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Mystical Theology - The Science of Love

This was the title of William Johnston's second-last book on Christian spirituality and it remains an unusual work in the realm of modern Christian spiritual writing in that it takes seriously the idea that the work of theology is fundamentally the work of the soul's journey into God. Much modern Western theology tends to be seen as belonging to a separate category from works of spirituality and there can be an assumption that the latter is a less rigorous area than the former, belonging in the realm of mere popular piety. Academic theology, on the other hand, can run the risk of being so separated from the practice of  prayer that the very thought of bringing the two into dialogue can seem absurd. Thankfully, there has been a revolution in recent decades that has seen the work of theology engaging seriously with political and social issues, but there remains something of a gap when it comes to academic theology's engagement with prayer and spirituality. This was not always the case and there is a signficant body of writing by major theologians like Bonaventure, Eckhart and Thomas Aquinas that continues to offer a model for the theology of Christian mystical experience. The first such model is Pseudo-Dionysius' Mystical Theology.

When it comes to modern theologians, however, the field is somewhat thinner. Johnston's attempt to write a modern 'Mystical Theology' was a significant one in that it highlighted many areas for further exploration and gave a useful overview of the sources. While it may occasionally be lacking in depth of analysis, it never loses sight of the central aspect of the task, offering guidance for the experience of God. Johnston proposes a modern Dionysian theological project, and he was well-placed to begin this process. His first book was an analysis of the mystical theology of The Cloud of Unkowing, whose author also offered a translation of Dionysius' mystical theology in English - Denis Hid Divinity.

Johnston's sources include, of course, The Cloud and its author's other works, and St John of the Cross, whose writings were probably even more central to his understanding and experience of the Christian mystical journey than anything else. He also draws on biblical sources and a wide range of other Christian mystical writers, on modern scientific endeavour and on the active life of working for justice and peace. His distinctive contribution, however, was his reflection on Japanese Buddhism, especially in its Zen manifestations. He lived all his adult life in Japan so it is natural that he should make reference to the religious context in which he lived, but his fascination with Zen went deeper than that. He used it as a lens through which to see more clearly some aspects of his own Christian contemplative tradition. For example, the ideas of supra-conceptual language, of nothingness, of practised stillness, of non-dualism and enlightenment all find a meeting point in the conversation between Zen and the Christian tradition as it is seen in John of the Cross and others. I'll try to write some more about each of these ideas when I have the time, but for now I just wanted to honour Johnston's contribution to the revitalisation of Christian mystical theology for the modern world.

He was not unique in undertaking such a project, and I would hold up Dorothee Soelle's remarkable book, The Silent Cry, as one of the best treatments of this area, but he broke new ground for Christian theology and that breakthrough deserves to be better known and built upon.

The Intuition of Love

William Johnston is perhaps best known for his writings about Christianity and Zen Buddhism, but he is perhaps less well known for an area of spiritual exploration about which he knew a lot more - the mysticism of the anonymous English mediaeval work, The Cloud of Unknowing. Not only was this the subject of Johnston's doctoral thesis which was later published with a preface by Thomas Merton, he also translated the work into contemporary English and it is a very readable translation. If you possess a copy of that excellent anthology of Christian mystical works by Bernard McGinn (Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism - real 'must-have'!) then you will see that he uses Johnston's translation for excerpts from The Cloud.

One of the keys to understanding Johnston's approach to Christian mystical theology comes direct from The Cloud, and that is the place of love as the motivating aspect of the Christian in prayer. More than that, the author of The Cloud says that, although God is unknowable to human knowledge, he is fully knowable to human love. This is a bold and essential distinction which is vital in contemporary understandings of the role of human cognition and human consciousness in religious faith, but I'll say more on that in a moment. The Cloud is exceptionally positive when it comes to the possibility of the human person reaching out towards God and finding communion with God. The author is not at all naive about the difficulties of the spiritual life, but is comfortingly encouraging about what is needed for the human person to reach out towards God:

Do not neglect this contempaltive work. Try also to appreciate its wonderful effects in your own spirit. When it is genuine, it is simply a spontaneous desire springing suddenly toward God like a spark from fire. It is amazing how many loving desires arise from the spirit of a person who is accustomed to this work. And yet, perhaps only one of these will be completely free from attachment to some created thing. Or again, no sooner has a man turned toward God in love when through human frailty he finds himself distracted by the remembrance of some created thing or some daily care. But no matter. No harm is done; for such a person quickly returns to deep recollection.

