Walker Percy - The Thanatos Syndrome

“So?”

He’s feeling so much better that he’s doing foot exercises, balancing on the ball of one foot, then the other. Now, to my astonishment, he is doing a bit of shadowboxing, weaving and throwing a few punches.

“That’s the only sign of God which has not been evacuated by an evacuator,” he says, moving his shoulders. “What sign is that?”

“Jews.”

“Jews?”

“You got it, Doc.” He sits, gives the azimuth a spin like a croupier who has raked in all the chips.

“Got what?”

“You see the point.”

“What’s the point?”

He leans close, eyes alight, “The Jews — cannot — be — subsumed.”

“Can’t be what?”

“Subsumed.”

“I see.”

“Since the Jews were the original chosen people of God, a tribe of people who are still here, they are a sign of God’s presence which cannot be evacuated. Try to find a hole in that proof!”

I try — that is, I act as if I am trying.

“You can’t find a hole, can you?” he says triumphantly.

“But, Father, the Jews I know are not religious. They either do not believe in God or, like me, they don’t attach any significance beyond—”

“Precisely!”

“Precisely?”

“Precisely. Probatur conclusion as St. Thomas would say.” He seems to have finished.

“Right,” I say, reaching for the rung of the trapdoor. I think I know what to tell Father Placide.

“Hold it!” He waves an arm out to the wide world. “Name one other thing out there which cannot be subsumed.”

“I can’t.”

“Pine tree?”

“How do you mean, pine tree?”

“That pine tree can be subsumed under the classes of trees called conifers, right?”

“Right.”

“Try to subsume Jews under the classes of mankind, Caucasians, Semites, whatever. Go ahead, try it.”

“Excuse me, Father, but I really—”

“Do your friends still consider themselves Jews?”

“Yes.”

“You see. It does not matter whether they believe. Believe or not, they are still Jews. And what are Jews if not the actual people originally chosen by God?”

“Excuse me, Father, but is it not also part of Christian belief that the Jews did not accept Jesus as the Messiah and that therefore—”

“Makes no difference!” exclaims the priest, throwing a punch as if this were the very objection he had been waiting for.

“It doesn’t?”

“Read St. Paul! It is clear that their inability to accept Jesus was not only foreordained but altogether reasonable and is not to be held against them. Salvation comes from the Jews, as holy scripture tells us. They remain the beloved, originally chosen people of God.”

“Right. Now I—”

“It is also psychologically provable.”

“It is?”

“Jews are naturally skeptical, hardheaded, and, after all, what Jesus was proposing to them was a tall order.”

“Yes. Well—” He’s standing on the trapdoor and I can’t lift it until he gets off.

“What do you think Peres would say if Begin claimed to be the Messiah?”

I have to laugh.

“No no.” The priest hunches forward, almost clearing the trapdoor. “You’re missing the point.”

“I am?”

“How many times in your work have you encountered someone who claims to be Napoleon, the Messiah, Hitler, the Devil?”

“Often.”

“How often have you encountered a Jewish patient who claimed to be the Messiah or Napoleon?”

“Not often.”

“You see?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I don’t?”

“You still don’t see the bottom line psychologically speaking?” My nose has started running seriously. He is standing on the trapdoor and my nose is dripping.

“One, a Jew will not believe another Jew making such a preposterous claim, right? But — But—!” Now he has come to the bottom line sure enough. For he has stopped doing isometrics and throwing punches and has instead placed both hands on the azimuth and lined me up in the sights. He speaks in a low intense voice, pausing between each word. “Is it not the case, Doctor, that if a Jew speaks to a Gentile, speaks with authority, with sobriety, as a friend— the Gentile — will — believe — him! Think about it!” He has leaned over so close I can see the white fiber, the arcus senilis, around his pupil.

I give every appearance of thinking about it.

“Even an anti-Semite! Did you ever notice that an anti-Semite who despises Jews actually believes them deep down — that’s why he hates them! — and isn’t that the reason he despises them?”

I eye him curiously. “May I ask you something, Father?”

“Fire away.”

“Do you still regard yourself as a Catholic priest?”

For the first time he seems surprised. He stops his isometrics, cocks his head. “How do you mean, Tom?”

“Why are you?”

“Why am I what? Oh. You mean why am I a Catholic — Tom, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you remember what a sacrament is?”

I smile. “A sensible sign instituted by Christ to produce grace. I can still rattle it off.”

The priest laughs. “Those sisters did a job on us, didn’t they?”

“Yes. Maybe too good.”

“What? Oh. Yes, yes. Do you remember the scriptural example they always gave?”

“Sure. Unless you eat my body and drink my blood, you will not have life in you.”

“Same one!” says the priest, again laughing, then falls to musing. “Life,” he murmurs absently and under his breath. “Life. But that’s the trouble, the words—”

“What’s that?” I ask the priest, wondering if he’s still talking to me.

“Oh,” he says, giving a start. “I’m sorry. To answer your question—” He frowns mightily.

What question?

“Are you forgetting about the ancient Romans?”

The ancient Romans. My nose is running badly. I have to go.

“Aren’t you forgetting that the ancient Romans, who were, after all, not stupid people and were right about most things though not very creative, were also right about us.”

“I suppose I had forgotten.”

“The historians say they mistook us for a Jewish sect, didn’t they?”

“Sure.”

“Was it a mistake?”

Now he’s clear of the trapdoor. I give the rung a yank.

“The Jews as a word sign cannot be assimilated under a class, category, or theory. No subsuming Jews! Not even by the Romans.”

“Right.” I yank again. What’s wrong with this damn thing?

“No subsuming Jews, Tom!”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“This offends people, even the most talented people, people of the loftiest sentiments, the highest scientific achievements, and the purest humanitarian ideals.”

“Right.”

“You have to turn it,” he says, noticing my efforts to open the trapdoor.

“Thank you.” No, that doesn’t work either.

“The Holocaust was a consequence of the sign which could not be evacuated.”

“Right.”

“Who remembers the Ukrainians?”

“True.”

“Let me tell you something, Tom. People have the wrong idea about the Holocaust. The Holocaust, as people see it, is a myth.”

Oh my. My heart sinks. On top of everything else, is he one of those? I try harder to open the damn door.

While he is talking, he has taken hold of my arm.

I remove his hand. “Goodbye, Father.”

“What’s the matter, Tom?”

“Are you telling me that the Nazis did not kill six million Jews?”

“No.”

“They did kill six million Jews.”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that the origins of the Holocaust are a myth—”