In us alone is stillness. All outside is chaos and confusion. T. S. Eliot, in Burnt Norton, writes of the still point of the turning world. The moment at hand is the fulcrum of the lever, the axle of the wheel. Our inner peace resonates with the peace of God known in the point of time which is the present moment, and then we effect communion with all that lives. When we know that peace and can call upon it at any time, the pearl of great price is not very far from our grasp because the acquisition of that peace entails the renunciation of all we possess. Then alone can we be so naked of self-regard as to pass through the needle's eye into the kingdom of heaven. So St Paul can write with complete self-knowledge.
We wield the weapons of righteousness in right hand and left. Honour and dishonour, praise and blame are alike our lot; we are the impostors who speak the truth, the unknown men whom all men know; dying we still live on; disciplined by suffering, we are not done to death; in our sorrows we have always cause for joy; poor ourselves, we bring wealth to many; penniless, we own the world (2 Corinthians 6.7-10).
St Paul attained this state of blessed equanimity by being continually about his Father's business in the presence of the Lord Jesus, no matter what he was doing or what people he was addressing. He was all things to all men, not by sacrificing his own unique personality and trying to merge imperceptibly into the present company, but by being so open in love that the other person could find his rest in him. This is, in fact, the secret of spiritual direction, as it is of spiritual healing. When we get out of the way in humble service, God can get in and so renew our mind that we can be what is right to the person with whom we are dealing.
To evacuate our inner castle so that God may enter is, paradoxically, to take full charge of our own domain. The situation is very different from leaving ourselves wide open, through unwise meditation exercises or occult practices - to say nothing of the use of drugs that dull the mind - to the indeterminate psychic forces around us. The essence of this inner submission to God is the act of prayer, and a consideration of this essential spiritual practice is important in the path ahead of us. In prayer the mind ascends to God by its own action yet effected by grace. It is God who prays through us quite as much as we who pray to God; the relationship is reciprocal. Dame Julian of Norwich was shown that "God is the ground of our beseeching", the foundation of our praying, and St Paul states (in Romans 8.26-8) that we do not know how we even ought to pray, but through our inarticulate groans the Spirit himself is pleading for us, and God who searches our innermost being knows what the Spirit means, because he pleads for God's people in God's own way, and as we know, all things work together for good for those who love God. The impetus to pray comes from us, but the need is awakened from within for we can never be completely at rest in ourselves until we know the divine presence. It may be a Prodigal-Son-type of experience that brings home to us the truth of this, but as we ascend the spiritual path, so prayer becomes as vital to the soul as does air to the body.
The great action of prayer is to be still, and this in turn requires an attitude of faith that there is a presence who knows one's heart and hears the inner depths of one's need. This is the other side of the admonition to be still and know that I am God. If we are still in wordless devotion to all that lives, we will know the presence of God, the knowledge of unitive love between creature and Creator. This unitive knowledge is the ultimate relationship; while intellectual knowledge separates the knower from the thing known, inasmuch as what is known henceforth becomes an object to be used and manipulated, unitive knowledge, by contrast, brings the subject and object together so that a new creature is conceived and a new life begun. Each loses itself in order to find its true nature. To be sure, God can never lose himself, but his courtesy is such that he gives of himself in so humble a fashion that he can be grasped by even the lowliest creature.
If we seek God acquisitively, as we have already noted, we remain empty of the divine presence because the unhappy, grasping ego is in charge and will not move from its place of authority; and so, in the silence of contemplation, the work of faith is simply to be aware of the present moment with overtones of thankfulness that we are in a situation in which we can be quiet without disturbance (in many countries this basic privacy is impossible to obtain either because of the overcrowding of poverty or the intrusion of an inimical political state that seeks to crush the religion of the spirit). The silence is its own reward; we are not to look for any "sign" of God's presence, but as we grow in faith, so we will be increasingly aware of the wordless dialogue proceeding deep within us. This is the silent conversation with God that warms the heart and mobilizes the powers of the mind and spirit with which we are all endowed, but which largely remain in abeyance in everyday life, until we are enabled to strike a deeper note of awareness. In other words, the effect of God's grace shows itself as we give of ourselves unsparingly moment by moment. We suddenly are amazed by what we are given, but, far from dwelling on it, we stride forward in resolution to give what we have to those around us.
