Chapter: 9 <I>Ahimsa</I>

Vegetarianism

‘Do we have to have vegetarian meals all the time?’ complained some of the tour group which I led to Gujarat early in 2001. As a vegetarian myself, I was delighted, but had not wanted to impose my preference on the rest of the party. But Gujarat is an area of India which is much influenced by the Jain religion. Jains emphasize the importance of ahimsa or non-violence so the restaurants at most of the hotels in the smaller towns are vegetarian and there is also no alcohol available. Indeed, before climbing the Jain holy mountain of Shatrunjaya with its amazingly beautiful temples, we had been warned that we must not wear anything made of leather.

Jains believe that every centimeter of the universe is filled with living beings, some of them minute. All deserve to live and evolve and humans have no special right to supremacy. To kill any living being has adverse karmic effects. It is difficult to avoid doing some violence to other living creatures, but Jains refrain from eating after sunset to avoid unknowingly swallowing insects. Monks and nuns will cover their mouths with cloths to avoid inhaling an insect and some will brush the path in front of where they walk to avoid treading on any living being. As the Akaranga Sutra says, ‘All breathing, existing, living, sentient creatures should not be slain, nor treated with violence, nor abused, nor tormented, nor driven away. This is the pure unchangeable, eternal law.’

Jainism with its teaching of ahimsa had a profound influence on Mahatma Gandhi, although he was himself a Hindu. Gandhi was born in Gujarat, at Porbandar, on the Western coast of India and our tour group visited the house where he was born and grew up. Gandhi applied the practice of ahimsa to the struggle against the British for India’s independence. This and his influence on Martin Luther King, the champion of black civil rights in the USA, had a profound effect on the history of the last century.

I am now a vegetarian and a pacifist and certainly India influenced me, as it has influenced many others, in this evolution. Like Jains, many Hindus are vegetarian -- especially most Brahmins, unless they have adopted a Western style of life. At Madras Christian College, as is common in India, there were separate ‘veg’ and ‘non-veg’ dining rooms. After a time, I changed to the vegetarian option, partly because the food was not so hot and spicy and this suited me better. It was also cheaper, as I was not finding it easy to manage on the scholarship which was set at the rates for Indian students and I needed European luxuries such as sunscreen cream! Even if my motivation was mixed, I felt a certain liberation at not being dependent on the slaughter of other living beings. On my return to England, I reverted to Western norms. It was not until my daughter at the age of sixteen, after seeing a program on factory farming, declared that she would never eat meat again, that I began to become a practicing vegetarian.

I am not a proselytizing vegetarian and recognize that it is a personal choice. A number of Christians, including some Church Fathers and the founder of Methodism, John Wesley, were vegetarian, but the eating of meat is accepted in the Bible as a consequence of the Fall. I recognize that complete non-violence is impossible but I try to be as non-violent as possible. I object to many of the practices of factory farming and the exploitation of animals and recognize that the excessive consumption of meat in the Western world uses up a lot of grain which could be made available for those who are always hungry. I am aware, however, that to some extent vegetarianism is in the West an affluent middle-class option and that if I were a starving beggar I would eat whatever scraps were thrown at me.

I do also recognize a hierarchy of living beings in that I regard human life as more valuable than animal life and would not oppose essential medical experiments on animals, although I am not persuaded that all experiments are essential. But if driving a car I could not avoid hitting either a dog or a child, I would try to avoid hitting the child. Gandhi himself said, ‘I have no feeling in me to save the life of those animals which devour or cause hurt to man’. He was not opposed to killing mosquitoes and other disease carriers.

Christianity has been subject to much recent criticism for its acquiescence -- even encouragement -- of the exploitation of nature, said to be based on the verse in Genesis where God gave man ‘dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle and over all the earth’(Genesis 1, 26 AV.). Yet, the verse begins, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. . .’ Human rule of the animal creation and the natural world should mirror what I believe to be God’s loving care for all life. Much of the nineteenth and twentieth century exploitation of the animal and natural world derives more from the Enlightenment and especially the teaching of the philosopher René Descartes (1596-1650) than from Christian teaching. Descartes regarded animal behavior as mechanical and he dismissed the opinions of Montaigne and others who attributed understanding and thought to animals. Animals, he wrote, ‘act naturally and mechanically, like a clock.’ Christian teaching came to echo these Renaissance views. An early version of the Catholic Dictionary (1884) under the heading ‘Animals, Lower’ has this entry: ‘As the lower animals have no duties . . . so they have no rights’ . . . The brutes are made for man, who has the same right over them which he has over plants or stones. Admittedly the Dictionary says man should not take pleasure ‘directly in the pain given to brutes’, but this is not out of a concern for animal suffering but because such action ‘ brutalizes his own nature.’ Even today, some argue for ecological programs for the sake of humanity’s future rather than from an awareness of the sacredness of the Earth.

In recent years there has been an increasing awareness of the interdependence of all life and a new respect for the animal and natural world. It would be an interesting study to see to what extent this has resulted from the influence upon the West of Asian religions, although in the USA, Native American spirituality has also been influential. Certainly E. F. the author of Small is Beautiful, was much influenced by Buddhist teaching and devotes a section of his book to Buddhist economics.

Although there is much cruelty in the treatment of animals in the Indian subcontinent, as elsewhere in the world, all the Indian religions teach a sense of oneness with nature and a reverence for life. The cow -- which is regarded as sacred and wanders freely in most parts of India -- is a symbol of this. Mahatma Gandhi said ‘"Cow Protection" to me is one of the most wonderful phenomena in all human evolution; for it takes the human being beyond his species . . . Man through the cow is enjoined to realize his identity with all that lives . . . "Cow Protection" is the gift of Hinduism to the world."’ I am sure I am not alone in having been made more sensitive to these issues by the influence of Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism.

Pacifism

Various influences also have led me become a Christian pacifist, although perhaps Peter Bishop’s term ‘pacificist’, which I will explain below, is more appropriate. When I first met her, Mary, who was to become my wife, was secretary of the Cambridge branch of the Fellowship of Reconciliation, which was founded as a Christian Pacifist Organization early in the twentieth century. So, to spend time with her, I would sometimes accompany her to Fellowship of Reconciliation meetings. This encouraged me to think more about issues of war and peace.

It was, however, studying some of the writings of Mahatma Gandhi and his teaching on ahimsa and satyagraha that helped me to see the practical possibilities of non-violence, which were also used to such good effect by Martin Luther King, who was himself deeply influenced by Gandhi. In turn, this helped me to see the teaching and example of Jesus in a new light and recognize the radical nature of his call to love the enemy.

Gandhi once defined the Hindu creed as the ‘search after truth through non-violent means.’ The word ahimsa that characterizes his teaching is more positive than the usual translation ‘non-violence’ suggests. The Sanskrit word himsa means to injure, or destroy, or kill. Gandhi took himsa to mean not only the harming of living things but also ‘hurt by every evil thought, by undue haste, by lying, hatred, by wishing ill to anybody.’ So ahimsa, in its positive form, he said, ‘means the largest love, the greatest charity. If I am a follower of ahimsa, I must love my enemy or a stranger to me as I would my wrong-doing father and son.’ Gandhi also used the term satyagraha. ‘Truth (satya) implies love,’ he explained, ‘and firmness (agraha) engenders and, therefore, serves as a synonym for force. I thus began to call the Indian movement Satyagraha, that is to say the Force which is born of Truth and Love or non-violence.’ Satyagraha was a non-violent method of opposing wrong.

Peter Bishop stresses that satyagraha is not pacifism. ‘Of course it was influenced by the ahimsa of Jainism and Buddhism and of Gandhi’s native Gujarat; it was influenced by the ideal of the Sermon on the Mount, as Gandhi understood that part of the New Testament; it was influenced by Ruskin and Thoreau and Tolstoy; it was influenced by the idea of disinterested service found in the nishkama karma [doing your duty without fear or favor] of the Gita. But satyagraha was nevertheless Gandhi’s own concept. ‘He adopted the word satyagraha in order to avoid "pacifism", which he regarded as a negative term describing a negative response to oppression.’ Passive resistance seemed like the weapon of the week, whereas satyagraha ‘postulates the conquest of the adversary by suffering in one’s own person.’ The aim was not so much to defeat the opponent but to convert him. Gandhi was convinced that truth and right was on his side and that eventually the opponent would come to recognize this. This would lead to reconciliation rather than conquest. Victory by violence, he believed, only breeds resentment and sows the seed of future violence. As Martin Luther King put it, ‘The old law of an eye for an eye leaves everybody blind. It is immoral because it seeks to humiliate the opponent rather than win his understanding; it seeks to annihilate rather than to convert. Violence is immoral because it thrives on hatred rather than love. It destroys community and makes brotherhood impossible. It leaves society in monologue rather than dialogue. Violence ends by defeating itself. It creates bitterness in the survivors and brutality in the destroyers’.

If, as Jesus said, you pray for those who persecute you, you do not forget their fellow humanity even while you oppose what they say and do. There is a certain compassion or concern for the enemy as well as for allies. Much civil disobedience today, which may look in part to Gandhi for its inspiration, lacks this concern for the conversion of the opponent and even when it is successful creates the potential for future conflict. Hannah Arendt, in her book On Violence, suggested that the power that ‘springs up whenever people get together and act in concert’ and violence are opposites.

There have been many examples of this ‘people power’ from the mothers of the ‘Disappeared’ who bore witness during the Argentine Junta’s reign of terror, to the throngs of Filipinos marching behind statues of the Virgin Mary up to Marco’s tanks and the mass protests that led to the collapse of Communism in much of Eastern Europe. The influence of Gandhi has been immeasurable. As Martin Luther King said, ‘If humanity is to progress, Gandhi is inescapable’.

Gandhi believed that the power of Love is the same as the power of Truth and that it was as much a law of the universe as the law of gravitation. ‘I have simply tried in my own way’, he said, ‘to apply the eternal truth to our daily life and problems’. He learned the lesson, he said, from the non-violence of his wife. ‘Her determined resistance to my will on the one hand, and her quiet submission to the suffering my stupidity involved on the other hand, ultimately made me ashamed of myself and cured me of my stupidity in thinking I was born to rule over her; and in the end she became my teacher in non-violence.’

Yet for all his advocacy of satyagraha, Gandhi did not rule out violence in all circumstances. This is what Peter Bishop means by a ‘pacificist’ -- someone who puts the emphasis on making peace rather than refusing to use any violence. In 1920 Gandhi wrote, ‘I do believe that, where there is only a choice between cowardice and violence, I would advise violence’. Ahimsa was not the non-violence of the weak. His opposition to violence seems to have increased, but he agreed with the need for an armed police force in an independent India, although he hoped for a State where eventually a police force would not be necessary.

The history of the Sikhs is perhaps a warning that non-violence is not possible in every situation. The early Gurus rejected the use of violence. When the fifth Guru was arrested by the Emperor Jehangir he remained calmly meditating on God as he was tortured by heat. But thereafter Sikhs took measures to protect themselves and the sixth Guru built up a Sikh army. The tender-hearted seventh Guru was a pacifist who never used his troops against the Mughals and taught the Sikhs to feed anyone who came to their door. The Ninth Guru was executed by the Emperor Aurangzeb for opposing his attempts forcibly to convert Hindus and Sikhs to Islam. Gobind Singh, the tenth Guru, inaugurated the Khalsa, a band of disciplined warriors who resisted Mughal oppression and defended freedom of religion. Most Sikhs would maintain that self defense and protection of the weak and poor may require the use of force.

A commitment to non-violence seems to me to involve the recognition that it is both an ideal for which we aim while it is also the means to that ideal. There may be situations where we have to choose the least violent option. A United Nations Peace Keeping Force to monitor a cease-fire is better than a civil war, but the members of that U.N. Force may have to shoot in self-defense.

Gandhi had a holistic view of society. He advocated women’s emancipation, he taught the dignity of physical labor and encouraged cottage industries, he attacked abuses of the caste system and called the outcastes ‘Harijans or ‘children of God’. A non-violent society is only possible if there are far reaching changes to the structural violence of its political and economic practices. Indeed the roots of violence go back to childhood and the parenting we received. As Charlene Spretnak points out in her book States of Grace, ‘Studies of the childhoods of Nazi leaders have found that they were often made to feel inherently unlovable and undeserving and were granted only a harsh, extremely conditional acceptance; beatings were common. In contrast, a study of rescuers in Nazi Europe found that, unlike the control group in the study, the rescuers had almost no memories of being punished gratuitously and had rarely been punished physically. There was generally one parent or parental figure, who, in the child’s eyes, embodied very high standards of ethical behavior. The child witnessed and experienced a life lived with the truth of interconnectedness’.

The more non-violent we become in all our behavior and attitudes, the more we contribute to the creation of a non-violent society. This is perhaps why it was right to deal with questions of vegetarianism and of war and peace in one chapter. Ahimsa, which is part of the traditional culture of Gujarat, has through its most famous son, Mahatma Gandhi, offered the world a way to reverse the growing spiral of violence, sadly evident in so many societies.

Chapter 8. Karma and Reincarnation

There may be parallels between Jesus Christ and Krishna and Rama, but is there any place for forgiveness in Hinduism? It is a question that Christians sometimes ask. The cross speaks to Christians of a God who takes the initiative in forgiving sinners, but in the basic Buddhist and Hindu cosmology, there seems to be no place for human repentance and divine forgiveness. This at least is the opinion of my good friend Joe Elder. Writing in the book Exploring Forgiveness, he says, ‘Central to the Buddhist-Hindu cosmology is the law of karma. According to the law of karma, every virtuous act is rewarded and every sinful act is punished in an inexorable manner similar to the laws of physics. The punishments and rewards might happen in this life or in subsequent lives but they will happen. There is no process of repentance or forgiveness that can affect the inevitability of the punishments and rewards.’

The belief that we have all lived before and that the conditions of our present life are a direct consequence of our previous lives is widespread amongst Hindus. Karma and rebirth are said to solve one of the great problems of life. The question, writes R K Tripathi, who taught at Banaras Hindu University, is ‘How is it that different persons are born with an infinite diversity regarding their fortunes in spite of the fact that God is equally good to all? It would be nothing short of denying God to say that he is whimsical. If God is all-goodness and also all-powerful, how is it that there is so much evil and inequality in the world? Indian religions relieve God of this responsibility and make our karmas responsible.’

Does this mean that our present life is pre-determined by our past? At one conference of the World Congress of Faiths someone told us of a boy in India who was very ill and who needed to be flown to London for very special treatment. We were asked to contribute to the cost of his fare. I recall one Sikh suggesting that perhaps his illness was his karma and it was not for us to interfere. Some sociological studies of how the doctrine of karma is actually used in daily life suggest, however, that it does not inhibit a parent seeking a cure for a child who is ill. If that child were to die, then at that point the idea of karma might be introduced to try to ease the sense of loss, just as someone in the West might say ‘the child was spared further suffering’. Karma like the Christian doctrine of original sin seems to me not so much to explain the inequalities of life as to acknowledge them. To blame karma is to blame one’s own past actions and this should encourage a person not to act badly again. In the same way, Christian teaching about sin is intended to lead to repentance and a change of behavior.

Usually the doctrine is interpreted to leave some place for personal freedom and responsibility. The philosopher Dr S Radhakrishnan wrote ‘The cards in the game of life are given to us. We do not select them. They are traced to our past karma, but we can call as we please, lead what suit we will, and as we play we gain or lose. And there is freedom.’ Gandhi used the doctrine of karma to suggest that people could help to shape the future by their present behavior. Rather than being backward looking, karma should encourage us to take care about how we shape our future.

Even in the Hindu scriptures the law of karma is not in full control. According to the strict law of karma, there is no scope for expiation or repentance, as everyone has to experience the consequences of their sinful actions for the sin to be destroyed. Yet the attainment of moksa or realization takes a person out of samsara, the cycle of rebirth, and beyond the realm where karma operates. Further, the scriptures also provide for rituals to expiate wrong-doing. Many of the Dharma-Sastras written during the classical period of Hinduism discuss various sins and moral transgressions along with their respective atonements. The many penance’s said to have been enumerated by the ancient lawgiver Manu form the core of the ancient Indian criminal code. The Manu-Samhita says that ‘An evil-doer is freed from his evil by declaring (the act), by remorse, by inner heat, by recitation (of the Veda) and, in extremity, by giving gifts. The more a man of his own accord declares the wrong that he has done, the more he is freed from that wrong like a snake from his skin.’ (11, 228-231).

In the devotional bhakti traditions, the repetition of the divine name, often on a rosary (japa), was the most popular way of wiping out wrong-doing and its effects. In several theistic traditions karma is God’s instrument and subject to God’s control, rather than an inexorable law. In several traditions there is reference to God’s mercy. In the Gita, repentance born of love and faith wipes away all sin and no one who comes to God with a humble heart fails to win salvation. ‘No one who worships me with loyalty-and-love is lost to Me’, says Lord Krishna, ‘For whosoever makes me his haven, base-born though he may be, yes women too and artisans, even serfs, theirs is to tread the highest way.’ (9, 31-34). Krishna is the Good Herdsman in quest of the worst sinner who has not repented: ‘However evil a man’s livelihood may be, let him but worship Me and serve no other, then he shall be reckoned among the good indeed, for his resolve is right’ (9, 30). Faith in Lord Krishna, transcends the normal requirements of dharma. ‘For knowledge of the Veda, for sacrifice, for grim austerities, for gifts of alms a need of merit is laid down: all this the athlete of the spirit leaves behind’ (8, 28). Right at the end of the Gita, Krishna reassured Arjuna that he need not worry about the law but should trust Krishna’s love and grace, ‘Give up all things of law, turn to Me, your only refuge, [for] I will deliver you from all evils; have no care.’ (18, 66).

In the hymns of the Tamil saints, both Saivite and Vaishnavite, there are many appeals to God for mercy and expressions of gratitude to God for forgiveness. The great South Indian saint Yamunacarya (918-1040), who was a devotee of the God Vishnu, cried out, ‘I have committed thousands of sins. I am helpless and come for refuge to your sacred feet. By your grace, make me yours.’ The great Saivite poet Manikkavacakar (5th century) sang of God’s love for humankind and rejoiced in God’s mercy:

'You bestowed on me a grace undeserved by me

and enabled this slave’s body and soul

to joyfully thaw and melt with love.

