Beyond Majority Rule Pt 2 Ch 4-5 [wk 4] 13443

Beyond Majority Rule Pt 2 Ch 4-5  [wk 4]

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Chapter IV Belief Systems Underlying Quaker Decision Making

Myth from a Social Scientific Viewpoint

Quaker understanding of how unity is reached and the significance of Friends' decisions can be confusing. One says the group has reached Truth, meaning Truth is the guiding light of Jesus Christ. Another finds in Truth the best aspirations of man but dismisses references to Christ as "bag­gage from another age" when people didn't know better. If four Quakers agree that Christ is the Truth which guides Friends, then for one this means that Christ is the historic Jesus, for another a name for the Creator, for the third an impersonal force, and for the fourth a euphemism for the relief one feels when one has tried hard to be honest in making a choice.

No matter how contradictory the language sounds at first, it all points to a mutually-shared event: Friends experience something special and in­voke some privileged explanation to indicate why their type of decision is different from ordinary ones. They find an authenticating dimension outside the mechanics of the process. One Friend, a professional political scientist himself, commented: "I doubt that a common goal plus accept­ance of the rules is enough. . . . There is need of a bona fide religious myth, a mysticism, to which people really feel subordinate'

Before we explore the alternative Quaker myths, perhaps it would be helpful to explain our use of the term myth. A myth, as defined by Karl Rahner and Herbert Vorgrimler, is "an intellectual construction that fuses concept and emotion into an image."' The myths with which we are con‑

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cerned are "collective representations¹¹² rather than the product of a single mind. Explaining religious myth, Rahner comments:

If we assume that every concept bearing upon a metaphysical or religious reality, remote from direct experience, must work with a sensible image

·. . which is not the original phenomenal form of that reality but is ar­rived at from elsewhere; if we further assume that this. image. . is not• a static "picture" but a dramatic representation—an event—or can be developed into one, and that such a thing can then be called a mythical representation: then every metaphysical or religious utterance is a mythical one or can be interpreted in mythical terms

In our usage, a myth is a concrete embodiment of beliefs which makes sense out of religious phenomena for a group of believers. Myths can con­vey truth or falsehood or both. They are worth studying because they can help explain why those who hold them act as they do.

Let us now look at the second principal topic of this essay, the major

competing Quaker myths, and see how they buttress Quaker meetings for worship and meetings for business.

As a prelude, we should underscore that the following are pure positions. They were distilled from many interviews with people who

tended to hold positions like these or combinations of these or, in some cases, to shift positions according to the situation.

Christocentrism

The Christocentric Quaker is easiest for typical Americans to under­stand. He or she shares with most American Protestants a conviction that the historical Jesus was in some way the Son of God, that the Gospels express his teaching in a privileged fashion, and that he is active in our world today as its Lords To be sure, the Gospels are only one channel to that Lord and cannot supersede his present revelation in individual prayer and the meeting's worship. For the same Spirit of Jesus the Inner Light is found in both. Decisions reached in the Life are guaranteed by the promised guidance of Jesus: "Where two or three are gathered in my name, there am Tin the midst" (Matthew 18:20). Beneath the mutual trust at a Friends meeting is the conviction that each person present is "indwelt by the spirit of 'God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ'" (Ephesians 1:3).

Christocentric Quakers can be readily divided into two subgroups. The first tend to be fundamentalist in their theology. They take Scripture literally: creation was in six days; Jesus uttered each saying attributed to him exactly as recorded; and the details of each miracle in Scripture are

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historically precise. Although all age groups are represented here, many adults among these individuals tend to have been uninfluenced by the science versus the Bible dispute of their college days and are unaware of modern biblical research.

The second subgroup of Christocentric Quakers tends to hold theological positions in keeping with modern mainstream Protestantism and Catholicism. For such a Quaker, the Jesus of history is the same per­son as the Inner Light of today, but the literal acceptance of events and statements in Scripture must be modified by understanding the literary genres employed in each passage, ancient notions of history, et cetera. In practice, although Scripture and present revelation are both channels to God, the latter are often much more reliable indicators of divine guidance than Scripture.

This subgroup seems to include few young adults and few elderly adults. At this 1983 writing, members appear in the thirty-five to sixty-five age range, given our interviews and observations of references to God in meetings for worship and meetings for business. The group is more in touch with modern scholarship than either its fundamentalist or its universalist confreres.⁶

Universalism

Universalist Quakers seem by far the majority group in Philadelphia Yearly Meeting. They, too, can be subdivided into two groups. The first subgroup would include all those who hold for some exterior guiding principle —the "Other" beyond man's life. Jesus was an especially great man, an exemplar for us of devotion to God. But he was not God and his death was not salvific. Man is good by nature; he needs divine guidance but not redemption from a state of sin.

The divine Other—be it personal or impersonal⁷—does indeed afford guidance to those who truly seek it. Such guidance is received in private reflection and in meeting. Said one Friend, "The assumption among Quakers is that there's something more than mankind—call it God, ulti­mate reality or whatever else—a something deeper than man which does guide if we're open to it." For such a Quaker, Christian language is bound up in time. That is, traditional Quaker formulas reflect the naively literalist vocabulary of the age in which Fox emerged and therefore the terminology in which he had to speak.⁸ Thus, the Society of Friends is Christian by accident.⁹

In spite of the chasm of belief between this subgroup and the holders of a Christocentric position, these universalists share with their Christocen‑

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tric brethren a willingness to see in the experience of the Inner Light a manifestation of a divine guidance which claims allegiance. Decisions reached in an atmosphere of worship are just as preferable to these Friends as to the Christocentric sort; their sense of a special obligation to obey such religiously achieved decisions appears equally strong.

A second subgroup under the universalist banner might well be la­belled humanists. These are people who tend to translate all "God talk" into elevated allusions to the fundamental aspirations and potential of human-beings-at-their-best. As Stanley Ellin wrote in a letter to the Friends Journal, "Where most Christians would interpret the message, 'I and the Father are one; as defining the nature of Jesus, for us it expresses the divine potential in all men'¹⁰ To these Friends, religious language is appropriate for enshrining human potential so long as it is not taken literally. Here are two examples:

What it is important to emphasize is the . . . desire [of all Friends] to meet on every occasion in a spirit which seeks conclusions that are con­structive, wise and loving, or as some would prefer to say, that are con­sistent with the will of God.¹¹

One of the immediate and important objects of a Quaker meeting for worship is to create a Christian fellowship.....the Quaker meeting never produced any other results save those arising from an increase in human fellowship, the meeting would be justified j2

Numbered among these universalist Friends are Jewish agnostics, Bud­dhists, and Hindus who find in Quakerism "no religion at all, but a form of humanism concerned with ethics and the improvement of the human lot'¹³

Of all the groupings, this humanitarian-universalist type is the most elusive to categorize. The experience of being gathered, for example, is deeply meaningful to some humanitarian-universalists—a moment when each is in touch with his or her "best self^' For such people, decisions taken in a gathered condition carry a heavy sense of obligation without the impairment of individual freedom since—shades of Rousseau—each individual is only obeying his or her best self or obeying a higher stan­dard which the group finds rather than creates. Writes Glenn Bartoo: "The goals are above the group as well as above the individual. Hence, individuals don't perceive the group as interfering with their individual freedom'¹⁴ Friends the writer has interviewed who expressed leanings in this direc­tion seemed emphatic about having an obligation to carry out group deci­sions reached in the Life. Although this observer does not have enough information to indicate with confidence whether their sense of obligation matches that of those of Christocentric or Other-oriented Friends, the sense of obligation appears less strong.

