From what has already been said, it becomes increasingly apparent that the things of this world do not ultimately satisfy the soul even when they are in excess, but what is the soul? It is an inner awareness that we all have but not all of us actually acknowledge. It knows what is right for us and what is most decidedly inadequate. This is not exactly the same as a sense of morality, which may be defined as the capacity to distinguish between right and wrong. Morality is an excellent quality, but it is ultimately dictated by the mores of any age. It is interesting, for instance, to see that in most Western European countries, and certainly Britain, capital punishment has been abolished (though it is still very much a factor in the USA).

Even in our own generation our attitude to sexual irregularities has been much liberalized. I am decidedly for liberalization, and believe that people are born in the great majority of instances with their own particular sexual traits. Who am I as a natural celibate, for instance, to turn my nose up at gay people while accepting the "normal" heterosexual who quite often has a hard-hearted attitude to others? I am saying in fact that what matters is the overall character of the individual rather than their sexual orientation.

The more secure one is in oneself, the easier it is to accept other people for what they are and to desist from criticizing them. Jesus in one of his most telling parables compares two people, a self-righteous Pharisee and a tax-collector.

Both of them went to the Temple to pray. The Pharisee stood up and made this prayer, "I thank you, God, that I am not like the rest of mankind - greedy, dishonest, adulterous - or, for that matter, like this tax-collector, I fast twice a week; I pay tithes on all that I get." But the other kept his distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven, but beat on his breast, saying, "God, have mercy on me, sinner that I am." It was this man, I tell you, and not the other who went home acquitted of his sins. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled; and whoever humbles himself will be exalted. (Luke 18:10-14)

This episode is followed by an account of babies being brought to Jesus for him to touch them.

The disciples rebuked those who brought the children, but Jesus called the children and said, "Let the children come to me; do not try to stop them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you: whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it." (Luke 18:15-17)

In these examples we can see the great difference between religion and spirituality. The essential quality of spirituality is a person's innate yearning for the Divine which is called God. This search is bound to end in failure until we come to the start of understanding that the Divine presence is closer to us that our own being, and therefore that we should look inwards through our outer experience day by day. Many people have little time for these higher thoughts because they are so immersed in the quest for money, power, health and what they call love. It is only when these idols fall about them as they did in the case of sad, completely righteous Job, that they may come to a deeper understanding of Divine reality.

Indeed, as Meister Eckhart and some of the greatest Hindu mystics have said, "Why do you speak about God? Whatever you say is wrong." And yet, until we are aware of the unattainable we cannot be fully aware of anything else, such is the mystery of reality. I know only one thing about myself; my mortal form and its inevitable dissolution. Interestingly enough, and very much confirmed by my recent extended near-death experience, I find both these concepts completely satisfying (and I have no death wish). When I am absolutely nothing, I begin to be myself, a self which contains everything. My celibacy, for instance, has enabled me to form links with a large number of people, perhaps for all I know, everybody, in a way that might have been less possible had I been bound exclusively to one particular individual and family only. This does not, for one moment, mean that this way of life is superior to that of a married person, but it does affirm the value of some people having a closer contact with the greater world than merely a limited family connection. Neither way is complete on its own, and as we progress in life, so our interests and understanding should broaden to include an increasing number of people. Only thus can we begin to make a contact with life as such, something that far exceeds the human personality. The personality, or ego, is how I appear to myself and to those who know me. When I am most relaxed, I am not putting on a mask, or persona, so as to impress other people. But when I have moved beyond personality so that I am indeed nothing, a deeper centre shows itself, which is in contact with all life and makes me distinctly aware of the God who cannot be defined.

Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate'er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all
Where truth abides in fulness; and around
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
This perfect, clear perception - which is truth.
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh
Blinds it, and makes all error, and, to know
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.
      (Robert Browning (1812-89), Paracelsus, scene 1)

This is a beautiful way of understanding the Divine nature in all that lives and comes to its highest fruition in the human soul. People like Gautama the Buddha and Jesus Christ have shown it more decisively than any others that I know, but it is a quality common to all mystics (one who seeks by contemplation and self-surrender to attain union with the Deity). Mysticism is not something that one works towards so much as a divine grace which is given, especially to those who live the good life. By this I mean a life of humility and self-giving love to all creatures. It is, incidentally, far easier to love a pet animal than a member of one's own kind, because animals, beautiful creatures as they so often may be, are dumb, whereas fellow humans may show qualities distinctly different from what we would prefer to see. Here again is an example of the human tendency to move categorically to extremes instead of sticking to the Middle Way stressed by the Buddha. This is what spirituality involves, and many that are first shall be last and the last shall be first, as Jesus taught (Matthew l9:30).

The way of spirituality involves self-control, self-knowledge and self-abasement. This is the essence of humility, and the greater the degree of soul aspiration, the more demanding is the degree of humility. When one is nothing, the divine light can truly penetrate one's personality, rendering it so translucent that it can mirror the soul, or True Self, with greater and greater perfection. The spiritual life is not an easy one, for it separates one from the usual diversions of the world. If one expects happiness from it in the usual superficial sense of the word, one is bound to be bitterly disappointed, but no one on the path to God so much as thinks along those lines. The pearl of great price becomes a radiant diamond and one's spiritual gaze is focused constantly on its presence. When one really does know this in one's heart, there is not merely happiness but, rather, complete joy.

But how does this spirituality come to one? In my case, and it is always wisest to be quite frank even if one is totally vulnerable to the charge of self-opinionation, I knew it as early as I knew myself. Detachment has always been a cardinal feature of my character because the things of this world were never cardinal in my life. I came from an indifferent middle-class background, and my father was a competent eye specialist. I was born on 30 April 1927. Both my father and my mother, who were first cousins, were of Jewish descent, and although I was frequently buffeted by the anti-Semitism of my contemporaries, I was sustained by a much deeper love which enabled me to bear race hatred, and even in an oblique way to sympathize with it. This, of course, does not mean that I approve of, or have ever approved of, racism, but merely that I have been able to understand why people dislike Jews or members of any other religious denomination foreign to themselves. I find this expression of innate prejudice, which is all too frequently confirmed by the attitudes and behaviour of individuals from whatever religious background, extremely sad.

In fact, in my case, though I had an elementary Jewish education which culminated in the confirmation ceremony called the barmitzvah at the age of thirteen, I had little fundamental deeper Jewish consciousness. This was interestingly enough fostered by the terrible events that were occurring in Nazi Germany during my childhood and adolescence. A strong group sympathy pervaded my spirituality, but I always knew inwardly that the truth could never be embraced in any one religious tradition. It was clear to me that the culmination, if not the meaning of Judaism, was included, and concluded also, in the Incarnation of Jesus of Nazareth. If you were to ask me how I knew all this, my answer would have been peculiarly unconvincing. I was a recipient of no great revelation like that of St Paul on the road to Damascus; I simply knew with an inner depth what was true. Nor did the behaviour of my Christian contemporaries especially impress me either. I have always had great respect for the Jewish way of life and Jews in general; their staying power has been incredible when one considers the terrible persecutions that they have had to endure from time immemorial, and yet I was not really one of them any more than any other specific group of people. It is interesting that I was baptized and confirmed only in 1971, long after I had started my spiritual work of counselling, healing and retreat conducting. I have to admit that I even received the Eucharist on more than one occasion long before my formal reception into the Christian faith as an Anglican in 1971. This would be one of the few sins that I could reasonably confess if I really considered it to be a sin at all, but as I have a very open view of the love and sacrifice of Jesus, I believe that it is one's inner attitude rather than one's outer membership of a body that determines the power of the sacrament on the individual.

