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2023/04/10

** [Spirituality 영성] 달라이 라마의 독특한 <영성> 개념

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[Spirituality 영성] 달라이 라마의 독특한 <영성> 개념
- 종교와도 신과도 관계없고, 자기를 바꾸는 것.
- 어떤 방향으로?

—-
달라이 라마 글

실제로 나는 종교와 영성 사이에 중요한 구별이 있다고 생각합니다. 종교는 하나의 신앙 전통 또는 다른 신앙 전통의 구원에 대한 주장에 대한 신앙과 관련이 있으며, 그 측면은 어떤 형태의 형이상학적 또는 천국이나 열반에 대한 생각을 포함하는 초자연적 현실 이것과 관련된 종교적 가르침이나 교리, 의식, 기도 등이 있습니다.
사랑과 연민, 인내, 관용, 용서, 만족, 책임감, 조화감- 자신과 타인 모두에게 행복을 가져다주는 것. 의식과 기도는 열반과 구원에 대한 질문과 함께 종교적 믿음과 직접적으로 연결되어 있지만, 이러한 내적 특성은 꼭 그럴 필요는 없습니다. 따라서 개인이 어떤 종교적 또는 형이상학적 신념 체계에 의존하지 않고 그것을 고도로 발달시키지 않을 이유가 없습니다. 이것이 제가 때때로 종교는 없이도 살 수 있는 것이라고 말하는 이유입니다.

(그러나) 우리가 없이는 살 수 없는 것은 이러한 기본적인 영적 특성입니다.

그러나 이 점에 대해서는 분명히 합시다. 종교적 믿음은 영적 실천을 요구합니다. 그러나 이것이 실제로 무엇으로 구성되어 있는지에 대해 종교적 신자나 비신자 사이에 종종 많은 혼란이 있는 것 같습니다.

내가 "영적"이라고 묘사한 자질의 통일된 특성은 <타인의 안녕에 대한 (어느 정도의) 관심>이라고 할 수 있습니다. 
티베트어로 shen pen kyi sem은 "다른 사람에게 도움이 되고자 하는 생각"을 의미합니다. 
그리고 우리가 그것들에 대해 생각할 때, 우리는 언급된 각각의 자질이 타인의 안녕에 대한 암묵적인 관심으로 정의된다는 것을 알 수 있습니다. 
더욱이 동정심, 사랑, 인내, 관용, 용서 등을 어느 정도 갖춘 사람은 자신의 행동이 다른 사람에게 미칠 잠재적인 영향을 인식하고 그에 따라 행동을 지시합니다. 
따라서 이 설명에 따른 영적 수행은 
  • 한편으로는 타인의 안녕에 관심을 갖고 행동하는 것을 포함하고, 
  • 다른 한편으로는 <우리가 더 쉽게 그렇게 할 수 있도록 우리 자신을 변화시키는 것>을 수반합니다.
이것 이외의 다른 용어로 영적 수행을 말하는 것은 의미가 없습니다.

따라서 영적 혁명에 대한 나의 요구는 종교 혁명에 대한 요구가 아닙니다. 
그것은 어딘가 다른 세상적인 삶의 방식에 대한 언급도 아니며, 
여전히 마법적이거나 신비한 어떤 것에 대한 언급도 아닙니다. 
오히려 <자기 자신에 대한 습관적인 집착에서 벗어나 근본적으로 방향을 바꾸라는 요청>입니다.













Taechang Kim
예. 요즘 일본에서도 영성담론이 왕성한데 종교와 연계된 영성과는 별도로 문화적 사회적
영성론이 다양하게 거론되고 있습니다.


Sejin Pak
어떤 것을 말씀하시는지, 그 예로 책이름을 두개 알려주시면 감사하겠습니다.

Taechang Kim
외국책 번역한 것 아니고 또 저 자신이 잘 아는 저자 혹은 편자의 책 두권만
가려서 올려 드리겠습니다.
1. 樫尾直樹著
スピチユアリテイ革命: 現代霊性文化と開かれた 宗教の可能性
2。鎌田東二編
スピリチュアリテイと医療-健康
저 자신이 직접 참여한 경우의 하나만 예시


2023/03/27

Healing the Heart of Democracy: The Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit: Palmer, Parker J.

Healing the Heart of Democracy: The Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit: Palmer, Parker J.: 9780470590805: Amazon.com: Books









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Healing the Heart of Democracy: The Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit Hardcover – September 6, 2011
by Parker J. Palmer (Author)
4.3 out of 5 stars 146 ratings

* NEWS FLASH * Healing the Heart of Democracy called "one of the most important books of the early 21st Century" for those who care about democracy. (Democracy & Education)
* NEWS FLASH * Healing the Heart of Democracy named one of the "Best Books of 2011" on contemplation and social activism. (Spirituality & Practice)* NEWS FLASH * Parker J. Palmer named one of "25 Visionaries Who Are Changing Your World" -- people who "don't just think out loud but who walk their talk on a daily basis." (The Utne Reader)
~ HOPE FOR AMERICAN DEMOCRACY IN AN ERA OF DEEP DIVISIONS ~ In Healing the Heart of Democracy, Parker J. Palmer quickens our instinct to seek the common good and gives us the tools to do it. This timely, courageous and practical work -- intensely personal as well as political -- is not about them, "those people" in Washington D.C., or in our state capitals, on whom we blame our political problems. It's about us, "We the People," and what we can do in everyday settings like families, neighborhoods, classrooms, congregations and workplaces to resist divide-and-conquer politics and restore a government "of the people, by the people, for the people."

In the same compelling, inspiring prose that has made him a bestselling author, Palmer explores five "habits of the heart" that can help us restore democracy's foundations as we nurture them in ourselves and each other: (1) An understanding that we are all in this together. (2) An appreciation of the value of "otherness." (3) An ability to hold tensions in life-giving ways. (4) A sense of personal voice and agency. (5) A capacity to create community. Healing the Heart of Democracyis an eloquent and empowering call for "We the People" to reclaim our democracy. Publishers Weekly, in a *Starred Review*, said "This beautifully written book deserves a wide audience that will benefit from discussing it."
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256 pages
September 6, 2011

======

Editorial Reviews

Review
"He bravely takes on the current political climate, and this book provides therapy for the American body politic. His insights are heart-deep: America gains by living with tension and differences; we can help reclaim public life by actions as simple as walking down the street instead of driving. Hope's hardly cheap, but history is made up of what Palmer calls 'a million invisible acts of courage and the incremental gains that came with them.' This beautifully written book deserves a wide audience that will benefit from discussing it." (A "Starred Review" from Publishers Weekly, 8 August 2011)

“Healing the Heart of Democracy is a hopeful book that lifts up and hallows the heart as a source of inner sight. Inspired by the efforts to understand and undergird democracy by Abraham Lincoln, Alexis de Tocqueville, Rosa Parks, and others; the author sends us on our way rejoicing with the small portion of hope that he has planted in our minds and souls.”
—Spirituality & Practice (http://www.spiritualityandpractice.com/books/books.php?id=21525)

“There is a deep and disturbing cloud hanging over the United States. It is a malaise that is leading to cynicism and self-centeredness. The antidote is to be found in the healing of the heart of our democracy, so that we might emerge from this private focus to a public one, which recognizes our interdependence. I know of no better guide to discerning the problem and the solutions, than this book by Parker Palmer. It is a prophetic book, one that needs to be taken with all due seriousness, if we are to emerge from our malaise stronger and healthier than before.” (Englewood Review of Books , 2011)


From the Author

* A Starred Review from Publishers Weekly * Palmer's...newest was six years in the making. He bravely takes on the current political climate, with its atrophy of citizen participation, the ascendance of an oligarchy that shapes politics, and the substitution of vituperation for thoughtful public discussion. It's a tall order that became even taller because Palmer had to climb out of a pit of depression -- his constitutional proclivity -- to do so. But wrestling with essential questions of public life became therapeutic, and this book provides therapy for the American body politic. Palmer's use of acute 19th-century observers of American life and character -- Tocqueville, Lincoln -- as well as his use of anecdotes and lessons from his own long career provide context and tonic. His insights are heart-deep: America gains by living with tension and differences; we can help reclaim public life by actions as simple as walking down the street instead of driving. Hope's hardly cheap, but history is made up of what Palmer calls "a million invisible acts of courage and the incremental gains that came with them." This beautifully written book deserves a wide audience that will benefit from discussing it. -- August 8, 2011

~ ENDORSEMENTS ~

* We have been trying to bridge the great divides in this great country for a long time. In this book, Parker J. Palmer urges us to "keep on walking, keep on talking"--just as we did in the civil rights movement--until we cross those bridges together. -- U.S. Congressman John Lewis, recipient of the Martin Luther King Jr. Nonviolent Peace Prize and the Presidential Medal of Freedom

* The book we need for recovering the heart, the very core, of our selves and our democracy. -- Krista Tippett, host of public radio's On Being and recipient of a 2013 National Humanities Medal

* A master work by a master, a clear and uplifting resource that keeps shining light in all the dark places. Palmer is that rare, deep seer who is at home in the streets, a teacher by example who has the courage to stand openly and honestly in the public square. -- Mark Nepo, author of The Book of Awakening and As Far As the Heart Can See

* Can we keep our sights on the vision of what we aspire to be while working constructively to transform realities that do not yet fulfill that vision? How do we remain "open hearted" so that we can engage creatively with citizens who hold different views of the challenges we face?Healing the Heart of Democracy asks these necessary questions and inspires us to answer. -- Joan Blades, co-founder of MoveOn.org and Living Room Conversations

* A book born for this moment. Wise, evocative, and pragmatic at its core, this dream for a new politics is grounded in dignity and liberty for all. -- Terry Tempest Williams, author of The Open Space of Democracy

* In this inspiring book, I find encouragement that all of us, citizens and elected officials alike, can learn to bridge the divides that keep us from genuinely respecting one another. By sharing his own life's struggles, Palmer reveals the common struggles we all endure. He provides us with a way forward, a way forward with hope. -- U.S. Senator Tammy Baldwin

* A gracefully written anthem to democracy [that] breaks new ground in marrying the capacity of the human heart with the tensions inherent in politics [and] breathes new life into what it means to be a citizen--accountable, compassionate, fiercely realistic. -- Peter Block and John McKnight, coauthors of The Abundant Community

* A "must read" for everyone who is concerned about the state of our democracy and has ever despaired about what can be done. Palmer's stories, plainspoken analysis, and penetrating insights will inspire you to claim your full human capacities and to take part in healing democracy "from the inside out." -- Martha L. McCoy, Executive Director, Everyday Democracy

* The most important manifesto in generations for breaking through the divisiveness that has paralyzed our democracy. -- Bill Shore, founder of Share Our Strength, author of The Imaginations of Unreasonable Men

* All who harbor concerns about American politics will find in this book a wise and kindred spirit who reminds us of choices we can make to help "reweave the tattered fabric of our civic life." You will close this book appreciating how much you can do, and how much depends on you. -- Diana Chapman Walsh, President Emerita of Wellesley College

* A courageous work that is honest and true, human and humble, glitteringly intelligent and unabashedly hopeful. Palmer gives us constructive language, historical context and a practical vision for how we as individuals and communities can get to the real heart of the matter. -- Carrie Newcomer, activist and singer-songwriter, The Geography of Light and Before and After

* Could not be more timely and needed. As one who has been guided through a time of personal reflection with Parker Palmer, I invite you to join in a journey through these chapters. -- U.S. Congresswoman Lois Capps, grandmother, mother, nurse, and seeker after democracy

* A brave and visionary book. Palmer re-imagines our political lives as a deeply personal process within which all Americans--especially those of us inheriting this broken polity--have a chance to be heard, heal, and get on with the eternal work of perfecting this nation. -- Courtney E. Martin, author of Do It Anyway: The New Generation of Activists

* Palmer has been our mentor as we've weathered the rough and tumble of political life. In this compelling new book, he challenges us to recognize that a more vital democracy begins within each of us, as we learn to hold the tensions inherent in community life and no longer fear to tread that most difficult terrain--the broken places in our own hearts. -- Kathy Gille served for twenty years as a senior congressional aide. -- Doug Tanner, her husband, is a founder and former president of The Faith and Politics Institute.