For a second subgroup in this humanitarian-universalist category, the experience of being gathered is obviously much less significant. Some avow that they find it a curious group phenomenon and suggest telepathy, extra­sensory perception, or other psychic phenomena as the explanation.¹⁵ When asked about a sense of obligation to obey a group decision, they allude to common sense and a desire to trust the corporate wisdom, but not to a special binding character the decision may carry, even if reached in a deeply religious atmosphere. People with this leaning tend to em­phasize that gathered meetings for worship are very uncommon. One, a Friend for only three years, said she had never experienced such a meeting. As for the gathered meeting for business, such Friends are like­ly to remark that it happens so infrequently that one need not bother to worry about it.

The universalist Quaker, whether Other-centered or humanitarian, can be of any age. People in middle and old age of this persuasion often indicate a knowledge of the old science versus the Bible disputes. Typically college-educated, they find Quaker universalism a "haven for the doub­ting Thomases of a scientific age¹¹⁶ One Christocentric Friend explained: "The triumvirate of Darwin, Marx, and Freud led Quakers in the 40's, 50's and 60's to favor more a psychological than a 'divine inspiration' explana­tion of the deep experiences of Quakers. Now, with discovery that it's safe, respectable again to be a believer, there's a new turn to explicit faith especially among Friends who stay in touch with the educational scene' 1117

One must be careful not to imply that Quaker universalism is a relative­ly recent phenomenon. Elias Hicks, leader of one party in the great Quaker schism of 1827, seemed committed to an Other-centered universalism'⁸ However, the Orthodox party of that same schism fell under universalist influence at the turn of the present century under the inspiration of the Quaker philosopher-historian Rufus Jones. Interview subjects in their seventies and eighties spoke of a personal commitment to universalism going back to their childhood.

Superficially, at least, the most senior and the newest adherents to Quaker universalism are much alike. Both believe in a divine dimension of life but without attributing much reality to traditionally Christian Quaker language. But the similarity is not complete. Middle-aged and elderly Friends show an optimism about the human condition and the world's

future which their younger coreligionists do not share: An experienced clerk commented:

In the young Friends and ^attenders* nowadays you find a distinctive cast of mind. Many are radically pessimistic: man isn't good. This is very dif­ferent from traditional Quaker optimism; it seems to come from the ex­perience of the Viet Nam War. For these young Friends, Christianity is seen in a very negative light: Christianity is divisive, . . . has occasioned many wars, has led to persecutions, has kept well-intentioned men apart. These younger folks are reluctant to take the Christocentric path. Univer­salism seems much more appropriate to them.

Social Activism

Although it would be convenient if we could limit Quaker myths to the Christocentric-universalist spectrum, neither our interviews nor written materials will allow for such clean categories neatly grouped around the question, Who is God? Among Friends there is a sizable group which is more concerned with healing God's children than with who God is. Said one woman: "I find I'm more interested in justice than in beliefs. My 'worship' is more in service than in the meeting house' Walter Rauschenbush's Social Gospel movement, emanating from the Universi­ty of Chicago in the 1920s and 1930s, was a significant support of this trend among Quakers. More recently, many in this group have joined Friends

after being attracted to nonviolent Quaker practice through the American Friends Service Committee.

We repeat that we are talking of pure types here and that Friends who are social activists also belong somewhere on the Christocentric-universalist spectrum. But the social activist myth itself is important because it uses Quaker decision making without recourse to any of the more formally theological positions. Quakers who emphasize this social activist understanding of their religion tend to be much more pragmatic about the significance of Quaker decisions. One Friend commented, "Seeking unity because you make a bigger impact if you all go at something

together" is quite different from seeking unity because divine guidance can be found there.

The social activist type lacks much of the sense of the authority of decisions which we saw in the Christocentric or the universalist Other-centered type. With the universalist-humanist type is shared a desire to trust the group's insight or to increase impact through acting in a united

* Attenders are individuals who come to a Friends meeting but have not become formal members.

fashion. But the specially binding character of the decision reached in a religious atmosphere is not significant for such a Friend. Interestingly, a number of interview subjects indicated that decisions regarding social ac­tion tend to be less frequently reached in a religious atmosphere in their own monthly meetings, sometimes with the rather feeble excuse that "social issues seem too complex for divine guidance' The writer did not observe this at meetings he attended. However, the attitude if true may reflect the needs of the social activists who become prominent in these decisions and see no value in moving to a religious level.

Democracy

For years, Quakers have prided themselves on having a system of "radical democracy"¹⁹ in the sense that all present are of equal worth in the eyes of God and have an equal right to participate. This love for democracy has been carefully balanced with a disclaimer such as this one provided by Howard Brinton: "In the voting method of 'one man, one vote" the opinion of the foolish or indifferent counts for as much as that of the wise, interested, or responsible. In the Quaker meeting for business, wise and foolish are both listened to, but the contribution of each to the final judgment has at least an opportunity to be gauged in proportion to its wisdom'²°

The American democratic myth has had its impact on Quaker prac­tice, however. Some Friends bridle at the very notion that one participant ought to have more influence than the next. Others point out that some of their weaknesses in effectively using Quaker decision making processes arise because of the American political heritage: "Most of us in this meeting are convinced Friends. We were not born as Quakers but joined as adults. We don't leave it all behind when we become Friends'

Democracy, when carried to the full, can radically change the mean­ing of the Quaker decision. A Quaker social scientist who is now disaf­fected from Friends and sees in their process "nothing special" asserted: "The idea that we can find a specific choice which all can accept is akin to the majority rule premise that the decision will not be so repugnant that the losing voters will have to withdraw" He indicated that Quaker decisions contrary to his leaning drew from him the same kind of accept­ance as majority rule decisions: "If a system is fair, I am bound by its outcomes."

Such an individual has little motivation to put aside personal preference in favor of the group's leading or to make an enthusiastic con‑

tribution to a decision which he had not favored. Comments one Friend:

Some Friends seem to see democracy as the hallmark of Friends deci­sion making. They hold for the "one-man-one-vote" principle. Their use of "democracy" is a substitution of equal political power for the Quaker fundamental insight that God can speak in anyone. It's easy to fall into this trap. After all, democracy is an "in" word. Surely we don't want peo­ple to think of us as "antidemocratic"! But the person who sees our method as "pure democracy" has missed its root principle. At root, we are involved in an exercise of obedience, of denial of self-will, of seeking truth in contradistinction to our own personal or group interest.

It is this writer's impression that the democratic myth among Friends is generally undeveloped, unreflective, and an often unrecognized symp­tom of the ambient political culture. As such it rarely reaches the con­scious expression of the Quaker social scientist quoted just above. Instead, it tends to coexist with one of the other self-understandings discussed in this chapter and to emerge spontaneously, for example, when an individual finds that his or her opinion seems to merit less consideration than that of another.

Ambiguity

We have mentioned that each of the above self-understandings is a pure position. For any given individual, a combination of positions is very likely. With some, even prolonged interviews failed to reveal the particular meaning a Friend assigned to such common Quaker terms as Inner Light or the divine. Unwillingness to share deep personal experiences accounts for some of this lack of clarity. One elderly Quaker was initially very strong in his assertion: "I have never spoken in meeting under the 'leading' of the Spirit. All I do is use my reason and speak what makes sense' A lit­tle later he suggested: "It's funny; when I speak at meetings for worship, I always seem to just find myself on my feet' Ten minutes later, when the interviewer asked about the nature of a gathered meeting for worship, the Friend smiled and commented, "Well, it sure seems the group is pre­sent to what people call the Spirit'

Interviews of this sort suggest not only the superiority of the open-ended interview over the questionnaire for obtaining certain information, but also the ambiguous, even contradictory quality of the levels of understanding within a given individual.

