Showing posts with label Steve Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Steve Smith. Show all posts

2023/08/31

Quaker-Buddhist Blendings 2017

Quaker-Buddhist Blendings


2017
Quaker-Buddhist Blendings
Michael Birkel
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Quaker Religious Thought

Volume 129 Article 2

2017

Quaker-Buddhist Blendings
Michael Birkel


Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.georgefox.edu/qrt

Part of the Buddhist Studies Commons, Christian Denominations and Sects Commons, and the Christianity Commons


Recommended Citation

Birkel, Michael (2017) "Quaker-Buddhist Blendings," Quaker Religious Thought: Vol. 129 , Article 2. Available at: https://digitalcommons.georgefox.edu/qrt/vol129/iss1/2

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QUAKER-BUDDHIST BLENDINGS

Michael Birkel


rom their beginning, Friends have benefited from the religious ideas and spiritual practices of other communities.1 Such influences and confluences have always been a sign of spiritual openness and vitality among religious communities across history. Where, for example, would Augustine of Hippo, the most influential theologian in the history of Western Christianity, be without the insights of the pagan Neoplatonist philosopher Plotinus? This essay considers two persons who identify as both Buddhist and Quaker yet define that

relationship in complementary ways.

Like other Christians, such as Ruben Habito and Paul Knitter,2 some Friends have explored the gifts of other-than-Christian communities. For some, this has led to a respectful borrowing of practices. For others, it has resulted in dual membership in Quakerism and another religion. Each of these poses challenges. Borrowers must consider the ethics of their actions, perhaps especially borrowers whose cultural histories include oppression and colonization of others. Dual belongers have to face the competing demands of two religious systems with their different concepts of self, reality, divinity, worship, meditation, and ethics.


Quakers and Buddhism in North America



Arguably the other religious tradition to which contemporary liberal Quakers are most attracted is Buddhism. With its traditions of meditation, compassion, and nonviolence, Buddhism feels compatible to many liberal, unprogrammed Quakers. Westernized forms of Buddhism—often divested of cultural expressions, rituals, hierarchies, apotropaic or theurgic practices, and its focus primarily on merit for non-monastics—appeals to the spiritual thirst of many North Americans who are dissatisfied with Christian and Jewish experience. Jewish Renewal leader Rabbi Zalman Schlachter-Shalomi described this as “Buddhism for export,” a tradition “stripped of the chthonic and ethnic things from Asia.”3 His following words on Jews who are involved in Buddhist practice could equally apply to many Quakers who explore Buddhism:

5



While it is true that we Jews have an aversion to icons that want to invite adoration, I don’t believe that this touches Jews who are involved in Buddhism too much. The ‘’Ju-Bus,” people who do mostly Zen or Vipassana meditation, are not into the icons. I don’t see too many Jews going to the ao-honzon [the main object of veneration] and chanting “Namu myoho renae kyo” (“Hail to the Lotus Sutra”).4

Quaker philosopher and Zen practitioner Steve Smith expressed a similar sentiment in his pamphlet A Quaker in the Zendo, written after more than 20 years of Zen meditative practice, where he wrote that he anticipated an ongoing commitment to zazen, “Yet I remain detached from outward forms of Buddhist ritual. Out of deference and respect for tradition, I participate in various religious observances…These manifestations of traditional Japanese Soto Zen continue to feel alien to me, however; they do not express my own authentic religious impulses.”5

North American Quaker interaction with Buddhist traditions and practitioners is nothing new. In the middle of the last century, Teresina

R. Havens, who earned a doctorate in comparative religion from Yale University in 1933, published Buddhist and Quaker Experiments with Truth: Quotations and Questions for Group or Individual Study.6 In 1966 Quaker philosopher Douglas Steere sought to initiate a Christian-Zen encounter with Japanese Buddhists.7

Mary Rose O’Reilley’s The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd8 is a brilliant, honest, and frequently hilarious account of her time exploring the intricacies of sheep farming in a Minnesota barn and learning Buddhist teachings and practices in Plum Village in France, a community founded by Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh. Her reflections reveal a person deeply enriched by her encounter with Buddhist thought, practice, and practitioners.

Interestingly, in the title of her book she chose to punctuate the relationship between Buddhism and Quakerism with a comma rather than a hyphen. She is an English professor, so presumably this was a deliberate choice. A hyphen connects, while a comma separates. She tends to keep her discussion of Buddhism separate from her consideration of Quakerism in this book. She does not tell a story of formally joining the Buddhist community. Many contemporary Friends are similarly disinclined toward multiple belonging, content to borrow from Buddhism what suits them.



Thich Nhat Hanh himself has spoken on dual identity in this way, responding to the question, “Should Christians who are attracted to Buddhist teachings become Buddhists?”

Christians who know how to generate mindfulness, concentration and insight are already Buddhist…even if they don’t call themselves Buddhist, because the essence of Buddhism is mindfulness, concentration and insight…they don’t need to wear the label “Buddhist.”…When a Christian embraces the Buddhist practice correctly, he will never be uprooted from his Christian heritage...I think there are enough Buddhists; we don’t need to convert more people to Buddhism.9

Other Quakers have chosen dual affiliation, formally joining both Buddhist and Quaker communities. Valerie Brown and Sallie King can serve as two complementary approaches to dual religious identification. While both recognize affinities as well as differences between Quakerism and Buddhism, Valerie Brown has an interest in bringing the two traditions together, while Sallie King tends to keep them separate. Each offers an enriching encounter.


Valerie Brown



Valerie Brown identifies as both Quaker and Buddhist. Raised a Roman Catholic, she is active as a member of the Religious Society of Friends, and she was ordained by Vietnamese Zen Buddhist Master Thich Nhat Hanh as a layperson in his Tien Hiep Order. She is also a certified teacher of Kundalini yoga. Trained as an attorney and experienced as a lobbyist, she is a facilitator for the Center for Courage and Renewal, a leadership coach, and an educator in mindfulness. She has written essays that have been published as pamphlets by the press of the Quaker retreat center Pendle Hill.10

Valerie Brown feels led to promote traditionally Buddhist practices among Friends, particularly the practice of mindfulness as articulated by Thich Nhat Hanh. Mindfulness can enhance the Quaker quest to encounter the Light within oneself and others.11 Further, Buddhist meditation seeks to “hold divergent feelings and sensations in awareness,” thus balancing energies in a way that can clarify the process of discernment. She identifies the Light of God within each person with the universal Buddha nature.12 She finds a harmonization between Buddhist meditation and Quaker silent meeting for worship, as well as other similarities. The Buddhist practice of lovingkindness



is akin to Christian prayer. The Quaker peace testimony “roughly equates with the Buddha’s teaching on love.” 13 The doctrine of Right Speech in the Buddhist Eightfold Path resonates with Quaker vocal ministry.14 She compares Quaker meeting with the Zen tea ceremony and notes common values of respect, purity, and tranquility.15 Having worked to establish a common ground between the two traditions, she then recommends that Friends can adopt some Buddhist practices. Meditation can teach Quakers a stable position through proper posture that can enhance their worship and reacquaint them with the role of the body in the spiritual life.16 She suggests that Buddhist practices of meditation and mindfulness and that Buddhist principle of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path “can transform and enliven Quaker spirituality.”17 She assures Friends that in “practicing Buddhist teachings as Quakers, we recognize that we are never far from our Buddha-nature, our enlightened self.”18


Sallie King



Sallie King offers reflections on her own personal experience of dual belonging. She is not an evangelist for Buddhist practice among Friends. Instead, she shows her readers how she can be both and yet integrate them into one eloquent life. She is a scholar, especially of socially engaged Buddhism, the recent movement among some Buddhists to work for social change for greater justice.19 Sallie King has also been a religious activist, involved in Buddhist-Christian dialogue, in religiously based efforts to promote peace, and in spreading the message of socially engaged Buddhism in traditionally Buddhist societies where that is a recent concept.

