I wrote the following as a conference paper, for a conference on Inter-religious Ritual which was held in Glasgow early in 2020. It’s been sitting around for a while – I hoped some of it might contribute to a book chapter, but that hasn’t been possible. Recently, Mark Russ wrote in a blog post called Should Quakers Drop ‘Worship’ to be More Inclusive? that “this kind of pluralism treats Quaker Meeting as an empty space in which we can all play our own individual games of solitaire.”
It reminded me of this paper – specifically, that I had written before about how Quaker worship might be silent but that doesn’t mean it’s blank. Instead, in this paper I argue that practices of silence (including Quaker worship, moments of interfaith silence, and Remembrance Day silences) can be rich with content, and that we can notice this when we look at the rules which create the silent practice. I might put some of these points differently today, but have resisted the temptation to start re-writing the whole thing; I don’t expect everyone to agree with it all, but hope it’s a helpful exploration of one possible way of thinking about this.
A Quaker who is also a member of the committee for a local interfaith group explained to me a while ago that their committee meetings begin and end with a short period of silence. This practise was introduced by the Quakers, she told me, and everyone else likes it too. Although I haven’t been able to check either of those claims, they both seem plausible. From her point of view as a Quaker, this account makes it seem that everyone is welcomed by this Quaker practice. Quakers often suggest such silences for inclusion in interfaith ritual – ranging from two to perhaps ten minutes. It is common to make the assumption that everyone can participate in silence, at least for short periods, and that silence contains no theological content – nothing you could disagree with. In this paper, I want to explore this claim enough to see whether, theoretically, it might be true or not, and to suggest some ways in which silence might be disruptive or objectionable. To do this, I am going to look briefly at what silence is and how it is used in the Quaker context, compare this with the ways in which silence can be used in interreligious ritual, raise what I think are some of the significant problems, and finally offer an example from the Quaker tradition which makes them explicit.
If you know one thing about Quakers, it’s probably that… well, actually, it’s probably that Quakers are pacifists or that some porridge sellers used their name because it sounded honest. But if you know one thing about Quaker practice, it’s probably that Quakers worship in silence. Although some Quakers internationally have developed other forms of worship, the use of silence – or what might be better described as unprogrammed worship – is an important Quaker tradition and remains the most widely used form of Quaker worship in Europe, many parts of North America, Southern Africa, and other places.
The aim of Quaker silence is stillness – to “give over thine own willing” – but also listening – to hear the “still small voice” of “that of God within”. Allowing space for these complex processes, Quaker meeting for worship usually allows about an hour of silence. The first part of the process might be compared with the submission to the will of God of other faith traditions, such as Islam, although it is also often compared to the quieting of the mind characteristic of some forms of Buddhist practice. The second part, listening for God’s voice, gives rise to a practice which might be better compared to a charismatic or Pentecostal church tradition, as Quakers “feel led” or are moved to speak into the silence. This practice, of giving spoken ministry as directed by the movement of the Spirit, arises from silence but clarifies that silence itself is a tool used in Quaker worship rather than the core of the Quaker worship practice. Using terminology drawn from Wittgenstein’s talk of ‘language-games’ (things like telling a joke or asking for something), I sometimes talk about ‘religion-games’. In order to be playing the Quaker worship religion-game, the rules have to allow for the possibility of spoken ministry, even if on a particular occasion nobody is so moved.
The silence used in interreligious ritual is probably not of this type. Very roughly, I distinguish between two religion-games which both look like short silences: one where the purpose is to be fully present and settle oneself in the silence, and one where the purpose is to recall personally aspects of some specific theme. The silences described to me as being used at the interfaith committee meeting where probably of the first type – a short pause in which people were able to focus on the task at hand, setting aside other concerns. A Quaker grace, a short period of silence before or during a meal, would probably be of the second type, especially if someone introducing it directs the diners to “give thanks for food and fellowship” or something similar. Indeed, both types of silences are used among Quakers – but sometimes, especially a longer pause at the beginning or end of a committee meeting, can be under the full rules of Quaker worship, so that from time to time someone will speak during it. Thoughts on the work before the committee or requests for ‘upholding’, a Quaker form of supportive or intercessory prayer, are common.
However, both forms of silence can also avoid this characteristic of Quaker worship. Unless someone tests it, it can be difficult to know in a specific case whether it would be acceptable – but we can give examples where it would certainly be unacceptable. Consider a silence of the second type, the pause for remembrance often used in churches and secular spaces on occasions of national importance. If the group have been asked to hold a two minute silence to remember the fallen, for example, giving spoken ministry during that silence is clearly inappropriate. It is a silence, but not a Quaker silence, because although one might be open to hearing the voice of God during that time, it would be socially unacceptable to act on any promptings to share that message with others. If the silences used in interreligious ritual are of this kind – and in my experience they frequently are, even when introduced by Quakers – it isn’t clear that they are specifically Quaker silences, since they don’t follow the rules for Quaker silent or unprogrammed worship.
