Quakers in Victoria

Religious Schism in Early Nineteenth Century America

By Robert W. Doherty (289.6 DOH)

            This book traces the sociological or societal, as well as the religious, issues, particularly in the Philadelphia area of 19^th century America, that led to the so-called Hicksite Separation (named after Elias Hicks) of 1827.  Doherty points out that the early 19^th century Quakers in and around Philadelphia headed towards this separation because they “lacked any institutional means for resolving conflict.” There were problems with methods of appointment and with jurisdiction, and with the fact that all decisions were supposed to be unanimous.  As for their beliefs, difficulty arose because of the conflict between their commitment to the ideals of peace, equality, and simplicity, and the participation in the affairs of the world—how could Quakers focus on the Inner Light at the same time as taking part in the external affairs of the world? Another source of conflict within the Society was how to deal with slavery.  Hicks and his supporters condemned all aspects of slavery, while what would come to be called the Orthodox supporters were not so unqualified in their judgment. By 1827, the “official” Hicksite-Orthodox Separation, the questions that confronted the Society of Friends were: “who should be a member of the Society, how should the Society be organized, how does a Friend seek salvation, and to what extent should a Friend accept the ways of the world?” “The Orthodox wanted to make their peace with the secular world,” while the Hicksites were more drawn to quietism.

            One of the principal divisions in approach for the Orthodox and the Hicksites was that of sect and church.  The Hicksites were more sectarian, meaning that they favoured withdrawal from the world and from the formal structure of the conventional Christian churches; the Orthodox were more drawn to those formal structures and doctrines.  The Orthodox tended to be wealthier and engaged in high prestige occupations, most of them living in the city; the Hicksites, on the other hand, were more deliberately alienated from any focus on wealth and status, and were more rural.  Doherty lists the following sources of such alienation: “1) suspicion of the city; 2) commitment to social values which were threatened by Orthodoxy; 3) resentment of Orthodox social climbing; 4) psychological shock resulting from worldly failure; 5) commitment to egalitarianism and/or religious freedom, both of which were felt to be challenged by Orthodoxy.”

            Even though agriculture was a focus of both the Orthodox and the Hicksites, “Orthodox Quakers were more likely to be engaged in commercial agriculture.” Elias Hicks appealed to those outside the city, using rural images in his sermons; “he appealed to rural people as one of their own—a devout and kindly tiller of the soil.” “The appeal of Orthodoxy outside the city of Philadelphia,” on the other hand, “seems […] to have been greatest among those Friends who had ties with the outer world. “Such ties might be occupational (commercial farming), residential (living in West Chester or Chester), or institutional (Westtown School).”

            Orthodoxy “was in the air” of early 19^th century America, but was especially influenced, for American Quakers, by the Orthodox sentiment in English Quakerism.  The very fact of the Hicksites’ focus on quietism as opposed to engaging with the secular world at large, was also a factor in the formal organization of Orthodox Quaker churches.  The Hicksites were conservatives when it came to preserving the traditions of simplicity and equality from the days of George Fox, but liberal when it came to understanding and interpreting doctrine and the scriptures — also deriving from the days of George Fox. “Liberals felt that all men had the right to believe and worship as they wished.  All men should be guaranteed an opportunity to seek religious truth for themselves.  In the mind of the liberals, Elias Hicks had a right to believe and say whatever his spirit led him to believe and say.” The Hicksites focused on behaviour; the Orthodox on belief.

            To understand the background and consequences of the Hicksite Separation is to understand the divide between programmed and unprogrammed meetings, and to see how our Vancouver Island Monthly Meeting can trace its roots as an unprogrammed Meeting back to Elias Hicks and his supporters.   

Selected with and Introduction by Kerry Walters (289.6 JON)

          At his birth in Maine in 1863, Rufus Jones’s Aunt Peace said of him, “This child will one day bear the message of the Gospel to distant lands and to peoples across the sea.” And so, he did.  By the time he was four years old, he said that he “had formed the habit of using corporate silence in a heightening and effective way.” In his undergraduate years at Haverford College, he studied religion, philosophy, and history, and wrote his senior thesis on mysticism.  In 1917, he was one of the founding members of the American Friends Service Committee, a relief organization that embodied the Quaker tenet of non-violence in times of war.  For Jones, “the whole significance of the Quaker movement was its revolt from theories and notions and its appeal instead to experience.” Jones considered himself, and was considered by others, a mystic; he referred to himself as a “practical” or “conative” mystic, in the Christian tradition — “the original mystical experience feels like a thrust from beyond.” Indeed, his personal experience, along with scriptural authority, convinced him the of the reality and presence of the inner Light, which he called “the Beyond within” or “the More,” which allowed for a “mutual and reciprocal correspondence” between God and humans.  And so, he talked often of “this Over-world of Beauty, Goodness, Truth, and Love,” a world beyond the material one we are bound up in.

