Quaker Strongholds :: CHAPTER VI. OUR CALLING.

CHAPTER VI. OUR CALLING.

I have endeavoured to explain what are those principles and practices into which we as a body have been led through what we believe to be obedience to the Spirit of Truth. I know that in some respects we seem to our fellow-Christians to have mistaken the voice of our Guide, and to be, through ignorance perhaps, but yet lamentably, excluding ourselves from the most precious privileges, if not consciously disregarding the most sacred injunctions. It is a very solemn question upon which we thus join issue with almost all the Churches of Christendom;—What is, in fact, essential Christianity?

“By their fruits ye shall know them.” It would ill become me to attempt any estimate of the fruitfulness of that branch of the Christian Church which I have joined as compared with the branch of it in which I was brought up. I have been occupied throughout with our ideal, not with the degree of our fulfilment or failure to fulfil it. I feel bound, however, to say that I cannot reconcile the fact of the signs of life and spiritual energy which I find within as well as without the Society with the idea that either branch of the Church is really cut off from the root of the living Vine. Does it follow that our peculiar principles and practices are of no consequence?

I cannot myself believe that this is a legitimate conclusion from the admitted fact that undeniably holy and Christian lives are led within as well as without our borders. That fact does, I think, show at least that everything does not depend either upon the observance or the disuse of outward ordinances—it shows that either course may be pursued in good faith and without destruction to the Christian life; but it is not inconsistent with the belief that results of profound importance to the character of our Christianity are involved in this question of ordinances and orders, and that it therefore behoves us to seek the utmost clearness with regard to it.

This question is the very key of the position of the Society of Friends as a separate body. It is as witnesses to the independence of spiritual life upon outward ordinances that we believe ourselves especially called to maintain our place in the universal Church in the present day.

The importance of our separate position is perhaps somewhat obscured in the eyes of some amongst us by the fact that we can no longer assume the vehemently aggressive attitude of the early Friends, as against Christians of other denominations. They believed it to be their duty to attack the “hireling priests” of their day as guilty of “apostasy,” and upholders of the mysterious powers of darkness. In our own day such judgments would imply either the grossest ignorance or else downright insanity. We cannot help knowing, and rejoicing to know, that a large proportion of the clergy are amongst the most devoted and disinterested of the children of light, using their official position, as well as every other power of body and mind, for the promotion of the kingdom of God and the spread of the gospel. We desire nothing better than to fight beside them, shoulder to shoulder, against the common enemy; and we are, in fact, often associated with them in efforts of this kind.

In like manner, it would be impossible for Friends in these days to speak in the tone of the founders of the Society, as though we possessed a degree of light in comparison of which all other Christians must be considered as groping in thick darkness. The early Friends sometimes spoke of the “breaking forth of the gospel day” through the revelation made to them as of an event almost equal in importance to its original promulgation sixteen hundred years before. In these days we could not with any kind of honesty or justice claim a position so enormously in advance of our neighbours. On all hands we see evidences of fidelity and fruitfulness, and the shining of examples which we rejoice to admire, and desire to emulate.

There is thus, I think, a certain perplexity as to our relative position in the Christian Church which is a cause of some weakness amongst Friends. It is in some respects easier to maintain an aggressive attitude than one of mere quiet separateness; and it would be no wonder if some, especially of our younger members, in these days of free interchange of sympathy, should begin to falter a little as to the importance of our separate position. It is, indeed, one which will not be maintained except as the result of deep and searching spiritual discipline. The testimony against dependence on what is outward cannot be borne to any purpose at second hand. We must ourselves be weaned from all hankering after what is outward and tangible before we can appreciate the value of a testimony to the sufficiency of the purely spiritual; and that weaning is not an easy process, nor one that can be transmitted from generation to generation. Unless our younger Friends be taught in the same stern school as their forefathers, they will assuredly not maintain the vantage-ground won by the faithfulness of a former generation.

Some other causes have, I believe, tended to confuse our relation to the outer world, and make it important that Friends should look well to their path, and consider whither it is tending; whether we are really guarding the position which it is specially our business to defend, or allowing ourselves to be drawn off into the pursuit of less important matters. There are in the main stream of the Society many currents and counter-currents, and its recent history has been one of change and reaction, so that it would be dangerous and presumptuous for a new-comer to attempt to foretell its course; but I may venture to point out some of the tendencies which are and have been at work amongst us, preparing the conditions under which our future work must be done.

