The Best "Lord's Prayer"

I love Jesus's prayer in Matthew 6:9–13 for its uncomplicated message for believers wanting to be more like Him and aligning their expectations with the will of God. Clearly, Jesus's focus in His concise prayer is on the majesty, beneficence, and power of Father God in our lives.

After this manner therefore pray ye:

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.

This prayer is not focused on human empowerment at all; rather, it is all about what Father God can, does, and will do for His believers. Yet, progressivechristianity.org writer Francis Mcnab incorrectly and anthro-centeredly rewrites how we are to pray to God in the passage. First, note that Mcnab immediately removes the fatherhood of God (disregarding Jesus’s specific address as trivial or outdated). Then, note how many more times Mcnab adds us, we, and our compared to the original Scripture. Note the additions of “within us” to the passage (shifting the outward power of God to the inward power of His adherents). Note also Mcnab’s emotional emphases of avoiding anxiety, rising above ugly realities, overlooking stupid people, and feeling personal acceptance in life. Speaking of which, note how the kingdom of God is demoted to simply being the kingdom of life—which is what? Nature? And while Mcnab does end his translation with three “Yous,” readers are left to ponder just exactly who (or what) the “good caring presence” is that Mcnab refers to initially in his narcissistic version. Read for yourself:

Good caring presence within us, around us, and above us;
Hold us in a sense of mystery and wonder.
Let the fullness of your goodness be within us and around us;
Let all the world know your ways of caring and generosity.

May we find we have all we need
to meet each day without undue anxiety.
Overlook our many stupidities, and help us
to release everyone from their stupidities.

May we all know that we are accepted.
Strengthen us that we will reach out
to the best, always with the faith
to rise above the ugly realities of our existence.

And we celebrate the gifts you have given us –
the rich kingdom of life’s possibilities
the power to do good and the triumphs of good
and the moments when we have seen
the glory and wonder of everything.

You are life’s richness.
You are life’s power.
You are life’s ultimate meaning –
Amen.

This is not a paraphrase of the Lord’s Prayer; it is a humanist, self-empowering, eisegetical revision wherein the profane replaces the Divine. Even Mcnab’s inclusion of “Amen” (So be it) at the end feels more like blasphemy than any affirmation of biblical truth. A better basic takeaway of the Lord’s Prayer might include the following conclusions:

  • We are to think of God as our divine Father (Jesus even calls Him, "Abba” [daddy], in Mark 14:36 and the apostle Paul calls Him, "Abba," in Romans 8:15 & Galatians 4:6).

  • God lives in heaven, is holy, and is the King of Kings.

  • God alone is our great Provider, our Mercy, our Model, our Protector, and our Deliverer.

  • Father God can all do all these things because He is the One, true, loving eternal God.

To flip the script might feel good to some (as in Mcnab’s Prayer) but it runs dangerously contrary to the reality of our relationship with God—according to Jesus Christ (and the Word of God). Ultimately, the authoritative prayer of Jesus requires His followers to be humble, unpolitical, submissive, supportive, and grateful to Father God—absolutely asserting the singularity of God's importance in our lives. There can be no greater or “good-er” news than that! Can I get an Amen?

A Comparison of “She Walks in Beauty” by Lord Byron and “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” by John Keats

In nineteenth-century English Literature, Lord Byron and John Keats are famous for their Romantic poetry, which often displays a lyrical and mystical connection between humanity and nature, specifically regarding individualism, idealism, and inspiration. The relationship of nature and humanity is often a central theme in Romantic literature with the detriments of society juxtaposed against the sublimity of the natural world.  It is this celebration of nature that leads some to suggest that “Romantic poems habitually endow the landscape with human life, passion, and expressiveness” (Greenblatt, 1373). Two such powerful poetical productions concerning this life, passion, and expressiveness are found in Byron’s poem, “She Walks in Beauty,” and Keats’ poem, “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.”  These poems have aspects that are quite similar and yet they also diverge in important ways.

Both of these poems focus on the phantasmal beauty of mysterious women who live in some wraithlike plane between real life and dreams, and who find their “haunts” in the natural world, but yet who nevertheless produce a romantic attraction to their male counterparts in these poignant poems. Though these writings and poets share some commonalities such as female beauty, mysterious bonds to nature, and male obsession with beauty, key differences remain that leads these poems to conclude much differently—one positively (Byron), and one negatively (Keats).

In regards to the shared aspect of feminine beauty that is presented by the poets, the two poems are both fixated on women of unusual loveliness and presence in nature. Keeping with Romantic literature style, the beauty of these women parallel the beauty of the world. Byron writes, “She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies” (lines 1-2) and “And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent” (lines 13-14).  For his own ethereal lady, Keats writes, “I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful—a faery’s child. Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.” (lines 13-16). Byron’s description ironically does not clear up the appearance of his love for it is hard to see at nighttime and shadows often play tricks with the eyes. Similarly, Keats brings in a supernatural notion of fairies, which are considered by most to be mythological creatures of the imagination. So, are these visions of loveliness or delusions of emotion?

This is just the start of the narrators’ details of “reality” for their wraithlike women. Despite this unusualness about their women and their environs, both poets are clearly enamored by these fantastic females (although Keats’ lady may be a femme fatale) and are almost obsessed by their majesty.  Byron contemplates his loves’ facial features and states, “Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place” (lines 11-12) and describing his own response to his woman’s charms, Keats remarks, “I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery’s song” (lines 21-24).  Their looks are entrancing and the narrators linger to ponder their exquisiteness; in fact, one could easily correlate the intensity of inspiration of these women with the inspiration of their surreal surroundings.