* A book that should be read and talked about in every family, book club, classroom, boardroom, congregation and hall of government in our country. Palmer writes with clarity, good sense, balance, honesty, humor and humility, focusing on the essence of what is needed from each of us for the survival of our democracy. -- Thomas F. Beech, President Emeritus, the Fetzer Institute
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Product details
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Jossey-Bass; 1st edition (September 6, 2011)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 256 pages

4.3 out of 5 stars 146 ratings

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Parker J. Palmer



PARKER J. PALMER is a writer, teacher, and activist whose work speaks deeply to people in many walks of life. Author of ten books—including several best-selling and award-winning titles—that have sold two million copies, Palmer is the Founder and Senior Partner Emeritus of the Center for Courage & Renewal. He holds a Ph.D. in sociology from the University of California at Berkeley, as well as thirteen honorary doctorates, two Distinguished Achievement Awards from the National Educational Press Association, and an Award of Excellence from the Associated Church Press. In 1998, the Leadership Project, a national survey of 10,000 educators, named him one of the 30 most influential senior leaders in higher education and one of the 10 key agenda-setters of the past decade. In 2010, he was given the William Rainey Harper Award (previously won by Margaret Mead, Marshall McLuhan, Paulo Freire, and Elie Wiesel). In 2011, the Utne Reader named him as one of "25 Visionaries Who Are Changing Your World.” In 2021, the Freedom of Spirit Fund, a UK-based foundation, gave him their "Lifetime Achievement Award” in honor of work that promotes and protects spiritual freedom. For 20-plus years, the Accrediting Commission for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) has given annual Parker J. Palmer “Courage to Teach” and “Courage to Lead” Awards to directors of exemplary medical residency programs. "Living the Questions: Essays Inspired by the Work and Life of Parker J. Palmer," was published in 2005. Born and raised in the Chicago area, he has lived in NYC, Berkeley, CA, Washington, DC, and Philadelphia, PA. He currently lives in Madison, Wisconsin.

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Top reviews from the United States


daniel noe

4.0 out of 5 stars Promising, but incompleteReviewed in the United States on August 13, 2015
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I recently read Parker J. Palmer’s book Healing The Heart Of Democracy, a book about political strife and incivility in America, much like a book I wrote in 2012 that I must mention because it gives me something to compare it to (The Nutcase Across The Street). I bought it because it speaks to my interests.

Part of Palmer's proposed solution to our partisan problems consists of learning to let our hearts “break open” rather than “break apart.” This is poorly explained, but I think he means that after having our hearts broken we are then able to empathize with others, including those whose hearts are broken over issues we don’t care about or would prefer to be settled in ways they would not. This is the main theme running through the whole book.

Another part of his solution consists of learning to connect with others outside of our immediate circles of friends, learning not to fear strangers – especially those of different races, socio-economic classes, etc. Simply living in an urban area where one has to negotiate a path through crowds can help one develop the habit of respecting others and Palmer also suggests numerous other ways this might be done formally and informally. He claims connecting with others also has the added benefit of making us less dependent on centralized power for our needs, making us less vulnerable to manipulation and fascism. He claims individualism leads to despotism because when people no longer need others, they stop caring and are easily divided by those that would overpower and subdue us.

Most of this makes sense to me, but in my experience the only way to keep the peace sometimes is for people to separate. Rather than trying to push everyone into working together or living where there are crowds, people should be able to escape and live as they want without interference. Individualism may lead to despotism, but it seems to me much more likely for the lack of individualism to lead to despotism. One cannot rule alone (or else I’d already be doing it) without widespread allegiance to a system – allegiance that could not exist if more people were more independent.

Other proposals include leading by example to change hearts rather than change the law, seeking consensus rather than majority (or plurality), respecting the rights of minorities, respecting the democratic process, and respecting the constitutional system of checks and balances to slow down change to the point that society can safely absorb it. He wants us to “live in the tension” of never having any issue permanently settled.

He seems unaware that the problem with our current political situation is that we cannot agree on what is constitutional, what is democratic, and which minority rights to respect. Do we respect the reproductive rights of the mother? Or the right-to-life of the baby? Do we have greater respect for a president elected by the states through the electoral college or for a congress elected by much smaller (and often gerrymandered) districts? Did Bush commit an unconstitutional act by ordering troops into Iraq? Did Obama commit an unconstitutional act by signing the ACA? The problem is not that we can’t settle our disagreements; the problem is that we can’t even agree on the process to go about settling our disagreements.

In my book, I propose that we talk more to each other in order to eventually reach an agreement on these issues. Palmer expects us to live at peace without ever reaching an agreement. My solution may very well be too impractical and idealistic, but Palmer’s solution is no solution at all!

Overall, it is a very interesting book packed with numerous nuggets to think over. I have already pointed out above why I think it is incomplete, but his ideas could still be an important first step to get us to negotiate honestly. It also gives an important historical perspective to our connection with strangers that most people (including myself) seem to lack. The book is actually about much more than politics. It is about getting along, socialization, intimacy, and communication. I give it at least four stars.

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Marianna Cacciatore

5.0 out of 5 stars A Gift of Great Value - Finding Our True VoiceReviewed in the United States on September 10, 2011
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Parker Palmer is one of the few people I know who can write about the heart and politics in the same sentence and not diminish either but, in fact, deepen our understanding of both. He does not offer a schmaltzy version of the heart. Rather, a very hardy and honest description that includes atrocities driven by emotions. He goes to the core when he writes of heartbreak and asks what we can do "so that it yields life, not death?"

In these cynical times we think of politics as mostly the purview of powerful politicians. For me, Parker dispelled that idea by offering page after page of thoughtful insight, historical information, and practical ideas that got me thinking of ways I can actively contribute to strengthening this gift of democracy I was born into.

"The impulses that make democracy possible--and those that threaten it--originate in the heart, with its complex mix of heedless self-interest and yearning for community. From there, these impulses move out into our relations with each other in families, neighborhoods, workplaces, voluntary associations, and the various settings of public life...these are the places where we can make a difference, too, once we free ourselves from the illusion that we are at the mercy of forces beyond our control." (from pages 22 & 23)

He goes on to write about holding the tension of opposites--with true-life "political" stories to illustrate this ideal and skill; "habits of the heart" that help us live a democratic life; and interesting ways to widen the scope of community to include those beyond our family and chosen friends. All in service of We the People finding our voice and using a combination of "Chutzpah and Humility" to take our rightful place in the creation of the life we share.

If I could have one wish it would be that everyone, upon reading this book, becomes inspired to take personal actions to strengthen the democratic life most of us take for granted. This book has the power to do just that. I close this review with a passage at the core of the book's teaching:

"Heart...is a word that reaches far beyond our feelings. It points to a larger way of knowing--of receiving and reflecting on our experience--that goes deeper than the mind alone can take us. The heart is where we integrate the intellect with the rest of our faculties, such as emotion, imagination, and intuition. It is where we can learn how to "think the world together," not apart, and find the courage to act on what we know." (pgs. 17 & 18)

Parker Palmer has given us a gift of great value. Everyone should know it exists.

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Mare

5.0 out of 5 stars Book in excellant shapeReviewed in the United States on July 12, 2022
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Going to be an informative read for our fractured country.
Book arrived earlier that promised!!!



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shager

5.0 out of 5 stars Prepare to be challenged and comfortedReviewed in the United States on August 28, 2011
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In this season of rabid partisanship, when, I admit it, it can be deeply satisfying to rant and rail(regardless of your political persuasion)against those "other" people who are clearly bent on destroying the country, Parker Palmer makes us take a good, hard look at what's underneath our smugness and our judgments. He astutely diagnoses our fears and anxieties. He, thankfully, holds us to a higher standard, not only to save ourselves, but to save the country as well.

I had begun to feel cynical and a bit hopeless about the state of things, doubting the ability of many of our leaders to see beyond anything except their own self-interest. I'm thinking I will send a copy of this book to each of my congresspeople. Maybe those reading this review will think to do the same--I think it might help. Palmer reminds us once again what it means to be a citizen, and best of all, that each of us has a responsibility, and the ability, to become a true citizen again. I'm now looking for examples everywhere in my small town of places that serve as public places, and people who are exhibiting those qualities of hospitality and openness that define the best of us. I want to support those people and places however I can, and become a more hospitable person myself.

He teaches us something else too: that we don't have to be afraid of conflict; that in fact democracy is an "argument without end". How we disagree, however, is critically important, all important, in fact. Learning to hold the tensions of democracy in an open, respectful way is not only good for the country, it's good for our souls as well.

I wholeheartedly recommend this book, and its timing couldn't be more perfect.

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Maura McGrath maura mcgrath
4.0 out of 5 stars Four StarsReviewed in Canada on May 27, 2015
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=====
Healing the Heart of Democracy: The Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit

Parker J. Palmer
4.06
813 ratings134 reviews
Hope for American democracy in an era of deep divisions In Healing the Heart of Democracy, Parker J. Palmer quickens our instinct to seek the common good and gives us the tools to do it. This timely, courageous and practical work--intensely personal as well as political--is not about them, "those people" in Washington D.C., or in our state capitals, on whom we blame our political problems. It's about us, "We the People," and what we can do in everyday settings like families, neighborhoods, classrooms, congregations and workplaces to resist divide-and-conquer politics and restore a government "of the people, by the people, for the people."

In the same compelling, inspiring prose that has made him a bestselling author, Palmer explores five "habits of the heart" that can help us restore democracy's foundations as we nurture them in ourselves and each other:

An understanding that we are all in this together An appreciation of the value of "otherness" An ability to hold tension in life-giving ways A sense of personal voice and agency A capacity to create community Healing the Heart of Democracy is an eloquent and empowering call for "We the People" to reclaim our democracy. The online journal Democracy & Education called it "one of the most important books of the early 21st Century." And Publishers Weekly, in a Starred Review, said "This beautifully written book deserves a wide audience that will benefit from discussing it."
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Philosophy
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256 pages, Hardcover

First published September 6, 2011


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Parker J. Palmer
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Parker J. Palmer (Madison, WI) is a writer, teacher and activist whose work speaks deeply to people in many walks of life. Author of eight books--including the bestsellers Courage to Teach, Let Your Life Speak, and A Hidden Wholeness--his writing has been recognized with ten honorary doctorates and many national awards, including the 2010 William Rainey Harper Award (previously won by Margaret Mead, Paulo Freire, and Elie Wiesel). He is founder and senior partner of the Center for Courage Renewal, and holds a Ph.D. from the University of California at Berkeley.

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robin friedman
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September 15, 2022
The Politics Of The Brokenhearted

In times of national difficulty, it is both tempting and desirable to step back, reflect upon the situation, and see what might be done to make things better. The process might carry its own danger in the rush to either easy or impracticable answers. I took the opportunity offered by the Amazon Vine program to read Parker J. Palmer's new book "Healing the Heart of Democracy: the Courage to Create a Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit" for the insight it might have on our national situation as witnessed by the recent budget and debt-ceiling deliberations and their aftermath. Palmer wrote his book before these events occured, but they make his examination all the more timely. Palmer (b.1939) received his PhD in Sociology from the University of California at Berkeley in 1970. This book was my first exposure to his work, but he is a noted writer on educational and social issues with a focus on spirituality.