It is well known that the Society, which sprang very rapidly into existence in the middle of the seventeenth century, began during the eighteenth to diminish in numbers, and was for many years a steadily dwindling body. Closed meeting-houses and empty benches are now to be found in all parts of the country where, in former days, the difficulty was to find room for all who came. Within the last thirty or forty years our numbers have, however, begun slowly to increase, although the increase is so far from being equal to the rate of increase of the population at large, that in proportion to other denominations we may still be considered as in a certain sense losing ground. The actual increase, small as it is, is nevertheless a significant fact.[25]

The great falling-off in numbers during the eighteenth and part of the nineteenth centuries was probably caused, in part at least, by the fact that after the early days of growth and persecution there followed a time of outward quietness, in which the value attached to what one may call Quaker tradition became excessive, and resulted in too rigid a discipline. The actual discipline of the Society was applied with a strictness which surely was not altogether wise or wholesome; and the less tangible restraint of public opinion within the borders of a small and very exclusive sect was probably even more oppressive in its rigidity and minuteness of supervision. Until within the last thirty years or thereabouts, it was the almost invariable practice to disown all members who married “out of the Society;” and this restriction must obviously have done much not only to diminish the numbers, but probably also to alienate the affections of successive rising generations. So many of the young people lost or resigned their membership for this and other causes, that, had no change taken place, the days of the Society must to all appearance have been numbered.

But in the early part of this century, owing, in a great measure, to the influence of Joseph John Gurney and his sister, Elizabeth Fry, a new wave of religious and benevolent activity arose; and about the same time, though with what degree of connection with this impulse I do not know, a considerable relaxation of discipline took place. Not only was the practice with regard to marriages out of the Society relaxed, but many minor matters, in which an irksome and, no doubt, often hurtful rigidity had prevailed, began to be deliberately left to the judgment of individuals. In 1861 a revision of the “Book of Discipline” took place, which reflected and sanctioned the relaxation of supervision in regard to these matters. In that year the latter part of the fourth query relating to “plainness of speech, behaviour, and apparel,” was dropped, and other changes were made in the queries then in use. The Yearly Meeting, as has been already mentioned, no longer requires that any of the queries should be answered, except those which regard the regularity with which meetings are held and attended. These changes have meant in practice that the maintenance of all our special “testimonies” is now (like that against tithes) “left to the individual conscience,” and not inquired into by the meetings for discipline; and the immediate result has, of course, been a great outward and visible alteration—a rapid disappearance of distinguishing peculiarities, and no doubt an immense relief to the younger members.

A more direct result of the “evangelical” influence of the Gurneys, and others like-minded, was the setting-in of a current of activity in all sorts of benevolent, philanthropic, and missionary directions. The old dread of “creaturely activity,”—of moving in any kind of religious work without an immediate prompting and even constraining influence from above,—seems to have in some degree given place to a fear of burying our talent. The Christian duty of going forth to seek and to save, of holding forth the word of life, and letting our light shine before men, had been beautifully exemplified by some eminent men and women in the Society. Many of the younger Friends caught the flame of their zeal, and from all quarters, in these modern days, influences combine to make that “sitting still,” in which an earlier generation of Friends had found their strength, appear almost an impossibility.

With the new rising tide of fervent zeal and benevolence came a great change in the prevailing tone of religious feeling. The Bible, which, in their dread lest the letter should usurp the place of the spirit, had amongst Friends been almost put under a bushel, was brought into new prominence, and so-called “evangelical” views respecting the unique or exceptional nature of its inspiration began to be entertained. Gradually the idea of the necessity of teaching “sound doctrine” assumed an importance which had formerly been reserved for that of looking for “right guidance;” and in some quarters a visible tendency has, of late years, been manifest towards more definition of doctrines and popularizing of methods than would have been tolerated half a century ago.[26]

Although these modern tendencies have undoubtedly been accompanied by, and have probably in some degree led to, an increase in our numbers, a strong protest has from time to time been raised against them by those who feel that Quakerism had its root and its strength in a deep inward and spiritual experience which frees from all dependence upon outward things. In America the protest against (or, as those who protest would no doubt rather say, the introduction of) this modern phase of comparatively superficial religious activity has caused grievous schisms and troubles. About the year 1826, a large party, under the leadership of one Elias Hicks, in that country broke off altogether from the main body of Friends, and is suspected by the “orthodox” of having, under professed obedience to the inner light, become practically a Unitarian or rationalist body. In England, however, the two main currents have flowed side by side, and have not resulted in any considerable division of the stream.

Both parties claim to be taking their stand upon the original principles of the early Friends. Those who uphold above all things the doctrine of the inner light, and the primary necessity of immediate inspiration and guidance to the bringing forth of any good word or work, and especially to the performance of any acceptable worship, have abundant evidence to produce, in the writings of Fox, Barclay, Penn, Penington, and other fathers of the Society, that this was the foundation and the constant burden of all their teaching. Those, on the other hand, who are throwing themselves heart and soul into missionary and “evangelistic” efforts, say truly enough that the early Friends did not so “wait for guidance” as to be content to sit still and make no effort to lighten the darkness around them, and that it was the intermediate or “mediÆval,” not the “primitive” teaching of the Society which exalted the individual consciousness into the supreme authority, thus developing, in fact, a claim to something approaching personal infallibility.

