THERE IS A call in the silence that leads man to the fulfilment of his life. It leads one on from the trivial round of surface living in the company of those who are travelling along a well-worn way that returns to its point of departure, and reveals a more solitary uphill path away from the crowd. It is there that the inner voice of meaning declares itself. The voice may, of course, be disregarded. It is always disturbing those who would prefer to avoid a life of deeper significance. But to those who are responsive, there is an abandonment of the world of ever-changing passions and fantasies and an entry into that timelessness of abiding reality which interpenetrates the world of form and gives it meaning.
To some the call comes at the depth of distress or disillusionment, when, through the debris of a shattered relationship or a frustrated ambition, a glimpse of a way of living more perfect than mere self-gratification is afforded. This is not to be dismissed as wishful thinking, for the impulse comes spontaneously. Like a flash of lightning, it illuminates the personality and the world around it. It inspires hope into the dejected heart, and lightens the way forward with faith. Out of the ashes of past disappointments, a new life emerges like a phoenix. To others the call is a stirring within that follows the witnessing of a deed of great self-sacrifice, or the inspiration of eloquent words, or a noble work of art. The action or the perfection of the art is an outer testimony to the eternity of life that is so often hidden beneath the blind meaninglessness of selfish living. The spontaneous kindness that may flow from even the most unlikely people during a period of emergency may effect a change in awareness in those who observe it. A full participation in the glory of nature may lift the consciousness of the person beyond himself to an identification with the greater community of creation.
Sometimes the call has strongly religious overtones. It may come from the lips of a preacher, or the pages of scripture, or the liturgy during an act of worship. What may before have passed unnoticed, now suddenly speaks to the person's deepest need. Indeed, it is difficult to gain a real understanding of the Bible until one's own experiences in life have confirmed and illuminated its deepest teaching. Whatever the means of awakening, the voice speaks from the depths of one's personality and leads one, by a new and living way, to the life of eternity. The voice is the light that emanates from the deepest part of the personality, the most real point in the identity of any person, the part that is called the true self, or the soul.
In my life the call came very early. I was not more than three years old when I heard, with the inward ear, a voice that addressed me directly in the darkness of my inner self, yet carried with it a radiant light. It gave me a preview of the pattern of my life, and showed me the path I had to follow to be an authentic person. The path was a fearsome one. I was to pass along a dark and ever-narrowing tunnel, alone and isolated, and to move further and further away from all personal contact towards a dark, undisclosed future. There was to be no outer comfort. I was to be shriven of all the reassurances that come from everyday human contact in my journey along that solitary road. I would be lonely and often misunderstood, yet I would be driven onwards by the power of real life. I would never know that superficial peace that comes with a narrow outer conformity to my surroundings. I would be compelled to go on in order to find and fulfil the real work in my life, even to its culmination in the darkness of death. Yet even at this age, I had an intimation that death was not the end, that the humiliation and suffering of a life lived in honesty were the necessary precursors of glorification. That would no longer be entirely personal. It embraced all people.
I can forgive the reader's incredulous amazement at this account of a small child's vision of his future life. Its precocity is so staggering that I can excuse the sceptic's conclusion that its author has interposed adult insights into a child's mind. But this is not so. The vision of reality that showed me my life's work did not infuse me with self-esteem or happiness. I had a terrible sense of dereliction. I howled at the intimation of darkness, lack of comprehension, and loneliness. The burden was almost too great to bear, and yet I knew that I had to persist in faith and never betray the knowledge that had been given me.
The call leads one away from the mass of humanity, at least in the earliest stages. There is a constant awareness of the danger of contamination by the mindless thinking that is the preserve of many people. It is easy to slip back into the selfish life of those around one, and to betray the great vision. This period of withdrawal is a necessary stage in the spiritual life, and, if one is fortunate, one meets a friend who can guide one on the lonely uncharted way. In due course one has to rejoin the human company, but not before one has acquired the inner strength to retain one's integrity in the face of all outer distractions.
When the way is shown early in one's life, this period of withdrawal is fraught with additional hardships, which if courageously confronted, lead to an enormous strengthening of personality. It is a law of life that the more one gives of one's life in faith, the more fully does one grow into a knowledge of life. Faith is both the way towards fulfilment of one's destiny and the meaning of that destiny. For it does not arise from within, but is rather infused into one as a gift by the Spirit of God.
I realised very soon that my parents, admirable people that they were in many respects, were not those to whom I could confide my deepest thoughts. Such excursions from the well-worn world of daily events would have embarrassed and alarmed them, living, as we did, in affluent South Africa during the inter-war period. As an only child I had few of my own age with whom to talk, so I was thrown back on the company of the African servants employed in my home. It was through these servants that I was able to pass along the testing ground of inner authenticity. Their companionship was the light that led me on towards the early fulfilment of what I had been shown. They were simple, unlettered folk, but the unerring inner vision of a child saw in them an authenticity of character completely lacking in the Europeans I knew. In these humble servants, in their silence as well as in their joyful song, I sensed spiritual reality. The characteristics of spirituality are almost impossibly difficult to define, yet they are so wholly obvious to a child's discernment. Perhaps the most immediate quality of the spiritual person is his outflowing nature, a nature which allows of direct communication both on a physical and a psychical level. In other words, one is at once aware of the deep bond that binds one to another, a bond that does not depend on sharing mutually held opinions, but is one which emanates from the core of personality and reaches the other person in the deepest concern. Such concern may certainly develop in the personality of many lesser people after a lifetime's association with someone else; they are in fact growing gradually into the experience of love, which is the crowning glory of the spiritual life as well as its foundation. But those who have already attained some measure of spiritual maturity can effect a deep relationship with many different types of people. They regard their fellow men not as objects to be used, but as souls to be cherished through the experience of identification with them.
The test of such a relationship is the ease of contact and the silence of the communication. In the silence truth speaks; it requires no guile or conviviality, but is completely free. These servants, who had little of their own in terms of worldly possessions, were unencumbered with pride, resentment, or covetousness. They could live in the present, which is also the realm of eternity. Alas, their kind has unfortunately disappeared. Their successors have assimilated much that is worst in modern European civilisation - its concern for immediate gratification of the senses, its contempt for values, and its disbelief in an abiding order of righteousness - yet the African soul still radiates through this superficial dross. I know that, as a child, I felt most fully myself when I could be as one of them.
It was through a servant girl that I came to understand the source of the vision that had led me along the path of solitude. Barely literate herself, she showed me a simple evangelical tract that she had been given. It spoke of a man who had loved the world sufficiently to take on its full burden of sin, and who had died a terrible death for the world's redemption. I did not come of a family that accepted this view of salvation, but the knowledge of this man pierced me to the marrow of my being. I knew in my depths that it was he who had spoken to me, and that, however much I might disagree with what was said about him, I could never turn away from his life and his solemn witness to the truth.
My work was to be one of reconciliation.