I find this to be immensely encouraging. What is needed is not a superhuman achievement of contemplative perfection, but one simple spark of love. Distractions are not a problem - they will come, but they are only temporary things. All we must do in prayer is to attend to each present moment, for that is where God is to be found. If we lose one moment through distraction, another will come along as a gift and an opportunity to let that spark arise.

So back to the question of knowledge and God. I had a conversation with someone recently who is not religious but is very intrigued about religion. She said that she could not accept any religion because she needs proof. I tried to push on her on what she needed proof of, but this issue was a solid barrier for her. What we need above all in our current culture is a recovery of our trust in our intuitive faculties, especially those we already know and use in our capacity to love. If we feel the slightest spark of love arising in us which is directed not towards something in the order of observable things (what the author of The Cloud refers to above as created things) but towards life itself, or towards whatever it is that trascends us, then might we be close to that spark we Christians call faith? I think so. I guess that the problem for most of us is that we do not trust this spark, but quickly want to bring it back to some created thing, something 'solid'. If we trust ourselves simply to let it fly, we have begun to live the life of faith.

 

Religion is Compassion

In his introduction to The Still Point, an early collection of essays on Zen Buddhism, William Johnston spoke of the doctrinal divergences between that faith and Christianity. At a meeting of Zen practitioners and Christians in 1968, he found that 'in philosphical formulations we were poles apart, when it came to the discussion of values we were one.' In a lovely phrase, he describes an atmosphere of 'delicate charity' and a profound sharing of experiences, including that of meditation and mystical awakening. These two religious traditions may use different language, including apparently vast differences over God-language, but these religious worlds produced remarkably similar results in those who follow very different paths.

Johnston's focus in his writing is always on mystical experience and prayer, but he never separates that from the question of how that religious disposition leads to a transformation in how one views and acts towards others. In particular, he understands that compassion is the inevitable outcomes for the one who meditates or prays. In this, he touched on a theme that has since been developed by such figures as Hans Kung and Karen Armstrong.

In her book, Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life, Armstrong touches on the practice of mindfulness as one of the necessary steps. She describes this kind of practised awareness as a way of observing and overcoming our unthinking reactions and impulses which are so often the cause of our thoughtless and unintended harmful behaviours. But there is another way in which the simple practice of meditation can nurture the delicate art of charity. Armstrong also notes the place of wonder in our journey towards a more compassionate life. When we are taken out of ourselves, we are taken to a place of humility in the face of beauty, of unknowing in the face of immensity. And at a further point in the journey, our practice of silent attentiveness may take us to the place of deep recognition of 'the other' as one like us. This moment of recognition of our unity with others and, indeed, with all that lives, can come as a bolt from the blue, a moment of pure awakening or enlightenment. It's what Christian tradition calls conversion and it is more likely to come when we have put ourselves in a place of openness such as that found in meditation or prayer.

Compassion is the hallmark of true religion. Where it is absent, we must then wonder whether or not that religion is being true to itself. Where it is present, it has the power to change everything.

 

Rethinking Scripture, Tradition and Reason - Time for a New Anglican 'Triple Gem'?

The Feast of the Ascension has got me thinking about how it is that Christians ensure the faithful passing on of their life of faith. Let me say at once that for me this is not straightforwardly a matter of ensuring orthodoxy, at least not in the sense of correct formulations of abstract ideas. It is much more practical than that and is to do with the way we 'come to ourselves', or live an awakened life. If we pass on only our dogmas, are we doing enough to lead people into the kind of life-changing wisdom that we all hope for? I think not. As long as we behave as if faith was something external to us, passed on like an unwrapped parcel, we have done little to ensure its wellbeing.

The dimension that seems to me to be lacking in our traditional Anglican reliance on scripture, tradition and reason is the dimension of experience and practice. We may have sophisticated and 'correct' views about Christian doctrine, but we have got ourselves into the position in the Christian West of separating this kind of thinking from the practical aspects of how we live a life of faith. This is less true in traditions like that of Ethiopian Orthodoxy, which sees the role of the spiritual 'father' as an essential part of the communication of faith from one person to another. This role is partly that of a 'confessor' and partly that of spiritual guide and the process of learning faith for Ethiopian Orthodox Christians is more like an absorption than passing on ideas.

