Quakers, ADHD, and Me

Visual representation of ADHD by Tara Winstead

I’ve known for some time – as long as I can remember – that my mind doesn’t work like most other people’s. I learned about autism over the years, and while I identified very strongly with the sense that autistic people shared of not understanding how other people’s heads worked, I didn’t identify with any of the specifics. I knew I was different, but I knew I wasn’t different that way.

In the last few years, I learned more about ADHD, partly through exposure online, and partly because I simply needed to for work. Things started to make more sense. People who know me, and know the common understanding of ADHD, might find that confusing – but people who know me and have deeper knowledge of ADHD seemed to think it made a lot of sense. So I started the process of seeking an assessment.

At one time, much as with autism (or for those who prefer to differentiate it in that way, autism spectrum conditions), ADHD was seen as something that would inevitably be spotted in childhood, so services to assess it in adults took some time to catch up. More so than for autism, there was even a sense that people usually ‘grew out’ of ADHD, so if it had been missed in childhood it wouldn’t matter, and adults – even those diagnosed in childhood – didn’t really need services. Still, I looked into what GPs were supposed to do if someone came to them thinking they might have ADHD (I don’t like saying ‘have ADHD’, but unlike with autism there isn’t really an alternative, an adjectival form), and went to my GP to talk about it. They promptly referred me on for full assessment, and warned me it would be a long wait.

Covid, Mental Health, Relgion and Spiritual Communities

The public health issues gripping the world have been hard on a lot of people – indeed, I would be surprised to find anyone who hadn’t experienced some sort of negative impact from the changes that Covid-19 has worked upon our lives. I’m sure, here in the UK, we’ve all heard from friends and relatives finding themselves homeschooling their kids with very little notice and usually equally sparse support. I expect more than a few of my readers have been in that position themselves, not just heard about it at one remove. People who have lost their job or had hours cut have obvious stress. People who thrive on social contact will have struggled with the limited ability to see other people. People who have had to restrict contact even more because of being at high risk, such as the UK’s ‘shielding’ category, will have had extra stress just getting essentials, and those who already relied on shopping deliveries have had to cope with slots being much harder to come by.

Those are the obvious sources of stress, of things that can affect people’s mental health. And those are just the tip of the iceberg.

Meeting Without Meeting

Well, life is different right now, isn’t it?

For context, just in case people stumble into this once life is back to normal (whatever that ends up looking like), this is written and published during significant social distancing restrictions in Britain due to the Covid-19 pandemic. For the benefit of the international audience reading this immediately, as well as a future audience, we’re currently (22^nd March 2020) being asked not to gather in any sort of group, not to socialise, to work from home if possible, not to go out except as necessary or if we can ensure a minimum 2m distance from anyone else (they want us to still get exercise seems to be the main reason for that). Workplaces are shutting down or going to remote working. Bars, restaurants, theatres, cinemas, cafes have all been asked to close, except for selling take-away food. The government is offering grants to employers to help cover salaries of people who might otherwise be laid off. Panic buying continues to empty supermarket shelves of toilet rolls, soap, some tinned goods, and bread (among other things).

Now, in the context of all of those other things, this next feature is fairly unimportant – but it’s the reason for this blog post, so it’s going to have some prominence.

Worship and Copresence

Meeting together is pleasant, to be sure. We value our Friends as friends, and we value our relationships. We value the pleasure of catching up over a cuppa, of seeing the children of the Meeting tearing around the building. Of seeing the familiar faces, and occasionally welcoming new ones.

The heart of Meeting for Worship, though, is worship. We may have different ideas about what that means, but most would agree on coming together in silence, waiting on the Spirit (or whatever we might call it), and hearing the ministry that we hope will come from its inspiration. It is not merely being together in a space and being quiet. It is a silence not of the absence of noise, but of quieting the self to be open to Light. We do it together because we have generally found it more effective than doing it alone. It is an active passivity, and a shared endeavour that usually involves no visible effort.