          Jones writes of Gandhi’s “soul-force” and the Indian mystical tradition, including the Upanishads, and the well-known “That are thou,” which refers to the identification of “the inmost being of [one’s] own self with the inmost Reality in the universe.” He writes also, in this regard, of Emerson’s Over-soul.  The soul, for Jones, “accumulates and interprets facts and processes of experience, not experience as it is felt.” Still, the essential fact of religion for Jones is “love, and life is impossible apart from relationships.” Furthermore, we must not expect to find God apart from spiritual relationships. Somewhat like the Hindu concept of Brahman and Atman, the Self and the self, Jones says that our relationship with God is our limited self with God’s infinite Self.  God is both transcendent and immanent.  And this is where Jones’s understanding of worship comes in: “worship seems to me to be direct, vital, joyous, personal experience and practice of the presence of God (italics his).” “We cannot explain our normal selves,” Jones continues, “or account for the best things we know—or even for our condemnation of our poorer, lower self — without an appeal to and acknowledgment of a Divine Guest and Companion who is the real presence of our central being.” Indeed, the Quakers in the 17^th century, as Jones reminds us, were the first organized body of Christians to build a faith on the principle that “something of God is in every man.”

          But how to understand the concept of God? Quakers believed, and believe, that “God is essentially Spirit.  He is Life and Thought and Love and Goodness in unceasing revelation and action.” And all this is a fact of experience — “something seen and felt and known” — not simply something derived from traditional authority.  We do not, then, need “to go ‘somewhere’ to find God.  We only need to be something.”

          For Jones, everyone is a potential mystic.  He argues that, as children, we all had the capacity for surprise and wonder, referring to Wordsworth’s “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.” “To see the eternal in the midst of time,” writes Jones, “to feel and to enjoy the infinite here in the finite, is one of the greatest blessings life has to offer.” The mystical experience means that the human spirit and the divine spirit have met and “are in mutual and reciprocal correspondence.” Therefore, “both life and religion are rooted in mystical experience, mystical process,” and Christianity is, for him, “at its very heart a mystical religion.” That being said, Jones distinguishes between “negation mysticism” and “affirmation mysticism,” the former making vision the end of life, the latter making it the beginning.

Imagination is a crucial ingredient here — “Getting your imagination captured is almost the whole of life. […] The way to become the architect of your fate, the captain of your soul, is to have your imagination captured.” All this talk of the individual, however, should not blind us to the fact that the primary fact of human life is the group that makes the individual possible.  It is an organic way of life, “where each lives for all and where the interpretation of the Life of the Whole is the business and at the same time the joy of each unit-member.” The corollary to this is that “the kingdom of God is something men [sic] do—not a place to which they go.” This also means that this kingdom is here and now, not in some realm of the afterlife.

Talking of prayer, Jones writes that it must “rise above [its conception] as an easy means to a desired end.” The point of prayer is to turn to God “as the completeness and reality of all we want to be, the other Self whom we have always sought.” This means, also, that we must want only what everybody can share, that we must seek blessings which have a universal application.

Jones also addresses one of the primary Quaker testimonies, that of simplicity, relating it to sincerity, genuineness, and being honest with oneself.

He goes on to distinguish between unity and uniformity, pointing out that uniformity, depending on a mechanistic rather than a spiritual organization “levels down instead of up.” Unity, on the other hand, has to do with a growing organism.

Finally, Jones points out that Quakers have been primarily doers—“they believe strongly in the laboratory method.  They try their experiment and then proceed to interpret it.  The words, the talk, come after the deeds.”

          If you’re familiar with Quaker practice, but not with the psychological principles of Carl Jung, this book is a good introduction to Jung, as well as being an interesting perspective on the intersection of his principles with Quakerism.  Jung, like Quakers, believed “that any true religion should be founded on experience, not on dogma, doctrine or a dutiful faith.” Jung had little interest in theology, but an intense interest in religion.  He maintained, as Wallis says, that it is “the province of religion and psychology to work together in helping individuals towards integration, balance, and wholeness.” Wallis, via Jung, focuses on the needs and experiences of the individual — Jung, like George Fox, maintained that “we cannot understand a thing until we have experienced it inwardly,” as well as on the needs of the group, pointing out that the spiritual viability of a group, such as Quaker meeting for worship, depends on the self-awareness of each individual.  This requires, among other things, the individual’s awareness of their Shadow, which Jung describes as “the negative side of the personality, the sum of all those unpleasant qualities we like to hide.”

