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PART II Contemporary
Chapter I An Overview of Current Quaker Decision
Making
Prescriptions
for Good Quaker Practice
By now
the reader is familiar with the general procedures for decision making which
characterize Quaker practice. Concretely, what is that method like today? This
introduction offers an overview of the rules observed as they might be
discovered by someone reading standard Quaker sources. Subsequent chapters
flesh out this skeleton on the basis of 150 interviews with anonymous Friends,
personal observations, and further written materials. First, then, some excerpts
from Quaker texts.
True to
tradition, contemporary Friends are chary of "binding the Spirit" by
supplying ironclad regulations. The official Book of Discipline of
today's yearly meetings typically begins with a citation from the letter written
in 1656 by the Quaker Elders of Balby, the citation setting the tone of the
book as advice rather than regulation.
Dearly beloved Friends,
these things we do not lay upon you as a rule or form to walk by, but that all
with the measure of light which is pure and holy may be guided, and so in the
light walking and abiding these may be fulfilled by the Spirit—not from the
letter, for the letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life'
The 1972
Book of Discipline of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting* explains the
process simply:
Meetings for the transaction
of business are conducted in the same expectant waiting for the guidance of
the Spirit as is the meeting for wor‑
* Held for one week each
spring; all Friends in the Philadelphia area are invited to attend and to
participate in area-wide decisions.
47
ship. Periods of worship,
especially at the beginning and end, lift hearts and minds out of self-centered
desires into an openness to seek the common good under the leadership of the
Spirit of Christ. All matters are considered thoughtfully, with due respect to
every point of view presented. When a course of action receives the general,
though not necessarily unanimous, approval of the group, the presiding clerk
formulates the sense of the meeting and it is recorded in the minutes. No vote
is taken; there is no decision made by a majority, who override opposition.
Action is taken only when the group can proceed in substantial unity?
A
typical set of suggestions for good procedure comes from London Yearly
Meeting's 1960 Book of Discipline:
As it is our hope that in
our Meetings for Discipline the will of God shall prevail rather than the
desires of men, we do not set great store by rhetoric or clever argument. The
mere gaining of debating points is found to be unhelpful and alien to the
spirit of worship which should govern the rightly ordered Meeting. Instead of
rising hastily to reply to another, it is better to give time for what has
been said to make its own appeal, and to take its right place in the mind of
the Meeting.
We
ought ever to be ready to give unhurried, weighty and truly sympathetic
consideration to proposals brought forward from whatever part of the Meeting,
believing that what is said rises from the depths of a Friend's experience, and
is sincerely offered for the guidance of the Meeting, and the forwarding of the
work of the Church. We should neither be hindered from making experiments by
fear or undue caution, nor prompted by novel suggestions to ill-considered
courses.
Neither
a majority nor a minority should allow itself in any way to overbear or to
obstruct a meeting for church affairs in its course towards a decision. We are
unlikely to reach either truth or wisdom if one section imposes its will on
another. We deprecate division in our Meetings and desire unanimity. It is in
the unity of common fellowship, we believe, that we shall most surely learn the
will of God. We cherish, therefore, the tradition which excludes voting from
our meetings, and trust that clerks and Friends generally will observe the
spirit of it, not permitting themselves to be influenced in their judgment
either by mere numbers or by persistence. The clerks should be content to wait
upon God with the Meeting, as long as may be necessary for the emergence of a
decision which clearly commends itself to the heart and mind of the Meeting as
the right one
Individual
writers concur with this picture of decision making. They expand upon the
expectation that a final decision often is superior to the
reflections of any individual in the group. James
Walker, for example, tells us:
The business meeting is an
occasion to use insight, and not an occasion for debate. After the facts of a
situation are given and there has been time for consideration, members should
try to state their judgment concisely and clearly. As this is done, new
insights may come, and hopefully the final outcome will represent a group
judgment superior to that of any one individual. Partiality has no place;
rather we seek a decision that is right in the light of God's wisdom. After an
individual has stated his own insight, his responsibility is over. Whether the
meeting accepts or rejects the idea as given, the responsibility is on the
group. If the group has reacted unfavorably, it will then endeavor to find a more
creative approach
Thomas
S. Brown, former clerk of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, urges Friends to avoid
"delivering remarks the meeting has heard many times before' One should
ask oneself, Is this repetition from frailty or from God?"
Brown
urges that, instead of wasting the meeting's time with the polishing of the
minutes which express the meeting's agreements, this editorial power should be
entrusted to a committee, "for the Kingdom of God does not come minute by
polished minute."
In a
similar desire to keep the proceedings efficient, Brown urges careful
preparation of the agenda by the clerk and respectful adherence to the agenda
by participants in the meeting:
For the right holding of
Meetings it is important for Clerks to have the known business meticulously
prepared in advance of the session. Matters carried over from previous
sessions should be noted and the persons who have been asked to take some
action or to make a report should be reminded of the service expected. Members
who wish to bring concerns before the Meeting should be urged to inform the
Clerk in advance, and to have all possible relevant material in hand and to
make their remarks brief and recommendations clear. If any member feels moved
to rise in the Meeting to raise a major new concern, he should ask himself
whether this matter might not better wait to receive the preliminary sifting
of other Friends.5
The
sweep of advice on how to participate, then, runs from mystical suggestions
that one let God's promptings determine whether it is time to speak, to some
very practical admonitions on the careful preparation of an agenda.