I liked a good deal of this book especially its personal tone. Palmer tries to combine events and feelings in his life, and the way in which he reflects upon them, with our national experience as Americans. He uses throughout the figure of the "habits of the heart", the title of a book by Robert Beulah which derives from de Tocqueville's "Democracy in America". Palmer discusses his own experiences of loss, disappointment and "brokenheartedness" in his life. When these experiences occur, the spirit, or the heart can be shattered. The better course is to put the pieces together, use disappointment creatively, integrate conflicting feelings and move ahead from weakness to strength. So it is, for Palmer, in a democracy.

Palmer offers some inspiring stories to illustrate what he means. He describes meeting with members of a small African American church in rural Georgia in 1974 who showed the strength and discipline to carry on in hard times. He describes meeting a New York City cabdriver who, while navigating the city streets, explained that the attraction of his job was that it allowed him to hear and consider the varied opinions of the many different types of people who rode in his cab. He praises openness to difficulty and a willingness to accept tensions -- in the form of divergent opinions -- and work through them. Palmer also makes excellent use of historical figures. Abraham Lincoln emerges as the hero of the book for his ability to overcome his own demon of depression and for his attempt to reconcile tensions in a crisis as shown by both his First and Second Inaugural Addresses. Alexis de Tocqueville, for his diagnosis of the strengths and weakness of American democracy also receives valuable discussion. Palmer explains his own conclusions in a few words: "We must be able to say in unison: It is in the common good to hold our political differences and the conflicts they create in a way that does not unravel the civic community on which democracy depends."

There is an excellent focus in the book on commonality and civic life, as witnessed in the use of public streets, bookstores, pubs, libraries and other places where people of different backgrounds and persuasions can meet and get to understand one another. I am writing this review, as I generally do, in a public library, largely because I share Palmer's commitment to the use of public space. Palmer also emphasizes the value of people explaining to one another the reasons why the believe what they do on important, controversial matters, based upon their own experiences without attempting to demonize someone who thinks differently. I tried to follow this good advice after reading the book, as I exchanged lengthy emails with a close friend who holds an opinion different from mine on same sex marriage. Perhaps it helped to air the reasons for one's belief and to understand those of another person.

I liked aspects of this book less well. Palmer does not always handle well his own project of openness to ideas with which he disagrees. He frequently translates his project into support for his own distinct agenda and tends to belittle those who think differently. In a passage early in the book Palmer shows awareness that he does this as he comes close to demonizing his political opponents, perhaps by reducing them to straw men ("Get me going on politicians who distort my faith tradition to win votes or on racial bigots and homophobes who want to translate their personal shadows into public policy, and this nice Quaker boy from the Midwest does a passable imitation of the Incredible Hulk") before half-heartedly catching himself and falling back. There is a good deal of cliche and half-formed ideas in this book intertwined with much that is insightful. I found, for example, Palmer all--too--quick in his uncompromising discussion and rejection of "consumerism". Although Palmer has much good to say about the need to both develop and hold one's opinions and to have a degree of modesty and humility in thinking about the opinions of others, his use of the overused term "chutzpah" distorts and distracts from his point. His discussion of American public education, I thought, made a variety of points, some good, some questionable. In places, I thought Palmer was expecting too much from ordinary citizens. Democracy, and the American political process, was made to accomodate a degree of human weakness. And some of the thinking in the book I thought wooly and undeveloped.

This is a worthwhile book to read and to think through. It has many insights but it is not a panacea, in my view, for understanding the current condition of American democracy. Like much other writing, the book deserves to be read but read critically and with skepticism.

Robin Friedman

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Michael Kruse
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February 14, 2012
I have really appreciated Parker Palmer's books over the years but this book is a profound disappointment. I quit reading at the halfway point. If you are a liberal/progressive, then I suspect you may enjoy the book. It plays very well into the meme that at core of the discord in our country are conservatives. I can't help but feel that Palmer missed an opportunity.

I know he is a Quaker pacifist. I've suspected his political views were to the left based on other writing I've seen. I have no problem with that. But his topic is "Politics Worthy of the Human Spirit." Every few pages he trots out examples of the values and misbehavior that are contrary to his aims and they are invariably those of conservative citizens (without him ever explicitly saying this.) The outrageous values and misbehavior of the left are not on his radar. And that is the problem.

We each see our opponents actions as threatening and crazy but we feel justified in our threatening and crazy behavior because we know our opponents wrong. That is how Tea Party rallies (where some park service people report that participants left venues as clean or better than when they came) can be dubbed terrible hate-filled racist mob, while the Occupy Movement with its illegal occupation of property, vandalism, defecating and urinating on police vehicles and passersby, is heralded as a wonderful expression in Democracy. (I actually think both movements are hopeful signs of our democracy, that both have their excesses.) That is how there can be obsessive anger at activists talking about death panels, while be oblivious to the President calling Congress terrorists and hostage takers, as well as the VP and leading Democrats talking about Republican desires to kill people.

The first step in restoring democracy is to resolve not to use other people's bad behavior as excuse for your own. I don't think Palmer is there. I will continue to give his "Let Your Life Speak" book to others as gifts. I still think his "The Active Life" book is one of the best books I've read. But this book simply isn't worth my time.
christian-life
 
politics

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Joyce
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February 18, 2017
Published in 2011, this book still rings true, perhaps even more so. We Americans have been greatly divided for a long time and sadly to say, remain so today.

This book discusses how we Americans can strive to bridge that gap because: "When we forget that politics is about weaving a fabric of compassion and justice on which everyone can depend, the first to suffer are the most vulnerable among us -- our children, our elderly, our mentally ill, our poor and our homeless. As they suffer, so does the integrity of our democracy." And so, "Every time we fail to bridge our differences, we succumb to the divide-and-conquer tactics so skillfully deployed by individuals and institutions whose objective is to take us out of the political equation. We the People then become fearful and suspicious of each other and widen the gap further."

This book challenges us to realize that we can do something about this gap, not only by becoming politically active, but by simple acts of listening to one another, finding the common ground from which to build upon and more.

The book is well researched and direct. This book is for those who would like to help make our democracy better and trying to figure out how to work in that direction.
inspiration

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George
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December 9, 2019
Important and wise but it wasn’t revelatory for me. It was a good summary of needed principles but maybe in way that felt too theoretical and abstract.
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Kyra deGruy Kennedy
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April 14, 2017
I love Parker J Palmer SO much. This book was divine. Both practical and emotional, it completely shifted my perspective about divisiveness and how to bridge the gap between polarities. Highly recommend!

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Kathrina
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June 23, 2018
Really useful.
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Payson Rigsbee
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November 13, 2020
great book, chapters were too long for me but that’s personal preference. truly loved the ‘habits of the heart’ very thought-provoking, especially for people deeply engaged in the political process.

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Dnicebear
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January 20, 2012
Yes! I want to be involved in democracy that stays rooted in reality while dreaming of possibility and is willing to enter the gap between the two to bring it about. Parker Palmer has encouraged me in previous books to see myself as a teacher and to let my life speak. Now, I'm with him again into this exploration into being part of "we the people" in a way that allows respect and true sharing of who we are. "Life in the company of strangers" really seems possible here, and in a way that honors the human heart. Terry Tempest Williams speaks of the heart as the "first home of democracy." Parker goes on to say: "If our hearts are large and supple enough to hold the tensions of democracy's basic questions in a life-giving way, they produce ideas and ideals that feed a living democracy. If our hearts are so small and brittle that they implode or explode under tension, they produce 'ideals' like Aryan supremacy and 'ideas' like the Nazis' 'Endlosung,' their chilling, 'final solution.'" (p. 152)

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January 3, 2017
So many people say they "don't do/talk about politics" when nothing could be further from the truth. We all do politics every day. Our unwillingness to engage politics thoughtfully is what hinders a lot of forward movement, but some of our unwillingness comes from a lack of voices encouraging us to think differently about politics so that we can talk differently about politics. Parker J. Palmer does a great job of helping to reframe the role of politics in everyday life so that we can each be better stewards of our role as people in a political context. I wish it had been required reading before the last few US presidential election cycles.

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Melissa
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March 22, 2020
This book has been in my ever-shifting "to be read" pile since shortly after it came out in 2011. I'm not sure why I hadn't picked it up. I would reach for it and then decide that something else was more compelling or more urgent for my non-fiction read-of-the-moment.

For three years now (and in many respects longer), our country's future has seemed in serious jeopardy from the forces of a a divisive politics dominated by a greedy oligarchy and by an incompetent and unhinged ruler (because he behaves as a ruler, not an elected officials, and other elected officials keep enabling his autocratic practices.)

And yet it was not until a couple of weeks before my country was plunged into the chaos of coping with the coronavirus pandemic that I began to read this book. In the past two or three weeks, a time when our president has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is incapable of leading and the deadly consequences of the erosion of our democracy have been thrown in sharp relief, the contents of this book became ever more urgent for me.

In it, Palmer explores what he calls, "the politics of the broken-hearted," an apt description for our time if ever I heard one. He says, "There are times when the heart, like the canary in the coal mine, breathes in the world's toxicity and begins to die." And yet, he says, the despair inherent in broken-hearted politics can be a call to re-engage with our common life and find a way to move forward that restores the goodness that is at the heart of our democratic values.

Palmer is no romantic. He is well aware of the tensions inherent in a democratic system, its messiness and inefficiency. He is well aware that our national myths are, as he puts it, aspirations that have never reflected our reality. He argues that "some of America's political pathologies result from the fact that we keep desperately trying to save face." (181) By that, he means that we try to deny the ways in which our nation fails to live up to its highest ideals.

He knows that much of our current national dysfunction grows our of our fear of people who are different and the fact that "we have developed a variety of strategies to evade our differences, strategies that only deepen our fear." (13) Americans are suffering, and we don't know what to do with our suffering. He writes:

"When our ancient fear of otherness is left unacknowledged, unattended, and untreated, diversity creates dysfunctional communities. . . . The benefits of diversity can be ours only if we hold our differences with respect, patience, openness, and hope, which means that we must attend to the invisible dynamics of the heart that are part of democracy's infrastructure." (13)

And yet he finds hope. Palmer identifies five "habits of the heart" that Americans need to heal the heart of our democracy:

1) understanding that we are all in this together
2) developing an appreciation of the value of "otherness."
3) cultivating the ability to hold tension in life-giving ways
4) generating a sense of personal voice and agency
5) strengthening our capacity to create community

He explores the places where we can cultivate these habits of the heart in ourselves and in our communities including our institutions of government, the "free-wheeling" spaces of public life, schools and congregations, and in our personal and virtual (read on-line) lives.

I found his chapters on school and religious institutions and on safe spaces for "deep democracy" particularly compelling.

Palmer notes that "movements of social transformation are sparked by people who are isolated, marginalized, and oppressed but who do not fall into despair." (184) And there is where I find his call to action. He calls on us to listen to those we vehemently disagree with and to work for change rather than to give in to despair or cynicism.

Palmer calls on us to stand in what he calls the "tragic gap," the space between the hard realities of the world and the possibilities for change. If we focus only on the hard realities, he says, we will become paralyzed by cynicism while if we focus too much on the way the world could be, we fall into "irrelevant idealism." (192) Neither extreme is helpful. Instead we must stand in the tragic gap where we can be faithful to "the eternal conversation of the human race, to speaking and listening in a way that takes us closer to truth." (193)

Never has this message seemed more urgent than this week when the full implications of the denigrating of expert knowledge and the power of government to ensure the health of our population have become apparent. We are all endangered because of the illness at the heart of our democracy, and only we the people can do the hard work of healing that illness.