Additionally, as alluded to earlier, both poems share in a mystical landscape wherein reality is unsure and the narrators could be dreaming or they could be in an enchanted scene.  Discussing the manifestation of his lady love, Byron writes, “One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace” (lines 7-8).  This impairment limits full awareness of what is reality for Byron. Keats also offers his own twist on situational reality when he writes, “She took me to her elfin grot” (line 29).  In both poems, the women exist in ghostly (or magical) fashion, although they have deep, emotional and physical connections to their male interests. Yet, for both men, they recognize that their perception of these women could be fictitious or perhaps just in their heads.  Perhaps Keats sums it up best when he says, “And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream’d On the cold hill’s side.” (line 34-36).

These poems do, however, take a different turn when it comes to the ultimate consequence of the relationship between the narrators and their women. Like nature, which has positive and negative elements, these women, too, show this range between security and threat. For Byron, his perception and appraisal of the woman is beneficial and complimentary. He concludes his poem with “A heart whose love is innocent!” (line 18). Of his positive relationship, Byron writes earlier, “But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below” (lines 16-17).  This romantic relationship brings harmony for the narrator even with the natural world.

For Keats, the liaison he has with his “fairy’s child” (line 14) could be considered more of a curse than a blessing despite the proclamations of love for the narrator by the woman—“She look’d at me as she did love, And made sweet moan” (lines 19-20) and “And sure in language strange she said—I love thee true” (lines 28-29). Yet, this love comes with a steep price. Offering a more somber and sardonic tone, Keats writes, “I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side” (lines 41-44). Keats’ relationship with the woman ends in anxiety and stagnation, which is expressed in the last hopeless lines of this poem—“And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing” (lines 46-49). This love sees no life echoed in nature, no hope for the future.

“She Walks in Beauty” and “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” are expertly and carefully written by Byron and Keats so as to enlighten the reader regarding the passion and significance of these women in the lives of the narrators, but the passion depicted in each poem also brings the narrators to a different end. For Byron, the love of the narrator for his woman gives him great peace of mind and sets his heart, unfettered in love, soaring. For Keats, the love of the fairy for the narrator brings him only false security and eventually nightmares, producing in him a sense of hopelessness and malaise.

It is reasonable to assume that these Romantic poets saw an easy correlation between human relationships and the dynamic natural state of the world. As with all human relationships, sometimes life in the wild is pleasant, but all too often, it is a cold, lifeless desert. Always, though, nature is full of mystery, passion, and significance—providing ample subjects for the poet and tales of admonition for the reader.

Works Cited 

Greenblatt, Stephen, ed., et al. “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.” In The Norton Anthology of English Literature.  8th ed. Vol 2.  New York:  W. W. Norton & Company, 2006. Print.

________.  “She Walks in Beauty.” In The Norton Anthology of English Literature.  8th ed. Vol 2.  New York:  W. W. Norton & Company, 2006. Print.

In Search of a Clever and Ingenious Narrative

In the literary field, it can be assumed that both writer and reader are in constant search of a “good story” (Bennett and Royle, 55). Authors carry out this endeavor by creating works that hopefully engage with readers in matters of culture, emotion, psychology, gender, economics, etc. Readers, both professional and amateur, look for works that resonate with them in a variety of ways, often leading to differing conclusions as to the meaning, value, and success of any particular book or short story.  Ironically, while writers attempt to compose their works in ways that impart significant truths to the reader, these truths may be overlooked by the reader or underemphasized by the author. D. F. Hurley suggests, “Interpretations and evaluations make stories into sites where debates over values and power take place” (Hurley, 92).  Substantiating this, Bennett and Royle state, “The telling of a story is always bound up with power, with questions of authority, property and domination” (Bennett and Royle, 52).  Thus, some works defy simple conclusions and normal analyses sought after by both author and reader.

This reality is evident when reading Albert Camus’ “The Guest”—a short story about a French-Algerian schoolmaster who is forced to leave his comfortable lodgings in order to deliver an Arabian convict to a local prison.  In Camus’ existentialist narrative, several instances of political oppression contrasting with individual freedom can be perceived; however, the overall significance of the characters, plot development, etc. are left open, which stirs up matters of debate in literary circles today.  As Muhlestein remarks, “Key aspects of the story are still in controversy, including what to make of Daru [the protagonist]” (Muhlestein, 223).  Furthermore, Camus’ purpose and methods for writing “The Guest” appears to challenge literary conventions of narrative power and enlightenment assumed by many (such as Bennett and Royle) to be a requirement of the “good story” or at least of a typical one.

“The Guest” presents to the reader a dramatic narrative in which Daru, the Algerian, is depicted in battle for control over his own circumstances and in which the final outcome for Daru’s “Guest” (the Arab) is uncertain. These two characters (if not all of the characters) are given some opportunity to voice or affect their liberties. This is a crucial aspect for Bennett and Royle who state, “Narrative power, then, may be the only strategy left for the weak and dispossessed: without narrative power, they may not be heard” (Bennett and Royle, 58).  In literary works, the narrator should provide a chance for the oppressed characters to voice their frustrations and hopes in the story. Sometimes the author of a narrative uses his or her story to champion for an idea or person that otherwise would have been ignored or suppressed by dominant powers. This typically provides an opportunity for positive movement in the story for the oppressed to lessen their burdens, at least philosophically if not physically. Yet, Interestingly, if this is true, it is hardly evident in “The Guest,” for all the characters share the same situational impotence and frustration from the beginning to the end of this tale—it is if they are yelling into the desert winds and only can be barely heard.