Meeting for business always begins with silence
and closes in silence—a clear reminder that an atmosphere of worshipfully
seeking God's will is to mark the gathering. Douglas Steere puts it well:
"The Quaker meeting for business opens with an unhurried period of waiting
silence, and if the meeting is properly carried
through, there emerges something of this mood of openness not to my wishes and
my designs and my surface preferences but openness to the deeper levels where
the Guide's bidding may have its way and where the problem may be resolved in
quite a different way than had ever occurred to me, 11'6
Examples
of the Process
Even in
such an atmosphere, differences of opinion may make agreement very difficult.
In that case, no change is made until agreement is reached. An example is
provided by Elton Trueblood using the apparently trivial conflict which arose
over the enlargement of a burial ground:
[T]he old burial ground in
the meeting house yard was filled. Strong sentiment was expressed, when the
matter was first discussed, both for and against the enlargement. Those in
favor of enlargement pointed out the fact that many families could not be given
space for burial without increasing the size of the plot and that failure to
give space was unfair discrimination between families. Those opposed to
enlargement showed that the proposed action would limit the playground of the
school, situated on the same grounds, and that it made the section less
desirable for residences. It must be understood that this subject was one on
which many felt deeply. Those whose loved ones were buried in the tiny space
allotted could not consider anything in connection with it dispassionately and
it is not surprising that they could not. Others were equally unable to
consider dispassionately anything affecting the life of the school children. To
them it was a matter of interests of the dead against the interests of the
living.
Since a
decision seemed impossible on the first evening, the clerk made no minute and
the problem was allowed to rest a month. It was not until six months later,
however, that the question was settled and settled in a satisfactory manner.
The strong emotional tone wore off, and several tempered their former
statements, until at last it was decided to make a sufficient enlargement of
the grounds to care for those now in membership and to make other arrangements
for the future so that the question would not again arise. This small
enlargement was made in such a way as to do no harm to the playground, and all
seemed to approve of the clerk's estimate of the sense of the meeting. Best of
all the members did not feel that a weak compromise had been made, but rather
that the very best plan had been followed.7
Nor is
use of the method limited to exclusively Quaker groups. Burton R. Clark's
description of faculty meetings at Quaker-sponsored Swarthmore College reveals
the successful use of the method by a largely non-Quaker faculty:
The chairman would not commonly
ask for a vote on an issue, and no one would rise from the floor to demand a
count of hands or the use of a ballot. The expectation was that a common
solution would arise through rational discussion, with each person first
accepting for himself the rightness or appropriateness of a particular
position. While the chairman and everyone else waited, there would be a search
for the consensus; as the drift of opinion became clear, minority points of
view often faded. The minority would see that the agreement necessary for
policy and action lay in another direction, and if that direction seemed
reasonable, they would go along with it. But a strong minority view that would
not dissolve was taken seriously. Rather than vote it down, participants would
continue the discussion or would table the issue so that further thought,
discussion, and persuasion could take place outside the meeting room in the
ensuing days and weeks. The matter might then be raised again at a subsequent
meeting or, if a consensus was still missing, dropped.8
From
the preceding citations, it is not difficult to detect a number of factors
which seem characteristic of Quaker decision making. Stuart Chase9
suggests nine such principles:
1.unanimous decisions—no voting;
2.silent periods—at start of meeting and when
conflict arises;
3.moratorium—when agreement cannot be reached;
4.participation by all with ideas on the subject;
5.learning to listen—not going to meeting with mind
made up;
6.absence of leaders—the clerk steers but does not
dominate;
7.nobody outranks anybody;
8.factual-focus—emotions kept to a minimum; and
9.small meetings—typically limited numbers.
But
which of these principles are fundamental and which derivative? Does Quaker
unanimity entail the universal endorsement of decisions which it appears to?
What goes on in the silences? Are all participants truly equal or only
nominally so? Are emotions simply suppressed? To what extent does the method
depend on the religious vision of Friends? Is a Quaker meeting for business
really the leaderless body it appears?
In the chapters which follow we shall explore
each of these questions in an attempt to bring the reader beyond the
superficial comprehension which is the fruit of most of the descriptions one
finds in print. Thus prepared, one should be able to attend Quaker business
meetings with some sensitivity to the dynamics which are not otherwise obvious.
Perhaps even some members of the Religious Society of Friends may find in these
pages an occasional light on how his or her own -meeting for business proceeds.
The sequence of topics deserves explanation. The
writer has decided not to arrange all the important topics first (or last),
with secondary mat-ters placed in secondary positions. Instead, the focus is
upon two central and subtle matters: the nature of unity in a decision and the
systems of belief which seem to underlie successful use of the method.. All
other topics are introduced at points where they seem most apt for clarifying
or being, clarified by these central issues. For example, Chapter One discusses
the atmosphere expected at a Quaker business meeting. This prepares the reader
for an assessment of a primary issue, the nature of unity, which will be
discussed in Chapter Two.
Chapter II The Atmosphere of Confidence
Why Quakers Expect to Go
Beyond Compromise
In the previous chapter, Elton Trueblood outlined
the prolonged con¬flict within a monthly meeting over whether to expand the
cemetery. He concluded his remarks with the observation that "best of all,
the members did not feel that a weak compromise had been made, but rather that
the very best plan had been followed."" A point of pride about Quaker
deci¬sions is that they occasion the emergence of such a higher synthesis of
individual ideas. "The final result;' comments S. B. Laughlin, "is
not a compromise of conflicting views but a synthesis of the best thought of
all—a case where two and two make five' Referring to Trueblood's deci¬sion
about the cemetery, Stuart Chase explains, "The issue was not com¬promised
but moved up to another level where a new plan was evolved—a plan in nobody's
mind at the beginning of the discussion `12
An example may prove helpful. In 1967, a Quaker
visiting a Philadel¬phia suburb made a public and fervent plea for a prompt end
to the Viet¬nam War. In reaction, the local Quaker meeting house was defaced.