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2023/03/26

Where Sufism and Taoism Meets | Technology of the Heart ??

Where Sufism and Taoism Meets | Technology of the Heart




Technology of the HeartSEARCH








al-Hayy (the Living) - Calligraphy by Barefoot Ra Ra
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Where Sufism and Taoism Meets

0 Sadiq Saturday, November 09, 2013



1.
The Black Pearl: Spiritual Illumination in Sufism and East Asian Philosophies by Henry Bayman
 is an unique work in the genre of Comparative Spirituality and Religion, unique because it successfully brings together apparently quite distinct traditions. This was one of the most interesting book I have ever read early on on the subject of Sufism and universal vision of the Sufis at Eastern Religions at a time when I was living in East Asia, somewhat immersed in its culture and tradition. So when I discovered the book at the library of National University of Singapore while I was studying there, it was a welcome source of inspiration and illumination, for it enabled me to appreciate more deeply the Eastern Path and Tradition. The subject matter of language and communication and they are used to communicate truth, aspects of reality always fascinates me, and this book is a very good demonstration how truth can be found in language which are so vastly different in every aspect, yet they embody and points the same truth.

Where are you hurrying to?
you will see
the same moon tonight
wherever you go!

~ Izumi Shikibu


In the preface of this book the author shares how his study and interest earlier in Eastern Philosophies and Thoughts lead him on to Religious Traditions. According to him, Islamic Sufism has much in common with Buddhism, with Taoism, with Zen and Confucianism. He however doesn't deny the differences. This book was not meant to be a comparative study but rather a light on some of the understandings of reality from sufi view as well as that of the eastern religio-spiritual traditions.

I am quoting a part from this book where the concept of God and Taosim is discussed along with God concept in East Asian Culture which is mentioned in chapter 7 of the book. About this chapter the author summarizes as:

Chapter 7 takes up the subject of God in East Asian culture. Although there has not been a strong trend of monotheism in East Asia, yet the sages of various traditions have never been too far from the truth. It is only a slight rearrangement that will help us to discern this universal truth within East Asian wisdom as well. Especially important in this context is the concept of “nirvana in Brahman,” developed on the basis of an insight provided solely by Sufism. The chapter ends with the realization that “there is no deity but God.”


2.
Tao, T’ien, Ti, Kami

The earliest ancestors of the Chinese believed in One God (called Shang Ti or T’ien Ti). It is impossible to overemphasize the fact that Chinese culture and Chinese history begins with the concept of One God. Although today, God is not recognized explicitly in East Asian thought, yet His recognition is just around the corner. The Chinese terms Tao, T’ien, Ti, and the Japanese term Kami all refer to sacredness or the Absolute. Since there cannot be more than one Absolute, at bottom they all must refer to the same thing.

At first, a person may find the identification of Tao, T’ien, Ti, and Kami in this way unusual, even objectionable. They appear to be referring to different concepts. But in reality it is correct, for Truth is only One. It is called “Heavenly Oneness” (ch’ien i) in the Book of Changes, “the All-pervading One” (i kuan) in the Confucian classics, “Holding onto the One” (shou i) in Taoist scriptures, and “One” (Ahad) in the Koran. The goal of human beings, the end result of all self-cultivation, is to realize this Oneness. As the Zen master Hui-neng remarks in the T’an Ching (Platform Sermons), “When One is realized, nothing remains to be done.”



God and the Taoists

The concept of the Tao, Dao, or Way, is at first glance quite similar to the God concept. Further reflection may lead one away from such a notion. The Tao, one finds, is the ultimate metaphysical principle, is impersonal, and is never conceived of as Deity.

On the other hand, further study may also reveal deeper affinities between the Tao and God. In metaphysical terms, Taoism claims that the Tao both is everything and created everything. Only the Tao exists. It has no parts or divisions and nothing inside or outside It. It transcends both time and space. These are all equally valid descriptions of the Real from the standpoint of Sufism.

Probably the work that delves most deeply into the relationship between the concepts of God and Tao is Toshihiko Izutsu’s seminal study, Sufism and Taoism.

According to Izutsu, the Absolute is called Haqq (the Real) by Ibn Arabi and Tao (the Way) by Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu. Since Chuang Tzu wrote in greater detail than Lao Tzu, it is to the work of the former that we must turn to find references to God, if indeed there are any.

According to the Tao Te Ching, “the Tao produces, or makes grow, the ten thousand things.” So when Chuang Tzu says that the sage “reaches the primordial Purity, and stands side by side with the Great Beginning,” he is saying that the sage is made an eyewitness to the creation (“production”) of the universe (shêng: produce, bring into existence). This he calls the “Great Awakening” (ta chüeh), which he contrasts with the “Big Dream,” our mundane experience of the world in ordinary waking consciousness. Ibn Arabi concurs: “The world is an illusion; it has no real existence.”

According to Chuang Tzu, all things freely transform themselves into one another, which he calls the “Transmutation—or Transformation—of things” (wu hua). This is the Taoist version of “mutual interpenetration” or jijimuge, and is called “the flowing/spreading of Existence” (sarayan al-wujud) by the Sufi sage Ibn Arabi. This suggests that boundaries are real-yet-unreal (a situation highlighted by the phrase “No Boundary”), and that ultimately, all things are merged together into an absolute Unity.

If the Tao “produced” the ten thousand things, then the Tao is in some sense the “creator” of things. Do we find anywhere within the Chuang Tzu (the name of his work) explicit reference to a Creator? The answer is: Yes, we do.

… Chuang Tzu concludes that “there is some real Ruler (chên tsai)”:
It is impossible for us to see Him in a concrete form. He is acting—there can be no doubt about it... He does show His activity, but He has no sensible form.

The way Chuang Tzu uses another term, Virtue (tê), reminds us of another Name, Lord (Rabb), in its Arabic sense. Etymologically linked to the terms “trainer, teacher” (murabbi) and “governess” (murabbiya), rabb describes one who oversees something from beginning to end, who fosters it, nurtures it and brings it to completion. Chuang Tzu says: “The Way gives birth to the ten thousand things. The Virtue fosters them, makes them grow, feeds them, perfects them, crystallizes them, stabilizes, rears, and shelters them.”



Other affinities between Sufism and Taoism abound. Chuang Tzu’s expression, “sitting in oblivion” (tso wang) is the equivalent of the Sufic “Annihilation” (fana), or also perhaps One Who is Independent of all things. In this connection, Chuang Tzu makes a master say: “I have now lost myself,” which means that the sage is ego-less. This points to the annihilation of the subject/object boundary. As Izutsu explains, where there is no “I,” there are no “objects.” It is one of the most difficult things, however, to nullify one’s own self. Once this is achieved, says Chuang Tzu, “the ten thousand things are exactly the same as my own self.” Chuang Tzu’s “illumination” (ming) is another name for Gnosis (marifah).

The “sacred man,” he says, “illuminates everything in the light of Heaven,” and according to the Koran, “God is the Light of the heavens and the earth” (24:35). The Ultimate Man (chi jen) and God are inseparable. Chuang Tzu speaks of “those who, being completely unified with the Creator Himself, take delight in the realm of the original Unity before it is divided into Heaven and Earth.” A sage, according to him, is “the Helper of Heaven,” in parallel with Abdulqader Geylani, who was called the divine Helper (gaws). Chuang Tzu’s “Mystery of Mysteries” (hsüan chih yu hsüan), the ultimate metaphysical state of the Absolute, also happens to be the name of a book by Geylani, “The Mystery of Mysteries” (Sirr al-asrar). This, Izutsu explains, is none other than the Essence of the Absolute (zat al- mutlaq). According to Ibn Arabi, the world is the shadow of the Absolute: “He exists in every particular thing...as the very essence of that particular thing.”

All this points to a further confirmation of a central thesis of this book: God is non-explicit in the East, but this does not mean He is non-existent. Just below the threshold of consciousness, and ready to bloom at the earliest convenience, is the full acknowledgment that God exists.


The Knowledge of No Knowledge

The Taoist sages were well aware that the cognition of Unity entails an entirely different order of knowledge. Chuang Tzu asked: “Who knows this knowledge-without-knowledge?” Fung Yu-lan explains: “In order to be one with the Great One, the sage has to transcend and forget the distinctions between things. The way to do this is to discard knowledge...to discard knowledge means to forget these distinctions. Once all distinctions are forgotten, there remains only the undifferentiable one, which is the great whole. By achieving this condition, the sage may be said to have knowledge of another and higher level, which is called by the Taoists ‘knowledge which is not knowledge.’”

The Sufi sages agree. According to the famous Sufi Sahl Tustari: “Gnosis (marifa) is the knowledge of no-knowledge.”

Mahmud Shabistari explains:
Everything emerges with its opposite.
But God has neither an opposite, nor anything similar! And when He has no opposite, I don’t know:
How can one who follows reason know Him, how?

God informs the Grand Sheikh Abdulqader Geylani, “My Way for the Learned is in abandoning knowledge. The knowledge of knowledge is ignorance of knowledge.” In other words, all differentiation and distinctions have to be “unlearned.” The Yogic term samadhi (synthesis, integration) and the Vedantic advaita (non-duality) point to this undifferentiation, as do the Sufic terms tawhid (Unification) and jam (Fusion).

By “unknowing” the Many (Multiplicity), one comes to know the One (Unity). As Rumi says, “Where should we seek knowledge? In the abandonment of knowledge.” These views have found expression in the Sufi saying: “Forget all you know, transform your knowledge into ignorance.” The Hindu tradition also recognized this truth: as the Kena Upanishad puts it, “To know is not to know, not to know is to know.”

Let us conclude this section by statements to this effect by respective luminaries from the two teachings. Says Lao Tzu: “The further one travels along the Way, the less one knows.” And Abu Bakr, the foremost Companion of the Prophet: “O God, the pinnacle of knowing Whom is unknowing.” Can there be any doubt that both are speaking of the same thing, of “Knowledge of the One”?



None-self but One Self

The Chinese Secret of the Golden Flower begins with the words: “That which exists through itself is called the Way (Tao). Tao has neither name nor shape. It is the one essence, the one primal spirit.” In Sufism, self-existence (qiyam bi-nafsihi, svabhava) is one of the Attributes belonging to God’s Essence. The Sufic term translates literally as “standing by His own self,” and means “dependent on nothing and no one else for His existence.” It is one of the Attributes by which the Essence differs from all other things. All things which the Essence gives rise to, on the other hand, are other-dependent and non-self-existent (qiyam bi- ghayrihi, nihsvabhava, pratityasamutpada). That “other” is the rest of existence and—since the rest of manifestation is equally dependent and powerless—in the final analysis, the Other is the Essence. If Nagarjuna had not equated Emptiness with dependent origination, thus introducing a different ontological category (sunyata, adam), it would have been much easier to see this. Yet even this statement needs to be qualified by the fact that Nagarjuna was originally referring to the “void of self” that the Buddha spoke of, which is technically not at all inaccurate.


[+] The Book the Black Pearl has a copy available in public domain and can be accessed here.

> Also visit Official Website of Henry Bayman.


# Further:
* Sufism and Taoism: A Comparative Study of Key Philosophical Concepts
* The Perfect Man According to Taoism and Its Relevance with Sufism: A Brief Survey
* Sufism and Zen
* The Tao of Islam by Sachiko Murata
* Om Mani Padme Hum | a sufic interpretation
* How a Taoist Master sends his student to be a Sufi

2023/03/02

The Faith of a Quaker Humanist | Nontheist Friends Network

The Faith of a Quaker Humanist | Nontheist Friends Network



THE FAITH OF A QUAKER HUMANIST


The Faith of a Quaker Humanist by David Boulton. Original published by Quaker Universalist Group 1997 and available here (pdf). This following slightly edited html version with added weblinks, NFN 2021:
NB: Each Quaker Universalist pamphlet expresses the views of its author, which are not necessarily representative of the Q.U.G. as a whole.
(Just scroll through. You may need to scroll back up a little if you use the following Contents links – and please use your browser back button to come back here).