Camus begins his story with Daru’s warm, comfortable, and uncomplicated fortress of solitude adjacent to the “empty, frigid classroom” (Camus, 86) being threatened with the presence of two approaching men.  The tension rises in the narrative as the men get closer and closer and the narrator tells a bit about Daru and the political circumstances surrounding his life. Daru lives a Spartan existence “nonetheless satisfied with the little he had and with the rough life, [for he] had felt like a lord with his whitewashed walls, his narrow couch, his unpainted shelves, his well, and his weekly provision of water and food” (Camus, 88). When confronted with his appointed duty, Daru initially resists being saddled with delivering the Arab and tells the soldier that "every bit of this disgusts me, and first of all your fellow here. But I won't hand him over. Fight, yes, if I have to. But not that" (Camus, 95), yet Daru effectively basically acquiesces to the authorities’ demands in the end. Balducci, the soldier delivering the Arab, is sympathetic to Daru but remarks to him that he is only following orders, that “the orders exist and they concern you [Daru] too (Camus, 91-92), and that “No one is safe, we're all in the same boat" (Camus, 94). The Arab, perhaps the most weak and dispossessed figure in this story, when given the opportunity to defend himself in a “woeful interrogation” with Daru, remains silent and “open-mouthed” (Camus, 100).

Finally, when Daru returns to the schoolhouse after risking his own freedom by providing an escape route for the Arab, Daru is confronted with a threatening note on the blackboard, which states, "You handed over our brother. You will pay for this" (Camus, 109). Daru is powerless to respond in defense to the Arab’s allies’ allegations and threat, so is left feeling “alone” (Camus, 109) and without options.  His cherished home has now become enemy territory, and he has become “the Guest.” Again, Camus has provided a voice for the weak and powerless in this novel, but no accompanying direct strategy for rescue or change, although Camus has provided an indirect strategy, perhaps, for Daru and the Arab.

Camus’ characters are clearly good examples of the unheard voice referred to in the aforementioned Bennett and Royle quotation.  Daru is clearly being presented as one of the “weak and dispossessed” (Bennett and Royle, 58), as is the Arab and the soldier. Balducci, the soldier in the story, pays no attention to Daru’s complaints about being left with the Arab for he was, too; the Arab is presented only as a pawn in this game of war and submissively accepts his fate without any fight.  However, “The Guest” demonstrates the passive-aggressive strategy of Daru to free himself of both the unwanted duty of turning over the Arab to the prison and of implicating himself by actively freeing the man. Thus, the narrative options of delivery or freeing of the Arab prisoner is not the only strategy presented in “The Guest.”  Daru attempts to avoid his obligation (and accompanying guilt) by empowering the Arab to affect his escape. 

In existentialist fashion, the narrator has given both Daru and the Arab opportunities to assert their individuality by having Daru allow the Arab to choose which path to take—either to prison or freedom. Thus, both men are presented at crossroads of their own decisions—each one risking their liberties and life. Of course, in the end, it still ends up a potentially pointless act for “Daru, with heavy heart, made out the Arab walking slowly on the road to prison” (Camus, 109) and Daru’s life is threatened when he returns home.  Nevertheless, unconventional options were provided in this narrative by Camus for Daru, the Arab, and, possibly, for protagonists in other stories in situations concerning powerlessness and oppression.  However, these alternatives are not without risk or consequence to the individual and neither do they guarantee success—as is the case for all human beings. The overall effect of this narrative choice has led many to feel frustrated by Camus’ story, but perhaps that was part of Camus’ incentive—to help readers feel the existentialist angst.

Additionally, the overall purpose and meaning behind this narrative has left some literary critics unsure of their final evaluation of “The Guest.”  Muhlestein calls it “a puzzling text” (Muhlestein, 223) and Hurley states that it “deserves special scrutiny now” (Hurley, 79) considering the change in international politics.  Beyond such political interpretations that may lend themselves to Deconstructionism, questions still remain concerning this story regarding Daru’s treatment of the Arab, and the Arab’s choice to continue on to prison alone. As Bennett and Royle suggest, readers read out of curiosity and have an innate desire to understand why a character does what he/she does in the end of the story. This concluding knowledge brings them satisfaction; therefore, any story that fails this objective creates an imbalanced reader/story relationship and frustrates the readers’ expectations.  People need closure, presumably.  They state, “A part of the equilibrium that endings apparently offer is the satisfaction of epistemophilia, the reader’s desire to know” (Bennett and Royle, 55).

Camus could have provided the key information for these characters’ motivations.  Yet, the key passage detailing the actions of both Daru and the Arab lack any clear indication for either character’s choices.  Instead, only uncertainty and frustration are presented to the reader.  Camus writes,

He [Daru] turned his back on him, took two long steps in the direction of the school, looking hesitantly at the motionless Arab and started off again. For a few minutes he heard nothing but his own step resounding on the cold ground and did not turn his head. A moment later, however, he turned around. The Arab was still there on the edge of the hill his arms hanging now, and he was looking at the schoolmaster. Daru felt something rise in his throat. But he swore with impatience, waved vaguely, and started off again. He had already gone some distance when he again stopped and looked. There was no longer anyone on the hill.

Daru hesitated. The sun was now rather high in the sky and was beginning to beat down on his head. The schoolmaster retraced his steps at first somewhat uncertainly then with decision. When he reached the little hill he was bathed in sweat. He climbed it as fast as he could and stopped. Out of breath at the top. The rock-fields to the south stood out sharply against the blue sky but on the plain to the east a steamy heat was already rising. And in that slight haze Daru with heavy heart made out the Arab walking slowly on the road to prison (Camus, 108-109).