Subtle shifts in use of language and concept are common. Asked whether a person can be a Quaker and an atheist, one senior Friend replied: "I wouldn't see the consistency, myself. But I'd also be skeptical at face value about accepting a person's self-description as an atheist. Of course, I'm not sure how many folks would accept my notion of God as theism, either:'

Such encounters reminded the interviewer of Thomas O'Dea's obser­vation that the Mormons, who like the Quakers of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting lack a professional clergy, are thereby deprived of consistent theological language which the education of clergy produces. Observed O'Dea, "In terms of theology, the church is governed not only by laymen, but also by amateurs. 11'21

Quaker Myths in Perspective: Primacy of the "Event"

One evening, the writer was sharing supper with two Friends in their late seventies. He mentioned he was curious about how Friends understood God. One of his companions paused and remarked: "Well now, I guess I don't really know. I know what I think." Then, turning to his comrade, he said: "Thee and I have been worshipping together for almost fifty years. I don't know what thee thinks about God. I don't think we've ever talked about it' The other grave Friend agreed, adding: "I really don't think it matters much, either. If thee shares the experience in the worship, it doesn't much matter how thee puts it into words."

This Friend's observation brings things into salutary focus. Quakerism has always been a community without creed precisely because it did not need a creed. Unlike other faiths, Quakerism builds all on the experience of the gathered meeting. Together Friends experience something beyond themselves, superior to the human pettiness that marks ordinary life. One may find in this experience the Spirit of Christ, another the Divine Per­son, a third the force behind the universe. No matter how they explain the experience to themselves, the event which they share is paramount. They stand in awe before it, finding that it dominates their conduct as they meet together to make a decision. And the event demands that, in reaching that decision, they should sacrifice self-interest and seek after a higher truth than what they have individually achieved.

The whole emphasis of Quaker decision making as we have now sketched it draws upon this experience. Because Friends differ in their understandings of the experience, the devices used in the meetings are subtle invitations to reenter the experience rather than formal reminders of Quaker belief. The opening and closing silences and the moments of special reflection at times of impasse or conflict all recall those present to the experience, each remaining free to enter the experience through

his or her own understanding. Even such archaisms as use of "thee"²² for "you" serve to remind the participant that the context is a distinctive­ly Quaker one, different from worldly procedure. Quaker authors, whether they speak of spiritual empiricism or practical mysticism, constantly em­phasize the centrality of the religious experience and disparage such ap­pealing notions as democracy as threats to the Quaker way?³

When asked whether this sort of understanding is necessary to suc­cessful use of the process, Friends point to the weakness of the process whenever participants are permitted to hold out for their personal desires. A number of Friends active in the American Friends Service Committee suggested, for example, that the process becomes distorted at budget-making sessions when individuals tend to put primacy on their own special area and hold out for full funding. "When a lower-level AFSC com­mittee starts to divvy up the financial pie, he who pushed the hardest often gets his way:'²⁴

Others discussed the difficulty that women's lib absolutists and Black activists present to the Service Committee. Such individuals sometimes want to caucus prior to meetings so they can plan strategy. They "tend to resign from the Service Committee in frustration" because the Com­mittee doesn't "put their concern ahead of everything else:' In short, they are committed to concrete goals and unwilling to "put themselves under the discipline" of a community for which "religious events;' not these goals, are normative.

This writer found many Friends suggesting that people whose entry into the Quaker community was occasioned by the Vietnam War and other issues of the late 1960s will "either discover Friends' worship or leave:' Along this same line, the researcher noted that interview subjects who came to Quakerism through the AFSC and have remained for many years often speak strongly of the importance of Quaker worship in their per­sonal lives.

Levels of Unity: A Religious Dimension Not Always Desirable

We have previously noticed that the "meeting for business is, in essence, the meeting for worship focused upon specific matters:¹²⁵ The initial and concluding moments of silent worship are reminders of this intent. Tied to the worshipful atmosphere is an "expectation of corporate guidance:¹²⁶

The religious tone of a meeting for business can run a spectrum from the merest formality to an extraordinary quality very significant to the deci­ sion being taken. On the formalistic end of the spectrum, the initial silence seems about as significant as the chaplain's invocation at the Democratic National Convention?⁷ At the opposite pole, however, one thinks of oc­casional meetings—or parts of meetings—when the comments of in­dividual speakers were followed by long spontaneous silences for prayer and the observer felt himself drawn into the group's profoundly worship­ful seeking. This gathered or centered or covered condition has already been described as it appeared in its more typical Quaker context, the meeting for worship.

Such a worshipful situation is occasionally accompanied by surpris­ing shifts of position, either by individuals or by the entire group. An ex­ample from the American Friends Service Committee may be helpful. In an interview, one former AFSC staff member recalled:

In 1948, there were 750,000 refugees on the Gaza Strip; the new state of Israel had just been established. The UN asked AFSC to take respon­sibility for feeding, housing, etc. At the meeting of the AFSC Board of Directors, all speakers said the work needed doing, but all agreed it was just too big for the Service Committee. They counselled that we should say no, with regrets. Then the chairman called for a period of silence, prayer, meditation. Ten or fifteen minutes went by in which no one spoke. The chairman opened the discussion once again. The view around the table was completely changed: "Of course, we have to do it." There was complete unity.

Truly worshipful decisions tend to occur in situations of high risk. Two examples would be the American Friends Service Committee's deci­sion to send medical supplies to North Vietnam without a license and moments of high internal conflict such as the 1971 session of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting when Black militants seized the meeting house and demanded reparations. In neither of these cases was dramatic change of group opinion the outcome, although in the latter instance the initial anger among the assembled Friends was transformed under the leadership of the clerk of Yearly Meeting into patient worship. Faced with hundreds of silent worshippers, the militants soon gave up their angry harangues, asked the clerk's advice about how to proceed, and then invited the clerk to join their leader in chairing the meeting. Shortly thereafter, the militants withdrew and those Friends favoring reparations and those opposed were then able to agree to initiate an investment fund which would underwrite Black business enterprises.

The occasions when such dramatic religious depth is called for are not common. This writer observed situations approaching such depth

three or four times in a year of attending Quaker meetings for business. In any matter of sufficient gravity that a Friend would be unwilling to step aside and let the group proceed, however, recourse is had to this explicit­ly religious level. The typical meeting oscillates between a superficial and a rather profound religious tone depending upon the topic under discussion.

In large measure, this oscillation is understandable. Only topics of im­port merit the high seriousness of a religious level of reflection. There would be something incongruous about deeply religious consideration of whether to have the meeting's mail delivered to the clerk's home or the caretaker's mailbox⁸ As one Friend put it, "If you try to go to the religious level all the time, you tend to strip that level of its meaning:'

One obvious significance of decisions at the religious level is that they tend to draw greater acceptance from those present. One Friend spoke for many: "If the group seemed moved to its conclusion, yes, I'd feel much obligation. If the group didn't seem moved, then I'd feel less obligation" Similarly, Friends who feel opposed to a proposal on rational grounds tend to dismiss their opposition when they are aware of a religious qual­ity to the tide (ancient Friends called it the "current of Life")²⁹ they sense flowing in the opposite direction.

Belief that a decision is made under such divine auspices enlarges, as well, the type of decision the group is capable of making. One Friend commented: "Decisions based on human considerations are fine, but they're not enough for sacrifices of really important things like family and friends and life goals. When the North Carolina Quakers pulled up stakes and moved to Iowa because they felt drawn to dissociate themselves from a context of slavery, they were convinced it was a divine summons. Nothing.else would have been enough to make them go:'

Conflicting Myths and Fundamental Cleavages

The interviewer was surprised, however, by the large number of Quakers who do not seem to link the gathered situation of the meeting for worship with meeting for business at all. Time and again, there would be polite explanation that "gathered" or "covered" or "in the life" were synonymous terms referring to the sense of presence and unity of the meeting for worship, not the meeting for business. When pushed, these Friends would acknowledge that "something like that" did occasionally happen at meeting for business but that they had never thought it ap­propriate to use such language for the business context. Such respondents typically tended to lean towards the universalist-humanist end of the religious spectrum, or to be devotees of the democratic or social activist Myths.

