2023/03/02

THE CHOSEN S1E8 In-Depth Summary & Review: There’s BIG TROUBLE On the Horizon… | by Sarah Cy | Medium

THE CHOSEN S1E8 In-Depth Summary & Review: There’s BIG TROUBLE On the Horizon… | by Sarah Cy | Medium





Sarah Cy


Aug 12, 2021
·
16 min read
--



Simon’s been waiting for this moment

THE CHOSEN S1E8 In-Depth Summary & Review: There’s BIG TROUBLE On the Horizon…

The Chosen, Season 1, Ep 8: “I Am He*”

In this final episode of the Chosen, Season 1, Jesus deliberately insults everyone (including some of his own disciples) by choosing to associate with those deemed unworthy of social notice. And the results are explosive.


MAJOR SPOILER ALERT: Read this article AFTER you’ve seen the show to avoid spoilers. You can watch the show for free at https://watch.angelstudios.com/thechosen
Index

You can find and read the other In-Depth Summaries & Reviews here:


Index of THE CHOSEN In-Depth Summaries & Reviews

“Come And See!”


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What’s Happened So Far

In the last episode, Jesus called two men, the Pharisee Nicodemus, and the tax collector Matthew.

Nicodemus had requested a personal interview with Jesus after witnessing the healing of the paralytic, but when called by Jesus, was torn between following Jesus and staying in his familiar role as rabbi.

Matthew, on the other hand, was so distracted by all the miracles he saw Jesus perform that he even went to see his estranged mother to talk about it.

While that was not exactly a fruitful encounter, Matthew jumped at the chance to follow Jesus when He personally called him, despite the protests of bodyguard Gaius and Simon the fisherman.

And now we’re ready for episode 8~the last one in the first season :)
Episode Summary

The story opens in Canaan, 1952 BC, with Jacob and his sons digging a well on a hilltop. A stranger named Yassib comes up to chat:
-“Shalom, my friend!” -”I do not know what that means.”

Yassib tells Jacob that he was a fool to buy that land because the water flows around the mountain, rather than up it. And no water means no way to grow crops.

“Our God takes care of us,” Jacob says.

“This is Canaan. The gods are not nice here,” Yassib tells him.

As they chat, Yassib finds that Jacob has a God who “is invisible, whose promises take generations to come true, who makes you sojourn in strange places, and He broke your hip?”

“That is a strange choice,” Yassib says.

“We didn’t choose him,” Jacob starts to answer, but he’s interrupted by one of his sons yelling: “Father!”

Jacob goes over and sees that the hole his boys have dug is filling with water.
Who was it that said the water did not go uphill?

Jacob bends to touch the water, then stands up to face Yassib again: “He chose us.”

The scene switches to the same location, many many years later in AD 26. A woman is drawing water from a well.

She is alone in the middle of the day. As we watch, she pours the water into her jars, then begins the tiring trek back to her village.
Great shot, here

…And it’s fish song time!
Whenever I see this circle of fish, I feel as if I’m looking down on the pattern from above…the blue fish are swimming slowly up and up, and the gray ones down and down



The woman from the well (Photina) sets down her jars of water and makes her way inside a house.

“You know, when the door opened, I honestly hoped it was a thief or a murderer, come to put me out of my misery,” an older man inside says, without looking to see Photina come in.
Rather Eeyore-ish guy, but who can blame him?

“Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s something I need from you first,” Photina says.

She wants a divorce. The man is her husband Neriah, but she’s been living with her boyfriend and no longer wants to be connected to her husband.

But Neriah refuses: “You’re my property, Photina. And I don’t part lightly with my possessions.”
Neriah burns the certificate of divorce



Back in Capernaum, the disciples are enjoying a lavish dinner at Matthew’s house, while Matthew serves them.
Wow! Fancy ~

The various underdogs of society — plus Jesus and his disciples — laugh and talk about Mary’s rescue from the demons, and the Pharisee’s consternation when he was unable to do anything about it.

They’re interrupted by Yussif and a Pharisee friend, out on an evening stroll.
“We were just on a walk and we heard voices. And I thought it sounded like…but surely not.”

They freeze when they see Jesus, and are upset to see him eating with “sinners.”

Good ole’ Simon comes up to defend his beloved master:
-”You know what she…and he…?!” -“You seem to be having troubles finding your words, man.”

“It’s not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick,” Jesus tells the Pharisees, but they are unmoved:

“She is from the Red Quarter, much of what is done there cannot even be spoken by my tongue…it is so unholy. The mere mention of it would defile me!”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Simon says drily.