For this I have nothing to give in requital to You,

O Emancipator pervading the past,

the future and every thing!

O infinite primal Being . . .!’

There is even a debate between those who think the devotee depends entirely on God’s grace, like a kitten picked up by its mother, and those who think some human effort is also required like a baby monkey who has to cling on to its mother.

Even if the law of karma does not have the iron grip sometimes assumed by outsiders, it does emphasize moral responsibility and that every action has its effect. Jesus said a person will reap what they sow. Sadhu Sundar Singh, who converted to Christianity from his childhood Sikhism, gave an internalized explanation of the law of karma. He believed firmly in retribution, but regarded this as brought about by an internal necessity or inevitable degeneration of the personality which brings its own punishment and renders a person incapable of attaining the life of heaven. It is not a punishment by God, for, as the Sadhu said, ‘Jesus Christ is never annoyed with anybody.’ Bad actions corrupt the personality. There is an echo here of passages in John’s Gospel where it is said that God does not judge anyone but that people judge themselves by refusing to come to the Light. Sundar Singh affirms that the Love of God is always available to intervene and correct the retributory process of karma, but not by an ‘external’ forgiveness or mere remission of the penalty. God works by changing the heart and thereby curing the moral disease which is the root of sin.

I think it can be seen that bad actions corrupt the character and that people bring judgement upon themselves. People who tell a lie often have to tell more lies to cover up the original untruth. Tragically too, evil behavior can inflict lasting damage on other people’s personalities -- as for example in the loss of self-respect in those who are the victims of violence and sexual abuse. Our behavior has moral consequences both for others and for ourselves. This does not, however, explain the unfairness of life.

That requires a belief in rebirth. Although the Lingayats and some other Hindu groups reject this belief, it is widespread in Indian thought. Philosophical and empirical reasons are given for this belief. It is assumed that the soul by its nature is eternal, which was also the view of the third century Christian thinker Origen (c. 185-c.254) although in Advaita philosophy from the standpoint of realization the individual soul is not other than the Universal Soul. It is further argued, as we have seen, that the unfairness of life can only be explained if there are many lives. The person born handicapped or destitute is paying the price for the sins of a past life. In some teaching this rebirth may be in other worlds or it may be as an animal. The doctrine may be given a future reference. The great twentieth century Hindu thinker Sri Aurobindo, in his Life Divine has an evolutionary framework and sees the whole process leading the soul to full awareness. ‘The true foundation of the theory of rebirth’, he wrote, ‘is the evolution of the soul, or rather its efflorescence out of the veil of Matter and its gradual self-finding.’ Other modern Hindu writers also have a forward-looking emphasis. The Saiva Siddhantin scholar Dr. Devasenapathi wrote, ‘ ‘From a savage to a saint’, is not that a perfect description of the increasing purpose in all history and the meaning of it all?’ Dr. T. M. P. Mahadevan, a distinguished Advaitin philosopher at Madras University, also insisted that the belief that the universe goes through a recurring pattern of four ages or yugas, does not imply that history just repeats itself. The theory of four ages, he said, ‘does not mean that the time process is cyclical but rather it is like a spiral.’

I have found this concept helpful in my own thinking. Recently, when we were staying at the Brahma Kumaris Spiritual University at Mt. Abu, Dadi Prakashmani, the Administrative head, invited our group for a conversation. During this she asked us whether we believed in reincarnation. My answer was that I pictured every soul on a journey towards God, but I did not know whether that journey involved more than one life in this world. Various beliefs were combined in this statement. The first is my belief that God’s love for every person is unending -- that God will never rest until every soul responds to that divine love. This is in Christian terms the doctrine of ‘Universalism’ -- that in the end every soul will be saved and come into the full presence of God. I do not believe in hell -- other than in the sense of the misery human beings inflict on themselves and each other by their cruel and selfish behavior. I am aware that very few people are ready for the vision of God at the end of this life and I have never been at ease with the Protestant view that our eternal destiny is determined by life in this world alone. The Catholic doctrine of Purgatory allows for progress beyond death towards God, but has often been seen as a punishment. It should be understood in terms of the word ‘purge’. It is, in my thought, part of the process by which we move from our self-centerdness to becoming centered on God. The disciplines and trials of this and other lives are remedial. They prepare us for full communion with God.

Such an approach gives us a picture of all human beings moving towards God, but the Love of God has to be freely accepted. As Paramahansa Yogananda, the founder of the Self-Realization/Yogoda Satsanga of India said, ‘God will not tell you that you should desire Him above all else, because he wants your love to be freely given, without "prompting". That is the whole secret in the game of this universe. He who created us yearns for our love. He wants us to give it spontaneously, without His asking. Our love is the one thing God does not possess, unless we choose to bestow it. So, you see, the Lord has something to attain: our love. And we shall never be happy until we give it.’ There is no compulsion, only an eternal yearning in the heart of God. Such pictures of progress are inevitably time-bound. All time is present to God. But some pictures of God are more fitting than others and they can color our behavior towards other people. Even if in traditional thinking it is God who sends people to hell, God’s faithful have been tempted to anticipate God’s judgement! Too often those with different beliefs have been demonized. A belief that all people will be saved encourages a remedial or restorative approach to the treatment of criminals rather than one which stresses punishment and retribution.

In our journey towards God, do we visit planet Earth more than once? I do not know -- certainly there are many experiences which I would like to have had, but many I am glad to have been spared. The empirical arguments for rebirth include the newly born infant’s instinct to suck which, it is said, must have been learned in a previous life. Infant geniuses, it is claimed, remember skills learned in an earlier incarnation. There are those who claim to recall incidents from a previous life. Many people have a sense of déjà vue, of going to a place for the first time but finding it is already familiar.

There may be other explanations for these experiences. One difficulty with the theory of reincarnation is that most of us do not remember our previous lives. Is it moral for us to be punished in this life for a wrong-doing which we cannot recollect? Yet our adult character and behaviour are shaped by childhood happenings which we do not recall -- other perhaps than during psycho-analysis. The question of personal identity is far from simple.

My picture of our future destiny does not entirely fit with either traditional Christian nor Hindu teaching, but draws on insights from both -- and from other religions. This is perhaps an example of the possibility, suggested at the end of the last chapter, of what, W. Cantwell Smith calls a ‘Global theology’ or Keith Ward has spoken of as ‘Comparative theology’. In our thinking about the most profound existential and theological issues we can draw on insights of the great traditions. This, however, implies a new perspective, whereby we see theological thinking not as reflection on intellectual propositions once and for all revealed by God, but as a never ending quest for a fuller understanding of the Divine Mystery that we never fully apprehend. As Jesus said, ‘the Spirit of truth will guide you into all truth.’

Chapter: 7. A New View of Scripture

The title page of the standard version of the Bible in Kannada, the language of the southern Indian state of Karnataka, with a literary history of about one thousand five hundred years, describes the Bible on the title page as ‘the True Veda’, Satya Veda. The 1865 edition was printed in England, but when an edition was printed in India in 1951, the title page was unchanged. The implication was that the Bible was true and the scriptures or Vedas of the Hindus were false. Commenting on this, Stanley Samartha writes, ‘To Christians it is astonishing that neighbours of other faiths also have written scriptures. The notion that the Bible is ‘true’ scripture and all other scriptures are ‘false’ is so stamped in the mind of many Christians that any discussion on scriptural authority becomes almost impossible.’

Quite quickly as I began to read Hindu and other scriptures, I found passages that were ‘inspiring’. What do I mean by inspiring, which is a vague phrase? Perhaps some passage which kindles my love of God and lifts my heart towards heaven. The poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge early in the nineteenth century suggested that the divinity of the Bible rested not ‘in the infallibility of its statements, but in its power to evoke faith and penitence and hope and adoration.’ He agreed that other books were inspiring, but not as much so as the Bible. John Hick as early as 1973, in his God and the Universe of Faiths, quoted from prayers from a number of religions to show that in these ‘we meet again and again the overlap and confluence of faiths.’ A growing number of people have by now found inspiration in the sacred scriptures of the world and have been willing to join together in prayer with members of different religions.

This, however, implies a new view of the authority of scripture. The traditional Christian belief was that the Bible was literally the word of God, dictated to the evangelists and other authors by the Holy Spirit. This traditional view was challenged in the nineteenth century but it can still be controversial even today to question the authority of scripture. At the beginning of the week in which I wrote this chapter The Times had a headline, ‘Canon is banned for saying Bible is not the word of God.’ A senior clergyman is reported as having said in a sermon that ‘the elevation of the Bible to close on divine status has done more damage to the Christian message than all the slings and arrows of the sceptics. The Bible helps to point to the Word of God [the Logos] but it is not the word of God.’

Traditionally, the divine authorship of the Bible was thought to ensure that it was free from error. This accounts for the ecclesiastical opposition to Charles Darwin’s work on evolution and to the arguments of critical Biblical scholars, which implied that not all statements in scripture were factually correct. Further, revelation was thought of in propositional terms as true statements about God. H L Mansel in his 1858 Bampton Lectures, for example, said that the Bible supplied ‘regulative truths’. F D Maurice, a professor at King’s College, London in contrast argued that revelation was participation in the very life of God. Likewise, William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1942-4, said ‘that what is offered to man’s apprehension in any specific revelation is not truth concerning God, but the living God Himself’. Revelation is personal experience of the graciousness of God. Scripture, therefore, has a secondary authority -- it points beyond itself to the self-expression of God in Jesus Christ. This means that historical inaccuracies are less important. Biblical writers communicate their experiences of God so that the reader can make those experiences his or her own. John, towards the end of his Gospel, writes, ‘These things are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.’

My early studies of Hinduism suggested that a similar change has been taking place in the Hindu view of the authority of the Vedas -- indeed it was this study that helped me recognise the change in Christian thinking. Although, the various orthodox schools of Hindu philosophy have different views about the nature of Vedic revelation, they accept the authority of the Vedas and claim that that their thinking is based on these scriptures. The Vedanta school, for example, says its source is God, but also affirms that the Veda is eternal, which suggests that the Veda is free from historical conditioning and is therefore infallible. Some modern Hindu writers, however, take a different approach. Debendranath Tagore (1817-1905), leader of the Brahmo Samaj, found himself in disagreement with the Upanishads about the nature of the self’s relationship to the Ultimate. He therefore rejected the infallibility of the scriptures. It was agreed in the Samaj that ‘the Vedas, the Upanishads and other ancient writings were not to be accepted as infallible guides, that reason and conscience were to be the supreme authority and the teachings of the scriptures were to be accepted only insofar as they harmonised with the light within us.’ The inner light became the authority of the Samaj. ‘I came to see’, said Debendranath, ‘that the Pure Heart filled with the light of intuitive knowledge -- this was its basis. Brahma reigned in the pure heart alone... The rishi of old... records his experience, "The pure in spirit enlightened by wisdom sees the Holy God by means of worship and meditation." (Mundaka III, 1-8). These words accorded with the experience of my own heart, hence I accepted them.’ Dr S Radhakrishnan, however, adds that ‘The rishis are not so much the authors of the truths recorded in the Vedas as the seers who were able to discern the eternal truths by raising their life spirit to the plane of the universal spirit.’

This change of perspective in both Christianity and Hinduism means that the scriptures, instead of being an infallible authority which tells us what to do and to believe, become as it were spiritual guide-books to help us on our journey towards God. In our reading of them, we are enriched and corrected by the insights of thousands of other people who have been inspired by them. Our own experience of God confirms them as authentic and authoritative.

Can we say that any one scripture is more authoritative or inspiring than another? I do not see that one can do this on objective or independent grounds. The acceptance of a scripture as authoritative goes with adherence to a faith community. W. Cantwell Smith says that ‘On a close enquiry, it emerges that being scripture is not a quality inherent in a given text, or type of text, so much as an interactive relation between the text and a community of persons.’ It is the relationship to a community of faith which may make it difficult for a person of one faith to treat scriptures of another faith with the same authority as he or she accords to the scriptures of the faith community to which she or he belongs. Even so, other scriptures may also be a way in which God speaks to Christians.

It is worth noticing that different communities of faith have different understandings of the authority of scripture ‘To most Hindus’, writes Stanley Samartha, ‘the primary authority lies in that which is heard rather than in what is remembered and written down. To the Buddhists scripture has an instrumental authority, like that of a boat that helps one to cross the river, but which, after reaching the other shore, becomes unnecessary.’

Despite the difficulties, can a member of one religious tradition find inspiration in the scriptures of another? The Sikh scriptures, the Guru Granth Sahib or Adi Granth, which was originally compiled by the 5th Guru, Guru Arjan in 1604 -- in the same year as work began on the Authorised or King James Version of the Bible -- contains devotional hymns by Hindu and Muslim poets and saints as well as by the Gurus. For example, poems by Kabir, the mystic and religious reformer are included -- as in these lines:

‘Says Kabir at the top of his voice:

There is but One and the Same God,

Both for Hindus and Muslims.’

Christians include the Hebrew Scriptures in their Bible. In India, at some Christian ashrams there may at the Eucharist be readings from Hindus scriptures as well as from the Bible. Should the reader at the end of the passage say,‘This is the Word of the Lord’ -- as would normally be said after a reading from the Bible?

A Consultation on this subject, held in Bangalore in 1988, made the following points. First, God’s Word is a greater reality than the scriptures themselves. God has spoken in different manners to a variety of human histories. Secondly, selective use of other scriptures is in tune with the Christian principle of selective use of Biblical texts. Many churches have chosen readings for particular Sundays and do not read the whole Bible in public worship. Thirdly, just as Christian scriptures are the gift of the Word of God offered by the Christian community as a record of its faith, so other scriptures can be considered also as a gift of the Word of God offered to Christians by members of other religious traditions. Nonetheless, fourthly, the Consultation recognised a phenomenon called ‘the historical divergence’ of God’s Word, whereby the Word of God of one community is enshrined by the cultural modes of a particular community.

The fourth point was to recognise the specific character of each religious tradition. Other scriptures need to be understood in their own context, not manipulated to confirm Christian beliefs, as so often Christians have misused the Hebrew Scriptures or Old Testament. Yet the context of Christian worship in which a passage from another scripture is read may suggest a particular meaning or interpretation for the chosen passage. But then no text from scripture is univocal. Any verse is subject to different interpretations, depending on the background and outlook of the reader.

The Consultation recognized that reading from other scriptures during Christian worship may well be beneficial, provided it is not done to criticise those to whom the text belongs nor misused out of context to support Christian claims. It can help us see that God speaks to every faith community. The same is true of occasions when people of different faiths come together for prayer and the reading of passages from the scriptures of the world.

In our personal devotions also we can be enriched by the sacred texts of the world. Raimundo Panikkar in his great collection of Vedic texts for modern man or woman called The Vedic Experience, whilst recognising that the Vedas are ‘linked for ever to the particular religious sources from which they historically sprang’, also says that the Vedas are a monument of universal religion and therefore of deep significance for all people.

To recognise that every scripture is a gift of God for all humanity follows logically from recognising that each religion draws its inspiration from the One Divine Reality. Scriptures are sacred treasures held in trust by one community, but for the benefit of all people.

This further suggests that, whilst we are primarily nourished spiritually by the scriptures and teachings of the community of which we are a member, we can find inspiration in the writings of other traditions. This also means that a new approach to theology, sometimes called ‘global theology’ or ‘comparative theology’ becomes possible.

Traditionally theology has been reflection by members of one faith community on the meaning and implications of texts or scriptures, which are held to be authoritative. It has been an essentially confessional discipline. Now, however, as the scriptures of the world have been translated into English and many other western languages, we can draw upon the insights of the scriptures of the world for our theological reflection. Indeed, some twenty years ago, the distinguished scholar Wilfred Cantwell Smith wrote ‘henceforth the data for theology must be the data of the history of religions. The material on the basis of which a theological interpretation shall be proffered, of the world, man, the truth, and of salvation -- of God and His dealings with His world -- is to be the material that the study of the history of religion provides’.

The exciting possibility awaits us of seeing how this knowledge can increase and deepen our understanding of the Divine Mystery, which can never be fully grasped by one tradition alone.

Chapter: 6. Jesus

When I first visited Gobind Sadan, a Sikh interfaith community on the outskirts of New Delhi, some eighteen years ago, the receptionist told me how she prayed every day that she would have a vision of Jesus. When we went back in 2001, the same woman shared with our group the vision she had had quite recently of Jesus, as a luminous figure standing beside her, who assured her of his love and blessing. The woman remains a devout Sikh.

The founder and leader of the ashram, HH Baba Virsa Singh himself had a vision of Jesus some years ago -- and he told us of a recent vision of the Prophet Mohammed. As a result of his vision of Jesus, Baba Virsa Singh created a beautiful garden, known as the Jesus place, which has in it a statue of Jesus. On our recent visit, we arrived just in time for the evening prayers at the Jesus place, during which hundreds of candles are lit and placed before the statue. We noticed that Jesus was wearing a coat and a woollen hat. Because nights in February are chilly, every evening a Sikh comes and puts them on the statue. The Jesus place is a favorite spot for members of the ashram and visitors to come and pray and we made our way back there several times.

Some Hindu holy men, especially as we have seen the influential nineteenth century teacher Sri Ramakrishna, have also claimed to have had a vision of Jesus. Many other Hindus and Sikhs have a great love for Jesus. Indeed when my friend Professor Seshagiri Rao, a distinguished Hindu scholar, was asked to address an international Christian missionary conference, he began by saying, "I speak to you as a fellow lover of Jesus Christ. . ."

During the last two centuries a number of Indians have responded sympathetically to Jesus and tried to see his significance in an Indian context. Fr. Hans Staffner, a Jesuit who was born in Austria but whose working life was spent in India, distinguishes three groups of Indian admirers of Jesus.

A number of Hindus admire Jesus as a moral teacher and example. The early nineteenth reformer Raja Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833), who is buried at the Arnos Grove Cemetery at Bristol, wrote, ‘I found the doctrine of Christ more conducive to inculcate moral principles and better adapted to rational beings than any other that has come to my knowledge.’ Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948), who often spoke of Jesus, wrote ‘the gentle figure of Christ, so patient, so kind, so loving, so full of forgiveness that he taught his followers not to retaliate when abused or struck but to turn the other cheek -- it was a beautiful example, I thought, of the perfect man.’ Jesus, he said, ‘was non-violence par excellence.’

