Who are we? Mere clods of matter, here today and destined for the grave tomorrow? Psychic entities whose influence is wafted a distance away, and then diluted with a fresh wind of oblivion, here today and gone tomorrow? Creatures of vain pretension striving for the moon and pushing our way ahead, only to find that our destination is extinction as others push their way ahead of us? Job puts it more poetically: "Every being born of a woman is short-lived and full of trouble. He blossoms like a flower and withers away; fleeting as a shadow, he does not endure; he is like a wineskin that perishes or a garment that moths have eaten" (Job 14.1-2). The Psalmist writes: "You turn mortals back to dust saying, "Turn back, you children of mortals", for in your sight a thousand years are as the passing of one day or as a watch in the night. You cut them off; they are asleep in death. They are like grass which shoots up; though in the morning it flourishes and shoots up, by evening it droops and withers" (Psalm 90.3-6). Another view is expressed thus: "Lord, let me know my end and the number of my days; tell me how short my life is to be. I know you have made my days a mere span long, and my whole life is as nothing in your sight. A human being, however firm he stands, is but a puff of wind" (Psalm 39.4-5). Even the very glowing Psalm 103 has this to say about the human condition: "The days of a mortal are as grass; he blossoms like a wild flower in the meadow: a wind passes over him, and he is gone, and his place knows him no more" (Psalm 103.15-16). However, the passage continues much more radiantly: "But the Lord's love is for ever on those who fear him, and his righteousness on their posterity, on those who hold fast to his covenant, who keep his commandments in mind" (verses 17-18). Yes indeed, the human condition is one of perishable matter endowed with immortality by the Spirit of God: a spiritual animal with feet on the earth and a head in the clouds.
The work of the human is to sanctify the world, to endue it with a radiance that shows the uncreated light of God's presence in every creature, and to lift it all up to God as the tortured body of Jesus rose in an undreamed-of revelation on the third day after its crucifixion to the glory of a resurrection body that altered the course of history. All this sounds melodramatic and purely visionary, but the way is both more mundane and more profound. When we think about ourselves, our ultimate futility becomes frighteningly apparent, as the three texts quoted above confirm. But when we lose ourselves in fruitful activity, activity in which we give of ourselves unsparingly yet joyfully to the world around us, we surmount our circumscribed ego consciousness and enter a world of communication that soon matures into communion, or fellowship. We are told in the Bible to love our neighbour as ourself (Luke 10.27, based on Leviticus 19.18). We begin to love our neighbour when we lose an awareness of our own separation by giving freely to that neighbour, who, in our global world, is everybody and indeed the whole created order. As we lose ourselves as separate units, so we begin to find out who we really are in the economy of the whole, which includes not merely our world or even the vast universe, but the entire cosmos with its saints on high and its ministering angels. This enormous range of fellowship comes to us when we serve with joyous intent; we learn that we love ourselves as part of the created order, in which our own particular sins and vices are swallowed up in a love so all-embracing that we quite literally forget what is past and strive with all our strength to bring the love of God into the present situation. This is the way in which the artist and scientist are carried along by the creative impulse that will never be satisfied until the masterpiece is created or new insights are encountered in understanding the mechanism of the world and the workings of the universe. We lesser people who cannot claim any special artistic genius or scientific knowledge can attain that same degree of selflessness by getting on quietly and efficiently with our work of service to those around us and leaving all self-centred actions behind us. If we give ourselves fully to the work of loving service, we will find in that experience an identity that is inseparable from all creation. This is the experience known to the mystic in the moment of illumination when they are lifted up above their surroundings, and enter into the uncreated light of God where all that is created is found to be a mere fragment of divine reality. And yet each living element is not only represented but is also identified with the whole.
This is who we really are: the physical body does indeed die and its elements return to the earth from which they were fashioned, but the essential being, which we call the soul, enters into the realm of divine unity, depending on its ability to face the physically blinding but intellectually illuminating uncreated light of God, the same that Saul of Tarsus (later St Paul) encountered on the road of Damascus (Acts 9.3-9). In those of evil lineage, the soul retires to the darkness of hell, whereas the saint's soul passes effortlessly to the light of paradise. Most of us proceed to the intermediary zone of purgatory.