The Candle

Candles are an amazingly rich source of metaphors. They show up in common sayings, such as “better to light a candle than curse the darkness” (which is itself of debated origin, often given as an old Chinese proverb but possibly dating to a written sermon by an American preacher published in 1907), and are a popular form of imagery as well as a focus for meditation or hypnosis. I doubt this is the first candle metaphor for Quaker spirituality, but it is the one I am given.

The gathered meeting is a table of candles, much as one might find in some churches. Each of us is a candle, stood shoulder to shoulder with the others, wax and wick and flame.

Quaker Worship and Meditation

Those who are familiar with meditation, often from the popularisation of Buddhist meditation methods, but not with Quaker worship practices, often get the idea that they are very similar. I have read accounts of Quakers who first came to a Quaker meeting because they had been enjoying Buddhist meditation, but moved to an area with no sangha or meditation group, and were advised that what Quakers did was like meditation. There are, obviously, some superficial similarities – a whole bunch of people sitting in silence being the obvious one – and even some comparability of the inward practice, but there are fundamental differences that clearly separate the two experiences and practices. In this post, I'll be exploring the points of similarity and difference, and exploring the virtue of Friends maintaining both practices.

Membership, Convincement & Belonging

There are many ways of belonging to the Quaker family. There are those who are part of our community without identifying with our faith, fellow-travellers who participate in some, even all of our activities but do not consider themselves Quakers. There are those of fervent religious belief in the spirit of the early Friends. There are those who call themselves Quakers but deny the religious nature of the experience, or who recognise it as religious but are still patiently waiting for a direct experience of the Divine that they recognise. There is, of course, the division between member and attender, and other terms we throw around – newcomer and enquirer being quite popular ones.

We don't seem to have a coherent view, however, of these different dimensions of belonging, of being part of the Quaker community, of being a Quaker. In this post, I will be exploring some elements of this “belonging space”, to borrow mathematical terminology.

Stop. Attend. (A Message Concerning Meeting for Worship)

Stop. Attend.
I do not mean to call you to attend to my words. If you are reading them, or hearing them, it is natural that they will have your attention.

Stop. Attend.
Stop, as best you can, your busy thoughts, your worries and concerns, your plans for the week ahead and for the further future. Important as they may be, that is not why you are here.

Stop. Attend.
Stop your rational thoughts and reasoning on spiritual matters. Intellect and reason alone are not the path to that which we seek.

"WHAT Do You Worship?": Worship as an Intransitive Verb

One fairly common response I've come across, when someone has heard an explanation of the silent Quaker Meeting for Worship, has been to ask “but what are you worshipping?” Well, some people phrase it as who, rather than what, but I tend to see it as essentially the same question.

Now, for some Friends, the answer is easy. They believe in a deity that they feel warrants veneration, and so they can say that is what they worship. And yet, they cannot say that and speak for all unprogrammed Quakers. While some may adore and venerate in the silence, not all do – and even for those that do, that is not all they do in the silence.

In this post, then, I shall look at this question, and how the Quaker usage of the word “worship” perhaps challenges received wisdom in terms of English grammar.

What We Do In Silence

From the outside, what happens in a Quaker Meeting for Worship is fairly simple, if unrevealing. We sit in silence, and at some point, someone may be moved to stand and speak. But there's a lot more to it than that.

As we sit in our “expectant waiting”, we are not generally entirely passive – not least because absolute passivity is not something that comes easily to people. For centuries, faith communities have developed strategies to help people learn various forms of passivity, leading their way towards it through prayers, mantras and meditation. Not only that, but not all Friends find the best way to make that contact with the Divine is through passivity at all.

In this post, I will be exploring what it is we do in the silence of worship – different ways we bring ourselves to the right state of mind, what that state of mind might be (different for different Friends), and what we do once we have reached it. That is a chronological order, and it might seem appropriate to explore things that way, but I find it most helpful to consider the state of mind first, before looking at how we reach it.

Spiritual "Zones of Proximal Development"

We have all of the ingredients we need for our
individual and collective development - we just
have to recognise them and work out how to
put them together.

