What's The Point?

"I think The Point is to make Us despair --

To See Ourselves as... animal and ugly.

To reject the possibility that God could love Us." 

  The priests left the room, stepping into the warmth and the dimness of the hall, where they both leaned wearily against the wall, their heads down and arms folded as they listened to the eerie, muffled singing from within. It was Karras who at last broke their silence. “You—you said earlier, Father, there was only one entity we’re dealing with.”

  “Yes.”

  The hushed tones, the lowered heads, were confessional.

  “All the others are but forms of attack,” continued Merrin. “There is one … only one. It is a demon.” There was a silence. Then Merrin stated simply, “I know you doubt this. But this demon I have met once before. And He is powerful, Damien. Powerful.”

  A silence. Then Karras spoke again.

  “We say the demon cannot touch the victim’s will.”

  “Yes, that is so. There is no sin.”

  “Then what would be the purpose of possession? What’s The Point?”

  “Who can know?” answered Merrin. “Who can really hope to know? And yet I think the demon’s target is not the possessed; it is us … the observers … every person in this house. And I think—I think the point is to make us despair; to reject our own humanity, Damien : to see ourselves as ultimately bestial, vile and putrescent; without dignity; ugly; unworthy. And there lies the heart of it, perhaps: in unworthiness. For I think belief in God is not a matter of reason at all; I think it finally is a matter of love: of accepting the possibility that God could ever love us.”

  Merrin paused, then continued more slowly and with an air of introspection: “Again, who really knows. But it is clear—at least to me—that the demon knows where to strike. Oh, yes, he knows. Long ago I despaired of ever loving my neighbor. Certain people … repelled me. And so how could I love them? I thought. It tormented me, Damien; it led me to despair of myself and from that, very soon, to despair of my God. My faith was shattered.”

  Surprised, Karras turned and looked at Merrin with interest. “And what happened?” he asked.

  “Ah, well … at last I realized that God would never ask of me that which I know to be psychologically impossible; that the love which He asked was in my will and not meant to be felt as emotion. No. Not at all. He was asking that I act with love; that I do unto others; and that I should do it unto those who repelled me, I believe, was a greater act of love than any other.” Merrin lowered his head and spoke even more softly. “I know that all of this must seem very obvious to you, Damien. I know. But at the time I could not see it. Strange blindness. How many husbands and wives,” Merrin uttered sadly, “must believe they have fallen out of love because their hearts no longer race at the sight of their beloveds. Ah, dear God!” He shook his head. And then he nodded. “There it lies, I think, Damien … possession; not in wars, as some tend to believe; not so much; and very rarely in extraordinary interventions such as here … this girl … this poor child. No, I tend to see possession most often in the little things, Damien: in the senseless, petty spites and misunderstandings; the cruel and cutting word that leaps unbidden to the tongue between friends. Between lovers. Between husbands and wives. Enough of these and we have no need of Satan to manage our wars; these we manage for ourselves … for ourselves.”

  The lilting singing in the bedroom could still be heard, drawing Merrin to look up at the door with a distant stare. “And yet even from this—from evil—there will finally come good in some way; in some way that we may never understand or even see.” Merrin paused. “Perhaps evil is the crucible of goodness,” he brooded. “And perhaps even Satan—Satan, in spite of himself—somehow serves to work out the will of God.”

  Merrin said no more, and for a time they stood in silence while Karras reflected; until another objection came to his mind. “Once the demon’s driven out,” he asked, “what’s to keep it from coming back in?”

  “I don’t know,” Merrin answered. “And yet it never seems to happen. No, never.” Merrin put a hand to his face, pinching tightly at the corners of his eyes. “ ‘Damien’ … what a wonderful name,” he murmured. Karras heard exhaustion in his voice. And something else. Some anxiety. Something like repression of pain.

  Abruptly, Merrin pushed himself away from the wall, and with his face still hidden in his hand, he excused himself and hurried down the hall to a bathroom. What was wrong? wondered Karras. He felt a sudden envy and admiration for the exorcist’s strong and simple faith. Then he turned toward the door. The singing. It had stopped. Had the night at last ended?

