June 16: Father was Dead, the Lady or the Tiger, Difficult Choices

Thomas Merton learns that in the midst of life . . .

In the Christmas holidays I only saw him once or twice.  Things were about the same.  I spent most of the holidays in Strasbourg, where Tom had arranged for me to go for the sake of the languages:  German and French.  I stayed in a big Protestant pension in the Rue Finkmatt, and was under the unofficial tutelage of a professor at the University, a friend of Tom's family and of the Protestant patriarch.

Professor Hering was a kind and pleasant man with a red beard, and one of the few Protestants I have ever met who struck one as being at all holy:  that is, he possessed a certain profound interior peace, which he probably got from his contact with the Fathers of the Church, for he was a teacher of theology.  We did not talk much about religion, however.  Once when some students were visiting him, one of them explained to me the essentials of Unitarianism, and when I asked the professor about it afterwards, he said it was all right, in a way which indicated that he approved, in a sort of academic and eclectic way, of all these different forms of belief:  or rather that he was interested in them as objectively intriguing manifestations of a fundamental human instinct, regarding them more or less through the eyes of a sociologist.  As a matter of fact, sometimes Protestant theology does, in certain circumstances, amount to little more than a combination of sociology and religious history, but I will not accuse him of teaching it altogether in that sense, for I really have no idea how he taught it.

Under the inspiration of the environment, I went to a Lutheran church and sat through a long sermon in German which I did not understand.  But I think that was all the worship of God I did in Strasbourg.  I was more interested in Josephine Baker, a big skinny colored girl from some American city like St. Louis, who came to one of the theaters and sang Fai deux amours, mon pays et Paris.

So I went back to school, after seeing Father for a moment on the way through London.  I had been back for barely a week when I was summoned, one morning, to the Headmaster's study, and he gave me a telegram which said that Father was dead.

Merton, being a teenage boy, is too self-absorbed in his own life to be really attentive to his father's declining health.  For Merton, it's all about being in a new place, surrounded by German and French speakers, and being exposed to new ideas and experiences.  Unitarianism.  Lutheran worship.  Josephine Baker.  Merton is too busy living while his father is dying.  And then the telegram arrives.

It's so easy to ignore suffering and death, especially when surrounded by all the stimulation of day-to-day existence.  Music.  Dance.  Sex.  Religion.  Learning.  Art.  And perhaps that's the point of this passage from The Seven-Storey Mountain:  if you don't pay attention, you will miss the truly important experiences--and you will be filled with regret.

I've noticed an alarming shift in the people I encounter every day.  Two months ago, everyone was wearing masks, staying six-feet apart, avoiding unnecessary trips to crowded places like stores and gas stations.  A person without a mask in public was suspect, flagrantly violating rules that were in place to suppress the spread of Covid-19.  Everyone was very aware of the suffering and death present in the world.

Now, people walk around with masks pulled down below their chins, exposing their noses and mouths.  That's if they wear masks at all.  Patrons congregate outside of bars, smoking cigarettes.  Beaches are crowded.  Restaurants are open.  Churches are filled with singing parishioners.  It's as if there's some kind of collective amnesia taking place.  Covid-19 has faded into memory, replaced by the urge to "return to normal."  Or people are simply being willfully ignorant.

Yet, in the United States, 23 of the 50 states are experiencing a rise in coronavirus cases.  That's nearly half of the country.  The health of the nation is taking a backseat to the economy of the nation.  And I understand that need.  Small businesses are hurting.  Unemployment is at historic levels.  Yet, citizens are still getting sick and dying.  It truly is a "The Lady, or the Tiger?" scenario. 

Most of you probably remember that short story by Frank R. Stockton from high school.  A young princess falls in love with a youth of lower standing.  Her father, the king, finds out about the relationship and has the youth arrested.  The king sets up a public trial for the youth.  The youth is placed in an arena containing two doors.  Behind one door is a beautiful maiden.  Behind the other is a hungry, ferocious tiger.  If the youth chooses the door with the maiden, he is set free and marries the maiden.  If he chooses the door with the tiger, he is devoured by the tiger.  Before the trial, the king's daughter finds out what is behind each of the doors.  She has the power to save her love from death, but then she must also lose him forever to another woman.  The princess also finds out that the woman behind the door is a rival for her love's affections.  At the conclusion of the story, the youth stands before the two doors and looks up at the princess.  The princess discretely indicates the door on the right, and the youth opens the door.  However, we never find out what is behind the door.  Stockton simply ends:  "And so I leave it with all of you:  Which came out of the opened door--the lady, or the tiger?"

That is where we are right now--choosing between the lady or the tiger.  Both options are equally problematic.  Most people in the Upper Peninsula have been untouched by Covid in any way.  It's some distant, below-the-bridge issue.  I've actually heard a person comment that "it's a Detroit problem."  (I won't even get into the inherent racism of that observation.)  I guess, until Covid becomes something personal, it remains the lady (or tiger) behind the door.

I wrote last night of the death of my uncle, a decent and loving man.  He didn't die of the virus.  Yet, because of the virus, there will be no funeral.  Instead, a memorial service is going to be held at a later time, "after this Covid shit is done," as my sister said.  A difficult moment made even more so because of the pandemic.  Mourning and saying goodbye postponed indefinitely.

Covid-19 and its accompanying issues are complicated.  Lots of doors to contemplate opening.  For me, the choice is to wear a mask, socially distance, avoid crowded events and places.  Is that the lady?  Or the tiger?  I'm not sure.  Only time will provide the answer to that question.

Tonight, Saint Marty is thankful for this simple miracle:  a cool pillow and a good night's sleep.  No tiger.  No virus.  No door.  Just rest.