At the meeting for business called to discuss the situation, many Friends
thought that newspaper publicity should be sought; one felt strongly opposed. A
number of prolonged silences followed. Finally, the Friend who had opposed the
publicity suggested using the press to ask that area churches join a
"paint-in" at the meeting house. This sort of publicity was readily endorsed
by all?52 53
In his 1952 study of a Quaker meeting in Chicago,
Glenn Bartoo states flatly, "In our experience compromise has never been
resorted to:'4 Bar-too is, perhaps, a bit generous. This writer
would rather say that compro‑
mise is the occasional exception to the rule.
Sometimes group pressure leads an individual to
sacrifice what is best in favor of what is less embarrassing. As one Friend
explained:
The pressures on the
dissenter are usually very strong; holding out takes great commitment. At our
monthly meeting, the peace committee once wanted to put a picture in the paper
of a previous vigil we had held against the Vietnam War. After three sessions,
finally a compromise was accepted mainly because it was less offensive to those
who were uneasy with opposition to the war. The compromise was just not as
effective as the original proposal would have been.5
More
generally, another Philadelphia Quaker commented, "There is the common
tendency to turn to the lowest common denominator for a
solution:'
Friends sometimes, too, see a higher synthesis in
outcomes where in fact neither side has been willing to budge. Burton Clark
observes that the founders of Swarthmore were divided over whether it should be
a college or a preparatory school. Instead of reaching a true higher synthesis,
they agreed to open an institution that was both college and prep school, thus
forcing the early educators to struggle over the question of priorities for a
number of years .6
Granted
the occasional failures, this observer was struck again and again by the
efforts made in monthly meetings, at Philadelphia Yearly Meeting and
Philadelphia Representative Meeting* to find solutions that
would
rise above the lowest denominator. This is as it should be. The goals of Quaker
decision making are basically different from those of majority rule, a process
to which most Americans are conditioned. The proposals made at the beginning of
a discussion are thus usually seen by participants as starting points, not as
finished products unsusceptible to modification.
At Representative Meeting, the spokesman for a
committee making recommendations for remodeling an ancient building smiled at
the end of his report and said: "Of course that's how we think it
might be done. It might just be that Friends will have other ideas:' For twenty
minutes the meeting then discussed the pros and cons of the committee's suggestions
with the committee's spokesman cheerfully revising the proposal
*
Composed of individuals appointed by each monthly meeting to make decisions for
the yearly meeting in months when the yearly meeting is not in session.
when the group moved towards
options his committee had not presented7
Our
point here is that the attitude with which Friends approach a decision is different
from that which prevails in the context of majority rule. In Quaker decision
making, it generally is presumed that each participant seeks the best
solution; it is also generally presumed that the group, by searching together,
can reach such a correct solution. We shall see later how behavior which
evidences attitudes contrary to this searching together suffers subtle but
sharp sanctions. As a result, the common search for the best solution which is
dismissed as pious rhetoric in the context of majority rule becomes an
effective norm in the voteless Quaker world.
The
attitude demanded of Friends is one of openness to one another's ideas—the
ability to put aside pet notions in favor of the next person's insight.
Francis, Beatrice, and Robert Pollard, writing in Democracy and
Quaker Method, comment:
It is true that such methods
make great demands on those who practise them, and we must acknowledge that
Friends sometimes take refuge from these demands in solutions which are little
more than a mere shelving of them. The temptation to do this is the inevitable
defect of the method's qualities. In experimenting with Quaker methods it would
be necessary to understand this. The remedy is a deeper appreciation of the
method. Those who dread the effects of candour in a Meeting are not giving that
Meeting the opportunity which it needs to realise all the possibilities of its
group life. Such a feeling is often an inverted fear of something within
oneself, and the Meeting which is fully trusted by its members can do much to
release them from that feat8
Why
There Are Few Shy Quakers
Release
from fear, from shyness, from reluctance to express one's ideas is thus given
high priority by Friends. In a sense, the conclusion reached by the assembly is
a musical composition, and each participant has one note to contribute; if very
many notes are missing, the theme loses its beauty and perhaps even becomes
unrecognizable. In a very brief pamphlet on procedures at Quaker meetings,
Thomas S. Brown still takes time to remark that "it is also of great
importance that those Friends who feel they cannot speak acceptably and who are
diffident about the significance of their share in the Meeting be encouraged to
say what they can, remembering that the concerns they feel they present so
haltingly may in fact point to issues needing the Meeting's considerationY
James
Walker urges the more vocal Friends to temper their remarks in order to
encourage reluctant speakers: "Vocal members who tend to
make up their minds quickly
should make a special effort at self-restraint. Too frequently the leaders of
the meeting seem to be making the decision
without carrying with them
the rank and file, who find it difficult to offer vocal opposition. Sometimes
the quiet ones accept an unpalatable action because they have been unwilling to
speak up. Under such circumstances they must accept at least part of the blame'10
One interview subject summed up his feelings this
way: "With Friends, I know from experience that, even if I should say
something foolish, nobody would make me feel embarrassed or think the less of
me:'
One of the quiet but constant reminders that this
atmosphere will prevail is the Quaker style of discussion. We have seen a
statement of London Yearly Meeting which counsels: "We do not set great
store by rhetoric or clever argument. The mere gaining of debating points is
found to be unhelpful and alien:'11
Howard
Brinton explains: "Eloquence which appeals to emotion is out of place.