Staffner’s second category includes Hindus who were intensely committed to Jesus Christ but did not wish to join any existing Christian church. He takes as examples, Keshab Chandra Sen (1838-84) who for a time was leader of the Brahmo Samaj and who founded the Church of the New Dispensation and P T Mozoomdar (1840-1905), author of The Oriental Christ. Both had a deep love for Jesus but insisted he was an Asian not a European. ‘The Western Christ’, Keshab Chandra Sen said, ‘was not congenial to the Indian mind. . . the picture of Christ’s life and character is altogether a picture of ideal Hindu life.’ To this group might be added those Hindus who regard Jesus as an avatar or ‘an incarnation’.

Staffner’s third category is Hindus who were baptised and became Christians but claimed that being Hindu by birth they remained socially and culturally Hindu. Staffner includes Brahmabandhab Upadhyaya (1861-1907), a close friend of Swami Vivekananda, who tried to interpret Christianity in Indian philosophical categories, Narayan Vaman Tilak (1861-1919), who is loved throughout Maharashtra as ‘the poet of children and flowers’, and Pandita Ramabai (1858-1922), who saw in Jesus Christ the hope and salvation of Indian womanhood. Those who belonged to Staffner’s second and third categories wished to separate Jesus from the Western cultural dress and thought forms in which he was presented by missionaries.

Although a number of Indian Christian thinkers have tried to interpret Jesus in Indian terms, my first impression of the Indian church in the sixties was that it was very Western and that many Indian Christians wished to maintain a distance from the surrounding Hindu society. I was, however, quickly made aware both of the deep love that many Indians have for Jesus and their difficulties with the exclusive Christian claim that Jesus is the unique Son of God. ‘Let us find God not only in Jesus of Nazareth but in all the Great Ones that have preceded him and all that are yet to come’ said Swami Vivekananda. Mahatma Gandhi also said, ‘I cannot ascribe exclusive divinity to Jesus. He is as divine as Krishna or Rama or Mohammed or Zoroaster.’

Rama and Krishna

India has its own tradition of divine incarnations and this may make a special bond between Hinduism and Christianity. The word avatar means literally a ‘coming down’ or ‘manifestation’. One of the three high gods, Vishnu, is believed of his free choice on occasion to have taken bodily form as an animal or as a human being,

‘For the protection of the virtuous,

For the destruction of the wicked

For the establishment of Right (dharma).’

The best known incarnations are Rama and Krishna, in whom Vishnu took on a fully human life, including conception, birth and a natural death.

Rama

Rama, who perhaps most powerfully embodies the traditional Indian notions of dharma or righteousness, is the hero of the major epic called the Ramayana. This tells of his birth and childhood and his life in the sacred city of Ayodhya, from which after a court intrigue he was banished to a forest. He was accompanied there by his faithful wife Sita, but she was abducted by Ravana, the demon king of Lanka. Eventually with the help of his monkey friends and especially of the monkey god Hanuman, Rama defeated Ravana and rescued Sita. Rama, however, did not believe Sita’s protestations that she had remained faithful to him whilst a prisoner of Ravana. Sita therefore had a funeral pyre built on which she threw herself but was rescued by the gods. Rama and Sita returned to Ayodhya, but because of false rumors that Sita had been unfaithful she was banished but eventually restored, although by that time her heart was broken. The epic ends with their death and ascent to heaven.

It is said that ‘whoever reads and recites the holy, life-giving Ramayana is freed from sin and attains heaven’. The same result is achieved by anyone who, like Gandhi, repeats the name of Rama as he or she is dying or for a dying person by someone repeating the name of Rama in his or her ear.

Krishna

In the vast literature about Krishna, he is seen as the divine child, the young herdsman and endearing lover and as an avatar of God. The stories of his childhood appeal to the maternal instinct and in many villages women worship the divine child. The young Krishna’s love for the milk-maidens is interpreted as symbolic of God’s love for the human soul which is called to respond to that divine love. In the Bhagavad Gita Krishna is seen as a personal God, the source of life and the sustainer of virtue.

The Gita, which is part of a massive epic poem called the Mahabharata, explores the crisis of conscience that faces the warrior Arjuna when he finds himself opposed in battle by members of his own family. The charioteer, Krishna in disguise, tells Arjuna that it is his duty as a warrior to fight, but Krishna’s teaching goes far beyond this. Krishna says that only deeds, which are done without attachment to their results and through devotion (bhakti) to God and with trust in God’s grace, can lead to realization of the Divine. Krishna indicates the three paths of knowledge, action with detachment and of love which can lead to full knowledge of God. The climax of the Gita is Krishna’s stupendous theophany when Arjuna is granted a ‘celestial eye’ (11, 8) whereby he can see the transfiguration of Krishna into the ‘self which does not pass away’ (11, 1-4). Arjuna, rather like Job, is overwhelmed with a sense of unworthiness and sin. Krishna comforts him and once again assumes ‘the body of a friend’ (11, 50).

Historicity

Parallels have been drawn between the stories of Jesus and of Rama and Krishna. For example, the birth of both Jesus and Krishna was signified by a star and took place in the middle of the night whilst an evil king was asleep. Christians often say that Jesus was a historical person whereas Rama and Krishna were mythological. This, however, is to overstate the case. There probably are historical persons behind the stories of Rama and Krishna, but in the remote past. There are also mythological elements in the story of Jesus. Even so, the historicity of Jesus -- even if details of his life are much disputed -- is of great significance to Christians whereas there is in Indian thought a certain indifference to the historical. Vivekananda said the power of the Gospel was independent of it having actually happened. ‘It does not matter at all whether the New Testament was written within five hundred years of his birth, nor does it even matter how much of it is true.’ Gandhi too said that he did not care whether the crucifixion was historically true, it was truer than history. The Indian scholar A. D. Pusalker has said that ‘an ordinary Hindu is never concerned with the historicity of Krishna; to investigate the problem is a sacrilege to him.’

Divinity

To many Hindus ‘divinity’ is supreme holiness or goodness not another order of being. Pöhlmann recounts that two gurus told him that God was incarnate ‘in my mother and every human being.’ Gandhi said ‘If a man is spiritually ahead of us we may say that in a special sense he is the son of god, though we are all children of God. We repudiate the relationship in our lives, whereas his life is a witness to that relationship.’ Keshub Chandra Sen told his listeners that Christ was already in them. ‘The holy Word, the eternal Veda dwells in every one of us. Go into the depths of your own consciousness, and you will find this indwelling Logos, the Son of God, woven warp and woof, into your inmost soul. Whatever in you is good and holy is the Son . . . None can reach Divinity except through the character and disposition of the Son inherent in him.’

It is not surprising, therefore, although it is often a shock to Westerners that some Hindu spiritual teachers are regarded as divine. Sai Baba (b. 1926), a spiritual guide with miraculous powers, is regarded by some of his followers as a manifestation of God. It was also interesting on a recent visit to the Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University at Mount Abu to see that the founder Dada Lekh Raj, whose spiritual name is Prajapita Brahma, who died in 1969, is treated almost as divine and as an embodiment of the god Siva. In India there are swamis who say of themselves ‘I and the Godhead are One’ and to whom disciples come just for darshan -- to sit in the presence of the holy person. Some Hindus class Jesus amongst the great seers who realized oneness with the Absolute. They think that when Jesus said ‘I and the Father are One’, he was describing an Advaitic or Monistic experience of identity.

Only Son of God.

Although in India Jesus is often spoken of as an avatar, some Christians have avoided the term because it seems to accommodate Jesus to Hindu presuppositions and may obscure the Christian claim that Jesus was unique or the only Son of God. This affirmation, however, is a problem for most Hindus and for some Indian Christians.

The distinguished Protestant theologian Stanley Samartha, who was Director of the Sub-Unit on Dialogue of the World Council of Churches, has written in strong terms in his One Christ, Many Religions of the negative consequences of an exclusive claim in a multi-religious society. First, he says, it divides people into ‘we’ and ‘they’, the ‘saved’ and ‘unsaved’ and this hinders building a sense of national community and may be one reason why, in much of India, Christians are on the margin. Secondly it makes co-operation among religious communities on social problems almost impossible. Thirdly, because Christianity and Islam have world-wide connections, any tensions within Indian society easily become internationalized and thereby heightened. Fourthly, Samartha maintains exclusive claims raise serious theological questions. For example, what happened to the millions of people who were born before Jesus? Again, to emphasize that God’s saving love is only revealed in Jesus seems to go against belief that God is the Creator, Sustainer and Redeemer of all humanity.

Earlier in the book, Samartha suggests that the rejection of exclusivism is deeply embedded in Indian though. Hindus speak of a unity of religions and their non-contradictoriness. Because of the basic differences in humankind, they regard it as natural and inevitable that there are religious differences. People are born into a particular religious community and tradition because of its suitability to their spiritual development, which is itself controlled by the laws of karma. God attracts a believer to the path that is right for him or her.

This sense of an all-embracing unity is common in Indian religions. Jainism holds that because of the indeterminate nature of Reality, different viewpoints are possible and that none can claim final knowledge of the truth -- which brings us back to the pervading sense of Mystery. The Advaita or ‘non-dual’ teaching that pervades much of Hinduism has a vision of a grand unity that holds together diversities in harmony.

Samartha therefore argues that whilst the classical creeds expressed Christian belief in terms of Greek philosophical thought, they are not the only way in which God’s revelation in Jesus Christ may be spoken of and indeed are often unhelpful in an Indian context. The Gospel needs to be expressed in terms of Indian thought and the ways of thinking of other cultures. For India, the Christian message should include a sense of Mystery and a freedom from propositional theology.

Samartha also complains that some popular Christian devotion has become almost a Jesusolatry -- worship of Jesus alone. In orthodox Christian thinking, as he says, Jesus is not the sum of the God-head, rather the believer goes with Jesus to the Father. It has also been said that Jesus is wholly God but not the whole of God.

Samartha, further, criticizes what he calls ‘a helicopter Christology’, in which Christ as Savior is suddenly brought in from the West. He contrasts this with a ‘bullock-cart Christology’, which starts from below -- touching the unpaved roads of Asia.

Samartha suggests that it is better to think of Jesus in terms of ‘divinity’ rather than ‘deity’. ‘It is one thing to say that Jesus of Nazareth is divine’, he writes, ‘and quite another thing to say that Jesus of Nazareth is God.’ Samartha quotes two New Testament scholars as saying, ‘the God present in Jesus is God himself. It is not that Jesus in his own being is identical with the God who is present in him.’ Samartha insists that Jesus’ primary concern was not with his own status but with the coming Kingdom of God and that this concern is relevant to all people.

Some modern Western Christological thinking seems to come close to Samartha’s views and the attitude of some Hindu writers about Jesus. Orthodox Christian theology begins with God who becomes man. Liberal Christian thinkers tend to start with the real human being, Jesus, who lived in first century Palestine. They see in the perfection of his humanity, for example in his total self-giving, a window on to God. The Scottish theologian Donald Baillie, in his influential book God was in Christ, tried to explain the incarnation in terms of the paradox of grace. The essence of this, he wrote, ‘lies in the conviction , which a Christian man possesses that every good thing in him, every good thing he does, is somehow not wrought by himself but by God.’ God, as it were, acts through the believer. Baillie suggested that ‘this paradox of grace points the way more clearly and makes a better approach than anything else in our experience to the mystery of the Incarnation itself; that this paradox in its fragmentary form in our own Christian lives is a reflection of that perfect union of God and man in the incarnation on which our whole Christian life depends, and may therefore be our best clue to the understanding of it.’ The union of Jesus with the Father is in this way seen more as one of total obedience and moral union rather than as ontological or a union of being.

In my recent book Christian-Jewish Dialogue: The Next Steps I suggested that ‘there was nothing un-Jewish in thinking that a great man had been signally honored by God in being taken up to heaven, in being given a role in the final judgement of the world and in being recognized as Messiah or Son of God. To the first believers, the term ‘Son of Man’ probably implied Jesus’ moral obedience to the Father.’ I also refer to James Dunn’s argument that to call Jesus ‘Lord’ was evidently not understood in earliest Christianity as identifying him with God.’ Dunn says that ‘what the first Christians seem to have done was to claim that the one God had shared his lordship with the exalted Christ. Paul applied to Jesus language elsewhere applied to divine Wisdom ( I Cor. 8, 6). He also spoke of God’s glory being made visible in the face of Jesus Christ (II Cor 4, 6) a term used in the Bible of the appearance of God in human form, sometimes called the angel of the ‘Lord.’

Like Samartha I do not see the creeds as immutable, but as historical documents pointing to the central Christian experience of God’s love in Jesus Christ. No one Christology is adequate, we need Christologies which try to convey the significance of Jesus to Hindu or Jewish or Muslim friends as well as Liberation and Feminist Christologies.

The Christian claim is that in Jesus we are met by God. Using the term avatar of Jesus may be helpful for some Hindus, for others it may suggest that Jesus is just one more intermediary whereas the Christian conviction is that in Jesus they have seen ‘the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.’ In Jesus, I believe I have been met by the Living God who offers forgiveness and loving acceptance. All Christologies are at best inadequate attempts to convey the wonder of divine grace. As we share our experience and gladly hear the experience of others, we shall not compete about titles but join together in a chorus of praise to the one God who loves us all. Dialogue, as has been said, should be telling each other our beautiful names for God.

‘Once again, I resonate with words of Fr. Bede Grifiths, who wrote: believe that the Word took flesh in Jesus of Nazareth and in him we can find a personal form of the Word to whom we can pray and to whom we can relate in terms of love and intimacy, but I think that he makes himself known to others under different names and forms. What counts is not so much the name and the form as the response in the heart to the hidden mystery, which is present to each one of us in one way or another and awaits our response in faith and hope and love.’

Chapter 5. Images of God

I have come to appreciate the beauty of many Hindu temples, but my first visit to a big temple in Madras was bewildering. I vividly recall the heat, especially of the sandy earth on which one had to walk barefoot, the various smells, the dirt, and above all the number and variety of images of God.

Hindu images of the Divine have provoked a strong and negative reaction in many Western visitors. ‘More than anything else’ says Diana Eck, writing of the holy city of Varanasi, (formerly known as Banaras), ‘it was the multitude of divine images that elicited the strongest response of Westerners in their encounter with Banaras and with Hinduism generally. Virtually everyone who visited the city, from Ralph Fitch in the sixteenth century through those who went there in subsequent centuries, expressed astonishment and even repugnance at the panoply of images. Fitch wrote "Their chief idols (sic) bee black and evil-favored, their mouth monstrous, their ears gilded and full of jewels, their teeth and eyes of gold, silver, and glasses, some having one thing in their hands and some another." Three hundred years later, the English assessment of these images had changed little. In the 1800s, Norman Macleod, in the midst of his exuberance for the vistas of Banaras, referred to "that ugly looking monster called God", and Sherring wrote of "the worship of uncouth images, of monsters, of the linga and other indecent figures, and of a multitude of grotesque, ill-shapen, and hideous objects."’ The missionary Henry Martyn spoke of a visit to a Hindu temple as like being in the vicinity of hell.

In some of the Western reaction there is an aesthetic as well as a religious antipathy. The sculpture of Ancient Greece, often of Olympian deities, was admired but the exuberance of much Hindu art was puzzling and Pöhlmann writes that ‘what is annoying about many images of the gods is their kitsch’, although he adds that kitsch is a very relative term. Westerners too, reared on the Bible with its denunciations of ‘idolatry’, felt little sympathy with Hindu devotion and some would refuse the gift of prasad, a sweet which after being offered to the god is given to the devotee. I remember that some Christians at Madras Christian College were shocked that I should want to visit a Hindu temple.

The mistake, however, is to assume that the image is in fact the object of worship rather than a representation of the Divine who is formless. The book of Isaiah misses the point with its mockery:

‘Half of the wood he burns in the fire; over it he prepares his meal, he roasts his meat and eats his fill. He also warms himself and says, "Ah, I am warm; I see the fire." From the rest he makes a god, his image; he bows down to it and worships. He prays to it and says, "Save me; you are my god." They know nothing, they understand nothing.’ (44, 16-18).

The Book of Wisdom is rather more sympathetic. ‘Small blame’, it says, ‘attaches to those who go astray in their search for God and eagerness to find him and fall victim to appearances, seeing so much beauty.’(13, 6-7).

Hindu teachers make clear that the ultimate divine reality, Brahman, is beyond all forms and description, but such a Deity is too remote for many people. God, therefore, graciously makes himself available to worshippers in the form of an image. In the Gita (4, 11) Krishna tells Arjuna ‘In whatever way people approach me, in that way do I show them favor.’ The great Hindu teacher Ramanuja (eleventh century), who in his commentary says that the Lord is characterized by his utter supremacy and his gracious accessibility, explains that this verse means ‘in that way do I make myself visible to them.’ The Lord becomes accessible both in images and in incarnations. It is, as another Vaisnavite theologian, Pillai Lokacarya, explained, one more evidence of God’s graciousness. ‘This is the greatest grace of the Lord’, he wrote, ‘that being free he becomes bound, being independent he becomes dependent for all His service on His devotee . . . The Infinite has become finite that the child soul may grasp, understand and love Him.’

The image brings God into focus -- it is not in itself a god. Yet after the ceremony of consecration, as Fr. Fallon points out, ‘the devout worshipper believes that something has happened, the statue or image has been transformed into the very body of god or at least, into his abode.’ As Diana Eck explains, ‘Because the image is a form of the Supreme Lord, it is precisely the image that facilitates and enhances the close relationship of the worshipper and God and makes possible the deepest outpourings of emotions in worship.’ In the temple ritual, whereby, like a royal personage, the image is woken in the morning, honored with song and incense, dressed and fed, the worshipper expresses his or her devotion to God. There are perhaps parallels with the devotion shown by some Christians to the consecrated bread and wine at the Mass. For myself, I think of Christ’s presence in the fellowship of believers who remember him rather than localized in the host, but as Fr. Fallon says, ‘The sacramentalism’ which characterizes true Christianity should help us see what there is of positive value in the ‘symbolism’ of the Hindu religious world.’ A sympathetic attempt to understand the value of images for Hindus has also helped me to appreciate the value of icons for Orthodox Christians and the many statues of Mediterranean or Latin American Catholic churches.

