第 4 章
The First Stirrings of Faith
In February 1937, Merton purchased Etienne Gilson's "The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy" at Scribner's bookstore. Upon discovering the Catholic imprimatur, he felt disgust, having always feared the Church itself despite admiring Catholic culture. Yet as he read, he discovered in the concept of God's aseity-His existence of and by Himself-a revolutionary idea that showed Catholic belief was not the superstitious hangover he had imagined.
This intellectual opening to faith coincided with physical illness. After collapsing from what he believed might be an ulcer, Merton found himself living in constant fear-"the reverse side of the pride and lust coin." This humiliation and sense of his own fruitlessness was "the closest I came to contrition-merely a reaction of nature proving I was still morally alive though spiritually dead."
A pivotal moment came when Merton visited Rome in 1933. Walking through ancient churches, he encountered "the Christ of the Apocalypse, the Christ of the Martyrs, the Christ of the Fathers"-Christ as God and King who "owns and rules my life." The Byzantine mosaics spoke to him of "a God of infinite power, wisdom, and love Who had yet become Man." Though he couldn't grasp these theological truths explicitly, they entered his consciousness implicitly through the ancient art.
One night in his room, Merton felt his father's presence-he who had been dead over a year-as vividly as if he had touched him. In that flash, he was overwhelmed with insight into his soul's corruption. For the first time in his life, he truly prayed-"praying out of the very roots of my life and of my being" to a God he had never known, begging liberation from the "thousand terrible things that held my will in their slavery."
第 5 章
Conversion and New Life
In 1938, Merton's reading became increasingly Catholic-Gerard Manley Hopkins, Dante, and even the religious sections of James Joyce's works fascinated him. He was particularly struck by Joyce's portrayal of a priest's sermon on hell in "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," admiring not the fear it evoked but its expertness and efficiency.
That summer, Merton attended Mass for the first time at Corpus Christi Church behind Columbia's Teachers College. What impressed him most was that the church was completely full-not just with elderly people, but with men, women, and children of all ages and classes. Nearby, a pretty teenage girl knelt praying with genuine seriousness-a revelation that someone young and beautiful could make prayer the real reason for attending church.
The sermon that day spoke of Christ not merely as a good man or prophet but as God Himself who had taken human nature, loved us as God, suffered and died for us as God. This truth, the priest explained, would be understood only through faith-otherwise remaining scandal or folly. And no one can believe these things merely by wanting to-without grace, an actual light and impulsion from God, one cannot make an act of living faith.
Merton's decisive moment came in the fall of 1938. While reading Father Leahy's biography of Hopkins, he felt an irresistible voice within: "What are you waiting for? Why are you sitting here? Why do you still hesitate? You know what you ought to do. Why don't you do it?" Despite trying to silence this prompting, he finally put down the book, put on his raincoat, and walked to the Corpus Christi rectory where he told Father Ford: "I want to become a Catholic."
After instruction, Merton was baptized on November 16, 1938, taking the name Thomas. In the confessional's shadows, he confessed his sins, tearing them out "like teeth." Then he knelt at the altar rail for his First Communion: "When he raised the Host, Christ drew me to Himself. 'Behold the Lamb of God: behold Him Who taketh away the sins of the world.' In that moment, Heaven was entirely mine."
第 6 章
Growing in Faith and Finding His Vocation
Though baptism opened immense spiritual realms to Merton, he quickly descended into what he called "anticlimax." He made several mistakes in that first year: not seeking daily Communion, failing to pursue spiritual direction, setting aside thoughts of priesthood, and neglecting prayer, especially devotion to the Virgin Mary. Without these spiritual foundations, he entered Christian life as if it were "merely natural life with a supernatural mode."
A turning point came during a conversation with his friend Robert Lax, who asked him what he wanted to be. After Merton replied, "I guess what I want is to be a good Catholic," Lax pressed him: "What you should say is that you want to be a saint." The thought struck Merton as weird. "How do you expect me to become a saint?" he asked. "By wanting to," said Lax simply. "All that's necessary is to want to be one. Don't you believe God will make you what He created you to be if you consent?"
In 1939, Merton began feeling a call to priesthood. The thought came suddenly but with certainty: "I am going to be a priest." This wasn't an emotional urge or passionate fancy, but a strong, sweet, deep conviction-a matter of conscience that this was what he ought to do. After discussing religious orders with his mentor Dan Walsh, Merton initially leaned toward the Franciscans, believing their Rule would be easier to follow.
