Thomas Merton was born in France in 1915. His parents, Owen and Ruth, were well-educated and talented, especially in music and art. "Tom", to his family and friends, was intelligent, active and unusually observant, even at two years, and from the beginning he loved books. There was no religion in the family, nor stability, as they moved several times between France, the U.S. and England. Tom’s mother was devoted but severe. She died when Tom was six. His father was often away from home, and he died when Tom was l5. Tom and his younger brother lived with grandparents and foster parents. A few years later, his beloved grandfather also died, leaving Tom feeling abandoned, lonely and sad...feelings that plagued him the rest of his life. The boys’ early education was in France and England.
At age 18 Tom moved to the U.S and eventually studied at Cambridge and Columbia. Besides learning, he and his friends spent time in drunken parties, with girls; and Tom fathered a child. He met a good friend at Columbia, a Catholic, and Tom was drawn to that faith. He was baptized a Catholic at age 27, and reformed his life. He decided that he wanted to be a priest, and to enter a religious order. He chose the Franciscans, but after he confessed his unruly past life, he was not accepted. This was a bitter blow, and he assumed that neither could he ever become a priest. He worked in Harlem and other needy areas, and eventually decided that he would be a Trappist monk. After a retreat at Gethsemani, he was convinced that this was his calling. He promptly sold all his goods except several books, and asked to enter the Trappists. He was accepted, but he found the strict silence, long hours of manual work and short hours of sleep...and no time to write... almost unbearable. But somehow he continued to write, poetry and even a few books. Due to his attempts to reconcile his need to write with the rigorous life of a Trappist, he suffered several breakdowns, physical and spiritual.
To have more solitude and time for himself he asked to be a hermit, while continuing the life at Gethsemani. His request was granted, and he then lived in a small hermitage near the abbey. He knew he was a writer, had to write, and when he published his famous autobiograpghy, The Seven Storey Mountain, he became almost immediately famous, as was Gethsemani itself. Tons of correspondence came to him from all over the world, plus invitations to speak, and a steady stream of visitors including his college friends and people from all over the world. The Abott realized that he was a remarkable man and a gifted writer, so Merton was given more time to pursue his passion. He was also allowed to attend meetings and conferences on his many interests...and he continued to write a prodigious amount of books, essays on Peace and Justice and eastern religions, and also letters to his friends around the world. In 1968 he was asked to speak at a conference in Bangkok, on Marxism and the monastic life, and again he was allowed to do so.
His journey to the east began that fall, and on the way he visited famous places and people, including the Dalai Lama, Buddhist monks and many other friends. He arrived in Bangkok on December 7, and gave his address on Dec.10. As he left the podium he said something about now disappearing, and went to his room. Shortly after, a loud cry was heard, and those who went to investigate, found him lying on his back with an electric fan on his chest, still running, He was dead. His sudden death was a terrific shock to those who had just heard him speak, to his fellow monks at Gethsemani, and to his beloved novices who had been in his care for several years. He was 53 years old. Had he lived longer, he would no doubt have written much more, but what he already had done was far more than most people could have done in a hundred years! Also, his longing to be a monk and hermit, plus the continuation of the monastic life at Gethsemani, would have been an insurmountable problem. To condense a lengthy biography, especially that of such an extraordinary person as was Thomas Merton, is next to impossible. I invite you to read the book. You will not regret it.
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