Lankester Merrin's history

A few unanswered questions about my own tastes undoubtedly shall go with me to the grave. For example, though I am so delicate and squeamish that I cannot watch news broadcasts containing reports of violence, I have an entire shelf of books about Jack the Ripper, and have had a drink or two in the pub where Mary Kelly had her last drink. I love films (passionate about theatre, but not able to afford a ticket - a film I can manage now and then), but loathe horror pictures as a rule. I never read detective stories, let alone anything in 'horror' mode. Were I to hear of anyone's being suspected of being possessed by a demon, I not only would stay five miles away but would carry my relic of the true cross if my bus ventured into the region.

Yet I must admit to loving William Peter Blatty's "The Exorcist" (book version - there were too many deficiencies in the film, and little treatment of the spiritual elements.) The novel has an incredible richness - Damien Karras' struggles of faith; the question of whether Regan's possession is from her use of the occult or flavoured with her tutor's New Age quest for serenity (old hat today - but a new topic in 1973); Mary Karras' being left to die alone and mentally unstable, when her priest-psychiatrist son cannot care for her; Chris MacNeil's confused atheism; William Kinderman's shining decency after a life of dealing with murderers.

I read today of the new Exorcist prequel, which I'll undoubtedly be sure to see one of these days. I doubt that the young, who seem to think (being used to the digital special effects of recent years) that the original "Exorcist" is camp, or even those who were not fans of Blatty's excellent book, shall be particularly concerned about the past of Lankester Merrin, the exorcist. I cannot say that I blame them, I suppose. The sequel films to the Exorcist were diabolically dreadful, and only a year has past since Lankester's history was last explored on screen, and this an effort that would make any critic blanch.

Those who have seen only the film version of the Exorcist may be puzzled at my interest in Merrin. On screen, despite Max von Sydow's excellent performance, Lankester is a rather vague character, and, with his discussions with Chris and Damien mostly 'chopped' from the final print, has the chance to do little except use the Roman Ritual and drop dead. The film's opening (in Northern Iraq - hardly a location on which anyone is likely to wish to dwell in 2005) gives a hint that Lankester has and shall continue to battle Pazuzu, but, unlike the book, does not give us the picture of a man who once could not love others, and learnt to do so by, as he says, acting with love. With a flair that must come from his Jesuit education, Blatty manages to give Lankester elements of both Teilhard de Chardin (whom I have never understood) and John Henry Newman (whom I understand all too well.)

Now here is my most humbling admission since those about loving A. J. Cronin and 960s rock music. Though I could see all the literary deficiencies in "Exorcist: The Beginning," and thought the possessed woman made Linda Blair and the pea soup look sophisticated, I cried at some points during its viewing. Lankester Merrin had lost his faith and abandoned his priesthood - and perhaps only those who cherish faith and vocation (not those looking for horror) can realise the constant, deep fear one can have of losing both. Merrin had encountered human evil during a Nazi occupation (I'll not include a 'spoiler' of the details here), and knew well that the human capacity for hatred, violence and destruction does not need any help from demons to come forth.

At one point in the action, Merrin is brought to faith and repentance, and, using dirt from the ground of a cave, traces the penitent's cross on his forehead and utters a prayer for forgiveness. (The kids near me, snickering at the poor special effects and complaining in whispers that the film was not frightening enough, must have thought I was crackers if they saw my tears.) Merrin then holds the child who is with him closely, and says not to listen to the demon's ranting, "They are only his lies." One who had lost his faith calls on the power of Christ to exorcise the demon directly afterward.

I have little knowledge of demonic possession, and it certainly is not a topic I care to pursue. (I hate being afraid - and fear such as that would be sufficient to turn my legs to jam.) But today's meditation perhaps shall be on what a treasure we have in Truth.

I remember 1973 very well - I was a very promising musician, writer, and student at the time, and very involved with liturgical efforts. True to the spirit of the time, nonetheless, I was sampling the New Age business. I cannot say whether it had any demonic element, but it presented (at least for the avid Christian believer) rather a smooth path to some 'infestation' of Gnosticism. Evil cannot be explained - but perhaps some special knowledge will keep us from being able to be harmed. The exotic 'search' for knowledge of the future, or controlling one's life through mind control, whatever, can be quite appealing to those of us who are momentarily disappointed with the banal action of just reciting from the psalter. The sense of being in some way elite is quite an 'ego builder.' Our intentions were good, perhaps, but we could not see the food for our human tendency to self-deception.

I hope to have the grace to recall, for always, who is the Way, Truth and Life, and wish this as well for my readers.