The Lost Art of Letter-Writing

Back when we had not “progressed” so far as to make instantaneous communication possible, distance was bridged through the writing and sending of letters. These letters were part of a shared culture that is now unfamiliar and perhaps even foreign to us. Letters were an essential part of life, a part of “being in the world” and engaging in relationship with others. While many of these letters would necessarily have been banal or filled only with the back and forth of practical matters, there are also countless scores of letters that can (and in my opinion, should) be considered works of art.

I have a poetry anthology of Keats that attests to this fact: along with the complete catalogue of Keats’ poems, the book also contains selections from his letters. Thus his personal letters- these documentations of communication- are included as a part of his artistic repertoire. These letters are beautiful and thoughtful pieces, worthy of being read, capable of being meaningfully read despite the fact that they were written for a specific person, and none of us can claim to be this person (if Keats wrote a letter individually addressed to you, then you must be at least 194 years old).

What point am I trying to make here? Am I merely recommending that we should all devote time to perusing the letters of the dead? Although I consider this to be a not unrewarding pursuit, it is not my focus in this post. Rather, I want to discuss the form of the letter as an “art,” one that has been lost and yet can be reclaimed. Nor is this “Art” only for the self-described artist. Of course, Keats’ letters are more enjoyable to read and probably much better written than those of the average letter-writer throughout history, but this, again, is not the point. Letter-writing is not an art because it can produce something of enduring literary merit. It is an art because it encourages meaningful self-expression and sharing with another person. Thus it appeals to what is most human in us, and invites an earnest desire (and search) for truth and communion.

We might be able to express similar sentiments through the more frequently used methods of communication today: Facebook, text, Twitter, etc. All of these methods employ the written word and also put us into contact with another person. And yet the content and effect of the communication on its users cannot be the same. To claim that two distinct mediums (here the printed page and the digital screen) bear the same fruit is to commit a fundamental error. As Neil Postman explains in his excellent book, Amusing Ourselves to Death, the form is what shapes or determines what is being said. Or as Marshall McLuhan so succinctly puts it: “The medium is the message.” And so I want to show that letter-writing is an art, one that is able to enhance our lives, by comparing it with these digital forms of communication and exposing the absence encoded within them.

There are many issues that could be addressed in exploring the divide between these two forms, so I will limit myself to three: the way it is written, for whom it is written, and how it is read or received. First, how are letters written? Anyone sitting down to write a letter is not merely shooting off some sudden whim or amusing comment to a friend that just passed through their minds. One writes a letter because they have something to say, something that they feel is worthy of being said. Not only is it worth being said, this worth also outweighs or justifies the effort required to write and send the letter.

Different things are expected from the printed word than from the words on screen. An online message does not necessitate thought; the ideas, thoughts or feelings expressed are only fragments. You see something that amuses you and then pass on this response to a friend whom you think would find it similarly amusing. What is key here is the immediacy of this communication. From the moment the thought enters your head to the moment you press ‘send,’ hardly half a minute need have passed. There is no need or even opportunity for reflection here or for a thoughtful consideration of what to say.

When one picks up the pen to write a letter, on the other hand, they do so with an understanding of the entire process- the journey, so to speak, of the letter. The letter must be formulated, written, placed inside an envelope and then mailed to the intended recipient, which will take a standard time of delivery. The thought will not, cannot be transferred immediately from you to them, but this actually gives the thought a higher value. It is not dispensable; it is deserving of this time and effort; it is able to wait. Also in the conventions of the letter and of the printed word, certain things are expected: there must be a greeting and a closing; ideas that are expressed are not mere fragments existing apart from anything else, but belong to the letter as a whole. As such, they must be explained and developed logically, not simply introduced and then abandoned. Here we see a continuity difficult to achieve in the digital framework, where speed and subsequently transitoriness are key.