There are, of course, dangers in either extreme—in the over-valuation of visible and tangible activity, and in the undue intensity of introspective quietism. Too much “inwardness” seems to develop an extraordinary bitterness and spirit of judgment, under the shadow of which no fresh growth would be possible. It is obviously dangerous to sanity. Too much “outwardness” dilutes and destroys the very essence of our testimony, encourages a worthless growth of human dependence, and can hardly fail to be dangerous to sincerity. But yet the divergence is, I believe, a case rather of diversity of gifts and functions than of contradiction in principle. Both functions are surely needed. Where a living fountain is really springing up within, it must needs tend to overflow. The leaves and blossoms are as essential to the health and fruitfulness of a tree as its root. The secret, as I believe, of the strength of our Society, its peculiar qualification for service in these days, lies in its strong grasp of the oneness of the inward and the outward, as well as in the deep and pure spirituality of its aim in regard to both.

There is, I believe and am sure, a special and urgent need in these days for that witness to the light—light both within and without—which was the special office of early Quakerism. I am not equally sure that Quakerism, as it is, is the vehicle best adapted to convey that testimony to the present generation. If it be not so, it is largely the fault of our degeneracy as a body; of the lapse of our Society into a rigid formalism during the eighteenth century, and into a shallow seeking for popularity in the nineteenth. But, in spite of all such right-hand and left-hand defections it seems to me that there is life enough yet in the old tree for a fresh growth of fruit-bearing branches. It seems to me that the framework of the Society has vigour and elasticity enough yet to be used as an invaluable instrument by a new generation of fully convinced Friends, were our younger members but fully willing and resolved to submit to the necessary Divine discipline. It is no new wave of “creaturely activity,” no judicious adapting of Quakerism to modern tastes, that will revive its power in the midst of the present generation. It is a fresh breaking forth of the old power, the unchanging and unchangeable power of light and truth itself, met and invited by a fresh submission of heart in each one of us, which can alone invigorate what is languishing amongst us, and make us more than ever a blessing to the nation.

Had this power ever wholly disappeared from amongst us, there would be little use in dwelling fondly upon its deserted tenement. It is because a measure of the ancient spirit is still to be recognized amongst our now widely scattered remnant that I would fain stir it up, amongst our own members especially, and if possible also amongst others, by means of the experience actually acquired by our Society of the power of an exclusively spiritual religion.

It is, I hope, hardly necessary to repeat that it is not Quakerism, but Truth, that I desire to serve and to promote; the sect may no longer be what is needed, and may be destined to extinction, for aught I know. But that view of Truth which has found in Quakerism its most emphatic assertion,—that purely spiritual worship and that supremacy of the light within which were set forth with power by Fox and Barclay and Penington,—these things are of perennial value and efficacy, and the need for their fresh recognition seems to be in our own day peculiarly urgent.

There can, indeed, be no rivalry between inward and outward light. Light, we know, is one, and there can be no contradiction between its various manifestations, although there may, of course, be any amount of contradiction between the respective visions of different people. It seems, indeed, as idle to look for an absolutely colourless medium within as without, in our own hearts as in the Bible or the Church; and upon each one lies the responsibility of accepting correction from all quarters. Yet for each one of us there must be a final authority; and I do not see how that authority can be found elsewhere than in the inmost chamber of our own hearts, for it is by that authority alone that we can be justified even in choosing any external guide. It is, indeed, impossible for any one who recognizes the shining of light within to doubt its supreme authority.

To speak of light shining in one’s own heart as something not conclusive for oneself would be almost a contradiction in terms. But just because it is within one’s own heart, its range is strictly limited. My inner light can be no rule (though in a sense it may be as a lamp) for any one else, for the very reason which forbids me to dispute it. Each one surely owes an exclusive allegiance to that ray of Divine light which shines straight into his own inmost sanctuary.

It is, therefore, no disloyalty to the light within to acknowledge the need of an outward standard for purposes of united action or mutual judgment, or to accept an outward test of the reality of our possession of inward light. Those who have learnt to recognize in the light within the radiance of the Divine Word will acknowledge no lower voice as the supreme authority without; and will accept no other test of its reality than that assigned by Christ Himself—righteousness of life.

Friends have always without hesitation accepted the Bible as the one common standard by which their practice and their teaching should be tried,[27] and have acknowledged from the first that no claim to Divine inspiration could be justified except by the actual possession of the righteousness taught by Christ Himself in word and in deed—a righteousness “exceeding that of the scribes and Pharisees.”

And here we come upon the fact, not always sufficiently remembered, that the indispensable words “inward” and “outward” need care in the handling. It is of great importance to my whole subject that the different senses in which they may be applied should be kept in mind. I have already[28] pointed out that the mystical meaning of “within” or “inwardness” is not the only one upon which we insist.

