To the reader who has grown accustomed to the distance allowed to them to the ‘Word of God’ by the Bible’s first eighteen books (all written as chronicles in the third-person) the Psalms must come as a surprise. It is here that the reader is first prompted to formulate those strange words for themselves: that address, a supplication, found in almost every psalm: “O Lord” or “O my God.” It is difficult to read the Psalms as historical or religious ‘artefacts’ as a secular reader might be tempted to read other books of the Bible. The singular voice of the Psalms springs from the text – they demand to be read as poems. And so, read as poems (with all of great poetry’s honesty, spontaneity, difficulty) they offer the reader of the Bible something new: a glimpse of the subjectivity of faith, and, in that, a glimpse at communion.
All great poems and works of art are a communion of sorts – the mind of the writer and reader are one, if only for the moment that the words are written and read. This fleeting connection is likewise a glimpse at something which the Christian might call love, or brotherhood, or community. But normal poems, even great ones, don’t explicitly allow the extended franchise of communion that the Psalms offer to Christians; the community of poetry sees itself as small, ephemeral, fragmented – we meet each other in secret, in marginalized and difficult words. What the Psalms offer alternatively, in Merton’s view, is an entry into the ‘mind of the Church’ which, if imagined and accessed correctly, means something along the lines of a communion that extends beyond the marginal confines of poetry as it is. The Psalms, as Merton puts forth, are the very poems and prayers that Christ and Mary and the apostles would have read, studied, and prayed. So it is entering into this realm of shared poetic experience that the Christian reader enters “the mind of Christ” or the body of his Church.
It is close to this sense that Merton writes, “There is no aspect of the interior life, no kind of religious experience, no spiritual need of man that is not depicted and lived out on the Psalms.” It is through Christ, Merton believes, and the Psalms as part of the content of his life, that the internal spiritual life, the universal life, is constituted and illuminated, surveyed and conquered. The range of experiences in the Psalms illuminates the trials and joys of the wholly integrated or ‘spiritual’ life that Christ’s prophetic predecessors lived to an evolving extent that culminates in the perfection of Christ’s life (to Merton, the final synthesis of Poetry and Life).
But how do the Psalms achieve this goal of offering this ‘mind’ to the reader, where other Biblical books fall short or serve other purposes? It is a certain paradox in all poetry but especially in the Psalms (and for their aforementioned purpose of perfection and salvation) that communion comes not from generic ‘accessible’ poetry but from poetry that is unrepeatably singular, or genius. The circumstances that prompted the composition of each psalm were singular and personal. They do not profess to be universal or are even organized in coherently for directed reading in the Bible. They are not intended as guidelines of faith or a kind of religious informatics. Merely, each is an organic and honest expression of a single poet’s life – the singular effort towards perfection that each prophetic predecessor (and successor) of Christ makes. They are inspired words, sometimes limpid, sometimes opaque – sometimes elated, sometimes despairing. The paradox is that this genius, is repeated again but to a more complete extent in Christ’s life. Christ achieves poetry because he understands fully himself and therefore understands the whole of humanity and their relation to God and each other.
At first glance, many of the points made in Thomas Merton’s book about what the psalms are and how they should read and prayed seem obvious and uncontroversial. His advice to read the Psalms personally (as this is how Christ’s successors, the apostles, Mary, or Christians and readers of the Bible throughout history see their relation to the ‘Universal Mind’ which is the ‘Other Mind’ of Poetry) is self-evident to anyone who reads poetry. It raised the question: how do most Christians even read the Psalms? Do they read it with an understanding that the Psalms serve this purpose? to glimpse this foreign mind?
For one, it’s true that there has always been an aversion in Christianity to laypeople reading the Bible for themselves. As Merton explores in another book, Opening the Bible, for too great a portion of the history of the Church, the ‘Word of God’ was reserved only for an elect few – the vast majority of people and Christians consigned to receive its divine transmission (its divine Poetry, here in the Psalms) indirectly.
A parallel tendency, whether an enduring consequence of this first fact or not, is that a reverence for the Bible as a high sacrament beyond reproach held by many Christians in effect discourages the reader from seeing themselves and their individual lives in this ‘Word.’ A passive adoration of the Bible and the Psalms, that discourages honest and critical reading, impairs the power of its language and forces the spirit of poetry into hibernation.
Seen with this risk in mind, Merton’s encouragement to read the psalms existentially – to see in them the unplumbed depths and unwitnessed apogees of one’s own spiritual being – becomes an urgent and troubling challenge to the reader. It is this challenge – to read intimately and openly – that invites real danger into the reader’s world. Because to fully listen to poetry’s voice, which perhaps we have not yet identified as our own, invites a terrifying prospect: the possibility of a real transformation of our lives.