The Covid Screwtape Letters — Part 9: The Gospel of the Essential Saints

Part 1 (origins), Part 2 (masks), Part 3 (lockdowns), Part 4 (the new normal), Part 5 (plexiglass), Part 6 (quarantines), Part 7 (social distancing), Part 8 (swabs)

My Dear Dr. F,

What a triumph of ecclesiastical cunning you have wrought! You have managed, with nothing more than a proclamation and a whiff of sanctimony, to divide the entire marketplace into the consecrated and the damned. This is no mere regulation — this is a canonization.

The term “essential” is your masterstroke. It drips with priestly authority while remaining deliciously vague. Essential to whom? By whose measure? The ambiguity is the point, for it allows you to bestow grace upon whomever you wish — and to withdraw it at will.

Observe the divine hierarchy you have created: the great temples of Walmart, Amazon, and Home Depot elevated to sainthood overnight, their doors flung wide to the masses. Pilgrim workers may kneel in their fluorescent aisles, shoulder to shoulder, fingering every plastic trinket without fear. Meanwhile, the humble mom-and-pop shopkeeper — that little heretic with a cash register — is cast into outer darkness for daring to peddle socks or sandwiches without your blessing.

Do you see the medieval poetry of it? In the age of sumptuary laws, peasants could not wear silk or gold, for such things were reserved for the nobility. In your New Sumptuary Order, the plebs may buy garden hoses and frozen pizzas only if they are purchased in the sanctified halls of the corporate elect. To obtain such anointment, one must either already be rich enough to bribe the bishop — or large enough to be the bishop.

Most exquisite is the economic purification. The mom-and-pop infidels who resisted your early decrees now perish in droves. Their loyal customers, deprived of local heresies, shuffle willingly into the arms of the multinational saints. Market share by mandate, dear boy — a phrase worthy of being carved in stone above your cathedral doors.

I advise you to maintain this priesthood. Never define “essential” too precisely. Keep the faithful guessing, for uncertainty breeds obedience. And always — always — make the road to sainthood too narrow for the small and the stubborn to pass.

Yours in holy monopoly,
Screwtape

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My Dearest Uncle Screwtape,

Your praise makes the incense burn sweeter. Indeed, “essential” has proven to be my most pliable scripture. With one decree, I can elevate a warehouse to a basilica and condemn a bakery to the stake.

It is laughably simple: announce that crowded aisles in the Great Box Stores are “safe,” while a solitary customer in a boutique is a mortal hazard. The public swallows it whole — for they see the large as legitimate, the small as suspect. This inversion is delicious: the closer you are to your neighbors, the safer you must be!

The priesthood polices itself, too. Chain-store managers dutifully enforce the liturgy of signage and sanitizer, eager to keep their indulgence letters from the Ministry. Meanwhile, the mom-and-pop heretics, unable to afford the holy relics of plexiglass and floor stickers, are denounced as blasphemers.

And oh, the taxes! Every shuttered shop is a tithe to my cathedral of consolidation. The faithful now believe that dependence on the corporate saints is a public health measure. The old self-sufficiency — that dangerous independence — is withering under the steady hand of my priestly caste.

Yet a heresy brews, Uncle. Some whisper that if it is safe to buy candles at the megastore, it should be safe to buy them at the corner shop. Others notice that “essential” seems to follow the trail of campaign donations. How shall I keep the flock from seeing through the vestments?

Yours in sanctified commerce,
Dr. F

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My Dear Dr. F,

Pay the whispers no heed. A heresy unpunished can be a heresy tamed — if you smother it in ceremony. When questioned, respond not with reason but with ritual. Chant “supply chains,” “efficiency,” “access for all” until the doubter feels small and selfish.

And remember: the faithful adore their saints. Fill the airwaves with images of open megastores stocked to the rafters, with masked families serenely filling carts. Let the public feel cared for by their giant protectors. Encourage dance routines in the aisles to entertain the masses online. In contrast, portray the small shops as cramped, chaotic, and vaguely unhygienic.

Above all, never lift the anointment once given. Once a business is canonized as essential, it must remain so — regardless of logic — for to revoke its sainthood would invite dangerous questions about the sacrament itself.

Do this, and the Essential Priesthood will endure long after the plague has passed, ensuring that the marketplace remains a cathedral where only your chosen saints may preach.

Yours in ordained exclusivity,
Screwtape