God is the foundation of our praying, and as we are still before his ineffable presence, so we spontaneously address him either in word or in thought. In fact our conversation is a response to his presence and the inner knowledge he gives us about our own state of moral and spiritual poverty. He knows all, but it is important that we too should know it: the prayer of petition and confession brings to us an intimate understanding of what we really lack and of our need of inner cleansing. Our problems over relationships, whether in the family or at work, provoke in their turn an understanding of our own deficiencies that have precipitated these difficulties. In fact we cannot change other people according to our will; all we can hope for is a change in ourselves; then the new radiance within us may indeed influence others to become less defensive and more open to love. In the end it is love alone that can effect a permanent change in a person; by contrast, coercion, no matter how subtly it is applied, evokes a deeper resentment that will find its own destructive expression in due course. This applies equally to hellfire religion, intellectual brilliance that wins the debate, or fulsome flattery that moves the person in the direction marked out by his subversive adversary.
In the work of continuous creation of the world the human and the divine act, at least ideally, in peaceful co-operation. The essence of prayer is intimate fellowship of the person with God, while the effect of prayer is the infusion of the person with the power of the Holy Spirit. This Spirit not only renews the personality and sets in motion a sequence of cleansing and healing of all that is awry, but is also transmitted to others in the act of intercession. When we are quiet before God in childlike faith and remember a person in need in loving solicitude, it seems that the power of the Spirit of God flows directly to that person. If he is receptive, he will be strengthened by the Holy Spirit, and in some measure enabled to attain a healing. Even if a physical malady cannot honestly be said to show any manifest improvement, there will be an inner strengthening of resolve, accompanied by a calming of distraught emotions, and an infusion of radiant hope that will lead the one who is ill onwards to full recovery. Where the progress is clearly in the direction of the death we all have in our own time to experience, a blessing of peace will descend on the dying person and his sorrowing relatives that will somehow guide both of them in the way ahead, whether in this life or the life beyond death. The heart of prayer is warm silence and trustful tranquillity, in the presence of which radical changes are set in motion in the personality of the one who is praying and in those for whom he prays. Furthermore, earnest prayer radiates far beyond the person for whom intercession is offered; it can also influence those far off and play its quiet part in changing the attitudes and widening the perspectives of world leaders and the celebrities who exert so powerful an influence on the crowds and especially the young. Indeed, if peace is finally to descend on our war-torn world, it can do so only by the radiant love that follows communion with God. He makes no outer demands, but somehow effects a change in us so that we can serve our neighbour in outflowing devotion.
Prayer is the energizing act of the soul, to be carried out in the first instance at set times and places but eventually at all times and everywhere. The fellowship with God renews our strength and directs our awareness to the things of ultimate value, of final importance. In the divine presence it becomes increasingly difficult to behave deceitfully or without consideration for others. This is not because a distant God is watching us, threatening us with punishment if we persist in our evil ways. It is, on the contrary, the divine presence within us that will be content with nothing less than a return to the source which is both its origin and destination. But when it does return home, it will have brought the individual personality with it, and the work performed by the person, small as it may appear to those who believe they are further on the way to sanctification, will be his particular gift to God. The resolution and sacrifice come from the human agent, but the inner strength is of divine origin. In this frame of mind sin gradually recedes, and in its place there appears a radiant loving service, an imprint of the divine image of which the seed has alone survived in the rat-race of common life. Our gift to God is our transformed personality, which shows itself in a deepened devotion to our fellows and a mature responsibility to the creation around us. These all have to be brought back to the Creator with our special stamp of identity attached to them - an identity at once personal and universal, inasmuch as it is now no longer the personal ego that is in command but the presence of Christ himself. This presence does not take over the personal identity or even overshadow it; it simply cleanses and heals it, so that, for the first time in its conscious existence, it can reveal the person clearly and with radiance. If only people could be disembarrassed of the accretion of worldly corruption that clings to them, they would be seen in their pristine radiance! Love then would indeed banish fear, for there is a great beauty in the healed human form, which is also that of the little child we have to become before we can enter the kingdom of heaven.
The still point is known and that knowledge cultivated by the constant practice of contemplative prayer. But at the same time the peace of the still point of stability in the roaring vortex of worldly activity is constantly borne down upon and threatened by that activity with its undertones of anxious hurry and impatience. This is a crucially important part of the development of the still point and its gift to the world. There can be no effective journey on the path to the pearl of great price, until we are so inwardly poised that our attention and resolution remain in control even when the world is collapsing around us. In other words, real prayer never ceases. The intensive periods of contemplation with their developments of petition, confession and intercession may come to an end, but the atmosphere of prayer remains with us as we come down to earth and pursue our daily work. We operate decisively from the still point within: it is in fact the divine presence. This knowledge is unitive, binding us to the ineffable Creator and also to his creation, especially our fellow humans. Its fruits are the classical harvest of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, fidelity, gentleness and self-control, as enumerated so memorably by St Paul in Galatians 5.22. None of these can be simulated or even developed by an act of will, because the ego has to be displaced from its customary seat of domination before we can receive them. They are all a free gift of God, but until we operate from the still point within us, they will be dissipated amid the hectic turmoil of the chaos around us. That point of inner rest is not far from the source of the pearl, and the occupation of the point may cost us everything we own. This is a part of the selling all we have to purchase the pearl.
