Martin Laird, Professor of Early Christian Studies at Villanova University, is recognized internationally as a leading historical theologian in the area of Christian spirituality. His latest book, An Ocean of Light, has been widely anticipated by scholars and practitioners alike as the third installation in a trilogy focused on the retrieval of ancient theological wisdom for contemporary contemplative practice. Those familiar with his earlier volumes, Into the Silent Land (2006) and A Sunlit Absence (2011), will recognize Laird's skill as a bricoleur of diverse voices from the tradition, crisscrossing centuries to form an innovative and constructive presentation of the history and practice of Christian prayer.
Although Laird identifies An Ocean of Light as “a companion volume to the two preceding it” (16), he states plainly that one does not need to have read the other two books to appreciate and embrace this one. This is, as he explains, in large part due to the fact that the aim of this particular volume departs from the earlier ones in that the preceding books focused on resources and themes most pertinent to experienced practitioners of Christian contemplation. In many ways this latest book is geared to beginners, or at least those looking for resources to develop a personal contemplative practice from what Laird calls “the great cloud of witness of the contemplative tradition” (18). Insofar as he draws from a range of voices—ancient, medieval, modern—the cloud is indeed great and sure to offer a panoply of generative insights from which readers from a range of backgrounds may certainly benefit.
The book is organized into three sections, each building on the previous one to form a guide to contemplation. Part 1, consisting of two chapters, draws on an array of figures in an effort to present a robust voice—what Laird likens to a harmonious song sung in unison—narrating our inherent openness to the divine. Although Augustine of Hippo predictably receives pride of place (Laird is an Augustinian friar after all), the first section includes other patristic voices (Ambrose, Gregory of Nyssa, Irenaeus of Lyons, etc.), medieval and renaissance figures (John Scottus Eriugena, Meister Eckhart, Jan van Ruusbroec, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, etc.), and modern women and men (Etty Hillesum, Alice Walker, Edith Stein, Annie Dillard, Christian Bobin, etc.).
Part 2, consisting of three chapters, leads the reader into the practice of contemplation itself. Without breaking Laird's weaving style, this section is more descriptive and prescriptive than the first part. Important themes and terms are defined (What is “mind?” What is “ego?”) and essential elements that constitute best practices in contemplation are explored (“contemplative skills,” “special challenges”). While certainly instructive, Laird is quick to note that the progressive distinctions he terms “reactive mind,” “receptive mind,” and “luminous mind” are not intended to be “clearly delineated stages” for the practice of contemplation, for in contemplative prayer there “is a great deal of fluidity” and these distinctions “are mere signposts on a pathless path” (181).
The last part, the shortest of the three and composed of just one chapter, shifts from the straightforwardly inspirational and instructional to tackle the difficult topic of depression and prayer. Laird identifies as the impetus for this focus the increased discussion in various circles about the use of meditation and mindfulness as a treatment for depression and anxiety. In sum, Laird argues that contemplation is in no way a panacea for depression, but nevertheless it may still offer the practitioner an opportunity for “profound inner awakening” (191) in the midst of the suffering. He draws on the personal narratives of three depression sufferers to unpack this insight and gesture to the potential for solidarity contemplation affords.
Those already familiar with and appreciative of Laird's writing will no doubt enjoy this latest installment. His style—creative and poetic, eclectic and woven from disparate sources—is not always everybody's preference, especially those who prefer more linear arguments and prose. But this is a good book for adult faith formation and classroom adoption in courses aiming to introduce the lived practice of contemplation.
