Reflection on Aphorism 7: The Divine Can Only Guide Us If Willing

“As leaders can only lead with the consent of those led, however grudging that might be, the Divine can only guide us if we are willing to be guided.”
–Aphorism 7

Whatever your view on theology, it is clear that the Divine, however we conceive of it, is limited. If you believe in an omnipotent God, then this limitation is clearly self-imposed, for whatever reason. If one believes in a God that is good, one can only assume that it cannot or will not interfere in the world to maximise happiness (unless you go with the “best of all possible worlds” argument, which I always found sophistic). Other conceptions of the Divine are more obviously limited.

By analogy, this aphorism expresses one of those limitations – that while we can put our lives under the ordering of the Spirit, we have to be willing to do so. In fact, while it is not stated in the aphorism, I would go further – we have to work to do so. The Divine may be trying to speak to us all the time, but it cannot reach us without an open heart, or perhaps an open soul, and for most if not all of us, that takes work and practice. We have to learn to quiet the loud voices of our selves to hear the still small voice of God.

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.

Reflection on ‘Aphorism 1’ (Looking Out for the Divine)

“The divine may be found everywhere; one does not look for the divine so much as look out for it”
–Aphorism 1

This one is interesting. The essential statement of the first half is straightforward, on the face of it, and the second half is easily read in two (subtly) different ways. The difference hinges on the different senses people intend when they talk about “looking out” for something.

The straightforward reading of the first half is quite clear. If you believe in a theistic God, it could be seen as an expression of the idea of omnipresence. Whether or not you believe in such a thing, it can be taken as suggesting that, whatever the Divine is, it is in some sense everywhere, or at least reflected everywhere. Actually, that could do with some unpacking and elaborating, but let’s look more closely at the second half of the aphorism first.

The Divine and Number

Number is an interesting thing. In mathematics it is the structure that we apply to the idea of quantity, making it sit in nice neat rows. In linguistics, it’s a grammatical feature in which words mutate depending on how many (of whatever) they or another word relate to. We have our system of ‘arabic’ numerals, more properly known as hindu-arabic numerals (represented using different symbols in different scripts, but sharing the essential system of placed number and associated marks to denote decimal fractions and so on). We count things almost obsessively, at times, with national censuses (for good reason), stock takes (also good reason), or “notches on the belt” (or bedpost, both for less good reason, in my opinion).

Reflection on ‘Maxim 1’ (Always Question Everything)

“Always question everything; certainty is the enemy of spiritual growth.”
—Maxim 1

This is the very short piece of ministry that started it all, so to speak, in terms of such short ministry. It occurred to me repeatedly, and once I gave in and wrote it down, it was soon followed by a series of other such short pieces. It wasn’t a rush, nor a constant flow over time, but came in fits and starts.

It’s also rather a foundational thought for my own spiritual approach. The first part is actually a common saying among skeptics (they always seem to use that Americanised spelling online, even many of the Brits, and I’ll use that spelling specifically for this usage), by which I do not mean people who are generally slow to believe things. I mean the movement of actively non-religious, often science-focussed (and positivist), and sometimes downright anti-religious people that has grown largely online. The patron saints of the movement seem to be Dawkins and Popper, though there is also a current among skeptics that suggests that Dawkins might be a bit of a jerk and that Popperian science is both not as restrictive as some think, and not the only way to think about science. It is the approach and attitude that gave rise to Pastafarianism (also known as The Church of The Flying Spaghetti Monster) and various other satirical approaches to (or uses of) religion, and might be seen as a new generation’s version of the secular humanist movement. Indeed, some people involved in the skeptical community also get involved in secular humanism. “Always question everything” might reflect a sceptical view generally, though I’ve also heard it from conspiracy theorists – by which they mean to question the official narrative of events – and various sorts of counter-cultural and off-mainstream viewpoints.

Maxim 20

Sun and Clouds

The Spirit is like the sun. It is always there, its light shining always and in every direction, as bright one moment as any other. But like the sun, it does not always seem as bright to us from day to day, or hour to hour, or moment to moment – though even to our perception, there is no night of the Spirit.

What, then, are the clouds that make the sun seem dim or obscure? Perhaps our own condition: both the things that we do that put that separation between us and the Divine, that make us blind or deaf to it until we have put our own spirit in better condition, and the things that we have less control over – our state of mind, the distractions of our daily life, tiredness or busy-ness. Perhaps also something outside ourselves that is pure chance, like the behemoths and the wisps of sparse droplets of water and ice crystals that we see in the sky.

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.

Aphorism 18

True Religion

True religion raises up,
      It does not cast down.

True faith frees the mind,
      It does not constrain.

True divinity heals,
      It does not rend apart.

True friendship fosters growth,
      It does not hem you in.

True love enables life,
      It does not enjoin unlooked-for change.

True forgiveness looks forward,
      It does not look to settle scores.

True knowledge illuminates ignorance,
      It does not give certainty.

True insight shows your inner self,
      It is not limited to the outer world.