Those who come to the meeting not so much to discover Truth as to win
acceptance of their opinions may find that their views carry little weight.
Opinions should always be expressed humbly and tentatively in the realization
that no one person sees the whole truth and that the whole meeting can see more
of Truth than can any part of it."12
Public
American rhetorical style in our own era is superficially similar to Quaker
public speech—informal, devoid of oratorical flourishes, chary of blatant
appeals to emotion—but one need only sit a short time in a Quaker meeting for
business to recognize a deeper quality. Tentativeness and an artless
willingness to face the weaknesses in one's position rather than to paper them
over with distracting allusions are outstanding differences.
Sanctions
against unacceptable rhetoric are subtle but effective. On the rare occasions
when such speech happens, no comment is normally made; instead the discussion
continues, the following speakers pointedly ignoring the offender's remarks.
In the coffee break which next occurs, one is likely to overhear such wisps of
conversation as, "John should know better than to speak like that;' or,
"If there's one thing that winds me down, it's the way Susan tries to get
us all wound up:' This is one form of the social sanctioning wryly described by
Quakers as the "Philadelphia Treatment:'
The
Philadelphia Treatment also works in reverse. A Friend whose halting delivery
or poor choice of words suggests that he or she is shy before groups will often
find his or her theme picked up by one of the meeting's more respected and
experienced members. In the coffee break or after the meeting, various Friends
will stop the shy Friend to thank him or her for the insight. The shy Friend's
contribution has thus been endorsed in public and in private. At the next
meeting, the Friend is likely to be more confident.
Having
made the above point, we feel duty bound to temper it a bit. The extent of
shyness varies from one monthly meeting to the next. In one monthly meeting,
the "old guard" may not be receptive to newcomers. In another, the
"social activists" may be less than enthusiastic about the
contributions of members who are "inadequately sensitive" to social
issues. A dominant personality in yet a third meeting may keep would-be contributors
from speaking their minds. Granted such failures, it is clear that Friends
typically emphasize the importance of encouraging every participant in a
meeting to feel that his or her contribution will be received with
appreciation.
On
Keeping Emotion in Its Place
Friends
do have a problem when it comes to the expression of emotions. "Quakers
hold back their emotions more than most people;' volunteered one interview
subject—an observation in which this observer would heartily concur. Because
appeals to emotion are so out of place, Friends sometimes find it inappropriate
to reveal their own inner feelings or to seek out ways of speaking which will
let people know—in a non-rhetorical manner—the depth of their feelings. As a
result, the emotional dimensions of topics sometimes do not get the frank
attention they deserve because emotions are considered unworthy.
For
example, a member of the Board of Directors of the American Friends Service
Committee threw unexpected light on just this point. When asked whether a
decision by the Service Committee to violate federal law and risk loss of tax
exemption by shipping penicillin to the North Vietnamese was a good example of
Quaker decision making, the following reply was made: "The penicillin
decision was a good example of Quaker decision making. . . . But it's
interesting that the decisions over which we have the most trouble are more
'average' issues: property, budgets, graveyards. On these matters, feelings are
high. . . ."
In
practice, Friends seem to have a scale for judging just how much personal
feelings may be revealed. If an individual is generally quite cerebral and
self-controlled, an occasional manifestation of personal feelings is accepted
sympathetically. For example, a woman whose style of
speech—in
and out of meeting for business—was thoughtful and pleasantly off-handed,
stood to complain that Quaker peace-promotion teams were
being excluded from area high schools although
army recruiters were welcomed with fanfare. She mentioned the pressures this
put on young boys, her son among them. Her voice revealed deep grief and, on
the verge of tears, she sat. A respectful silence was finally broken by
speakers voicing agreement and offering practical steps the meeting might
take.13
In this
case, emotion seemed acceptable because it was rare. Clearly it was not the
speaker's custom to speak this way—and because the emo‑
tions
were not a substitute for reasonableness—even without her expression of
feelings, the woman's concern was clearly in keeping with the Quaker commitment
to peace education.
Three
other members of the same meeting also spoke emotionally from time to time. In
these cases, the contributions were received with limited
sympathy. The remarks of the speakers who
immediately followed the
emotional
contributions, the observations of Friends interviewed just after the meeting,
and the examples cited during formal interviews when this
problem was raised all indicated that sympathy
was, at best, minimal. One person complained that such an individual got
carried away all the time but just didn't "carry me along:' The complaints
seemed to focus on frequency and a tendency to let emotion obscure the issues.
It
should also be noted that Friends seem to accept readily the simple statement
that "this moves me deeply" as adding a factor of weight to
an
individual's remarks. This suggests once again that Friends are not opposed to
emotions, not opposed to their having an important bearing on decisions. What
seems important to Friends is that emotions be both deep and frankly recognized
as emotions. Infrequency is a very handy measure of depth—hence the aversion to
one who speaks this way all the time. But recognition is also important: I must
know what my emotions are if I am to cope with them. So, too, must a group be
aware of the feelings of its members. Hence, Friends are open to statements
such as "I find this decision by the city makes me very angry," and
to displays of emotion in which the feelings are revealed but kept under
control of reason. In both situations, the emotions are recognized and can be
dealt with thoughtfully. Although many Friends do seem to stifle their
feelings, then, the mores of the meeting urge them to channel these emotions
rather than to suppress them.