Sallie King has written about her dual religious identity, most directly in her essay “The Mommy and the Yogi”20 and in her article “Religious Practice: A Zen-Quaker Internal Dialogue.”21 Growing up as a “generic Protestant” in a military family, she found it impossible to reconcile what she discerned as the pacifist teachings of Jesus with her military environment. Further, the notion of a benevolent, all- powerful deity clashed with her awareness of the vastness of human suffering. She found solace and sense in the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, which she encountered as identifying and confronting the problem of suffering and eventually joined a Zen Buddhist community and took up the practice of meditation, drawn to the focus on experience rather than submission to external authority. She became



a scholar and professor of Buddhism. Historically, much of Buddhist literature on meditation and philosophy derives from a monastic setting. Parenting young children brought challenges that the classical tradition did not address, and she found herself attending and then joining a Quaker meeting, not as a replacement for Buddhism but rather as a complement fully compatible with it. Unlike many Quakers who then also join Buddhism, Sallie King was first a Buddhist and then afterwards also joined Quakerism.

Sallie King finds both Zen Buddhism and Quakerism to be doctrinally flexible, locating truth primarily in experience and regarding verbal formulations and conceptual schemes as secondary and provisional. For her, the Buddhist concept of a universal Buddha nature and the Quaker belief in the Light within every person are harmonious. Each tradition offers different strengths: Buddhism with its philosophy and meditative practices and Quakerism with its “manner of bringing spirituality into the worldly life of lay people.” She values the egalitarian impulse in Quakerism and its practice of corporate decision making.22 As a community historically grounded in the wider Christian tradition, Quakerism spoke of love, a bond or attachment to this world, and a fruit of the Spirit. This passionate love, in her experience as a mother, differed from the cool detachment of Buddhist teachings on compassion, yet it aligned with Buddhism in that it entailed a forgetting of self.

Sallie King cannot be accused of turning Quakerism into a whatever-you-want-it-to-be religion. She finds a core to Quaker faith and practice. In her essay “Friends and Other Religions,”23 she describes Quakerism as a religion based on “an illumination that is simultaneously Christian and Universalist.” It affirms “the living Spirit of God as a Reality that transcends all names and forms” and that is present universally in a people. At the same time the “language, imagery and inspiration” of Quaker faith is Christian. While Friends avoid creeds, Quaker testimonies of truth, nonviolence, equality, and simplicity, combined with the practice of submission to the guidance of the Spirit, form an identifiable center that is “clear and not to be compromised.”

Sallie King is cautious about mixing the two religions inappropriately. In her experience, they offer different strengths. “If these traditions were the same, there would not be any point to me in practicing both of them. They are compatible, but not the same at all.”24 She readily acknowledges that Buddhism is prominent in



her conceptualization of religious categories of thought, such as emptiness, but Buddhism has emphasized this philosophical dimension more than Quakerism has—and Buddhism rather than Quakerism has been the focus of her professional scholarly undertakings. At the same time, she freely confesses that she has found it impossible to accept much of Buddhist doctrine on karma and reincarnation. She tells of admitting this to a Zen teacher, whose response was that if such teachings do not work for her, she should ignore them.25 Again, doctrinal formulations are not the core of either Buddhism or Quakerism. Instead, the focus is on action. Buddha nature is not so much a concept as a set of actions that invites everyone to act like a Buddha and to lessen the suffering of the world. This is akin to her description of the core of Quakerism as the living out of ethical principles or testimonies. This concern with principled, compassionate living that seeks to better the world is witnessed in Sallie King’s scholarship. She is deeply trained in classical Chinese and Japanese texts, but much of her work as a scholar and as a religious activist focuses on socially engaged Buddhism, as noted above.

Reflecting on these two Buddhist Quakers, it might be fair to say that Valerie Brown’s concern is to bring Buddhist practices to Quakerism in order to enrich Quaker spirituality, while Sallie King’s focus as an activist is to encourage Buddhists to engage in reforms for social justice—an area of concern that has historically been much more central to Quakers than to Buddhists. Taken together, they demonstrate two complementary possibilities for Quaker and Buddhist elements to enhance the inward life of contemplation and the outward life of social change.

From its start, the Quaker heritage has been one of both universalism and Christian particularity: the Light that enlightens everyone was understood as the Light of Christ that entered human history. The complexity of this dual focus has always come to expression in a variety of spiritual vitalities. Some Friends have focused on the Christian identity to the near exclusion of the universalist dimension; others vice versa. The Quaker tradition is not static but rather unfolding, and, as with other Christian communities, its interactions with other traditions is a witness to this vitality.


2022/10/18

Eastern Light: Awakening To Presence In Zen, Quakerism, and Christianity by Steve Smith | Goodreads

Eastern Light: Awakening To Presence In Zen, Quakerism, and Christianity by Steve Smith | Goodreads

https://www.scribd.com/book/297149111/Eastern-Light-Awakening-To-Presence-In-Zen-Quakerism-and-Christianity


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Eastern Light: Awakening To Presence In Zen, Quakerism, and Christianity

by
Steve Smith
3.83 · Rating details · 6 ratings · 0 reviews
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Table of Contents

Introduction

Part I: Purgation
Chapter One: A Quaker in the Zendo
Chapter Two: Standing Still in the Light
Chapter Three: Pure Passion

Part II: Illumination
Chapter Four: Living Peace
Chapter Five: Healing Gender Hurt
Chapter Six: Friendly Pedagogy

Part III: Union
Chapter Seven: In the Love of Nature
Chapter Eight: Joyful Witness
Chapter Nine: Walking Cheerfully Over the World

Bibliography
Permissions
Acknowledgements
About the Author
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Long requested and long awaited, Steve Smith's audience of thoughtful readers will book formats. The first time reader of his work will find comparative insights from his own journey studying Buddism and Quakerism, from both personal perspective and as a professor of philosophy. (less)

Kindle Edition, 215 pages
Published January 26th 2016 by QUPublishing, subsiderary of Quaker Universalist Fellowship
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Top reviews from the United States
Melissa
5.0 out of 5 stars Light Filled
Reviewed in the United States on August 26, 2018
- Steve Smith speaks my mind on several points. I struggle in my meeting expressing my thoughts on the peace testimony, he gives me more to think about and I can use his words to give my thoughts a voice. I also enjoy his take on Fox's testimony - others miss the joy and I find Smith's focus on joy and a positive outlook very refreshing. Incorporating a little zen practice has allowed me to more fully enjoy the Quaker spirit and brought new energy to my silent worship.
One person found this helpful
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Peter Dale
4.0 out of 5 stars Good personal exploration of how Buddhism has informed Steve Smith's ...
Reviewed in the United States on October 30, 2017
- Good personal exploration of how Buddhism has informed Steve Smith's Quaker praxis. It is particularly relevant to today's liberal non-programmed Quakers and other non-doctrinaire religious seekers.
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Curtis Mckallip
5.0 out of 5 stars Great book
- A sensitive and insightful book about a unique spiritual path.
One person found this helpful
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Ginger B.
5.0 out of 5 stars Five Stars
Reviewed in the United States on December 8, 2016
- Really good read... speaks to my soul
One person found this helpful
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2015 S&P Award Winner
Eastern Light
Awakening to Presence in Zen, Quakerism, and Christianity
By Steve Smith
https://www.spiritualityandpractice.com/book-reviews/view/28069/eastern-light

A serious, subtle, wise, and capacious spiritual memoir which addresses the hungers of seekers in this era of religious pluralism.

Book Review by Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat
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Multiple religious participation (MRPing) is the conscious use of the ideas, practices, and sensibilities of another tradition by a person firmly rooted in his or her own faith perspective. In this serious, subtle, wise, and capacious spiritual memoir, Steve Smith shares his journey and sparks our attention to the bounties and insights of Quakerism, Zen, and Christianity.

Born into an Iowa Quaker farm family and graduated from Scattergood Friends School and Earlham College; he earned a doctorate in Philosophy from Harvard University, He taught for 40 years in the Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies at Claremont McKenna College. Among his publications are three edited books, a textbook, and two collections of talks by Zen teacher Charlotte Joko Beck.

Having been a teacher, Smith highlights five principles of Quaker pedagogy:

The priority of experience: Awaken fully to our encounters with the world.
Integrity: Link education consistently with the whole of life.
The facts are friendly: Trust that creation is welcoming and life-affirming.
Invite all voices: Include all in the community of learning.
Nonviolence: Respect the tender souls of teachers and learners alike.

