The Mad Hermit Salinger

I'm starting to get irritated by the coverage of J.D. Salinger's death—or rather, his life, as described in his obituaries. Nobody seems to be able to accept his withdrawal from the world. One writer even insists he was “mentally ill,” as if that was an explanation instead of simply a pejorative. W.P. Kinsella claims archly that his attempt to avoid publicity was simply a ploy to get publicity. All speak of him as “eccentric,” and a “recluse.”

All I see is an intelligent man. He was, in his own words, “in the world but not of it.” Though Salinger was apparently not a Christian this is simply what all Christians are called to be. This, indeed, is the only sane option in life; everything else is madness. Holden Caulfield would have called it, the whole social game, "phoniness"; and this is exactly what Jesus called it: "hypocrisy" is simply the New Testament Greek equivalent. Having made enough from his first novel to live comfortably for the rest of his life, why should he have chased after more money? Why should he have sought more fame? Why not instead take the opportunity to spend the rest of his life writing, in its purest form—that being a form of prayer, a dialogue with God? Since God exists, nothing else matters nearly so much. Salinger made the wisest choice; I would have done the same.

Indeed, William James Sardis, the man with the highest IQ ever measured, did the same. The monastery is the same thing yet again—and our ancestors understood monks to be the happiest of men. Intelligent men do not seek money, beyond their basic needs, or fame, or the world's approval. This is the secret of happiness.

That people these days see this wisdom as “eccentric” or even “mentally ill” is the clearest evidence that the world is mad, madder than ever. Why would a sane man want any part of it?