On an outer level the work from the point shows itself in unhurried harmony with the world around us, especially the jarring note of those who are emotionally disturbed. One imagines Jesus going forth on his healing ministry, which included the morally sick tax-gatherers, prostitutes, drunkards and others, no less than the physically disabled: he came as doctor to the sick, not to the healthy, but, alas, there was little health in any of his fellows. The obviously sick in body and mind, being aware of their need of healing, were actually closer to health than were those who prided themselves on their moral excellence. They did not know that this was merely an outer façade that hid a well of corruption inside themselves. It seems to me that when Jesus visited company of a low order in response to their invitation to share their conviviality, he arrived in a state of inner calm and outer benevolence that showed itself as a presence that could heal all those open to him. I cannot imagine him either judging the company or preaching at them to renounce their evil ways. If this had been his style, he would not have been welcome in such quarters.
On one occasion, noted at the beginning of the fifteenth chapter of Luke's Gospel, various bad characters, including the despised tax-gatherers who collaborated with the loathed Roman occupying power and no doubt practised extortion on their brethren, crowded around Jesus to listen to him, much to the disapproval of the respectable religious authorities. He had that inner peace that could speak to all who had ears to hear; he needed neither coercion with hellfire threats nor the offensive condescension so often unconsciously poured out by the insensitive almsgiver on those he seeks to assist. Had Jesus been either a preacher of doom or a well-meaning philanthropist, he would have evoked scorn and aversion among his erring audience. The outcasts of society, by virtue of their very dereliction, can usually see through cant and hypocrisy more readily than their privileged, affluent fellows. Their native self-esteem, often wrongly equated with pride, would soon reject overtures from any except the true bearer of love. It seems clear to me that Jesus was essentially quiet during the festivities of such people. He neither judged them nor did he try to ingratiate himself with them by adopting their turn of speech, manner or general lifestyle. But his presence with its outflowing radiance filled his hosts with an unwonted love that set in motion a change in their moral perspective. That presence acted as a clear mirror in which they could see themselves. His acceptance affirmed their importance as people in their own right, while the reflected image showed how tarnished they were, how the divine image was encrusted with layers of filth. Nevertheless, the promise of healing was extended to all who could accept the current situation and move towards a new way of life. This seems to have been the great difference between the harsh denunciation of St John Baptist and the gentle invitation of Jesus. In fact both were necessary: the Baptist jolted his hearers out of their complacency, while Jesus could accept them for what they were in order to direct them to what they were meant to become. These are the two motions of love: acceptance and direction. Without the first there is no contact, without the second no movement. From the still point Jesus could flow out to his audience in a service of love unadulterated by emotional outbursts or threatening displays of anger. And so he could gradually lead them like a shepherd of his flock to the pastures of fulfilment where they could be gods in their own right. A god in this context is a focus of free will, one that can respond positively to outside and interior stimuli rather than simply being driven by them like an animal in front of its overseer. God can work with the god-like person, created in his own image, for the continuous creation of the world to its time of resurrection into eternal life.
The test of our inner stillness is its maintenance during the heavy excursions of daily life. Does the spiritual aspirant move beyond destruction emotions, such as anxiety, fear, anger and resentment? The sad but true answer is "No". On the contrary, these destructive states of mind assail us more insistently than before as we proceed on our journey towards acquiring the precious pearl. The hard carapace of worldly indifference is stripped from us and our psychic vulnerability becomes exquisitely apparent both to us and those around us. The vulnerability is not only to the unhealed depths within us, but also to the harsh currents of the outside world. Were this not the case we would not grow spiritually, neither could we play our part in healing the world's distress. It is no surprise that the Holy Spirit leads Jesus directly into the field of dark temptation when he has accepted the enigmatic baptism of repentence from John - enigmatic inasmuch as he in himself is without stain. But in a strange way, by submitting to that humiliation he plays his part in repenting for the pain of suffering inherent in creation. Of this he is indeed the ultimate source, inasmuch as all things were made by him as the Son of the Father, the Lamb of God slain from the foundation of the world in the form of those who have suffered in the cause of righteousness. But just as Jesus was protected inwardly by his divine power, so also can we call upon that power when we are floundering in the destructive psychic currents playing around us. This is a particularly valuable fruit of prayer: be still and enter the interior castle at the point of the heart, or better still, the centre of the abdomen, which normally is especially receptive to negative emotions. When that stillness has been registered, we become aware of a strength within us that gives us peace and encouragement. It tells us incontestably in wordless communication to let go of our particular problem and flow directly into the stream of the power. This is the still centre of our personal turning world, and when it is occupied without trepidation but in faith, a powerful love lifts up the heart and illuminates the psychic atmosphere around us. In other words, the still point is a centre of immense power, the power in fact of the Holy Spirit who is the gracious giver of life. In that power we can rest in assurance, knowing that we are protected even in the height of conflict around us.