          Referring to group dynamics, Wallis, citing John MacMurray, a Quaker academic and moral philosopher, explains the difference between Functional relations that exist for a practical purpose, such as in a workplace, and Personal relations, which are “independent of any particular function.  The intersection of the Functional and the Personal is important, in that “responsibility rests ultimately not on dogma or rules but on feelings, on goodwill, and on response to the needs and sufferings of others and a sense of their intrinsic value as individuals.” That being said, Wallis suggests a third kind of relationship — the spiritual, which involves a numinous quality.

          Quakers often refer to the inward leading, or inward light; Jung talks of this in terms of a personal vocation, suggesting that one who listens to the inward voice is “called.” He believed that to become a personality, to be “individuated,” it was crucial to assent consciously “to the power of the inner voice […] That is the great and liberating thing about any genuine personality: he [sic] voluntarily sacrifices himself to his vocation.” Jung warns us, though, about the need to be aware of our various personae, which are the roles we adopt in order to fit in with conventional norms; he warns that we must not surrender our true selves to these roles.  “The persona,” says Jung, “is that which in reality we are not, but which in our own and other people’s opinion, we are.”

          In terms of the development of the individual, Jung believes “that the true goal of human development is not perfection (in the religious, moral, or spiritual sense), but wholeness.” Wallis points out that wholeness as a goal “is valid at all stages of life, a child should be a child, an adult should be an adult, an old person should be an old person and not an imitation young one.  Each of us should seek the personal wholeness that is our own unique identity of mind, body, psyche, and soul.” It is this personal wholeness upon which a meeting for worship depends for its communal wholeness.

          Balance and stability, both in the individual and in the group, depend, according to Jung, on the tension of opposites: opposing points of view, opposing needs or desire in the individual as well as in the group, opposing goals.  “Every good meeting,” says Wallis, “has within it some spontaneous tension arising from the awareness of opposites.  It is a tension of growth and insight, not of antagonism, competition, or rivalry.”

          Wallis addresses images of God and of Jesus, referring primarily to Janet Scott’s 1980 Swarthmore lecture entitled What Canst Thou Say? Scott says that “what we say [about God] is provisional, symbolic, and metaphorical.  So that when we speak of God in a personal way we do not mean that God is a person, only that personal language is the best way we have to express an inexpressible relation.”

          If you have time to read only one chapter of the book, I suggest the last one, “A Reasonable Faith.” Though Wallis does not reference it, this was the title of a book published anonymously in 1884.  The anonymous authors, originally cited as “Three Friends,” were later revealed to be three Quakers: William Pollard, Francis Frith, and William Z. Turner.  This final chapter of the book is a well-articulated summary of the intersection of Jung’s principles of psychology with Quakerism.  As Wallis writes, “Much of what [Jung] wrote is in harmony with the Quaker way, for instance his belief that religion should be founded on experience, at first hand rather than on dogma or doctrine; that no one can tolerate a life devoid of meaning; that the spiritual part of us is as real as the physical, the emotional, and the intellectual; that our inner life is as important as our outer experience; that a working harmony of differences and opposites is a mature achievement and a sign of psychological health; that an inner voice prompts us and an inner light guides us towards our personal vocation; that God is present in all human nature as well as transcendent; that faith and practice are two expressions of the same reality — our human responsibility.”

Reviewed by Matthew Manera.

Brinton’s overview of Quakerism, unlike Elfrida Vipont’s The Story of Quakerism 1652-1952 and Ben Pink Dandelion’s An Introduction to Quakerism, “is not”, as Brinton says in his Introduction, “to produce a history of Quakerism, but, by means of historical illustrations, to examine a method.” In this way, it is a useful complement to these two books. Brinton examines early Quakerism by focusing on George Fox’s pastoral Epistles and Robert Barclay’s Apology, the former portraying “Quakerism as felt,” or experienced; the latter portraying “Quakerism as thought about.”