For
those Friends who are aficionados of the "let it all hang out" school
of human interaction—an approach somewhat popular among young adults in the
community—the normal Quaker structure of channeled emotion seems stilted and
even dishonest at times. However, all the Friends interviewed on this topic
indicated a general sense of confidence in the meeting's willingness to
sympathize with their own deep concerns.
This
openness to deeply felt emotions is one more indicator of the warm subculture that
seems to mark Quaker meetings. In order to foster that warmth, Howard Brinton
suggests that a conscious effort be made at developing a real affection within
the group, using any devices that will help it "become as much of a
genuine unit, economically, socially, and in every other way, as its members
desire"' Quakers strive for increased "social solidarity:' They
lament the loss of such stimuli to fellowship as the old holiday week of yearly
meeting which was held just before the plowing season so farm families could
lodge in the homes of their Philadelphia brethren for seven full days, the
latter closing their small shops for the duration.14
When
Confidence Fails
The
atmosphere of respectful openness to one another is an essential element which
is taken for granted by all the Quaker sources this writer has consulted. An
example or two of what Quaker decisions are like without this atmosphere may be
instructive.
Pendle
Hill is a residential study center for adults—Friends and
non-Friends—interested in thoughtful pursuit of social and religious questions
traditionally explored by Quakers. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, even this
institution was struck by the unrest common on campuses whose clientele were
much younger. A member of the Pendle Hill Board of Directors describes the
situation:
For about five terribly
difficult years, students—who are present from ten to twelve weeks—and
staff—one year usually—demanded the right to participate in Board and
Executive Committee decisions. The two bodies resented accepting them because
the motivation was so clearly lack of trust, suspicion, desire of power. One
man urged that there was no incongruity in disbanding Pendle Hill if some
group there for twelve weeks should so conclude. They were finally allowed to
be present in limited numbers—two staff, two students—and often revealed an
inquisitorial belligerence. I recall one fellow's challenge of the treasurer.
The treasurer finally was able to show him what the entries in the accounts
stood for and he backed down, letting the atmosphere change.
And
splits do exist within the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting. We shall discuss these
in some detail later. For the moment, a single example may
suffice.
Especially troublesome is the case of inactive Friends from old Quaker families
who are drawn to meeting for business on the occasion of some controversial
issue—for example, contributing funds to a Black group which is demanding
reparations, or removing the wall surrounding the cemetery where six
generations of their ancestors are buried.
In such
a situation this interviewer has had instances described where inactive
Friends, rusty in Quaker methods, tend to become judgmental about the
"insensitive" proposals of some of the meeting's active members. The
latter are described (in private) as novices unused to Quaker ways. The active
members, on their side, see a lack of commitment, a selfish prejudice in their
normally inactive brethren. In such a situation, the externals of Quaker
decision making may be observed, but our conversations with participants
support our impression at such sessions that the dynamic of seeking a higher
unity through receptiveness to that of God in the other was only minimally at
work.
At
times when such conflicts are especially vivid, some Friends find that the
Quaker method is better used at the American Friends Service Committee—where
the majority of employees who participate in decisions are usually
non-Quakers—than at gatherings where all participants are Quakers but where
genuine receptiveness to others is not achieved:
I'd much rather work through
a problem at the Service Committee than in a monthly meeting. I worry about the
"sense of the meeting" approach in the Society of Friends. So often,
the people making decisions don't have a lot in common—outlook, the endeavors
in which they spend most of their time, etc. My monthly meeting suffered a
shattering experience over the Black separatist groups. Lots of people came out
of the woodwork who hadn't ever worshipped there. At AFSC, there are many viewpoints,
but at least there is a context of effort to bring about improvement in the
status of the neighbor and real interaction among the decision makers. You
know this guy well enough to give serious hearing to his "far out"
idea. Because of personal experience, we take one another seriously. My own
ideas have changed on social issues because I've been nudged by
colleagues with whom I interact so much.
The
need for openness has some direct corollaries. Friends agree that their method
is hamstrung whenever participants cannot be face-to-face: "On not really
important issues, I admit that the phone or even correspondence may have to be
used. But basically you need to look people in the eye to be sensitive to
them"
Another
corollary is that the topics with which a group can successfully deal are
normally limited by the strength of the bonds of respect for one another which
prevail within the community. We shall see more of this when we explore the
role of the clerk in judging what items are ripe for the agenda.
But the
purpose of this chapter is not so much to spell out details of Quaker procedure
as to make clear to the reader the atmosphere that prevails in those situations
where the Quaker method seems to work well. The emphasis is on acceptance of
one another, mutual respect, avoidance of the manipulative conduct which
rhetorical style often hides, a sense of the partiality of one's own insights,
and one's dependence on searching together with the group for better
conclusions than anyone alone could have attained.
With
some notion of the general atmosphere as prelude, we are now in a position to
explore one of our main topics, the nature of the unity involved in a decision.
Chapter III No Decisions Without Unity
One major difficulty in assessing Quaker procedure is that no conventional
term adequately expresses the phenomenon of decisional agreement in a Quaker
meeting. Some people describe all decisions as unanimous on the grounds that
any objecting member could prevent action. But this is a misnomer because it
implies that all participants are satisfied when a decision is reached—a point
hardly true of many Quaker decisions. Other people speak of consensus, thereby
underscoring that the bulk of those present agree even if one or two objectors
remain. But this, too, is misleading. Quakers are simply not satisfied to know
that even the overwhelming majority are in agreement.'