Images that help some people get in the way for others. Several Hindu reformers from Kabir to Tagore, as well as Sikh gurus and Indian Muslims, have condemned images. Others see their value as only for the spiritually uneducated. Lokacarya, as we have seen, spoke of the child soul. The orthodox writer Raghunanda said the same: ‘For the sake of the devotee do we fancy forms and shapes of that Brahman which is pure spirit, the one without a second, the absolutely simple and incorporeal One.’ Some twentieth century Hindu leaders, such as Vivekananda and Dr Radhakrishnan, have taken the same view. It is sometimes said that in all religions people need a material focus for their devotion. One devotee of the god Rama explained, ‘God without form is too remote, you cannot reach him, therefore all men worship him in some form that brings him near. Muslims have the Qur’an, Sikhs the Guru Granth Sahib, and Christians the Cross.’ Dr. C. T. K. Chari, my professor of philosophy at Madras Christian College never went to a temple. He considered it unnecessary for the spiritually educated and he explained that the images in his home were for the benefit of his wife and children!

My own preference is for simplicity, but Hinduism has helped me value color and movement in worship and to be more appreciative of those whose devotion is expressed in arranging flowers or polishing brasses, who thereby convey ‘the beauty of holiness’.

The Hindu devotee approaches the god of the temple or indeed a guru for darshan or a viewing of the divine. Hindu worship, which is individual and not congregational, is not primarily a matter of prayers and offerings. It is eye contact with the divine image that brings blessing, power, comfort and forgiveness, as is true of Benediction, a Catholic eucharistic devotion wherein the consecrated host is exposed to view in a monstrance. The Hindu devotee longs to stand in the presence of the image and to see and be seen by the deity. There is a great sense of excitement in the temple as the curtains are drawn back and the image is revealed to the view of the worshippers. Gifts are taken not to atone for sins or to win favors but to express delight in God, just as when one visits a friend one does not go empty handed. Again, this desire to see and to be in the presence of the divine is a reminder also that worship is not just a matter of belief but of presence -- of sensing a mystery and beauty and peace that passes all understanding.

India, as Diana Eck observes, is a visual and visionary culture. What is seen, because of what it represents, is more important than what is heard. As Swami Kriyananda says, ‘Words are but symbols. They do not present.’ Protestant Christianity, by contrast, with its emphasis on the Bible as the Word has given primary importance to hearing and to reading. With the prevalence of television and computers, Western society has become more visual. Christian worship would perhaps be enriched by more color. At a deeper level, there is the need to recover an awareness of the importance of symbols. The analytic and scientific approach to education has its limitations. The deepest truths can only be expressed in poetry, myth and symbol as some of the most successful authors of children’s stories have realized. We need to be in touch with both the female or imaginative left side of the brain as well as the male analytical right side of the brain. As Bede Griffiths wrote, ‘Man cannot live without myth; reason cannot live without the imagination. . . The myth has to be reborn.’

If some Westerners find the images of gods off-putting, they may also express surprise at finding that the lingam, the male organ, is the focus of worship in many temples dedicated to Siva, the third god of the Hindu trinity. The lingam is usually set in the yoni, a representation of the female vulva. In 1962 a respected scholar Gopinath Kaviraja explained that worship of the lingam was very ancient and purity and impurity are in the eye of the beholder. Creation, he said, always proceeds by the union of two powers which are called by various names. This duality derives from the single ultimate source of all being. The union of the lingam and yoni is the expression of creative energy.

Hindu gods are also usually shown with a consort. Indeed archaeological evidence suggests that reverence for the female as the source of life was of primary importance in the earliest Indian cultures. The Mother figure vividly expresses God’s love for human beings. The worship of Sakti, divine female power, addressed also as Kali, Durga, Radha, Sarasvati, Laksmi, Ganga and Parvati, is still widespread, although often during periods of male domination, the goddess was made subject to a male god.

A female deity was a surprise to me when I first went to India and brought to mind Old Testament denunciations of Baal worship and flagrant sexuality. Stories of temple prostitutes lurked somewhere at the back of my mind. Yet the language we use of God is only analogous. God is not literally a Father and there is no reason not to picture God as a mother or to call on ‘God, our Parent.’ Where possible, I now try to avoid the use of the male pronoun for God and I am disappointed that the churches are so slow to use inclusive language for God. We may now speak of ‘humankind’ but the language of ‘Father, Son and Holy Spirit’ is unchanged and the Holy Spirit, if given a gender, is like the worshipper, assumed to be male. The accusation that the Church by the masculine nature of the language it has used of God has for centuries reflected and reinforced a patriarchal society, which has shut out female forms of self-representation and seen women in terms of male desire, is hard to refute.

Women in India too have been the victims of male oppression, but whereas in much of Christianity there has been a fear of human sexuality, in some forms of theistic Hinduism sexuality and divine energy are related. This too may lead to abuse, but as Pöhlmann comments ‘In contrast to the devaluation of the body in the history of Christianity, from the beginning Hinduism had a more open relationship to the body, to sexuality and beauty’. He mentions in particular scenes of Krishna playing his flute for the milk maids to dance to which are a common theme of Indian art. He also refers to Günther Grass who called Hinduism a ‘sensual religion.’ Maybe a more positive valuing of human sexuality, which is evident in contemporary Christian thought, may help to combat the trivializing of it in Western society.

Images of Kali can at first sight be off-putting. The challenge of Kali, however, is to recognize the terrifying aspect of divine creative energy. Nature is ‘red in tooth and claw’. If God is the source of all that is, God’s ultimate responsibility for evil has to be recognized unless one moves into a dualism which posits an Evil Power in competition with God. There is in Isaiah the puzzling verse, ‘I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things’.

My involvement in Christian-Jewish relations and therefore with the theological implications of the Holocaust have led me to ponder this question and what I learned of the Hindu Trinity, who is Creator, Sustainer and Destroyer, has helped me to believe that God is both life-giver and destroyer, present in life and death, in joy and sorrow. Certainly I do not think God sends evil as a punishment, although life’s difficulties may be a challenge. God wills what is best for all people, but I do believe that in the midst of evil God is present and by sharing our suffering God can help to transform it. For it is my confidence that no power in life or in death is stronger than the self-giving love of God, revealed for me most clearly in Jesus Christ.

Perhaps these mysteries are best expressed in myth and images and not in words. Although some of the images of the divine in Hinduism may seem alien and disturbing, they may also help us fathom mysteries beyond our comprehension.

Chapter 4. Do All Religions Lead to God?

‘We accept all religions as true,’ Swami Vivekananda told members of the World Parliament of Religions, which was held in Chicago in 1893. In this he was echoing the teaching of his guru Sri Ramakrishna

As a student, the young Narenda, as Vivekananda was then known, asked his teachers at the Scottish Church College in Calcutta. ‘Sir, have you seen God?’ One of the teachers told him of a Hindu seer called Sri Ramakrishna, who might be able to answer ‘yes’ to his question. The extraordinary experiences of his first meetings with Sri Ramakrishna quickly convinced Narenda that here was someone with direct experience of the Divine rather than intellectual knowledge about God. In time, Vivekananda was to make Sri Ramakrishna known to the world.

Sri Ramakrishna (1836-86) was born in a village in Bengal. At the age of nineteen he became a priest at the Kali temple at Dakshineswar, near Calcutta, where the Sri Ramakrishna Mission has built a beautiful temple, which I once visited after an endless drive through the crowded streets of Calcutta. Ramakrishna, after a time of intense devotion, eventually realized the presence of the goddess Kali. His biographer wrote, ‘While he sat down to worship, a curtain of oblivion separated him from the outside world. . . While uttering the various mantras (or sacred verses) he could distinctly see those phenomena before him which the ordinary priest has merely to imagine.’ Ramakrishna then focused his attention on the god Rama. He put himself in the place of Hanuman, a devotee of Rama and began to imitate his actions. In due course he had a vision of Sita, Rama’s consort and of the child Rama.

Following other spiritual disciplines, he had visions of the god Krishna, the Eternal Lover. Later in life, he was instructed in Advaita Vedanta and we are told that on the very first day he attained the mystical experience of unity, which is the culmination of that discipline. After a time, he followed the devotional path of the Sufis or Muslim mystics and had a vision of the Prophet Muhammad. Ramakrishna, who had some knowledge of the Bible, then turned to Christianity and received a vision of Jesus.

Ramakrishna insisted that it was the One Divine Reality whom he had experienced in his various visions. The unity of religion was for him not a matter of argument but of experience. In a tribute to Sri Ramakrishna, the poet Rabindranath Tagore wrote:

‘Diverse courses of worship

From varied springs of fulfillment

Have mingled in your meditation.

The manifold revelation of joy of the Infinite

Has given form to a shrine of unity

In your life.’

Ramakrishna’s claims have occasioned wide discussion about the nature of mystical experience. They also provided a basis on which modern Hindus could resist the call to them of missionaries to convert to Christianity. Further, the testimony of Ramakrishna and other mystics may suggest that human beings are naturally religious and this, as I have already indicated, has influenced my attempt to relate Christian faith to moments of heightened awareness which are more common than is usually recognized. Sri Ramakrishna has had a profound influence on my thinking and writing.

Is Mystical Experience Essentially the Same?

Ramakrishna’s claim was that spiritual experience is one and that religious differences are caused by cultural and historical variations. This view has been adopted by a number of writers on Mysticism. Paul Elmer More, for example, wrote in his Christian Mysticism, which was published in 1932:

‘There is a ground of psychological experience, potential in all men, actually realized in a few, common to all mystics of all lands and times and accountable for the similarity of their reports. But upon that common basis we need not be surprised to see them also erecting various superstructures in accordance with their particular tenets of philosophy or religion. At bottom, their actual experiences, at the highest point at least, will be amazingly alike, but their theories in regard to what happened to them may be radically different.’

Walter Stace in his The Teachings of the Mystics, made the same claim: "The same mystical experience may be interpreted by a Christian in terms of Christian beliefs and by a Buddhist in terms of Buddhist beliefs." The Indian philosopher Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan also said, "The seers describe their experiences with an impressive unanimity. They are near to one another on mountains farthest apart."

This view, however, has been disputed. R. C. Zaehner, who was Spalding Professor of Eastern Religions and Ethics at Oxford, argued, in his Mysticism, Sacred and Profane, that there are different types of mystical experience. Zaehner distinguished three main categories. The first is ‘nature mysticism’, wherein the mystic is sensibly aware of the natural world, but feels no distinction between himself and the natural world. Wordsworth in some of his poems speaks of "the calm that Nature breathes among the hills and groves". "I felt", he wrote, "the sentiment of Being spread o’er all that moves and all that seemeth still." Zaehner’s second category is what is called a "monistic experience" where a person feels a total oneness with the Soul of the Universe. An example of this is the Hindu seer Sri Ramana Maharshi (1879-1950), who has been called, paradoxically, "an incarnation of pure Advaita." As a teenager Ramana Maharshi dramatized his own death and thereby realized that the self is untouched by death and that it is one with the Self. Thirdly there is theistic mystical experience in which "the soul feels itself to be united with God in love." The word communion, which may be applied to this experience, suggests that the soul and God are distinct entities, however close their relationship. St Teresa of Avila (1515-82) spoke of union with God as ‘spiritual marriage.’

In his commentary on the Bhagavad Gita, Zaehner argued that the whole purpose of the text was "to demonstrate that love of a personal God, so far from being only a convenient preparation for the grand unitary experience . . . was also the crown of this experience itself, which, without it, must remain imperfect."

My own feeling is that there are differences of mystical experience but, unlike Zaehner, I hesitate to assert that the theistic experience is higher than the monistic experience.

An Answer to Christian Missions

If varieties of belief and practice are caused by cultural and historical differences and all religions are essentially the same, what is the point of trying to persuade people to change their religion? The nineteenth century was the great age of Christian mission -- especially by Protestant churches -- in Asia and Africa. Christian triumphalism, with its claim to the unique and final revelation of God, was evident also amongst many participants at the 1893 World Parliament of Religions in Chicago. Swami Vivekananda, however, provided an effective answer by basing his remarks on the experience and teaching of Sri Ramakrishna. Vivekananda argued that the same God is the inspirer of all religions. Appealing to the idea of evolution, which was much in people’s minds at the time, he spoke of the knowledge and idea of God evolving in each religion. ‘All religions from the lowest fetishism to the highest absolutism’ are, he said, so many attempts of the human soul to grasp and realize the Infinite "as determined by the condition of birth and association". Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita regards even the humblest offering as a gift of love; "Be it leaf or flower or fruit that a zealous soul may offer Me with love’s devotion, that do I (willingly) accept, for it was love that made the offering" (9, 26).

In place of aggressive Christian evangelism, Vivekananda seized the moral high ground by implying that the missionaries’ call for conversions was irrelevant and narrow-minded. Instead Vivekananda appealed for universal tolerance. In his reply to the welcome, part of which was quoted at the beginning of this chapter, he declared, "I am proud to belong to a religion which has taught the world both tolerance and universal acceptance. We believe not only in universal toleration, but we accept all religions as true. I am proud to belong to a nation which has sheltered the persecuted and the refugees of all religions and all nations of the earth."

The importance of mutual respect between members of different religions is now widely recognized and the Christian denunciation of Hinduism as idolatrous, superstitious and polytheistic which was common in the nineteenth century is much rarer today. Yet the relation of religions to each other is still a subject of vigorous debate. At least at the level of their teachings and practices there are significant differences between religions. For example, some religions claim that human beings have only one life on earth, others suggest that the soul comes back again and again in different bodies. There is sharp disagreement on whether God has a Son. Religious rituals are very varied. Is there a common or unifying spiritual experience? Can we indeed speak of universal human experiences?

My own view is that there is one God who made and loves all people and seeks from them an answering love and obedience. The great religions of the world are channels of that divine love and human responses to it. Because they are human responses all are flawed. I do not think religions are all the same. Rather they are shaped by a creative experience of the Divine and by centuries of tradition and reflection. Each religion, as the American Catholic R E Whitson put it, is therefore "unique and universal: unique in that the core of each is a distinct central experience -- not to be found elsewhere -- and universal in that this core experience is of supreme significance for all men." Each religion has a particular message or "gospel" for the whole world. As we learn from each other, our understanding of the Divine Mystery will grow. There are in my view more and less adequate pictures of God and understandings of the divine purpose. For example, traditional Christian teaching about hell -- especially as a punishment for non-believers who never heard of Jesus -- cannot be squared with belief in a God who loves all human beings.

Three quotations from Fr. Bede Griffiths put very well the position I seek to advocate.

"This one Truth, which cannot be expressed, is present in all religion, making itself known, communicating itself by signs. The myths and rituals of primitive religion, the doctrines and sacraments of the more advanced, are all signs of this eternal Truth, reflected in the consciousness of man. Each religion manifests some aspect of this one Reality, creates a system of symbols by which this Truth may be known, this reality experienced."

"The Buddha, Krishna, Christ -- each is a unique revelation of God, of the divine Mystery, and each has to be understood in its historical context, in its own peculiar mode of thought . . . each revelation is therefore complementary to the other, and indeed in each religion we find a tendency to stress finest one aspect of the Godhead and then another, always seeking that equilibrium in which the ultimate truth will be found."

"The divine Mystery, the eternal Truth, has been revealing itself to all men from the beginning of history. Every people has received some insight into this divine mystery -- which is the mystery of human existence -- and every religion, from the most primitive to the most advanced, has its own unique insight into the one Truth. These insights, insofar as they reflect the one Reality, are in principle complementary. Each has its own defects both of faith and practice, and each has to learn from others, so they may grow together to that unity in Truth which is the goal of human existence."

Vivekananda’s views are an even sharper challenge to Christians who believe that Jesus is the unique and only Son of God and Savior of the world. Is it essential to believe in the Lord Jesus for a person to go to heaven? In part this depends on the Christian understanding of the work of Christ, often known as the Atonement. A traditional belief is that Jesus Christ died on the cross for the sins of the whole world. If that is thought of as an objective event which altered humanity’s standing in relation to God, then the belief itself implies that it is significant for all people. Some Christians hold to this view, but believe that the death of Jesus can be effective for people who lead good lives, even though they do not know of Jesus -- people who are sometimes referred to as "anonymous Christians." An alternative understanding of the meaning of the death of Jesus is to think of it in more personal and subjective way. By his willingness to die on the cross, Jesus showed that there is no limit to God’s love for us. To believe this is to experience an inner change that frees us from our fears and by deepening our compassion makes us sorry for the lack of love and selfishness in our lives.

The story of Jesus’ death on the cross is the place where I have known most vividly the unlimited love and forgiveness of God which has helped to free me from self-doubt and fear and to grow in love for others. I am glad to witness to this divine mercy and long for others to experience such forgiveness and peace for themselves. It is not, however, for me to pass judgement on the spiritual journey of others and the hymns of the Tamil saints are rich in their testimony to the love and forgiveness of God. (Add)

The interfaith sharing for which I long -- of which there is still too little - is to speak to each other of our experience of the grace of God – ‘telling one another our beautiful names for God.’ As the blind man in St. John’s gospel says, ‘One thing I know, that whereas I was blind now I see’. If others can say the same, let us rejoice together and learn from each other’s story.

We should learn to see members of other faiths as fellow pilgrims. There are all too many people in our world who have little awareness of spiritual realities and religious communities have a responsibility to make known their teachings. I dislike, however, religious recruiting, although equally people should be free to change their religion if they feel this will help their spiritual growth. Donald Nichol in his book Holiness said that a sign of a faith community’s maturity is the way in which it treats those who leave it. By that standard most faith communities are fairly immature. Those who change their religion or who wish to marry a member of another faith often experience strong opposition and. rejection. There are many ways to God and each person should be encouraged to find the path which is most helpful to them, although they may need to be warned that others have found some paths to be dangerous or dead-ends. Perhaps we need to concentrate on making as much progress as possible on our chosen route rather than on criticizing the paths others are following. Certainly when St. Peter asked Jesus what would happen to St. John, he got short shrift. ‘What is that to you? You must follow me.’