These bold educational ideals vividly illustrate some of the touchstones of Quaker faith and practice which Smith presents in Eastern Light. During a period in his life where he faced personal crises such as alcoholism and divorce, Smith immersed himself in a daily Zen meditation program which resulted in the transformation of his life. In his personal journal, he writes: "Zazen is marvelous. It returns me to myself, and to the unspeakable beauty at the heart of all things."

Like Paul Knitter, who talks often about how Buddhist practices have deepened and enriched his Christianity, Smith observes: "My Zen journey has helped me to appreciate features of Quaker spiritual practice that I had formerly overlooked."

In a series of cogent musings, the author ponders the abundant riches of standing still in the Light which demands, as was clarified by early Quakers in their writings, the rigors of dying to self and the liberation of discipline. Smith finds it rewarding to follow the mantra of George Fox "Live in the Life of God, and feel it." In a chapter probing passion and compassion, he looks at the vulnerability of human beings as they give themselves over to self-examination and a close encounter with their heart's desires.

For Smith, one of the many remarkable dimensions of Quakerism is its advocacy of activism. This spiritual path not only helps us bear the burdens of our own lives and keep our souls alive but the Religious Society of Friends (founded by George Fox) has been at the forefront of campaigns for peace and social justice around the world. Smith salutes the courage of Quakers who have suffered as a result of their espousal of peace over the engines and weapons of war. We were moved by the author's stirring defense of a nonviolent response to war, hatred, and injustice in the chapter on "Living Peace." This is followed by another aspect of peacemaking in the war of the sexes. Smith manages to convey the "joy of gender healing."

In the last three chapters, the author hits high stride by addressing the major challenges of our times: climate change and environmental decay; the daunting mission of "mending the world"; and the struggle to stay grounded, open, and compassionate in the kingdom of heaven as it exists right now within the everyday precincts of our lives. As he concludes:

"Spiritual practice is not a search for something that is absent from our lives. Rather, it is the discipline of reawakening to a Reality that is forever infused within us — a Sacred Source in which even now, in this very moment, we 'live and move and have our being.' "

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https://westernfriend.org/article/eastern-light-review

Eastern Light - Review
Author(s): Irene Webb
Department: Reviews
Eastern Light: Awakening to Presence in Zen, Quakerism and Christianity

by Steve Smith

reviewed by Irene Webb

Steve Smith is a lifelong Quaker who went to Quaker schools, earned a doctorate in Philosophy from Harvard University, and went on to teach for forty years in the Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies at Claremont McKenna College in California. One might say, “He really knows his subject.” His latest book, Eastern Light: Awakening to Presence in Zen, Quakerism and Christianity recounts both Steve’s personal spiritual journey as well as a philosophical excursion into our contemporary quest for connection. As he writes in the introduction to the book, “...when we return to the infinite depth and breadth of this moment, we rediscover our underlying connections with others and with all life.” In the course of his own life, he found his connection back to his Quaker roots through a “dark night of the soul” that led him to Zen Buddhism.

Smith’s awakening occurred as he began Zen practice early one April morning in 1981 while on sabbatical in Hawaii. Although accustomed to sitting in Quaker Meeting, he finally had a deeper understanding of George Fox’s injunction to “Stand still in the light” as he learned to meditate in the Zendo. He writes: “Seeing my thoughts, cravings and fears without being drawn into them, I move from self-preoccupation to awareness of a larger reality. This liberating viewpoint is the Light – not a glowing object in my mind’s eye, but rather that which enables me to see my troubles while freeing me from immersion in them. Standing still in the Light, I yield to expansive openness and presence; in the words of Penington and Fox, I find ‘sweet experience’ and ‘contentment.’”

When I first read Steve Smith’s Pendel Hill pamphlet A Quaker in the Zendo in 2003, I must have read it eight times. I had begun to meditate with Vipassana groups and had a strong interest in Buddhism…  and yet I knew I was a Christian. I couldn’t help it. I just was. I had started attending Santa Monica Friends Meeting in California in 2001 after many years in the Episcopal Church. The quiet, the simplicity, and the lack of dogma (and preacher) appealed to me at that stage of life. As I settled into Quakerism and the beauty of “waiting upon the Lord” and “seeking the Light,” I felt that sense of mysticism I had been seeking for a long time. I recall thinking, “This is it – I’m a Buddhist Christian now.”

In this full-length book on Zen and Christianity, Smith does an exceptional job of casting light on the similarities between Buddhism and Quakerism, especially through quotations from George Fox, Isaac Penington, and other early Quakers. As Smith shows, the words of the Buddha and those of George Fox carry amazingly similar messages. It’s refreshing and quite freeing to see this.

I highly recommend not rushing through this book. There are gems of wisdom, inspiration, and knowledge on every page. The book covers some of the most important issues of our time, including the need for Quakers and Christians to become more grounded in the connection with the divine in our work for social justice and equality, the necessity of opening our eyes and hearts to the hurt that can be so prevalent in our relationships, and the joy of nature and terror of ruining it. All these important issues and more are discussed through the lens of a quality of religion that is found in both East and West.

The book is filled with meaningful quotes from a wide range of influential spiritual leaders such as Pema Chodron, Victor Frankl, Thich Nhat Hanh, and Thomas Kelly. The book has an excellent bibliography and very helpful endnotes. Eastern Light would be an obvious choice for book clubs and spiritual-growth classes. Quakers might want to seriously consider forming study groups around this important book. But first of all, read it for you own enlightenment and peace.  ~~~

Irene Webb conducts Alternatives to Violence trainings in jails in New Mexico, volunteers with an interfaith homeless shelter, and is a member of Santa Fe Monthly Meeting (IMYM).

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Eastern Light: Awakening to Presence in Zen, Quakerism, and Christianity By Steve Smith, 2015. 232 pages.
Reviewed by Judith Favor, 
August 1, 2016

“Who, other than Friends, are genuinely interested in helping people to fall in love with the Inward Guide?” For all the fascinating personal parables in Steve Smith’s self-disclosing volume, these words from Marshall Massey (spoken in 1985 at Pacific Yearly Meeting) resonate powerfully with me, for I see the author living by them. I engage in sitting meditation in the Zen tradition under Steve’s guidance; we have worshipped together for 18 years at Claremont Meeting. I became a convinced Friend in part because Steve Smith showed me how to fall in love with the Inward Guide.

Born to an Iowa Quaker family, this retired professor of philosophy and religious studies “writes in the language of the deep listener, as Friend Connie Green puts it. Smith says he loves to write; his bedrock relationship with Sacred Presence shines in every chapter. “Writing is a labor of the heart . . . an attempt to find my own way to a foundation of love in my own life.” Depth writing in these pages “is very different from the corrosive labors that led me in the wrong direction.”

Eastern Light is a compilation of stories: personal crisis; hard-won spiritual practices; and wise reflections on Quakerly approaches to peace, passion, nature, and service. Its nine chapters are organized according to the classic stages of the mystic’s path:

  • Purgation: dropping all self-denial and self-deception, facing one’s brokenness
  • Illumination: out of such radical self-honesty spring moments of grace and insight
  • Union: the gladness of awakening to our intrinsic bond with all creation

Young Friends and others wounded in “the war of the sexes” may find solace in “Healing Gender Hurt.” Quaker educators will resonate with “Friendly Pedagogy” as Smith “teases out the implications of Friends’ spirituality for humane, effective teaching.” In “In the Love of Nature,” he explores Friends’ responses to “the gathering storm of global climate change and environmental decay.” Personal memories and struggles are set in italics for the general reader; the scholarly reader will appreciate Smith’s robust set of endnotes.

Through the power of loving attention, this lifelong Friend uses clear language to probe the complexities and mysteries of Quaker faith and practice. Eastern Light contains a rich mix of themes, all moving toward helping people fall in love with the Inward Guide.


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INTRODUCTION

Awakening early, I rise and view a new day. Through my eastern windows, morning light slants across furniture and floor, casting pools of color upon my western wall. The room transforms in beauty—familiar, yet utterly changed. The world opens to me and I am again an infant, enraptured by a new creation.

The deepest needs are for the highest things. This book is a record of my hunger to know the highest things throughout my entire life, to awaken to the light that illumines all. In my darkest night, that light dawned from the East, reminding me of what I already knew, but had forgotten.