Following some recent online discussions, I feel like it's worth spending another post exploring some learning theory, how it relates to Quaker practice – and what we can take from it to improve that practice. Previously, I wrote about communities of practice, and now I'll be looking at the idea of zones of proximal development.

ZPDs, as they are more concisely known, as a way of talking about what it is readily possible for a given learner to learn. There is what they already know, what they can already do, and there are those things that would be a struggle to attempt, and in between is the ZPD, the things that they can reasonably learn, or the things that they could do with help and guidance. This is a much simpler idea than communities of practice – in these last couple of sentences, the fundamentals of it are covered. Of course, there's more to it than that, but that's the basics all done. Given, in many spiritual situations, liberal Quakers' aversion to “teaching”, it might seem hard to apply this, but I think it has a particular application to spiritual development that doesn't require any sense of the didactic. It is this interpretation and application that I intend to explore in this post.

Dogmatic Non-Dogmatism and Rituals of Non-Ritualism

Why the flowers?

Quakers, at least of the liberal variety, are generally considered to have no dogma; Quakers of all stripes reject creeds, even if they have been known to organisationally endorse documents that look a lot like them. Unprogrammed Quakers eschew ritual.

But do we really? Are there not ways in which our non-dogmatism becomes dogmatic, and our non-rituals become ritualistic? In this post I will be exploring these questions, what I have learned from Friends in many places, what I have experienced myself – and what I think we should take from that.

Outward vs Inward Silence

We can find the inward silence even at times of bustle and busyness.

Silence is a major feature of Quaker tradition; it features in the practice of all variations of Quaker practice, though most noticeably in unprogrammed Meetings. But what is this silence, as part of the Quaker way? Is it limited to the lack of noise, and a certain stillness, or does it go deeper than that? In this post, I shall try to explore this matter, and look at the difference between outward and inward silence.

I've previously published written ministry that touches on this, a short piece entitled Outward Silence, Inward Silence. It's very direct, with the general point that outward silence, while traditional and useful, is largely a tool to help us find inward silence. In this post, I will be exploring this idea in more detail, with practical examples and advice.

Liberal Quakerism as a "Self Religion"?

Shall we align our chakras with healing
crystals? The Quaker Way isn't just another
New Age mishmash.

One thing I have seen said, from time to time about liberal Quakerism is that it has become a “self religion”. Usually, this is said by way of criticism, often (but not always) by fairly traditionalist Friends. In this post, I'll be taking a look at what this term means, and the extent to which liberal Quakerism – as I've experienced it – fits that definition, and some thoughts on the extent to which it should.

The term itself is not used entirely consistently. It is widely used in a derogatory way towards “new age” spirituality, even identified with such things, and is also used by the less vociferous critics of Scientology to describe that faith. However, the underlying and original meaning appears to be religions or spiritual paths that aim for the development of the self, with specific reference to new age and other paths that developed in the 70s and 80s. A characteristic that is often derided in these faiths in extreme individualism, the ability to cherry-pick from a range of traditions in your attempt to perfect yourself – though reports rather suggest this is rather less true of Scientology, which is generally considered a self religion. Thus, I tend to feel that the main defining quality of a self religion is the goal of self-perfection – whether the faith says this leads to apotheosis, results after death, or a better life here and now. However, the implications of pick-and-choose are probably very important in the allegation that liberal Quakerism has become a self religion, so that must also be borne in mind.

So, here's the first question: does Quakerism aim for the perfection of the self? If so, how, and to what end?

A Quaker Christmas

As I described in my previous post regarding Halloween, Quakers have a traditional testimony concerning times and seasons, that different days and different times of the year not have liturgical significance. However, as I also set out in that post, we can see value and benefit of festivals without ascribing them inherent religious significance.

In this post, I shall be applying the same approach to Christmas, and all of the things that go with it, both liturgically and culturally – advent, epiphany, even the secular new year celebration.

Science and Faith: A Quaker Perspective

A popular trope these days depicts faith and religion as opposed to science. The logic behind this is simple – science is based on testability, reproducibility, and acting based on evidence. Religion by it's nature is considered to require actions based on faith, rather than evidence, and many religious claims are inherently untestable, or at least such tests as may be argued to be possible have factors that make such testing not reproducible; in terms of philosophy or science, the claims are unfalsifiable.