Hold fast to the true, and be wise to the false.
Love your friends, and uphold life.
Forgive as you can, but not falsely.
Be free in your mind, and rejoice in the freedom of others.
Illuminate as you would be illuminated,
And share all, giving and receiving.

Written February 2019

What the Light Isn't

When we talk about our different conceptions of the Divine, we tend to speak in positive terms. That is to say, we talk about what we can say the Divine, Light, God or whatever you want to call it is, what characteristics it has. This is understandable. This is how we usually think about things in life, and if we try to list everything any given thing isn't it tends to take a lot more time than describing what it is.

However, in the case of the Light, perhaps we should talk about that more. That's why I'm going to try doing so – talking about what I think the Spirit is not, as I conceive it and in my experience. This is actually a tool, a theological approach, that is as old as organised Christianity. Apophatic theology, or theology of denial, also known by the Latin expression via negativa (“negative way”, perhaps better thought of as “route of negative expression”, was applied by some of the Church Fathers based on an intellectual tradition that long predates Christianity. It reached its non-Christian philosophical peak among Pagan Neo-Platonism, a school that flourished for over a century in Roman (and later Byzantine) Greece – until Justinian cracked down on Pagan thought as well as Pagan religion.

What Do We Seek?

What do we seek, we Friends of Truth, we Friends of the Light, we Quakers?

We were Seekers first, before we were Quakers, after all, in the genetic origins of our Religious Society. But then, we were also Ranters, in part. Both strands of thought in that chaotic time of the mid-seventeenth century are seen in us, today. There is even a soupçon of the Levellers and Diggers about our origins, I am quite sure.

If we were Seekers, did we find, and stop Seeking? To suppose that search is over strikes me as the most profound religious hubris. So it is that we continue, as a group, to seek.

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).

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.

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.

Why I Write a Quaker Blog

It's an interesting time to be a Quaker in Britain – and many other Yearly Meetings are having their own interesting times, albeit over different issues. Here in the UK people seem to worry about theological diversity, about falling numbers, about how we attract and nurture newcomers, about whether we are really giving all the spiritual nourishment we can. Among some pastoral Meetings across the Atlantic, there are also divisions on theology, and on how gender and sexual minorities are treated – welcomed, affirmed, or scorned. Of course, the latter point has a connection with the former, but which is at the forefront varies somewhat.

Here in Britain Yearly Meeting, we are faced with a call to revise our Book of Discipline, which some fear will bring painful differences to a head. We have a declining, ageing membership – where anecdotal reports suggest that many of our newly convinced Friends join us, as members or attenders, in middle age or later. We have quiet, but increasingly vocal concerns being expressed about the quality of our discipline in Quaker processes.

In this context, then, I will answer the question – why do I blog?

"Theism vs Non-Theism"?

Within liberal Quakerism, and particularly concerning theological diversity, an area of particular tension has been what some have described as “theism/non-theism”, or even (as in the rather provocative title of this piece) “theism vs non-theism”.

For those of you not involved in British Quakerism (or, if you are, have been living under some sort of rock), I should say that, a couple of years ago, Quakers in Britain started a process of considering revising our book of discipline, Quaker faith & practice. This involved appointing a group to prepare us for making a decision about revision, and to lay some groundwork and preparation for any such revision – knowing that there will have to be a revision at some point in the future. The “Book of Discipline Revision Preparation Group” (BoDRPG) recently reported on their work with a recommendation to Meeting for Sufferings that Sufferings, in turn, recommend to Yearly Meeting that a revision process begin. Their recommendations had a lot of specifics about how this might be done, the order to do things in, and reflections on perceived risks (the meeting papers in question are available online, if you'd like to look at them yourself).

One of these perceived risks was related to theological diversity – particularly the question of non-theism. In order to help address this, they set up a “theology think tank”, with suitable Friends asked to be involved in discussions around theological diversity in Britain Yearly Meeting. They produced a reasonable volume of material published in the recent volume God, Words and Us (which is one of the various books I am currently working my way through – but I'm finding it very good so far), and also gave their own concluding notes that are included in the BoDRPG report to Sufferings.

Why I, a Non-Theist, Like "Lord of the Dance"

As regular readers of this blog will be aware, I do not consider myself a Christian. Nor, in fact, do I believe in any theistic God, but that is (for once) beside the point of this post. Mostly.

In this post, I will be looking at hymns. Hymns are important to a lot of Christians, and even for some liberal Quakers, though they do not feature as a regular part of our worship. Devotional music is important to many people of all sorts of different faiths, bringing some beauty and profundity to the act that the words alone somehow fails to convey. I think a lot of Christian hymns are musically uninspired, personally, and the lyrics in many seem awkward, even taking Christian belief as a given. Some, however, I can see that beauty in, even if I can't sing them wholeheartedly myself due to the words not having that significance for me.

There are some hymns, however, that speak to me beyond the surface of their words, and in this post, I'll be looking at one of them. Despite it's absolutely Christ-based words, it speaks to me with more than just its music; my failure to identify with the literal meaning of its words doesn't stop it from somehow resonating. I'm going to try and explore why.

"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.