To rediscover what one already knows is the most intimate form of knowledge, like discovering in one’s pocket a treasure that was seemingly lost forever. In minor matters it is: Of course! I knew that! In deeper matters of the heart, it is the prodigal son returning, the realization that one is loved without reservation exactly as one is. For most of my adult life I had sought another kind of knowledge—aloof, comprehensive, general, a view from above: the universe seen from everywhere and nowhere. I sought this God’s-eye view in my chosen discipline of academic

philosophy, secretly hoping that if I achieved such an Olympian vision, I would at last find peace for my restless heart. That endeavor proved fruitless. Worse, as I searched through barren fields of bloodless concepts and came upon yet more unanswered questions, I lost touch with my soul.

Yet as defined in Greek antiquity, philosophy—philosophia, love of wisdom—still evokes my reverence. Wisdom is truth that nourishes, enabling us to be of greater service to ourselves, to others, and to all of creation. Socrates remains a hero for me.

Two primary kinds of knowledge are marked in many languages by separate terms: propositional knowledge, knowing that something is the case; and knowledge with a direct object, knowing as direct familiarity: "I know Paris—or Josephine, or the taste of a mango." I had been seeking the former kind of knowledge; what I secretly yearned for was the latter. To seek only propositional knowledge is to bypass the intimacy of direct awareness, or to recast it in unrecognizable formulas, content in the illusion that one can acquire facts while remaining untouched. Intellectual inquiry is then a cover for emotional cowardice—a state that I know all too well. When I open to the intimacy of direct knowing, I make myself vulnerable to transformation.

Religious practice seeks to heal the breach between propositional knowledge and direct familiarity, to recover from the illusion of isolation and reawaken to the many ways we are bound up with others and with life itself. As practice, it exemplifies a third form of knowledge—acquired skill or praxis, knowing how: Yes, I know how to play golf, or She really knows how to connect with people. Karen Armstrong, a respected, widely-read contemporary historian of religion, writes, Religion is a practical discipline that teaches us to discover new capacities of mind and heart.¹ She observes that religious practice has the power to open us to a transcendent dimension of life that [is] not simply an external reality ‘out there’ but [is] identical with the deepest level of [our] being.²

Armstrong suggests that because of our misguided efforts to capture the truths of religion in fixed propositions, We have not been doing our practice and have lost the ‘knack’ of religion.³ My own journey from abstract philosophy to Zen practice confirms this suggestion. Zen highlights the importance of knowing how; it is the cultivation of subtle yet powerful tools for living everyday life. To engage in Zen is to be constantly reminded that successful living is less a matter of accumulating information than of cultivating skills, and growing into what Aristotle called practical wisdom.
Buddhism and Quakerism

Had I known where to look and what misconceptions to shed, I might have found within my own Quaker and Christian origins the very resources that my sick soul required. For many years, however, I could not see past my prejudices to the riches within my reach. In Buddhism I found a rigorous practice that brought healing balm. That discovery in turn threw unexpected light upon what I had failed to find in the familiar religious fixtures of my childhood—treasures that lay unrecognized at the center of my heart.

Reawakening to intimate awareness of my world, cultivating skills for successful living—these have been Zen’s most precious gifts to me. Cross-cultural affinities between Quakerism and Zen eased the way for this mutual

illumination. Some of these affinities are obvious: stark plainness and simplicity, deep silence and open receptivity are featured in both Quaker silent worship and Zen meditation. Others show themselves only upon deeper examination of the teachings of both traditions. Bodhidharma, the legendary first patriarch of Zen Buddhism, is traditionally credited with the following summation of Zen teaching:

A special tradition outside the scriptures;

No dependence upon words and letters;

Direct pointing at the soul…

Seeing into one’s own nature, and the attainment of Buddhahood.

The fourth line refers to the experience of enlightenment (satori, kensho), often simply called awakening. Such an experience reveals to us that we have been living in a dull and troubled trance, oblivious to the vivid beauty of the world. Dogen Zenji, the great medieval Japanese Soto Zen master (1200-1253 C.E.), writes, To be enlightened is to be intimate with all things.

More than a millennium after Bodhidharma, on the opposite side of the globe in 17th Century England, a feisty religious radical unknowingly echoed these themes. Of his great spiritual awakenings, George Fox (1624-1691) wrote, This I saw in the pure openings of the Light without the help of any man, neither did I then know where to find it in the Scriptures; though afterwards, searching the Scriptures, I found it. For I saw in that Light and Spirit which was before Scripture was given forth, …His world was reborn: All things were new, and all the creation gave another smell unto me than before, beyond what words can utter. I knew nothing but pureness, and innocency, and righteousness… .Fox wrote that in his awakened state, he observed a dullness and drowsy heaviness upon people, which I wondered at…and I told people they must come to witness death to that sleepy, heavy nature… that their minds and hearts might be on things above.Fox did not come to these insights through ruminating upon religious teachings, but through courageous, unblinking surrender to the actual condition of his own life. He called such surrender standing still in the Light. This was the core of his spiritual practice, from which all of his ministry flows. Fox unknowingly echoed Zen: No dependence upon words and letters. Direct pointing at the soul.

To suggest that George Fox was a 17th Century English version of Bodhidharma would be a clumsy theological anachronism. Each man must be understood first within his own historical, cultural, and religious context. That said, the two figures display intriguing similarities. In paintings, Bodhidharma is typically depicted as a beetle-browed man of fierce, rough-hewn intensity. In later centuries, legends accumulated around him: He fearlessly asserted the futility of building Buddhist temples and of the recitation of the sutras… . For nine years [he] remained seated before the wall of a monastery… . [He] is said to have miraculously foiled his enemies’ attempts to poison him… .¹⁰ Is it a coincidence that George Fox—another rough-hewn, singular figure, the man in leather breeches—often denounced the steeplehouses of his time (declaring that God did not live in temples made with hands¹¹) or that by his own account, he was the target of numerous failed attempts upon his life, often making providential escapes from the clutches of his opponents? Like graphic depictions of Bodhidharma’s eyes, the discerning fierceness of Fox’s scrutiny of others was unnerving, provoking frightened responses: "Don’t pierce me so with thy eyes!

Keep thy eyes off me!"¹² Like Bodhidharma, Fox pursued spiritual awakening with extraordinary intensity; he reports that in his early years of seeking, I fasted much, and walked abroad in solitary places many days, and often took my Bible and went and sat in hollow trees and lonesome places till night came on; and frequently in the night walked mournfully about by myself, for I was a man of sorrows in the times of the first workings of the Lord in me.¹³ William Penn noted the utter uniqueness of Fox: He was an original, being no man’s copy.¹⁴ The religious genius of both Bodhidharma and Fox drove them toward spiritual awakening, without concern for personal comfort and safety.

Both Zen and Quakerism lay claim to being distillations of the experiential core of their respective traditions, Buddhism and Christianity. (William Penn wrote a pamphlet about Quakerism titled Primitive Christianity Revived.¹⁵) Both traditions abandon doctrinal definitions in favor of religious practices whose purpose is to awaken us to Presence in this very moment. Both point to a theological paradox hidden within our everyday delusions: we are always immersed in Sacred Reality—yet we remain blind to it. The classic 8th Century Buddhist poem, Sandokai (commonly translated as The Identity of Relative and Absolute) contains these lines: Reading words you should grasp the great reality… . If you do not see the Way, you do not see it even as you walk upon it.¹⁶ Zen masters employ a startling array of means to cut through the obscuring thickets of words, in order to shock their students into an immediate realization of the great reality.¹⁷

The ubiquity of Divine Presence is repeatedly affirmed in Judeo-Christian scripture. Moses declares (Deut. 30:14) that The word is very near to you: it is in your mouth and in your heart… . The psalmist asks,

Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.