I’m trusting that those of you who read this are familiar with the basic historical facts of early Quakerism, and so will move quickly over the first three chapters, “To Wait Upon the Lord,” “The Light Within as Experienced,” and “The Light Within as Thought About.” Brinton explains how Quakers sought a religion based on the Spirit within, rather than on externally imposed forms and disciplines, how the Light Within or Spirit “was primary and the Scriptures a word of God” which is secondary and serves to “[confirm] and [clarify] the revelations of the Light Within”; he quotes Margaret Fell quoting George Fox —”You will say, Christ saith this, and the apostles say this; but what canst thou say?”; and mentions how the Light was to be realized in experience rather than in theory by “answering.” As Fox wrote, “Be faithful and spread the Truth abroad and walk in the Wisdom of God answering that of God in every one.” Brinton also distinguishes how Fox, as prophet, followed the Hebrew tradition, “bearing witness to the personal God whose prophets are instruments through which He utters his voice and works his will,” and how he, as philosopher, “followed the Hellenic tradition, apprehending the inner Unity which exists beyond time and space, Real as compared with the phenomenal world, One, as contrasted with the multiplicity recognized by the senses.”

Brinton also distinguishes between the Eternal Christ and the Historic Jesus, the former being the Light Within that is a part of every person, so that, as Fox writes, “we are regenerated, not so much by the death of Christ [the Historic Jesus], as by his life in our hearts.” He addresses the idea of Perfectionism, which Barclay was careful to explain: “Perfection means simply living up to the measure of light that is given [to each of us], and if we are faithful to that, we shall be given more.” Brinton concludes the first three chapters with this: “In Quakerism there are two complementary movements, withdrawal to an inward Source of Truth and return to action in the world.  The first is Greek in its religious emphasis, the second, Hebrew.  Quakerism is both contemplative and active, both metaphysical and ethical, not because it has combined the two in a consistent system of thought, but because it has combined them through experience.”

In discussing the Meeting for Worship, Brinton observes, “As Catholic worship is centered in the altar and Protestant worship in the sermon, worship for the Society of Friends attempts to realize as its center the divine Presence revealed within,” which involves the idea of withdrawal and return mentioned above: “In worship we center our attention on that which is deeper than discursive thought.” Meetings for Worship involve a measure of vocal ministry, and what Brinton has to say about this should speak to us today: “Ministry in a Friends meeting should be spontaneous in the sense that no one comes to meeting either expecting to speak or expecting not to speak.” “The first-person singular pronoun is seldom heard in Quaker ministry, nor does the speaker declare his own experience except as his experience may illustrate a more general truth.” The speaker should “learn to recognize and reject the wish to speak which comes from a different source [than the Spirit], however disguised, such as an inclination to exhibit his own powers or knowledge or simply lack of inhibition.”

Writing of how Quakers reach decisions, Brinton says, “the meeting is to act as a whole and be governed by Truth, not by persons appointed to rule.” Distinguishing meeting for worship from meeting for business, he says, “the meeting for worship concerns being, while the meeting for business concerns doing.” Meetings for business, in making decisions for moving forward on any issue, depend on all voices being heard and on consensus, rather than on compromise: “At its best, the Quaker method does not result in compromise [which] is not likely to satisfy anyone completely.  The objective of the Quaker method is to discover Truth which will satisfy everyone more fully than did any position previously held.” Neither is unity to be equated with uniformity: “Unity is spiritual, uniformity mechanical.” Ideally, anyone who speaks in meeting for business will begin with “I feel,” rather than “I think,” feeling being the “intuitive apprehension of the Light of Truth.” That being said, he points out that the Quaker method works better in small rather than large groups, and that it “is likely to be successful in proportion as the members are acquainted with one another; better still if real affection exists among them.” As for the origin of social concerns in Quakerism, Brinton says that the focus in this area has to do with Community, Harmony, Equality, and Simplicity.

In terms of the intersection of the Meeting and the World, Brinton describes Quaker work among Negro slaves and Indians [designations Brinton uses throughout his book], as well as the non-violent approaches they took towards those in prisons, beginning with the work of Elizabeth Fry in England in 1813, and towards those in mental hospitals, where the first such hospital in the United States to work with Quaker principles, the Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia, founded in 1756, “was the first institution where cure rather than custody and repression was the underlying principle in the treatment of the insane.”

As for the reason for the Quaker peace testimony, Brinton says of soldiers that “the soldier who is killed suffers a material injury; the soldier who kills suffers a spiritual injury.” Relief work, “undertaken to repair damages caused by war or conflict is a natural corollary of the peace principle.  Its beginnings go back to the Irish war in 1690, and the banishment of Acadians from Canada in 1755, and continue through to the establishment of the American Friends Service Committee in 1917 during the first World War.  A follow-up to Brinton’s book, Friends for 350 Years (289.6 BRI), was published in 2002, with a historical update and notes by Margaret Hope Bacon, tracing the developments in Quakerism, especially in America, between 1952 and 2002.