What about for whom the letter is written? Regardless of whether or not some future reader ever delves into your archives, they are initially (and fundamentally) written for a particular person. They address an individual; every line in the letter seeks communion with this specific recipient. So this communion is both personal and private. It is personal because it appeals to another person’s subjectivity. It is not written for just anyone to see, but for a singular “you,” a person with whom the writer has a unique set of interrelations. Thus every letter says in a certain sense (implicitly, between the lines): you matter; you, reading this, were in my thoughts before and as I wrote this letter; this expression is for you and you only. In this way, every letter is an affirmation of the human person and their individuality, as well as their need to be addressed and recognized.

The letter is also private. Here I’m not referring to the experience of reading the letter; maybe the recipient peruses the content on a crowded bus or even shares it with a spouse or close friend. What I mean is not this but that the letter is written in the spirit of being read, understood and appreciated by the person to whom it is addressed.

How is all this different from digital communication? Though not all communication in this form is public, undeniably an awful lot of it is. A Facebook message that can be viewed by uninvolved parties is not an expression written solely for the person whose name appears at the top of the message. Other things factor in: often subconscious pressures pertaining to image, reputation and the desire to be liked. Even if the message is a private one that cannot be viewed by others, it is still written and shared in this same framework. This is a threat to the subjectivity celebrated in letter-writing. As the sender composes an albeit private digital message, they can (and always carry this knowledge that they can) flit from this communication to another, easily switching between the endless barrage of images, disconnected fragments and portrayals of other people’s relationships and communications.

While the letter writer sits down to focus singularly on a person and what they want to say to them, the sender of the digital message is swarmed by stimuli and useless information that distract or prevent them from being fully present in the formulation of the expression. Thus I think one form has the potential for authentic connection, while the other is more likely to bring the illusion of connection which only leaves us more alone and unknown to the other.

Lastly, I want to touch on how letters are read- that is, not necessarily how they are read but how they can be read to realize the art of letter-writing and bring about a meaningful sharing of hearts. First of all, letters are not merely written as an end in themselves. For the most part they are written with the expectation or the hope that they will be responded to. They are meant to be a continuation, a series- a dialogue, if you will. Yet letters are not some trivial back and forth that is instantly forgotten. Letters- and everything in the printed word and found in physical form, as opposed to digital communications- are invested with a sort of permanence. The words are set on the page not to be erased or faded but to be pondered and reflected on; the letter is sent not to be thrown away but to be kept and preserved. In our modern digital landscape, we are increasingly experiencing a culture of waste.

Nowhere, in my mind, is this more evident than on Snapchat, where photographs are shared with the expectation and indeed explicit intention of being deleted. One communicates so that the communication will be viewed and then immediately erased. It is designed to be forgotten, not to be reflected on or thought about; thus, built into the very fabric of this form is the idea that its content does not have lasting value. The letter, on the other hand, has endurability. With the idea that it will be kept and read carefully comes an effort to make the expression meaningful. And so the letter is read in a different way and for a different purpose than digital fragments.

All of these things I have explored about the form of the letter also, I think, apply to art in general. Art requires thought, effort and time. It is not created to produce an immediate response. While it is not always created for a singular recipient, it is always created with a belief in its value, importance and the singular and subjective beauty of the work of art itself. What’s more, art does call for a response from its recipients, but it is not a rushed or fragmented response. Rather, it is a thoughtful response, the result of experience, reflection and deliberation. Lastly, art is enduring; it is meant to be cherished, not viewed and then thrown away.

I think that art (at least the vision of art I have been describing above) makes us more fully human. It makes us better able to grow in our self-understanding, to seek and appreciate truth, and to love and commune with our fellow man. Here is where letters come in. Just as art is not a good merely because other people consume or approve of it, letters are not a good or a form of art because other people read them, properly appreciate them, or even refrain from throwing them away.

Letter-writing is an art, and a valuable one at that because it strives toward an authentic and meaningful connection which can bring us into communion with another person on a deeper level, one that enables both the writer and the recipient to affirm and better understand one another. In an age fragmented by distraction, overburdened with images and concerned so much with appearance and popular response, I think this form of communication is more valuable and necessary than ever. Think about how much we might reclaim if we attempt to reclaim the art of letter-writing by sending letters: not merely profound communication, but truth, beauty and a celebration of the durability and, indeed, existence of real value.