However, a retreat at the Trappist monastery of Our Lady of Gethsemani in Kentucky profoundly affected him. Despite initially being terrified by the austere Trappist life-silent monks who never conversed, who fasted more than half the year, never ate meat or fish, and worked their own fields-Merton found himself drawn to their absolute authenticity. Their liturgy delivered graces that overwhelmed him like a tidal wave: "See Who God is!" the lights and shadows seemed to say. "See Christ here, on the Cross!"
第 7 章
The Call to Gethsemani
After being rejected by the Franciscans due to concerns about his past, Merton experienced a period of intense spiritual struggle. He decided that if he couldn't live in a monastery, he would try to live in the world as if he were a monk-joining a Third Order, seeking teaching work at a Catholic college, and turning his back on the "poisonous compromises of secular life."
During this period, Merton taught at St. Bonaventure College and worked briefly with Baroness Catherine de Hueck at Friendship House in Harlem, ministering to the poor. The experience in Harlem revealed to him how Catholicism must address social injustice-how the Church needed to be present among "the outcasts, the despised."
On December 7, 1941-Pearl Harbor Day-Merton spent his last peaceful Sunday at St. Bonaventure's. When America entered the war, he received word that his draft medical examination would be delayed a month. Taking this as a sign, he quickly prepared to leave for Gethsemani-giving away clothes and books, destroying his manuscripts, and writing farewell letters.
The journey felt like passing through a new element, a "civil, moral death." As the train passed factories working on armaments through the night, Merton felt strangely detached. He had reached a point of complete surrender: "I belonged to God now-whether monastery or army camp, I was free because my life was in His hands."
When he arrived at Gethsemani and rang the bell, Brother Matthew appeared, asking if he had come to stay. "Yes, Brother, if you'll pray for me," Merton replied. "That's what I've been doing," Brother Matthew answered, "praying for you."
第 8 章
Life Within the Monastery Walls
Merton entered Gethsemani during Advent-"the perfect time to become a monk." You begin a new life at the beginning of a new liturgical year, with every prayer a cry of ardent desire for grace and the coming of the Messiah. The monastery's cold stones rang with chant that glowed with "living flame and clean, profound desire."
Inside the cloister, Merton discovered the monastery not as some medieval dream but as cold reality-a community where everyone was imperfect. These imperfections, though smaller than worldly vices, seemed magnified through the lens of religious ideals. Yet he immediately appreciated the novitiate's enthusiasm, vitality, and good humor, enjoying how they teased each other in sign language and the quiet storms of amusement that occasionally rocked the "scriptorium."
Merton received the oblate's habit-white robe, scapular, cloth band, and shapeless cloak-and the religious name Frater Louis. Unlike his elaborate name deliberations when considering the Franciscans, he simply accepted what he received. Looking out at the rocky valley, cedar trees, and bare hills, he thought: "This is my resting place forever; here I will dwell, for I have desired it!"
The monastic life proved physically demanding but spiritually fulfilling. Summer brought the hardest tests for novices-many gave up and returned to the world. But Merton had no desire to leave. Though the heat was oppressive, his active temperament found satisfaction in work that felt meaningful-doing something for God.
The sweetest moments came at day's end in the fields-sun no longer raging, long blue shadows stretching across stubble fields with golden shocks, the pale half-moon smiling over the distant monastery. Pine scents mingled with harvest richness. When work ended and you wiped sweat from your eyes, you'd realize the whole valley sang with crickets-a constant treble rising like evening prayer incense.
第 9 章
Tragedy and Transformation
In 1943, Merton received news that his brother John Paul, who had joined the Royal Canadian Air Force, was coming to visit before being deployed overseas. This visit proved providential, as John Paul expressed interest in becoming Catholic. During an intense weekend, Merton taught him everything he could about the faith, and John Paul was baptized before departing.
On Easter Tuesday 1943, Merton received the devastating news that John Paul was missing in action. Later he learned his brother had died when his bomber crashed in the North Sea on April 16-the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. Though severely injured, John Paul had kept himself afloat and tried supporting the already-dead pilot before companions pulled him into their rubber dinghy. After three hours of Christ-like thirst, he died.
This loss deepened Merton's commitment to his vocation. Yet he faced an unexpected challenge-his growing reputation as a writer. Though he had entered the monastery to escape the world, his superiors encouraged his literary talents. This created an internal conflict: "I'm haunted by my shadow, my double-this writer who followed me into the cloister... He still tracks me, riding my shoulders like the old man of the sea. I cannot lose him."
Merton feared his contemplative vocation was being reduced to ashes while everyone calmly told him: "Writing is your vocation." He worried this "businessman full of ideas, breathing notions and schemes" was blocking his path to liberty, binding him to earth with "Egyptian bondage of contracts, reviews, page proofs, and endless book plans."