 Bennett and Royle’s aforementioned understanding of endings is definitely challenged by this passage for it fails their test of epistemophilia. If final knowledge is necessary for reader equilibrium, then this story comes up lacking, but this assumes that all readers are of the same mindset—an uncertain notion at best.  The reader is informed of both the indecision of the Arab and the anger of Daru over the Arab’s passivity, but not why either character ultimately feels that way. Does the Arab go the way to prison because he is stupid? Is it because he is hoping his submission will grant him mercy?  For Daru, is he frustrated because the Arab has chosen imprisonment over freedom, or is he afraid the prison authorities will now know for certain he shirked his responsibilities and, in fact, was incredibly inept at his job? These questions go unanswered in the end, leading to “40 years of analysis” (Muhlestein, 223).

Additionally, whether the Arab will flee to safety or imprisonment is undetermined for Daru only sees the Arab walking slowly to the prison; the reader never finds out if the Arab makes it there or changes his mind.  Furthermore, later on in the story, the final outcome for Daru is also unknown as his own life is threatened by the Arab’s brothers despite his “help” to him. Ironically, Daru’s life at the schoolhouse has become a prison, too, and he also is faced with the choice to stay or flee for his life—should he flee to safety or stay the course? As such, the reader is kept in limbo until the end of the story (and even after) and no balance or closure is ever actualized for either the protagonist or the reader.  Thus, in many ways, this story is a sort of anti-narrative narrative; yet, in its imbalance, this story works well to portray the striving and frustration inherent to human existence.

Some might consider the indecisive “ending” of Daru and the Arab to be only the reality of individual existence. Bennett and Royle’s assumption of adequate knowledge might be unreasonable or unrealistic for all literary works. In fact, knowledge might just lead people to new questions—a conclusion potentially satisfying to some, but not others.  With this in mind, Camus might be presenting a tale showing universally what it means to be human—we are all powerless, we all have unwanted obligations, we all must choose to acquiesce or to resist, but the final outcome may remain unsatisfying or undetermined.

Bennett and Royle’s understanding of the narrative has several valid points when it comes to how a storyline typically should be presented (good narratives champion often suppressed voices and provide closure); however, they also point out the “paradoxical attractions of a good story,” as “The Guest” apparently should be labeled.  Camus’ existentialist use of tension, irony, and contradiction are evident in the characters’ present actions and the presumed final outcomes for both Daru and the Arab.

Analyzing this story without giving adequate notice to these factors can only lead to greater frustration and confusion.  Just as the reader has a motivation for reading a work, so too does the author for writing it. Bennett and Royle state, “We might consider another important aspect of narrative, namely the relation between the teller and listener and reader” (Bennett and Royle, 56). Without acknowledging the existentialist purposefulness of Camus’ narrative structure and its handling of the oppressed voices, “The Guest” could easily be considered a poorly written and unsatisfying story instead of a clever and ingenious narrative about individual moral choices and their consequences.

Works Cited 

Bennett, Andrew and Nicholas Royle. 2004. Introduction to Literature, Criticism and Theory. Great Britain: Pearson Education.

Camus, Albert. 1958. Exile and the Kingdom. U.S.A.: Alfred A. Knopf.

Hurley, D. F. 1993. “Looking for the Arab: Reading the Readings of Camus’s ‘The Guest,’” in Studies in Short Fiction 30: 79-93.

Muhlestein, Daniel K. 1999. “A Teacher and His Student: Subversion and Containment in Camus’s ‘The Guest,’” in Studies in Short Fiction 36: 223-234.

SENTIMENTAL THEOLOGY: THE QUAKER WAY OF CONNECTING WITH GOD AND OTHERS

Introduction

Few people would dispute that, historically, humanity has instinctively relied upon logic and emotion to chart the course of our lives, both personally and corporately. As thinking beings, we wrestle and ruminate with all that is observable, tangible, and impactful—embracing the moments and meanings that enrich our existence, but often desperately expulsing (mentally, physically, or spiritually) that which spawns sorrow or suffering in our journey through life. As Huxley remarks, “The world is neither wise nor just, but it makes up for all its folly and injustice by being damnably sentimental.”[1]

From the first book of the Bible (Genesis), when God’s creation (Adam) experienced loneliness (Gen 2:18–22, NASB)[2] to its last book of Revelation, where God “will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain” (Rev 21:4), feelings are both a descriptor and motivator in human interactions. It is not inconceivable, then, that (fearing for his safety) Abraham pretended that his wife (Sarah) was his sister (Gen 12:10–20); that (ashamed of his deed) Moses hid the body of the Egyptian he murdered in the sand (Exo 2:11–13); that King David danced joyfully before the Ark of the Covenant returning to Jerusalem (2 Sam 6:14–22); that Elijah fell into a depressed stupor from the vicious threats of wicked Jezebel (1 Kings 19:4–14); that the prophet Jeremiah wept for the people of Judah in their rebellion (Jer 4:19—6:14); that monstrous King Herod ordered his soldiers to slaughter all the toddler boys around Bethlehem who he thought were a threat to his throne (Matthew 1:16–18); that the apostle James admonished all his Jewish brethren in Christ to be joyful in their troubles useful for their sanctification (James 1:2–4); that the apostle Paul encouraged the church in Philippi (despite Paul’s being imprisoned) to rejoice in Christ and to fix their emotions upon good, true, and excellent things (Phil 4:4–9). Many more biblical examples can be easily found.

