Remembrance, Performativity, and Sincerity

The Cenotaph, Whitehall.
Photo by Matt Brown

Today is the 11th of November – Armistice Day. When many people around the world remember that active fighting ceased, in Europe, on this day in 1918, at 11am (creating the easy to remember, and date-format friendly, time and date of 11am 11/11) local time. Many say the armistice was signed at 11am, but this is incorrect; it was signed earlier that day, after some negotiation, and communicated initially around 9am in Paris; the 11am time was that specified in the armistice for cessation of hostilities, and the troops had notice of it some time before that – and in many cases, carried on fighting quite close up to the minute specified, especially artillery units (who didn’t want to have to shift their ammo back home) and those who were in sight of a strategic target, whose officers were thinking ahead to the possibility that the armistice might fail. However, by 11am people had pretty much stopped fighting (in Europe), and the armistice did not fail – the war being formally ended with the Treaty of Versailles in June 1919.

I clarify ‘in Europe’ because, communication not being globally instantaneous in 1918, it took a while for the news to reach those fighting in Africa. About two weeks later, they got news, and the local commanders had to make their own arrangements for an armistice ceremony and cessation of hostilities in Northern Rhodesia (modern Zambia).

But this isn’t a history blog. It’s a Quaker blog. You might think, from the text above and a little knowledge of Quakers, that I’m about to get into Quaker pacifism, the wastefulness of the so-called Great War (now commonly known as the First World War), or, perhaps, how our public observances of Remembrance have taken on characteristics of glorification of war and the military. All of those would be valid things to post here, but that’s not what I’m up to right now. No, as those of you who’ve paid attention to the title of this post will have gathered, I want to take this opportunity to talk about performativity.

Easter Reflection: The Lord's Supper

I wrote last year about Quakers and Easter, both what it can mean from a community perspective, and what it can mean from a spiritual perspective. This year, I wish to reflect on a Christian story that forms part of the Easter narrative, but which has led to a practice that is undertaken regularly, year round, by most Christian and derived traditions – though not, largely speaking, by Quakers (certainly not by those who worshipped in an unprogrammed manner, and not consistently by those in programmed traditions). I refer, of course, to the story of the Last Supper, and the practice of the Eucharist – also known as Holy Communion, the Lord's Supper, the Blessed Sacrament, Sacrament of the Altar, the Breaking of Bread (a term which can relate to wider and older traditions), and other names besides. For those who do not recognise those terms, this is the symbolic (or more than symbolic, depending on your denomination) consumption of the body and blood of Christ – in the form of bread or wafers and wine (or grape juice or water, depending on denomination) – during the main worship service in most Christian churches.

Following Light, Purely?

I have heard it suggested that the most true and pure form of Quakerism would be to follow the Light “purely”, directly, with neither story, nor symbolism, nor any form of tradition. It certainly follows logically from the idea of our direct experience of the Divine (or God, Light, whatever you want to call it). In a sense, it might be the Platonic ideal of Quakerism.

The problem is, it isn’t really possible.

We do not live in a world of Platonic ideals. The ideal triangle, the ideal sphere, the ideal rock – all are beyond our grasp. The ideals of purely conceptual things are similarly beyond us (indeed, some would argue that all Platonic ideals are conceptual). We shall never attain ideal democracy, ideal equality, nor even ideal faith or ideal love.

So far, so general and dismissive, you might think. It is only fair to ask that I give more specific, concrete, practical reasons to object to such a theoretically laudable objective – for we would surely follow the Divine most faithfully if we were not impeded by preconceived ideas of its nature or how it might direct us. Of course, as the matters involved include cognition, my points will still be somewhat abstract, or at least not tangible, but they ought to be more concrete than “ideals are unattainable, therefore it can’t be done, quod erat demonstrandum” – which is, after all, not just snobbily dismissive, but also somewhat begging the question.

Theology and "Notions"

Water baptism: a ritual Quakers have traditionally considered
an empty form, based on notions, rather than any true leading
of the Spirit.

A fair amount of my writing could be described as theology. Not high, formal, academic theology, perhaps, but it's theology – questions (and, to be fair, rarely answers) about the nature of God, or at least of what-you-will. I've known some to quibble with the idea of calling it “theology” if there's no theos involved, but there's no better term, so I'll use this one. Indeed, I'm hardly the first person to talk about theology in the context of a non-theistic worldview. So, if you are a purist in the meaning of that term, insisting that it only applies to theistic (some would say only Christian) contexts, I ask your forbearance. Also, to not argue with me about it on this post – as will become clear, a large part of what I will be discussing here is in the Christian context, indeed in the context of early Friends, and in any case it would be rather missing the point of the post overall. If you prefer to think of the wider idea as hierology, you may do so, but this isn't the place for a debate on what counts as theology and what as hierology.

The context of early Friends is important here, because one of the great criticisms of those early Quakers was against notions. All the haggling among the Church and its divisions, in the first millennium, over the nature of Christ, the question of the Chalcedonian formulation versus Miaphysitism – that is, whether Christ incarnate was of two natures, human and divine, united in a single hypostasis, or whether he was of one nature, wholly human and divine – is one example. Another, far more contemporary with the early Friends, would be detailed questions over the nature of the Trinity and the relationship between its members. The early Friends were, of course, strongly bible-believing Christians; though this was tempered by reliance on “the Spirit that gave them forth”, the bible was still important and a key tool of the early Friends. Because of this, they did not consider the basic idea of the Trinity to be a notion – it is clearly pointed to in scripture. Indeed, one of the members of the Trinity is of particular importance to Quakers, for it was said from quite early days that what moved them in worship was the Holy Spirit (among other terms). Precisely what the relationship is between the members of the Trinity, however, would be a notion.

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.