Jesus reminds them of the words of the prophet Hosea:


“I desire mercy more than sacrifice.”
— Hosea 6:6

And


“I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
— Mark 2:17

“Is everything under control here?” a new voice interrupts. It’s Gaius. The Pharisees scurry away, and Matthew tells the others to keep eating, he will talk to the man.
-“We were just going on our way, Centurion” -“That’s Primi Ordine*, to you.”

Gaius takes Matthew aside and tells him he’s made a mistake by following Jesus — Look at all the people inside, they’re losers! All from the bottom of the barrel!

But Matthew is unmoved. “You will do well without me — better, even,” Matthew says to Gaius.

“How? You’re the one who got me promoted,” Gaius huffs.

“You could say thank you,” Matthew says.

“Well, I’m not going to do that,” Gaius retorts.

“If you can’t say it, then there’s something you could do to show it.” Matthew even offers to pay him, but Gaius doesn’t want his money. He asks Matthew what favor he wants him to do.
“What is the favor?”



Nicodemus is praying quietly at home when Zohara comes in and asks about the speech he is giving later to the other Pharisees who want to honor him for his service.

The couple chat about their family, and about the story of Hagar*, who gave God the name: “The God Who Sees Me” [Genesis 16:13]

It’s their last day in Capernaum, and Nicodemus is obviously sad about it.

“Nicodemus? I love our life,” Zohara says. “Take me back to it.”
Zohara can sense Nico doesn’t want to leave Capernaum



Quintus questions Gaius about crowd control, upset that Herod’s envoy was delayed by the crowd listening to Jesus.

He says Matthew’s advice about showing off his infrastructure plans was effective, until the traffic fiasco.

“I had to endure a very smug lecture. Don’t let that happen again.”
“I see you’re alone. I assume that means you’ve found a replacement to watch our little friend?”

When Quintus asks about Matthew, Gaius tells him that Matthew has quit his job to follow Jesus.

“Ooh, I really don’t like that man,” Quintus frowns.
The tension rises

Back at camp, Jesus is chatting with the boys as they prepare for their journey. But Simon is troubled.

Jesus asks what the problem is, and Simon admits that he’s concerned about his wife and mother-in-law, who is still sick in bed.
Lovely place for a campsite

When Jesus finishes Simon’s sentence, Simon says: “See? That’s what I mean, you already know anyway.”

Jesus smiles: “Simon, everyone here knows what you’re thinking most of the time. It does not take God’s wisdom.”
Jesus the mind reader…or maybe someone’s just a teensy bit too transparent ;)



Shmuel confronts Nicodemus after the speech, saying that he’s (Shmuel’s) become passionate about false prophecy, and asking Nico if he will oppose Shmuel if he goes after Jesus of Nazareth for daring to call Himself God.
“The man claimed to be God! And you said nothing!”

I won’t oppose you, Nico tells Shmuel. But he adds: “And, Shmuel, you have learned nothing from me.”



Back at Simon’s home, Eden is caring for her sick mother, Dasha.
-“Where is Simon?” -“He’s away, Eema.” -“Fishing?” -“No, something else.”

Eden steps into the kitchen to cry, when she’s interrupted by Jesus:

“Jesus? I wasn’t expecting you here,” she says, surprised.

“People usually aren’t,” Jesus replies.

Jesus and Eden talk about Simon and how both see in him what others could not see.

Simon pops in to say he’s going to the market to sell his fishing nets so that his wife and mother-in-law can have some extra money while he’s gone. But Jesus asks him and Andrew to go sit with Dasha.

Andrew immediately complies, but Simon takes a moment before he does the same.

Jesus says to Eden that she is important too, and that she too makes sacrifices as the wife of a disciple.

He says: “I cannot make everything easy for you…but I see you*…and I wouldn’t ask you to do this without taking care of a few things.” Jesus nods wordlessly in the direction of Dasha’s room.
“Plus, normal Simon is difficult enough. You think I want to travel with a worried Simon?…No, no I do not.”

Jesus and Eden go to Dasha’s room, where Jesus sits by Dasha’s bedside and puts his hand over hers as he lifts his eyes to pray.

“Leave her!” Jesus says, and Dasha sits up with a gasp.
“Who are you?”

Andrew introduces Dasha to Jesus.

Then: “What am I doing lying here?” Dasha says as she climbs out of bed to serve her guest. “No one move! I’ll be right back with some drinks.”
Dasha is all better now!

