Archive for the 'thomas merton' Category

Relative nearness to God

I think it only natural that each of us thinks our own “way to God” is the best. I doubt anyone would travel a path which they felt inferior to another one available to them. But we fall into hubris when we begin thinking that “our way” is categorically the best or only way to God. Thomas Merton put it this way in a letter to Philip Griggs:

You ask about the relative nearness to God of a fervent Sadhu and a superficial Christian. The Church’s teaching on nearness to God is that he who loves God better, knows Him better, and is more perfectly obedient to His will, is closer to Him than others who may love, know and obey Him less well. Since it is to me perfectly obvious that a Sadhu might well know God better and love Him better than a lukewarm Christian, I see no problem whatever about declaring that such a one is closer to Him and is even, by that fact, closer to Christ. The distinction lies in the fact that Catholics believe that the Church does possess a clearer and more perfect exoteric doctrine and sacramental system which “objectively” ought to be more secure and reliable a means for men to come to God and save their souls. Obviously this cannot be argued and scientifically proved, I simply state it as part of our belief in the Church. But the fact remains that God is not bound to confine His gifts to the framework of these external means, and in the end we are sanctified not merely by the instrumentality of doctrines and sacraments but by the Holy Spirit. And I repeat my conviction as a Catholic that the Holy Spirit may perfectly well be more active in the heart of a Hindu monk than in my own. I am prepared to recognize this in anyone I meet who seems to be genuinely holy and I am quite often struck by what seem to me to be signs of such holiness in people who have nothing to do with the Catholic Church.

from The Hidden Ground of Love: Letters on Religious Experience and Social
emphasis mine

The “tricky” part is seeing the genuine holiness in others. It takes an openness on our part that is difficult to achieve. Especially when we are so caught up in external things — names, affiliations, titles, creeds, dogma.

For those of you who have not heard of Thomas Merton, the following is the introduction on wikipedia:

Thomas Merton (January 31, 1915 – December 10, 1968) was one of the most influential Catholic authors of the 20th century. A Trappist monk of the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani, in the American state of Kentucky, Merton was an acclaimed Catholic spiritual writer, poet, author and social activist. Merton wrote over 60 books, scores of essays and reviews, and is the ongoing subject of many biographies. Merton was also a proponent of interreligious dialogue, engaging in spiritual dialogues with such icons as the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh and D.T. Suzuki. His career was suddenly cut short at a relatively young age due to an accident when he was electrocuted stepping out of his bath.

I’ve just found some of his letters to D.T. Suzuki in the book from which I quote above and based on comments in those, I’ve ordered six books and will be ordering two more (from “local” bookstores via abebooks.com and from a real local bookstore here in KC). They are truly fantastic letters with so many wonderful ideas about Christianity. I highly recommend them to everyone.

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From the mouths of those more eloquent than I …

I think things. I write things. I take too long to write good ;-) and put it aside. Then I find that someone else has said what I want to say. And said it more eloquently than I am capable of (hopefully that will change). So, why not let those who have already spoken speak for me?

So, here’s another quote from Thomas Merton’s letter to Amiya Chakravarty in The Hidden Ground of Love: Letters on Religious Experience and Social Concerns:

It is not easy to try to say what I now I cannot say. I do really have the feeling that you have all understood and shared quite perfectly. That you have seen something that I see to be most precious — and most available too. The reality that is present to us and in us: call it Being, call it Atman, call it Pneuma … or Silence. And the simple fact that by being attentive, by learning to listen (or recovering the natural capacity to listen which cannot be learned any more than breathing), we can find ourself engulfed in such happiness that it cannot be explained: the happiness of being at one with everything in that hidden ground of Love for which there can be no explanations.

I suppose what makes me most glad is that we all recognize each other in this metaphysical space of silence and happiness, and get some sense, for a moment, that we are full of paradise without knowing it …

Aside from Merton’s appreciation for religious and spiritual thought other than his own, what strikes me about this passage is the last sentence. How many of us truly recognize each other? We meet someone and immediately we judge them based on name, appearance, the way they stand, how they talk, what their “affiliations” are. We never are just with them in the “metaphysical space of silence and happiness.” We don’t truly recognize them; we think we see them or know them but all we see are the exterior things. We don’t see how “full of paradise” they are. Hell, we don’t even see how “full of paradise” we are. We just don’t know. And the rate some of us are going — we never will.

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The rewards of writing

Thomas Merton wrote this in a letter to Amiya Chakravarty and it truly echoes my feelings:

For a writer there is surely not much that can be more rewarding than the fact of being really read and understood and appreciated. After all, the great thing in life is to share the best one has, no matter how poor it may be. The sharing gives it value. Often when I reread things I have written I find them so bad that I am irritated with myself: of course this is only vanity. But once I realize that they have meant something to someone they acquire something of the other person’s value and meaning. What you read and liked of mine I shall like better now because you have all enjoyed them: I will like them because of all of you. I will like them because they are more yours than mine.

From: The Hidden Ground of Love: Letters on Religious Experience and Social Concerns

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