Moreover, the sentimentalism of humanity is equally evident in all the world’s subcultures and dramatic tales throughout the ages. In The Iliad, written in eighth-century Greece (BCE), Homer writes, “Forged on the eternal anvils of the god. Grief and revenge his furious heart inspire, His glowing eyeballs roll with living fire; He grinds his teeth, and furious with delay O'erlooks the embattled host, and hopes the bloody day.”[3] In Suentonius’s The Lives of the Twelve Caesars (published in 121 CE), speaking of the despotic Roman Emperor Caligula, the author writes, “Even in those days, his cruel and vicious character was beyond his control, and he was an eager spectator of torture and executions meted out in punishment.”[4]

Not just a pagan or Greco-Roman phenomenon, sentimentalism is evident even within the Christian church in Europe. In the fourth-century CE, Saint Augustine confesses, “You only love your friend truly, after all, when you love God in your friend, either because he is in him, or in order that he may be in him. That is true love and respect. There is no true friendship unless You weld it between souls that cling together by the charity poured forth in their hearts by the Holy Spirit.”[5] In sixteenth-century Germany, the great reformer Martin Luther admits,

I thought to myself, “With what tongue shall I address such Majesty, seeing that all men ought to tremble in the presence of even an earthly prince? Who am I, that I should lift up mine eyes or raise my hands to the divine Majesty? The angels surround him. At his nod the earth trembles. And shall I, a miserable little pygmy, say ‘I want this, I ask for that’? For I am dust and ashes and full of sin and I am speaking to the living, eternal and the true God.”[6]

In the eighteenth-century, French Chevalier d’Aiguebelle states, “How long shall I continue to flatter myself with the fond hope of finding perfect ease and tranquility, for a soul suffering under the heaviest load of anxiety and distress! False, empty pleasures! Shall I always call on you in vain, to soothe the cruel agitations of a heart never satisfied, never at rest! Alas!”[7]—and on and on it goes.

Thus, for better or worse, rationality and sentimentality are quintessential juxtapositions of the human experience. As De Jong notes, “Defining sentimental affect in its interpersonal and social expressions . . . is no simple matter.”[8]Hendler adds, “Sometimes understood as a genre of writing or an affective mode, sometimes seen as a rhetorical strategy for movements such as abolitionism, as a structure of feeling, or as a cultural formation, always viewed as a technology for racialization and the management of other forms of difference such as gender and sexuality, sentimentalism is now a well-established keyword for the study of American cultures.”[9]

Sentiments—feelings or opinions, often being experientially based and thus very subjective, can easily lead to ideological and political leanings. As D'Arms and Jacobson suggest, “We hold that the sentimental values routinely conflict with one another and with other values, including the demands of morality and virtue. Nevertheless, reasons to feel and to act arise from these values. Fitting emotions and motives can conflict with virtuous feeling and action, and they impose limits on the hegemonic ambitions of morality.”[10] Although embedded in the human psyche created by God and often beneficent and healing, sentimentalism can also be observed to have a divisive, toxic effect upon those who express and experience it.

With the aforementioned in mind, this essay examines the “sentimental theology” prevalent within Christian culture, specifically focusing upon the Quakers of England and America from the seventeenth century through the twentieth century. Pointing to assorted primary texts by prominent Quakers in each century (along with contemporary scholarly discussion to augment historical analysis), this essay will provide evidence of the enmeshment of sentimentalism within the theology of mainstream Quakerism after its inception in the mid-seventeenth century (and in the divergent branches that followed). Finally, this essay will discuss both healthier and more toxic qualities that have historically accompanied this particular sentimental approach to the Christian faith.   

What is Sentimental Theology?

As mentioned earlier regarding the biblical texts, all humans manifest their emotions and sentiments in various ways, at various times, and for various reasons. As Plutchik notes,

An emotion is not simply a feeling state. Emotion is a complex chain of loosely connected events that begins with a stimulus and includes feelings, psychological changes, impulses to action and specific, goal-directed behavior. That is to say, feelings do not happen in isolation. They are responses to significant situations in an individual's life, and often they motivate actions.[11]

Thus, sentimentalism—having or expressing strong feelings (either positive or negative)—is ubiquitous in the historical timeline and evident, individually and collectively.

As a persistent historical phenomenon, sentimental theology is the study of God and religious beliefs through the lens of emotion, nostalgia, and utopianism, a wistful longing for spiritual things that are not as they once were—or should be—as in earlier days of the Christian faith. It was (and still is) not inherently bad nor good but has the potential for creating or causing social situations across the spectrum, either intentionally or by accident.  

Such realities are observable in many groups, including religious associations such as the Catholics, Lutherans, Puritans, Pietists, and the like, on account of the intensity of their spiritual tenets. Ultimately, though, because it mattered so much, these religious adherents felt so much. Yet, perhaps due to their proud embrace of experientialism, no other religious community incorporated sentimentalism into their faith more than the Quakers. Beginning with their genesis in the seventeenth century and continuing through the successive waves and cultural shifts that followed in the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries, the three aforementioned manifestations of sentimental theology—namely, emotion, nostalgia, and utopianism—can be clearly perceived in the writings of numerous Quaker leaders and the assorted Quaker deliberating bodies that arose to clarify their convictions and to define their doctrines throughout the centuries, highlights of which will be presented in the pages to follow.   