(Psalm 139:7-10)

Jesus assures his disciples that I am with you always, to the end of the age. (Matt. 28:20) St. Paul agrees with a pagan poet that in God, we live, and move, and have our being. (Acts 17:28) and reaffirms Moses’ words, quoted above. (Romans10:8)

Although we are always immersed in Mystery, we live as if we were separate from it. Isaac Penington (1616-1679), a Quaker mystic and contemporary of George Fox who endured lengthy imprisonment for his refusal to abandon his religious convictions, put this paradox sharply:

But is it not strange, that thou shouldst be of it, and not be able to know and own it, in this day of its manifestation; but call the light which is spiritual and eternal (and gives the true and certain knowledge of Christ) natural? What! Of God, of Christ, (having received the Spirit, the living well) and yet not know the mystery of life within, nor its pure voice in this present day! But limit the unlimited One to a form of words formerly spoken by him! ¹⁸

When Sacred Reality becomes a mere idea rather than Living Presence, we have lost our way. Concepts and words that should point beyond themselves assume a false reality of their own, limiting and even replacing that to which they refer—a category mistake that the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead called the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.¹⁹ The opening words of the Tao Te Ching declare, The Tao which can be spoken of is not the eternal Tao.²⁰

A traditional Zen saying is, You may use your finger to point at the moon—but do not mistake the finger for the moon. When we view the moon with an open body and mind, we awaken to wonder and reverence, giving joyful expression to our experience. Eager to share with others, we try to capture the ineffable in words, using the tools that are familiar to us: symbols, metaphors, and rituals of our own tradition. For Bodhidharma and Dogen, that tradition was the Buddhism of their time and place; for George Fox, it was Christianity in 17th Century England. Yet for us, the spiritual power of their vision rests not in those outward forms, but in our intuitive intimation of the Mystery to which they point. As Paul Knitter writes, Christian language, like all religious language, is, in its entire vocabulary, made up of fingers pointing to the moon.²¹
The Primacy of Practice

When I stand some distance away from you, I may not be able to discern where you are pointing, nor comprehend why what you see evokes such wonder and zeal; only when I realize that my own standpoint is but one among many, may I begin to appreciate your perspective. Likewise, ministry that does not speak to one person may be exactly what another seeker needs to receive. A similar humility is required of us as we survey the immense variety and protean power of spiritual insights in countless cultural settings.

Yet how shall we make room for this seemingly laudable latitude regarding religious symbols without descending to a lowest common denominator, thereby arriving at tasteless spiritual pablum? As a boy I heard this question posed by elderly Quakers who were concerned about the decline of their beloved Society—usually accompanied by plaintive recitation of Matthew 5:13 (KJV): Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? It is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under the foot of men.

In my experience, generous respect for other religions is best grounded in deep fidelity to our own authentic religious practice. When I try to explain to others how I reconcile Zen practice with my Quaker and Christian identity, I am of two minds. If I compare theologies, lining up Buddhism and Christianity in order to read off similarities and contrasts, I fumble; my efforts to explain myself become forced and unpersuasive. Yet in my personal spiritual life, Buddhism, Quakerism, and Christianity meld seamlessly into my own singular journey. The beloved contemporary Buddhist teacher, Jack Kornfield, relates this story: One young woman who had become very involved in Buddhist practice returned to her parents’ home. She struggled with their Christian Fundamentalism for a time, until she sorted things out. Then she sent a letter back to the monastery stating, ‘My parents hate me when I’m a Buddhist, but they love me when I’m a Buddha.’²²

A fellow graduate student in philosophy once told me that his strategy in winning a philosophical argument was Distinguish and conquer. He was very skilled at doing this. Was it mere coincidence that his wife (also a graduate student in philosophy) seemed unhappy in the marriage? Buddhist teachings—and indeed, mysticism in all of its forms—observe that exclusive reliance upon discursive reasoning highlights differences, promoting division and discord. In contrast, when we return to the infinite depth and breadth of this moment, we rediscover our underlying connections with others and with all of life. Purely theoretical puzzles disappear or become irrelevant; as the Buddha delicately observed, they reveal themselves to be questions that tend not to edification.²³

A corollary of this spiritual insight is the paradox that we draw closer to one another to the degree that we become more fully ourselves. Thus I do not offer my reflections in this book as a spiritual map for others to follow. There is no one size fits all spirituality or religious identity; the shape of soul-making is unique to each individual. The Buddha’s final words were, Be a lamp unto yourself—that is, learn to recognize and commit to your own deepest insights. Again, George Fox unknowingly echoed this directive. Margaret Fell (1614-1702), the spiritual mother of Quakerism and the eventual wife of Fox, relates the moment when his ministry cut me to the heart: confronting a cleric who drew upon scripture to refute his challenges, Fox declared, You will say, Christ saith this, and the Apostles say this; but what canst thou say? Art thou a Child of Light, and hast walked in the Light, and what thou speakest, is it inwardly from God?²⁴ I am of greatest service to others when I am true to myself: honest testimony from my own path proves to be more helpful than presuming to know what others should do.
God-Talk

The only real voyage of discovery…consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.

—Marcel Proust²⁵

My childhood home was suffused with a distinctively Quaker vision of Christianity, centering upon the spiritual and moral teachings of Jesus—especially the Sermon on the Mount. These teachings became etched upon my heart. Yet the conventional theological language in which they were couched gradually lost its power over my mind, replaced by intellectual skepticism and aimless spiritual longing. Zen practice became a new wineskin for that longing, refocusing my spiritual energies and freeing my use of Christian and Quaker language from the straitjacket of literalism. I count as one of Zen’s greatest gifts that it has restored to me the evocative power of Judeo-Christian scripture.

When I think of God, I do not picture to myself a disembodied, supreme Intelligence who can be persuaded by human supplication to intervene in the natural course of events. In the minds of many orthodox Christians, this admission will brand me as a non-theist or even an atheist. I choose not to invest energy in rebutting this charge. In my personal lexicon, the term God and its cognates hint at a Reality that is beyond the power of words to capture, a vast and potent Mystery.²⁶

Friends affirm that this Divine Reality is found within every human breast—that there is "that of God in every

one."²⁷ Awakening to this Presence, we come to know the hidden unity in the Eternal Being²⁸—our essential interconnection with one another and with all creation. Zen makes similar claims regarding Buddha-Nature, an empowering awareness to which we awaken through disciplined spiritual practice, revealing the truth of Interbeing.²⁹ I hesitate to suggest that these phrases—that of God in every one and Buddha-Nature—refer to the same underlying reality. In view of the unique historical tapestries of Buddhism and Christianity, such a cross-cultural equation is dubious. Yet I personally find these phrases equally satisfactory in pointing to my own inner experience.

Because of fond memories of my childhood religious instruction, I continue to use some traditional Christian terminology. Yet I dissociate myself from the intolerance and exclusivity that often accompany this language. I invite readers for whom my Christian words and scriptural citations carry negative baggage to translate them into symbols that evoke their own spiritual insights. A guiding thread of theological reconstruction in these pages is to reclaim—for myself, and possibly for others—the power of Christian language, even as I respect, admire, and draw upon other great religious traditions.

The following chapters are linked by a common theme, the insights that arise as we awaken to the reality of the present moment. Breaking free of the conceptual cocoon that insulates us from our lives, coming to our senses, we discover that what Jesus called the Kingdom of God is indeed among and within us. (Luke 17:21) Moments of awakening are not always blissful or reassuring; they can be disconcerting, even devastating. Others are quiet reminders of who and where we are, small epiphanies that reorient us to what is most important. Their meaning may be lost on us in the moment that they occur, to be realized later in what the English poet, Wordsworth, called emotion recollected in tranquility.³⁰

Scattered through these pages are accounts of such pivotal moments in my life—personal parables, intense experiences that have shaped my perspective and directed my steps into the future. Some were traumatic, others uplifting. For emphasis, I highlight these accounts by the typographical convention of italics.

Unless otherwise noted, all quotations from the Old and New Testaments of the Christian Bible are from the New Revised Standard Version.

Chapters are organized according to the traditional stages of the mystic’s path: purgation (dropping all denial and self-deception, facing one’s brokenness and shadow self); illumination (out of such radical self-honesty spring moments of grace and insight); and union (the gladness of awakening to our intrinsic bond with all of creation).
Part I: Purgation

CHAPTER ONE: A Quaker In the Zendo relates the journey from my childhood in an Iowa Quaker farm family, through anxious years of academic striving that imploded into humiliating personal crisis—and to recovery through years of psychotherapy and Zen practice, returning me to a renewed engagement with my Quaker roots.