This well-known Quaker watchword must always be understood as asserting not only that light is to be found by retiring into the inmost chamber of one’s own heart, but also that it is intrinsic, essential, original; that, coming from within, it must, if real, illuminate the whole being. Righteousness, the fruit and result of obedience to light, is in this sense both inward and outward; it is external, but not extraneous; outward in the sense of being visible, tangible, open to the light of day—a thing which, however it may be defined or accounted for, is universally recognizable, and is acknowledged by all as justifying the teaching which produces it; it is not outward in the sense of coming from without, or of being in any degree arbitrary, or accidental, or dependent upon the judgment of our fellow-creatures; it is a natural, not an artificial, test and result of the inward state. Neither is it outward in the sense of appertaining only to what is visible. It does, indeed, impress its stamp even upon the very frame, and of course it consists largely in a visible and real dominion of the mind over the body; but it is, in its origin and essence, of the spirit, not of the flesh.

It was the constant and vigorous seeking for and application of this test of righteousness which distinguished the early Friends from mere mystics. Those “Friends of the Light” were not content to brood over a light shut in to their own hearts. They let it shine freely before men, boldly proclaiming its universality, and calling all men to walk in it. They stoutly claimed that it was the light of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the very Sun of Righteousness, and that the light, spirit, and grace of Christ in their own hearts was one with the spirit in which the Scriptures were given forth. Above all, they insisted that the light was the Spirit of Truth, and must lead into all truth; not into omniscience or infallibility, but into truth in the inmost parts—truth in word, in thought, and in deed. Thus they recognized the great truth that the light within and the light without are alike aspects of the Eternal Word of God—that Word which, abiding in us, is our Eternal Life.

Light within—not the vision of the mystic alone, but cleanness of heart, uprightness, sincerity, singleness of mind—of this light they affirmed that every living soul had some germ, which, as it was attended to, would lead out of the evil it condemned. And the glory of their teaching was that it summoned each human spirit to work out its own salvation—in fear and in trembling truly, and in the strength of God working with and in it, but without dependence on any human being, or on anything perishable, or disputable, or accidental; to repent, and to bring forth fruits meet for repentance; to walk soberly, as children of the day.

This is what I mean by the pure spirituality of the aim of Friends both as to the inward and the outward. The inner light they desire to walk in is not an intellectual but a purifying light; it consists not in rapture, ecstasy, sensation, but in clear insight into the deepest kind of truth; it leads not to knowledge, but to holiness,—which is, indeed, knowledge of the truth. It shines in quietness; and in order to cherish it we must lay aside our preoccupation with the vivid and clamorous and transitory things that are without, dwelling in stillness upon what is eternal, that all things may be revealed in their true proportions. It courts and acknowledges an outward test; but that test consists in the quality of its own outward results, as commending themselves to every man’s conscience, and reveals itself not in a conformity to other people’s teaching, but in a transforming power. The outward stamp we value is not a stamp or sign applied or administered from without and by material means, but the outward and visible radiance of the flame kindled within. The supremacy of the inner light as recognized by us is the supremacy of the fountain over the stream, and the cleanness and cleansing power of the stream is the proof of the purity of the fountain. It is in fixing attention upon moral and spiritual results, rather than upon precision of doctrine or correctness of ceremonial observance, that Friends have, I believe, hit the right nail on the head. In our own day, as in George Fox’s day, this direct appeal to conscience is surely the one unfailing means by which men and women can be “turned to the light,” brought to recognize Him who is the Light, and taught to find in Him their everlasting rest—the rest which is the beginning of power and of victory.

If we be right in our belief that the salvation of Jesus Christ is a purely spiritual influence, a flame which finds in every human heart some prepared fuel, and which is to be spread from heart to heart as fire is kindled from torch to torch; which is to be maintained not by rites and ceremonies, and “the apostolical succession” of outward ordination, but by that turning from dead works to serve the living God which is in the power of every living soul, and which no one can perform for another;—if this view be true, then Friends have yet a great work to do in promulgating it, and a great responsibility in having received it as an inheritance.

For this is not yet the commonly accepted view. The Christianity which has spread and flourished is still deeply saturated with reliance upon outward rites and outward ordinances, and deeply entangled with rigid formularies. It is largely composed of creeds and doctrines, which, whether theoretically true or false, are yet capable of being held in unrighteousness, and incapable, therefore, of truly redeeming the souls who trust in them.