The tradition of spiritual direction is there in the West, but has been undervalued as an essential, experiential dimension of the passing on of Christian faith. The practical business of how to pray and how to live a wise, compassionate and awakened life should not be an afterthought for those who want to take things further than the normal level of engagement with religious faith. We should see it is normal and promote it as such. William Johnston, in his book Arise, My Love... suggested that Asian religious life was much more used to this aspect of practical learning and formation. The 'triple gem' of Buddhism - the Sangha, the Dharma and the Buddha - is not a mechanism for dogmatic control, but a vehicle for life-giving wisdom, communicated from one person to another, one community to another. Much of this wisdom cannot easily be learned from books, and that should not be a reason for us rationalising Westerners to suspect it.

So I propose a 'triple gem' for Christians too - the Community, the Way and the Spirit - as a way of stating what we already know, but practice rather imperfectly. The life of faith is, above all, a matter of living and not just of thinking.

A New Mysticism

For a while, I've been promoting the writings of the late William Johnston S.J. who had a wonderfully lucid, simple and insightful approach to the spiritual life. He had a deep knowledge of the ancient traditions of Christian mysticism and presented them in a practical and accessible way. Quite simply, he was keen to help people to pray, and I think that's a pretty laudable aim! One of his books was a series of 'Letters to Contemplatives' which he wrote to eight individuals over the course of year of sabbatical in 1989-90. This was the time I was preparing for ordination and Johnston's writings have been a constant companion since then.

In one of his letters, he talks of a 'new mysticism' which was coming to Christianity. It was born, in part, from a dialogue with Eastern religions and is marked by a direct appeal to contemporary life. Although I spend a lot of time reminding people of the deep roots of Christian mysticism (biblical, patristic, medieval), I think Johnston makes an important point about the new approaches to that mysticism in the contemporary world. Here are the characteristics of these new approaches:

• It appeals to all Christians, not just to 'religious professionals'
• It uses the language of human consciousness and is holistic. This language is preferred over the more philosophical background of earlier approaches.
• The new appraoches are attentive to the body: posture, breathing and mindfulness are seen as vital.
• Related to this last point, the new mysticism depends more on faith, letting go of the control of reason as the only guiding mode of knowing.
• There is an emphasis on enlightenment - the mystical way has a goal, and that goal is a transformed person.

I think Johnston is right to point to a new approach to mysticism in our contemporary setting and his brief outline of that approach is a useful way of identifying some of the changes that make the Christian spiritual life more directly appealing to the modern world. I think I would add a further characteristic and I know from his writings that Johnston would have wholeheartedly agreed. The new mysticism is never alienated from a commitment to justice and peace. A transformed person seeks also the transformation of an unjust world.

Johnston was keenly aware of the ancient Christian traditions of spiritual life. Indeed, his first works included an exploration of the mysticism of The Cloud of Unknowing and an attractively accessible translation of that text for modern readers. However, I think he is right to say that some of the characteristics of contemporary Christian spirituality are new ways of relating to a world that has seen extraodinary change. His writings deserve to be better known and I hope that there will be a new appreciation of his contribution before too long.

Merton, Tao and Gospel

Thomas Merton is said to have identified The Way of Chuang Tzu as his favourite among the dozens of books he wrote. It is a lovely, subtle reworking of some of the writings of the ancient Chinese sage, whose thinking directly influenced the development of Zen Buddhism. This short piece is beautifully represetative of the paradoxical thinking and simple spirituality of this early Taoist teacher:

The Lost Pearl
The Yellow Emperor went wandering
To the north of the Red Water
To the Kwan Lun mountain. He looked around
Over the edge of the world. On the way home
He lost his night-coloured pearl.
He sent out Science to seeks his pearl, and got nothing.
He sent Ananlysis to look for his pearl, and got nothing.
He sent out Logic to seek his pearl, and got nothing.
Then has asked Nothingness, and Nothingness had it!

The Yellow Emperor said:
"Strange, indeed: Nothingness
Who was not sent
Who did no work to find it
Had the night-coloured pearl!"

Willian Johnston, another Christian mystic with a respect for Zen, also explored the relationship between Zen Nothingness and Christian Emptiness. Like Merton, he found remarkable resonances between these two different insights. For the Christian, the way of renunciation, of simple, poor emptiness, is a reflection of Jesus' own way of self-emptying love. This emptiness is the only disposition with which we may receive the grace of God. For sure, there is work to be done in finding that place of emptiness, but it is a strange kind of work: not a work of effort, insight or achievement, but a work of utter silence, a non-work.

In the reflection which follows The Lost Pearl in Merton's book, there is a wonderful image of this kind of silence:

"The bird opens its beak and sings its note
And then the beak comes together again in Silence.
... To obey is to close the beak and fall into Unbeginning.'

