Screwtape Returns

 

I met him in a bar late one evening. He had settled to take the body of a homeless man. I was just happy to be able to talk to him. We called for two beers.

I was blunt. “What have you done to this people?” I exclaimed. “Their souls are asleep! They see no beauty, they do not seek eternity, they do not understand their future, and they have no love when they see the thing that is most lovable. How have you done this? All they talk about is the shadows…. And the littlest part of the shadows seem the most important. They are men without passion. They are woman without glory. They are children who never laugh or rejoice…. Their souls are fallen asleep. They just don't care about anything that is worth caring about. Why are they so content to see so little? Do they ever here the voice of the stars? Do they ever see the glory in a flower? Do they ever sing with the sunrise? Do they ever tremble under the thunder? Do they every feel the trembling of the groaning earth; her yearning to be reborn? Do they even what to see her reborn? Do they ever rejoice and clap their hands with the trees of the fields? Do they ever see eternity in each other's eyes? Do they ever cry because of an idea that burst in their mind is so beautiful? Do they ever yearn for their home…? I mean their real home…. “

“They are people who live like they are dead… and that they prefer lie in their grave in the cold earth, than dance in the sunlit meadow that lies so near… And worse of all they don't think the Fire is hot? How can they love the Fire if they never stand in His heat…?”

He smiled with deep satisfaction. “It was so easy” He said. “You want to know the secret?” He asked with a grin. “I just never let them get hungry.” There was triumph in his voice. “They were so easy to fill with emptiness. I made them build their TV's and computers and Internet. I laugh when I see how energetically they work all day making machines that kill themselves. It is even the kind of thing they talk about at church now. Another thing is that I never let them be really lonely- you know, lonely for the Fire Himself. Instead, I give them boring little church groups, or movies, or books. Their souls went to sleep so quickly… quicker that we thought they would. There were a few that resisted, but when I got a good grip into their church it was easy to convince even the most energetic souls. I taught them to read the Bible as a dead book… just like normal dead books. I made institutes that taught is just like they teach the institutes that teach dead subjects. It worked so well…. slowly at first but faster after, their heart and soul cared less and less until all they cared about was that they understood it like a dead book.”

He sat back, crossed his hands behind his head, leaned back and smiled.

“Now” He sighed. “All I have to do is smother the sparks that occasionally flare up. But they are not very common anymore; fortunately, they are more and more rare. Occasionally I have a stubborn one, but for the most part, I can calm them down in the church. That is the best place—because I have the book followed so closely (although dead, of course!) they always think that they are wrong. They surrender to the dead book. It has worked every time.”

I was still. “Was it always like this?” I asked.

“Oh no.” He shook his head.

“No, I remember when I first came, it was very hard for us. There were many people who souls were still awake- who had tasted the Fire- and it was especially hard to put them to sleep when they were together . We were like firemen, running here and there, constantly trying to smother a new fire.”

He sipped his beer and reflected. It began to grow dark outside.

“They used to cry (genuinely!) when the preached and prayed!” He twirled his glass slowly. “It is hard to image today. They used to spend whole days in love…with the Fire…. They would wander through the woods or meadows, singing and praying. Ah! It was such a hassle. It was so hard to put them to sleep! But the worse was the preaching. It was… it was...it was living …” He said.

“There were a few awful pastors who knew—I mean, really knew-- that is was a living book. Oh, how I hated doing duty when they were preaching. There was nothing I could do. They were way too powerful for us. They made the people see the Fire itself . It would flow out of that book and would flame out all over the room. Everyone whose soul had at least a spark would flame up. Oh, those were awful days. It meant that we had an exhausting week ahead of us because they would go home and spread their flames. It was so much work. There meal times prayer where flaming! Think of that! A prayer over a meal that had fire in it!”

He signed again and leaned back. “Fortunately those days are over. Goodness!” He said scratching his balding head. “I have not had to smother a mealtime prayer in years. We have made much progress and I think that the end is in sight. Most souls are dead, but there are still many that are only sleeping. But if things keep going like they are, in a generation I think the sleeping souls will finally die. I think we are going to win this battle….”

“Do they have a chance?” I asked. “How are you sure that the souls will not awake?”

The man shrugged.

“The key is to always keep the book dead . We spend most of our time at their schools and institutes and churches and make sure that they are always satisfied with the book dead . Before it was harder, but now we have some new tools. We make sure the music is good, the classes are good (just dead), and that they have good food and comfortable rooms. Rarely does anyone have so much desire that they are not satisfied with all these things and try to find the Fire. And when they do we always make sure they go to teachers who are well respected by the others and who love the book dead . The unsatisfied students leave smothered and they almost never look further.”

He took a long drink from his beer. The smoke in the room seemed crawl around my neck.

“Of course” He said more seriously. “The Fire Himself could always step in. When that happens, it is all over for us. None of our darkness works against His light. We just have to wait until He steps back and start our job on the people. But the damage is always disastrous, and sometimes is takes us generations to recover the damage. So it is always a fear we live in—that of the Fire Himself—but for the moment I don't think He will do anything.”

We finished our beer in silence. It was late and we were the only ones in the café. At midnight he left. I leaned over on the table, put my head in my jacket and wept.