Most Christians say or assume that these things are vitally helpful to them. I dare not presume to say that they are wrong, though I own that I think the assumption too conventional to be conclusive. But of one thing I am quite sure. There is a great and increasing multitude amongst us who cannot accept outward rites or clerical teaching. We see by the experience of Roman Catholic countries how inevitably the spread of priestly influence amongst devout women is accompanied by the utter alienation of thinking men from religion itself. I fear that a tendency of the same kind is visible in England now. What is the proportion of men to women to be seen in the congregations of London churches? Is it not obvious even to our outward senses that there is something in modern Christianity which the masculine mind rejects? We have, indeed, abundant proof in the literature of our day that this is the case. Are we driven to conclude that it is the essence of the religion of Jesus Christ which is rejected by masculine thought; or does the stumbling-block lie in human additions to the teaching of Christ Himself?

I cannot doubt, and I believe few of the worthiest representatives of masculine thought would deny that His own teaching, as we have it in the Gospels, is eternal truth; as secure against every storm of doubt and revolt as the sun in heaven is secure against the whirlwind. The Christianity of Jesus Christ Himself is the Christianity upon which Friends alone, or almost alone, have boldly taken their stand as all-sufficient. In preaching this essential Christianity we can appeal with boldness to the witness in every human heart; and I venture to say that it is not a religion for women and children only, but one which appeals to and fortifies the best instincts of manly independence.[29]

Let it not be supposed that I attribute the whole of the modern revolt from religion to the engrafting of ecclesiastical “developments” upon the simplicity which is in Christ. I know, of course, that many other forces tend to alienate men (and women too) from God, and that there is much in the progress of scientific discovery which it is difficult to reconcile quickly with even the very essence of religion. It is because the ship of faith is in danger that I long to see it lightened of unnecessary burdens. It is because men are ready enough to cast from them all thought of the things which belong to their peace, and to abandon in despair the hope which alone can purify their lives, that I long to see that hope disentangled from whatever is worn out and cumbersome and unreasonable.

Quakerism in its origin was a bold and successful struggle to do this. The glory of early Quakerism was in its integrity, in its uncompromising, unflinching requirement that the life should bear witness to the truth, and its resolute stand against any other requirement. The “inner light” was not only a word of the deepest poetical and mystical significance; it was a doctrine of sternest righteousness, and at the same time an assertion of resolute independence. Those who were conscious of the shining of Divine light into their own hearts needed no priestly absolution or interposition. They were willing to stand or fall by their innocence in the sight of all men. Their very gaolers often trusted them to convey themselves to their distant prisons if they had but promised. It was well known in those early days that a Friend’s word was as good as his bond; and to this very day a reputation for special truthfulness and sobriety clings to them, and not, I believe, without reason.

I am anxious to insist upon the resolution to maintain a high moral standard amongst us, not only because of the supreme intrinsic importance of righteousness; not only because I believe that as religion is cleared of outward and ceremonial and perishable elements this indestructible growth of holiness has more room to expand; but also because it cannot be denied, and should, indeed, never be forgotten, that there is a very real ground for the suspicion, or, at any rate, the jealous scrutiny, with which any peculiarly exalted spiritual aspirations are apt to be regarded.

There is a well-known and very awful connection between religious emotion and emotions arising from sources less pure. There is an ever-present danger lest in any endeavour to stimulate the one we should rouse the other, and a still worse danger lest the lower should assume the garb and appearance of the higher. The history of religious revivals affords abundant warning of the dangers inseparable from all sudden outbursts of feeling, even where much of it is deep and true and lasting.

No doubt the founders of the Society of Friends had their share of such instructive and at times mortifying experience.[30] They were brave men, and knew the reality of their own deep experience, and were not easily discouraged by a few extravagances (they appear, indeed, to have been remarkably few) amongst their followers. But there is reason to think that they were strongly impressed with the importance of specially guarding the sobriety becoming the children of the day, at a time when their own preaching was working in men’s minds like new wine. Besides the one great and invariable safeguard of their constant preaching of righteousness, and appeal to the light without as the test of the reality of the light within, there were two special precautions which they consciously or unconsciously took against the danger of spiritual, or quasi-spiritual, excitement.

One of these was the full recognition that the action of the Spirit of God upon the heart consisted not only in impulse but in restraint, and that for its right interpretation the part of the creature was to be quiet. “Stand still in the light” is one of the familiar burdens of George Fox’s advice. Friends were, and are still, as carefully taught to submit to the restraints as to yield to the impulses of “best wisdom.” To “dwell deep,” to “pause upon it,” not to proceed unless “way opens,” nor on any account to disregard a “stop in one’s mind,”—these and many such familiar Quaker admonitions show by how much “holy fear” their zeal has habitually been tempered.

“Quietism” is, indeed, the natural accompaniment of “mysticism” (of mysticism, that is, in the sense of belief in the inner light). That a vivid sense of the presence of the Creator should bring stillness to the creature is inevitable. And only under the restraining and controlling power of the deep awe thus inspired can it be safe or wholesome for the human spirit to stand in the immediate presence of its own Divine Source. There was surely a deep truth in the old Hebrew feeling, “Shall man see God and live?” Religious emotion need not be unreal to be unwholesome. The deeper the chord stirred, the more awful the danger arising from any jarring or deviation from the due and steady amount of tension.