Introduction
Faith
Quaker
Humanism
But what about…?
Jesus
Worship
Prayer
Mysticism
Spirituality
Quaker Humanism
Further reading
About David Boulton

A Quaker humanist? Some mistake, surely? Is not Quakerism essentially religious, and is not humanism a denial of religion and “things of the spirit”? Can oil and water mix without creating an unholy mess?

I want to explore in this pamphlet the area of belief, attitude and moral commitment where Quakerism and humanism seem to me to meet and overlap. I shall suggest that, while it is clearly possible to be a Quaker without having any attachment whatever to organised humanism, and while it is patently possible to be a humanist without being any kind of Quaker, a position which draws on the two traditions can be both logically coherent and imaginatively responsive to some of the pressing concerns of the late twentieth century and the oncoming ones of the twenty-first.

I write as a long-term, committed attender at my local Friends meeting – Brigflatts, Cumbria, where George Fox’s visionary imagination conjured up “a great people to be gathered” – and a member of the Quaker Universalist Group, active in a variety of Quaker affairs. (David is (or was) also a member of the humanist movement in its diverse forms – the British Humanist Association, South Place Ethical Society, and of the Sea of Faith Network). It should be clear, however, that while there is good reason to believe that the views expressed here are shared by other Friends and humanists, they are my own responsibility, and should not be attributed to any organisation. (I should add that there is no Quaker Humanist organisation, nor is this pamphlet an attempt to create one!).

There are three key words in my title, Faith, Quaker and Humanist, and I would like to unpack them one by one. On the way, there will be some subsidiary unpacking (or repackaging) to be done with other terms like mysticism and spirituality. I shall look first at:

Faith

Quakers will have no problem with the word “faith”. Theirs is a religious tradition, and in religious traditions faith invariably occupies a central place. Friends have their own (regularly revised) book of “faith and practice”. Humanists, on the other hand, generally avoid the word, precisely because of its religious connotations. This is a fairly recent preference. Nineteenth and early twentieth century humanists were often happy to write of their “faith”, even of their “religion”. As late as 1960 Julian Huxley gave one of his broadcasts the title The Faith of a Humanist. But today humanists usually prefer to see themselves as representing a “world view” rather than a “faith tradition”.

I have no quarrel with that. I am not going to challenge the convention that, when we talk of faith traditions, world faiths, inter-faith dialogue, we generally mean religious traditions, world religions and religious dialogue. We do not normally regard, say, socialism or existentialism or humanism as faiths in this sense. But few would deny that there is a strong element of faith in all these secular isms. Some of us would say it takes a lot of faith to remain a socialist these days! And perhaps in the light of the cumulative inhumanities of the twentieth century, it takes a lot of faith to be any kind of humanist.

So I am using “faith” not in its acquired sense as a body of religious beliefs but in its more basic sense of a kind of combination of trust and hope. Faith in this basic sense is not about belonging to a religious group, still less about believing dogma simply because that is required of us by some outside authority and tradition. Faith is the voluntary acceptance of certain uncertainties, and the willingness to trust and hope despite those uncertainties.

I fall in love. I trust and hope that my beloved loves me as I love her. I cannot furnish myself with irrefutable, logical, scientific proof that she loves me and that our mutual love will last till death doth us part. Indeed, common experience offers plentiful evidence which might presuppose me to assume the contrary! My acceptance of her love, and my giving of my love to her, has to be an act of faith. I promise to be faithful. Our lives together are based on this trust and confidence – con-fidence, “with faith”. And that faith has to be constantly renewed. From time to time it may fade, or be broken. But such faith has its own imperatives for survival and growth.

On a more mundane level, I fall ill. I call the doctor. There is no certainty that her medicine will cure me. I know only too well that medical science is inexact, imperfectly understood even by doctors. But I place my confidence in her. I have faith in her proposed remedies, albeit a rather sceptical kind of faith which is contingent on their working at least some of the time.

I live in a consumer society where the free market is god, where greed is exalted, where property rights take precedence over human rights, where there is said to be no such thing as society. I have lived through a massive dismantling of collective and cooperative enterprise and a triumphalist demolition of social values. If I remain a socialist, a communist or a liberal social democrat, I exemplify the triumph of faith over experience. Faith, to borrow Byron’s image, is flying the flag of freedom (or whatever banner we may be carrying) against the wind.

My point is that it takes faith to be a humanist or a Quaker. There is no certainty, no logic of history, no immutable grand design which guarantees that all will be well, and all manner of things will be well; that love will prevail over hatred, “that of God in ·everyone” over that of the devil, the “ocean of light” over “the ocean of darkness and death”. If, before we try to live by them, we demand rational demonstration or proof that human values of love, compassion, sympathy and fellowship will prevail, we shall never get started. If we choose to try to live by these values, to build a society in which these values are exemplified, we had better recognise that we are unfurling our banners against the wind. We are choosing to live by faith.

So I am not proclaiming a new faith-tradition, a belief-system called Quaker Humanism! I am saying what is obvious: that we live by faith, whether we like it or not. And I am saying, which is perhaps less obvious, that there is much common ground between Quaker faith and humanist faith, which is what we are about to explore, first by unpacking the word …

Quaker

Quakerism was the product of particular historical circumstances, as all religious and social movements must be. Its particular historical· context was that of the seventeenth century English civil war and revolution. The civil war of the 1640s and the revolutionary republic of the 1650s were together the climax of a crisis of authority. Who was to rule in state and church when state and church were indivisible, joined at the hip? Where did visible authority lie? With God’s anointed king and bishops, or with the people’s own chosen representatives in Parliament and a reformed, accountable ministry?

That ultimate authority lay with “God” was unquestioned by either side. What was disputed was the visible agency by which this ultimate authority was exercised. The crisis had its origin in the Reformation a century earlier when the traditional claim of Pope and Church to infallible authority was rejected, in Britain and half of Europe. The vacuum thus created was filled by the scriptures. A bible which, hitherto, only the Pope and his priests had the right to interpret, was now available to all by the invention of printing and by vernacular translations. For Protestants at least, the book replaced the church as the ultimate repository of all truth.

In 1640 the two sides of the religious and political divide had this in common: both claimed to stand on the authority of the bible. Churchman and sectary, royalist and Roundhead, cited scripture to their own purposes. It was in this confusion that a new (or renewed) idea began to gain currency in radical circles, particularly among the unpropertied classes which had hitherto been excluded from political society, including those who would come to be called Quakers. The idea, seized upon in particular by plain, country men and women and “rude mechanicals” in the towns and cities, was that neither church nor scripture had ultimate authority. Such authority, or the closest one could approach to it, was an inward rather than an outward thing, a matter of inner conviction rather than outer compulsion: a matter of conscience.

Since this was the seventeenth and not the twentieth century, with a popular culture saturated in religious and biblical imagery and language, this subversive notion was expressed in religious terms which then had resonance for all but now resonates strongly only with those who think it worthwhile to make the effort to connect past with present ways of expression. Inner conviction was expressed by the metaphor of “inward Light”. George Fox did not coin the term: it was used before him by Gerrard Winstanley, a few radical Baptists and some of those whom Quakers later called “Ranters” (though there never was such a sect – which is another story). But Fox’s writings are permeated with it. Sometimes it is a light located within, but not identical with, conscience: “the light of God in your conscience”, “the Light of Jesus Christ, that shines in every one of your consciences”, “the Light is that which exercises the conscience towards God and towards man”. But at other times Fox seems at pains to make the light a metaphor for conscience itself: “the light of conscience”, “the Light is that which will let you see your transgressions”, “the Light which lets man see sin and evil”, and most explicitly, “Thou knowest theft is sin… Thou wilt say something in thy conscience tells thee so”.

Both the emphasis on inwardness and the metaphor of light itself were new and strange in Fox’s day. Inwardness seemed dangerous. If conscience was king, where did that leave a flesh-and-blood king and his bishops, or even a Lord Protector and his ministers? And light itself was a dazzlingly fresh metaphor. The image of Christ as “the light of the world” was familiar enough from John’s Gospel, but the nature of light itself was coming under new scrutiny in the seventeenth century, among both artists and scientists. Rembrandt and Vermeer were experimenting with techniques for representing light and exploring its qualities in paint on canvas. Rembrandt used light to search out the darkness, and thus to penetrate mystery and heighten emotional awareness. Vermeer sometimes used a camera obscura projector to organise his light and shade, achieving a startling new realism in recording the eye’s experience of natural light, usually through a window, on geometrical shapes, surfaces, and human faces.

At the very same time, modern science was emerging from its infancy, with lsaac Newton’s investigations into the nature and properties of light. What was to become the Royal Society started in London in 1645 with meetings of “divers worthy persons, inquisitive into natural philosophy and other parts of human learning, and particularly of what hath been called the New Philosophy or Experimental Philosophy“. Experimental as distinct from speculative science was all the rage in the 1650s. When Fox and his radical contemporaries made light their central metaphor for inward authority and insisted, as they did, that what they knew they knew “experimentally” – by direct experience of what worked and what didn’t, rather than by what the ancients or contemporary authorities said was true – they were speaking a new language of a new scientific understanding which was beginning to change their world into ours.

It is difficult for us today, when the primacy of conscience and experience is accepted as something of a truism (and when even Cardinal Hume concedes that where conscience and church authority conflict, as for some of the faithful they do over contraception, conscience takes precedence), to appreciate just how profoundly subversive was this rejection of traditional outward authority when its application was extended from the arts and sciences to private and social morality. It sanctioned rebellion against priest and magistrate, preacher and sacred text. Priest and magistrate warned that this inward light would lead to “levelling”, democracy and an assault on the sacred rights of property – and they were right. It introduced a new principle of personal autonomy which would start a revolution of far greater consequence than Cromwell’s “Good Old Cause”.

Quakers, as a matter of simple historical fact, played a critical part in this revolution, first by helping formulate the idea in the language of the times, then by living the life required by their radical surrender to conscience and subsequent rejection of outward authority, despite persecution to the death.

Early Quakers quaked: they quivered with zeal. Some walked naked through the streets as a sign of humankind’s nakedness before God. They rejected Puritan bibliolatry but embraced Puritan rejection of worldly pleasure, frowning on laughter, damning the arts as belonging to the devil, and fearing sensuality as a siren-call to hell. That was the negative part of their seventeenth century inheritance. But theirs was also a faith for the future. Their confidence in their inner light, their reliance on an enlightened conscience, led them to challenge the world in which they lived, and dedicate themselves to the task of transforming it.

So they were levellers, believers in a radical social and economic equality. Fox himself, who was by no means the most radical of the early leaders, campaigned for the abolition of the aristocracy and the clergy, demanding that the gentry’s estates and church property alike be expropriated, taken into public ownership, and managed for the public good. (Would that the latter-day Society of Friends might adopt the same programme as part of its social testimony!). They elevated women to a status they had never had before (in religious and social life, if not yet in the home). They urged mass civil disobedience to unjust laws, and went to jail in their thousands for their own defiance. No punishment was too hard to bear, no suffering too harsh to endure, ”for conscience’ sake”.

