Merton figures out the cause of war . . .
The night before being New Year’s Eve, we had had a party in the house of Seymour’s mother-in-law, who was a doctor, in Long Beach. It had been a mixed-up, desultory affair, in which we remained in a place that served as the doctor’s waiting-room, sitting on the floor, playing different kinds of drums and drinking I forget what. But whatever it was we drank it put me in a bad temper.
The only person in the place not more or less fed up with everything was Bramachari, who had taken his turban off and sat in a chair and did not mind the noise. Later on, however, John Slate, who was also in a bad mood, having had a tooth torn out of his head, tried to tie me up in Bramachari’s turban so the monk quietly went home—that is, to Seymour’s house—and slept.
Later on, I threw a can of pineapple juice at a street light and also went to bed. I was sleeping in the same room with Bramachari, and consequently when it began to get light, he sat up and started chanting his morning prayers and I woke up. Since I could not get back to sleep even when his prayers trailed off into contemplation, I was going to an earlier Mass than I had expected. But it was a good thing. As usual, I found out that the only good thing about such days, or any other days, was Mass.
What a strange thing that I did not see how much that meant, and come at last to the realization that it was God alone I was supposed to live for, God that was supposed to be the center of my life and of all that I did.
It was to take me nearly a year to untangle that truth from all my disorganized and futile desires: and sometimes it seems to me that the hangovers I had while I was finding it out had something to do with what was going on in the history of the world.
For that was to be 1939, the year when the war that everybody had been fearing finally began to teach us with its inexorable logic that the dread of war is not enough. If you don’t want the effect, do something to remove the causes. There is no use loving the cause and fearing the effect and being surprised when the effect inevitably follows the cause.
By this time, I should have acquired enough sense to realize that the cause of wars is sin. If I had accepted the gift of sanctity that had been put in my hands when I stood by the font in November 1938, what might have happened in the world? People have no idea what one saint can do: for sanctity is stronger than the whole of hell. The saints are full of Christ in the plenitude of His Kingly and Divine power: and they are conscious of it, and they give themselves to Him, that He may exercise His power through their smallest and seemingly most insignificant acts, for the salvation of the world.
But the world did not get very much of that out of me.
The cause of war is sin. I could agree with that, depending on how you define sin. Certainly, war is a direct result of one group of people dehumanizing another group of people. You can only think of exterminating a large population of individuals if those individuals are seen as less than human. That's how Adolf Hitler did it. George W. Bush did it in Iraq. Donald Trump did it in the United States with illegal immigrants and LGTBQ citizens and any person who disagreed with him. Democrats. Scientists. Journalists. Anyone who told the truth.
I'm not talking about Donald Trump here, though. Or Adolf Hitler or George W. Bush. People declare war on things and people every day, because people sin every day. I know I do. Get angry. Disappoint. Fail. That's the nature of being human. We are all flawed creatures, and we take those flaws out on each other.
Went to work at the library this morning. Four hours laboring away on a $20,000 government grant. I made quite a bit of headway. However, it wasn't enough. I failed meeting the goal I set for myself. If this sounds like I'm declaring war on myself, I guess I am. Self-loathing comes pretty naturally to me.
I played the pipe organ for Mass this evening. Screwed up one of the songs. More self-loathing. Ate too much pizza for dinner. Thinking about going to the fridge and eating another piece right now. Self-loathing again. Didn't grade any student diagnostic writings. Staying up way too late. Got angry with God over my sister Rose's health struggles. Self-loathing all 'round.
Of course, declaring war on yourself all day long is not very healthy. It leads to exhaustion and, at the same time, insomnia. That's pretty much where I am right now. I've tried watching movies. Reading books I love. Reading books I hate. Staring at my Christmas tree. (Yes, I still have my Christmas tree up. Don't judge me.) And sitting in darkness.
Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking of my sister, Rose, in the hospital. Or all the things I have to do tomorrow. Anticipating how I will fail yet again. This is my state of mind these days. There are some other personal struggles that contribute to this, as well. Things that weigh on me.
Of course, this war is of my own making, as most wars are. This sleeplessness is due to my own obsessions. I need to declare an armistice. Sign a Treaty of Acceptance. To forgive my shortcomings. Be kinder to myself. Know that I love and am loved. Place my sister, Rose, in God's hands.
That is how I will sleep tonight. Repeating those statements. A mantra. Lullaby. Prayer.
Saint Marty is far from perfect. You all know that. It's in imperfection that grace enters in.
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