Another precaution against the danger of yielding to excitement or to immature or unguarded impulse, is provided in our whole system of “Church government” and oversight, and especially in the importance attached to ascertaining “Friends’ unity” with any proposed religious service before proceeding in it. This is a curious and beautifully adapted sheath provided for the buddings of a ministry which is free in the sense of being entirely spontaneous, prompted only by an impulse believed to be from above. It is by no means an unknown thing, perhaps not even an uncommon thing (but of this I speak from but scanty opportunities of observation), for Friends in their business meetings to discourage “concerns” which do not appear to them to be justified by reasons sufficiently weighty, or which in some other way fail to commend themselves to the judgment of the meeting.

Not only directly, but also by the indirect effect of the value thus collectively and traditionally assigned to care and caution in handling spiritual things, do these recognized practices tend to inculcate sobriety and patience. And above all it is a deeply ingrained feeling in the Quaker mind that every vessel to be used for sacred purposes must before all things be clean. Every one coming forward as a minister of the gospel especially must approve himself, or herself, in the full light of day as not only preaching, but living, according to the Spirit of Truth.

And these “ministers,” be it remembered, are not people leading a sheltered and separate life; but men and women engaged in the ordinary business of life, following trades and professions, and sharing in all the daily experiences of those to whom they minister. Is there not something peculiarly adapted to the needs of our day in the combination of matter-of-fact, wholesome, sober independence with the thorough-going and unreserved spirituality and purity of our acknowledged aim—that, namely, of living under the immediate guidance of the Spirit of Truth?

It is here that I see in the ideal of Quakerism the one perennially right and fruitful ideal of Christian life—obedience to truth in the fullest and highest sense; the living truth—not truth in the sense of accurate or orthodox belief about Christ, but of an actual partaking of His Spirit, who Himself is the Way, the Truth, and the Life; a learning through obedience to know His voice, and a continual witness-bearing to others of the reality and the power of His living presence and teaching. We can bear this witness in one, and only in one, way; our lives must be penetrated by the light—the light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world—penetrated and kindled and purified, till they too shine both inwardly and outwardly. The life is the light of men.

In our days faith is challenged at every point and at every turn, with a freedom and a violence which was unknown fifty years ago. All that can be shaken is being shaken, to its very foundations. My own firm belief is that, though full of danger, this is on the whole a natural, a necessary, and, in the main, a beneficial process. Throw a large load of fuel on a clear fire, and for a time it may seem doubtful whether it is not extinguished; but if the flame be strong enough, it will rise again through the smoke and dust, and burn the stronger for what it has mastered. And so assuredly will faith in whatever is truly eternal rise above all present confusions and darkenings of counsel, and burn with fresh power in those hearts which have steadfastly cleaved to truth, be its requirements what they may.

The Society of Friends has always refused to require adhesion to any formularies as an express or even implied condition of membership; and surely it has done wisely.[31] It has frankly and steadily accepted the Bible as the one common standard and storehouse of written doctrine, but it has always had the courage to trust unreservedly to the immediate teaching of “the Spirit which gave forth the Scriptures” for their interpretation, and for the leading of each one “into all truth;” it has hitherto been true to its belief in the living Guide. And this, I am convinced, is the only belief which will meet the needs of the free thought of our day.

If thought is to be truly free, in the sense of fearless and unbiased, it must not only be open to the whole range of experience, but it must be subject to the correction of central and unchanging principles; freedom requires stability as well as openness. I believe that those of us who have learned to submit to correction both from without and from within, who dare to face at once every real fact, and every necessary process of mental discipline, within their reach, have a most weighty office to fill amidst the troubled thoughts and lives of our day. For while human nature is what it is, it must recognize, however dimly, that it needs not only to be fed with knowledge, but to be strengthened with might in the inner man.

People want, and must have if they are to be spiritually helped at all, two things mainly at this moment, as I believe. They want a higher, purer, worthier form of faith and worship than they have been accustomed to find provided for them; and they want stronger proof of the reality of the objects of faith than is commonly offered.