Given this verbal difficulty, many
Friends adhere carefully to the term "unity" rather than
"unanimity" or "consensus." This term, too, can be
misleading if one makes it a synonym for unanimity. Unity, however, has the
advantage of being widely used among Friends and has historical roots in the
understanding that the one Spirit of Truth leads all to unite in what the
Spirit reveals.2 Hence, the common expression, "I can unite
with what Friend Smith has said."
Another early Quaker term was "concord." Edward Burrough
exhorted his brethren in 1662 "to determine of things by a general mutual
concord, in assenting together as one man in the spirit of truth and equity,
and by the authority thereof.1,13 The Oxford English
Dictionary defines concordance in this same sense of harmonizing various
accounts.4
The melodic
image is useful. It suggests that the sort of agreement
63
found in Quaker decisions is not an
identity of view such that every participant ends up on the same note.
Instead, they remain on different notes but blend them as the pianist blends
conpiementary notes into a chord.
Although this writer's preferred term would be concord, modern Quaker
usage demands unity, a term of clear meaning to the Friend but open to
misunderstanding by the outsider. However, the writer bows to current Friendly
custom and speaks of Quaker unity in the discussion which follows.
Preliminary
Discussion
In many
Quaker decisions there are at least two stages of discussion. The preliminary
stage follows initial presentation of both the problem and its possible
solutions. At this point, participants often ask questions of the person who
has made the presentation, offer tentative alternatives to the proposal, and
even find themselves more in the posture of brainstorming than of making
serious judgments. Remarks contrary to the proposal at such a time are taken to
be exploratory. If the speaker decides to offer them seriously, he or she will
have to raise them when the discussion gets to the more serious phase which
precedes the declaration of unity by the clerk.
Transition
from the preliminary to the serious phase is normally informal. An individual
will begin to speak in a less tentative tone and others will follow this
invitation and speak from their considered judgments rather than in an
exploratory fashion.
At the
time of transition, trial balloons are sometimes floated. An individual will
offer a suggestion—perhaps a rejection of the basic proposal for a novel
reason—and then sit back to see what response the idea draws from the group.
Such a statement does not involve personal commitment to the idea one
enunciates, although the neophyte observer could easily mistake the remark for
a seriously-held objection. This observer did just that on a few occasions,
only to discover in conversations after the session that the participants had
generally read the remark as a testing of the waters.
The
ability to differentiate tentative from serious remarks is important for all
participants in the discussion, but especially for the clerk, whose duty it is
to read the group and decide whether there is serious objection to the general
direction in which discussion is moving.
Serious
Discussion
As Friends begin to speak their serious
conclusions, the tide will build.
Speakers will piggyback on
the ideas of their predecessors. Listeners who find a speaker's remarks match
their own feelings will follow his or her words with a chorus of "I
agree" or "I can unite with that" or "that speaks my
mind."
But
sometimes several currents are running in the tide, pulling the meeting in two
or more directions. Or there may be no tide or current at all: even after
discussion, the participants may find that no option draws them into unison. In
either of these situations, discussion continues until a dominant position
emerges or until, at the suggestion of the clerk or some other participant,
there is agreement that no conclusion can be reached for now. In this case, the
matter is postponed: "It is the clerk's task within the plexus of this
corporate exercise either to find a resolution with which the assembled Friends
can largely agree or to follow the Quaker rule, 'when in doubt, wait In the
latter case the minute might read: 'Friends could not reach clarity on a
resolution of the issue in this meeting and it was agreed to postpone that
matter until the following monthly meeting' ."5
If,
however, the tide is running in a particular direction, the clerk is expected
to make a judgment that the group is now ready for agreement and to propose a
tentative minute embodying the agreement as the clerk understands it from
listening to the discussion.
Dissent
from a Proposed Minute
When
the clerk proposes a minute, each member of the assemblage has two quite
different questions to ask. First, does the proposed minute catch the drift of
discussion? If the answer is no, someone can be expected to object. One
occasionally hears such a paradoxical remark as: "If it please the clerk!
Although the minute pleases me, I suspect it says a bit more than Friends are
willing to say." More typically, the objection will be phrased; Well I,
for one, would be uncomfortable with such a minute. And, from what I've heard,
many others in the room would be uncomfortable, too."
Discussion
follows such an objection, with various Friends stating how they respond to the
minute as an expression of the group's will. The clerk rephrases or withdraws
the minute if need be.
If the
clerk is adept at chairing the meeting—more on this in a later chapter—such
misreading of the group's leanings is relatively rare. Under an experienced
clerk, therefore, each participant is much more likely to move to a second
question. Although the minute reflects the trend of the
group, is each member
comfortable with that trend? If the answer is no, one may choose to rise in
order to speak against the minute. Perhaps the group has not considered
adequately a point which has hidden import. After one speaks, others will agree
or disagree and, once any new discussion has run its course, the clerk will
either again propose the original minute or offer a substitute depending on
whether the discussion revealed a shift in preferences. It is often the case that
one person's statement of misgivings leads others to reassess their judgments,
giving more prominence to matters they had initially dismissed.
But
suppose the group remains unmoved by one person's uneasiness. Given the
folklore of Quaker dissent, the answer is simple: if the person can't agree,
the group is unable to proceed. The realities, fortunately, are much more
subtly adapted to the complexities of human disagreement. For example,
opposition to an advertisement in the New York Times calling for the
impeachment of the President is quite a different category from opposition to
starting a cleanup project at 9A.M. instead of 9:30 A.M. on Saturday. In Quaker
decision making, a whole spectrum of dissent is available. The paragraphs which
follow indicate some typical points on the spectrum.