If that’s so, why are the claims about the universal accessibility of silence so attractive and why do Quakers like to see themselves are offering something particular when they suggest silence as a mode of interreligious participation? Perhaps they’re just egotistical! Any group can fall into the trap of imagining that what they do is unique and that they make a special contribution, when this is not in fact the case. I’m sure that there is some of this happening. However, I think there are also some other dynamics at work.
Firstly, it is true that there is a universality about not speaking. Chris Lord, a PhD student at Birmingham, is currently working on the connections between silent worship practices and animal rights – he argues that even for animals like humans which can speak, refraining from speaking may be a way to come closer to a non-human animal consciousness and form bonds of equality, not just between humans, but across species. Demographic data on Quakers might lead us to question some of the assumptions here – the use of silence in Quaker worship does not actually result in a fully just faith community where people of all ethnicities and social backgrounds are included equally – but it does get at something true about the experience of silence as something which can be, whether of choice or necessity, shared across cultural and other boundaries.
Secondly, there are also the psychological aspects of silence. It may be good for your mind, as recent studies have suggested, but it can also be daunting. One of the reasons I think Quakers often back down from offering true Quaker worship in interreligious spaces is that it requires a long period of silence, perhaps at least ten or fifteen minutes, in a world where the two minutes of remembrance is often felt to be a long period of public silence! In open silence, many people find unwanted thoughts rising up – meditation teachers offer a wide range of techniques to deal with this, suggesting that it’s an extremely common experience – and some may find that silence triggers specific recollections of trauma or reminds them of previous distressing circumstances. Particularly of interest here are those for whom silence is a reminder of being silenced, either speaking and being ignored or being unable to speak for whatever reason. The silence of Quaker worship can come with other rules which turn out to silence some voices, but it is intended to have space for people – and through them, God – to speak. Public silences which do not allow that possibility may be even more distressing.
Thirdly, although silence in all its complexity and difficulty is universal in some ways, the decision to champion it is relatively unusual in modern society. This is not just about recent developments in terms of technology, but might date back to the industrial revolution or before – the attitude wider society takes to silence is deeply bound up with ideas about waiting, wasting time, and the need to be productive. Many traditions could bring silent practices to offer in interreligious spaces, but at the moment, it seems that Quakers often take the role of championing this option.
They may do so for the wrong reasons. The choice of Quaker worship is often related to a desire to embrace the creedless and non-doctrinaire approach which Quakers take to theology. In Britain today, the average age of becoming a Quaker was 43 in a recent study, and many of those people who arrive at Quaker worship have previous experience of one or more other religious traditions. There’s a strong sense sometimes that people embrace Quaker silence because they see it as open to all interpretations and as having no theological content. This is understandable because of the Quaker rejection of creeds and frequently refusal to discuss theology in formal ways – people should discover theological truths for themselves, through experience – but it also underestimates the amount of theological content which is present in the rules of the Quaker worship religion-game.
To set out in silence to listen for the voice of God (or the movement of the Spirit, or the Inner Light, or any number of other ways which Quakers might express this process), participants need to accept that there is something to listen for, speaking now, and that it can be heard through this route. Members of other faiths may not accept these claims for all sorts of theologically well-grounded reasons. (How do you know it was God you heard and not Satan? If you want to know what God says, why not read the Bible or Quran? If God is internal or maybe non-existent or irrelevant to our path to enlightenment, why think of it in these terms?) Quakers can suggest answers to many of these questions, but they are usually not raised or addressed in the context of interreligious liturgy. Instead, the sense of silence as a universal is allowed to stand instead.
To close this paper, I want to offer an example of time when Quakers – noticing some of the issues which I raise here – rejected a silence which was felt to be too secular and to be serving purposes which opposed Quaker ones. I give this example to explore a case in which Quakers themselves were aware of the theological laden and open quality of Quaker silence, as opposed to some other silences. This symbolic rejection of silence took place at Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre, where my colleague Mark Russ and some others left the building before a Remembrance Day silence was held inside. Instead, they gathered around an apple tree in the garden and sang a peace-themed Taize chant. (The relationship between Taize and Quaker practice is a paper for another day!) When I asked Mark about this, he explained that he had felt the silence in remembrance of war was too secular and lacked freedom of choice; it seemed imposed from outside and the reasons for holding it were not in line with his pacifist convictions. It was a silencing silence, rather than one into which people would be free to speak if moved by God to do so.
What I think is happening in this case is the reverse of the interfaith cases I discussed earlier. Rather than silence being seen as empty and universal, the Remembrance Day silence is clearly located in a social context which links it to specific previous events – and, sometimes, to specific views of those events, including the idea that remembrance can be used for political purposes or to justify future war rather than as a reminder of the need to work for peace. If Quakers took this view more widely, they might be more cautious about both imposing silences on others, and about clarifying the rules of Quaker silence. A moment’s hush can be universal, or at least widely beneficial, for practical and psychological as well as spiritual reasons. But we should be careful about any claims that this practice is specifically Quaker. The rules of Quaker worship are not those of a minute’s silence, and just because silences seem superficially similar, we should not make the mistake of assuming they are the same or interchangeable.