Kill Your Darlings and The Great Divorce

When I was in college, my teacher had a saying that has always tormented me: “Kill your darlings.” This common writing idiom is brutal in its concise message. But what is a darling? Simply a favorite phrase or expression that is meaningful to the writer but actually gets in the way of the rest of the message much like a beloved two year old in the middle of a formal dance. Darlings are a liability to great work. But we don’t want to get rid of our sweet monsters: they make us feel good, somehow forming an emotional attachment with our subconscious matter. Unfortunately, we are too close to the darling to see how it poisons the work at hand.
I’ve been reading C.S. Lewis’s “The Great Divorce” and while this worthy novel is not referencing writing, this writing axiom illuminates a great deal about human nature: even when something hurts us and is actually a point of destroying our raison d’être, we long to keep our darlings. Even with something as simple as writing, I know my tendency to change whole paragraphs and outlines just so that I can keep a “darling” when it has no substantial bearing on the rest of the work. And I am the same in life: Those ridiculous sensual and personalized snares of hell have a parasitic occupation to attenuate our passions. Yet, they mean so much to us. Lewis, without needing to verbalize this, demonstrates that these manners thrive in unmitigated selfishness. People struggle all the more with their personal evil (even as they despair of ever being free of it) because they are, essentially, alone. They may have many people around them but their depth of authentic community is shallow. It’s my struggle, my connection…everything is keyed into ME. In an early section of the book, a great spirit, George MacDonald, is explaining to Lewis the various hindrances that people face to enter the kingdom of God. Some are ostensibly innocent but have such a stronghold that a person cannot be persuaded to chose God over his ‘other love’ such as self-respect, proper pride and injured merit (see page 72). And then there are the ‘undignified vices’ of ‘mere sensuality’ as Lewis asks:
“Then is no one lost through the undignified vices, Sir? Through mere sensuality?”
MacDonald’s reply: “Some are, no doubt. The sensualist, I’ll allow ye, begins by pursuing a real pleasure, though a small one. His sin is the less. But the time comes on when, though the pleasure becomes less and less and the craving fiercer and fiercer, and though he knows that joy can never come that way, yet he prefers to joy the mere fondling of unappeasable lust and would not have it taken from him. He’d fight to the death to keep it. He’d like well to be able to scratch; but even when he can scratch no more he’d rather itch than not.”
Yet freedom is a real option! Towards the end of the book, there is scene in which a ghost character that has somehow made his way to the threshold of heaven has brought along his “pet” lizard. The lizard sits on his shoulder and whispers horrible things in his ear, driving the ghost mad until he gives up and decides to return to hell. When a Real Person intervenes and offers to silence the creature, the ghost is initially pleased (he thinks it would be nice to stay) and then horrified that the method of silencing the lizard involves killing the creature. Even though the man hates his demon, he is in turmoil over such “drastic” measures. Yet, as the Angel, explains—it’s the only way. Several times the angel offers to kill the creature and the ghost whines and whimpers and pleads that he thinks the creature will behave, he’ll be alright when he goes to sleep, that he can handle his sin on his own or gradually work up the resistance to this painful operation. Yet, the angel is adamant that the ghost doesn’t have a day to lose, that the ghost won’t have another chance like this again. At this point, the Lizard ‘wakes up’ and quickly builds his case against the cold, bloodless, and judgmental angel. It’s natural for the angel to be without a ‘creature’ because he’s not a real man, he doesn’t understand. “Yes, yes. I know there are no real pleasures now, only dreams. But aren’t they better than nothing? And I’ll be so good. I admit I’ve sometimes gone too far in the past, but I promise I won’t do it again…”
The Angel asks for permission for the last time. Finally, in fear and rage, the ghost permits the angel to kill the creature. And then: life! Healing, if you like, yet the following scene is so vivid and beautiful; you simply have to read it for yourself. But to have life, true community that is the beginning extension of heaven for the saints, begins with love and humility and selflessness. You must kill your darlings that cause you to hesitate on the threshold of real life. And faith that is the reality of things not seen but are more than hoped for. We aren’t meant to be alone: that is the joy of loving God—we are not meant to skip bodily life and trials with the flesh. That’s a dualistic, unbiblical notion. We were meant to experience true passions and have full, sensual delights. We were meant for joy, and to know and live it today.