Further questions sometimes led to the paradoxical discovery that,

for some of these Friends, the experience of being gathered even in meeting for worship was more of a formal rather than an experiential reality. For

some, the fact that the group had sat quietly for twenty-five minutes was

itself identified as being gathered. For others, the meeting was gathered if the remarks by Friends in the closing minutes of the meeting were in‑

sightful. Along this same line, one helpful subject who agreed that meeting

for business could be as gathered as meeting for worship indicated: "You can always tell whether a decision was taken in a gathered condition. Just

look at the minute. If it's noted that a pause for reflection was made, the

meeting was gathered:' For these Friends, the gathered or covered meeting, where the community feels drawn into the Life and inspired by the Spirit,

seems to be defined by externals. The American Friends Service Com‑

mittee's decision to send penicillin to the National Liberation Front was remembered by one participant as not operative on the religious level

because there was no official call for silence. Others described the same

gathering as deeply in the Life: "No, there was not a lot of pausing for prayer. But you could sense a general feeling of the need of divine

guidance. It showed in the remarks of some, the tone, the allusion to the Friends' ways of acting, to a lot of history that long predates the American Friends Service Committee:'

If the latter speaker reflected the views of most of those present, still the puzzling difference in perceptions on this occasion seemed compound‑

ed as the researcher attempted to discuss with Friends their individual

understandings of the religious significance of Quaker decisions. He soon found himself enmeshed in a world where everybody seemed to use the

same vocabulary but with different meanings. For a moment it appeared that Lewis Carroll's Humpty Dumpty was hiding in each one: "When I use a word,.. . . it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less ."³°

If the researcher was to succumb to the all too typical canons of social science, he would probably scratch his head a few times at just this point,

note that the ambiguity of Quaker expression makes accurate statistical evaluation of Quaker beliefs almost impossible without investment of un­told time and effort, and move on to analysis of some less interesting but more manageable object of study.

It is true, after all, that Friends language is ambiguous. Moreover, the understanding of many Quakers in what they believe seems to shift ac­cording to the occasion or to be more inconsistent than they realize. The conflict between democratic equality and the theory that God's voice, not the weight of numbers, is to be followed by the meeting is just one clear example.

But to move on to other matters more conducive to measurement is to allow the limits of one's technology to control one's goals. In the best mystery stories of one's youth, the hidden treasure was usually found in a dimly lit room. So, too, the things most worth knowing are sometimes beyond the bright but short-range lights of social science research methodology.

In spite of preceding paragraphs, there is at least one major conclu­sion suggested by our research in this area. For in the midst of all the am­biguity involved in Quaker explanations of how their beliefs in a God, in social activism, and in democracy influence their decisions, the general pat­tern of their responses suggests a point which may be highly significant.

When Friends reflect upon their beliefs, they often focus upon the obvious conflict between Christocentric and universalist approaches.³¹ People who feel strongly drawn to either camp often see the other posi­tion as a threat to Quakerism itself. Universalists dismiss Christocentrics as fundamentalists. Christocentrics suggest that the universalists have lost touch with the roots of Quakerism by abandoning the centrality of Christ which so influenced George Fox's philosophy.

For the devotee of either position, the first response to the interviewer tends to be that Quakerism has no formal doctrines and therefore the two groups live in harmony. When the conversation has gotten beyond such "official" responses, many a Friend has intimated being ill-at-ease with the other group. When a Christocentric Friend stood at the 1975 Yearly Meeting to proclaim, "I consider all of you my Friends, but many I can­not consider my coreligionists,"³² his remark was generally greeted with shocked dismay. But those individuals this reporter interviewed combined concern over the inappropriateness of the remark with acknowledgement that the point could not be ignored.

It would appear, in short, that the cleavage is between Christocentric and universalist Friends.

After most interviews were completed, this reporter began to feel uneasy with this understanding. True, Friends themselves are quite con­cerned over the dichotomy. True, such a basic conflict in beliefs is a plausi­ ble explanation for such Quaker difficulties as lack of growth and inabili­ty to hold new members. But, when the reporter reflected on the at­mosphere and the tone of his interviews instead of the words that were exchanged, he began to find that the Christocentrics and certain univer-salists shared a sort of profound reverence for the gathered meeting for worship which was not readily found among other Friends.

When asked what they treasured most about Friends, Christocentrics and some universalists would typically recall a meeting for worship con­ducted in the Light. If asked to recall the business meeting decision that meant the most to them, they would often describe how some incident led the group to a gathered condition. Their words to explain the ex­perience varied markedly, of course, but for both groups, the experience itself was what counted.

Asked the same questions, other universalists and Friends favoring what we have called the social action and the democratic myths might recall the same decision at a meeting for business or express their pride in a decision well made, but would be apparently unaware of the special atmosphere experienced by the others. Even when told directly that others in attendance reported a special sense of being gathered, such individuals were likely to comment, "That sort of thing doesn't much impress me;' or "Other people can talk about their experience; I can only talk of mine'

Put simply, the real cleavage among Friends is between those who experience the gathered or covered condition and those who do not. The former can differ markedly in the language they use to verbalize the event. For one, the group is gathered in Christ; for the other, the force at the root of the universe or in the depth of every human is expressing itself in the covered assemblage. In either case, the words and concepts are sec­ondary; the event, the experience, is what counts.

Between Friends who experience the covered condition and Friends who do not, there may be little difference in language. Universalist humanism, for example, may be intellectually satisfying to both. But the universalist humanism of the person who experiences the covered condi­tion will lead in a quite different direction from the individual who does not have this experience. In the experience, the former finds guidance, motivation to reconsider preferences, a sense of obligation to the decision reached in this special atmosphere. None of these factors directly affects the person who has identical belief but lacks the experience. In this very important sense, those who share the experience, be they Christocentric or universalist or whatever else, are the coreligionists. Those who share

intellectual understandings but do not share the experience are hardly co-religionists at all.

If this reporter's judgment of the cleavage point is accurate, then another factor demands consideration. Time and again older Friends would comment that the covered meeting is less common today than it was in their youth. To some extent, this recollection can be dismissed as a tendency towards nostalgia or as the memory's trick of recalling only the highlights of the past. Comparison of contemporary experience to a few Quaker journals from years gone by, however, suggests the decline is not merely a matter of faulty memory³

One learned Friend remarked that the covered meeting is no rarer than the occasional sense of awe experienced at the most reverent moments of the Catholic Eucharist. Catholics, however, consider that the event of the Eucharist occurs whether the participants experience a sense of divine presence or not. Rarity of such an experience for Catholics, then, is not of central significance. Among Friends, where the experience has so much centrality that expressions of belief are incidental, the community that rarely prays in the Life has much more to fear.

It is very difficult to be accurate in discussing the frequency of covered meetings for worship. On a given occasion, the researcher may simply have been out of touch with the experience of the bulk of the community with which he was sharing worship. In checking his experience against that of others present, he may have picked those few who were as inat­tentive as he that morning. Or perhaps he simply frequented the wrong meetings for worship and business. (Of the ninety-nine monthly meetings in Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, only about ten were visited by the writer and some of these were visited only once.) For all that, it seems safe to say, on the basis of interviews and personal experience, that the great ma­jority of worship sessions in the Yearly Meeting do not reach the gathered condition.

If this is so, could it be that the inclusion in the community of many who seem never to experience the gathered state is part of the reason why it is difficult for the community to achieve that condition? A racing shell wins few races if half its crew is not interested in manning the oars.