Are Human Beings Naturally Religious?

Paul Elmer More, in a passage already quoted, suggested that the ground of psychological experience which finds its fullest expression in mysticism is potentially present in all people. He thereby challenged a widespread assumption, derived from the work of Sigmund Freud (1856-1938), the founder of psychoanalysis, that religion was a collective expression of neurosis and an attempt on the part of individuals to escape from the realities of a hostile and indifferent world. Karl Marx (1818-83), the founder of Communism, in a famous phrase, had also described religion as "the opium of the people."

More’s view has been supported by the work of Alister Hardy and the Religious Experience Research Center. Alister Hardy sought to show that the human being is naturally religious. Alister Hardy, who was a marine biologist built up an extensive archive of people’s first-hand accounts of religious transcendental experience. He argued from this that a ‘sense of Presence’ was far more common than was usually recognized.

This is why, in my preaching and ministry I have tried to relate the Christian faith to people’s sometimes inarticulate awareness of Divine reality, encouraging them to reflect on ‘moments of mystery. In this I am aware of following the example of the great theologian and preacher Fredrich Schleiermacher (1768-1834), who has been called the father of modern Protestant theology. Addressing the cultured despisers of religion of his generation, he urged them not to concentrate on doctrinal statements, which they mocked, but on a ‘sense and taste for the Infinite’ or, in a phrase that he often used on ‘a feeling of absolute dependence’. Religion, Schleiermacher said, ‘is the immediate consciousness of the universal existence of all finite things in and through the Infinite, and of all temporal things in and through the Eternal.’

Sri Ramakrishna’s spiritual discoveries can still serve to encourage us to value our own and other people’s moments of heightened awareness. He can inspire us to hope that despite the enormous variety of religious belief and practice, we can discover our oneness in the presence of God. Long ago, A Sufi poet said, ‘On my way to the mosque, O Lord, I passed the Magian in front of his flame, deep in thought, and a little further I heard a rabbi reciting his holy book in the synagogue, and then I came upon the church where the hymns sung gently in my ears and finally I came into the mosque and pondered how many are the different ways to You -- the one God.’ More recently, the English writer on mysticism Evelyn Underhill said that religions meet where religions take their source -- in God. Ramakrishna suggests, from his own experience, that there all devotees, by whatever they call upon God, are met by one and the same Divine Reality.

If, then, there are many ways to the One God: is it only in Jesus that God is fully revealed and does the Bible have an authority greater than that of other scriptures? These are questions to which we shall return.

Chapter 3. The Prayer of Silence

‘Your true praise consists in perfect silence,’ wrote the Hindu poet and teacher Dryanadev (A.D. 1290) in his commentary on the Bhagavad Gita. God, he said, does not put on any other ornament except silence.

The Prayer of Silence or Centering Prayer, as it is sometimes known, has in recent years become quite well known in the West. When I first went to India, however, like many Western Christians, I was used to verbal worship and prayer addressed to a transcendent God. India helped me to discover the prayer of silence to the God within.

Fr. Murray Rogers told me that he once took a Hindu friend to a church service. Afterwards, the Hindu friend said that he had appreciated the service, but added, ‘Tell me, Murray, when do you pray?’ There had been a series of readings and hymns and prayers, but not the silence that the Hindu friend had expected.

Speaking to God as to a friend through Jesus Christ is the pattern of prayer and worship in which I was brought up and which I continue to value. But with a close friend or a lover there can be times of companionable silence as well as of conversation. One rejoices to be in the other’s presence. In Hinduism, as we shall see, rather than sharing in congregational worship, a person goes to a temple just to see the deity for what is called darshan. It is enough just to be in the presence of the Divine. There is an old story of a French peasant who used to spend long hours in church. When asked what he did, he replied, ‘I look at him [the image of Christ] and he looks at me.’

The prayer of silence and of waiting or being in the presence of God is part of the Christian contemplative and mystical tradition, which in recent years has become better known. Note the rather different use of the word meditation in East and West. In the West, meditation, as for example taught by Ignatius Loyola (1495-1556) who founded the Society of Jesus (Jesuits), although it was intended to lead from the head to the heart, was based on imaginative reading of scripture. It began with the use of the discursive intellect. Silent prayer -- which in the East is called meditation, but in the West is usually called contemplation -- seeks to still the mind and to empty it of words and images.

There are various different schools of meditation -- here I use the word in its Eastern meaning -- but there are similarities. Most will teach the need for a balanced and comfortable physical posture, but not all Westerners can adapt to the traditional cross-legged yoga position. Stress is put on the breathing. Slow deep breathing helps to still the body and the mind. In some Buddhist schools, awareness of the breathing is sufficient. Other schools suggest the repetition of a sacred word or mantra. The purpose is not so much to think about the word but by its repetition to still the endless stream of thoughts. Members of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness repeatedly chant the words ‘Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare.’ Others, for example, the Brahma Kumaris, may encourage visualization of the pure soul at one with the Divine. Some people prefer to fix their gaze on a flower or an image of the divine whereas others meditate with the eyes closed.

The method is relatively unimportant; the hope is in the stillness to sense the presence of the Divine. Some meditation schools seem to suggest that such an experience is the result of following the practices they teach. Too easily meditation -- and its accompanying spiritual experiences -- can seem to be presented as development of innate human potential. This, I think, is misleading, as the sense of the presence of the Divine is always a gift of God not something that we can command or arrange to order -- even though God longs for us to be aware of the Divine presence.

Anthony Bloom writes of an old lady who told him that although she had prayed continuously for fourteen years she had never sensed the presence of God. He gave her wise advice and later she told him of her first experience. She had gone into her room, made herself comfortable, and begun to knit. She felt relaxed and then she gradually became aware that the silence was not simply the absence of sound. ‘All of a sudden’, she said, ‘I perceived that the silence was a presence. At the heart of the silence there was Him.’

I like Ann Lewin’s comparison of waiting in prayer for God to watching for a kingfisher. Prayer is like watching for the kingfisher. All you can do is Be where he is likely to appear And wait.

Often, nothing much happens: There is space, silence And expectancy. No visible sign. Only the Knowledge. That He’s been there And may come again. Seeing or not seeing cease to matter, You have been prepared. But sometimes when you’ve almost Stopped expecting it, A flash of brightness Gives encouragement.

Father Keating, a teacher of Centering Prayer, says that we may well spend twenty minutes trying to quieten the mind, but it is time well spent if it leads to one minute of deep silence.

I have spoken of waiting to sense the presence of God. That, however, is not the hope of all who meditate. Buddhists, at least of the Theravadin tradition, do not speak of God. For them, meditation is a way of learning to live fully in the present and to develop total awareness. I once spent a day in Buddhist meditation in which we alternated between sitting and concentrating on our breathing and the walking meditation in which we learned to focus fully on the act of walking -- feeling the movement of the muscles and the pressure of the foot on the ground. Full concentration on the present is of great value. Too often we are thinking about something that has occurred or may be going to happen and are not fully focused on what we are actually doing.

For the theist, however, learning to be still is a preparation for the meeting with God for which a devotee yearns. ‘I live in the hope of meeting him,’ writes Rabindranath Tagore in Gitanjali, ‘I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.’ Later, Tagore writes:

‘Have you not heard his silent steps?

He comes, comes, ever comes.

Every moment and every age,

every day and every night

he comes, comes, ever comes.

Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind,

but all their notes have always proclaimed,

‘He comes, comes, ever comes.’

Not all Hindus think of the Real in theistic terms. According to the teaching of Advaita, in meditation one becomes aware of the ultimate oneness of the self with the Self of all that is -- atman is Brahman.. Many Westerners, I think, misrepresent the subtlety of Advaita Vedanta and describe it as Monism or pantheism. Sankara (?788-820), the great teacher of Advaita, speaks of the world as Maya. The word is sometimes translated as ‘illusion’, but that may be misleading. The key to Sankara’s thinking, explains T M P Mahadevan, a distinguished philosopher who was himself an Advaitin, is that ‘he postulates two standpoints: the absolute and the relative. The supreme truth is that Brahman is non-dual and relationless. It alone is; there is nothing real besides it. But from our standpoint, which is the empirical, relative standpoint, Brahman appears as God, the cause of the world.’ Just as we might mistake a coiled rope for a snake, so from our standpoint we think the world is real. If, however, we attain realization or moksa, then, from that standpoint we see the unreality of the empirical world. The Vedas teach this according to Sankara, although he insists that we need to realize this truth in experience and juana yoga, which includes meditation, is the way to that experience.

Some Christians, such as Fr. Bede Griffiths, related Christian experience closely to that of Advaita Vedanta. I have myself always felt closer to theistic Hinduism and the teachings of Ramanuja (11th or 12th century), who founded the school of philosophy known as Visistadvaita or qualified non-dualism. Ramanuja held that individual selves and the world of matter are real, but that they are always dependent on Brahman for their existence and functions. We shall refer to these two strands in Hindu philosophy again in the next chapter.

Let me here pursue some of the consequences of learning the prayer of silence for my understanding of God. One is the awareness, which as we have seen is at the heart of Hindu teaching, that the reality of the Divine cannot be fully described in words. God is more wonderful than any words that we use. This implies that what we say or write about the Ultimate Mystery is bound to be tentative, which makes me hesitant about bold affirmations of faith or too literal a reading of scripture. It has also meant that in preaching, I have tried to avoid telling people what to believe and tried to encourage them to explore their own spiritual experience.

Silent prayer has also deepened my awareness of God’s immanence or presence in my inner being. Many traditional Christian images echo Isaiah’s vision of "the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted." Even Jesus has been pictured as a great king, more splendid that any emperor, sitting in judgement on the world. Such a God is bound to appear distant and remote. Yet, as in the silence we fathom the depths of our being, we become aware of the divine presence within. For me it is not the oneness of Advaita but the fullest possible communion of love.

‘Breathe On Me, Breath Of God;

Till I Am Wholly Thine,

Until This Earthly Part Of Me

Glows With Thy Fire Divine.’

The mystical and the charismatic, although very different in their outer manifestations, have a similar emphasis on experience of the Spirit of God. Hinduism helped me to turn with appreciation to the mystical tradition in Christianity and to discover the reality of the Spirit’s presence in the heart.

But is it one and the same Divine Spirit who comes to Hindu and Christian alike? With the World Congress of Faiths I helped to arrange a series of Meditation Weekends which Bishop George Appleton or I led jointly with Swami Bhavyananda of the Ramakrishna Vedanata Movement. Each of us led times of meditation according to our own tradition and I think all present found that the teaching of both traditions led them closer to the Ultimate Divine Reality. But do all religions really lead to the same goal?

Chapter 2. The Divine Mystery: ‘Not this, Not that’

Almost as soon as I had finished studying theology at Cambridge, I was on my way to India. I did not stop to collect my degree in person. Instead, I wanted to reach Tambaram in time to start the summer term and my year at Madras Christian College. There, thanks to a World Council of Churches’ scholarship, I had the opportunity in an unstructured way to learn about Hinduism and Indian philosophy.

In the early sixties, world religions were not taught in schools and, apart from Oriental studies, they were seldom taught at universities. In Cambridge, Dr A C Bouquet, an Anglican priest and pioneer student of ‘comparative religion’, offered a course, but it was time-tabled for 5:00 p.m. in the summer term, just before the main examinations, and I was not surprised that only four other students had enrolled for the course.

Time spent in North Africa during my National Service and a visit to Israel sparked an interest in Islam and Judaism. The fascination with world religions was stimulated by preparatory reading for a conference arranged for young people who saw themselves as potential missionaries. Each of the speakers was keen to search, below superficial differences, for the deeper meeting points of religions. They included Kenneth Cragg, a sympathetic and very knowledgeable writer on Islam, George Appleton, who had worked in Burma for many years where he developed a love and respect for Buddhism and who was later to be Anglican Archbishop in Jerusalem, and Dr Basu, a Hindu scholar at Durham University, who spoke about two creative twentieth century thinkers, Aurobindo and Teilhard de Chardin.

It is hard now, forty years later, to remember the impact of the first weeks in India. Certainly I recall the humidity and the delight in the cool stillness of the early morning. I had to adjust to the food and to the way of life in an Indian student hostel --although almost at once I was taken out to buy a bed as it was assumed that unlike my fellow students a ‘white man’ could not sleep on the floor!

But perhaps intellectually the first surprise was that the reality of God was taken for granted. I am not just thinking of the images of divine beings that are omnipresent, but the philosophic acceptance of spiritual knowledge. Horst Georg Pöhlmann, writing of his first visit to India in 1989, says, "Religion is practiced as a matter of course; people pay brief visits to the temple between their shopping. . . Everyone in the street can see through the open temple door the sacred fire which burns in the dark sanctuary of the temple before the image of God. . . There is no distinction between the sacred and the profane, between religion and everyday, as with us. Here God really is a God of the everyday. Religion is something natural. . . It is an innermost need. . . There is no secularization. Everyone is religious. Among the Hindus every house, every shop, every rickshaw has the picture of a deity."

The situation in the sixties was more ambiguous. Recently Indian religious communities have affirmed their identity --often over against other groups -- by building new temples or restoring old ones. In the sixties the humanism and socialism of Pandit Nehru was still influential and perhaps the majority of students at Madras Christian College, except for the committed Christians, put their trust in Western values rather than traditional religious beliefs, although this was probably not true of students at the Hindu Vivekananda College, where I attended some lectures. In the West too, many people assumed the role of religion would continue to decline in the modern world.

1963 saw the publication of John Robinson’s Honest to God, of which I first heard in a one paragraph report in an Indian newspaper, and of Paul van Buren’s The Secular Meaning of the Gospel. Both writers acknowledged their debt to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was put to death by the Nazis. In his letters from prison he wrote of the world ‘coming of age’. By this he meant that people no longer believed in a transcendent realm and did not require God as an explanation of what happened in the world. ‘Honesty demands’, wrote Bonhoeffer, ‘that we recognize that we live in the world as if there were no God.’ ‘People feel that they can get along perfectly well without religion,’ said John Robinson and added that ‘Bonhoeffer’s answer was to say that God is deliberately calling us in this twentieth century to a form of Christianity that does not depend upon the premise of religion’.

At the same time, there was growing interest in Rudolf Bultmann’s call to ‘demythologize’ the Gospel. He claimed that whereas New Testament writers assumed divine intervention in history, such a belief was unintelligible to modern man and that the entire conception of a supernatural order which invades and perforates this one must be abandoned. It was argued that in a secular age people no longer believed in divine intervention or activity. For example, miracles could be given a ‘scientific’ explanation and few people spoke of natural disasters as ‘the judgement of God’. ‘But if so’, asked Robinson, ‘what do we mean by God, by revelation, and what becomes of Christianity?’ These ideas stimulated what became known as ‘Death of God’ theology. It was claimed that the idea of a transcendent God was outmoded, although writers differed on whether the image of God had to go or whether there was no God of whom to speak.

At the same time the questioning of the language and indeed of the reality of God was central to the study of religious philosophy in most British universities. Religious Language was under scrutiny from a school of philosophy known as ‘Linguistic Analysis’. In part, this was an attempt to answer the accusation of A. J. Ayer, a leading Logical Empiricist, that religious and theological expressions are without literal significance because there is no way in which they can be verified or falsified. Religious language, Ayer claimed, is entirely emotive and lacks all cognitive value. Linguistic analysts examined the way in which religious statements are actually used. They appear to make factual claims, for example, that after the Resurrection Jesus ascended into heaven, whereas this may be a coded way of expressing the hope that ‘Love is the strongest power in the universe.’ Religious belief was regarded as only an expression of intent to act in a certain ethical way. Religion was about how to behave and not about how to relate to a Divine Reality.

Suddenly to be immersed in Indian religious thinking, which assumes the existence of a Divine reality and that union with the Divine (moksa) is the goal of the spiritual quest, was liberating and refreshing. There are in classical Hinduism three recognized paths (sadhanas) to God: the way of disinterested service of others, the way of devotion and the way of knowledge (karma-yoga, bhakti-yoga and juana-yoga). The word yoga, which is cognate with the English word ‘yoke’, means union with God and the way to that union. The third path, juana, means spiritual insight rather than intellectual knowledge. There are two kinds of knowledge: one is the result of the study of the scriptures, but the other is realization or experience of union with the Divine. Intellectual knowledge is not enough. In the Chandogya Upanishad, the student Narada complains, ‘I have studied all the Vedas, grammar, the sciences and the fine arts, but I have not known the self and so I am in sorrow.’ Another conceited young student, Svetaketu, is asked by his father, ‘As you consider yourself so well-read . . . have you ever asked for that instruction by which we hear what cannot be heard, by which we perceive what cannot be perceived, by which we know what cannot be known?’

Spiritual intuition -- the experience of the Divine -- is accepted in Hindu philosophy as a valid source of knowledge. This confirmed my feelings that the presuppositions of linguistic philosophy were too limited. Indeed the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, who exposed the limitations of our use of language, himself said, that there was a mystery beyond language. ‘Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must keep silent.’

For me this Hindu emphasis on experience of the Divine reinforced my own basic conviction. If I tried to summarize my deepest spiritual aspiration, I would use the words of St Paul, ‘It is no longer I that live, but Christ Jesus lives in me’ (Galatians 2, 20), or I would echo the yearning from the Prayer of Humble Access in the Book of Common Prayer that ‘I might evermore dwell in Christ and he in me’. My faith was rooted in spiritual or mystical experience. Learning about Hindu philosophy and Western Idealist philosophers, such as Royce and Bosanquet, to whom my Indian Professor Dr. C. T. K. Chari introduced me, gave me an intellectual basis for a theology rooted in religious experience.

Let me clarify what I mean by religious experience by quoting from William James’ land-mark book, The Varieties of Religious Experience, which was first published in 1902. He puts clearly what I had myself sensed and for which I was discovering an intellectual basis in those first months of being immersed in Hindu philosophy.

‘The overcoming of all the usual barriers between the individual and the Absolute is the great mystic achievement. In mystic states we become one with the Absolute and we become aware of our oneness. This is the everlasting and triumphant mystical tradition, hardly altered by differences of clime and creed. In Hinduism, in Sufism, in Christian mysticism, . . . we find the same recurring note, so that there is about mystical utterances an eternal unanimity which ought to make a critic stop and think, and which brings it about that the mystical classics have, as has been said, neither birthday nor native land. Perpetually telling of the unity of man with God, their speech antedates language, and they do not grow old.’