Emotion

Perhaps setting the precedent for those who joined him in his emotional pursuit of a pure path to spiritual connection with God,[12] George Fox (1624–1691) undertook a very personal and poignant journey to find God. Despite his earlier youthful maturity, in adulthood Fox became frustrated and downhearted in adulthood with the empty, soul-less offerings of the Church of England (and the Puritans). In his journal, he writes, “Now during the time that I was at Barnet, a strong temptation to despair came upon me. Then I saw how Christ was tempted, and mighty troubles I was in; sometimes I kept myself retired in my chamber, and often walked solitary in the chace, to wait upon the Lord.”[13]

Yet, Fox eventually found peace and purpose in life. Enthusiastically declaring his sentiments, Fox later states, “And when all my hopes in them and in all men were gone, so that I had nothing outwardly to help me, nor could I 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.”[14]

This emotional enthusiasm was not reserved for Fox alone. Once of his first converts (and a pillar of the early Quaker movement), Margaret Fell (1614–1702), has been called, “The Mother of Quakerism.” According to Quaker historian Williams, “She beautifully mothered and advised the young Christian workers and, through correspondence, kept informed as to developments of Friends groups in various parts of England and of the world.”[15]

Referring to her newfound dedication to the Lord, Fell shares, “This opened me so, that it cut me to the heart; and then I saw clearly, we were all wrong. So, I sat down in my pew again, and cried bitterly. And I cried in my spirit to the Lord, “We are all thieves, we are all thieves; we have taken the Scriptures in words and know nothing of them in ourselves.”[16]

Later, writing on the role and importance of women in Jesus’s ministry, she writes, “Thus we see that Jesus owned the love and grace that appeared in women, and did not despise it; and by what is recorded in the Scriptures, he received as much love, kindness, compassion, and tender dealing towards him from women, as he did from any others, both in his lifetime, and also after they had exercised their cruelty upon him.[17]

In later years, others shared of their own sentimental journeys. Standing firm despite the scrutiny that she had to endure under the Catholic inquisition at Malta, Katharine Evans (1618–1692) confesses,

The last day of my fast I began to be a hungry, but was afraid to eat, the enemy was so strong; but the Lord said unto me, “If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink, in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head; be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.” I did eat, and was refreshed, and glorified God; and in the midst of our extremity the Lord sent his holy angels to comfort us, so that we rejoiced and magnified God; and in the time of our great trial, the sun and earth did mourn visibly three days, and the horror of death and the pains of hell was upon me.[18]

Eventually martyred for his Quaker faith under the governance of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, William Robinson also testified (before his death), “For the Lord had said unto me, ‘Thy soul shall rest in everlasting peace, and thy life shall enter into rest, for being obedient to the God of thy life’; I being a child, and durst not question the Lord in the least, but rather willing to lay down my life than to bring dishonour to the Lord.”[19]

Emotions and sentimentalism were demonstrably a part of the first wave of Quakers, but they were also observable in the testimonies of those who followed in successive generations, regardless of their theological bents. For instance, unorthodox Quaker traveling minister Elias Hicks (1748–1830) states,

But as man’s fall principally consists in his turning from his inward spiritual guide, to the direction of his outward senses and animal passions and affections, so [man having so far departed] that he lost almost all right knowledge of this inward guide, the Lord in mercy dispensed to him divers outward manifestations, as a means to lead his attention back to his spiritual guide.[20] 

Pushing back against schismatic elements that fringe Quaker leaders like Hicks and George Keith (1638–1716) promoted in America, English Banker and evangelical minister Joseph John Gurney (1788–1847) proclaims,

The true Christian is happy far above all other persons, for various reasons:—because, though his sins have been many, he is reconciled to the Father, through the mediation of the Son; because, notwithstanding his natural weakness, he is enabled to walk in the way of righteousness, by the power of the Holy Spirit; because a sense of the divine love and approbation dwells in his heart; because he is taught to regard every tribulation as a moral discipline directed to greater good; and, lastly, because  he is animated by the expectation of a future joy, perfectly unsullied in its nature, and eternal in its duration.[21]

Gurney also concludes, “Christianity procures for mankind a pure and substantial happiness.”[22]

Separatist, conservative Quaker minister John Wilbur (1774–1856) emphasizes, “Again how the fear of man, the love of ease, and the dread of conflict and controversy, unhappily induced the primitive Christians to jeopard the standing and safety of the church.”[23]

Later on, Quaker minister and abolitionist David Updegraff (1789–1864) states,

His omnipresence was something wonderful to my opening eyes. And he was there, to “war against the law of my mind” with a resolute purpose to “bring me into captivity to the law of sin.” If he succeeded, even partially, I was humbled and grieved, and if he did not succeed, I was in distress with fear lest he might. Some special incidents were greatly blessed to me. I began to see quite clearly that the “law was weak through the flesh.” I hated pride, ambition, evil tempers, and vain thoughts, but I had them, and they were a part of me.[24]

Such emotionality continued into the twentieth century, with lay speaker and Suffragette Hannah Whitall Smith (1832–1911) stating,

Without that charity which can mutually bear and forbear, which can suffer long and be kind, which can believe all things, hope all things, endure all things; which is broad enough to see a possible good in the views and methods of others, even when they differ from our own, and which can feel the unity of the spirit in the midst of diversities of gifts; without in short the love of Christ thus shed abroad in our hearts and acted out in our lives, church fellowship is an impossibility, and schism is the inevitable result.[25]

Rather than stoically expressing their personal faith, Quaker testimonies, through the centuries, show their clear and consistent willingness to engage with their authentic feelings during their trials, tribulations, and their triumphs. Like Jesus, “deeply moved in spirit and troubled,” weeping as He approached the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:33–38), they felt licensed to respond, sentimentally.