In the end we realize that we do indeed love our neighbour as ourself, because the neighbour is ourself, not in physical identity but in corporate union. In that love the various invidious character traits which make everyday relationships so painful are healed of their selfish intent, and instead become beacons of encouragement and sources of welcome and goodwill to all who pass their way. My conviction is such that I see a time approaching when even the demonic spirits may be converted to the light, undergo transfiguration, and work unceasingly for the healing of the whole created order. It is my deepest desire to show the common run of humanity that it too can enter the realm of mystical enlightenment if only it will leave self behind, and follow in trust and humility the way of the saints, who gave up their lives with passionate ardour for the service of their contemporaries. We thought in Chapter 12 about the "rich young man" who could not sacrifice his material resources in his quest for eternal life. Indeed as separate individuals such a renunciation is all but impossible. It is only when we pass beyond the barrier of separation to the world of composite unity that we can give up mundane advantages without demur, indeed without even being aware of the sacrifice. Therefore the right way forward of the seeker after eternal life is "mucking in" with the workers who clean the streets, mine the earth, man the fire brigade, guard the common order in the police force, and tend the dangerously injured in the paramedical crews that operate the ambulances. This is only a sample of the unnamed multitude of heroes on whom our common life depends. When they do their work, away from squabbles about payment and other mundane concerns, their efforts assume cosmic importance. Did not Christ tell us that anything one does for any one of his brothers, however insignificant, one does for him (Matthew 25.40)? When they are in the thick of their work, their mundane squabbles pale into insignificance, for there is now a human life to be preserved. And this applies to all of us who render some service to the community. The fireman or the police officer is part of a greater crew or force, and their identity is magnified in this corporate body of servants of humanity. The Son of Man who was also the Son of God said, "Among you, whoever wants to be great must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be the slave of all - just as the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give up his life as a ransom for many" (Matthew 20.26-28). If the plutocrat who sought eternal life had been able to sink his life, which was after all his greatest fortune, with the multitude, he would have known at least something of eternal life even then, and as his service increased, so would his love for God's creatures also have grown warm and compelling. He would have lost his small ego self and discovered a far greater identity which would have embraced the whole world.
I truly love William Wordsworth's "Valedictory Sonnet to the River Duddon".
I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
As being pass'd away. - Vain sympathies!
For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish; - be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have power
To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower
We feel that we are greater than we know.
How right St Paul was when he wrote, "No wonder we do not lose heart! Though our outward humanity is in decay, yet day by day we are inwardly renewed. Our troubles are slight and short-lived, and their outcome is an eternal glory which far outweighs them, provided our eyes are fixed, not on the things that are seen, but on the things that are unseen; for what is seen as transient, what is unseen is eternal" (2 Corinthians 4.16-18). It is quite true that the superficial person, governed by the ego, that looks for rewards and recompense, is to pass away, but the inner person, the soul, grows by experience, suffering and a transcendent faith that all will be well despite every indication to the contrary. It will come into its own when we die, and we must take care that it is allowed its due of attention now, so that it may build a spiritual body to take with it to the halls of the afterlife where judgement is given according to its capacity to face the divine light and love that confront all who have made the great transition.
In the company of Jesus we are wise to repeat, "While daylight lasts I must carry out the work of him who sent me; night is coming when no one can work" (John 9.4). The world is the place of our operation, and the means are the present circumstances. It is worth while giving our thanks to the wonders around us, and hope that we may leave the world a better place for our service. I never cease to recall another marvellous sonnet, "God's Grandeur" by Gerard Manley Hopkins.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck His rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went,
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastwards, springs -
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
What we are, to return to the question that started this chapter, is who we are. We may be selfish, covetous people intent only on our own satisfaction, or we may be servants of the world intent on allaying at least a little of the pain around us; we may be sadistic torturers intent only on satisfying our lust for revenge on those who hurt us when we were small and defenceless, or we may be protectors of all that is beautiful in human nature, prepared to give up our lives for our universal friends whether human or animal; we may be destructive agents intent on the elimination of all that we dislike in our world including other humans whose race or lifestyle offends us, or we may be world teachers and saviours like the Christ and the Buddha. Gautama was a prince who had to renounce all human priorities before he could start his great teaching work; the prince became a mendicant monk. Jesus was a figure of utmost mediocrity in his home town of Nazareth, so much so that when he visited his townspeople, they cast scorn on him. After all, he was only the carpenter's son! And so, from the polarities of princedom and social obscurity came the two whose lives and work fully ennobled the human condition. How often did their followers sully the greatness of their teachers? And yet their work goes on. I cannot envisage any future prophet or teacher eclipsing the authority or teaching of either of these two world teachers. But we desperately need many teachers following in their footsteps to bring their message to a bewildered world. Any such teacher must first have conquered themself, so that they do not strive for personal honours. This is a very great test of integrity.