The irony of such a situation is that the very rarity of gathered meetings prevents those who are not oriented to such an experience from recogniz­ing the significance of what they are missing. Said one Friend: "Why make such a big thing out of this gathered meeting business? That's surely not what attracted me to Quakerism, and Quakers get along by and large without it

As if in reply, a longtime Friend remarked:

We have gotten lots of new members, especially in recent years, who are attracted by our testimonies—peace, racial harmony, women's rights, and the like. But it seems to me that most of these people will eventually leave us unless they become turned on by our worship. If they don't find something very special there, they will become impatient because we aren't so single-minded about such causes as they are. They'll tire of our slowness and they'll leave. After all, we try to base our actions on divine leadings. And that means we're more interested in finding the divine than in any given cause taken by itself.

It would be sad indeed if Friends who share the same experience but describe it in conflicting ways were to see each other as more divided by their language than united by their being gathered. So, too, it would be unfortunate if Friends who happen to share the same God-talk but who differ over the experience were to think that—in their religious heritage—the language is more uniting than the experience.

Chapter V Quaker Leadership

Now that our essay has established that individuals and even groups are quite capable of group-centered action and has sketched the myths that support such a liberated action, it seems appropriate to explore the high expectations Quakers have for their leaders. We shall focus upon the one major official of Friends business meetings, the clerk.

The Clerk's Responsibilities: Devices for Hidden Control

Douglas Steere defines the clerk as a person whose personal belief in Quaker presuppositions expresses itself in some special qualities:

He or she is a good listener, has a clear mind that can handle issues, has the gift of preparing a written minute that can succinctly sum up the sense of the meeting, and is one who has faith in the presupposi­tions that were mentioned earlier: faith in the presence of a Guide; faith in the deep revelatory genius of such a meeting to arrive at a decision that may break new ground and yet may in fresh ways be in keeping with the Society of Friends' deepest testimonies; and faith in each of those present being potentially the vehicle of the fresh resolving insight. With all of this, a good clerk is a person who refuses to be hurried and can weary out dissension with a patience borne of the confidence that there is a way through, although the group may have to return again and again to the issue before clearness comes and a proper decision is reached'

Let us look at some of the clerk's ordinary duties and discover how they may also become levers of power.

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Agenda

On the face of it, the clerk's responsibilities are extensive. The clerk prepares the agenda in advance. Although as one clerk put it, "they [clerks] consult others if they have sensed the final agenda is generally left to their judgment. The clerks sense of the gfoup may suggest ordering items so that the assembly will not be tired out before considering an issue of import, with less controversial matters saved until the end so that they can be dealt with quickly and efficiently. Or, the clerk may order agenda items so that an important topic upon which the group is likely to reach easy agreement comes early in the meeting and establishes a sense of confidence for dealing with a more difficult matter later in the session.

Stating the Questions and General Neutrality

Clerks will often be charged with summarizing a problem or framing a question as prelude to discussion. They are trusted to outline the facts and sketch two or three courses of action. They are expected to "be chary

·         of making known their own views" either initially or as discussion progresses Says One Friend, because the clerk's role is to "point the mir­ror [of the meeting] towards the Truth, he cannot try to be the source of the light."⁴ This rule of neutrality is sometimes waived in very small, in­timate monthly meetings, but not in major matters.

Evoking Comments from the Silent

The clerk must be especially alert to silent Friends. One clerk com­ments: "The clerk definitely should draw out those ill at ease. Even if you suspect some are opposed because of their silence, you should make them know their opinion is needed by the group." Another clerk tried to "draw out the shy people" by calling on every speaker by name.

Particularly in cases of hidden opposition, the clerk's action is impor­tant to the sense of obligation which the decision is likely to bring: "The clerk's big job is to look for the people who might remain silent now but will erupt after the decision is taken and the session has ended." The Friend whose silence allows him or her to withdraw feels less obligation to support the decision than the Friend who spoke against the proposal but finally chose to step aside. Because this individual participated and chose not to stand in the way, the vocal Quaker speaks of being obliged to go along. The individual who chose not to speak at the meeting may later talk after the event as if he or she had not been present, had no voice, and therefore has no part in what "they" did.

The positive side of this same phenomenon is the clerk's ability to

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build support for major decisions by polling the participants. An exam-pie of this would be the manner in which a new executive director was selected at Pendie Hill. After favorable discussion, the board chairman announced that the sense of the meeting favored the hiring of a particular individual. No one demurred. Then the clerk took the unusual step of going round the room and asking each of the sixty board members if they approved the action. Each responded affirmatively. The drama of the in­dividual assents heightened the awareness that each board member sup­ported the decision. Board members the writer spoke with later indicated a special sense of obligation to aid the new executive director.

Discipline

It is usually the clerk's responsibility to maintain discipline among the speakers. The long-winded speaker may find the clerk intervening to remark, "I think we've heard thy message." In recent years, the clerk of Philadelphia's Representative Meeting took a leaf from London Yearly Meeting's custom book. If a Friend was speaking too long, the clerk stood to signal that it was time to stop. In London, at least, this movement is so much a part of Friends practice that the offender who continues after the clerk rises is likely to hear, "the clerk is standing." Such a remark is ignored at one's peril.

At times the clerk's personal reputation is so highly regarded that such disciplinary powers give great control over the proceedings. One participant in decisions at a Quaker college recalled, "If X was in the clerk's chair and looked unhappy or suggested that the point had already been made, the offender felt chastened." Such dominance is, in the writer's experience, rare.

Diplomacy and "Acting for the Uncomfortable Meeting"

The clerk's skills as a diplomat are also relied upon on occasion. "Chronic objectors must be dealt with considerately, even though their opinions may carry little weight ."⁵ The writer came across one decision in which a generally respected Friend seemed to object to every proposal on a particular topic. The committee was generally stymied. After a few weeks, the regular clerk returned from a trip and replaced his temporary substitute. In the next meetings, the objector's unhappiness was con­sidered, but without the concern previously accorded it. The group moved forward quickly. Although the point was never discussed in the meetings of the committee, the members were aware that that objector's disagree­ment stemmed from a pet proposal the committee had decided against.

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Said one participant, "The assistant clerk was just not up to coping with X' Clearly, Friends expect much of their clerks. A clerk remarked: "When faced with the chronic objector, the clerk must be gracious but firm. In a way, the clerk is always in a bind between reverencing the objector's opin­ion and acting for the uncomfortable meeting."

Clerks differ over the extent to which they believe they should utilize this power with which they are both entrusted and burdened. One respected clerk suggested that, as a last resort, clerks should do what they can to let the objector feel the weight of the meeting against the individual to make him or her feel isolated. Others disagreed strongly: "The objec­tor is a child of God. Maybe in secular meetings you can operate this way. It just doesn't fit Friends' basic view of man:' What impressed this observer was how consistently the latter view prevailed.

Judging What Is Important

Some clerks fear squelching any dissenter: "X sees the clerk as a ser­vant who listens and records. He lets us go on and on. We can never finish anything on time:' Other clerks are much more aggressive. One, com­menting on Yearly Meeting sessions remarked: "I feel that if we delay a decision because we haven't complete clarity, if we let it run over into next year's meeting, we lose momentum, start next time from scratch and end up quitting again just where we left off the previous year:'

We have already observed how this pressure to conclude discussion can bring unfortunate results when the sense of the meeting is announced before objectors have felt ready to withdraw their opposition. This is usual­ly more a problem of finding a way to invite withdrawal than of anything more serious. However rare, real abuse of power can occur as well. The schism of 1827 was partly occasioned by a clerk of Yearly Meeting who called on Philadelphia Quaker businessmen far more frequently than Friends from farm country because he felt the businessmen had more significant things to say. Or more recently, a few years ago the clerk of one monthly meeting apparently just did not like a highly respected Friend. The clerk used his authority to weaken that Friend's positions by not calling on him, passing by his suggestions, etc. If the observer is struck by how rarely this sort of thing occurs, he also quickly realizes that the amount of judgment allowed the clerk makes such abuses possible.