The mystic experience is a sense of oneness with All Being --whether that is described as God, Nature or the Real. The experience cannot be adequately expressed in words. Although in Hinduism, many facets of the One Divine Being are pictured as gods, Hindu teachers have always made clear that there is only one Spiritual Reality. Brahman is the One Reality which is the Ground and Principle of all beings. Brahman is described as Being, Consciousness and Bliss (Sat., Cit. Ananda). Brahman cannot be described. ‘Neti, Neti, Not this, not that’. Hinduism can remind us of the holiness and wonder of a God who is beyond our imagining. It recalls the so-called ‘apophatic’ tradition in Christian thinking that God, ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’, is greater than any picture we have of the Divine. God is best spoken of in negative terms, as in the hymn ‘Immortal, invisible God only wise, In light inaccessible hid from our eyes.’

As the fourth century Greek father, Gregory of Nazianzus (c.329 - c.389), asked, ‘By what name shall we name you, you who are all beyond all name?’

Many Indian religious teachers remind us of the limitations of our language but at the same time they insist that we can sense our oneness with God, who is found in the very depth of our being. It is said that the soul or atman is one with Brahman. In Christian mystical tradition there is the same emphasis on discovering God as our deepest inner reality. The mediaeval mystic Meister Eckhart said, ‘the soul is nearer to God than it is to the body which makes us human.’ George Fox, the founder of the Quakers, spoke of the inner light, which he identified with the living Christ. Incidentally, he said he discovered this inner light, ‘experimentally, without the help of any man, book or writing.’

The emphasis on religious experience means also that in seeking to commend Christianity to others I have tried to start from people’s often half-glimpsed awareness of a deeper dimension to life.

Recently I have been writing an introductory book, Learn to Pray. It is intended for people who have never prayed and may not see themselves as religious. The editors and I had long discussions about whether to use the word God. Would it put people off even before they started to read the book? A recent survey showed that the majority of people questioned pictured God as ‘an old man with a long white beard up in the sky.’ It was not surprising that many of them also said that they did not believe in God.

Theology may have moved on from the ‘God is dead’ phase of the sixties, but to many in the West the language of religion and even more the reality of spiritual experience is still alien. A recent survey claimed that among a group of young people who called themselves Christian, forty five per cent said they did not believe in God. Christians who wish to encourage others to grow in faith have first to help people be aware of a deeper dimension to life. The mystery of a child’s birth, a near-death experience, the beauty of a sunset -- all these can make us aware that there is more to life than material existence. The occasional sense of the ‘timeless moment’ should be a threshold to the deeper mysteries of faith. To many people, however, the Church appears to offer pre-packaged answers which do not match their experience of life or their need.

One reason why, especially in the seventies and eighties, a number of people in the West turned to Eastern religions, was, I think, because they offered spiritual experience. Talking to a number of Europeans and Americans who have joined Hindu religious movements, all have said that they discovered in them a spiritual experience that they had not found in Christianity. Scripture and worship, ‘like fingers pointing to the moon’ should lead us beyond themselves and I have come to find the way of silence and contemplation often more helpful than elaborate and wordy worship.

How far the renewed interest of some Christians in the mystical and contemplative traditions is indebted to Hinduism it is hard to say, but Western Christians can still be helped to discover a deeper dimension to life by encounter with the authentic spiritual teaching and practice of Hinduism.

Chapter 1. Introduction

Hinduism can help Christians in the West rediscover a sense of the mystical -- an awareness of the reality of the Divine, who or which can never adequately be described in human language. Hinduism can serve as a mirror to help Christians recover their mystical traditions and thereby help the Church to communicate with people today at the level of experience rather doctrine.

To explain a little more what I mean by the mystical -- a term I shall use quite often in this book -- let me quote a passage that I wrote for a collection of personal testimonies entitled Glimpses of God. I describe a visit to the ashram in South India of Fr. Bede Griffiths, who explored the relationship of Hindu and Christian mysticism.

‘At first the physical discomfort of sitting cross-legged on the floor, sleeping on a hard board and readapting to an Indian way of life made concentration difficult. The friendship of others at the ashram helped me to relax. Then walks beside the great holy river Cauvery at sunset and sunrise renewed the "sense of presence" -- an awareness of the scale of the universe and my humble place in it -- and a sense of peace and stillness. I felt as if I were able to relax in a warm ocean of love and that my worries and insecurity were gently washed away. I thought of my mother dying of cancer and knew that she, too, would soon be free from physical discomfort and humiliation, relaxing in the same ocean of love.’

Then, at the Eucharist, which incorporated so much of the Hindu temple ritual, the celebrant called us to communion with the words, "Jesus invites us all to share in God’s limitless love". The sense of presence became the experience of overwhelming love and acceptance. I recognized that my moments of panic, of defensiveness and of aggressiveness came from feelings of not being able to cope. But what did it matter if God wanted to make a fool of me? I was loved without reserve -- all I needed was to lean on the love of God, which is always available. I sensed that this limitless love of God embraces all people and indeed the whole of creation.

Neither experience was new. I have often sensed "the presence" in nature, most intensely in the desert of Sinai and in the outback of Australia, but also in the beauty that surrounds us everywhere in nature. I have long known the forgiving and accepting love of Jesus, even if, almost as often, I forget it. The Cross has always been for me the symbol of that total accepting love of God made known in Christ -- a love shown in Jesus’ concern for the poor and outcast. At each communion service I have been renewed in that love which the Cross communicates.

What was new was that, beside the Cauvery river, the "presence" of mystery in nature and the revelation in Jesus of infinite love and peace were united. And sensing that love, I felt renewed compassion for other people and for all living beings.

Compared to an experience of the reality of the Divine, debates about doctrine and reform of ritual and liturgy are comparatively unimportant and the struggle of the institutional church to reinvent itself is irrelevant. To define God is to limit that which is unlimited and infinite. All religious language should be tentative and provisional. It should never, therefore, be the cause of division.

Mystical vision helps us to see ourselves as part of a spiritual fellowship that knows no barriers. It also creates in us a sense of our oneness with all other people and with all life and so it inspires empathy for the poor and a concern to break down the unjust structures of society. It fills us also with compassion for all living beings. Thereby, mystic vision offers, I believe, genuine hope for the transformation of our world society and renewal of spiritual life.

As I was coming to an end of writing this book, I came across the advice given by Henri de Lubac, author of a classic study on Catholicism, to Fr. Jules Monchanin, one of the founders of the Shantivanam Ashram where Fr. Bede Griffiths made his home, ‘to rethink everything in terms of theology, and to rethink theology in terms of mysticism’.

Fr. Bede Griffiths first went to India in 1956, but it was not until 1968 that he settled at Shantivanam. I first went to India in 1962 and Bede Griffiths’ Christian Ashram, published in 1966, was one of the few books I found which resonated with my first hesitant attempts to discover a more universal expression of Christianity. I have been deeply influenced by Fr. Bede Griffiths both as a person and a writer. In writing this book, I had, however, not recently reread his writings, but as this book was nearing completion, I read Judson B. Trapnell’s new study of Bede Griffiths. The various quotations from Fr. Bede in this book were added at this stage. I mention this because it suggests I am not alone in having been helped by Hinduism to discover the mystical heart of Christianity.

There are many others who have been influenced in this way. Let Brother Wayne Teasdale, who was deeply influenced by time spent in India and who was initiated by Fr. Bede in the way of sannyasa, the way of renunciation and dedication to God, serve as an example. In his book The Mystic Heart, Brother Wayne develops a genuine and comprehensive spirituality that draws on the mystical core of the world’s great religions. He ends his book with these words,

‘Spirituality is the very breath of the inner life. It is an essential resource in the transformation of consciousness on our planet, and it will be enormously beneficial in our attempts to build a new universal society. Spirituality ... is the quality that we most require in our time and in the ages to come, but it is a quality refined only in the mystic heart, in the steady cultivation of compassion and a love that risks all for the sake of others. It is these resources that we desperately need as we build the civilization with a heart, a universal society capable of embracing all that is, putting it to service in the transformation of the world. May the mystics lead the way to this rebirth of the human community that will harmonize itself with the cosmos and finally make peace with all beings.’

The sense that spiritual renewal in the West will come from a rediscovery of the mystic heart of religion is not new. F. C. Happold, for example, in his Religious Faith and Twentieth-Century Man, published in 1966, spoke of the mystical ‘as as a way out of the spiritual dilemma of modern man.’ Many individuals have found this to be true by exploring Eastern religions or joining New Religious Movements. As Jacob Needleman noted in 1970 ‘the contemporary disillusionment with religion has revealed itself to be a religious disillusionment. Men are moving away from the forms and trappings of Judaism and Christianity not because they have stopped searching for transcendental answers to the fundamental questions of human life, but because that search has now intensified beyond measure.’

I myself have found lasting spiritual sustenance in Christianity. I recognize that the growth of the evangelical and charismatic traditions in the churches reflect a similar longing for religious experience. But I cannot accept the narrowness of their theology, as I have also drunk from the well-springs of other religions, especially Hinduism and Judaism. Both have helped me rethink my understanding of Christianity and in this book I explore the influence of Hinduism.

This is not another ‘Introduction to Hinduism’. When I first went to India I was told by Father Murray Rogers, who founded a Christian ashram near Bareilly, that the external dialogue has to be accompanied by an internal dialogue. By this he meant that as one learns about another faith, either by reading or conversation, one then reflects on this in an inner dialogue with the Lord. In this book I share some of my inner dialogue, which is why this has to be a personal account and why, despite the emphasis on my growing awareness of the mystical, I reflect on some other matters.

I recognize that Hinduism is immensely varied. Indeed the word is one imposed by Europeans on the religious life of India. Other people will have experienced different dimensions of Hinduism. Hinduism is not confined to India and I have learned from Hindus in other parts of the world. Hinduism, moreover, is not the only religion in India and it has seemed right to make some reference to what I have gained from talking to some members of other faiths there.

Christianity too, of course, is also very varied and maybe these religious labels will continue to lose their meaning in the twenty first century. My hope is that this book will encourage other Christians to make a similar journey and discover the spiritual enrichment that is offered to us by a deeper awareness of some of India’s religious traditions.

All the great faiths hold in trust sacred treasures which are the spiritual heritage of humankind. These need to be unlocked from the doctrines and rituals which too often imprison them so that as we sense our oneness with the Divine Reality we shall feel that we are one with all other people and be filled with a universal compassion which can transform the injustice and suffering in the world.

Chapter 5: Many Mansions

For a time we lived as a family in the Old Deanery at Wells in Somerset. This is a historic house, dating back before the time of the Tudors. King Henry VII slept there in the early years of the sixteenth century and Sir Walter Raleigh’s nephew, who was Dean of Wells at the start of the Civil War, may have been murdered in the house.

It was fascinating to try to trace how the building had been altered and adapted over the centuries by every generation. The same is true of the church. It is like a body. It is a continuously developing organism, so the history of the church -- indeed of any religion -- is a story of continuity and change and the church today has been shaped by the past. But Christianity is not one ‘house’. There are many different churches and denominations and ‘houses’ in almost all the countries of the world. In a few pages, it is only possible to pick out the highlights.

In looking at the central beliefs of Christians we have already seen wide differences. In part, these are reflected in denominational divisions, but many of the differences are cultural or to do with church order or caused by political influence, or they reflect different temperaments and patterns of worship. Yet in the bewildering variety, there is continuity. Although, for example, Christians may come to scripture with very different presuppositions, it is the same scripture that they approach. Again, one may attend the Eucharist in another country without any knowledge of the language or local ceremonies, and yet recognize the Eucharistic action of blessing and breaking bread and blessing the cup.

There was a time when it was presumed that there was a single truth of a religion that could be identified and that those who had different beliefs were wrong and perhaps heretics who should be shunned. Some people still have this approach. A growing number of people recognize that ‘truth’ is related to the person who thinks and speaks. Thus today people acknowledge a variety of theologies -- such as Liberation theology, Black theology, Feminist theology. I recall that when I was a student a number of books were being written on New Testament theology which made the attempt to argue that there was one consistent theology in the New Testament. Now it is recognized that Peter and Paul and James and the author of the Letter to the Hebrews had very different ways of expressing their belief. Christian faith, as we have suggested, is not, in the first instance, acceptance of certain intellectual dogmas, but trust in the Living God. Theological reflection may be compared to several critics viewing a statue from different positions. The standpoint of the beholder colors what is seen.

With such an approach it is possible to rejoice in the enormous variety of Christian churches. Visitors from the West to Jerusalem are sometimes bewildered by the many different denominations represented there -- such as Ethiopian or Abyssinian or Coptic, as well as Catholic and Orthodox and Lutheran and Anglican. They may also be surprised to meet Christian pilgrims from Korea and the Philippines, as well as from Cyprus, Italy and Texas. Yet the visitor might also marvel that the Christian faith has taken root in an amazing variety of cultures, although it has to be said that such an ecumenical spirit has seldom been characteristic of the churches. Christian history has been marked by fierce argument, persecution of opponents, division and even religious wars.

The Early Church

Jews and Gentiles

There seem to have been some heated disagreements in the early church, although they have been glossed over in New Testament writings. The main one, about the attitude of Jews, Jewish believers and gentile believers to each other, has had a lasting effect on Jewish- Christian relationships. The main question, discussed in the Acts of the Apostles and in Paul’s letters, was whether gentiles could become members of the church and on what terms. The so-called ‘Judaisers’ insisted that any gentile believer in Jesus had to be circumcised and become a Jew. Paul strenuously resisted this position (Gal. 2:14-16). His attacks on the Jewish Law in his epistles do not seem to have been on the Torah as such, although this is how they have often been understood, but upon those who insisted that gentile believers were required to observe all the commandments of the Law. According to Acts 15, Paul, at the Council of Jerusalem, won the support of Peter and James and the other members of the Jerusalem church for his position that gentile believers did not need to be circumcised. It was agreed, however, that they should ‘abstain from food sacrificed to idols, from blood, from the meat of strangled animals and from sexual immorality’ (Acts 15:29).

The Jerusalem church, which was headed by James the brother of Jesus, remained within the Jewish fold, although James is said to have been killed by the Jews in 62 CE. The leadership of the Jerusalem church passed to another blood-relation of Jesus. When, in the late sixties, the Romans laid siege to Jerusalem, the Christians fled to Pella, a gentile town east of the river Jordan, where they survived for a time.

Early Christian writers speak of two groups of Jewish Christians, the Nazarenes and the Ebionites. The Nazarenes held that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God, and that his teachings were superior to those of Moses and the prophets. They held that Christians of Jewish descent should observe the Jewish Law. The Ebionites, however, held that Jesus was only a prophet. Some of the Ebionites accepted the virgin birth, but others held that Jesus was the son of Joseph and that the Christ descended upon him at his baptism. The Ebionites repudiated Paul because they held that he had rejected the Law. It seems, in fact, that Paul did not argue against Jewish believers in Jesus continuing to keep the Law, but he rejected any attempt to impose the Law on gentile believers.

Increasingly the church did try to stop Jewish believers in Jesus from keeping the Jewish Law. In the middle of the second century, Justin Martyr said that he would accept those who continued to observe the Torah into Christian fellowship, provided they did not seek to persuade gentile Christians that they too had to follow the Mosaic Law. Justin admitted that other gentile Christians did not show the same leniency.1 By the fourth century, the church had ruled that it was heretical even for believers of Jewish birth to observe the Law. Augustine wrote that ‘the ceremonies of the Jews are both baneful and deadly to Christians and whoever keeps them whether Jew or gentile, is doomed to the abyss of the devil’.2 In recent years, to the anger of many in the Jewish community, some Christians of Jewish descent, such as the Messianic Jews, have tried to observe much of the Torah while affirming that Jesus is the Messiah. More widely the church has attempted to recover its Jewish roots, recognizing that the developments of the early centuries impoverished the church and were a cause of lasting bitterness between members of the two religions.

The Spread of the Faith

By the end of the first century, the membership of the church was predominantly gentile. Indeed, by the time that Paul wrote his letter to the Romans, only a generation after the resurrection of Jesus, the church in Rome was already mostly gentile. The Acts of the Apostles tells of Paul’s missionary journeys. There are also stories about the missionary travels of other apostles. There is a tradition that Thomas went to southern India and that Bartholomew was martyred in Armenia.

The first churches were mostly in urban areas, founded by Christians who followed the trade routes from city to city. By the middle of the second century, in parts of Asia Minor, Christianity had spread widely to the smaller towns and even into the countryside. We know little about the expansion of Christianity in the second century, but by the end of that century Christians were to be found in every province of the Empire, as well as in Mesopotamia. Even in Britain there were Christians in areas not under Roman control, according to Tertullian, who wrote in about 208. St. Alban, the first English martyr, may have died under Emperor Septimius Severus (c.209), although some scholars date his death to the persecutions under the Emperor Diocletian (c305).

The growth of the church was even more marked in the third century, especially in the eastern part of the Empire. We know a little about how this happened from the writings of Gregory, later known as Thaumaturgos or ‘Worker of Wonders’ (c.213-c.270), who was one of the leading third-century Christians in Asia Minor. He was a native of Pontus and reared as a pagan. He was from a wealthy family and for part of his education he traveled to Palestine, where he came under the influence of Origen. Gregory became a Christian and on his return to Pontus, he was persuaded to become bishop. He set about trying to convert the rest of the people in the diocese. He was so successful that it was said that when he became bishop he found only seventeen other Christians there and that when he died, about thirty years later, there were only seventeen pagans. He made conversion easier by substituting festivals in honor of Christian martyrs in place of the old pagan festivals.

Another area where the church grew steadily was north Africa, at the time the granary of the Roman Empire. There the church was Latin-speaking and produced great writers and leaders such as Tertullian (c.160-c.225), who was brought up in Carthage, and Cyprian (d.258), who was a pagan orator who was converted to Christianity in about 246 and who, two years later, was elected Bishop of Carthage.