The imperative of conscience, rather than that of church, state or sacred text, proved a deep and deadly subversion of the old order. Little by little, politicians and priests were forced to yield ground. First religious, then political dissent was grudgingly granted a degree of legal toleration. If Quakers failed to achieve the abolition of a professional priesthood, they won -for themselves and every other kind of dissenter – freedom to place themselves outside priestly jurisdiction. And their non-violent mass civil disobedience campaigns opened a way to the development of an institutional “loyal opposition”, the foundation of a modem pluralist society.

I may be accused of exaggerating early Friends’ political achievements at the expense of their religious and spiritual life (and I would concede that the “liberal” interpretation of history outlined in these few paragraphs is a huge simplification of far more complex processes: in particular, like most Quaker histories written to date, it under-emphasises the class conflict of which Quakerism was for a time a militant expression). But those pioneering Friends would not have separated the social and political from the religious and spiritual. It was all one to them.

Between the seventeenth century and the end of the twentieth, between the early-modem period and our own “postmodern” era, lie the immense upheavals and convulsions of Enlightenment rationalism, the industrial revolution, scientific discovery and evolutionary theory, the globalisation of culture, the “death of God” and his replacement by secular utopias such as communism and the irrational “spiritualities” of New Age notions. Quakers are not what Quakers were because the world is not what it was. But it was the conviction of the supremacy of conscience over king, court, bishop and bible that opened the doors of the modem and postmodern world. The “inward light” produced the Enlightenment, and the Enlightenment produced …

Humanism

Jack Miles, in his book God: a Biography, shows how Yahweh, the god of ancient tribal Israel, begins life as the central character of the Old Testament myths, always in the action, smiting Israel’s enemies and Israel itself, producing a plague of boils here and a talking ass there, demanding exclusive worship and obedience, promising, threatening, protecting, massacring as the mood took him. But as his story unfolds, his role changes. He begins to fade a little as the tribe itself takes up the foreground. By the end of the Old Testament he has been side-lined. The later prophets are careful to speak in his name, but he doesn’t any longer do much speaking himself. Some of the last-to-be-written books don’t mention him at all, not once. The vigorous master-god who once directed the affairs of a nation and manipulated history to his own supreme satisfaction eventually gets pensioned off as the Ancient of Days, remote, inscrutable, granted only the occasional cameo appearance by the tribal story-tellers.

Something similar happened in eighteenth century England. The God whose glory, power and authority had been claimed and proclaimed by virtually all the warring factions of the 1640s and ’50s found himself written out of the Age of Reason’s script. For some, the Deists, he became the distant Prime Mover who had lit the blue touch-paper and walked away from the explosion. For many he was at best one of life’s optional extras. How had the almighty fallen!

God’s recent biographers like Jack Miles and Karen Armstrong have made nonsense of the old view that God is “the same, yesterday, today and for ever”. He patently is not so. Isaiah’s suffering-servant God of all humanity is not the same as the older tribal deity who urged his followers to enslave their enemies and help themselves to their enemies’ women-folk. The God of wrath and vengeance is not the same as the God of Jesus’ beatitudes, and that God again is surely not the same as the one who killed Ananias and Sapphira for clinging to private property when the early church taught communism. God has changed again, incorporating the characteristics of other deities, by the time Christianity is the official religion of the Roman empire. Through the medieval period the God of eastern and western churches is significantly different, and Islam’s Allah, nominally the same Being, is different again. Gods, including the god named God, are fashioned by human history and culture.

Early Friends made their own contribution to the never ending process of fashioning God anew. More than three hundred years later, the God of the first Quakers does not look very different from the God of mainstream puritanism, but contemporaries saw the difference and were scandalised by it. So unrecognisable to orthodox Christians was the Quakers’ conception of God that Friends were accused of atheism, blasphemy and witchcraft. Why was this?

Quakerism emerged from a radical milieu which experimented with new ideas about God. God was Reason, wrote Gerrard Winstanley. Joseph Salmon thought that “God is that pure and perfect being in whom we all are, move and live; that secret blood, breath and life that silently courseth through the hidden veins and close arteries of the whole creation”. Jacob Bauthumley believed that God was in everyone and every living thing, “man and beast, fish and fowl, and every green thing, from the highest cedar to the ivy on the wall”. “He does not exist outside the creatures”. He is in “this dog, this tobacco pipe, he is me and I am him”. This sounds like one form of Quaker Universalism three centuries before the Quaker Universalist Group! Winstanley was associated with Friends, and was clearly an important if unacknowledged influence on George Fox, as was Bauthumley. Fox certainly did not go as far as they did in denying a personal God, even in his most radical youthful period when he was clearly attracted by the notion that “all thing’s come by nature”, but his emphasis, and that of most Friends who collected around him, was on God’s immanence rather than his transcendence. There was “that of God in everyone”. Insofar as Fox located God, it was in the human conscience, much as Blake more than a century later would locate him “in the human breast”. Early Quakers and the rest of the Reformation Left democratised the patriarchal God of traditional Christianity, liberating him from the clutches of churches and churchmen and refashioning him as a power incarnated in all humanity and manifested in the individual conscience. No wonder Quakers were first among the “atheistical monsters” denounced by the pious and scandalised Walter Charleton in 1652.

Later and more respectable generations of Friends pulled back from such radicalism. A much older Fox, in his occasional backpedalling mode, could write in terms not markedly different from the historic creeds of the hated steeple-houses. But early Friends and their radical allies had struck a note which was not to be silenced, even by their own emergent revisionist hierarchies. Liberal thinkers inside and outside the Society (but mostly outside) developed the idea of the inseparability of the human and the divine. William Blake expressed it in poetry of genius. God is the “virtues of delight … mercy, pity, peace and love”, but these are also wholly human: “the human form divine”. The new disciplines of biblical criticism, pioneered by Fox’s friend Samuel Fisher in the 1650s (a century ahead of the continental “pioneers”) led to similar insights. Just as nineteenth century geology, biology, cosmology and physics began to make the old transcendent God something of an anomaly, the God immanent in humanity, the God who is mercy, pity, peace and love in mythological dress, re-emerged in the humanist interpretations of the German theologians Ludwig Feuerbach and D.F.Strauss and their English followers. Modern humanism was born, soon taking a wholly secular form.

There are instructive parallels between the receptions accorded to Quakers in the seventeenth and humanists in the nineteenth century. Both challenged prevailing orthodoxy and were made to pay for it with scorn, persecution and denial of civil rights. Both were the product of an intensely moral critique of institutional religion and society. Both had their martyrs and made their own mythologies. Both won a grudging respect for their fortitude and fidelity to conscience. I see the two traditions as different parts of that wider and most honourable tradition of religious, social and political dissent.

Humanists are rightly identified with the view that all religions, and therefore all gods, scriptures, mythologies, liturgies and institutions, are wholly human creations. The values they seek to promote are wholly human values. God is, at best, a mythological symbol of these values, a metaphor for them, a projection of them, an image-ined protagonist of the rich narratives human communities have created to· express and interpret these values. At worst, he is the tool by which the powerful have oppressed the powerless, a cynical fiction, an extinct species, or just a big mistake. But whether for good or ill, he and the religions which give him shape, from Zoroastrianism to Quakerism, are man-and woman-made, the products of human history, human culture and human language. There is no room in this scheme of things for “revelation”, in the traditional sense of a divine being allowing humanity, or chosen representatives of humanity, occasional glimpses of himself and his wisdom.

Is this humanist view compatible with a Christian or Quaker perception? So long as Christianity and its Quaker variant insisted that the only sound and acceptable understanding of God was as an objective being, independent of humanity and human consciousness, a “real” power or force or spirit or influence capable of acting in a supernatural freedom of the laws of nature, the new humanism and the old religion were clearly irreconcilable. But recently a more profound, more liberating understanding of God has re-emerged in churches, synagogues and meeting-houses. I say re-emerged because its roots are deep: Aquinas insisted that God did not “exist” as an objective entity, and Eckhart taught that we discover God by taking leave of him. Blake knew that “all deities reside in the human breast”. Twentieth century theologians like Don Cupitt1, 2 in Britain, Thomas Altizer in America and Lloyd Geering in New Zealand have simply given this submerged tradition a contemporary post-modern expression.

Indeed, to call it a “submerged” tradition is hardly fair to eastern religions, some of which were thinking about these things a millennium or two before Christianity appeared on the scene, and are still thinking about them today. In The Independent on August 3 1996 the Reverend John Kennedy wrote about a Hindu friend who had in his sitting-room an image of the god Ganesh, the one with an elephant’s trunk in place of a nose. Since this particular Hindu friend was an educated scientist, an industrial chemist, Kennedy asked him if he truly believed in this outlandish deity. “Yes”, he replied, “I accord to Ganesh every divine attribute-except that of existence”.

Of course some humanists deny that there can be any value whatever in any concept of God, whether traditionally “realist”, or symbolic and “non-realist”. For them, all religion is dead and any form of God-thought and God-language is obsolete and a brake on human progress. Paradoxically, such convictions are sometimes expressed with the same vehemence, the same emotional charge, the same dogmatic certainty, which characterises so much religious discourse. Dogmatism and fundamentalism are not confined to the religious. Many humanists, however, do recognise the value of religious language and imagery in connecting us with the past and giving imaginative depth to the ways in which we interpret and express our life-experience. Above all, humanists and Friends alike place their emphasis on deeds rather than creeds, on mercy, pity, peace and love, but also on justice, integrity, equality and community. With William Morris’s John Ball they know that “Fellowship is heaven and lack of fellowship is hell, fellowship is life and lack of fellowship is death” (and I am sure Morris and his hedge-priest included women among their “fellows”!). For the imaginative humanist as well as the Quaker, the language of religion, understood as metaphor and poetry, retains its ancient power to fire the imagination, to strengthen commitment to the values the language symbolises, and to inspire to action.

The humanist Albert Einstein wrote in 1934: “The fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. He who knows it not and can no longer wonder, no longer feel amazement, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle. It was the experience of mystery – even if mixed with fear – that engendered religion. A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, of the manifestations of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which are only accessible to our reason in their most elementary forms – it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute the truly religious attitude; in this sense, and in this alone, I am a deeply religious man.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“But what about….?”

Some readers who have reached this far will by now have questions. Where, if at all, does Christ fit into all this? What does a Quaker humanist do in meeting for worship? Does a Quaker humanist pray? What does a Quaker humanist make of “following the leadings of the Spirit” and “seeking the will of God”? Is there a place in Quaker humanism for mysticism and spirituality? And some, including Quaker Universalists, will question the value of a perspective which looks to them narrowly human-centred, confining God or “the Spirit” to human consciousness instead of locating the divine in all living things, as Bauthumley did when Quakerism was first in the making. I will take these questions one by one and offer some provisional answers.

Jesus Christ

What about Christ and Christianity? Quakerism began as a profound revolt against the Christian church, but the revolt took place within a culture which had been shaped, over the best part of one-and-a-half millennia, by an over-arching Christian tradition. Inevitably, then, the Quaker revolt itself was shaped by Christianity and articulated in a specifically Christian language. Early Quakers thought of themselves as reforming Christianity, returning to the purity of the primitive church. Modem secular humanism has also developed within a Christian culture, and has partaken of that culture more than many humanists care to admit. This is why humanism has made little headway in wholly non-Christian cultures such as Islam and the eastern traditions.

One of the most persistent criticisms levelled at early Friends by orthodox churchmen was that they “denied Christ”. A few pioneers actually did question the existence of an historical Jesus, but most Friends followed Fox in asserting that Jesus of Nazareth had indeed lived and died on the cross, but that the experience of Christ within, here, today was more important than dogma about the Jesus of sixteen hundred years earlier. “Christ” was thus appropriated as a living principle within, seemingly interchangeable with “the light”: another metaphor for conscience and the ideal. It followed (though Friends were not always ready to acknowledge this) that non-Christian cultures might have different but, for them, no less valid metaphors.