By a higher, purer, worthier form of faith and worship, I do not mean improved formularies or liturgies; I mean rather that openness to improvement which is precluded by fixed forms, and which the very beauty and dignity of the Anglican Liturgy tends to impede. They want, I believe, a manner of worship which shall be simpler, more living and actual—truly higher and purer because less intellectually ambitious, and more freshly inspired by human needs and Divine help; and a manner of speaking about Divine things less conventional, less technical and artificial, arising more visibly from actual experience, and based more solidly upon common ground. They want not authorized teachers, but competent witnesses; not to listen to sermons and religious “services,” however admirable, which are delivered in fulfilment of a professional engagement, within prescribed bounds of orthodoxy, at stated times and in regular amount; but to come into personal contact with those who have seen, felt, encountered, the things of which they speak; and who speak not because they are officially appointed to speak, but out of the fulness of the heart because they must—people who dare to be silent when they have nothing to say, and who are not afraid to acknowledge their ignorance, their doubts, or their perplexities. We are becoming critical and impatient of conventionalities, not only, as I believe, because education is spreading, but also because we are hungry for reality, because we are brought face to face (by the astonishing circulation of everything) with all manner of problems which are awful enough for us all, and doubly awful for those whose foundation is in any way insecure. In the presence—and in these days every corner of the land, not to say of the world, is in a sense present to our mental vision—in the presence of every variety of human (and animal) misery, of vice and crime and violence, and inherited degradation and disease, of changes and dangers and crumblings away of every refuge, who can wonder if men and women refuse to be satisfied with shallow or conventional explanations of the fearful problems confronting them and challenging their faith? The glibness, the exasperating completeness, the unconscious blasphemy, of many “orthodox” vindications of Providence, are enough to disgust people with mere orthodoxy.

We Christians have been roughly awakened by the storm, and are beginning to recognize that we needed such a correcting and sifting of our thought and language as modern attacks are abundantly supplying. At such a moment it is surely an unspeakable privilege for any religious body to be entirely unshackled by creeds and formularies; to have nothing in its tradition or practices to hinder it from profiting by this process of correction, or from uttering its perennial and unalterable testimony in the freshest and most flexible and modern language it can command. And perhaps it is a still greater privilege, in the midst of this Babel, to have learned the thrice-blessed power of silence; to have secured both in private and in public the opportunity and the practice of dwelling silently upon that which is unspeakable and unchangeable; of witnessing to the light in that stillness which most clearly reflects the Divine glory, in which the accusations of the enemy are most effectually quenched.

And not only do people in these days want purer expressions of faith; they need also stronger proofs of the reality of its objects. I do not, of course, mean new proofs; I do not mean that really new evidence can ever be forthcoming in favour of eternal truth, though fresh aspects and illustrations and revelations of it are indeed crowding upon us day by day. I mean rather that the battle which was formerly fought by single champions here and there has now broken forth along the whole line; that in these days, whether we will or no, we are all in the thick of the fight; that no one can help hearing the deepest of all truths called in question at every turn; and that we need weapons, if not of tougher quality, yet of readier use and more thoroughly proved, more honestly our own, than those which may have sufficed in former times. We need, I believe, moral and spiritual rather than merely intellectual proof of the reality of that which alone can satisfy the human spirit in its deepest needs. Let creeds, like all other beliefs, be sifted, and tested, and corrected, and proved or disproved, and in every way dealt with as truth may require. Those whose one object is truth can have nothing to dread from any serious and legitimate handling of any question whatever. But, when all is said and thought, it remains for ever true that man cannot by searching find out God; while yet without Him what good shall our lives do us? It is not by supplying people with the wisest and truest replies to their difficulties that they can be effectually armed against them. Second-hand belief is poor comfort in days when authority of all kinds is so freely discredited. And at all times and under all circumstances something more than theory is required for victory.

For what, after all, is this “faith,” which above all things we who have even a grain of it must desire to hold forth to others? “This is the victory which overcometh the world, even our faith.” It is a power, not a mere belief; and power can be shown only in action, only in overcoming resistance. Power that shall lift us one by one above temptations, above cares, above selfishness; power that shall make all things new, and subdue all things unto itself; power by which loss is transmuted into gain, tribulation into rejoicing, death itself into the gate of everlasting life;—is not this the true meaning of faith?

I see no possible means of spreading such faith as this but to exercise it; in our own persons, as the way is prepared for us, to work righteousness, to obtain promises, out of weakness to be made strong, to wax valiant in fight—yes, and to receive our dead raised to life again. These are the proofs which will convince the world “of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment;” these, not reasonings, are the proofs of a Divine Fountain of life and power to which Friends have been taught to attach weight. Formularies, even the most perfect in their day, and the most venerable in their origin, will wear out. The meaning of language shifts, and the changing lights of knowledge distort whatever forms do not change with them; but the power of an endless life will never lose its hold on human hearts; and the need for help from the cloud of witnesses compassing us about was never sorer than in our own days.

Around us from all sides comes the cry, spoken or unspoken, “Give us of your oil.” But we who are not unsupplied are being sternly taught to reply, “Not so; but go ye to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.”

“To them that sell.” The “water of life” is for all that are athirst; the “wine and milk” are without money and without price. But the oil, the supply of light for other lives, this must truly be bought with a price. Not at second-hand, not by sitting at our ease and absorbing the thoughts of others, can we become as lamps to show forth the path of life. Our own hearts must first be baptized with fire, and our knowledge bought at the cost of suffering. It is such dearly-bought knowledge alone which can enable any one to raise a standard round which others will rally in fighting the good fight of faith.

