The Death of Fox

From the title of this post, you might have supposed that it was going to be a sort of tailpiece biography, covering the time shortly before and after the actual death of George Fox. Another possible interpretation would be that I was, out of all character, joining in with the sporadic habit of some Quakers online, bemoaning how unlike Fox most Quakers are today.

In either case, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. Rather, it is a reference to The Death of the Author, an essay by the French literary critic and author Roland Barthes (it's original French title itself being a play on the title of Le Mort d'Arthur, but that's too tangential a path for me to dive down here), and of the literary theory concepts that derive from it.

The essential principle of the essay, and the related (but separately posited) theory of the “intentional fallacy”, is that the author is not the authority when it comes to the meaning of a piece of work. Once an author has created a work, they might tell you what their intent was, you might infer it from other sources, but intent is not the determining factor of meaning. I don't say that this theory is universally accepted in the study of literature; I also probably don't understand it perfectly, not having studied literary theory or analysis, so please don't rely on my explanation (or lecture me too harshly if you know it better – I'm glad to learn more, but please keep it friendly).

God, Words and Us: A Reaction

The most procedurally important output of the Book of Discipline Revision Preparation Group (BoDRPG) is probably their report to Meeting for Sufferings; the most important in terms of the wider conversation, and of direct lasting impact, may well be God, Words and Us. This book is a record of some of the output of the “Theology Think Tank” that the BoDRPG set up to help prepare for the inevitable “theism/non-theism” question that would arise in any future revision. I have previously written some of my own reaction, on specific points – most notably my recent post “Theism vs Non-Theism”? – but this post is to record my own reaction to the book as a whole, having now finished reading it.

As I understand it, the purpose of the think tank was to support the BoDRPG, and thus the whole Yearly Meeting, in looking at different ways of approaching the “question” of theology and theological diversity. This is in part because of a perception that became apparent, that many Friends responding to consultation and conversation, or indeed in ministry at Yearly Meeting Gathering, were concerned that the degree and nature of that diversity would lead to strife within the Yearly Meeting were we to engage in a revision process. Of particular concern were that some might seek to remove any reference to God from the Quaker faith & practice, or that others might seek to introduce an acid test of theistic belief in the process of revision. Of course, others see a revision as an opportunity to diversify our language – not to remove Christian and otherwise theistic language, but to supplement it with other expressions of understanding of the Divine so that our “handbook” text reflects the diversity that is already there. There are also a few I've come across who would like to use the opportunity to solidify theistic – usually specifically Christian – underpinnings of the book; likewise, I cannot claim there are no Friends who would like to remove all traces of “God language” from the Book of Discipline, but this is not a significant current of thought that I am aware of, even in non-theist circles (an impression that finds support in some of David Boulton's contributions to the book, as noted below).

A Quaker Lent

If we are to examine Lent in a meaningful way, it should be in
connection to the story from which it derives – Christ's time in
the wilderness – whether that is part of our own belief
structure or not.

For a liturgical practice that is so drawn-out, Lent has a considerable degree of penetration into minimally-observant Christian society in Britain, and even into the lives of the completely irreligious. It doesn't have TV adverts exhorting us to excessive consumption, and it doesn't have a big punchy festival, although it leads up to one. But in my experience, a simplistic conception based on the traditional Lenten Fast is still fairly pervasive in British society.

As my regular readers will be aware, I have a recurring thesis in these posts – upholding the sense of the Quaker testimony concerning times and seasons, but seeking to see what Quakers might take from them to inform personal spiritual practice. Here, I shall apply that principle once again – to Lent.

The Spiritual and Moral Imperative of Outreach

It is not enough for the door to be open. People
need to know it is there, and have some idea
about where it might lead.

I have often bemoaned the tepid attitude to outreach among many liberal Quaker Meetings, especially here in my home Yearly Meeting in Britain. There is, perhaps, more enthusiasm centrally, but in many Local and Area Meetings, it is not something that people put a great deal of thought or energy into. There are those Meetings that do go at it wholeheartedly, of course, and I applaud them for it.

Some of the arguments for greater outreach that I see – in fact, if I'm honest, most of them – focus on the fact our numbers are dwindling, and that there is a practical need to get more people involved in our Meetings. I feel there should be more attention given to the spiritual imperative for outreach, and so that is what I will be presenting in this post.

For the many denominations commonly considered evangelical, there is a clear justification for their work to bring others to their faith, and the insistent persuasion, sometimes veering into badgering, that they tend to employ. The Great Commission of Matthew 26, for those who do not believe it to have been fulfilled (preterism being a fascinating subject that I might return to on an occasion that I feel like doing more research into Christian stuff), is a clear injunction that does not seem unreasonable to consider to have been passed on to the whole Church. From that point of view, attempting to cause as many people as possible to become Christians is perfectly logical, however irritating some might find it. Some Christian or Christian-derived groups even hold the conversion of others to give one some sort of credit with God, to ensure a better result in the afterlife.