"I Disagree but Do Not
Wish to Stand in the Way"
In many
instances the point of disagreement, for one reason or another, is not strong
enough to merit standing in the way of the decision. For religious reasons, a
person may prefer the judgment of the group as "sincere seekers after the
divine leading" to that person's individual judgment. In more secular
terms, an individual may recognize the possibility that everyone else is right,
or that an important principle is or is not involved.6
This is
the level at which, in practice, most dissent is expressed. The meeting is left
aware of the dissenter's opinion, yet the dissenter has indicated a wish not
to keep the matter from moving forward? Equivalently, the objector has thus
endorsed the action of the group by implying that in his or her own judgment
the objection is not serious enough to prevent action.8
The
dissenter has thus put him or herself in a psychologically peculiar but
liberating situation. The individual can leave the meeting with a sense
of integrity ("I never
approved the proposal. There was no compromise of my own belief, my own
leaning:') because he or she did not, after all, pretend to endorse the group's
choice. But at the same time, the individual also feels some sense of
responsibility because, "I could have stopped or
at least delayed the action, but I didn't:'
Therefore, the individual tends to take some responsibility for the decision,
even to feel some obligation for making it work out well in practice. We shall
explore this matter in more depth later on.
In
Quaker decisions, this moment of withdrawing one's opposition—though not one's
disagreement—so the meeting may proceed is a very important way of preventing
polarization; and its exercise, therefore, is virtually an art form of
graciousness. Paradoxically, some Friends make a point of being especially
strong in their criticism of a proposal because they know that, if the proposal
is accepted by the group, they will have this moment to withdraw their
opposition and therefore to prevent their harsh statements from working
permanent division into the community. Here is an example which indicates the
importance of the withdrawal.
At the
1975 session of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, a major bone of contention was the
size of the budget for the Yearly Meeting staff in the year ahead. A small but
vocal group from a monthly meeting claimed to be dissatisfied with the emphasis
of the Yearly Meeting staff on social work in the Philadelphia metropolitan
area—work of little service to meetings like their own outside the metropolitan
area. The treasurer of the group complained that the budget for the Yearly
Meeting had been enlarged every year for the last ten years and that it would
be necessary to fire the monthly meeting's one full-time employee to meet
their proportional share of the proposed Yearly Meeting budget. Prolonged
discussion revealed that the bulk of the speakers did not concur with the
monthly meeting's desire to cut the Yearly Meeting's budget.
The
evening was wearing on. The clerk reminded all of the shortness of time. Then
he picked up an earlier suggestion that it might be possible for financially
strong monthly meetings to absorb a larger proportion of the increased budget than
financially weak meetings. He remarked that it was clear the budget had been
approved but also that the Yearly Meeting had a responsibility to be concerned
about the unhappiness of displeased meetings and that therefore a meeting
ought be held later on to decide whether costs could be partly absorbed by
meetings which felt they were financially stronger.
From the floor came the cry, "I fail to see
how the Yearly Meeting has approved the budget when a number of us do not
approve the budget."
The clerk replied that, in the judgment of the
clerk, the only major point of contention was that of distributing the
financial burden. Since this would now be put off until a later meeting for
settlement, the matter
of the
budget was in fact settled; the matter of its mode of appropriation would be
settled at a subsequent meeting.
For the
moment, the clerk's reply silenced, although it did not satisfy, the objector.
The objecting Friends had been as much upset about the way Yearly Meeting
expenditures were focused on social projects in Philadel‑
phia as over the added financial burden, and the
clerk's declaration seemed to ignore this concern.9
Conversations
with those present cast light on Quaker custom. One man of many years'
experience indicated that the clerk had clearly been
right in saying that the general feeling was in
favor of the budget, but that the clerk seemed to have stretched his role as
far as you can take it in
moving things too rapidly to a conclusion before
the dissatisfied members had withdrawn their objection. A number concurred in
the observation that the size of the assembly—several hundred people—and the
lateness of the hour had led the clerk to move too fast. A few—one on the floor
of the meeting the next day—complained that the clerk was misapplying Quaker
procedures.
In
interviews some weeks later, however, individuals who had initially objected
to the budget felt "very content with the outcome" They didn't really
want to block the budget; they wanted to serve notice of its questionable
dimensions for the monthly meetings. The monthly meeting the objection came
from was "rather suspect among Friends anyway" and thus drew little
real sympathy for its objections. One observer commented:
The clerk read the mood of
the house perfectly well. If he made any mistake at all, it was in letting the
press of time short circuit the normal procedure. He might better have declared
that "Friends seem to be at an impasse" and asked for a few moments
of silence. Or he could have indicated he was unable to make a minute and asked
whether the Meeting wished to drop the next day's agenda until this matter
might be resolved. In either case, the objecting Friends, having made their
point, would have indicated a desire not to stand in the way. But he moved too
quickly and took away their chance to withdraw their objections.
The
clerk's speed thus seemed to lead to a sense of polarization in the group by
depriving the dissidents of their moment of reconciliation. Given the number of
Friends with strong opinions on the subject even months after this event, it
would seem that the ramifications were not ephemeral.1° Withdrawal
of objections is far more than a ritual; it truly liberates the meeting to go
forward and prevents the polarization that normally arises at the moment of
voting when one side becomes victor, the other vanquished. In the Quaker
system, such a moment does not normally arise because those who have been
unable to sway the group have the opportunity to join it. In joining the group,
they truly do free it to act.