Persecution

Until the fourth century Christians were at constant risk of persecution from the Roman authorities. Ten major persecutions are enumerated, beginning with Nero in the first century and ending with one launched by Diocletian early in the fourth century. The account of Nero’s persecution comes from the Roman historian Tacitus (c. 56-c.l20), writing about fifty years after the event. He says that Nero, to escape the ugly rumor that he had given orders to start the great fire of Rome, tried to pin the blame on the Christians. They were accused of hatred of the human race. They were wrapped in the hides of wild beasts and then torn in pieces by dogs. Others were fastened to crosses which were set on fire to illuminate a circus that Nero was staging in his gardens. According to tradition, both Peter and Paul died in these persecutions.

An interesting correspondence on the punishment of Christians survives between Pliny the Elder (c.61-l 13), who had been sent to reorganize the province of Bithynia, and the Emperor Trajan (c.53-117; ruled 98-117). Pliny said that he had not previously had to deal with Christians. He did not know whether any allowance was made for the age of the accused nor ‘whether pardon is given to those who repent’ nor ‘whether punishment attaches to the mere name apart from secret crimes, or to the secret crimes connected with the name’.3 In reply, Trajan wrote that Christians ‘are not to be sought out, but if they are accused and convicted, they must be punished -- yet on this condition, that whoso denies himself to be a Christian, and makes the fact plain by his action, that is by worshipping our gods, shall obtain pardon on his repentance, however suspicious his past conduct may be’.4 The Emperor Hadrian (76-138; ruled 117-138) made clear that slanderous accusations against Christians were unacceptable and that it had to be proved that they had acted contrary to the laws.

Jews were exempt from emperor-worship, but that exemption did not extend to Christians. Refusing to join in the worship of the emperor may have been an offence. Certainly Christians avoided pagan festivals. Vicious rumors circulated about their immorality and that they ate human flesh and drank human blood. At a more intellectual level, Porphyry (c.232-c.303), an early leader of the Neoplatonists, pointed to some of the discrepancies in the Christian scriptures.

The most severe general persecution took place in the middle of the third century under Emperor Decius (249-251). We do not know his motives, but he seems to have wanted to reinstate the old gods of Rome. In 251 Decius was killed in battle and for the time being Christians were spared, but under Valerian (253-260) persecution was redoubled. The last great persecution was under Diocletian (304-11). One result of this was the Donatist schism in North Africa, where some Christians refused to accept the consecration of Caecilian as Bishop of Carthage in 311, because he had been a traditor, that is to say, he handed over copies of the Bible to avoid persecution. The rigorism of the Donatists, named after their second bishop, was not accepted by the majority, but the Donatist church survived into the eighth century, by which time North Africa had come under Muslim rule.

Mention of the Donatists is a reminder of the agonizing choices that those who have faced persecution have had to make, as much in the twentieth century under Fascist and Communist regimes, as in the early centuries of the church. The persecutions caused severe suffering and many believers faced martyrdom with great courage. When the aged Polycarp (c.69-c.155), Bishop of Smyrna, was led into the arena, the proconsul urged him to ‘Curse Christ’ and then he would release him. ‘Eighty-six years have I served him’, Polycarp answered, ‘and he has done me no wrong: how then can I blaspheme my King who saved me?’5

The Conversion of Constantine

The conversion of the Emperor Constantine (306-337) to Christianity was a dramatic change which had far-reaching consequences. Constantine’s father, Constantius Chlorus, was governor of Britain, Gaul and Spain at the time of the Diocletian persecutions. He seems never to have had much stomach for the persecutions, which were half-heartedly enforced in his territories. When Diocletian and Maximinian abdicated, he became one of their successors. On his death in 306, his son Constantine was proclaimed emperor by his troops in York. Constantine then had a long struggle to become sole emperor, which he only achieved in 323 with the defeat of Licinius.

It was in 312, as he marched toward Rome to face a formidable opponent called Maxentius, that Constantine took a first decisive step toward Christianity. It seems he had heard that Maxentius was relying on pagan magic. Years later, Constantine told his friend Bishop Eusebius (c.260-340), the most eminent of early church historians, that in the early afternoon, as he was praying, he had a vision of a cross of light in the heavens bearing the inscription ‘Conquer by this’. Later, in a dream, he saw the same sign and ordered his soldiers to mark this sign on their shields. In the battle at the Milvian Bridge, near Rome, Constantine was successful and captured Rome. The next year at Milan, he met with Licinius, with whom he temporarily divided the empire. They issued an edict tolerating Christianity. The details are obscure. It seems that Constantine already tolerated Christianity in the provinces under his control, so the Edict of Milan may have extended this toleration to the Eastern Empire.

Constantine’s policy was one of toleration. He did not make Christianity the official religion of the Empire. To his death, he kept the old pagan title pontifex maximus and was only baptized on his deathbed. Even so, he increasingly came to favor Christianity. He built and enlarged many churches. He exempted clergy from taxation, until the sudden influx of recruits for the priesthood meant that he had to limit this concession! He prohibited the repair of ruined temples. His mother Helena (c.255 – c.330) visited the Holy Land in 326 and identified several of the holy places, including the birthplace of Jesus at Bethlehem, where she built the Church of the Nativity, which is one of the most ancient churches that pilgrims continue to visit to this day. Constantine’s sons were more affirmative of the Christian faith and quite soon, despite a set-back under Julian the Apostate (361-63), Christianity became the official religion of the Empire.

There continues to be debate about Constantine’s motivation and indeed whether official recognition was a curse or a blessing. Was his action indeed inspired by a vision or based on shrewd political calculation? Constantine could see the strength of Christianity and hoped it could be a unifying force in the Empire. That is why he summoned the Council of Nicaea in 325 in the hope of uniting the church against Arianism. The emperors, however, found there were frequent disputes in the churches and their efforts to enforce uniformity soon led to the persecution of so-called ‘heretics’, some of whom fomented discontent in the Empire or from beyond its boundaries.

In 324, Constantine defeated Licinius at Chrysopolis and became sole emperor. Almost immediately he chose as the site of his new capital Byzantium, a Greek city that had had a Christian community from at least the second century. When he inaugurated the city in 330, he named it Constantinople (modern Istanbul). The centre of imperial power had moved to the eastern Mediterranean. At its height, under Emperor Justinian I (527-65), Constantinople had a population of about half a million. In 381, the bishop of the city was given honorary pre-eminence after the Bishop of Rome. Despite a challenge from Alexandria, the Patriarch of Constantinople was by the sixth century, recognized as the Ecumenical Patriarch in the East. There was, however, gradual estrangement from Rome and the final breach is usually dated to 1054. Although in 1483 the city fell to the Muslim Turks, it remains the seat of the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople who has a primacy of honor within the Orthodox churches.

Hardly anything survives from Constantine’s city, but the great church of Hagia Sophia, ‘Divine Wisdom’, now a mosque, which was rebuilt on more than one occasion, is on the site of the church built by Constantine, which was itself built on the foundations of a pagan temple. The building is considered one of the world’s most beautiful edifices.

Challenges and Conversions in the West

Whilst the Roman or Byzantine Empire in the East was at its height, the Empire in the West had begun to crumble under the onslaught of barbarians from the north. Their conquest is sometimes said to have begun in 378 when the Goths defeated and killed the Emperor Valens at the battle of Adrianople. The capture and sack of Rome by Alaric in 410 was an even more spectacular disaster, which prompted Augustine to write the City of God although Rome recovered quite quickly.

Yet whilst the imperial power of Rome in the West was crumbling, Christianity was conquering the new rulers and the see of Rome was becoming the moral leader of the West. In 496, Clovis, King of the Franks, was baptized. This was a landmark in the conversion of the Germanic invaders and other rulers followed Clovis’ example.

The Mission to England

The story of the mission to England, of which we have some detail, may serve as an illustration of the wider process. The mission to England, according to tradition, was inaugurated directly by Gregory, who was to become Pope Gregory the Great. In about 586, Gregory was in the slave market in Rome and noticed some slave boys with fair bodies and light hair. On inquiring about them, he was told they came from Britain, where the people were pagan, and that they were Angles. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘for they have an angelic face and it becomes such to be co-heirs with the angels in heaven.’ When he was told that they were from the province of Deiri, he exclaimed, ‘Truly they are de ira, withdrawn from wrath and called to the mercy of Christ.’6 Gregory offered himself to the Pope to go and convert them, but this was refused. When Gregory himself became Pope, he persuaded Augustine to lead a mission to Britain, which set out from Rome in 596, a century after the baptism of Clovis and thirty-nine years before A-lo-pen brought the faith to China.

On arriving in England, Augustine approached the King of Kent, who had a Christian wife, and who allowed Augustine to establish his mission at his capital city of Canterbury. Before long, the king was baptized and many of his subjects followed his example. Pope Gregory kept in touch with the mission by letter and authorized Augustine to appoint twelve diocesan bishops and to place a bishop at York, who was to become an archbishop when the number of Christians increased. To this day, Canterbury and York are the English archiepiscopal sees and it was at York in 627 that St. Paulinus baptized Edwin, King of Northumbria. living close to the abbey at Dorchester-on-Thames, I am regularly reminded of the legacy of that early mission, because there in 634 one of the next generation of Christian missionaries, St Birinus, converted Cynegils, King of Wessex.

St Augustine, of course, was not the first to introduce Christianity to Britain. At Glastonbury in Somerset, there is a legend that Joseph of Arimathea came there. There is no solid evidence for this, although there were trading links between Syria and Britain, and another legend, referred to in William Blake’s ‘Jerusalem’, claims that Joseph of Arimathea had brought Jesus as a child to the west of England. Certainly, Celtic Christianity had been flourishing for some centuries before Augustine arrived and he caused some resentment by his lack of tact. An attempt to reconcile the two traditions was made at the Synod of Whitby in 664, but it was Theodore of Tarsus, who came to England as Archbishop in 668, who united the Christians in England and who was the first bishop whom all English Christians were willing to obey.

Irish Missionaries

Further west, Irish missionaries were winning people to Christ. The apostle of the Irish was St Patrick (c.390-c.460), who was born in Britain of a Romanized family and brought up as a Christian. When he was sixteen, he was captured by Irish pirates and spent six bleak years as a herdsman in County Mayo, during which he turned with fervor to Christ. Eventually he escaped back to Britain and was reunited with his family. But, in a dream, as we know from his Confessio, which he wrote in his old age, one Victoricus handed Patrick a letter headed ‘The Voice of the Irish’. As he read it he seemed to hear a group of Irish people pleading with him to walk once more among them. ‘Deeply moved’, he said, ‘I could read no more.’ He trained to be a priest, probably in Gaul, and after a time he was sent to be ‘bishop in Ireland’ and seems to have established his see at Armagh.

Two hundred years later, missionaries from Ireland helped to spread the faith in northern Europe. The most famous Irish missionary to the Frankish kingdoms was St Columbanus (c.543-6l5), who was a contemporary of Gregory the Great. St Columba (c.521-97), who was slightly older than both Columbanus and Gregory, was another Irish missionary. In about 562, moved ‘by the love of Christ’, he left Ireland and with twelve companions established a base on the rocky island of Iona, off the Scottish coast, from where he evangelized the mainland of Scotland and Northumbria. In modern times, the Iona Community was founded in 1938 by George MacLeod (1895-1991) to express the theology of the incarnation in social terms. His plan was that members should spend three months each year in community preparing for work in industrial areas of Scotland or in the mission field. The abbey has been restored and to the many pilgrims who visit it each year, Iona is a centre of spiritual renewal.

Continental Europe

A century after Columba, missionaries from England were going to the continent. St Willibrord (658 -- 739), from Northumbria, worked in the Netherlands whilst the greatest successes of Wynifrith (c.680- 754), who is better known as St Boniface, who came from Crediton in Devon, were in Germany. The Saxons continued to resist the gospel and their conversion in the latter part of the eighth century followed their conquest by Charlemagne. It was another 150 years before most of Scandinavia was converted.

By the year 1000, almost all of western Europe was Christian and during the previous centuries the popes in Rome had been increasing their authority and power, as well as accumulating land. In the year 800, it was the Pope who crowned Charlemagne as Roman Emperor in Rome, although Charlemagne was too forceful a character to be overshadowed by the Pope. Charlemagne’s successors were less powerful and as they became unable to hold overbearing archbishops in check, bishops appealed to the Pope for support and this increased papal authority. Some of the popes, such as Nicholas I (858-67) were very able men, although in the early tenth century there was a succession of ineffective popes, most of whom held office only for a very short time. In the period between 897 and 955, there were seventeen popes.

The Rise of Islam

Whilst in western Europe Christianity had been expanding, in the east large areas of Christendom surrendered to Islam. The power of Byzantium, as we have seen, was at its height under Emperor Justinian I (527-65). He built many churches; he issued the Justinian legal code, which profoundly influenced Western canon law and he tried to uphold orthodoxy by calling the Fifth Ecumenical Council, which condemned the Monophysites, who held that Christ had only a divine and not a human nature. The Monophysites refused to comply with Justinian’s demands and found allies amongst those in Egypt, Ethiopia, Syria and Armenia who resented control from Constantinople. Theological and regional opposition to the emperor weakened the Empire and made it less able to withstand the attacks of Muslims, especially as heretical Christians were likely to be treated more leniently by Muslim than by Byzantine rulers.

The early seventh century saw a resurgence of Persian attacks on the Empire. In 611, the Persians took Antioch and then seized control of Syria and Palestine, pillaging Jerusalem and killing hundreds of Christians. The Persians also captured Alexandria in about 618 and took control of Egypt. At the same time, the Empire was being attacked by the Avars and Slavs from the north. In the 620s the situation was reversed. Emperor Heraclius bought off the Avars and reasserted the imperial power in the eastern Mediterranean, recapturing Syria, Palestine, including Jerusalem, and Egypt. The struggle, however, had drained the Empire’s resources so that it was not able to withstand a new threat.

The Prophet Muhammad (570-632) had a deep respect for Jesus, who is mentioned several times in the Qur’an. The Qur’an, however, denied that Jesus was crucified, because God would not allow any servant of his to meet such a fate. The Qur’an, with its insistence on the Oneness of God, also denied Christian claims that Jesus was the Son of God. For some centuries, many Christians regarded Islam as a Christian heresy, but Muslims believed that Muhammad had received a fresh revelation from God and that Islam was a restatement of the eternal religion, which had also been proclaimed by Moses and Jesus, although their message had been corrupted by their followers.

In the years after Muhammad’s death, Islam expanded rapidly. Under the leadership of the Caliphs, Arabs captured Damascus in 636. In the following year, all Syria came under their control and in 638, after a two-year siege, Jerusalem was captured by Omar (634-44), who treated the Christians honorably. Jerusalem became the third most holy city of the Muslim world, as it was from Jerusalem that Muhammad began his night journey to heaven. The so-called ‘Mosque of Omar’, the beautiful Dome of the Rock, was not in fact built by Omar, but by Abd el Melek Ibn Merwan. An inscription says it was built in AH 72 (691 CE). Alexandria was captured in about 642, whilst by 650 Mesopotamia and much of Persia was under Muslim control, as was some of North Africa. In 697, Carthage, the centre of Byzantine power in North Africa, fell to the Arabs and then early in the eighth century the Muslims crossed the Strait of Gibraltar and took control of much of Spain until their advance was halted at the battle of Tours or Poitiers in 732.

Muslim conquests did not mean the immediate end of Christianity in those areas. Islam regarded both Jews and Christians as ‘people of the book’. They were given a second-class status as dhimmi, but allowed some freedom, although they were subject to quite heavy taxation. Many Christians, however, fled. Catholics from North Africa took refuge in Sicily and southern Italy, whilst Greeks retreated to areas under the control of Byzantium. It was virtually impossible for the church to recruit new members and some Christians converted to Islam, either from conviction or for convenience.

Monophysite Churches

Several of the Monophysite churches, however, have survived under Islam. One example is the Coptic Church of Egypt. Prior to the Arab conquest, the people of Egypt identified themselves and their language in Greek as Aigyptos, which in Arabic is qibt, which is westernized as Copt. The term came to be the distinctive name of the Egyptian Christian minority. According to tradition, the church in Egypt was founded by St Mark. Alexandria was one of the chief sees of the early church, but Christians in Egypt suffered severely under the Diocletian persecutions. Then at the Council of Chalcedon in 451, Dioscorus (d.454), the Patriarch of Alexandria, was condemned. The Egyptian church became formally Monophysite and increasingly isolated. The Orthodox, or so-called ‘Melchite church’, comprising those Christians who remained in communion with Constantinople, received little support from the local people.

The Coptic church has survived long centuries of Arab rule. It was to their favor that they too opposed the Byzantium rulers. Under Arab rule, they started to use Arabic versions of the Bible and to use some Arabic in the liturgy. There are some Coptic dioceses outside Egypt, for example in Jerusalem and the Sudan. The Coptic church adopted a democratic form of government in 1890. It has a number of schools. In recent years, the church has been under some pressure with the rise of fundamentalist Muslim groups in Egypt and a hostile regime in the Sudan. The Coptic church is in communion with the Ethiopian, Armenian and Syrian Orthodox churches. There is also a small Uniat Coptic church dating from 1741 when Athanasius, the Coptic Bishop of Jerusalem, joined the Roman Catholic church.

Another Monophysite church is the Syrian Orthodox church, whose members are sometimes called Jacobites, which descends from the Monophysite movement in the patriarchate of Antioch. Its numbers have declined with the difficulties of being a minority and because of severe losses during the Mughal invasions in the fourteenth century and by massacres in Turkish territory in the twentieth-century. They number about 300,000 in the Middle East and about 50,000 in North and South America. There are various Syrian churches in South India.

The fascinating stories of other Eastern churches, such as the Armenian or Nestorian churches, are too little known in the West. The Nestorians, who were keen missionaries, reached China in the Tang period (618-907).7

Monasticism

Amidst this numerical ebb and flow of the Church in the centuries from the conversion of Constantine to the end of the first Christian millennium, the most significant spiritual development was the growth of the monastic movement.

With official favor and even wealth, it was no longer a sacrifice to become a Christian. This led some of the more devout to escape the temptations of public life and go into the desert, either as hermits or to live in communities.

