As Quakers, we often
pride ourselves on being 'seekers', who are continually "open to
new light, from whatever source it may come" (Advices & Queries 7).
Historically, the
Quaker movement grew out of groups of people known as 'Seekers'. They had become
disillusioned with all the religious factions of their time, and began meeting together in silent waiting on God for a new revelation.
When George Fox came to them, these Seekers discovered the insight
that they had been waiting for, and the dynamic young Quaker movement
was born. That discovery, proclaimed by Fox and other early Friends,
was that the source of spiritual guidance and power, the 'Inward
Christ', 'Light' or 'Seed', is within each one of us, and can be
found simply by attending and submitting to it.
Fox enabled these
groups of Seekers to give up searching outside themselves for new
ideas or revelations, and to discover the source of insight and power
within their own experience. This was what the early Quaker Francis
Howgill called the 'narrow search' – discovering the truth within,
through the action of the Inward Light upon the heart and mind:
"Early Friends
rejected speculations upon new dispensations, new paradigms just
around the corner. Such notions kept the mind searching in the
outward mode, looking here and there for the latest thing. The light
that was in each person was the same light that had shone in every
age. The point was to stand still and deal with what the light
revealed then and there."
(Douglas Gwyn, Words
in Time – Essays and Addresses, 1997)
In the light of this,
it is interesting that so many contemporary Friends want to return to
being a movement of Seekers, and seem content to remain in the
seeking mode forever. Douglas Gwyn describes these Friends as 'happy
seekers'; those who are content to continue seeking new ideas and
revelations, and do not even want to become 'finders'. This approach
finds eloquent expression in this popular passage from Quaker faith &
practice (20.06):
"Some among us have a clear sense of what is
right and wrong – for themselves personally if not for everyone
else. They have a reassuring certitude and steadiness which can serve
as a reference point by which others may navigate. There are others
who live in a state of uncertainty, constantly re-thinking their
responses to changing circumstances, trying to hold onto what seems
fundamental but impelled to reinterpret, often even unsure where lies
the boundary between the fundamental and the interpretation…
Please be patient, those of you who have found a
rock to stand on, with those of us who haven’t and with those of us
who are not even looking for one. We live on the wave’s
edge, where sea, sand and sky are all mixed up together: we are
tossed head over heels in the surf, catching only occasional glimpses
of any fixed horizon. Some of us stay there from choice because it is
exciting and it feels like the right place to be."
(Philip Rack, 1979)
This passage highlights
a distinction between two very different spiritual temperaments. The
happy seeker's focus is on inclusivity, openness and celebrating diverse paths and perspectives. This sensibility rejects the
prospect of ever finding 'a rock to stand on', and is content to stay
'on the wave's edge', without looking for any definitive truth beyond
their own changing experience.
There are others whose
spirituality finds expression in images of rootedness and depth, and
who are drawn to religious traditions that require discipline,
commitment and even sacrifice. They are seekers after truth, and they
are serious about finding it, in order to be transformed by it. This is the kind of person that William James (in The
Varieties of Religious Experience, 1902) calls the 'twice-born'. They
are often, either by temperament or experience, driven by an urgent
soul-need to overcome meaninglessness and despair. James describes
them as "sick souls, who must be twice-born in order to be happy"
(ibid). This is the condition described by George Fox in this famous
autobiographical passage:
"As I had forsaken
all the priests, so I left the separate preachers also, and those
called the most experienced people; for I saw there was none among
them all that could speak to my condition. And when all my hopes in
them and in all men were gone, so that I had nothing outwardly to
help me, nor could tell what to do, then, oh then, I heard a voice
which said, ‘There is one, even Christ Jesus, that can speak to thy
condition’, and when I heard it my heart did leap for joy."
(Journal, 1647).
Both the 'happy seeker'
and the 'twice-born' approaches have their own validity, as well as
their pathologies. The 'twice-born' are notoriously liable to lapse
into dogmatism. They may assume that their discoveries are the only
valid path for everyone, becoming dismissive and intolerant of those
whose temperaments and experiences are very different. The 'happy
seeker' may be a short step from superficiality. The sampling of diverse spiritualities can become an excuse for never taking any tradition
seriously enough to practice its disciplines; never allowing themselves to be
formed by a reality
greater than their own ego. People with these opposing sensibilities are
notoriously uncomprehending and critical of each other, but some also
move between these approaches in both directions, in both healthy and
harmful ways.
The early Quaker
movement was composed largely of the 'twice-born'; of seekers who had
become finders:
"They were changed
men themselves before they went about to change others. Their hearts
were rent as well as their garments, and they knew the power and work
of God upon them."
(William Penn, 1694, Quaker faith & practice 19.48)
The membership of
Britain Yearly Meeting today, by contrast, leans strongly toward the
'happy seeker' sensibility. Friends continually assure each other
that 'we are seekers rather than finders'. The happy seekers' virtues
of inclusivity and openness are well-publicised, and we frequently
congratulate ourselves on them. But if we allow ourselves to become a
community that has no place for finding, or even for seeking with a
serious intent to find, then we will become an exclusive club; open
to happy seekers only.
How many people with an
urgent soul-need attend a Quaker meeting for a while, but go away
unsatisfied?
We often reassure ourselves that these potential Quakers are 'not in
tune with Friends' way of doing things' and 'would be happier
elsewhere'; but where else can they go? There are few religious communities in Britain where someone on a serious religious search can find
the support they need from experienced practitioners, especially if
they cannot accept the dogmatic orthodoxies of evangelical churches,
or the social disengagement of most Buddhist groups. These twice-born almost-Friends are a serious loss to the Quaker movement. As well as failing to nurture them, we are missing out on the much-needed gifts of passion and commitment, and the connection with the well-springs of Quaker spirituality, that they could have brought to our meetings.
Do you recognise this distinction between twice-born and happy seekers in your own experience? What are the special gifts and insights that your own approach to spirituality has to offer to our communities and our witness in the world?
0 Comments