  The priests left the room, stepping into the warmth and the dimness of the hall, where they both leaned wearily against the wall, their heads down and arms folded as they listened to the eerie, muffled singing from within. It was Karras who at last broke their silence. “You—you said earlier, Father, there was only one entity we’re dealing with.”

  “Yes.”

  The hushed tones, the lowered heads, were confessional.

  “All the others are but forms of attack,” continued Merrin. “There is one … only one. It is a demon.” There was a silence. Then Merrin stated simply, “I know you doubt this. But this demon I have met once before. And He is powerful, Damien. Powerful.”

  A silence. Then Karras spoke again.

  “We say the demon cannot touch the victim’s will.”

  “Yes, that is so. There is no sin.”

  “Then what would be the purpose of possession? What’s The Point?”

  “Who can know?” answered Merrin. “Who can really hope to know? And yet I think the demon’s target is not the possessed; it is us … the observers … every person in this house. And I think—I think the point is to make us despair; to reject our own humanity, Damien : to see ourselves as ultimately bestial, vile and putrescent; without dignity; ugly; unworthy. And there lies the heart of it, perhaps: in unworthiness. For I think belief in God is not a matter of reason at all; I think it finally is a matter of love: of accepting the possibility that God could ever love us.”

  Merrin paused, then continued more slowly and with an air of introspection: “Again, who really knows. But it is clear—at least to me—that the demon knows where to strike. Oh, yes, he knows. Long ago I despaired of ever loving my neighbor. Certain people … repelled me. And so how could I love them? I thought. It tormented me, Damien; it led me to despair of myself and from that, very soon, to despair of my God. My faith was shattered.”

  Surprised, Karras turned and looked at Merrin with interest. “And what happened?” he asked.

  “Ah, well … at last I realized that God would never ask of me that which I know to be psychologically impossible; that the love which He asked was in my will and not meant to be felt as emotion. No. Not at all. He was asking that I act with love; that I do unto others; and that I should do it unto those who repelled me, I believe, was a greater act of love than any other.” Merrin lowered his head and spoke even more softly. “I know that all of this must seem very obvious to you, Damien. I know. But at the time I could not see it. Strange blindness. How many husbands and wives,” Merrin uttered sadly, “must believe they have fallen out of love because their hearts no longer race at the sight of their beloveds. Ah, dear God!” He shook his head. And then he nodded. “There it lies, I think, Damien … possession; not in wars, as some tend to believe; not so much; and very rarely in extraordinary interventions such as here … this girl … this poor child. No, I tend to see possession most often in the little things, Damien: in the senseless, petty spites and misunderstandings; the cruel and cutting word that leaps unbidden to the tongue between friends. Between lovers. Between husbands and wives. Enough of these and we have no need of Satan to manage our wars; these we manage for ourselves … for ourselves.”

  The lilting singing in the bedroom could still be heard, drawing Merrin to look up at the door with a distant stare. “And yet even from this — from evil — there will finally come good in some way; in some way that we may never understand or even see.” Merrin paused. “Perhaps evil is the crucible of goodness,” he brooded. “And perhaps even Satan — Satan, in spite of himself — somehow serves to work out the will of God.”

  Merrin said no more, and for a time they stood in silence while Karras reflected; until another objection came to his mind. “Once the demon’s driven out,” he asked, “what’s to keep it from coming back in?”

  “I don’t know,” Merrin answered. “And yet it never seems to happen. No, never.” Merrin put a hand to his face, pinching tightly at the corners of his eyes. “ ‘Damien’ … what a wonderful name,” he murmured. Karras heard exhaustion in his voice. And something else. Some anxiety. Something like repression of pain.

  Abruptly, Merrin pushed himself away from the wall, and with his face still hidden in his hand, he excused himself and hurried down the hall to a bathroom. What was wrong? wondered Karras. He felt a sudden envy and admiration for the exorcist’s strong and simple faith. Then he turned toward the door. The singing. It had stopped. Had the night at last ended?