When I was a small boy I used to converse regularly with God whom I could not possibly describe. One book that I have long loved has been Mr God, This Is Anna by an anonymous writer who calls himself Fynn. She, like me, was a natural mystic and could not really in her heart subscribe absolutely to the form of any one religion. When I look back on all this now, I can see that mystics are really universalistic in their belief, no matter to what denomination they may subscribe. If people were really honest, they would follow the precepts of their particular religion, whether in the Bible, the Koran or the wonderful writings of India or China. The simplest of these are the Ten Commandments contained in Exodus 20:1-17. They are so elementary that one does not need a high degree of intelligence to understand them. How many people in fact does one know who have not committed murder, adultery, theft, giving false evidence or coveted the goods or well-being of others, the last five of the Ten Commandments? The neighbour is, in the final analysis, the person one encounters most in the course of one's life (Luke l0:29-37). I myself have never done any of these things, not because I am particularly good but simply because I am a natural celibate and a mystic. St Augustine of Hippo was certainly a great mystic, but he had an uphill fight with his sexual desire. This is mirrored in his prayer in his Confessions, "Give me chastity and continence, but do not give it yet!" Many people find this uproariously amusing, but I see rather the great intelligence of the saint's plea. He knew quite clearly that he had not yet attained that degree of sanctity in which sexual desire could be raised to the level of universal love, which is really what sex is about. In due course his prayer was answered, and now he is one of the great Fathers of the Christian Church. This teaches one that although the spiritual gift is inborn, it grows only through the experience of powerful adverse conditions.

It is not wrong to envy or even hate someone, so long as one is aware of its impropriety and in silence gives it to God. This is in fact the very nature of prayer itself. We do not have to ask God for anything, because he knows our need even before we ourselves are aware of it. But nothing can be done until we set our mind to the quest; then alone can the vital change in our inner being slowly develop. If, on the other hand, we were to use frank, strong will-power, the results might be disastrous, especially if they appeared to be successful. The reason for this paradox is that then we would start to become like the Pharisee in the parable I have recently cited, and end up as persecutors of all the things that we personally dislike. It is for this reason that I am relieved by the slackening off of intolerant sexual morality, not because I approve of immorality but because I know that until the inner change of heart manifests itself, the hypersexed individual is less dangerous to others than they might be if they put an iron grip on their passions. Did not Jesus himself say that he of himself could do nothing, but it was the Father who was his guide, himself doing only whatever the Father did (John 5:19)?

The greatest value of religion is that it raises the degree of aspiration of anyone who takes a positive view from the things of this world to a vision of what they might be if people were to behave like true children of God. To be a child of God means in essence to resemble the Divine image as much as is possible. In fact I, like William Blake, can see the Divine image in everyone. This embraces ultimately faith, hope and love. It behoves God to have faith in what he has created and to love that even when it has failed monstrously. Hope springs eternal in the human breast (Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism I, line 88), so that even when the creation appears to have failed abysmally, there is yet another chance for renewal to occur. If one takes one's religion seriously, one knows the power of forgiveness, primarily on oneself; and from that on the other individual also. Forgiveness is not simply a comfortable way of escape after bad behaviour; on the contrary, it follows a just punishment for work badly done, the sin itself producing the punishment in that it excludes the person in particular from the company of those whom they might esteem. This is a sort of personal excommunication, and its impact on the psyche can be unbearable until one has confessed one's fault, primarily to oneself and then to anyone whom one might have injured. This confession always brings healing with it, because it does not depend primarily on the attitude of the injured party but on the presence of God, who has revealed himself to one in one's own naked helplessness. Therefore, what I would call good religion is above all one that reveals the loving nature of the Creator, once we have opened ourselves to that love. "By love may he be gotten and holden; but by thought never" (The Cloud of Unknowing).

Without acting lovingly it is of little value quoting various biblical texts that stress the love of God. Much of this is in fact religious cant, the proof of which is shown starkly by the unforgiving attitude of quite a few people who are "very religious" in their outlook. They feel superior to the common mass who show no immediate interest in religion, and believe inwardly that they are closer to God because of their outer observance.