Nostalgia

It has been said that tradition draws people into community, which is a reasonable appraisal, especially considering the hostile, dramatic religious culture of England and America in the days of primitive Quakerism. As Sremac and Van Liere note, “Nostalgic sentiments can be activated around current cultural and political representations of what once was, presenting that past as a recurrent trauma that should be dealt with in the present.”[26] Like other Dissenters and innovators of the age, many Quakers expressed discontentment in the religiosity that surrounded them and harkened back to an earlier age (or state) that they perceived to be healthier and holier.

For instance, Quaker founder Fox reminisces, “When I came to eleven years of age, I knew pureness and righteousness; for while a child I was taught how to walk to be kept pure. The Lord taught me to be faithful in all things, and to act faithfully two ways, viz., inwardly to God, and outwardly to man; and to keep to Yea and Nay in all things.”[27]

Demonstrating a sentiment akin to Fox’s previous youthful homage, David Updegraff (1789–1864) states, “Precious is the memory of those days of childish innocence, and mother love, when home and heaven seemed almost interchangeable terms. My young heart was not a stranger to the gracious visitations of the Spirit of God and was often melted under the power of His love.”[28]

Nearly a century later, itinerate unorthodox Quaker minister Elias Hicks cynically asserts,

And among other subjects, I have been led, I trust, carefully and candidly, to investigate the effects produced by the book called the Scriptures since it has borne that appellation; and it appears, from a comparative view, to have been the cause of four-fold more harm than good to Christendom, since the apostles’ days, and which, I think, must be indubitably plain to every faithful, honest mind, that has investigated her history free from the undue bias of education and tradition. Mark the beginning of the apostacy.[29]

Taking a more approving stance while looking to the ancient past, orthodox banker and Quaker minister Joseph John Gurney states,

That the principal writings of which the New Testament consists are genuine—that they were written in the apostolic age, and by the individuals with whose names they are inscribed—is a point evinced to be true by a greater variety and quantity of evidence, than has probably ever been brought to bear on a similar subject.[30]

Ostensibly trying to find middle ground, Separatist John Wilbur appeals to Quaker posterity, stating,

This was the case both in the primitive times and in the days of George Fox and his contemporaries; causing great contention and controversy, at each of those periods, though we know most in relation to the latter. And our early Friends, honestly and manfully met and rebutted every attack upon the true doctrines of the gospel, in due season, and without fear of consequences.[31]

Echoing Hicks’ critical attitude concerning ecclesiastical abuses, Suffragette Hannah Whitall Smith states,

But the views of different workers as to how this revival is to be accomplished are so diverse, that in many places the church, instead of presenting a common front against its enemies without, is divided against itself without, and workers are using a large part of their energies and zeal in combating one another, and in opposing one another’s efforts to advance the cause so dear to both. This has always been the case in the church but none the less is it wrong, and contrary to the spirit of Christ. Our Lord himself had to meet it when he was on the earth, and the way in which he rebuked it then will teach us, if we have ears to hear, how we ought to regard it now.[32]

The heart-felt testimonies demonstrate the timeless, constant yearnings within the Quaker movement to return to better, older days, by people—in every century since its founding—struggling in their faith and culture. However, Smith’s admonition and charge for her contemporary Quaker peers is a powerful example of how sentimental nostalgia acts as a catalyst for change.

Utopianism

As mentioned previously, sentimental feelings of Christian nostalgia only highlighted more brightly (or darkly) how off-note many Quakers felt their faith communities to be, historically. Sayers notes, “This intuitive tension between nostalgia and utopia arises out of a deep-rooted sense that utopia’s proper orientation is towards the future, whereas nostalgia is stuck in the past.”[33] Thus, Quakerism’s manifestation of sentimental theology also points to better times ahead for its ultimate spiritual presence and perfected practice.

For example, pointing to the profoundly transcendent truth of God’s interaction with humanity, Quaker founder Fox states,

But the Lord showed me clearly, that He did not dwell in these temples which men had commanded and set up, but in people’s hearts: for both Stephen and the apostle Paul bore testimony, that He did not dwell in temples made with hands, not even in that which he had once commanded to be built, since he put an end to it; but that his people were his temple, and he dwelt in them.[34]

Around the same time, early Quaker leader and member of the Valiant Sixty,[35] James Nayler (1618–1660) states,

And thus the lamb in them, and they in him, go out in judgment and righteousness . . . to prevail to recover the creature and stay the enmity, by suffering all the rage, and envy, and evil entreatings, that the evil spirit that rules in the creature can cast upon him, and he receives it all with meekness, and pity to the creature, returning love for hatred, wrestling with God against the enmity, with prayers and tears night and day, with fasting, mourning and lamentation, in patience, in faithfulness, in truth, in love unfeigned, in long suffering, and in all the fruits of the spirit.[36]

Scottish Quaker and Governor of the East Jersey colony Robert Barclay (1648–1690) proclaims,

God hath communicated and given unto every man a measure of the light a measure of his own Son, a measure of grace, or a measure of the Spirit, which the scripture expresses by several names, as sometimes of the seed of the kingdom . . . the light that makes all things manifest . . . the Word of God . . .  or manifestation of the Spirit given to profit withal . . . That God, in and by this Light and Seed, invites, calls, exhorts, and strives with every man, in order to save him, which, as it is received, and not wrought resisted, works the salvation of all, even of those who are ignorant of the death and sufferings of Christ, and of Adam’s fall, both by bringing them to a sense of their own misery.[37]

Speaking in yet another doctrinal debate, itinerate unorthodox Quaker minister Elias Hicks states,

