I have an evil twin who seems to reside in the word section of my brain somewhere within my head. He's the guy who's there before a public speech who tells me I'll say an inappropriate word or fart of freeze like a snowman. The former two have never happened, but the latter has, on occasion and briefly, just enough to scare the heck out of me. Just what the evil twin wants.
The evil twin tells me I am going to breath while deep under water, or fall off a tower ladder. He tells me I am not good enough for this society, or too good for that one. I have never breathed under water or fallen off a ladder, but it does make me worry, maybe, who knows? enough to die; and society? Up to my elbows in that swamp. The evil twin wants me to have more of this or that than the other guy - something that makes me feel superior in some way - and then tells me it's not enough, that I'm still a putz. The evil twin will make it hard to play guitar when under pressure, hard to tell a good story, hard to be an ordinary guy just when it is important to do any of those things or a score more of other things. The evil twin even tells me that I am the only one with an evil twin, and that others are breezing along just fine and dandy (what's up with you, Putz! Get working!) I know the evil twin is wrong about that - that is why people say (really) that they would rather die than speak publicly; that is why people freak out on cliffs or ladders or other heights when they are otherwise safe; that is why people go lonely for years because they cannot break out of a shell of some kind or another. It is also why some snap and do things that land then, briefly and infamously, on the news.
In the original Star Trek, James T. Kirk encountered some alien something or other that split him in two: the good Kirk and the bad Kirk. But our evil twin is not so evenly set apart. It is the doubting self, doubting everything, never secure, a gadfly that shadows all that we do. It will not allow for any permanent peace or happiness. It is the standard human condition.
This Thomas Merton knows when he speaks of the egoic self, for this self is both the striver (which is not always good) and the doubter (which is not always bad). Whichever it is at any moment, however, it is superficial, a separate self that determines its own worth by standing apart from and superior to others in some fashion. Of course this means that one stands beneath others in many ways as well - and often feels unworthy of the respect that it does get in its special area. Merton even includes saints; nothing is more beyond saving, he says, than the self-satisfied saint, the sanctimonious prelate or guru who glories in the praise he receives for his holiness. No - only a person of humble nature, who no longer thinks of himself as separate, as special, can receive the cherished keys to the holy door - and then refuse them if he can to allow others in before him.
True, all brutally true - our ego plays infinite games with us, and keep us miserable and forever lonely. Merton, we see, is talking to himself as much as to us, but as I read last night, my evil twin could not help but say: oh, come on! Now you have made it impossible! I cannot take pride in any accomplishment, even and especially my own self-sacrifice and piety? Good lord, are you kidding? Why even bother.
This is why, evil twin: because it IS true. That it is difficult to surpass is the way it is, just as it is very hard to climb a high and steep mountain. It, this human social world and the social facade it creates in us, is truly filled with ego traps. So tangled are they that Jesus preferred the company of thieves and prostitutes to official holy men - because the armor of their false selves was so thick from their high opinion of themselves. Better, stunningly, those who knew and know they are worthless or even worse - for they stand, at least possibly, on the brink of salvation.
But my evil self sighs. You ain't never gettin' to heaven, Freddy boy. And that may be right. But we call 'um like Merton sees 'um, no more or no less. This tough world of ours really is about the separation we make with the false self and its pride - and the really hard path we must all take sooner or later to peel it off. It is difficult and it hurts. It can also only be done with special help - help that the sanctimonious might think he does not need, but that the sinner just might call for, in spite of or even because of his evil twin. FK
The evil twin tells me I am going to breath while deep under water, or fall off a tower ladder. He tells me I am not good enough for this society, or too good for that one. I have never breathed under water or fallen off a ladder, but it does make me worry, maybe, who knows? enough to die; and society? Up to my elbows in that swamp. The evil twin wants me to have more of this or that than the other guy - something that makes me feel superior in some way - and then tells me it's not enough, that I'm still a putz. The evil twin will make it hard to play guitar when under pressure, hard to tell a good story, hard to be an ordinary guy just when it is important to do any of those things or a score more of other things. The evil twin even tells me that I am the only one with an evil twin, and that others are breezing along just fine and dandy (what's up with you, Putz! Get working!) I know the evil twin is wrong about that - that is why people say (really) that they would rather die than speak publicly; that is why people freak out on cliffs or ladders or other heights when they are otherwise safe; that is why people go lonely for years because they cannot break out of a shell of some kind or another. It is also why some snap and do things that land then, briefly and infamously, on the news.
In the original Star Trek, James T. Kirk encountered some alien something or other that split him in two: the good Kirk and the bad Kirk. But our evil twin is not so evenly set apart. It is the doubting self, doubting everything, never secure, a gadfly that shadows all that we do. It will not allow for any permanent peace or happiness. It is the standard human condition.
This Thomas Merton knows when he speaks of the egoic self, for this self is both the striver (which is not always good) and the doubter (which is not always bad). Whichever it is at any moment, however, it is superficial, a separate self that determines its own worth by standing apart from and superior to others in some fashion. Of course this means that one stands beneath others in many ways as well - and often feels unworthy of the respect that it does get in its special area. Merton even includes saints; nothing is more beyond saving, he says, than the self-satisfied saint, the sanctimonious prelate or guru who glories in the praise he receives for his holiness. No - only a person of humble nature, who no longer thinks of himself as separate, as special, can receive the cherished keys to the holy door - and then refuse them if he can to allow others in before him.
True, all brutally true - our ego plays infinite games with us, and keep us miserable and forever lonely. Merton, we see, is talking to himself as much as to us, but as I read last night, my evil twin could not help but say: oh, come on! Now you have made it impossible! I cannot take pride in any accomplishment, even and especially my own self-sacrifice and piety? Good lord, are you kidding? Why even bother.
This is why, evil twin: because it IS true. That it is difficult to surpass is the way it is, just as it is very hard to climb a high and steep mountain. It, this human social world and the social facade it creates in us, is truly filled with ego traps. So tangled are they that Jesus preferred the company of thieves and prostitutes to official holy men - because the armor of their false selves was so thick from their high opinion of themselves. Better, stunningly, those who knew and know they are worthless or even worse - for they stand, at least possibly, on the brink of salvation.
But my evil self sighs. You ain't never gettin' to heaven, Freddy boy. And that may be right. But we call 'um like Merton sees 'um, no more or no less. This tough world of ours really is about the separation we make with the false self and its pride - and the really hard path we must all take sooner or later to peel it off. It is difficult and it hurts. It can also only be done with special help - help that the sanctimonious might think he does not need, but that the sinner just might call for, in spite of or even because of his evil twin. FK
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