In fact, we are all equally close to God, who does not need any approval or invitation on our part to approach us. His nature is of such great love that he is the very basis of our life. The more we can be open to live in love and give of ourselves to our fellow creatures, the more aware do we become of the Divine source, and our consciousness deepens accordingly. In other words, the knowledge of God is one of receptivity; the more we try, the more certainly do we block that knowledge. On the other hand, the more spontaneous we are in our attitudes to our fellow creatures, the more open we are moment by moment to their Divine source. It is at that moment when religious practice can indeed move from mere ritual, and reveal something of a living touch inspiring it. When one worships God, self and all that appertains to it should have been swallowed up in a sea of ignorance. "Unless you turn around and become like children, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven", said Jesus (Matthew 18:3).

Paradoxically, only those who are great of heart and inner intelligence can know the deeper meaning of this statement. Intelligence on a lower level commands everything for itself, and God too is swallowed up in that personal greed. Needless to say, God is not really swallowed up at all, but our "knowledge" of God is now able to scintillate as spectacular ignorance. We therefore come to the surprising conclusion that assured professing religionists may often be further away from Divine reality than the humbler seeker who feels scarcely able to raise their eyes to the "mighty ones" (in terms comparable to the parable of the Pharisee and the tax-collector which we have already considered).

The value of religion lies in setting the observant person in the right direction to a proper way of life; the universal injunctions of religion regarding faith, hope and love as well as the practice of moderation in all things and a concern for the well-being of other people as well as oneself are clearly guides to a way of life that leads to personal fulfilment, abundance and happiness, and also radiant communal relationships. Unfortunately these injunctions are usually followed only after one has been severely wounded and brought low in the process. Suffering remains our most important spiritual teacher, but this truth usually comes to us late in life. We feel that we ought to have had a better deal, and even are somewhat inwardly exultant when we hear of a famous individual suddenly brought low following a personal misfortune. This is one of the least attractive traits of human nature; it comforts us in tending to free us from the implied guilt of failure in some work that we ourselves had tried to execute. This malicious enjoyment of the misfortunes of other people is called Schadenfreude.

As a boy I was a loosely practising Jew, and although subsequently I moved closer and closer to Christianity I have never forgotten my own barmitzvah. First of all it occurred in l940 just when the German army had invaded France, the Low Countries, Denmark and Norway, and a Nazi victory seemed inevitable, but even more important was the service itself. In the Reformed Synagogue the portion of the Law read by the boy is written in Hebrew but the portion of the Prophets is read in English. The portions used in my barmitzvah were Deuteronomy 5:6-21 and Jeremiah 31:31-4.

It gives me pleasure to quote this passage from Jeremiah

The days are coming, says the Lord, when I shall establish a new covenant with the people of Israel and Judah. It will not be like the covenant I made with their forefathers when I took them by the hand to lead them out of Egypt, a covenant they broke, though I was patient with them, says the Lord. For this is the covenant I shall establish with the Israelites after those days, says the Lord: I shall set my law within them, writing it on their hearts; I shall be their God, and they will be my people. No longer need they teach one another, neighbour or brother, to know the Lord; all of them, high and low alike, will know me, says the Lord, for I shall forgive their wrongdoing, and their sin I shall call to mind no more.

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress:
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our Father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is man, His child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
          (William Blake, Songs of Innocence)

The principal use of religion lies in the practice of prayer. One can certainly pray devoutly without subscribing to any faith or attending any place of worship regularly. But without the discipline of regular worship inculcated by a religious tradition, an intention to pray regularly tends to become rapidly marginalized by worldly interests. Prayer is the heart of worship, and the validity of a religious tradition can be assessed by the strength and constancy of its worshippers. This activity is carried out in the silence of devoted contemplation. The juxtaposition of activity and silence appears on the surface to be contradictory, but in fact the soul is most active when we are still and attentive, for then its communication is direct and uncontaminated by intrusive thoughts.

How does one attain the silence which is the very heart of prayer? The number of techniques available are legion - their very number is an indication both of their necessity and their variable efficacy. In my experience, the way to silence is by a gradual dropping-off of thought by immersing oneself in a transparent sea of gratitude for the privilege of being alive at the present moment, and registering that moment as an event in its own right. In this silence the dross of worldly life is gradually cast off, and a vibrant freshness cleanses the soul of all clinging emotional desire. At last one can see clearly and discern the truth which liberates one from the usual bondage to material concerns. This truth illuminates the essence that underlies the appearances which dominate all our vision in worldly life. Indeed, we usually try to escape the impact of reality by retreating into a private world of specious illusion in which we can embellish our personal desires with flourishes of imagination. This mechanism releases us at least temporarily from many of the hard facts of life into a world of irresponsibility that can subside insidiously into futility.