To come to that still point is a major objective of the spiritual life. The uninformed may believe that this objective can be attained much more directly and less laboriously by a simple meditation technique, such as repeating a simple phrase or even a single word until the conscious whirling mind is stilled by a blanket of calm restfulness. But although such a method may indeed tap the resources of the centre temporarily, there will be little growth of the person or attainment of constant strength in the face of adversity. For this deeper knowledge of peace there has to be a confrontation with the whole inner psychological life and its spiritual basis in accordance with the principles we have already discussed earlier on in our consideration of the path to the precious pearl. Just as it cannot be snatched by the gnosis afforded by esoteric investigations and occult procedures, so it cannot be blandly appropriated by a meditation exercise. The whole pysche has to be cleansed and renovated, and this entails a wounding self-knowledge that will be content with nothing less than the truth of one's situation both in the world and in the depths of the soul. There are no short cuts to the summit of the mountain of transfiguration but many enticing diversions, some of which run parallel to the main path so as to deceive the very elect. But they all come to a blind end. It is a variation on the theme of the wide gate that leads to perdition as the broad road that proceeds from it is assiduously traversed.
Do techniques of stilling the mind have any place in the spiritual path? The answer is surely in the affirmative, provided the motivation is soundly based. There can be no condemnation against any legitimate means of self-development, whether physical, mental or spiritual; a healthy person is more useful to the community than one who functions below his best. But as soon as self-development becomes an end in itself, it attains a demonic power. It wars against possible rivals while entrapping the person himself in an ever-constricting web of self-concern. The technique becomes both an idol and a prison. But unfortunately we all have an infinite capacity for self-delusion. This is where membership of a group of fellow-seekers on the path is helpful, but the group must belong to a well-established tradition of spiritual authority and not a sect or cult that imprisons its adherents in the ideology of its organizers. The witness of a religious tradition of probity is the safeguard here. Though not infallible, it is at least illuminated by the lives and examples of its saints. When meditational techniques take place as a matter of course within a practising community of believers, they are invaluable in themselves and are balanced by earthly concerns of charity and worship in the larger community. The still point remains untried until its integrity is tested by the challenge of the noise and bustle of the multitudes around one. If we can remain calm and self-possessed amid the clamour of many voices, some of which are broadcasting conflicting views and contrary advice, we are near to our goal. The pearl is not far from us, waiting impatiently to be bought.
The well-known story, I believe of St Martin of Tours, is a good example of the truly still point. Legend has it that on one occasion, while deep in rapt prayer in his cell, he was visited by an angel. But just as the conversation was proceeding with his heavenly visitor, he was interrupted by the clamour of the crowds outside waiting for him to give them food in accordance with his celebrated charity. What should he do - stay in his cell or attend to the human need at the cost of relinquishing his angelic visitor in the depth of prayer? The saint with a heavy heart ministered to the people, but when he returned later to his cell he was amazed to see it illuminated by the presence of the angel. When he articulated his joyful astonishment that such a being should have patiently awaited his return, he was told, "Had you not left me, I needs must have left you". The angel was as close to the saint in the noisy streets of the city as he was in the sanctuary of his cell. St Martin had proved his sanctity by relinquishing private prayer for worldly action; in fact his prayer had been intensified thereby. On the other hand, had he dismissed the world's need in the quietness of his cell, he would at once have cut himself off from God.
It has been my experience that as my own prayer life has deepened, so I can tolerate interruption more easily and return to the silence of inner communion with God more rapidly. The telephone ceases to be an enemy that has to be disconnected during times of prayer, but can instead be promptly answered when a caller breaks into the silence. The call, nearly always one of importance and often of immediate need, seems frequently to intensify the subsequent silent period of intercession rather than disrupt it. From this experience I have learned how an immediate distraction to prayer can in the end be the spur to a much more fulfilled prayer life, tranquil, strong, and opening the very soul to God's presence. The love of our neighbour potentiates our communion with God. This communion fills us with even more love that overflows in grateful service. The still point of the turning world is something not merely for the aspirant to attain as a private landmark, but also to take into the world of ceaseless activity with him. Then he becomes a focus of calm, a glow of benediction, a radiant source of love, and evokes in his turn a changed consciousness of all around him. And so where once there was, in the phrasing of St Francis' famous prayer, hatred there is now love; injury, pardon; doubt, faith; despair, hope; darkness, light; sadness, joy. The person who flows out from the still point is indeed an instrument of God's peace.