Thomas Merton’s hundred-or-so page manual Spiritual Direction and Meditation is one of a few palm-sized paperbacks published by the Liturgical Press in Minnesota that outline and clarify some of the basic questions that novitiate Catholic monks or curious non-Christians like myself would have about Christian contemplation and prayer. There are few authors I would trust with this sort of purpose. I don’t need to mention the vast and mostly useless proliferation of Christian ‘self-help’ books, prayer manuals, and spiritual ‘guides,’ which instead of assisting any of those pursuits actually serves two rather unfortunate ends: namely, filling the heads of avid and aching Christians with clichés and pseudo-spiritual hokey-pokey and discouraging intelligent readers from taking Christianity seriously – both of which do injustice to the resilient and simple wisdom of Christian teachings and their possibilities for the modern (or is it post-modern now?) individual.
Merton’s Christianity is a rare kind, as is evident metonymically in anything one reads by him. It is simultaneously steeped in critical study of what seems to be the entire Christian intellectual, theological, philosophical, mystical tradition, while curious and knowledgeable too about Eastern religions and practices; it is informed by poetry and an appreciation of literature — in the tradition of Milton, Blake, Emerson to name a few — which gives it a sharp and idiosyncratic nature; and most importantly of all: it is grounded in a simple yet serious practical awareness of life. A quote on the book’s jacket describes his attitude as “no-nonsense,” a distinction which some might believe dubiously awarded to any Christian writer. And yet, it is true. The prescience of Merton’s writing stems from this mentioned genius. It is his insistence on the nature of the soul and its longing, and his fidelity to the honest and difficult life that corresponds with the possibility (however unlikely) of its fulfillment. A rare pragmatism and rigorous skepticism enlivens and vitalizes a book that could otherwise be disregarded as just another production of a diseased and irrelevant tradition.
The book focuses on two practical elements of this practical spiritual life: the contemplative practice of meditation and the role of spiritual direction (which could faithfully be translated to mentorship or even spiritual friendship). The message in the portion of the book concerned with spiritual direction is simple: true spiritual direction is personal, just as religion is, finally, personal. A sensitive and judicious guide can encourage us to develop, “our natural simplicity, sincerity, and forthright spiritual honesty,” keeping in, “vital contact with the reality of our vocation and of our lives, instead of losing ourselves in a maze of abstract devotional fictions.” It is clear that this person, in Merton’s mind, is not a doleful administrator of some distant allegedly sacred rite but is one who, “in all actions is free from the superficial automatism of conventional routine… [and who] in all that he does he acts freely, simply, spontaneously, from the depths of his heart, moved by love.” Merton dances around the targets for these pointed statements but it is clear, like Emerson before him, that Merton is concerned with the ‘living’ church – with the inscrutable and spontaneous will of the Holy Spirit as it inspires through the impulses of the church’s awakened members - not with empty convention. Addressed especially to those with a monastic or institutionally religious vocation, an inspired director is necessary to safeguard against ‘deformation’ or repression of the free religious impulse. It is a skeptical and sensitive guard against the tyranny of conventions and orthodoxies that suckle their adherents in an unfortunate lassitude. To put it most clearly, the direction is not really ‘religious’ in the same way that Merton’s Christianity is not really ‘religious.’ It is about human life, and all of its desires, doubts, and disappointments – not an affect of some pseudo-saintly paragon of holiness and certainly not mere rule-following.
His advice on meditation is much the same, stressing its personal and unaffected nature. One reads Merton and gets the feeling that he might’ve been better off in a Zen monastery. And it is true that Merton had sought Zen and the simple yet difficult wisdom of its tradition. But alas he becomes, and it seems always was, truly, a Christian. His attempted instructional writing on meditation rings everywhere with theological and mystical ideas on the nature of contemplation and prayer. This is where the book proves its originality and its invigoration. The most important aspect of meditation to Merton is a person’s sense of their own need for it; in his words: an understanding of one’s ‘indigence.’ It is necessary, to Merton, that we recognize the impoverishment of our spirits in the world we’ve made for ourselves, and recognize that the purpose of our meditation is to seek, understand, and finally reconcile with God. What is latent here is a judgement of a trend in ‘secular’ meditation (yes, TM was around when Merton wrote this…) which Merton describes as being to the meditator, “complacent, comfortable, reassuring, and inconclusive.” In other words: it does nothing to change the state of our indigence; we remain in exile like the prodigal son, “starving in a distant land, far from our Father’s House.”
Although Merton believes (I’ll admit, convincingly) that the ‘way’ to God, or reality, is through Christ, what is perhaps more important is that we recognize our need for this truth, and for a way to it – that amidst all the confusion of modern life that we crave a life and a reality that is really real – and that we apply ourselves sincerely to this goal – perhaps not towards ‘God’ and through ‘Christ’ as you imagine those figures, but towards being, in our own way, finally, ourselves.