The mystic knows that there is a far-off country where we are all one, not merely in the love of God but in our relationship one with another in that love. God is spoken of as "nothing" by the greatest mystics. This confusing word does not mean that there is no God at all, but that God is beyond rational form and description. God can only be known in negative qualities: the cloud of unknowing, the divine darkness, emptiness, not this - not that, beyond good and evil. This last is especially challenging to our moral sense, for it could be read to imply that the supreme reality is amoral. As such the phrase has been used by various antinomian groups to justify their style of living. In fact it means that the greatness of God embraces all antitheses and transcends them. Nicholas of Cusa, a cardinal of the Catholic Church, described God as beyond the coincidence of contradictories. Thus in the divine nature all natural qualities are comprehended and brought into a divine synthesis that is far beyond the dualism of Aristotelian logic, such as we saw in Chapter 12. If one takes, for example, the Parable of the Prodigal Son, neither the returned, forgiven scapegrace nor his outraged, virtuous brother exhibits the whole truth. In the world of God both are to be changed into beings of such light that even their earthly darkness (the lasciviousness of the Prodigal Son and the righteous indignation of his "good" brother) is swept into the love of God. "God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all" (1 John 1.5). The reason for this is that all worldly darkness and light have been taken up by the divine nature and changed into the uncreated light that is the great outflowing energy of God which the mystic knows. All that can be said positively about God is in terms of light and love, but of God as being we know nothing. Yet what we do know can give us cause for praise and thanksgiving for ever and ever. It is of note that while any mystic will affirm the negative quality of God and the ineffability of their experience, they cannot stop talking about it. This is because such an influx of love has entered their soul that they cannot cease until everyone has been able to share in their love and joy. It is not surprising that the mystic will see far beyond religious denominations and the barriers set up by the rational mind. The mystic alone can see the wood for the trees. It is not surprising that, at least in the Semitic religions, especially Christianity and Islam, quite a number of them have been executed as heretics. Judaism, until our own time, has not had the civil authority to kill anyone, but what it organized in the event of Jesus' crucifixion suggests that it could easily partake of the cruelty of its daughter religions. When religious orthodoxy becomes judgemental and fanatical the most heinous crimes can be committed in the name of God.
Fortunately there is a nobler face to humanity than this, the face of Christ. If we follow him in faith and love, we may take inspiration from these words: "Dear friends, we are now God's children; what we shall be has not been disclosed, but we know that when Christ appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is" (1 John 3.2).
And so a book that starts in the depths of depression ends in the exaltation of the human spirit in God. Maybe the span between these two experiences is less extreme than would appear at first sight: the clue may lie in the human yearning for perfection. The end of the human search is not so much new discoveries, diverting as these may be, but the peace that passes understanding. This is what Jesus promises his disciples in John 14.27: "Peace is my parting gift to you, my own peace, such as the world cannot give. Set your troubled hearts at rest, and banish your fears." This peace is something more than a freedom from unrest; it is a mutual sharing in the good things of life, so that we do not have to hide anything from our neighbour, who is the person next to us at any one time, and by extension, the whole human race and indeed the entire created order. We can be at rest in each other's arms, and give unqualified support to anyone who is in need. "Come for water, all who are thirsty; though you have no money, come, buy grain and eat; come, buy wine and milk, not for money, not for a price" (Isaiah 55.1). One buys by giving freely of oneself in the great quest for wisdom, the great unceasing service to one's fellow creature. There is joy in sharing of oneself with other people and receiving from them their unconditional love. This is the Shalom that is the Hebrew equivalent to this outgoing goodwill that finds its fulfilment in loving service to all around us. In this life we come closest to the heaven we glimpse far away when we share in such universal peace. It is the divine presence among us in the present moment.
I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright,
And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years
Driven by the spheres,
Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world
And all her train were hurled;
The doting lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain,
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,
Wit's sour delights,
With gloves, and knots the silly snares of pleasure
Yet his dear treasure
All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flower.
So begins Henry Vaughan's masterpiece "The World". The illusions of the world pass away but the life eternal illuminates each passing moment with a significance far beyond anything we can see, until we have passed from selfish regard to universal comprehension. It may require a sharp depressive episode to cause us to take this leap into the unknown, and then at last we begin to live like Christ-filled human beings. In our suffering comes our greatest joy, like a woman enduring the pains of parturition to give birth to a splendid infant.