Yet through this struggle, Merton came to understand that God had brought him to Gethsemani not to escape the world but to find a new way of engaging with it-through prayer, contemplation, and writing that would touch countless souls he would never meet.
第 10 章
The Paradox of Solitude
In the epilogue, Merton delves deep into the paradoxical nature of the contemplative life, revealing insights that would define his spiritual legacy. God speaks to him with both tenderness and severity, promising to lead him into solitude through what seems like a cruel path - by allowing everything around him to hurt, deny, and reduce him to complete isolation. Every human desire will brand him with searing pain, systematically driving him toward absolute solitude. The praise of others will feel like a martyrdom, burning him at the stake of public attention. Love itself will become a kind of death, murdering his heart's attachments. Even well-intended gifts will crush him with their weight of obligation and expectation.
The divine promise continues with stark clarity: after experiencing brief moments of being praised and loved, God will methodically strip everything away. This spiritual denudation will continue until Merton becomes utterly forgotten and abandoned by the world - "a dead thing, a rejection." Yet paradoxically, it is precisely in this state of complete emptiness that he will begin to possess the authentic solitude he has so desperately desired. This hard-won solitude, born of loss and surrender, will bear tremendous fruit in countless souls whom Merton will never encounter during his earthly life.
This represents the central paradox of Merton's spiritual journey: by deliberately withdrawing from the world, he discovered a more profound way to speak to it. His embrace of monastic silence amplified his voice far beyond the monastery walls, reaching millions through his writings. By dying to his own ambitions, desires, and self-image, he uncovered his authentic voice - one that continues to resonate with spiritual seekers decades after his death. His withdrawal became a form of engagement, his silence a form of speech, his solitude a way of touching countless lives.
The monastery became not an escape from the world but a lens through which to see it more clearly. Through his contemplative practice, Merton developed insights into human nature, spirituality, and social justice that proved remarkably prescient and universally relevant. His solitude became a crucible where personal transformation yielded universal wisdom.
The Seven Storey Mountain concludes with the profound Latin phrase: "SIT FINIS LIBRI, NON FINIS QUAERENDI" (Let this be the end of the book, not the end of the searching). This epitaph perfectly encapsulates Merton's deep understanding that the spiritual journey remains eternally unfinished - that even within the structured silence of monastery walls, the soul continues its perpetual ascent toward divine union. This quest for God, he suggests, can only reach its completion when we finally see Him face to face, transcending all earthly limitations and paradoxes.
第 11 章
The Lasting Legacy of a Monk's Confession
Thomas Merton's autobiography transcends mere spiritual memoir to become a profound meditation on modern humanity's search for meaning. His journey from worldly ambition to monastic contemplation speaks to our deepest longings for authenticity and purpose. What makes his story so compelling is not that he achieved perfect sanctity - he remained very human, struggling with his writing vocation and the fame it brought - but that he persevered in seeking God despite his flaws and doubts. His candid acknowledgment of these struggles, from his earlier days of intellectual pride to his later wrestling with public attention, creates a bridge for readers facing their own spiritual challenges.
The Seven Storey Mountain's enduring appeal lies in Merton's ability to articulate the universal spiritual journey in deeply personal terms. His story reminds us that the path to God often leads through unexpected places - through art, literature, friendship, and even failure. From his early experiences at Columbia University to his transformative encounters with Blake's poetry and Catholic mysticism, Merton demonstrates how cultural and intellectual pursuits can serve as authentic pathways to spiritual awakening. It suggests that our deepest fulfillment comes not from accumulating experiences or achievements but from surrendering to a love greater than ourselves.
In our age of distraction and superficial connection, Merton's embrace of silence and contemplation offers a radical alternative - not as escape from responsibility, but as the foundation for more authentic engagement with the world. His life at Gethsemani Abbey exemplifies how withdrawal from society's noise can paradoxically lead to deeper social consciousness and more meaningful action. Through his writings on social justice, peace, and interfaith dialogue, Merton showed how contemplative life could inform and enrich public discourse. His influence extends beyond Catholic circles to speak to seekers of all traditions who hunger for authentic spiritual experience.
As we close this book, we are invited to continue our own searching - to recognize that our own stories, like Merton's, are unfinished journeys toward the divine center where we find our true selves in communion with God and one another. The monastery gate has closed behind Thomas Merton, but through his words, he continues to beckon us toward that center, toward that silence where we too might hear the voice of God. His legacy endures not only in his written works but in the countless lives he has influenced through his honest portrayal of the spiritual quest. Even decades after his death, readers continue to find in Merton's autobiography a companion for their own spiritual journeys, whether they lead to a monastery or to a renewed engagement with the world.