 

 

What do you do in the silence? Update on a meditation experiment

Our new hospital meditation group has been attracting quite a lot of interest and this means that I've been having a number of fascinating and encouraging conversations about prayer and meditation over the past couple of weeks. One such conversation is with an older Hindu lady whose practice is remarkably similar to mine, and who describes the purpose and benefit of her meditation in ways that most Christians would recognise (in her own words 'detaching ourselves from all distractions and attaching ourselves to the divine so that we may find peace''). This little example seems to confirm the experience of William Johnston who set me off on this journey and who believed that the similarity of different practices of meditation was not just superficial - the inner experience seems to be the same, whatever we call it.

This kind of open group is a new thing to me, and at this early stage of the experiment, I have a number of questions, thoughts and observations, and I would be grateful to hear of other people's experiences:

• Is there a conflict between seeing meditation as a relaxation technique and seeing it as a practice to cultivate awareness/mindfulness?
• On a practical level, many people are more used to a guided meditation and find the silent approach a little intimidating at first. I am not familiar with the guided approach, so would welcome any recommendations from those who find it helpful - I want to offer a wide range of practice.
• Some, but not all members of the group have a religious faith and my hope is that, in time, they will feel able to share experiences with one another.
• Theologically, it seems to me that meditation encourages us to see faith as a 'subtraction' rather than an 'addition' - the removal of obstacles to our clear sight of what is within  rather than the introduction of a divine presence from beyond.
• The practice of meditation is extraordinarily simple, but can feel very difficult. I think my main role in the group is to encourage people to stick at it and suggest practical ways of addressing the difficulties, most of which come from our busy minds. I wonder if it would feel less intimidating if I offered more guided sessions, but I also value the silence as a generous way to allow varied practice - any thoughts?

Ignatius of Loyola - A Spiritual Activist

At various points in my life, the insights of Ignatius of Loyola and his followers have shown me a different way of living a life of faith. My first encounter was as an undergraduate when I undertook a 'retreat in daily life' - a guided series of meditations that took place over a week with a daily meeting with my director. The meditations were based on Ignatius' Spiritual Exercises and, 25 years later, I still remember some of the powerful images that came to me in those times of reflective silence.

Then I came across the courageous witness of Jesuit martyrs of El Salvador, a group of radical liberation theologians and their students of the University of Central America, whose critique of the structures of injustice in their land led to their assassination. Along with them, I was inspired by the writings of their colleague Jon Sobrino, founder of the UCA. Their witness showed me how the life of faith must find expression in how we address poverty and how we challenge gross injustice.

Later on, my spiritual director introduced me to the Ignatian practice of examen, a reflection at the end of the day that trains our awareness of our moods and motivations, instilling a profound sense of gratitude and generosity and discerning the gentle movements of the Spirit.

Then I came across the humour and wisdom of the great Indian Jesuit teacher, Anthony de Mello, whose very practical little book on prayer, Sadhana, is still the book I turn to when people ask for advice on how to pray.

Most recently, I have rediscovered the writings of another Jesuit, William Johnston, whose work in inter-faith exploration and contemplative prayer have been an inspiration to me.

I could go on: the revolutionary explorations in science and faith by Teilhard de Chardin, the poetry of Gerald Manley Hopkins, the gently illuminating spiritual writings of Margaret Silf and Gerard Hughes, the theological genius of Karl Rahner and Bernard Lonergan...

I wonder what it is that lies behind such a powerful range of expression of Christian faith and practice. I am sure that the Jesuit educational tradition is one reason, but I would not be surprised if my first experience of the Ignatian is also the most significant factor. The simple practice of an ordered spirituality forms the heart of this spiritual family and provides a model of active faith grounded in the practice of reflective living. William Johnston struggled for his whole life with a perceived tension between Ignatian pragmatism and his calling to a mystical way, and sometimes that struggle was acute. But he came to the view that his Ignatian formation was a necessary preparation for his inward explorations. In the end, he felt that he had remained true to his Jesuit vocation.

On this, his feast day, I say 'thank you' to Ignatius of Loyola for showing us the truth of the old maxim that the unreflective life is not worth living.

Is The Inner Life Everything?

A large part of the genius of Jesus' religious teaching was his insistence that true religion is a matter of the 'heart' and not of ritual observance. He taught that one's inner disposition works itself outwards and reveals itself in action and in one's disposition towards others. Again, he insisted that it was not what goes into a person that makes the difference (he was arguing against obsession with ritual purity here) but what comes out.

