De Profundis

Oscar Wilde

It seems a very dangerous idea. It is—all great ideas are dangerous.

Now it seems to me that love of some kind is the only possible explanation for the extraordinary amount of suffering there is in the world. I cannot conceive of any other explanation. I am convinced there is no other, and that if the world has indeed, as I have said, been built of sorrow, it has been built by the hands of love, because in no other way could the soul of man, for whom the world was made, reach the full stature of its perfection. Pleasure for the beautiful body, but pain for the beautiful soul.

When I began this book, it was mentioned to me that it many deep things in it, things to ruminate upon for hours years. When I was halfway through, I scratched my head because I had not really seen anything that was worth thinking about. I thought perhaps I was not looking hard enough or in the right way.
But there is no denying that the majority of this letter--it is really one long letter to Wilde's former friend and lover--is a very personal complaint. It made me more than uncomfortable, as if I were witnessing some domestic scene which would have been best acted out behind closed doors. There is something very personal about this letter, personal enough to wonder why you are reading it.
There is a story about this letter which adds much to its understanding. First, you would do well to acquaint yourself with the circumstances of Wilde's imprisonment and the scandal surrounding it, but that is your job. I read that when Wilde wrote this in prison, he was only allowed one sheet of paper at a time. He composed the entire 80-plus printed pages letter being only able to write one page at a time. When you read it you will notice how smoothly it flows and how he makes references to things which he has already said. I heard that he never saw the entire letter together. Wow.
But just as I was tiring of his seemingly endless list of complaints against his friend--who to judge from this letter alone was a genuinely selfish fiend--I found a gem amongst all the dreary if eloquent fluff. The only problem is I still cannot tell whether this gem is real or spurious.
He launches, seemingly for no reason, into a sermon about Christ which points out more aspects of Christ and Christianity than I have seen in one place in a long time. I think part of what was so revolutionary for me was that he seems to be an agnostic and yet has a very deep faith in Christ. Understand that all I say here comes only from the understanding I gained of Wilde from this work. I am not relying on anything else I know about his life, nor any of his other works that I have read.
This sermon has such amazing statements as the one on love above, several on poverty, and this:
"But in a manner not yet understood of the world he regarded sin and suffering as being in themselves beautiful holy things and modes of perfection." I do not understand this statement. It is one of the reasons I am so skeptical of the sermon on a whole. The other reason is that he seems to move from this sermon back into another lengthy complaint against his friend. I could not quite justify his complaints against his friend with this sermon.
But there are things here which will refine you if they do not break you. So persevere through all of Wilde's sadness and outrage, but be careful--don't let your opinion of him disarm you, his words still carry heavy weights.