In the early months of 1970, as I continued my search for spiritual reality, I met weekly with Father Gabriel Barry to dialogue about Christianity. During this challenging season, we discussed the question of origins. I wanted to know the Roman Catholic position on evolution. In response, he gave me some books by Catholic theologians that, in essence, endorsed theistic evolution. Because of my own childhood indoctrination into evolution, I found this answer reasonable. Who could seriously question the fact of evolution? If God exists, he must have used evolution to “create” the cosmos.

Very importantly, in time I also began to see in this answer a convenient solution to the apparent conflict between the Bible and eastern religion. For if the Bible had not spoken clearly about the beginning (as Genesis certainly had not if cosmic evolution were true), then perhaps it also had not spoken clearly on other matters—e.g., the nature of God, man, sin, Christ, salvation, and the afterlife. Perhaps the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth had a deeper, mystical meaning. Perhaps, as some were asserting, he really did travel to India in his youth. Perhaps he really was a Hindu adept, a boddhisattva, an enlightened Master—the greatest of all time, no doubt, but one among many, nonetheless. In short, if the Bible spoke metaphorically about creation, perhaps it spoke metaphorically—and pantheistically—about the rest as well.

Let me interrupt my story here to relate a question that I have often asked myself. The questions is: If Father Barry had dealt with the matter of evolution differently; if he had defended the plain sense of Genesis; if he had supplied me with books by leading creationist authors; if, indeed, he had given me the book that I have aspired to give to you, my reader—would it have made any difference? That is, would I have abandoned my pantheism in favor of one or another form of orthodox (i.e., theistic, trinitarian) Christianity?

Such a question may be impossible to answer, but I will try anyway. With all the benefit of hindsight, and as best I understand my spiritual condition at that time, I do not think it would have made any difference. Yes, the unknown god was definitely drawing me to an investigation of Christ and the Bible. And yes, I was genuinely interested in discovering spiritual truth. But I was also hesitant. Pantheism was still new and exciting to me. I had invested much time and energy in it (or so I felt). My blossoming spiritual identity was wrapped around it. Its promise of enlightenment gave focus to my existence. It lay at the center of my most significant personal relationships. How could I summarily abandon it now?

Meanwhile, Christianity, for all of its attractions (the chief of which was Jesus himself), increasingly seemed foreign and threatening. It said certain things I did not want to believe. It required certain decisions I did not want to make. And so, because I did not want to believe or submit, I found reasons to do neither. Today, I judge that Father Barry's answer to my question about origins was defective. But I do not think more or different information would have made any difference. What I really needed was more honesty. And honesty, sad to say, was in short supply. Therefore, I eventually abandoned my catechism and re-immersed myself in the world of Zen. It was one of the worst decisions I ever made.

These reminiscences bring me, then, to some final thoughts about the way to the beginning, the way to see it for oneself and thereby to know the truth of it with certainty. And the first of my final thoughts, learned at the greatest personal cost, is this: the way to such seeing has very little to do with information, but very much to do with honesty.