Another sign of this same power is the reply we often received to ques­tions about how a clerk ought to proceed if there is clearly a united meeting with the exception of one or two people who refused to stand aside for reasons the clerk has judged insignificant. One clerk spoke for many: "It happens fairly often. If the time is available, hold it over. If an immediate decision is needed, then I, as clerk, would ask, 'May we record your ob­jection and proceed?' If the person is in his right mind, he'll say yes. If he is just plain unreasonable, then you make up your mind according to the factors in that individual case:'

The writer has observed this sort of acquiescence by individuals to the plea of the clerk. Although the interchange was delicately polite, it seemed to boil down to a judgment by the clerk that the objector really ought to stand aside. The objector's acquiescence seemed to involve ac­ceptance of the clerk's objectivity of judgment, a willingness to trust the esteemed and dispassionate observer.

Judging the Sense of the Meeting

The most important duty of the clerk is the clerk's responsibility to judge the sense of the meeting. One aspect of that judgment, as defined by Howard Brinton, is that "in gathering the sense of the meeting the clerk must take into consideration that some Friends have more wisdom and experience than others and their conviction should therefore carry greater weight. 116

In practice, this means that a judgment must sometimes be made by the clerk about whether the support for a proposal constitutes a valid sense of the meeting, or instead, that the weight of the meeting is divided. Sup­pose fifteen people have spoken in favor of a proposal and three have spoken against it. Forty more Friends have not spoken more than an oc­casional "I agree" following one or other of a speaker's points. In trying to judge the sense of the meeting, the clerk is likely to consider the general reputation of the leading speakers for each viewpoint, the extent of infor­mation and experience each brings to the topic, the apparent conviction beneath a remark, and other intangible factors.

Just as difficult, the clerk must also assess the silent forty. Which of them are likely to have opinions on the matter? Are any of these likely to be opposed but silent? If so, it will probably be important to draw them into the discussion.

Such assessments by the clerk will determine whether the clerk feels there is a general trend in favor of the proposal or whether the discussion should continue. If the clerk feels there is a sense of the meeting, the clerk will probably propose a minute because further discussion would add nothing. On the other hand, the clerk may feel that the trend in favor

of the proposal may not be completely reliable, perhaps because a few Friends whose opinions have not yet been heard may sway others. In this situation, it is better to delay offering a minute until the clerk is confident that these silent individuals do not in fact wish to speak.

The opportunity to manipulate is obvious. Suppose a clerk personal­ly favors a proposal. A favorable early trend in discussion might provide the opportunity for the clerk to announce the sense of the meeting before opposed members have had a chance to speak. Such a premature an­nouncement may lead to manipulation, especially if individual participants do not know that others share their misgivings. Instead, they may choose not to challenge the proposed minute, judging instead that: "I must be the only one who feels this way. I guess I won't bother to speak in opposition."

Again, since it is the clerk's normal task to propose a minute which expresses the sense of the meeting, one obvious way a clerk might in­fluence an outcome is to slant the minute towards the position the clerk personally favors. Friends have developed protection against this weakness by urging that clerks take the time to propose their precise minute im­mediately at the end of discussion rather than to frame the minute vaguely and then wait until alter the meeting has adjourned to express the deci­sion exactly. London Yearly Meeting's book of discipline notes that dif­ferent people are present from meeting to meeting so that a second meeting is often not in a position to challenge effectively the clerk's faulty sum­mary of the sense of the first meeting.⁷

There are, of course, ways that the clerk can be kept honest. One Friend, asked how he would react to a clerk's framing a misleading minute, volunteered that he would withdraw confidence from the clerk and pro‑

pose his own minute. A clerk, interviewed just after a meeting session commented:

There's no way to make sure the clerk does everything perfectly. The behavior of the members can readily act as control on the clerk, however. If someone of some significance mentions from the floor that he doubts the minute was correct, the clerk may have reason to take this as a warn­ing shot across the bow! If things are wandering, someone from the floor can encourage the clerk to give direction by asking the clerk to suggest a minute. Today that happened to me. At the meeting just concluded, others' questions obliged me as clerk to offer tentative minutes.

Superficially, the clerk can be seen as a Quaker equivalent of the Speaker of the House of Commons: by the very structure of British parliamentarism, the Speaker is an impartial servant of the House. The

Speaker's responsibility to remain unbiased is enforced by the ability of the parties to expose any inappropriate actions the Speaker might take. In the Quaker case, however, the rules by which the meeting proceeds are much more informal, so that only gross violations of equity can be challenged. And the areas in which the clerk is expected to exercise judg­ment, especially the central responsibility of declaring the sense of the meeting, are far broader than the circumscribed powers allowed the Speaker.

Self-Restraint

The clerk, then, is entrusted with an unusual amount of authority. Although there are some checks on that authority, they are not especially forceful so long as a clerk is circumspect in his or her manipulative ef­forts. If the formal constraints are minimal, however, contemporary abuse of power seems curiously rare.

One cannot help being struck by the trust in the integrity of the clerk which is typical of Quaker meetings, a trust so complete that clerks speak with reverence of the duty the community asks them to perform. This simple trust came home to the writer most forcefully one evening when a woman commented as she exited the meeting room, "I really thought the sense of the meeting was something completely different until the clerk voiced it' Clearly the woman so trusted the clerk's judgment that she put aside her own evaluation without hesitation. The observer, who also had read a different sense of the meeting from that of the clerk, wondered how many others in the room had cheerfully substituted the clerk's evalua­tion for their own.

In a similar vein, the observer was struck by the frequent cases in which—in spite of the wise advice that the clerk should present a full minute for approval at the session—meetings would cheerfully trust the clerk to write a minute after the meeting which reflected the nuances of their agreement. Part of this was practical haste to cover the agenda by not wasting time over trifles like the proper sequence of names on a flyer. Sometimes the matter was of more consequence, as when a monthly meeting drew up guidelines for sensitively contacting lapsed members prior to dropping them from membership.⁸ Especially in the more impor­tant matters, such trust indicated the meeting's confidence in the clerk.

To the observer, this attitude seems truly justified. One cannot help noticing the scrupulous efforts of a typical clerk to draw into the discus­sion any individuals who might help to bring clarity to an important issue.

A clerk who is unsure of the discussion's trend will ask for help from the floor. Such conduct is hardly suggestive of a desire to manipulate the deliberations.

When this reporter interviewed Friends of long experience, he found that they talked freely of situations a generation or two back when in­dividual clerks controlled their meetings. But they contrasted such con­trol to the present situation.

The great caution clerks feel about abuse of power came out frequently in interviews. One respected clerk mentioned that sometimes a clerk frames a "false" minute in hopes of alerting the meeting to the drift of its discussion and jolting the participants in the process. If a meeting is discussing civil rights and begins to trade stories of imprudent use of Quaker seed money by certain black entrepreneurs, the clerk might sug­gest, "Friends seem to feel that this fund has been ill-used and should therefore be discontinued' The impact of the tentative minute, much akin to summary statements by the therapist in nondirective counselling, may serve to force the group to face its attitudes squarely.

When asked whether this approach would be legitimate, clerks were of divided opinion. One group objected to the strategy because the clerk's position was too central to the meeting to permit proposing such a false minute. For these clerks, any such conduct was dangerous manipulation which, if recognized, ought to deprive the clerk of the respect of the group.

Another group considered the advice legitimate but dangerous: "There's a great tendency in our system to accept what the clerk offers. The suppositions all go with the clerk. The false minute approach is too subtle, [and it] may just stampede the meeting down a false road"

Both groups revealed in their reluctance an impressive sensitivity to the clerk's possible abuse of power. This sensitivity appeared again and again in their interview comments, with the most experienced clerks ap­pearing most chary of abuse. One suspects that such is the case partly because the experienced clerk has had more opportunity to observe the ramifications of even the slightest excess in fulfilling the office and partly because longevity in clerking implies that the individual has been asked time and again to assume this office by nominating committees and con­stituencies that are especially attentive to the person's past record of honest impartiality.

