Screwtape Letters - Part 7: Safety in Separation

Part 1 (origins), Part 2 (masks), Part 3 (lockdowns), Part 4 (the new normal) Part 5 (plexiglass), Part 6 (quarantines), Part 7 (social distancing

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My dear Dr. F,

Ah, social distancing! What a triumph of obedience over reason! The six-foot rule—devised not through rigorous science but by a child’s forgotten hypothesis—became gospel, enforced with the fervor of religious doctrine. The brilliance, dear nephew, lies not in its efficacy (for it had none), but in how seamlessly it transformed closeness into recklessness and distance into virtue.

And even now, its ghost lingers. The worn floor stickers, the faded signs, the hesitant step backward when someone approaches too near—these are the echoes of our success. But let us revel for a moment in our greatest victory: the children.

Ah, the children! What pliable little creatures they are. You turned their schools into obedience academies, where play and spontaneity were replaced with silent, shuffling lines—arms stretched forward, heads bowed, learning from their earliest days that the world is a dangerous place, and safety comes only through separation. Six feet, three feet, "pods"—the numbers changed, but the ritual remained. What a delight it has been to watch these institutions, once meant to cultivate young minds, become temples of compliance!

And you outdid yourself with the toddlers! Infants barely able to walk, no threat to anyone, yet confined within their little boxes of fear. What a grotesque beauty—watching tiny ones peer at a world where faces were obscured, where even the instinct to be held close was discouraged. The lesson was absorbed without a word: Closeness is danger. Separation is safety. Obedience is survival.

But I sense trouble. A murmur of awakening stirs among the humans—particularly the parents. They look back at the lines of isolated children, the artificial distance, and they do not like what they see. Worse still, they whisper the unspeakable: Was it all for nothing?

You must act, dear nephew. How will you keep these children—now growing into a generation of docile citizens—bound to the doctrine of separation? How will you ensure that they never fully return to closeness?

Your affectionate uncle,
Screwtape

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Dearest Uncle Screwtape,

Ah, your praise fills me with wicked delight! The six-foot rule was never about stopping a virus—it was about stopping them. You have always taught me that the best controls are those without a logical escape, and this was a masterpiece.

But you are right to sense a disturbance. The humans, feeble as their memories may be, are beginning to laugh at the absurdity—six feet apart in an airport line, only to sit elbow-to-elbow on the plane minutes later! Some even dare to question the studies, to unearth the origins of our sacred measurement. Such inquiries must not be allowed to spread.

Here is how I shall keep them ensnared:

1. The Guilt of Inaction – Let them believe that even if the rule was arbitrary, even if children suffered needlessly, it was all for the greater good. If they admit error, they must face their own complicity. That pain is too great to bear. Instead, they will justify their past obedience rather than confront their regret.

2. The Fear of Future Threats – I shall keep them ever on edge with whispers of the next pandemic. “Perhaps this time it was unnecessary,” I will suggest, “but next time, it will be essential.” Their compliance must always be retroactively justified to prevent full rejection.

3. The Normalization of Isolation – They are already accustomed to leaving space, avoiding proximity, instinctively hesitating before a handshake. That reflex must remain. Social distancing need not be law—it can be habit. And once ingrained, habits are devilishly hard to break.

4. The Infantilization of Society – My favorite trick! We have taught them that only the experts know best. They no longer trust their own instincts. This ensures that whenever the authorities command, they will fall back in line. The six-foot rule may fade, but their dependence on being told what to do must not.

Oh, and Uncle, I must confess a particular joy in watching teachers, once champions of critical thought, now serve as enforcers of compliance. Many still insist on their distance, their partitions, their barriers. A profession meant to inspire independence has become the vanguard of submission. I shall ensure that continues.

In the end, Uncle, we need not preserve the rule—only the lesson. These children, raised to believe that human closeness is a hazard, will carry that belief into adulthood. They will be easier to divide, easier to control, easier to turn against one another when the time comes.

And when the next crisis arrives? Oh, Uncle, they won’t need to be told what to do.

Yours in careful separation,
Dr. F

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My dear Dr. F,

Ah, compliance! The sweetest of human frailties! You have done a marvelous job, my dear nephew, in ensuring that obedience itself became the virtue, rather than any rational assessment of risk. And what better way to enforce that lesson than through the most mindless of gestures—placing their very feet in the prescribed locations, like trained animals awaiting a treat?

The footprints, the floor stickers, the spray-painted marks—glorious symbols of submission! These humans, once so proud of their independence, reduced to shuffling from one designated spot to the next, eyes fixed downward, engaging in a ceremony not of safety, but of subjugation.

And, dear nephew, you truly outdid yourself with enforcement! Instead of relying on police or bureaucrats, you deputized the people themselves. You transformed shop clerks, managers, and teenage baristas into the guardians of public health, granting them authority over their fellow man for the first time in their dull, inconsequential lives. The thrill! The power! The joy of scolding a grown adult—“Sir, you need to stand on the sticker.” What a delicious corruption of the soul.

Yet, I sense the first cracks forming. People are stepping off the stickers. The enforcers grow weary. Some even laugh at their past obedience, recalling how they awkwardly swerved around one another in grocery store aisles, performing a dance of compliance. They see the farce.

You must act swiftly, dear nephew. If they fully grasp their own foolishness, they may never obey again.

Your affectionate uncle,
Screwtape

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Dearest Uncle Screwtape,

Ah, the stickers and signs! Such an innocuous thing—a small guide, a helpful marker! And yet, in that simple act of stepping where they were told, the humans submitted their very will.

But you are right to worry. The novelty has faded. The clerks, once giddy with power, now tire of bickering over an inch of misplaced foot. Even the most obedient grumble, “Do we really need to do this anymore?”

But fear not! I have devised ways to extend their servitude:

1. The Reflex of Distance – The stickers may peel, but the habit remains. They hesitate before approaching, instinctively maintain space, recoil at unexpected proximity. I shall ensure that enforcement is no longer needed—they will police themselves.

2. The Power of the Enforcers – Ah, Uncle, you underestimate the joy of rule enforcement! Those who reveled in their authority must not be allowed to fade into irrelevance. I shall redirect them—perhaps to mask vigilance, hand-washing protocols, or flu-season restrictions. Let them remain useful!

3. The Reinforcement of Caution – “You never know when the next pandemic will strike!” I will let this phrase hang over them like a storm cloud. Even if the stickers disappear, they will remember why they once needed them. And when the next crisis comes, they will eagerly return to their marks.

You are wise to warn me, Uncle. But let me assure you—training this thorough does not unravel overnight. They may step off the stickers for now, but the lesson remains etched in their bones.

Yours in quiet control,
Dr. F