Humanist theologians in the nineteenth century -Feuerbach and Strauss, for instance (both translated from German into English by George Eliot) – went a step further than early Friends and humanised Jesus. Albert Schweitzer undertook a quest for the historical Jesus and found him elusive and ultimately irrecoverable. We were, and are, left with only one Jesus: the Jesus of a literary tradition, the Jesus who is the hero of the Jesus stories, rather as Hamlet is the hero of Hamlet and Frodo Baggins the hero of The Lord of the Rings.

This is not to trivialise Jesus but to draw on the literature in order to re-appropriate him for ourselves and our time. “For the Christian”, writes Don Cupitt in The Sea of Faith, “[the] task of working out a vision of God takes the … human and concrete form of framing a personal vision of Christ, who is our own ideal alter ego, our true Self that we are to become, our religious ideal actualised in human form”. That seems to me the essence of a specifically Christian or Christ-centred Quakerism. But it is also profoundly humanist. Note how it is the humanists who have often succeeded where the church so often fails in refashioning a Christ for our own times: Denis Potter’s Son of Man, Scorsese’s Last Temptation of Christ.

But in our modern multi-cultural, multi-faith communities the Christian Quaker and post-Christian humanist must never forget that Christ may be his “religious ideal actualised in human form”, her symbol of the enlightened conscience, but the many other and no less valid religious and secular traditions which share our planet and perhaps our parish will have their own visionary projections of the “ideal alter ego”, their own symbols of conscience and transcendence. To recognise this is to accept cultural pluralism. To understand that no tradition has a monopoly of truth or virtue is to embrace religious and cultural relativism. To acknowledge that Christian and non-Christian faith systems alike are the products of human imagination shaped by human language is humanism.

Worship

So what does a Quaker humanist do in meeting for worship? The simple answer is: worship. Worship does not necessarily require an outside object. As Harvey Gillman (whom, by quoting, I do not wish to tar with my humanist brush!) writes in A Light that is Shining: An introduction to Quakers, “the word [worship] derives from the word ‘worth’. It is the time Quakers give to finding worth in their lives” – and as Harvey would be the first to add, not only Quakers but others who meet for worship as Christians, Hindus or whatever. Quaker meeting for worship is for me a valuable hour in the week when, in the company of Friends, I can focus on “finding worth”, on “whatsoever things are true, honest, just and lovely” – and focus, too, on minding the gap between my aspirations and my failure to begin to live up to them in my personal, social and political life.

If it is insisted that I must worship something, I worship God, understanding God as the symbol and imagined personification of mercy, pity, peace and love – the values which, though they can hardly be anything other than wholly human in origin and expression, I choose to treat as if they were absolute and transcendent. And if we make the effort to penetrate beyond the specific language and ritual, do we not find that every culture which truly worships God (as distinct from co-opting his authority and power for human ends) is in its own way celebrating and reasserting what it has come to regard as ultimate values, those it acknowledges as the inescapable moral imperatives? Has not religious faith, in all its variety of forms, always been at best a way of creating working frameworks to give shape and coherence to human values?

To “seek the will of God”, then, or “follow the leadings of the Spirit”, is not to suppose there is a “real” God or Spirit out there with a will of his (her? its?) own which will be revealed to those (especially in a Quaker meeting?) who open their minds to it. Do we not all recognise, in our heart of hearts, that this is a figure of speech, a powerful and imaginative way of expressing a commitment to a common search for what is right and best for all? The Quaker humanist will aspire to seek the will of God in this sense not only in Friends’ business meetings and the religious realm but in secular life too: in business, in politics, in social and domestic life, and in rest and recreation. Early Friends abolished the old distinction between sacred and secular, just as their more radical allies on the Reformation Left abolished the distinction 14 between the human and the divine. Unhappily, both distinctions have crept back by stealth into our discourse.

Prayer

Does a Quaker humanist pray? Not in the crude, literal sense of imagining that there are divine ears out there, listening-in and running the universe as a non-stop request programme. Real prayer is real action. As the old Quaker poem put it, “Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer”. Alternatively, prayer is an attitude of mind, an assumption of humility, an acknowledgment that we don’t have all the answers, a recognition of our own essential inadequacies. This is the kind of prayer which changes things because it changes us.

Mysticism

Humanism demythologises both mysticism and spirituality, discarding their supernatural or occult associations but seeking to penetrate to the essence of the human experience they describe. Thus mature and imaginative humanism does not deny the mysterious, the unknown, the sense of transcendence and the “peak experience” described in very different cultures as a sense of “unity with the creation”, but it holds that the experience of these “visionary gleams”, of finding oneself “surprised by joy”, requires no real, objective God or supernatural power to validate it.

John Dewey famously pointed out (in A Common Faith, 1934) that “history exhibits many types of mystic experience, and each of these types is contemporaneously explained by the concepts that prevail in the culture and the circle in which the phenomena occur”. American Indians induce mystic experiences by fasting, Hindus and Buddhists by meditation (and, one might add, an entire sub-culture today seeks something similar with the help of drugs). “There is the mysticism of intense aesthetic experience independent of any theological or metaphysical interpretation. There is the heretical mysticism of William Blake … “. Dewey emphasised that “There is no reason for denying the existence of experiences that are called mystical. On the contrary, there is every reason to suppose that, in some degree of intensity, they occur so frequently that they may be regarded as normal manifestations … Yet the mystic experience yields … various results in the way of belief to different persons, depending upon the surrounding culture of those who undergo it”.

The experience itself is undeniable, but interpretation is variable. The devout Catholic or Quaker believer in a transcendent God may interpret her mystical experience as one of unity with the Creator. Others may interpret identical and no less intense experiences without reference to religion. Coleridge recognised the transcultural nature of such experiences and called them “vivid spectra”, Wordsworth spoke of “visionary gleams”, and today’s psychologists of “eidetic imagery” or “peak experiences”. Mystical experience is “religious” only if we choose to use the vocabulary of religion to help make sense of it. It is human, aesthetic, psychological, if we so describe it. Unhappily, there are those who proclaim their own mysticism as a way of asserting their higher level of openness and awareness: an unappealing form of spiritual elitism. Those who do not have the experience, they suggest, are less open, have hardened their hearts, are not in touch with their inner selves. Equally arrogant are those who dismiss all “peak experiences” as delusions or the after-effect of a bad meal. The Quaker humanist will respect the experience, but will not insist on any one interpretation of it.

The physicist Fritjof Capra describes his own mystical experience as “the core spirituality that comes from deep ecology … I have a real emotional connection to the earth … I feel very much at peace by the sea or by mountains. Those are moments when I feel most alive – this rush of feeling alive – most spiritual in the sense of the ‘spirit’ as the ‘breath of life'”.For Capra, there is no essential distinction between the inner mind and outer matter, between the mystical and the mundane, between the flesh and the spirit. One newspaper reporting his work describes his message as follows:-“Take you, for example. You are irredeemably connected to the river and the earth. This is not a denial of your self’s identity but an extension of it, not the ego’s sorry isolation but its splendid relation to the river and the tidemark, the hurricane and the heather, the stinkhorn fungus and the lyre-tailed nightjar. This is Liberation Physics; an intellectual passport to new lands … [and] an unusual reassurance that science is not the enemy of nature but its ally, and not the reducer of mystery but an enhancer of awe”. What is mystical experience if not “this rush of feeling alive”, this experimental knowledge of the interconnectedness of all things? And you don’t have to be a Quaker, a Christian, a fortune-teller or a believer in objective gods to delight in similar experiences.

Spirituality

“The spirit” and “spirituality” are terms often heard in Quaker meetings, and increasingly in the mainstream churches and New Age movements. Many Friends today feel more at ease speaking of God as “the Spirit”, and many modem Christians prefer the less well-defined term “spirituality” to the more formal “religion”. Spirituality seems personal and free-flowing, where religion carries an authoritarian and institutional smack; spirituality is relatively dogma-free, where religion and dogma seem locked in unholy embrace; spirituality is about attitude, where religion is about belief.

“Spirit”, as noted in quoting Capra, derives from a Latin word meaning breath, and, by extension, life. (Interestingly, Greek and Sanskrit also use the same root word for spirit and breath.) The link with breath is preserved in words like expire, to breath one’s last, and inspire, which literally means to breathe new life into. To the ancients, breath must have seemed a magical, mysterious thing. It was invisible, but there was no doubt that it existed. It filled the lungs and blew out candles. To breathe was to live, and to stop breathing was to die. It is not difficult to see how, by extension, the world of the ancients came to be populated by these magical “breaths”, invisible beings bearing the essence of life: spirits.

By an odd inversion, some of these “living breaths” were supposed to be walking dead. The breath of life had left the body, but was held to have acquired an immaterial existence of its own. Thus the essence of life became the essence of death. A spirit was a ghost – or, at least, a ghost was one kind of spirit.

A spirit world helped explain the otherwise inexplicable. Good things were linked to good spirits, bad things to bad. A complex mythology of spirits undergirds every major religious tradition. William Blake, who called the spirits gods or geniuses, described how it all happened in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell:


The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with gods or geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged and numerous senses could perceive.
And particularly they studied the genius of each city and country, placing it under its mental deity;
Till a system was formed, which some took advantage of, and enslav’d the vulgar by attempting to realise or abstract the mental deities from their objects -thus began priesthood;
Choosing forms of worship from poetic tales.
And at length they pronounc’d that the gods had order’d such things.
Thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.

Blake summarises the history of religion in a single short and brilliant passage. The spirits, or gods, or geniuses are not real entities: they were created by the poetic imagination. (When asked where his visions came from, Blake tapped his forehead.) But priesthoods arose to “enslave the vulgar” by stealing the spirits from the poets and artists who made them, building contrived forms of worship around them, and pretending that the gods they had stolen and conscripted to their purpose had themselves “order’d such things”. “Thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast”, the human creative imagination.

Over the last two or three hundred years, particularly in the western world, humankind has begun to see through the enslavement strategies of priesthoods and reclaim the spirits for the poetic imagination. Gradually have abandoned belief in the existence of good and bad fairies, angels and devils, evil spirits and the Devil himself. God (and, for some, ghosts and aliens) is the last survivor of this ancient belief system. But he too, says Blake, resides in the human breast.

So today, when we speak of a divine spirit or the human spirit, the Holy Spirit or the spirit of the age, we are using a powerful and ancient metaphor for the very essence of life. Humanists do not believe in spirits as the ancients came to believe in them, as living beings without material bodies: demons and devils, ghoullies and ghosties. But this does not mean that humanists deny any meaning to spirituality. We have material needs-food, drink, clothing, a roof over our heads – and we have spiritual needs: love, sex and companionship, the enrichment of mind and imagination, laughter, fulfilment, values to live by. These are the essence, the very breath of human life.

A British Humanist Association briefing on “spiritual development in education” put it this way: “The ‘spiritual’ dimension comes from our deepest humanity. It finds expression in aspirations, moral sensibility, creativity, love and friendship, response to natural and human beauty, scientific and artistic endeavour, appreciation and wonder at the natural world, intellectual achievement and physical activity, surmounting suffering and persecution, selfless love, the quest for meaning and for values by which to live”. The same briefing quoted Julian Huxley, first president of the BHA: “The spiritual elements which are usually styled divine are part and parcel of human nature” – a point made most powerfully in the same document by the eminent psychologist Professor A.H.Maslow: “The spiritual life is part of our biological life. It is the ‘highest’ part of it, but yet part of it. The spiritual life is part of the human essence. It is a defining characteristic of human nature, without which human nature is not full human nature. It is part of the real self, of one’s identity, of one’s inner core, of one’s specieshood, of full humanness”. How well this chimes with the Quaker Universalist Group’s recently revised testimony that “spiritual awareness is accessible to everyone of any religion or none”!