CHAPTER TWO: Standing Still In the Light draws upon the records of Quakerism, writings of George Fox and other early Friends, where I find—to my wonder and delight—explicit guidelines for spiritual practice that are often

overlooked by Friends today. I spell out these guidelines in experiential terms.

CHAPTER THREE: Pure Passion expands upon the theme of Chapter Two, linking the spiritual practice of standing still in the Light to an understanding of psychotherapy, meditation, and the Passion of Christ. Again my account is personal, building upon my own experience.
Part II: Illumination

CHAPTER FOUR: Living Peace details my efforts to understand the Peace Testimony of early Friends. I find it to be not (as is commonly supposed) the endorsement of a sweeping philosophical principle of pacifism, but rather, the outcome of disciplined spiritual practice. When we stand in utter sincerity in the Light, the causes of violence and hatred melt away, bringing us into sweet harmony with all of creation.

CHAPTER FIVE: Healing Gender Hurt explores the meaning of the Peace Testimony for gender conflict—especially what is often called the war of the sexes. I explore the meaning of masculinity in the light of Friends’ Peace Testimony. I share my own efforts to heal and to foster the healing of others.

CHAPTER SIX: Friendly Pedagogy traces the spiritual roots that nourish Quaker schools and suggests that the distinctive ethos of such schools derives from Friends’ unique manner of conducting meetings for business. I tease out implications of Friends’ spirituality for humane, effective teaching.
Part III: Union

CHAPTER SEVEN: In the Love of Nature draws from my childhood on an Iowa farm. In this chapter, I probe the contributions of Quaker spirituality to an overriding challenge of our time, the gathering storm of global climate change and environmental decay. We cannot hope to restore the earth while we ourselves remain alienated from her.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Joyful Service argues that the work of peace and justice—mending the world—is most effective when it is motivated not by indignation, fear, or anger, but by the transforming, reconciling power of hearts that have surrendered into the crucible of the Light. Reactive emotions may be necessary in order to cut through our complacence—but only love can overcome hatred and promote true justice.

CHAPTER NINE: Walking Cheerfully unites the themes of the previous chapters in a vision of reconciliation and redemption in this life—living the Kingdom of God in a broken world. If the deepest needs are for the highest things, what is highest can be found here and now, in this very life—if we have eyes to see.

While I draw upon fine scholarship from many sources, I do not write as a scholar addressing other scholars, but rather as an earnest seeker, sharing my brokenness, my failures, and my modest insights in the hope that my readers may find their way along their own paths to healing and wholeness, whatever those paths may be. In that spirit I write not only for those who self-identify as Quakers or Buddhists—but for all who yearn for the highest things.

Awakening to our own deepest springs of wisdom promises more than we can now dream or imagine. In the

final lines of Walden, Henry David Thoreau writes, Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.³¹ His words are a departure point for the following pages. May the morning star—eastern light—reveal the true light, which enlightens everyone.

Karen Armstrong, The Case for God (New York: Knopf, 2009), p. xiii.

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Ibid.

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Ibid., p. xv.

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Although the importance of practical wisdom is emphasized in Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics (see Book VI, Chapters 5, 12, 13), courses in ethical theory and classical philosophy typically note this insight—only to put aside its cultivation in order to explore theoretical puzzles.

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See Heinrich Dumoulin, S.J., A History of Zen Buddhism (Boston: Beacon Press, 1963), p. 67. Dumoulin dates Bodhidharma’s life to the early 5th Century C.E. and attributes these four lines to a Zen master from the Tang era, Nan-chuan Pu-yan (748-834). See Dumoulin, Chapter 5, ftnt. 1.

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Shobogenzo; quoted by Jack Kornfield, A Path with Heart: A Guide Through the Perils and Promises of Spiritual Life (New York: Bantam,1993), pp. 332-339.

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Journal of George Fox, ed. by John L. Nickalls (London: Religious Society of Friends, 1975), p. 33.

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Ibid., p. 27.

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Ibid., p. 33.

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Dumoulin, p. 68.

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Journal, p. 45. Fox refers to Acts 7:48: The Most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands.

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Introduction by Geoffrey F. Nuttall, DD., to Fox, Journal, p. xxxiii.

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Journal, p. 9f.

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Extracts from William Penn’s Preface, in Fox, Journal, p. xliii.

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Published in 1696. Available without charge online.

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Sandokai, in Wikipedia, accessed on 23 August 2012.

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A traditional tool of Zen masters is a gnarled stick sometimes used in personal interviews to strike their students unexpectedly, in an effort to wake them abruptly into the moment.

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Knowing the Mystery of Life Within: Selected Writings of Isaac Penington in their Historical and Theological Context, selected and introduced by R. Melvin Keiser and Rosemary Moore (London: Quaker Books, 2005), front matter epigraph.

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Alfred North Whitehead, Science and the Modern World (New York: Free Press, 1925, 1997), p. 51.

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Many editions. This from Lao Tzu: Text, Notes, and Comments, by ChenKu-ying, translated and adapted by Rhett Y. W. Young and Roger T. Ames (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, Inc., 1977), p. 51.

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Paul F. Knitter, Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2009), p. 65. Knitter is Paul Tillich Professor of Theology, World Religions and Culture at Union Theological Seminary.

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Jack Kornfield, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry: How the Heart Grows Wise on the Spiritual Path (New York: Bantam, 2000), pp. 218f.

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Questions Which Tend not to Edification, Sermon Number 1, from The Lesser Malunkyaputta Sutra, Translated from the Maijhima-Nikaya.

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The Testimony of Margaret Fox Concerning her Late Husband George Fox, in Hidden In Plain Sight: Quaker Women’s Writings 1650-1700, ed. by Mary Garman, et. al. (Wallingford, PA: Pendle Hill Publications, 1996), p. 235.

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The Maxims of Marcel Proust, ed. by Justin O’Brien (New York: Columbia University Press, 1948), p. 181.

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I have discovered that my outlook falls roughly into the category of apophatic theology. This longstanding tradition has its roots in negative theology (via negativa)—the outlook that no positive description is adequate to name or express the reality of the Divine Good. Negative theology… is often allied with mysticism, which focuses on a spontaneous or cultivated individual experience of the divine reality beyond the realm of ordinary perception, an experience often unmediated by the structures of traditional organized religion or the conditioned role-playing and learned defensive behavior of the outer man.… The Divine is ineffable… it eludes definition by definition. (From Apophatic Theology in Wikipedia, accessed on 23 July 2012.) Both Zen and the mystical aspects of Quakerism exemplify this outlook.

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Fox, Journal, p. 263.

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Ibid., p. 28.

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This phrase comes from Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Zen Buddhist master who has done much to popularize Zen in mainstream Western religious thought.

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Preface to Lyrical Ballads, Second Edition (1800).

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Final lines of Conclusion. Many editions.

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2022/08/29

** "Leadings" For Nontheistic Friends? - Friends Journal 2011 By Steven Smith (Steve)

"Leadings" For Nontheistic Friends? - Friends Journal

“Leadings” For Nontheistic Friends?

By Steven Smith, [ = Steve Smith]

January 1, 2011


When I speak of being led or feeling called to act in some way, do my words commit me to a traditional theistic worldview? 

In using these phrases, have I implied the existence of a supernatural, all-powerful being, creator of the universe, who watches over my life and guides my steps? Conversely, if I doubt this traditional theistic worldview, must I give up the language of leadings and callings and substitute explicitly humanistic or scientific terms?

To each of these questions, I answer no. While these terms are rooted in the rich history of traditional Western monotheism, their linguistic evolution has attenuated their links to any specific theological framework, 
allowing a variety of spiritual but nontheistic interpretations. 
What remains essential is that 
when one responds to a leading or calling, 
one yields to deeper guidance and wisdom 
than can be found in the deliberations and calculations of one’s small self.

I do not personally endorse nontheism or theism, 
but rather suggest that the language of leadings and callings 
can be used with integrity by both theistic and nontheistic Friends 
to name genuine features of their experience. 

