Tablet October 2007
William Johnston

Tablet Column - 7th October 2007 - William Johnston

Honesty is a very rare thing -perhaps because, as Mark Twain said, truth is so precious that it should
be used sparingly. Often it lies hidden behind platitudes and stereotypes which, once exposed, let
the mystery slip out.
I once asked an Irish cousin, whom I felt was sufficiently on my anglo-saxon wavelength, why the
Irish never answer a question directly. He looked away thoughtfully and replied “and why would
you be asking that I wonder?' As a stereotype it is as unproveable as the one about Jesuits – that no
one, not even God, ever knows for sure what they are really thinking. This one is disproven by - or
given a major exception in William Johnston's autobiography, Mystical Journey , which, to my
delight, he recently sent me. It is a powerful work, not a literary masterpiece perhaps, but
possessing rare clarity, humility and transparency. Here is a priest, a great Jesuit, whose thinking
about his own life you can trust and feel better for knowing.
His books have titles like Silent Music , The Inner Eye of Love , Mystical Theology and now, in his
eighties, comes his very honest, plain story of a life spent seeking truth. He tells his story in short
conversational sentences with an ease of self-disclosure. He is open about his struggles with his
religious vow of chastity and movingly describes its eventual resolution in discovering the sacred
meaning of friendship. More surprising perhaps, is to learn of the length of his struggle with deep
anger at the British. Born and reared in Belfast in the twenties and raised by a fiercely republican
mother he not surprisingly absorbed the sectarian image of the Protestant oppressor. When I first
met him twenty years ago we realised that he had left for Japan , where he has spent more than fifty
years, the year I was born. On that occasion I also got a first vivid glimpse, in his raised voice and
intense gaze, into his undimmed, passionate outrage at the injustice of the society he grew up in. It
was many years before he felt freed from its effect on his inner peace. But during this period he
became a pioneer in inter-religious dialogue influenced by his meetings with Pedro Aruppe, the
revered superior general of the Jesuits, Thomas Merton and the Japanese novelist Shusaku Endo
and Takashi Nagai, the mystic of Nagasaki . These encounters, his research and his own meditation
meant that his knowledge of the mystical wisdom of the East allowed him to introduce his Christian
students and readers to their own contemplative traditions.
It is a story of liberation from social and family conditioning as well as the never-finished struggle
fully to accept one's vocation. It is told with a disarming humility and transparency. When I said it
was not a literary masterpiece I meant not to disparage but to praise it. There is little artifice in it but
much alatheia – unveiling of the truth. It reminded me of a talk I once attended given by the Dalai
Lama in the National Cathedral in Washington DC. I had urged some of my Georgetown students to
go. They queued patiently to get in the back of the church. After many formal introductions and
prayers, noble words and compliments the Dalai Lama spoke for a mere twenty minutes or so. His
message was very simple and gently endearing. I can't remember his exact theme, something to do
with reality and desire, but I remember everyone being a little taken by surprise when at one point
he referred with a hearty, self-disparaging laugh and a gesture to his lower body to the sexual
dreams that even Buddhist monks are visited by. As I left to meet and talk with the students I
wondered whether they would feel it had been worth the effort to go. They clearly did. They felt
awakened and stimulated by his words – not their complexity but their naturalness, humour and
lack of self-importance. They trusted him. They knew what he was really thinking. He had - rarely
among religious figures today especially in relation to the young - the kind of authority that is
bestowed on them by those they address – very different from the authority that religious leaders
usually assume to be their right to impose on others.
In the end it must be this love of truth that keeps life alive. When I finished the book I called
William Johnston to thank him for its courage and honesty. We talked about his future travels and I
asked if he was coming to North America . He said in an excited voice – ‘no - China . That's the
future!' Writing a good autobiography must free you from the past.
Laurence Freeman OSB