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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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

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

Outward Silence, Inward Silence

Silence is a deep part of Quaker tradition. The early Friends met in silence, waiting upon the Spirit, and so we meet today. But the silence is the means, not the end; contact with the Divine is the hope, the aspiration, the goal of Quaker worship. The outward silence is a tool; stillness and absence of distraction makes it easier to reach that place inside you where that eternal and universal Presence that binds and strengthens us all can be known.

Do not rely on the outward silence. Cultivate the inward silence. Learn your way to that feeling within, where you connect to the Presence, where you know the Spirit, where you realise your nature as part of the Divine. Then you can know that life and power wherever you are and whatever you face, be guided by and strengthened by it, and doubts and fears will cease to control you.

Written October 2017