The special struggle of our day is a struggle for truth. We who have been bold to call ourselves children of light, shall we not boldly join hands with all who are struggling towards the light? Shall we not be willing and ready to lay aside every weight,—not only every hindering possession or habit, but every vain endeavour to bind in the truth of God by human formularies and definitions,—and unreservedly trust to the living teaching of the Spirit for ourselves and others, “looking for God in holiness, that we may behold His power and glory?”

Holiness—that is, obedience—is surely the rock upon which alone we can build any faith that will endure. Standing firmly on that rock, and on that only, we may hope to catch some glimpses of the Divine mysteries. “Clouds and darkness are round about Thee, but righteousness and truth are the habitation of Thy throne.” It ill becomes us to attempt to explain all the dealings of God with man, still more the mysteries of the Divine Being and Nature; and that which must for ever remain a mystery to the most faithful of His children it is idle indeed to undertake to explain to others. Yet let us never flinch from bearing witness to that of which through these awful clouds we have from time to time been permitted to obtain some broken vision. Let us never cease to do what in us lies to persuade our fellows to lift their eyes also to the heavens, and though the vision may tarry, to wait for it in steadfast patience. They may call us dreamers, and we may think them blind. When we speak of the stars, they may say we are idly romancing about a mere painted ceiling. But the end is not yet. No roof of human workmanship will endure for ever. Sooner or later all that is of earth must perish and crumble away. Then is the time for the children of light to “lift up their heads,” knowing that “their redemption draweth nigh.”

For beyond all words and all proofs lies the true anchorage of the spirit, to which every firmly rooted life bears a witness neither needing nor admitting of utterance. Deeper than all need of mere conviction is the need of rest and stability. We must be at rest before we can be free. In quietness and in confidence is our strength. While our hearts are tossed and agitated by every wave of this troublesome world, while the shadows of passing things have power to distract and confuse our vision, we cannot clearly discern that truth which alone can make us free.

Truly “there remaineth a rest for the people of God;” a satisfying, soul-restoring fulness of rest of which some of us have begun to taste. Some of us know assuredly that nothing perishable is the habitation of our spirits. Some of us know what it is to be willingly brought into an order flowing perceptibly and perpetually from the one unchangeable will of God, in which alone can our own will be harmonized and made steadfast. Some of us are learning ever more and more fully to accept the Father’s will because it is the will of the Father, entering more and more truly day by day into the spirit of sonship. To experience in our own hearts the harmonizing, purifying, invigorating power of the Divine will is to be at rest for ourselves and for others; not to be set free from suffering or to become indifferent to it, but to be undisturbed by it—to know that underneath all the agitations of the creatures are the everlasting arms; to receive strength to consent to whatever is ordained by that blessed will, and to resist whatever is opposed to it.

In thus taking up the cross, we begin to see something of its glory, to experience something of its redeeming power. When we have ourselves passed from death unto life, having been led through “sundry kinds of death” into ever fuller and more abundant life, then indeed we can bear witness to the redeeming power of Christ; then we speak of what we do know, and our hands have handled, of the Word of life; then we are on our own ground.

It has ever been our belief that the light of Christ, the brightness of the Father’s glory, is (through obedience to light, even while in ignorance of its source) purifying the hearts of many who name not His Name—who are not yet able to recognize the blessed Face from which the light shines. But the fulness of “the light which no man can approach unto” is surely reserved for those who stand before the throne of God and of the Lamb, and with full purpose of heart bow in adoration before Him that sitteth thereon.

We claim to be a people who have found rest in God; a people building our house upon the rock, through obedience to those “words of eternal life” given forth by Christ, the Word. We recognize His Voice as speaking to us, not only in the pages of Scripture, but also in the whole course of life as ordered by Him; and yet more closely in the inmost chamber of our own hearts; and we desire to yield to it an undivided allegiance.

Our calling is, as branches of the living Vine, to let the working of that Voice, Light, Spirit, and Grace of Christ be shown forth in our own lives; and, as power may be given us, to bear witness of it also in words; baptizing and being baptized into the one Name in which alone is salvation.

If, therefore, we have so unassailable a stronghold, so deep and immovable a foundation, let us never cease to look up steadfastly into heaven, if so be we may “see the heavens opened;” that we may receive into our hearts, and reflect with ever-increasing fulness in our lives, the rays of the Sun of Righteousness. The vision may indeed be intercepted again and again by the driving clouds; our sight may fail or falter; but the glory itself is unchangeable, and it is in reflecting that glory alone that any human face can be, to those that stand by, “as the face of an angel”—of a Divinely appointed messenger of glad tidings.

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