Anti-religion advocates also often point to religious persecution of scientists, as in the case of Galileo Galilei, or of religious authorities resisting the adoption or teaching of science, as in the case of evolution (for some time) or the attempts to have schools teach intelligent design as science. However, it is also true that many great scientists have been religious, such as the (Quaker) astronomer Arthur Stanley Eddington, and the polymath Blaise Pascal. There are also cases of cultures and times where religion, even relatively authoritarian religion, has been a dominant feature of life, yet sciences have flourished – most notably the Islamic Golden Age.

The debate about whether religion in general is compatible with science will carry on in many places, especially online forums and blogs, for a long time yet. In this post, I will be addressing specifically the underlying assertion that faith stands opposed to reason and evidence, and applying specifically my own non-theist Quaker approach to faith to look at the implications.

Silence, Darkness, Space, Love

In silence still, a voice awakes.

In darkness deep, a flower thrives.

In empty space, a presence waits.

In faithful love, the spirit strives.

Written December 2017

What Happened to Quaker Missionary Zeal?

How do we, how should we, share our gift of Light?

In the early years of the Society of Friends, there was a strong focus on evangelism, of proselytising with a missionary zeal. While this is still found in parts of the pastoral and evangelical branches of the world family of Friends, over here in the liberal branch it has died away, pretty much completely. What happened, and should we be concerned? I shall attempt to answer this, for myself at least, with something of a whistle-stop tour of some relevant Quaker history. This will, by necessity, be somewhat light on detail, and will generally avoid making caveats around the different interpretations and versions of events that different factions hold to. This should not be taken as my version of events, or my preferred interpretation, just what I have managed as a fairly quick summary, covering the key points without attempting to make sure every little detail is included. Please do not use this as a source in your own learning about Quaker history – but the names and summaries may work as a jumping off point for your own reading.

Like many liberal Quakers, the lack of proselytisation is associated in my mind with some of the characteristics of liberal Quakerism that I most value: uncertainty about traditional religious “big questions”, universalism, theological liberalism. The idea that there is no “one true way”, that we can all find the spiritual path that is suited to us, and that this might be found in any number of different faiths. Of course, these are also factors that would seem pretty strange to many Friends in the earliest days of the Society; they were absolutely and definitely Christian, even if that Christianity was fairly orthodox. Universalist sentiments arose not too long after, from Friends such as William Penn and Mary Fisher, but they weren't about integrating different theological backgrounds into the community of Friends; rather, they were about respecting and valuing other faiths, rather than dismissing them – but they remained entirely separate and other, if not entirely “other”.

Silence Waits

Silence waits,
For us to wait in it.

A deep pool we cannot reach,
Without diving in.

The treasures are found in active passivity,

Coming to us as they will, not by ours.

Written December 2017

The Trouble With Membership

There are few matters in British Quakerism that seem to excite as much disagreement as the question of membership. Theological diversity is certainly one, but in my experience membership is certainly up there among the most contentious, though probably still somewhat behind the concern over non-theism.

Membership was not an idea that seemed to matter much – or necessarily be thought of at all – in the early years of the Religious Society of Friends. Accounts vary somewhat as to why it became important, whether it was in order to know who should get material support from a Meeting when they were in hardship, or in order to demonstrate bureaucratic structures to satisfy the secular government (if the government could be said to be secular at that time), or various other explanations. Whatever the reason, it became necessary to identify who was a member, and procedures for bringing people into membership – or indeed removing them from membership. For a long time, in Britain, those born to parents in membership were considered to be in membership themselves, from birth - “birthright membership”; the possibility of only one parent being a member wasn't often a concern, given the fact that marrying someone not in membership was cause to be removed from membership, and society in general being such that children born to unmarried parents were, at least visibly, unusual. I suspect that where a widow came into membership during her pregnancy, the child would be considered a birthright member; I don't know what happened with new members who brought small children with them – it would make an interesting bit of research, but not one I have time for at present.