By theism, I mean belief in the existence of God or gods—and especially, belief in one God who created and intervenes in the universe. Nontheists deny just what theism asserts. Some nontheists are scientific materialists, holding that nothing exists except physical energy and matter, subject to scientific knowledge. The word atheism is often used to name this position, which is opposed not only to belief in God, but also typically to any form of religious belief.

Nontheism, however, also includes views that are not hostile to religion or spirituality. 
For example, prominent strains of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism are nontheistic. Certain traditional orthodox systems of Hinduism (the Carvakas and Sankhya schools) are expressly materialistic and atheistic. 

While Buddhist and Taoist folk religions tend to be polytheistic, most scholars of comparative religion agree that 
the historical core of both these great world religions is nontheistic—ultimate spiritual reality does not have the character of a personal god.

Western cultures also recognize nontheistic spirituality. One example is pantheism. Those who find spiritual sustenance and renewal in nature may reject belief in a supernatural, divine creator. 
And in contemporary popular culture, when protagonists in the Star Wars film series proclaim that "the Force is with you," they are not naming a personal, creator deity, but rather an impersonal, benign power in the universe. As these examples illustrate, one can be genuinely religious and/or spiritual without being theistic. To recognize this fact is to open oneself to a variety of nontheistic interpretations of "leadings" and "callings."

Several years ago, after publishing a manuscript that had occupied my energies for several years, I was ready to take a break from writing and turn my attention to other matters. Despite my intentions, I found myself overcome by persistent preoccupation with a new writing project. 

Even as I turned to the activities I had planned, something originating outside of my conscious agenda insinuated itself into the interstices of my life. At odd moments of the day and night, a persistent feeling overcame me that something needed to be said—and that I was the one to say it. As I lay awake at night, or sat during my morning meditation period, or drove my car alone, insights spontaneously sprang up—a distinction I wanted to make, a deft turn of phrase, an unexpected link with another resource. I kept a pen and pad of paper handy to record these visitations. I sensed that what I was putting into words might eventually be helpful to others. Eventually I yielded and committed myself to the new project.

Was I under the sway of a compulsive obsession? I have known genuine obsessions, with their undercurrent of fear. This was different. Unlike obsessive compulsive behavior, which is driven by anxiety and yields only momentary relief, I felt excited, liberated, and joyful when I responded to these impulses. Though my efforts were mentally strenuous, they had a quality of spontaneous play as uplifting energy broke into my life.

Had I been born into another time and place, had I been raised within another set of cultural and religious beliefs, I might have given another name to the source of my inspiration. I might have said that I had been visited by an angel, or by a deceased elder from another realm, or by occult signals from the stars. I might have attributed my "obsession" to a personal muse or daimon. I might have regarded it as simply an eruption from the depths of my own unconscious. But I was raised among Friends—and thus I turned to the language and explanation that came most naturally to me: I told myself that I was experiencing a leading.

We may confuse the raw quality of immediate experience with the explanation that we are taught to give of that experience. The words that I used to describe my experience were secondary; the primary fact was the experience itself. I felt as though I were literally being drawn to my work. I felt a positive valence, a pull, accompanied by an unnamed fascination. Something gently required my attention. I might still refuse to respond; I might turn away and ignore the "message." Sometimes I did just that—and felt a certain sad pointlessness creep into my life. But when I opened to the leading—when I was faithful—I felt a path opening before me. Stepping onto that path, striding forward, I felt lighter, happier, more myself—despite objections from my "rational" mind.

There is no sharp line or absolute distinction between the immediate quality of lived experience and the explanation or interpretation one may give of that experience. What we sense is structured by what we believe; the sensual is already formed by concepts that we have learned and take for granted. Still, when we Friends speak of leadings and callings, I imagine that the underlying experiential realities to which we point are far more universal than the names that we give them. To insist upon our own terminology to explain these experiential realities and reject alternative belief systems as false or even "heretical," is to assume a dogmatic orthodoxy. It is to place blinders on ourselves and promote intolerance and exclusion, inviting division and conflict. In his superb book, Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life (1997), Gregg Levoy puts the point forthrightly:


Calls, of course, beg the question "Who, or what, is calling?" But in attempting to answer this question even an exhaustive list of every name for Soul or Destiny or God would be beside the point. It simply doesn’t matter whether we call it God, the Patterning Intelligence, the Design Mind, the Unconscious, the Soul, the Force of Completion, the Center Court, or simply "life’s longing for itself," as Kahlil Gibran envisioned. It is clear, however that "living means being addressed," as the theologian Martin Buber once said, and whatever or whoever is addressing us is a power like wind or fusion or faith: We can’t see the force, but we can see what it does.

In affirming such an open and inclusive stance, have we drifted so far from the origins of Quakerism that we can no longer claim to be Friends?

Certainly early Friends assumed a theistic, biblically based understanding of leadings and callings. The language of George Fox in his Journal is unabashedly literal and explicit: "The Lord did gently lead me along . . ." "It was upon me from the Lord to go and speak . . . " "The Lord commanded me to go abroad into the world . . ." Similar descriptions are readily found in the writings of other Friends, from the beginning of Quakerism to the present day.

It is also true, however, that what counted most for early Friends were not the words one used to describe one’s spiritual experiences, but those experiences themselves. Fox’s vocal ministry was often directed against the "professors," those who—perhaps emboldened by theological training at Oxford or Cambridge— talked learnedly about religious matters but did not manifest in their own lives the transforming presence of Spirit. Frequently citing 2 Corinthians 3:6, "The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life," Fox, in his Journal, railed against those who "fed upon words, and fed one another with words, but trampled upon the life, and . . . the blood of the Son of God . . . and they lived in their airy notions talking of him."

In contrast, Fox insisted that faith entails feeling and living from the real Presence. He asked Friends to "Live in the Life of God, and feel it" (Epistle #95, in The Power of the Lord Is Over All, ed. T. Canby Jones). Early Quaker leader Isaac Penington urged a similar spiritual practice: "Sink into the feeling and dwell in the feeling, and wait for the savour of the principle of life" (excerpt in Knowing the Mystery of Life Within, R. Melvin Keiser & Rosemary Moore). Caroline Stephens used the language of feeling to describe her "never- to-be-forgotten" first encounter with Quaker worship; she found herself in "a small company of silent worshipers who were content to sit down together without words, that each one might feel after and draw near to the Divine Presence" (Quaker Strongholds—Quaker Faith and Practice, Britain Yearly Meeting).

If what is essential about religious faith is located in the words one uses to express that faith, then the words must be very carefully parsed. Deviation from "true doctrine" must be rejected— it is an enticement to spiritual death. In contrast, when what is essential to religious faith is located not in the language used to describe one’s "condition" (a term much favored by early Friends), but in that condition itself, then one is freed to use a rich variety of words and metaphors to point out and evoke that condition. The language used by early Friends to describe the workings of the Spirit was extraordinarily varied and metaphorical: Light, Seed, Truth, Christ, Life, Fountain, the pure babe in the virgin mind, the Topstone, the Flame, the Lamb—and many other marvelous images. Whereas orthodoxy favors carefully defined terms with sharply delineated boundaries of meaning, charismatic and mystical faiths foster fountains of poetic images that do not define, but rather evoke, spiritual experience.

The elasticity of religious boundaries among early Friends is at times startling. Howard Brinton, in Friends for 300 Years, writes that when Quaker Josiah Coale was traveling in the New World with George Fox, he wrote, "We found these Indians more sober and Christian-like toward us than the Christians so-called." Another Friend, Elizabeth Newport, found the Seneca Indians on the Cataraugus reservation (in present-day New York State) to be divided into two groups that she named "Pagans" and "Christians." Strikingly, she wrote, "The Pagans believed in Quaker worship and the guidance of the Spirit while the Christians seek information from the missionaries."

While one may legitimately speak of "leadings" and "callings" in some nontheistic systems of belief, other nontheistic uses of these terms lack an essential connection to spiritual reality. A genuinely spiritual leading cannot be merely a "good idea" that I have cooked up, nor can it be an imperative derived from a political ideology or philosophical scheme. Most importantly, if I am following a genuine leading, I am not leading myself, nor am I being led by another human authority figure. Even when I am helped to become aware of a true leading by another person with a deeply discerning spirit, I am called to be faithful not to that person, but to something larger.