Eden laughs with joy as Dasha yells from the kitchen to Simon: “Does your friend like goat cheese?”
“Yes, I love goat cheese”

“Thank you,” Eden says to Simon.

“For what?” Simon replies.

“For obeying and following Him. It led Him here,” Eden replies.



Back in Samaria, Photina is snubbed by a fruit seller.
“We don’t serve your kind here”

She helps herself, then marches away, hurt.



Quintus makes a decree that religious gatherings outside the synagogue and Hebrew school are hereby prohibited:
Early versions of social media

Also, the teacher known as Jesus of Nazareth is sought for questioning.

Then, we have a montage of the disciples leaving their homes and getting ready for their next journey with Jesus:
Matthew leaving his fancy home for the last time
Andrew tapping the mezuzah before exiting his home
Salome and Zeb hugging Big James and John goodbye
Mary also taps the mezuzah* before leaving
Nico and Zohara are also preparing to leave, but not to follow Jesus
Simon bids goodbye to his wife and mother-in-law

The disciples gather at the fountain and Jesus asks if everyone is present. Yes, Mary confirms. We’re all here.

But unbeknownst to her, Nicodemus is hiding just a few feet away, watching the disciples and dithering about whether or not to join them.
Nico spying on Jesus and the disciples
Come on, Nico!

Simon finds a bag on the ground and opens it to find gold that somebody (*cough* Nico *cough*) has left for them. Matthew calculates it to be enough for two weeks of food and lodging.
Jesus: “A friend of mine left that for us.”

“You came so close,” Jesus murmurs, looking in Nicodemus’ direction.

“What do you mean?” Mary asks, but Simon interrupts to say they have to get going to reach Tiberias by nightfall. The disciples take off, leaving an anguished Nicodemus behind, slumped against the wall:
Nico is stuck between a rock and a hard place
So close!



Back at Matthew’s parents’ house, Gaius has come to deliver a couple items — the “favor” that Matthew asked.
“What does that mean, ‘follow me?’ Follow Him where?”

Gaius says Matthew wanted him to hand over his house key to his folks. Alphaeus says he will not accept the “blood money,” but Gaius gives him the key anyway: “Sell it. Give it away, burn it down, I do not care.”

“The other is just outside,” Gaius adds.
Unexpected gifts come in unlikely packages

Cut to a scene of Gaius standing with Alphaeus and Elisheva looking down at the second “gift” Matthew wanted to give his parents:
Oh, HAI THERE!

“How does it work?” Alphaeus asks. 😆

Gaius adds one more thing: If Jesus returns, please let him know — the Praetor wants to question him.
“I know some people that were mildly fond of your son.” (Riiiight, Gaius. You know some people. Uh-huh. Sure)



On the road, the disciples disagree with Jesus’ sense of direction. He’s heading for Samaria, but they want to go around it, arguing that Samaritans hate Jews and the feeling is mutual.

But of course, Jesus has his reasons, and so they keep on truckin’.
This way, boys!
“Listen, if we’re going to have a question and answer session every time we do something you’re not used to, it’s going to be a very annoying time for all of us.”

Jesus and the disciples reach a well (Jacob’s well) and Jesus sends the disciples off to buy food as he goes to wait by the well.
Jesus has a really cool backpack!

Not long after, Photina appears with her water jars. Jesus asks her for a drink. [This story is from John 4]


When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” 8 (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)

The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”
Jesus talks to the Samaritan woman at the well


He told her, “Go, call your husband and come back.”

“I have no husband,” she replied.

Jesus said to her, “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “I can see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain,but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.”

“Woman,” Jesus replied, “believe me, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.”

The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.”

Then Jesus declared, “I, the one speaking to you — I am he.”
John 4:7–26

When Photina hears Jesus talk to her about her past, the abuse she suffered, the men she married, she drops her water jars in shock.

When he adds that the Messiah she is looking for is speaking to her now, she runs joyfully toward the town, crashing past the disciples who have just returned.
“I’m going to tell everyone!”


Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, 29 “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?”
— John 4:28

We got food, the disciples tell Jesus. What would you like to eat?

I have food you don’t know about, Jesus replies.
Andrew, with his mouth full: “Who got you food?”

“Wait a minute. You told her?” Simon interrupts, referring to the woman who had just run past, yelling excitedly about the Messiah.

What food? The other disciples ask Jesus.


“My food,” said Jesus, “is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work.
— John 4:34

“You told her who you are?” Simon asks again. When Jesus confirms, he asks, “So does that mean…?”

