Until recently, I knew almost nothing of Thomas Merton other than that he'd been a Christian monk with a strong interest in Buddhism and "Eastern religions," and that he'd died as the result of an accidental electrocution in Thailand. Now I know a little more, and I'm developing a great deal of respect for the man's mind, his learnedness, and his openness to other cultures and non-Christian ways of approaching spirituality, even as he lived in relative seclusion in a monastery in Kentucky.
I won't say too much about the book (and the other book of his I've been reading--Zen and the Birds of Appetite), because I don't really feel qualified. At first, I found much of his writing too cerebral and too theological for subjects that, as far as I'm concerned, are not suited to those approaches (my own approach is intuitive and decidedly anti-theological). Apparently, so did Merton; the book was written and revised over many years, and Merton made a comment to someone about the earlier parts of it (which were heavy on Catholic theology and felt, to me--as such things usually do--like wading through a swamp in oppressive heat and darkness) that it was "much too superficial and too cerebral at the same time," and that he'd written it when he was still a "rip-roaring Trappist."
But it the later parts Merton seems to find his voice and the beginnings of a kind of freedom; he seems to be starting to look for something more (and, apparently, starting to find it in his studies of Buddhism). He allows himself a sense of humor, and writes movingly about his frustration with the material obsessions and casual cruelty of modern society, and its thirst for war. (These trends in his thinking and writing apparently angered his more conservative and dogmatic associates. I read a review today by someone who was living in another monastery when Merton passed away, and who heard some of the nuns and monks saying, "Good riddance." That actually made me cry.)
I have to believe that Merton's death came at a pivotal moment in his life, and it's very difficult not to wonder what direction his life would have taken had he lived and returned from Asia to the States. In any case, his discussion of what it means to be a "contemplative," once he stopped quoting St. John of the Cross, etc., and began speaking from his own heart and experience, was fascinating. Unfortunately--as with his life--just as he really "got going" on it, it ended. But I'm still reading Zen and the Birds of Appetite, and it's not as if Merton never wrote anything else, if I want to continue.