core of his argument.
But more than emphasize the core of the message of the book, the book’s structure helps in many other ways that would not be found in a conventional religious self help book. First is the matter of personal acceptance. Perhaps for the already religiously inclined, it is not that difficult to be lectured at. But it can be rather dull to be told what we are doing wrong and what we should be doing instead. The “flipped” perspective of the book helps to avoid that problem. Instead of framing the problem of misleading myself with jargon, which I might be loath to accept, the book instead frames the challenge as an external one. I should be on guard for these insidious forces. I should not be discouraged if I find myself falling short of some golden standard because this is a tough battle with clever enemies. This is much more palatable and I am much more likely to respond positively to suggestions and attempt to work on defenses.
In addition, the reversed nature of the mentor/mentee relationship also helps to prevent the book from taking on a prescriptive nature. Because the reader has to do some of the work themselves to flip the statements around, the advice steps over the line of being dictatorial. Instead of saying: you should do this this and this to avoid that. The reader thinks, in order to avoid this clearly bad thing, I should do this this and this. Note the important, I vs you in the line of thinking. This bypasses some of the resistance to new ideas in the reader.
More importantly, the “flipped” structure lets the book remain interesting as the patient gets closer and closer to God. The patient is attempting to reflect the trajectory of the reader (which is hopefully becoming closer to God) and Lewis is trying to demonstrate the risks at various stages. There is a risk that a reader would lose interest - after all, the core advice, while touching on different subjects, does not vary in terms of its appeal. But since the demons are getting more and more desperate and more and more frustrated, the novel maintains that all important feeling of conflict and challenge which keeps it all the more interesting.
Choosing these two structural elements (the epistolary novel and the “flipped” perspective) augments and improves the message that is being conveyed here. It is certainly not the most direct way to convey a message but the benefits are, at least to me, clearly worth it. I think they contribute to the longevity of the work.
Certainly, this style does not work for every format. But that’s part of writing - finding the best format to convey your intention and I think it’s worth pointing it out when people do. Not only can we learn from them but we can also come to appreciate the work a bit more.