If one adds to these factors the frequency with which clerks describe their role in explicitly religious terms—clerks seemed much more comfor­table with the religious implications of Friends decision making than did nonclerks—one rounds out the factors which are most prominent in the self-restraint clerks seem to exercise. The "faith in the presence of a Guide [and] in the deep revelatory genius of [the] meeting" which Douglas Steere outlined in the first citation in this chapter is typical of a clerk's remarks. Since the clerk is, of all the participants, the person most fully responsi­ble for finding the unity in which the Guide is revealed, it is not surpris­ing that the clerk's commitment to this fundamental Quaker belief tends to be a powerful protection against temptations to indulge a desire to con­trol the outcomes.

Quaker Leadership: Ability to Read

Leadership in the Religious Society of Friends demands the inter­twining of traditional basic leadership skills with a peculiar skill at reading the sense of the meeting. The basis of this conclusion, and some of its implications, are explored below.

Management Types

In his now classic analysis, Douglas M. McGregor divides conceptions of management's task into two widely accepted categories. The "theory X" manager believes that he is responsible for modifying the behavior of his naturally indolent, self-centered, gullible, and irresponsible subor­dinates so that their behavior fits the needs of the organization. Whether his style is harsh or gentle, his suppositions remain the same?

In contrast, the "theory Y" manager believes that his subordinates are concerned about organizational needs, capable of assuming responsibili­ty, and naturally well-motivated. The manager's task is to provide condi­tions that promote the use of the potential in the people of the organiza­tion. The wise manager realizes that the psychologist, Abraham Maslow's hierarchy of emergent needs must be honored: it is not enough to satisfy physiological and safety needs, for these are only prelude to the higher human needs the motivated employee will seek to fulfill through his role in the organization°

On its face, the theory X approach is inconsistent with Quaker deci­sion making because it places responsibility on the manager and Friends decisions are supposed to emerge from the group. This is not to say, however, that there are no theory X managers in the Religious Society of Friends. Admittedly, such individuals seem rare among clerks of month­ly and higher level meetings. But they do tend to emerge in other roles in which their expertise makes their "recommendations" unchallengeable by the meeting. One such person made herself the unsurpassed expert

on the history of her meeting's burial ground. Another, his meeting's treasurer, made the books so complicated that only he could divine their true meaning. Occasionally, staff employees of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting have been known to adopt a similar tack in submitting proposals to super­vising bodies whose judgment they did not regard highly. Such individuals attempt to parlay their exclusive expertise into control: over decisions touching their specialty.

It would seem that their style imposes a fundamental limitation on these people. Although "horror stories" of previous generations suggest that such individuals did at times become clerks of meetings, the general abhorrence for such domination in the present day seems to explain why the upward mobility of the theory X manager is thwarted today.

The theory Y approach to management is more congenial to Friends practice, for it presumes that all the subordinates will be participants in the shaping of policy. Of fundamental import, however, is the reality that Quaker theory sees the -clerk or other leader as servant of the meeting, not its director. The clerk does not collect ideas, then make a decision which incorporates as far as possible the group's contributions. Although things may sometimes work in just that way, the clerk's true role is to ar­ticulate the unity which he or she discovers in the community and to facilitate the formation of that unity. But the clerk is not to make the deci­sion unilaterally:'¹

The Quaker leader, then, is not a practitioner of theory X. In the role of clerk, he or she feels comfortable with the focus on the group of theory Y, but not with its expectation that the leader is the decision maker. If we are to come to real understanding of leadership as it occurs in the Religious Society of Friends, we must move beyond these normal manage­ment categories.

Beyond Type Y: The Leader As Reader

When one questions experienced clerks and other seasoned Friends about the special qualities they would like to see in a clerk, one finds a great unity in their answers. One individual speaks of "artistry" in the "ability to sense the right timing for a given group." Others remark upon the clerk's "special gift" of sensing when the decision has been reached. This "true gift" is so reliable that "the good clerk knows whether people are saying what they really think:'

It is interesting to see how often Friends resort to the language of "gift" in describing the skill of the clerk. A listener with even minimal acquain­ tance with traditional theological language is struck by the similarity be­tween what Quakers report they find in their best clerks and the New Testament notion of the charisma or gratuitous gift given a believer to facilitate the public life of the Church. Among the predominant forms of charismata in the ancient Church were listed wisdom, knowledge, discern­ment of inner spiritual motions in oneself and in others, and gifts of government'² We discussed in Part One the gift of discernment which George Fox claimed. It would appear that, although modern Friends may be unaware of the theological language, their experience points them to the event that language describes. For our own purpose, in place of the theological language of charismata we will be content to refer to the phenomenon as the ability to "read" the group.

We have already given enough examples of this ability to read the unity of the group to illustrate the clerk's role. Since this ability is not automatical­ly limited to those who are clerks, perhaps an example or two of nonclerks exercising this sort of leadership would be helpful. One clerk, when asked whether she sometimes erred in judging the sense of the meeting, replied: "Every once in a while you get called fairly on a minute. I remember once a discussion on whether to buy a bookkeeping machine. I declared that Friends didn't seem to have reached unity and therefore the decision must be delayed. Then X rose and suggested that Friends were really quite ready to buy the machine. This drew general approval. He had just read the feeling of the meeting better than 1"

The decision described above fits the pattern of a number we have observed, and the dynamic is worthy of note. When the clerk announced that there had appeared to be no unity, the bulk of the participants prob­ably accepted her reading of the situation without challenge. People who knew they themselves approved the purchase did not question the clerk's judgment that approval was not universal. Only the man with the ability to read the group well was ready to suggest that the clerk's reading had been faulty: hesitancy expressed in previous speakers' remarks was not as deep-seated as she had thought. The test of his assessment, of course, was the immediate response of the individual members of the meeting. Anyone who personally was unwilling to proceed with the purchase could have stood and said so, and in that case, the clerk's reading would have been confirmed.

Here is another example which combines ability to read a group with the respect the group accords an individual blessed with the ability of reading deeply. In November 1970, a special committee called "The 1970

Working Party" reported to Philadelphia Representative Meeting its pro­posals for self-examination as a tool to discovering racism within the Yearly Meeting. The Working Party asked authorization to contact all members of the Yearly Meeting and all Yearly Meeting organizations in order to ask that Friends look "to their possessions, practices, and relationships 'to try whether the seeds of exploitation and oppression lie in them"¹³ Dis-. cussion was lively and much divided. Many felt comfortable with the proposal; many others saw in it a document which could alienate Friends or which falsely presumed that racism was deeply rooted with the Yearly Meeting. Some feared that such self-examination was intended as a pre­lude to a call for reparations to the black community. The issue so divid­ed those present that they agreed the next month's session would con­vene early to allow for an hour's silent worship to let everyone think the document through deeply and, it was hoped, find unity in the shared silence of the worship. In the interim, of course, the Working Party's pro­posal would not be implemented.

The next month's session occurred as agreed. Silent worship was in­terspersed with a few deeply-felt messages from individual worshipers who spoke of their concerns on both sides of the issue. In the business session which followed, the participants were asked to try to maintain the spirit of worship as they discussed the issue. At this point, it was not at all clear that unity would likely be reached. The clerk remarked that she saw no agreement.

At this juncture, a Friend known for his ability to read the communi­ty stood to speak. He had been silent in the previous month's discussion and was not predictably of either party in the present disagreement. He remarked simply that, for the last month, he had kept the proposal of the Working Party on the nightstand next to his bed along with his volume of the traditional testimonies and concerns of the Religious Society of Friends. He had read the Working Party's document many times. He was satisfied that not one word of it was in conflict with the traditions of Friends.