So it is not surprising that Christianity has regularly seen reforming movements that seek to break down our reliance on the outward observances of religion and turn us back to the heart of the matter. By and large, we can describe these movements as 'mystical' in that they give prominence to what is within us - our praying, our deeply rooted faith, our affections, the deep stirrings of our passions. To use the language of William Johnston, such movements turn our focus away from the 'superstructure' of religious practice and towards the substance of our faith.

Inspired by what I saw of the witness of Mahatma Gandhi and Rabindranath Tagore in India, by my association with Quakers here in the UK, and by the many times I have enjoyed the hospitality of Cistercians, I have a strong sense that religion today is in need of a further reminder of the centrality of its interior dimension. And this is not only because of the troubled recent history of the church's institutional expressions, but more importantly because it seems to me that this is what people are craving - a religion of the spirit, a faith that dares to explore the deepest regions of our selves, an encounter with the Holy that brings both peace and challenge. As Bede Griffiths had it, 'Always, we go beyond the senses and beyond the mind and reason, and experience Reality in pure intuition.'

But there is an important corrective to this interiority that is offered by the wisdom of the tradition, and it is expressed powerfully in the writing of Bede Griffiths. In his long and fruitful dialogue with Hinduism, Griffiths came to value a focus on 'non-dualistic' thinking. In Hinduism, this is expressed in the fundamental unity of all that is, an awareness that takes us beyond the binary, either/or thinking that has characterised so much of the Western world view. In William Johnston's writing too, there is a comfort with paradox, a willingness to hold apparent opposites in a truthful tension. Most significantly, this non-dualistic thinking does not permit us to separate the interior world from the exterior. What is within us must find expression in our active lives if it is not to become a form of spiritual escapism. This is supremely true for how we behave towards others but also has implications for the outward expression of religious faith. Just as the lover gives the beloved a physical token of love, the religious believer cannot help but express interior realities in song, symbol or sacrament. The inner life may not be everything, but it must be the first thing.

A Meditation Experiment Begins

In the last few months, I have enjoyed getting to know the writings of William Johnston a little better. He was a Christian mystic who firmly believed in the possibility that anyone could find spiritual transformation through the practice of contemplative prayer or meditation. Having spent most of his adult life in Japan, his main dialogue partners in his spiritual quest were practitioners of Zen Buddhism and it is fascinating to read of his constantly shifting relationship to Zen. In the end, he felt that he could never truly inhabit the world of those who knew Zen from the inside because too much of its subtlety was not easily accessible to those who were not steeped in its thought patterns from birth (and before). Nevertheless, he did see enormous benefit in the dialogue through its highlighting of both similarity and difference. One of his most interesting explorations in this regard was a comparison of Zen nothingness (mu) and Christian 'emptiness' (kenosis). But that's a discussion for another day!

The practical outworking of Johnston's dialogue was a practical commitment to sharing times of meditation with those of other faiths. He was inspired by the example of John Paul II in the wake of the world day of prayer for peace he called in 1986. He offered a course on meditation for students of all religions and none at the university he where he taught in Tokyo. It was not his intention to 'interfere with the religious convictions of anyone' but to discover what participants had in common. Through the use of simple techniques of mindfulness, the use of mantras and Zen koans, he found that people could naturally meditate together, with a strong sense of unity of purpose.

Here is how he described the experience:

...meditation that brings us together and leads to universal wisdom without weakening our individual commitment - this is the way of the future. To accept such meditation may demand a leap in consciousness, as I have experienced.

I believe that ... atheistic mysticism can lead to universal wisdom, to transformation of consciousness and ultimately to God.

This approach to 'inter-faith' experiences which includes those who do not profess a faith is very attractive in a culture like ours which has largely turned its back on religious expression (for many good reasons) and Johnston seemed to think that this focus on shared practice was the only way that a deep spirituality and even, I think he would say, faith could be recovered for this generation. I suspect that one has to enter this process without ulterior motives but I also suspect that it will not be effective without some input from the ancient wisdom of religious mystical traditions, even if that input is largely silent, because these traditions have ways of understanding the difficulties and challenges thrown up by the practice of meditation. Indeed, Johnston is very clear that a spiritual quest without reference to authentic teaching can be a dangerous pursuit.

William Johnston has inspired me to have a go. For a short while, we had meditation classes led by a Buddhist monk in our hospital. He had to leave the area and we have had no meditation group since then, so I intend to start one. It will be open to all with each session introduced by someone who has experience of meditation from a religious or non-religious perspective. These introductions will give some guidance to those for whom this is a new experience, but may also become a place for shared spiritual exploration. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes!

I'd be interested to hear from anyone who has tried something like this before and I promise to let you know how it goes!