We’ll be staying here a couple of days, Jesus tells the disciples. Let’s go.

“YES!” Simon pumps his fists in excitement and runs to hug Jesus.
Simon’s been waiting for this moment

Jesus and the disciples walk toward Samaria, as the sun sets in the background and a punchy song (aptly named “Trouble”) plays in the background.
“Trouble” — Iconic shot!
And look at all the lovely people who have paid it forward! (this isn’t even everyone. Just those who passed a certain threshold) Thank you, friends!


Background Context

Okay, for our background context, let’s take a look at a few quotes and concepts from this episode:
”I AM”

The episode title is “I Am He,” and in the Bible, “I Am” is the name God uses when speaking with Moses before He sends him off to free the Israelites from Egyptian slavery.
Primi Ordine

Primi Ordine means First Cohort, and they consisted of the best centurians. They were paid better and had more responsibilities, overseeing ten centuries which really should equal 100 men, if we’re going with the Latin root cent = 100, but actually consisted of something like 30–80 men.

Because of Matthew accidentally winning over Quintus, his bodyguard Gaius gets a promotion to this rank.
“The God Who Sees”

Nicodemus, and then Jesus mentions this description of God as the “God who sees” (El Roi). This name was the name Hagar, Abraham’s concubine, gave to God when he appeared to her after she was cast out of the household for having conflicts with Sarah, Abraham’s wife.

It’s a complicated story, but you can learn more about it in Genesis 16.
Mezuzah*

A mezuzah is a decorative case containing a piece of parchment with Hebrew verses written on it.

Observant Jewish families use a mezuzah to remind themselves of God’s presence, and often touch it as they walk in and out of the house.

The practice is based on a verse in Deuteronomy 6 that says:


6 These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. 7 Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. 8 Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. 9 Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.
— Deuteronomy 6:6–9
Thoughts on Storytelling, Writing, and Craft

I love Simon’s one-liners. Actually there are quite a few one-liners that are great!

Like the part where he says: “Sounds like a personal problem,” when the Pharisees show up all indignant over the fact that Jesus is eating with “sinners” and they say that they can’t even speak properly, they are so outraged.

Consider that by sticking up for Jesus in this way, Simon is indirectly sticking up for Matthew, too — after all, Jesus and all the disciples are eating in Matthew’s house, and he is one of the people the Pharisees are protesting.

Ironic, isn’t it? Especially considering that Simon has the same beef with Matthew that the Pharisees do.

I enjoy how The Chosen shows how complex human relationships can be :)
The Law is God?

Shmuel’s words when he confronts Nico were really hard hitting:

“It’s about the Law, and the Law IS God.” Wow. I don’t know about you, but that kind of sounds like blasphemy to me.

And yet how many people continue to hold this view, even today? And I’m talking about people both on the left and the right, liberal and conservative. Sometimes, people break rules, only to set up their own rules and worship those as “God.”

But no matter how sincere they are, when people put the wrong thing in the place of God, bad things happen…
Humor

One of The Chosen’s strongest suits is its use of humor, specifically it’s comfort with allowing JESUS to show a sense of humor.

I love Jesus’ sense of humor in this show. When he talks to Eden about Simon, he says, “Normal Simon is difficult enough. D you think I want to travel with a worried Simon…?”

AhAhahahah.

Later, Jesus healing Simon’s mother in law is particularly amusing considering when Andrew first told Simon about Jesus, Simon was unimpressed “Is he a doctor? No? Then he can’t even help Eden’s mother…” and here we have Jesus helping Eden’s mom. Jesus is better than all the doctors in the world.

Then finally, the whole scene with Gaius and Matthew’s parents and the dog is adorable!

There’s Matthew’s dad, saying of the dog: “How does it work?”

And then there are Gaius’ parting words for Matthew’s parents after delivering his house keys (and the dog): “I know some people who were mildly fond of your son.” (Yeah, sure, Gaius. Riiiight)


About The Chosen

The Chosen is a multi-season “binge-able” TV series based on the life of Christ and his disciples. It’s the biggest crowdfunded project in the history of TV crowdfunding, not just for faith-based projects, but ever.
Pre-show disclaimer

If you are able and would like to contribute, you can “pay it forward” by getting yourself some swag from The Chosen gift shop or via direct donations.

(Note: I am not affiliated with the show or its creators in any way, I’m just a regular ole’ fan impressed by their storytelling skills and interested in studying it to learn more!)