The whole discussion changed. People who had been opposed spoke of how to temper any possible misunderstandings of the proposal. At­tention focused on how best to present the document so that it would have fullest effect. The Working Party's proposal was approved and for­warded to the monthly meetings.'⁴

Almost five years later, the writer interviewed the Friend whose remarks had been so significant in the decision. Early in the discussion, he seemed ill at ease, even suspicious of what underlay the interviewer's interest. But when the incident in question was mentioned, his tone changed entirely to one of serious reverence. In reflecting on the event he remarked:

Sometimes there is not the time for a large number to speak, and slowly, slowly for an acceptable solution to emerge. Or perhaps there is no desire by many to speak even though they are not satisfied with the proposal on the floor.

So we need leadership. It seems contrary to Friends theory, doesn't it? Perhaps it's a weakness, given our theory, that leadership is still need­ed. Within our groups, certain people will be followed when they speak. Typically, there's lots of discussion until one person—often a person with skill at doing it, skill that's soon recognized by the group and expected to emerge at critical times—stands up and proposes what all can buy. The great arguer isn't this sort of person. It's not that type of leadership. Personally, I try to see both sides, make myself keep quiet until I under­stand the whole question. And then, sometimes, I feel moved to speak.

The case illustrates a number of factors common to this sort of situa­tion. The group feared disunity, and was attempting to conduct itself in a prayerful, even a gathered atmosphere. The speaker himself felt moved to speak. The speaker's remarks were so deeply consistent with the at­mosphere of united, reverent searching that he seemed to speak in a divinely authenticated way j5

Here, then, is a combination of ability to read the community's at-titiides and to lead the community to a new unity. The speaker is doing two things at once. The two cannot be separated. Because he knows the extent of their unity of desire, he is able to call them to a unity of commit­ment to a course of action. The latter unity does not exist before he calls them. This ability to judge not only the unity that is real but also the uni­ty that is now possible is in the deepest sense the charisma which marks Quaker leadership.

This is the quality that Friends look for when they are selecting clerks. It should be no surprise to the reader that the man who spoke up at the critical moment concerning the Working Party's proposal is the same per­son that suggested the clerk was in error about the business machine. A few years later he was selected to be clerk of the Yearly Meeting.

Some Weaknesses of Friends Leadership

Every machine breaks down. Every system of government has its flaws. The Quaker form of leadership provides a great support to the goal of

reaching unity on divisive questions. But that form of leadership, too, has weaknesses.

Lack of Congruence Between Gifts

The most obvious problem is that there is no guarantee that individuals with the ability to read the community accurately will also excel in the basic organizational skills required for running a meeting. Nor are all those who know how to keep a meeting moving at an effective pace capable of reading the leanings of the members. Then again, there are some Friends able to read groups but not especially patient when asked to clerk a meeting. Some monthly meetings and other Quaker groups find themselves with clerks who are selected because of their strength in one area in spite of weakness in another. Where basic organizational skills are lacking, one notes severe disorganization of meetings. Where the clerk combines excellent perception of trends with impatience, one finds meetings which feel cowed by the dominance of the clerk who announces agreement before some participants are ready to acknowledge—even to themselves—that they have in fact changed their opinion. Given this spec­trum of possible combinations of strengths and weaknesses, the visitor should not be too surprised to discover quite different styles and emphases in various Quaker groups using the same fundamental procedures.

Abdication of Responsibility by "Ungifted" Quakers

We have already mentioned the woman who thought the sense of the meeting was completely different until the clerk voiced it. Friends who are timid or hesitant to take stands will sometimes sit back and leave it to the clerk and other vocal leaders to thrash out the pros and cons of an issue and reach a conclusion. The display of special gifts by these leaders seems to provide a justification for the "ungifted" to refuse to enter into the process. Although Quaker theory holds firmly that the com­munity needs to hear that of God in every one, the presence of individu­als of special skill seems to make it easier for more ordinary people to excuse themselves from participation. In conversations during coffee breaks and after meetings, this writer was often struck by the phenome­non of people who had remained silent but who now went out of their way to exclaim over how lucky the meeting was to have one of the more gifted vocal participants.

Overmuch Influence by the Readers at Critical Junctures

The sort of abuse we are about to discuss is one against which Quaker method has little defense. We raise this point with some hesitancy. However, the abuse can be very significant. The efforts made by Quaker leaders to avoid abuse are impressive, yet their very sensitivity to the mat­ter indicates how dangerous it can be. We refer to the ability of readers to use their special status in the community to lead the group to their personal preference under guise of identifying an as yet unrecognized area of unity.

The clerk or the nonclerk who has demonstrated the ability to read the meeting is accorded high regard because of his or her skill. Theological­ly, this role is heightened because Friends consider unity a sign of divine guidance. The individual who can discern the unity is thus a seer.

Such a person quickly exercises an influence that is subtle and per­vasive. The supposed agreement that the reader enunciates—because the reader has enunciated it—has innate authority. Individuals in the group who had not thought of the position offered by the reader are highly recep­tive to it because, coming from this person, it probably is right for the group. Individuals explicitly opposed to the position tend to reconsider their position, sometimes squelching their doubts on the grounds that the gifted person probably is reading the group correctly even if their own reading of the group had been just the opposite.

Add to this the ordinary dynamic of group action that potential solu­tions are usually accepted more readily when the group has discussed long enough to feel frustration and to fear that no decision will be reached, and you suddenly discover that the theologically right moment to speak up is often the psychologically right moment. Thus, the person who comes to the meeting with a solution in his back pocket might wait until the group seems ripe for the idea instead of proposing it at the outset. In Quakerism, this ploy may become wrapped in the garb of inspiration as the group confuses the speaker's prepared in advance suggestion for an inspired reading of the present level of agreement of the assembly.

The writer recalls a casual conversation with a woman who sat next to him at a meeting for business. She mentioned what she thought would be the best approach to an issue dividing the community. The visitor asked whether she would suggest her solution as soon as the topic came to the floor. "No," she said, "I doubt they'd be ready for it. You have to wait for the right moment."

The topic was introduced. She waited. Discussion revealed the main pros and cons. She waited. Discussion became involved and repetitious. After about five more minutes, she stood to offer her solution. It was

received with gratitude, discussed briefly, then approved.

This apparent manipulation is not a simple matter. Perhaps the woman in question had been thinking the matter through prayerfully and had felt led the day before to offer this solution. If so, should she have offered it at a psychologically inappropriate moment? Clearly, if her message was from the Lord she was not given it for use at any moment except the one when it would do the most good.

Or perhaps she had no particular feeling that her solution was from the Lord. She still felt it was a good solution. Why shouldn't she wait un­til the time when the group would be most receptive?

Certainly, had she wrapped her suggestion in the trappings of revela­tion by calling for her listeners to center down, and appearing to speak out of her present religious leadings, she would have been guilty of manipulation. Since she did not do that, was it her fault that some in the community might take her suggestion as a reading of the group's hidden potential for unity when she was in fact only gauging whether the group was frustrated and confused enough to be ripe for her ready-made solu­tion? Such a person has read the groups confusion, not its unity.

We do not wish to place overmuch emphasis upon this matter. Suf­fice it to say that Quaker suppositions can sometimes elevate a contribu­tion that is merely a timely offering of a preset position into a spontaneous insight by a speaker. Thus, a tactical measure can be elevated to a religious revelation, and the individual reputed to be a reader holds dangerous power to sway the community.

The writer has been sure he was dealing with such a situation only on the one occasion already cited. At many another time, however, it struck this observer that the situation was ripe for such manipulation or that there was no conceivable way to determine whether a proposal of possible uni­ty which the community then accepted was in fact the product of insight or of prior planning. It is good that Friends noted for the ability to read are so aware of the obligation they bear to self-discipline in use of their special gift. For the community has little defense against such a gift should it be carefully misused. Only the teetotaler is a safe guard for the liquor.