True silence is very different: it releases us from the illusion of a private world into a knowledge of God's presence, which embraces the Divine love and recognizes nothing outside its care, no matter how aberrant its behaviour may be. On the contrary, the love of God enfolds all creation, which it elevates beyond mortality to an intimate reunion with itself and all its fellows. This is the basis of Divine forgiveness, which is the intimation of God's eternal care for his creatures. "Let be then; learn that I am God." ("Be still then, and know that I am God" is a well-known translation of Psalm 9.6:l0 in the Authorised Version of the Bible.) This stillness is the way of our authentic knowledge of God's presence and his love. When one knows true silence, one brings others into its orbit also. In the end, one becomes a focus of silence that may, in a small way, have repercussions far beyond one's own cognizance. The distinctive feature of silence is its capacity to allow inner reflection. This is the basis of meditation, the result of which is the provision of time to reflect before one is tempted to do or say something unwise. It is unfortunate that the practice of most religions leaves little time for silence; religious observance frequently ends in loud conversation (and not to God primarily) with an element of controversy to enliven proceedings. When silence is lifted up to God in petition or intercession for oneself or for others, it moves into prayer.

The other uses of religion are less positive; their aim is admirable, but the human element cannot help but corrupt the good intention. It is a sad reflection on the human mind, but the two interests that cannot but carry the seeds of corruption within them are religion and politics. In respect of politics, despite the stirring ideals which flow profusely from party manifestos, in practice they all constantly betray the electorate that votes them into power. But only a very naïve person would expect otherwise, considering human moral weakness and the barely resistible corrupting power of worldly success, even in an especially responsible area of public service like politics. The same is unfortunately true of religion; illuminated as it may be by the witness of its saints, it is encompassed much more intimately by hypocrisy and prejudice among the congregation as well as the clergy. It is no surprise that many churches are dismally empty except when an internationally known, charismatic figure steals the limelight and draws thousands (or even millions), but after their departure the number of worshippers recedes to the usual low level. And yet the general interest in spiritual matters is at least as strong as ever. Spirituality unfortunately bears little constant relationship to religion. This tends to manipulate the concept of God to the use and convenience of humanity, but all too often is devoid of all concern, apart from the worshipper himself (and also the clergy).

I often wonder about the future of religion. It is evident that humanity has, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, "come of age", but this maturation is intellectual rather than spiritual. Spiritually, we seem to be as childish now as we were before the advent of the great world religions. The proof of this provocative statement lies eloquently before us in the terrible things that Christians themselves have done, both to those outside their faith and also by those who believe that they alone follow the full way of Christ. To worship is the way to the good life rather than actually living it. This is the meaning of spirituality as opposed to religion. Humanity's mental tendency is one of conceptualization, but it is all too easy to turn a living being into a manipulable concept. It is evident that if religion is to play a positive role in the development of humanity it will need a total reappraisal of its limited end on earth.

The one certainty of life is its finite nature; this is God's greatest gift to life itself, otherwise we would have destroyed it after our own fashion. But if only we could learn to value each moment as it comes, as an event in its own right, we might then begin to value everything associated with that moment, especially our fellow human beings with whom we are obliged to live and work during our own short stay in this particular incarnation. If religion could help us to achieve this vital end, it would prove of immeasurable value. It has no justification apart from helping us to live the proper life; unfortunately, most people have a morbid loyalty to a form of religion which subtly assumes the nature of God. It is for this reason that one has sadly to admit that religion has at least as many abuses as uses to its credit, as each religion claims to be the repository of the absolute truth. One hopes that the present trend towards fundamentalism will be succeeded by a more open view to that which transcends all human understanding.