Of course there are some humanists, particularly those who prefer to call themselves rationalists or secularists, who shy away from the word “spiritual” because of what they see as its religious connotations, just as there are religious people, including some Quakers, who insist that the spiritual and mystical lies essentially outside and beyond human consciousness, culture and language, and must necessarily relate to a real God. These very different views are to be respected. But it seems to me that both are unnecessarily narrow and therefore unsatisfying.

Before leaving the question of spirituality, I must acknowledge the position of those who would criticise my emphasis on human spirituality as itself too narrowly human-centred. Those who press this criticism prefer to 18 emphasise the spirit as flowing through all living creatures, through the rocks and the waters, the earth itself, the sun, moon, stars and the whole of creation. They can summon to their support the radical precursors of Quakerism I have cited -Salmon and Bauthumley -and a glorious company of poets, panentheists and creation spirituality theologians, as well as “liberation physicists” like Fritjof Capra. The spirit, they insist with Wordsworth, rolls through all things.

I agree. But this – even with the physicist Capra – is the language of the imagination, not the language of science: the imagery of the poet, not the factual description of a police notebook. When Blake breaks into one of his finest songs of joy and, refusing to describe the sun as merely “a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea”, insists it is nothing less than “an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty”, he is speaking (or singing) as a visionary, not as a tabulator of empirical facts. So too is Wordsworth in seeing a new-born infant coming into the world “trailing clouds of glory”, or sensing the spirit that “rolls … through all things”. Blake and Wordsworth saw the world as if it were infused with the glory of God, the holy spirit, and their poetic vision helped them express the reverence for life and the natural world which resonates again so strongly today after two centuries of blind neglect and destruction. But to suppose that the hills and trees, fleas and flatworms, mountains and molehills literally partake of a “real” quality called spirituality is a naive and sentimental misunderstanding of the nature of visionary, poetic language and the power of metaphor. To suppose that Planet Earth really is a living thing, a self-healing, self-sustaining spirit, rather than choosing to live as if it were so, is as ploddingly literalist as to believe with the bible fundamentalist that God really did create the world in seven days in the order proposed by the Genesis myth, or that Mary really conceived Jesus without a little loving assistance from Joseph.

To those who say we should be God-centred or eco-centred rather than narrowly focused on our own species, I reply with the assertion radical Quakerism has always made, that the human and the divine are indivisible, just as the body and the stream it drinks from, the flesh and the earth it rots into, the mind and the ecosystem it comprehends, are indivisible. There is no meaningful conflict between the human-centred and the God-centred. If God is no more (but, gloriously, no less) than a projection of our highest and deepest values, and if these must be human values (because no other form of life has created and articulated them), God-centredness just becomes one way, a religious way, of talking about being human.

Much of the aversion sometimes expressed to an avowedly human-centred approach is based on a common misapprehension. It is emphatically not the case that humanists generally, and Quaker humanists in particular, assert the superiority and self-sufficiency of the human species. On the contrary, it is the older biblical tradition which gives man dominance over the rest of creation, setting him apart as uniquely created in God’s own image. Quaker humanists reject that view, as they also reject those versions of evolutionary theory which see humanity as the pinnacle of some purposeful and conscious process, the finished product of nature’s hidden mind and hand. We are humbly aware, as our predecessors were not always aware, that we are one product of evolution, one species, one part of a vast eco-system that functioned before we evolved and would probably continue to function if we succeeded in destroying ourselves, unless in our folly we took the whole lot with us. The important fact that ours is the one form of life which has developed the ability, through the awesome complexity of language symbols, to be conscious of itself, conscious of its own consciousness, reflective and analytical, even mindful of its own unique responsibilities, must not blind us to our essential interconnectedness with and interdependency on the whole chain of life.

In acknowledging our human-centredness we simply acknowledge our human limitations. Our viewpoint has to be human because we are human. It cannot be other because we cannot be other. We cannot think ourselves out of our humanity to some universal viewpoint. If from time to time our poets and visionaries seem to succeed in doing so, they manage it only by the exercise of their human imagination, so that even what seems an extra-human perspective turns out to be wholly human. Transcendence itself is a human concept, as is the biblical Creator-God, Fox’s notion of “that of God in everyone”, Bauthumley’s idea that “God does not exist outside the creatures”, Wordsworth’s rolling spirit, and modem concerns for Earth-Quakerism, deep ecology and the integrity of the universe. Eco-centrism, creation spirituality and occult mysticism are no less human concepts, formulated by human minds from human experience, than the avowedly human-centred outlook I have been describing.

Quaker humanism

I hope to have demonstrated that it is possible to be true to both the Quaker and the humanist tradition, because although each tradition is distinct, their paths cross and overlap. My own Quakerism is hugely enriched by humanism, and my humanism is given a depth and a connectedness with the past by its alliance with radical Quakerism. But the Society of Friends and the Quaker Universalist Group both encompass a richly diverse range of views, or ways of interpreting our human experience, and I recognise that not all Friends will find that what I have called Quaker humanism speaks to their condition. I ask of them only that they recognise that it does speak to some of us, and that we too may have a part to play in fashioning a new Quakerism and a new 20 humanism for the twenty-first century. The new radical Quakerism and visionary humanism will value the rational over the irrational and the imagination over the literal. It will employ both head and heart. It will be suspicious of a lazy reliance on an unreflective intuition and will recognise that the mind must be exercised if we would understand ourselves and our world. Its preoccupation will be the demands of our own century, in the language of our own times, not the demands and thought-forms of the seventeenth or first centuries. Its adventure will be the creation and re-creation of human value, the application of mercy, pity, peace and love to the complexities of social and personal life, and thus to William Penn’s project of “mending” the world and George Fox’s vision of “a New Earth as well as a New Heaven”.

Nor is the kind of “religious” humanism I have tried to articulate confined to Quakers, in or out of the Quaker Universalist Group. The Sea of Faith Network brings together Friends, members of all the mainstream churches and wider faith traditions, and committed humanists with no religious allegiance to explore and promote a reasonable faith for rational humanity. There is work to be done – but we are not alone.

Quaker humanists will need fellow travellers and co-workers in this project, just as Fox needed allies on the radical left and in Cromwell’s army. Such allies may be found among the broader spectrum of religious humanists in all the mainstream churches, currently networking in the Sea of Faith movement; in the Jewish humanist movement which has started to make its presence felt in the United States; in the liberal, universalist wings of the world’s great faiths; among those secular humanists who are more concerned with human values than endlessly tilting at the cosmic Father Christmas; among nonrealist philosophers and “liberation physicists”; and, I suspect, among the activists, anarchists and subversive free spirits in Young Friends General Meeting, provided they do not pay too much attention to their elders.

Words will not build a New Earth: neither speeches nor pamphlets. Pamphleteer Gerrard Winstanley was clear about that in 1649. “My mind was not at rest,” he wrote, “because nothing was acted, and thoughts ran in me that words and writings were all nothing and must die. For action is the life of all, and if thou dost not act, thou dost nothing”. 21

Further reading

This is not an academic thesis so I have not spattered the text with footnotes. Nevertheless, some readers may wish to follow up some of my references, or pursue their reading in the subject further.

On early Quakerism and seventeenth century radicalism, two good starting points are works by non-Quaker historians: Christopher Hill’s classic The World Turned Upside Down (Temple Smith, 1972), and Barry Reay’s The Quakers and the English Revolution (Temple Smith, 1985). For a modern, scholarly, revisionist biography of George Fox try H.Larry lngle’s First Among Equals (OUP, 1994). See also my own paper “Public Policy and Politics in Fox’s Thought: The Un-militant Tendency in Early Quakerism”, in New Light on George Fox, edited by Michael Mullett (Sessions, York, 1993); my article “The Quaker-Military Alliance” in a forthcoming (1997) issue of Friends’ Quarterly; and In Fox’s Footsteps, by David and Anthea Boulton, which explores the relevance of Fox’s theology of radical immanence to our own times, published by Sessions and Dales Historical Monographs in 1997.

For a valuable discussion, with sources, of Fox’s references linking “light” to “conscience” see Rex Ambler’s paper “The Discipline of Light”, to be published in the 1996 Proceedings of the Woodbrooke Quaker Theology Seminar. For more on Bauthumley, Salmon and Winstanley see Hill’s The World Turned Upside Down, but on Winstanley in particular, David W. Petegorsky’s classic Left-Wing Democracy in the English Civil War, written in the 1930s for the Left Book Club but republished in 1995 by Alan Sutton. Petegorsky was writing before more recent historians uncovered direct evidence linking Winstanley to early Friends.

Religious humanist classics include, from the nineteenth century, Ludwig Feuerbach’s The Essence of Christianity and D.F.Strauss’s The Life of Christ Critically Examined, both of which could do with modern reissues. I am not sure whether the “Christian atheist” writings of the American theologian and Blake-enthusiast Thomas Altizer are available in Britain, but Don Cupitt’s extensive range of books are well worth reading, particularly Taking Leave of God, The Future of the Church and The Sea of Faith. Anthony Freeman’s God in Us offers an “Anglican-humanist” perspective. Tomorrow’s God, by the New Zealand Presbyterian theologian Lloyd Geering, is available in Britain from the Sea of Faith Network, as is my A Reasonable Faith. I have also written more about Quaker humanism in “Friends and the Next Millenium: The Continuing Quest for a Reasonable Faith”, in Friends’ Quarterly, April 1996, and in my “Open Letter to Harvey Gillman” in Friends’ Quarterly, October 1996, as well as in In Fox’s Footsteps, cited above.

Albert Einstein on religious humanism and John Dewey on mysticism are both quoted from Margaret Knight’s excellent Humanist Anthology, newly reissued. Fritjof Capra is quoted in an interview with The Guardian (November 6 1996) about his latest book The Web of Life (Harper Collins). Blake is quoted from his Collected Works, but Peter Ackroyd’s biography Blake and the late E.P.Thompson’s Witness Against the Beast both offer marvellous (but very different) interpretations of his visionary (but very rational, though he would have disowned the word) ideas. Finally, the Quaker Universalist Group’s magazine Universalist includes Quaker-humanist articles within its universalist range, while the Sea of Faith Network’s quarterly Sea of Faith (now called Sofia) explores and promotes religious faith as a human creation.



About the author

David Boulton was a journalist, author and broadcaster (now retired) who has written on a wide range of topics. His first major book, Objection Overruled, published in 1965, told the story of First World War conscientious objectors and was the basis of the Ken Loach BBC TV series Days of Hope. Other books include studies of Loyalist private armies in Ulster, the Lockheed aircraft bribery scandal, and British jazz. As a broadcaster, he edited the investigative current affairs TV series World in Action and became Granada TV’s Head of News, Current Affairs, Arts and Religious Programmes. Since 1990 he has directed television projects designed to assist the democratic transformation of Eastern European countries and the Russian federation. In 1996 he was appointed a member of the Broadcasting Standards Commission.

Born into a Plymouth Brethren family, David first encountered Quakers in active peace work with CND. Since 1980 he has been a committed attender at Brigflatts Meeting, Cumbria. He has written extensively for the Society of Friends, including Early Friends in Dent (1986), and contributions to New Light on George Fox (1993) and Sounding the Depths (1996). He is a member of the Woodbrooke Quaker Theology Seminar and Friends Historical Society. He was editor of Sea of Faith, the magazine of the Sea of Faith Network. His book In Fox’s Footsteps, written with his wife Anthea, was published by Sessions in 1997.



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