"Please Minute Me as
Opposed"
One
step further along the spectrum of dissent is a practice much less common among
Friends—and therefore much more significant—the request that one can be "minuted
as opposed:' In this case, the objector wishes that the minute expressing the
sense of the meeting should note his or her disagreement. Although fairly
common in the past, the procedure is unfamiliar to many Quakers today. Its use
leaves the meeting free to proceed but also tends to make the group more
reluctant than if the objector had stopped short of asking to be listed in the
minute as opposed. An example from the Board of Directors of Pendle Hill, the
Quaker adult education facility outside Philadelphia, may be helpful:
We had a problem at Pendle
Hill over whether to permit cohabitation of unmarried students and/or faculty.
In both cases, remember, we are talking of people older than college age. After
lengthy consideration, the Board settled on a policy in which we did not
approve such cohabitation but did give the administration discretion in
exceptional cases to allow it.
One
Board member wanted his name recorded in dissent in the minute. It was
necessary for the clerk to explain to some Friends that such was an appropriate
procedure. Four more Friends then asked that their names be added to his. This
was a sizable number; yet none desired to prevent the movement forward.
The
decision drew wide notice among Philadelphia area Friends. The notations of
dissent made the action seem experimental, tentative, hesitant. Curiously, the
action did not stir the amount of criticism among Quakers one might have
expected, perhaps precisely because its painful uncertainty was so clearly
underscored.11
Depending
upon the circumstances, the request that one be "minuted as not
united" with the decision can make a group much more hesitant to go
forward than the mere withdrawal of objection. In both cases, however, the
objector explicitly indicates that the objection should not stand in the
way.
"I Am Unable to Unite
with the Proposal"
Next on the spectrum is a situation in which a
person is simply "unable to unite" with a proposal in such a basic
way that he or she is unwilling to stand aside and let the meeting move
forward. In such a situation, the normal procedure is to delay action until a
later time. If time is short or
the objection seems
frivolous, the clerk or another Friend may appeal to the objector to withdraw
the objection or to consent to be minuted as opposed 12
If
there is a delay, all take time to reflect again on their positions.
Discussions may also occur among those who participated in the recent meeting.
The clerk and those highly respected by the objector may make strong efforts to
understand the roots of the objection. This is one form of what Quakers call
"laboring with Friend X'
At the
meeting which follows, very often agreement is possible. The objector's problem
has been traced to something nonessential in the proposal and the proposal has
been adjusted accordingly. Or the objector has come to see that his or her
unhappiness is not so profound as originally thought and is now willing to
stand aside. Often, too, the objector is now able to stand aside because he or
she is confident that trusted members of the meeting have understood his or her
point of view and, having thought it through conscientiously, still do not
agree. The individual's respect for their judgments makes it easier to let the
decision go forward. The person can, of course, still choose not to unite with
the decision, although the social pressure to unite grows with each delay and
each discussion with a respected Friend. If the individual does not unite, the
group may continue to delay or, thinking the objections frivolous, proceed
anyway. Delay is the much more likely course. Many an interview subject has
summed up the likely outcome of a conflict within his or her meeting with the
remark, "We won't solve this one until we have a good Quaker funeral or
two:'
Absence
Our
spectrum is complicated by the Friend who does not attend a meeting at all. The
cause is normally no more than disinterest or the press of other
responsibilites. But a Friend who is regularly a member of the group but
absents him or herself at a time of critical decision becomes conspicuous. A
Friend absented herself from a Quaker school's board meeting where she knew it
would be decided to invite parents of non-Quaker students to join the Board.
"If I had gone;' she confided to another board member, "I would have
just had to object. So I didn't go." Her absence was felt by all. But the
Board went ahead with its decision. Deliberate absence can, then, have multiple
meanings. Even when it signifies deep disagreement with a proposal, it does not
necessarily block action.
Intangible
Factors Affecting the Impact of Dissent
It
might be helpful here to return to the spectrum of possible modes of dissent
and indicate likely outcomes. Basically, the group can be expected to go ahead
at once if the objector follows the typical approach of stating his or her
unease but affirming a desire not to stand in the way. The same is true even if
he or she asks to be minuted as opposed, although it seems that the group will
proceed in much more chary fashion. (This is based on sparse evidence; current
cases are extremely rare.) If the individual feels simply unable to unite, the
group will normally delay action.
But for
how many meetings will the group delay action on one subject? To answer this
question, we must introduce a new and complicated set of factors. In practice,
the group's willingness to delay is a function of the apparent importance of
the objector's objection—how deeply a matter of principle is it? The group's
readiness to delay also depends on its respect for the objector. What is the
individual's reputation for wisdom or spiritual sensitivity or expertise in the
area under consideration? Yet a third factor is time. The more urgent the
matter, the more highly regarded the objector needs to be.13 And, of
course, how many objectors are there? Fifteen out of 100, even if they do not
carry much weight as individuals, form a significant group.
In a
sense, these factors are a social scientist's nightmare. The relative
significance of each factor depends in each situation upon the entire set of
relationships existing at a given moment within the group under consideration.
Any single factor—size of the minority, reputation of the ob-jector(s),
pressure of time, importance of the issue to the objector(s), importance of
the issue to the most respected spokesmen for the dominant side—can be
significant enough to control the outcome in one situation, but unimportant in
the next.