During the days of my active ministry I conducted up to twelve retreats a year, and these were a very popular part of my work. A retreat may be thought of as a period when one moves away from the noise and clamour of everyday life and enters a place of peace, where silence is the most important element. In this silence one may begin to view aspects of oneself of which one was previously ignorant; this ignorance may not necessarily have been due to stupidity, but rather the result of having one's mind filled completely with worldly affairs. When the world is too much with us, it quite literally swallows us up, and our minds and lives are dominated by our relationships with those close to us, the daily round as well as political affairs, and the state of the world in general. "To get away from it all" for even a few days can be a wonderful way of release, but only when our attention is focused on something very different. If we are accomplished in the use of silence, the practice that I mentioned previously will be more than adequate for us, but few could bear to be on their own for more than a very short period. The silence of a retreat is shared, and therefore is not unsociable in intention; on the contrary, such a shared silence can be closer to communion than the spoken word, which often by its very content can be divisive as easily as uniting. We know reality best when we are quiet and can listen, but paradoxically listening too intently can block the silence. It amounts to giving the ego full play and becoming progressively immersed in one's own interests and concerns. Therefore, the first requirement of a retreat is confidence with relaxation. Only then can one blossom inwardly (and outwardly also) and face the other retreatants with genuine affection. If the retreat continues for some length of time, one may begin to appreciate the presence of certain people to whom at the beginning one might have taken an instinctive dislike.

To be an effective conductor of retreats one has to be confident of one's own ability, and also be able to love people. An ideal retreat is not primarily about teaching; it is an adventure in getting to know a considerable range of people with the inner assurance that understanding and even love will be the end result. It is obvious therefore that the best retreat conductor is one with a considerable amount of self-knowledge, and this in my experience always requires prior suffering and disillusion. It is quite impossible to be an authentic spiritual teacher and healer while one is ignorant of the wounding edge of life and its complications. When one does have this knowledge and if one is the type of person I have already described, sympathy and affection spontaneously flow from one, and one cannot avoid being a support and teacher to the many unfortunate people looking for help. In other words, good retreat conductors are born rather than made. I do not believe that one learns how to conduct a retreat simply by attending courses on the subject; the only authentic teacher is one's own life, and since most people function mainly on an unconscious level, it is hardly surprising that they may end their lives as ignorant of basic reality as they were at the height of their powers. The same is unfortunately true of some ministers of religion. This is why organized worship tends to attract a steadily diminishing number of people.

From all this it appears that one should come on retreat with a clear mind completely open to new possibilities, yet at the same time alert to one's own need and humble enough to receive new information once one has accepted the authority of the conductor. This authority is a divine capacity, and this is why it cannot be prepared merely by intellectual development on its own. I started my retreat conducting life quite literally out of the blue; I was asked almost at the last moment to do something along this line, and I found that all that was required of me was to describe my own pertinent experience of life. I did not quote anything other than a few well-known biblical passages, and on looking back I can see that even these were there more to support my position as leader of the retreat than to enlighten any of the retreatants. As one becomes more of an authority in one's own right, so the need for outer justification becomes less essential. Through my years of retreat conducting, I certainly have become more knowledgeable on a wide range of subjects including theology, comparative religion, philosophy and psychology. The net conclusion of all this knowledge was to confirm what I already knew, that the so-called authority receives shafts of inspiration from on high which, if they are articulate, they can impart to lesser people. But in everyday life they are essentially ordinary, and subject to the same difficulties as other people. I often wonder how the great founders of religion appeared to their contemporaries. If one considers Jesus' disciples, one can see glaring faults in all their characters, yet they obviously had something that enabled them to transmit the message far beyond their own capacity to incorporate it immediately.