The English philosopher of religion John Hick declared that "The function of religion . . is to transform human existence from self-centeredness to reality-enteredness" 
(Introduction to Chatterjee, Gandhi’s Religious Thought). 

True leadings and callings come from reality, not self. 
While great cultural and religious traditions construe reality in widely varying ways, none limits spiritual guidance to purely human sources. 
To be faithful is to respond to that which is larger, higher, and deeper than the purely human; it is to awaken and respond to the mystery that not only encompasses what we are, but much, much more.

2021/04/30

Nothing Special Living Zen, Charlotte J. Beck, Steve Smith 1993 + Notes

Nothing Special: Charlotte J. Beck, Steve Smith: 9780062511171: Amazon.com: Books


Nothing Special Paperback – September 3, 1993
by Charlotte J. Beck (Author), Steve Smith (Author)
4.7 out of 5 stars 205 ratings

WHEN NOTHING IS SPECIAL, EVERYTHING CAN BE

The best-selling author of 'Everyday Zen' shows how to awaken to daily life and discover the ideal in the everyday, finding riches in our feelings, relationships, and work.

'Nothing Special' offers the rare and delightful experience of learning in the authentic Buddhist tradition with a wonderfully contemporary Western master

Print length
177 pages

2019/04/18

Welcome to a budding Buddhist Quaker... | Quaker Universalist Voice



Welcome to a budding Buddhist Quaker... | Quaker Universalist Voice



Welcome to a budding Buddhist Quaker…
by Anthony Manousos

PUBLISHEDMonday, 21 Mar 2011TOPICS




By Anthony Manousos


I couldn’t resist this pun (and for those of you who are addicted to punning, I recommend John Pollock’s excellent new book, “The Pun Also Rises”). Paul Lockey, a Buddhist newcomer to Quakerism, just wrote about the affinities between Quakerism and Buddhism (see below). That Quakerism and Buddhism (especially Zen Buddhism) have much in common has become a truism among liberal and Universalist Friends. Sallie King, a longstanding member of QUF and CIRC, describes herself as a Buddhist Quaker, and so, I believe, does Steve Smith, who has written an outstanding Pendle Hill pamphlet on his experiences as a Zen Buddhist Friend. I myself have lived for nine months in a Zen Buddhist center in Providence, RI, when I first became a Friend and was deeply influenced by Joe and Teresina Havens, weighty Friends who were deeply Buddhist in outlook.


So I want to extend a warm welcome to the Paul Lockey, who writes:
As a Buddhist new to Quakers (just four Meetings for Worship under my belt!), I accept that I am coming into a religious organisation that is ‘rooted in Christianity and has always found inspiration in the life and teachings of Jesus.’ [A&Q4] However, my understanding is that ‘Quakerism’ (like ‘Buddhism’) is more a way of living rather than a set of beliefs. Moreover, an important part of the practice is to ‘work gladly with other religious groups in the pursuit of common goals…’ [A&Q6] and to ‘respect that of God in everyone though it may be expressed in unfamiliar ways or be difficult to discern…’ [A&Q17].



Jesus said, ‘The Kingdom of God comes not from observation… the Kingdom of God is within you.’ [Luke 17: 20-21] As a Buddhist I can relate to that. I see no reason why Quakers should abandon their Christian heritage, nor would I ever ask anyone to do so just to make non-Christians like me feel more welcome. However, speaking the language of Christ is one thing – it’s quite another to argue that Christianity is the one true religion, or that Jesus is somehow superior to the other historical figures who are revered by people of different faiths. If the RSoF requires me to believe that then I’ll just slope off quietly and never darken the door of my local Meeting House ever again…

Whatever we imagine our God to be, It almost certainly isn’t. The human experience of divinity is a continuum ranging from the mundane to miraculous and all are of equal importance – it’s only ego that judges these experiences as ‘good’ or ‘bad’, ‘external’ or ‘internal’, ‘superior’ or ‘inferior’, ‘sacred’ or ‘profane’… etc. By walking the Buddha’s ‘Middle Way’ I hope to tread a fine line between asceticism and hedonism while avoiding the pitfalls of holding extreme views (atheist materialism or religious fundamentalism, for example).

So what brings me to Quakers? Basically – a need for silence, to meet others along the spiritual road, to experience in different ways the Ultimate Reality of ‘Oneness’ (or God, if you prefer).
CommentsI'll tell what branch of Buddhism seems ever closer to Quakerism: Pure Land. I belong to a Jodo Shinshu or Shin Buddhist Sangha. I have also attended a Quaker meeting for many years. It a nutshell, both traditions are at their essence preaching the Gospel of Universalism. In Shin all are saved through the compassionate workings of Amida Buddha. I believe readers will easily note the obvious Christian parallel.Mike L. · 21 Mar 2011 at 4:28 pmThank you for this. I have been making use of Buddhist meditation techniques for several years, although I feel too ignorant and imperfect to label myself a Buddhist. I was raised in a very secular, socialist household; while not spiritual, it was deeply ethical, and my parents transmitted to me their belief in social justice and peace, taking me on marches for equality and disarmament as a child.

I started attending my local Quaker Meeting through friends, and have been attending every Sunday for about three months. I am constantly running up against ideas and practices that I was first introduced to in meditation classes or my reading on Buddhism. Last week I went to a workshop for Quakers on deepening the experience of Worship, and was amused to be presented with suggestions such as focusing on the breath as a means of centring down, walking meditation as preparation for Meeting - the workshop was bringing me back round to where I started from!

Right now, I'm not sure I can call myself a Buddhist, or a Quaker, or a Buddhist Quaker. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe learning to live through the uncertainty is part of the process/lesson.Charlotte Walker · 21 Mar 2011 at 5:12 pmI've functioned as one who practices Buddhism within my liberal Quaker meeting for many years and see no conflict. There is a lot of interest in Buddhism in my Quaker meeting, I would say. As a nontheist Buddhist, I have little difficulty drawing inspiration from the Gospel of Thomas, from Bernadette Roberts and other Christian contemplatives, and from Thomas R. Kelly, to cite a few examples.Phil Grove · 21 Mar 2011 at 11:21 pmI grew up in an unprogrammed meeting in a generally non-theistic setting. The emphasis was living the Gospel and a mystical communion with the Light of Christ. Christ was and is a living Guru. But he , I feel, encouraged me to continue to seek truth , to go further, and pursue U;timate Enlightenment/Buddhahood in order to really benefit others...............................so I feel he lead me to Lord Buddha who teaches methods of attaining Buddhahood. Then for me CHrist is my King and Buddha my Teacher.........or I consider them both my Gurus.....with my ultimate authority being the Buddha.Yeshe · 06 Sep 2011 at 5:42 pmI have had Buddhism, like a piece of grit, in the corner of my eye for about 55 years and since my retirement, about 10 years ago, I have taken it seriously - although I am trying to disentangle the teachings fromn their asian-culture background. I attend the local Quaker meeting (my wife is a Quaker) and consider that, although I follow the Buddha and the Dharma, the Quakers are my Sangha.
A piece that I read a couple of years ago had a profound effect on me (it "spoke to my condition" as the Quakers say).
A japanese Zen monk was appointed abbot of a monastary in New York state. In 1975, in one of his talks to the monks, he said:-
"It is time that we started cooking our own food and not just eating from asian take-aways....We are all Dharma pioneers"
To mix religeous metaphores - Go thou and do likewise!Geoff Whitehead · 29 Nov 2011 at 7:46 amHi Geoff, thanks for joining in! I am interested in more conversation from Buddhist Quakers/ Quaker Buddhists.
I agree with cooking our own (in my case American) food, but I have a slow appoach. I choose to belong and participate in a Buddhist Sangha, and with a Tibetan Guru, all of which as a strong dose of "foreign food". I can tolerate it to a fair degree, as long as I have other affilitaions that serve scumptuous Western fare. I am currently reaching out to Friends via internet to keep some of my Western sensibilities nourished. I am hoping that eventually our Sangha will move toward meeting the West half way..............I suppose the midway point between West and East is the Middle East!
Overall I consider myself more of a Quaker Buddhist than a Buddhist Quaker...........Peace ! YesheYeshe · 29 Nov 2011 at 7:41 pm« Previous Next »