It was in Egypt in the third century that Christian monasticism first developed. Neoplatonism, which stressed the value of contemplation, was influential in the area. Egypt was also at the time a country with political and economic disorders and this may have encouraged spiritually minded people to withdraw from the world.

There is an ascetic strand in the New Testament with its emphasis on poverty and sacrifice. Renunciation might include family ties (Mark 10:29). In Matthew’s gospel there is a verse which says ‘others have renounced marriage because of the kingdom of heaven’, although an alternative reading says ‘others have made themselves eunuchs because of the kingdom of heaven’ (Matt. 19:12). Paul was celibate, but he did not appeal to a direct command from the Lord to support his position. Peter and other apostles were married. Jesus, although it is presumed he did not marry, was spoken of as a ‘wine-bibber’ compared to his austere cousin John the Baptist.

Celibacy

Celibacy came quickly to be prized by the church. The second-century text The Shepherd of Hermas, whilst accepting that Christian widows and widowers might remarry, said that ‘they would gain great honor and glory of the Lord’ if they refrained from doing so. In 305, the Synod of Elvira in Spain demanded celibacy of bishops and other clergy, and this came to be the rule in the Western church. In the Eastern church, those who were married before ordination could continue to live with their wives, except for a bishop who was expected to find a nunnery where his wife could live.

At the Reformation, the Protestant churches repudiated the requirement that clergy should be celibate. The Roman Catholic church during the Catholic Reformation reaffirmed the rule, although as an ecclesiastical institution which, at least in theory, is open to the possibility of change. The Roman Catholic church continues to insist that clergy should be celibate, although a number of clergy renounce their orders as they are unable to meet this requirement. Celibacy occasions considerable debate. Some feel it reflects a negative valuation of human sexuality based on the dualism of Hellenistic thought, which saw salvation as a freeing of the soul from the body, rather than the biblical tradition which affirms the goodness of the whole creation.

Antony

The most famous of the early monks was St Antony (c.251-356). His parents died when he was about eighteen, leaving him to care for his sister. One day in church he heard a reading of Jesus’ command to the rich young ruler, ‘If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me’ (Matt. 19:21). Antony did just this, keeping only enough to provide for his sister. When he was about thirty-five, Antony retired completely to the desert. A number of other hermits gathered round him and in 305 he came out of his solitude to organize his disciples into a community of hermits living under a rule, although with much less common life than later orders. Antony foreshadowed two types of monasticism: one, the life of complete solitude and the other a way of life whereby monks continued to live in isolation, but with some opportunity for fellowship.

A third type of monasticism, known as the coenobitic (from the Greek ‘for living together’), provides for monks to live together in a community with rules and a head monk. The pioneer of this approach was St Pachomius (c.290-346), a younger contemporary of Antony and another Egyptian.

The Growth of Monasticism

In the fourth and fifth centuries monasticism spread quickly and widely. Some of the monks practiced extreme austerities, including those, like St Simeon Stylites (c390-459), who lived on the top of a pillar. The majority lived in community, and the rule worked out in 358 by St Basil the Great (c.330-79), the brother of St Gregory of Nyssa and one of the Cappadocian fathers, was widely influential. It remains the basis of the way of life still followed by monks in the Eastern Church.

The patriarch of Western monasticism was St Benedict of Nursia (c.480-c.550), who in c.500, because of the licentiousness of Roman society, withdrew to a cave at Subiaco, forty miles to the east of Rome. Twenty-five years later, he moved to Monte Cassino, which became the chief monastery of the Benedictine Order. The buildings were destroyed in 1944 but have been rebuilt. At Monte Cassino, Benedict planned the reform of monasticism and drew up his rule, which became the basis of the way of life followed by many Western monastic orders, such as the Carthusians and Cistercians. The rule consists of seventy-three terse chapters, which deal with spiritual matters and questions of organization, liturgy and discipline. Stability and obedience are paramount. ‘Obedience is a blessing to be shown by all, not just to the abbot, but to one another, since we know that it is by the way of obedience that we go to God.’ The main work is the divine office (opus dei), the regular worship of God, together with private prayer, reading and work. It was a simple, regulated life. The monasteries were places of stability in a disorderly world and became important centers of scholarship and Christian mission.

A New Millennium

Although the start of the second millennium is a convenient date to mark the new vigor of the Christian world, the renewal probably began some fifty years earlier. The next centuries were to see the spread of Christianity into north-western and central Europe, the recapture of the Iberian peninsula and the attempt, through the Crusades, to regain the Holy Land. The period was also marked by new vigor in the Byzantine Empire.

In 962, Otto I, who had been king of the Germans since 936, was crowned Holy Roman Emperor and brought stability to much of western Europe. Just over one hundred years later, William the Conqueror created the foundation of a strong state in England. The period saw the emergence of Christian monarchies in Spain and in Scandinavia. It was a period also of economic expansion, although China of the Sung Dynasty (960-1279) was far richer, more populous and more sophisticated. India, too, although politically divided, was probably richer and more advanced in civilization.

Scandinavia

Denmark, Sweden and Norway all became Christian in the latter half of the tenth century. Harald Bluetooth (c.910 – c.985), King of Denmark, was baptized just before 950 and his son claimed that he had made the Danes Christian. There was, however, a reaction and it was under Canute (1016-35). King of Denmark and England, that the faith became firmly established. Canute, a devout Christian, made a pilgrimage to Rome and ordered his subjects to learn the Lord’s Prayer and to go to Communion at least three times a year. In Norway, Haakon the Good (r. c946-c961), who had been reared at the English court, tried to win his people to Christianity, but was thwarted by the landowners. It was left to St Olave (Olaf) (995-1030) to spread the faith. The conversion of Sweden was rather later, but in 1164 it was given its own archiepiscopal see at Uppsala.

Russia

Vikings and Norsemen also took news of the gospel to Iceland, Greenland and North America. At the same time, Christianity was spreading eastwards to Russia, along both a northern and a southern route. It was under St Vladimir I (c.956 -1015) that the mass conversion of the people of Kiev began. By the end of his reign in 1015, there were three bishoprics. It is said that Vladimir was visited by representatives of Islam, Judaism, Latin Christianity and Greek Christianity and that it was the Greek delegation which made the greatest impression. The church adopted the Byzantine rite in the old Slavonic language. Despite his choice, Vladimir was determined to assert his political independence of Constantinople. In the fourteenth century the leadership of the church moved from Kiev to Moscow and independence from Greek Orthodoxy was established.

Eastern Europe

The early years of the second millennium saw Christianity established in Poland and Hungary and other parts of Eastern Europe and by 1350, except for Lithuania, where mass baptisms were ordered in 1386, and Finland, most of Europe was Christian, at least in name, although pagan practices survived in secret in some areas.

Spain

Gradually Spain was won back from Muslim rule. For a time there was a flowering of Spanish culture, for example at Toledo, to which Muslim, Jewish and Christian influences contributed, but this Golden Age was not to last. Increasingly, Christian kingdoms, despite their rivalries, asserted control. In 1034, the Caliphate of Cordoba came to an end and the only Muslim foothold was the small state of Granada, which was eventually captured by King Ferdinand of Aragon (r.1474- 1516) and Queen Isabella of Castille (r.1474-1504), in 1492, the same year in which Columbus set out for the Americas and in which the Jews were expelled from Spain.

The Crusades

The use of force against those who did not share the Christian faith, be they pagan, Muslim or Jewish, was taken for granted by almost all Christians at the time. Religion was also closely related to political power and it was used by rulers to bind their stakes together. Christians today deplore the persecution of Jews and the attacks on Muslims, both of which have left a painful legacy that only now members of the three faiths are starting to address.

Although the Crusades were in the name of Christianity, their causes were to a considerable extent economic and political. The Byzantine Empire was threatened by Muslim power. The Pope, whilst wanting to give assistance to Christians in the East, also hoped to restore unity between the two branches of the Church and to strengthen his authority. Religious motivation was also significant. Many Christians traveled to Jerusalem on pilgrimage and at the time difficulties were being put in their way. Clearly, when in November 1095 Pope Urban II (1088-99), in a stirring sermon at a Synod in Clermont in France, appealed for a crusade to free the holy places, he caught the popular mood. The congregation shouted out ‘Deus vult’, ‘God wills it’. The Pope promised a ‘plenary indulgence’ -- a pardon for all sins -- to those who enlisted for the crusade. Popular preachers, such as Peter the Hermit, whipped up support of the people, often by maligning Jews and Muslims.

The First Crusade captured Antioch in 1098, with great slaughter, and in the following year took Jerusalem, killing many of its inhabitants. For a time Christian rule was established in the Holy Land, but after a crushing victory at Hattin in 1187, Muslims recaptured Jerusalem and most of the Crusaders’ centres. A Third Crusade was launched in 1189, in which King Richard of England (r. 1157- 99), the so-called ‘Lionhearted’, took part. In 1202, when papal power was at its height, Pope Innocent III launched the Fourth Crusade, which was diverted into storming and plundering Constantinople in 1204. A Latin Patriarch was established and for a time the church was united under the Pope. The Byzantine Empire, however, survived with its headquarters at Nicaea and in 1261 won back Constantinople, putting an end to Latin rule there. Neither Christian control of the Holy Land nor a united church could be achieved by force. Constantinople was fatally weakened by the Latin attack and eventually, in 1453, it fell to the Muslim Ottoman Turks.

The external expansion of Christianity in the period from the middle of the tenth century to the middle of the thirteenth century was matched by a period of vigorous growth in church life, followed by a period of stagnation or decline.

Monks and Friars

There was a renewal of monastic life, led by the monastery of Cluny, north of Lyons in France, and its abbots, of whom its founder Berno and his successor Odo (abbot 926-42) and the fifth abbot, Odilo (abbot 994-1084), were especially influential. In the twelfth century the leadership in creative monastic life passed to the Cistercians, of whom perhaps the best-known was St Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153). A vigorous and influential personality, he had a deep mystical devotion to Jesus, as is shown in the hymn ascribed to him, Jesu, dulcis memoria of which the best-known English translation begins ‘Jesus, the very thought of thee with sweetness fills the breast’

A new development in the thirteenth century was the coming of the Friars or mendicant orders, namely, the Franciscans, the Dominicans, the Carmelites and the Augustinians.

St Francis of Assisi (1181-1226) is one of the most attractive figures in Christian history. He was born in Assisi in Italy. His father was a prosperous cloth merchant and as a youth Francis was a lively member of the young aristocracy. In late adolescence he began to take his religion more seriously, partly because of illness. He gave time to helping the poor and, despite his loathing for the disease, to the care of those with leprosy. His father was increasingly annoyed and eventually took him to the bishop, saying that he wished to disinherit Francis, who stripped off the clothes his father had provided and standing naked before the bishop declared that henceforth he would only serve ‘our Father who art in heaven’. He started to restore some ruined chapels, but in 1209 he heard the call to become an itinerant preacher, proclaiming the kingdom of God and calling on people to repent. He lived in complete poverty, surviving on whatever food he was given. He radiated the love of Christ.

Soon others joined him and Francis sought the permission of Pope Innocent III for their preaching mission. The friars also conveyed their message by song, and Francis’ Canticle of the Sun is still sung. Francis had a love of nature and of all living things. His disciples told of a sermon that he preached to the birds, urging them to praise their Creator. On another occasion when he was preaching, the swallows made so much noise that he asked them to be quiet until he had finished, which they did. In 1212 an order for women, the Poor Clares, was established and in 1221 a tertiary order, for those living in the world who aspired to the Franciscan ideals.

Francis wished to present the gospel to the Muslims and in 1219 met with the Sultan. By the time Francis approached the end of his life, his order had outgrown him and soon needed clear organization, but there were divisions in the movement.

The Dominicans, founded by St Dominic (1170-1221) in 1215, like the Franciscans, date from the early thirteenth century. From the start they were dedicated to teaching and scholarship. Many outstanding scholars were Dominicans, including the greatest Catholic theologian, St Thomas Aquinas.

The vitality of the Christian faith was evident also in various lay movements, such as confraternities and singing guilds and the Flagellants, who in penance for their sins scourged themselves and ran in the streets half-naked. Other groups were to be regarded as heretical, such as the Waldenses, who stressed poverty and simplicity, and the Cathari or Albigensians, whose asceticism derived from a dualism which despised the body.

The Papacy

This period also saw the papacy, after reforms early in the eleventh century, reach the height of its power. St Gregory VII (c.1021-85), or Hildebrand to give him his original name, had already exercised great influence under Leo IX. As pope, Gregory issued decrees against simony and enforced the celibacy of the clergy. He had an exalted view of the papacy, whether or not the Dictatus Papae are by him. He held that the Roman church was founded by God and that the Roman Pontiff alone deserved the title ‘universal’, and that he could depose or reinstate bishops. He even humbled the Emperor Henry IV, forcing him to submit at Canossa, in north Italy in 1077, and to do penance. The Emperor is said to have stood for three days in the snow outside the Pope’s lodgings before being granted absolution from his excommunication. This, however, was only the start of the struggle. In 1084, Henry captured Rome. Gregory was rescued by Norman soldiers, but their behavior provoked great antagonism against Gregory, who fled to Monte Cassino and thence to Salerno, where he died. His last words were, ‘I have loved justice and hated iniquity, therefore I die in exile.’8 Historians who are critical of the centralization of papal power would, however, question Gregory’s verdict.

There were other strong popes. It was Innocent III, who reigned from 1198 to 1216, who brought the papacy to the apex of its power. His ideas were not new, but he expressed them with clarity. He wrote that Christ ‘left to Peter the governance not of the church only but of the whole world’ and he had no hesitation in interfering in the affairs of the various European kingdoms. He insisted on high moral behavior by the clergy and dominated the Fourth Lateran Council, which was held in 1215. He also laid down that all Christians were to make their confession to a priest at least once a year.

Decline

After Innocent III, the papacy began to decline, although there were some capable popes in the thirteenth century. The popes were caught up in political struggles of the age and internal divisions. From 1309 to 1377, the popes resided in Avignon, which although not actually in France, was overshadowed by that nation. Several of the popes lived in great luxury, but their influence was declining.

The vigor of European life was slackening. The feudal system was declining and it was a time of much fighting in western Europe. The major disaster, which slowed down economic life, was the devastation caused by the Black Death (1347-51). This was a series of bubonic plagues that reduced the population of Europe by a third and that of England by about a half. The religious orders felt the full effect of the plague and were unable to recruit enough new members to fill the gaps.

English Mystics

Even so this was a period which produced some fine mystical writing such as the fourteenth-century Theologia Germanica, which profoundly influenced Martin Luther, and the works of the English mystics. This period also saw some of the most splendid examples of Gothic architecture, such as King’s College chapel at Cambridge.

The Cloud of Unknowing, whose author remains anonymous, was written in the fourteenth century. It teaches that God cannot be known by human reason. In contemplation, the soul is aware of a cloud of unknowing between itself and God, which can only be penetrated by ‘a sharp dart of love’. The author encouraged people to repeat a short phrase or single word to foster loving attention on God.

Walter Hilton (d. 1396) in his Ladder of Perfection traces the soul’s ascent to God. He insisted that a bodily turning to God ‘without the heart following’ is of no value. Both the author of The Cloud of Unknowing and Walter Hilton appear critical of Richard Rolle’s (c.1300-49) emphasis on affective mystical experiences of ‘heat’, ‘sweetness’ and ‘song’.

Perhaps the most popular of the English mystics today is Julian of Norwich (c.1342- c.1413), partly because there are a number of contemplative prayer groups called Julian groups. She probably lived as an anchoress close to St. Julian’s church in Norwich. In May 1373, Julian, while suffering from a severe heart attack, had a series of visions relating to the Passion of Christ, which she recorded in the shorter text of her Showings. Some fifteen years later she had a further revelation, after which she recorded a longer version of her writings. She stressed that ‘Love is our Lord’s meaning’9 and her words of confidence, ‘Sin is behovely, but all shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well’ 10 are often quoted. Like an earlier woman mystic, Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179),Julian stressed the motherly character of God’s love and said that God is really a Mother as well as a Father.

Churches in the East

In the east, the Byzantine Empire was under increasing pressure from the Ottoman Turks, who, as we have seen, in 1453 captured Constantinople, where the great cathedral of Saint Sophia (Holy Wisdom) was converted into a mosque. In central Asia, the Mongols had become Muslims and Timur (Tamerlane) (1336-1405), from his capital at Samarkand conquered large areas of central Asia, making life very difficult for the small, mainly Nestorian, Christian minorities. In China the Mongol Dynasty, which had been welcoming to foreigners, was replaced by the Ming Dynasty, which was xenophobic and expelled small foreign communities, including presumably the Christians.

New Life

Yet amidst the decline, new life was growing, for example in the economic activity of Genoa and Venice and the desire to increase trade with Asia. The invention of printing by movable type in the mid-fourteenth century was preparing the way for the spread of knowledge. The Renaissance renewed interest in the intellectual heritage of antiquity, whilst the new learning encouraged fresh study in their original languages of the scriptures, which as the source of faith were to be the inspiration of the Reformers.

For this chapter and the next, Kenneth Scott Latourette, A History of Christianity (Eyre and Spottiswoode), the six-volume Pelican History of the Church, and John R. H. Moorman, A History of the Church in England (A. & C. Black, 1953), are useful.

Hans Lietzmann, A History of the Early Church (1951, James Clarke, 1993), covers the first four hundred years in some detail.

M. D. Knowles, Christian Monasticism (1969), and E. A. Bowman, Western Mysticism: A Guide to the Basic Works (1978), are good introductions to their respective subjects.

 

Notes

1. Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho, 47:1-4.

2. Augustine, Epistle 82 quoted byJobn G. Gager, The Origins of Anti-Semitism (Oxford University Press, 1983), p. 189.

3. Pliny, Epistles X.96, quoted in A New Eusebius, ed. J. Stevenson (SPOK, 1957), p. 13.

4. Pliny, Epistles X.97. Ibid., p. 16.

5. The Martyrdom of Polycarp. Ibid., p.21

6. See Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica, bk 2, sect 1.

7. Seep.73.

8. Q~soted byJ. W Bowden, The L~ and Pontficezte of Gregory VII(1840), vol. 2, bk 3, cb. 20.

9. Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love (the long text), di. 86, Revelation 16.

10. Ibid., ch. 27, Revelation 13.