Author: Jason

This is a reply to this letter.

Uncle Screwtape,

I trust this missive finds you basking in the eternal fires, perhaps even enjoying a particularly choice vintage of human despair. Your last letter, outlining the exquisite potential of “social media,” was nothing short of revelatory. I have, with the utmost diligence (and a surprising amount of enjoyment), been applying your counsel, and I am thrilled to report on the Patient’s progress – or rather, regress.

The constant stream of comparison has been, as you predicted, a resounding triumph. I’ve ensured his feed is saturated with the triumphs of his peers – the exotic holidays, the dazzling promotions, the impossibly harmonious family photos. The Patient, bless his little human heart, now spends an inordinate amount of time scrolling through these curated fictions, his own perfectly adequate life curdling into a bitter paste of mediocrity. He sighs frequently, a delicious sound, and often mutters about “missing out.” He even attempted a rather pathetic imitation of a ‘perfect’ brunch photo himself, only to become frustrated when it didn’t garner the same effusive praise as his online acquaintances. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless, as it led to him snapping at his spouse, thereby chipping away at a genuine relationship for the sake of digital vanity.

The performative virtue is also blossoming beautifully. The Patient, once content to simply do good, now feels compelled to announce it. A small, anonymous donation became a lengthy post about his commitment to a cause, garnished with a carefully chosen, flattering selfie. He is more concerned with the ‘likes’ and ‘shares’ than the actual impact of his actions. I overheard him lamenting that a particularly thoughtful comment he made online received fewer reactions than a rather vapid meme. His motivation, once pointed towards the Enemy, is now firmly directed at the fickle approval of strangers. The genuine humility that once underpinned his charitable impulses is being slowly but surely replaced by a hollow pride.

The addiction to the trivial is perhaps my greatest success. The Patient, who once enjoyed reading substantial books or engaging in thoughtful hobbies, now finds his attention fractured. He picks up a book, glances at a page, and then, as if by an irresistible compulsion, reaches for his device. Hours dissolve into the digital ether, filled with endless scrolling through fleeting images and vapid pronouncements. The Enemy’s attempts at quiet contemplation are utterly drowned out by the incessant chatter of the online world. He complains of being tired, yet he cannot put the device down. It is glorious, Uncle, to watch his mind become a sieve, unable to hold onto anything of lasting significance.

The righteous indignation has been particularly gratifying to cultivate. The Patient, once a fairly peaceable fellow, now seethes with a righteous anger over minor online disagreements. He has discovered the intoxicating thrill of the “comment section,” where he can unleash his thinly veiled frustrations upon anonymous adversaries. Charity evaporates, replaced by a self-righteous fury. He spends more time arguing with strangers about politics or trivial matters online than he does engaging in meaningful conversation with his actual loved ones. I’ve even nudged him towards a few particularly inflammatory posts, watching with glee as he takes the bait, his temper flaring, his heart hardening towards his fellow man.

And finally, the pervasive sense of isolation is truly reaching its peak. Despite having hundreds of “connections,” the Patient feels profoundly alone. He avoids real-life social gatherings, preferring the curated, low-effort interactions of the digital realm. He believes he is “connected,” yet he rarely experiences true intimacy or vulnerability. He shares trivial updates with a vast audience, but rarely confides his deepest fears or joys to a trusted friend. This subtle yet profound loneliness, I predict, will be a rich source of despair for years to come.

In short, Uncle, the Patient is becoming a perfectly self-absorbed, easily distracted, and perpetually dissatisfied creature, all thanks to the ingenious machinery of social media. He is less engaged with the world around him, less connected to real people, and far, far less attentive to the Enemy’s tiresome whispers.

Thank you, dear Uncle, for this most excellent instruction. I eagerly await your next pronouncements.

Your devoted (and increasingly successful) nephew,

Wormwood