When I go on retreat in the capacity of conductor, I relax and smile. This is no artificial gesture, but rather an outer indication of the inner joy and expectancy of what lies ahead of me. I nearly always recognize a few faces, but even those who are new to me fill me with pleasant anticipation. I enter into the silence of prayer which I have described earlier, and at once a different type of consciousness envelops me. I can now speak confidentially to each person, which on the surface is quite absurd because confidential conversation must be individual, yet when the Holy Spirit is in charge, he speaks to each individual according to what that person needs to receive. I have time and time again been told by retreatants and church congregations that I have said exactly what they needed to hear. This again stresses the power of the Holy Spirit, for I certainly did not know the inner needs of even one person, let alone a considerable group of them.

I never cease to be amazed at the inner transformation that I can sense in various individuals who have come to a retreat that I have conducted - and presumably that other conductors have also led, for I would not wish to be classed as a person especially gifted in any spiritual sense. The basis of my retreats is getting up at about 7 a.m. which is either followed by the Eucharist or else breakfast, then the first address at about 10 a.m. The Eucharist would be at about 12 noon if it had not been celebrated earlier on. Lunch is at about 1 p.m. followed by a free period until the second address at about 5 p.m. with a tea interval for those who want it an hour before the second address. After the second address the time is entirely open to the retreatants' requirements, apart from supper which we have together. During the free periods I have special times available for individual consultation, but if possible I prefer the early afternoon period to be quiet for me also. No one can work spiritually 24 hours a day and survive long on such a rigorous mental regime. Supper is at about 7 p.m. and there is a session of communal prayer from 8 to 8.45 p.m. The day ends with Compline at about 9 p.m.

A retreat should be a period of enjoyment for everybody, not merely one of spiritual uplift. I encourage people not to take notes if possible, but rather to let the message sink directly into their minds. Note-taking is an excellent way of letting matters remain on a superficial level. In most cases the notes are kept, but are clearly seldom read with any depth, let alone frequency. It gives one a feeling of work well done to have notes like these, but if their content does not sink into the very soul of the person they are a waste of time. I regard the periods of consultation as the heart of my retreat, for then the individual can lay bare their heart to me as a confidential friend. If, I hope, sufficient wisdom comes to me to give some indication of the way forward for them, the proof or otherwise of work well done is the state of mind of the retreatant at the end of the retreat. At some retreats the gratitude is overwhelming, but more often the response is lukewarm. People have to develop an understanding of the spiritual life before they can appreciate what they have received. This, incidentally, is not due to my "words of wisdom", but rather the atmosphere of friendship in the house of retreat and the relaxation that complete silence induces.

Most of the retreatants that I know are middle-aged and lonely adults, and it is always rewarding when a distinctly young person joins the group; on the surface such a person should feel out of place but if the retreat is well conducted and successful, that individual merges into the general flow of life without any difficulty at all. In my experience, one should never attempt to lower one's standards in order to embrace various types of people; one should always be oneself in any surrounding and the other person can either accept or reject one. We cannot be friends with everyone, nor should we try. If we can be ourselves with as much integrity as possible, we have indeed done what God wants of us, and that integrity will flow out to all around us, whatever their religion, class or colour. This is, incidentally, the way to overcome prejudices of various types: do not try at all except to be fully yourself. If only we could do this unaffectedly we would at least be surrounded by a large group of well-wishers. If only our politics and worship could be carried out in a similar vein it might be that both government and religion would be progressively purged of hypocrisy and intolerance, and become instead vital forums for the public at large to meet and learn to know each other.

The spiritual way is one of conflict with the forces that govern the world. The concept of fighting is by no means inadequate provided one sees the end as reconciliation rather than merely defeat of those opposed to the light. I end by quoting a hymn by John Monsell:

Fight the good fight with all thy might,
Christ is thy strength, and Christ thy right;
Lay hold on life, and it shall be
Thy joy and crown eternally.

Run the straight race through God's good grace,
Lift up thine eyes, and seek his face;
Life with its way before us lies,
Christ is the path, and Christ the prize.

Cast care aside, upon thy Guide
Lean, and his mercy will provide;
Lean, and the trusting soul shall prove
Christ is its life, and Christ its love.

Faint not nor fear, his arms are near,
He changeth not, and thou art dear;
Only believe, and thou shalt see
That Christ is all in all to thee.
          (Hymns of Love and Praise, "Fight of Faith")