Watch The Chosen for free on their website, or download the (also free) app at: https://watch.angelstudios.com/thechosen

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THE CHOSEN S1E8 In-Depth Summary & Review - Sarah Cy
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God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.” The woman said, “I know that Messiah” (called Christ) “is coming.

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Watch for free and see what tens of millions of people won’t stop talking about. Season 3 Comes to a Stunning Conclusion That Demands to Be Seen on the Big Screen.
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The UK Nontheist Friends Network produces a regular newsletter, recent copies of which can be accessed below (at bottom of page).

(On reading any of the articles below which all open in this window/tab, you can use the browser back button to return here).NFN Statement to the QF&P Revision Committee January 2023 (pdf)
New web version of David Boulton’s The Faith of a Quaker Humanist (QUG 1997) – slightly edited with hypertext navigation and references – added October 2021
NFN Collection of Quotations referred to in 2017 AGM minutes – Hypertext version added 20/3/2021 – for Word version see below
Trevor Bending in response to Curt Gardener – What’s a nontheist doing here?
HTML page version of the above where the links work (I hope!)
2019 Conference report
2018 Conference reports:
Although this represents some duplication, we give here links to some of the material arising from the 2018 Conference

Summary report of Linda Murgatroyd’s NFN presentation (This is now a pdf edited by Linda replacing earlier Word version).
Summary report of David Boulton’s presentation (Word.doc)
(Well, not so much a précis as a butchering of David’s fine writing and talk so, especially if you weren’t there, do read the original attached here in Word format.)
Summary report of Harvey Gillman’s presentation (Word.doc)
April 2018 newsletter (pdf) which has further comments on the conference.
Michael Wright’s notes for using ‘God, words and Us’ in local meetings. (Word.docx)


NFN Collection of Quotations referred to in 2017 AGM minutes (19 page Word doc. document)


A report on the 2016 NFN Conference


“Where do nontheist Friends stand in relation to the Quaker Christian tradition?” At the 2014 nontheist Friends annual conference, two Friends challenged the assembly to state where they stood in relation to the Christian tradition. NFN Steering Group member Hugh Rock develops his response to this. (July 2016).


Michael Wright reports on a recent gathering at the Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre in Birmingham In an article first published in The Friend, Michael Wright reports on a theist/non-theist ‘think tank’ gathering at Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre convened as part of the preparation for a future revision of Quaker Faith & Practice. (February 2016)


Knowledge, Belief and Faith. An article by Bob Booth, first published in Quaker Universalist. Bob suggests that our increase in knowledge leads to a more universal faith and that this should affect revision of Quaker Faith & Practice. Reproduced with permission of author and editor.


Six Quakers and Nontheism. An Essex & Suffolk regional gathering at which six members of NFN discussed nontheism. (June 2015)


I believe. The contribution that nontheist Jean Wardrop made at the London Quakers event “What do we think about God”. (February 2015)


Being Quaker now. Michael Wright gives a personal response to the views put forward in the 2014 Swarthmore Lecture by Ben Pink Dandelion.


Nontheism among Quakers and beyond. Michael Wright gives a short report on the NFN 2014 Conference.


Quaker and Naturalist too. David Boulton reviews a new book by US nontheist Os Cresson, ‘Quaker and Naturalist Too’


Observations on Sunday Assembly – Newcastle. Michael Wright gives his impressions of participating in a Sunday Assembly


Quaker Diversity. Transcript of talk by Paul Bates given at the Frederick St Meeting in Belfast on Sunday 24 Nov 2013.


Prayer beyond belief. Transcript of talk by Michael Wright, and workshop material from NFN Regional Conference, 19 Oct 2013 in Chelmsford, Essex.


Disagreeing about God. Michael Wright welcomes the fact that Friends describe their experiences differently. Published in the Friend, 18 Oct 2013.


Continuing Revelation. Jean Wardrop considers nontheism in the context of a Quaker heritage of theological diversity and change.


Gretta Vosper. Michael Wright on her approach to prayer


Quaker Discernment: a non-theist view. Sarah Richards contributed this article following questions raised about ‘discernment’ at the NFN open meeting at Yearly Meeting on 25 May 2013.


Nontheism among Friends: Conference of the Nontheist Friends Network at Woodbrooke, 09-11 March 2012; Minute & Epistle 2012


LINKS

London Quakers event “What do we think about God” held on 7 February 2015. Recordings of the four speakers, and the plenary discussions.


Nontheist Friends Network web site (a US web site maintained by James Riemermann – opens in new window or tab)

The UK Nontheist Friends Network produces a regular newsletter, recent copies of which can be accessed below.
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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.
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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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