For that matter, in any faith – whether Christian or not – in which there is an idea of “salvation”, of a good or bad outcome after death that is largely determined by right belief (and perhaps right action as well), there is a clear moral imperative to at least give as many people as possible the opportunity to come to that right belief and to understand how they should act, and why. Repugnant as some of the acts it was used to justify over history might have been, there is a logic of compassion in trying to bring people “to God” in such a framework.

Adversity and Simple Joys

As I write, I look forward to a time of great joy – my upcoming marriage. It's not without stress, true, what with the planning and organising, and wringing RSVPs (or even acknowledgements) out of people, but it's a good kind of stress.

But I also look to a time of great difficulty, for reasons I won't go into here. I don't know what the outcome will be, but things are going to get very, very difficult before we reach there.

It's times like this that I am reminded of the need to take advantage of the simple joys. Of fellowship, of companionship, of conversation, of love. Of the satisfaction of a task done well, however insignificant it might seem. Perhaps, holding on to these things, I will get through it. I don't know how else I might.

Written February 2018

No Hands But Ours

In hardship, I do not expect God to help me.
For all change in this world comes through us, you must see.
As I hurt, as I fear, still I know I rely,
Upon care, upon love, those who suffer as I.

For such powers as may seek to watch and to aid,
Need our hands, need our voice, need our hearts not to fade.
We might wish, we might hope, as we nurse at our scars,
This I know, this I say, they have no hands but ours.

In Defence of Governance

In my experience, Quakers don't much like to talk about governance. As I write this, however, I am in the process of putting together written material for my Area Meeting's annual report, so governance comes to my mind.

I think Friends don't like it much because of the implications it carries in terms of authority and control, but that's not what it's used to mean in the context of organisational governance. Governance is about how decisions are made, and we have our own vital Quaker traditions in that regard. It's also about how records are kept, how we communicate, and how we take all the decisions that, for legal or practical reasons, can't be taken by the Meeting in session.

Valentines

Whether you believe it began with Lupercalia,
Or with the romanticism of a Christian martyr,
It is the time, or so they say,
For gestures and declarations
of love.

As if there were ever anything to stop or restrain,
Anything to inhibit, anything to slow or stall,
Such feelings or such expression –
That can be removed or lessened
By a day.

The reservation of a day for romance and for love
Does not liberate or empower – it inhibits us!
Let love flow now, then, and always.
Commercial concerns have no place
Scheduling love.

Written February 2018

What do Quakers Mean by "Holding in the Light"?

It is something of a pat phrase, among Quakers, to respond to the difficulty of others by offering to “hold them in the light”. I do not mean by this that we do not do anything else to help people in difficulty, or that such holding is not appreciated. Indeed, it is equally common, in my experience, for Friends to ask others to hold them in the light as they face adversity.

Like many Quaker phrases, however, it serves to obscure the divergence of understanding among liberal Friends. We do not explain what we mean when we use it, and rarely discuss what we mean by it at other times. It is clear that there are a range of meanings Friends ascribe to the saying, and even where people have similar conceptions of the Divine, they may not mean the same thing when they offer to hold someone in the light.

In this post I will explore some of the different interpretations of this phrase that I have come across, looking at what connects them and what differentiates them. I will also, naturally, explain my take on the matter.

Dualism and Duality

Is the coin heads, or tails?

These might seem to you to be two words that mean the same thing, subtly different terms, or completely distinct concepts, depending on your background. In one set of definitions, they mean the same thing – that things can be divided into two, or sometimes more, categories. Self and not-self is a duality that is important in some Buddhist traditions, while we might see theism and non-theism as a duality in modern liberal Quakerism. In philosophy, dualism refers generally to any division into two, but most often (as in Cartesian dualism) the division of mind and body, or material and immaterial. In religion, we speak of dualistic religions as those that posit a pair of oppositional fundamental forces, generally – but not always – good and evil, or a pair of oppositional divinities, or a divinity and an opposing non-divine force. In mathematics, and most especially with one famous example in physics, duality can refer to two distinct systems or representations that are nonetheless equivalent, or represent the same thing; we'll return to that key example later.

Vulnerability, Power, Love

I wasn't at Yearly Meeting in 2015, nor the Swarthmore Lecture given at it. I have read the minutes, however, and minute 36 gave me some trouble. I understand it was somewhat derived from the Swarthmore Lecture, Faith, Power and Peace, but I shan't judge the lecture on that; I am sure it had more nuance.

What I struggled with was the idea of power linked to vulnerability. As a disabled person, and knowing many other disabled people, including all forms of disability – chronic illness, mental illness, everything – I have trouble with that. Vulnerability can lead to power, certainly, but the minutes seemed to suggest that it was a more reliable consequence than is found in my experience, first- and second-hand. Vulnerability is often characterised by profound powerlessness.

Yet I see now one situation in which the link of power and vulnerability is utterly true, and inescapable. It is not in our interactions with the world at large, it is not in our ability to make the world a better place in general. It is not economic or political. It is personal.