But my views respecting the Scriptures are not altered, although thus abused by others, and trust I shall, as I heretofore have done, as my mind is opened to it, call upon them as evidence to the truth of inspiration; and to show that the upright and faithful in former ages, were led and instructed by the same spirit as those in the present day; and that the Lord is graciously willing to reveal himself as fully to the children of men in this day as in any day of the world, without respect of persons, as each is attentive to his inward and spiritual manifestations.[38]

Orthodox banker and Quaker minister Joseph John Gurney reiterates, “As we obtain reconciliation with the Father, through the sacrifice of Christ, let us ever remember that we can be brought into a state of true holiness, and avail ourselves of that reconciliation, only by a full submission to the influence and guidance of his Spirit.”[39]

At the Waterloo Yearly Meeting of Congregational Friends (1852), it was recorded:

Liberty of conscience, then—the recognition of the right of every member to act in obedience to the evidence of Divine Light, in its present and progressive unfoldings of truth and duty to the mind, must be a fundamental principle in every right organization. That this perfect liberty of conscience, is the right of every sane and accountable human being, appears from several other considerations.[40]

Describing the absoluteness of his own transformation, Quaker minister and abolitionist David Updegraff testifies,

Instantly, I felt the melting and refining fire of God permeate my whole being. Conflict was a thing of the past. I had entered into “rest.” I was nothing and nobody, and glad that it was settled that way. It was a luxury to get rid of ambitions. The glory of the Lord shone round about me, and, for a little season, I was “lost in wonder, love and praise.” I was deeply conscious of the presence of God within me, and of His sanctifying work. Nothing seemed so sweet as His will, His law written in the heart after the chaff had been burned out. It was no effort to realize that I loved the Lord with all my heart, and mind, and strength, and my neighbor as myself. My calmness and absolute repose in God was a wonder to me. But I cannot describe it all. It was a “weight of glory.”[41]

Speaking of the Quakers’ sense of an actualized, holistic transformation, Quaker historian Williams writes,

The great doctrine at the root of all others which Friends preached, was that of the immediate and discernible guidance of the Holy Spirit. They had sought the truth, and found it. They had experienced the work of the Spirit within, the Light within (as they frequently expressed it), revealing sin, forgiving, transforming. They had met the Sovereign Lord of the universe, and made their peace with Him. Consequently, theirs was a message of abounding hope. Joy welled up in their yielded hearts, a joy for which many about them yearned but did not know.[42]

Accordingly, the utopianism of the Quakers’ sentimental theology is evidenced through its adherents’ faith in the coming (or already realized) existence in which perfection reigns in themselves and society through the power of God and full submission of His true believers.

Conclusion

Reading through the annals of time, it is patently clear that all people feel strong emotions that influence or direct their responses in their social situations and to those surrounding them (including God). Despite any superior airs of rationality or intellectualism, sentimentality is another inherent phenomenon of the human condition. Across all time periods, cultures, regions, genders, or age, to be human is to be sentimental.

Historically, this has also been true regarding the religious interactions of people (in all expressions or denominations) throughout the millennia. Although such sentimentalism is evident in the storylines of all faith groups, this discussion has focused primarily on the Quaker movement due to its experiential approach to faith leading inexorably to a sentimental theology. This sentimental theology can be expressed in various ways, but for the Quakers, it seems to be regularly manifested in a theology centered around emotion, nostalgia, and utopianism.

As with all ideologies, sentimentality is not intrinsically bad nor toxic. Its value or reverberations depends upon how well it is wielded or applied. The positive side of sentimentalism might be seen in one’s emotional maturity, honoring of the past and people, or one’s striving to be more like Jesus in attitude and action. As 1 Peter 2:1–3 admonishes, “Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind. Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good.” When Quakers did this, they prospered and grew—just as Lutheran theologian and educator Rupertus Meldenius advocated: “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity”[43]

Yet, sentimentalism can quickly devolve into darkness and factionalism if one caves to emotional instability, a callous heart, and rationalizes myopic egotistic interpretations. The story of King Saul’s jealousy of David in 1 Samuel 18 comes to mind:

The women sang as they played, and said, “Saul has slain his thousands, And David his ten thousands.” Then Saul became very angry, for this lyric displeased him; and he said, “They have given David credit for ten thousands, but to me they have given credit for only thousands! Now what more can he have but the kingdom?” And Saul eyed David with suspicion from that day on.

As Mark Ross warns, “Those who are united by faith in Christ are thereby united to one another in the church, the body of Christ . . . But the manifestation of that unity is not always apparent. Christians can display ugly divisions between one another, as at the church of Corinth (1:10–17)”[44] The various Quaker schisms (such as the Orthodox/Hicksite break) sadly affirm this reality.

Ultimately, any theology that is more anthropomorphic than theocentric is bound to encounter or generate problems. The Psalmist says it well: “Turn my eyes away from looking at what is worthless, and revive me in Your ways” (Ps 119:37). This plea is only amplified when the layer of sentiment is added to one’s approach. When the religious focus of Quaker leaders shifted historically from God to man, their previous unity and beneficence dissolved into factionalism and judgmentalism, sadly.

This not a surprising consequence, for as Jesus warned in Matthew 6:19–21, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” In the darkest moments of Quakerism, it is historically evident that, in those instances, the original Quaker emphases had been unhealthily replaced with destructive partisan politics or egotistic pragmatism.

Fortunately, as was true in the first believers’ age—and in the era of George Fox, the sentimental theology of God is still true, helpful, and accessible today. Moreover, sentimental theology has been shown to be resonant, reflective, and resilient within the Quaker movement, historically. Hopefully, though, to avoid future unnecessay and unhealthy schisms (as the centuries go on), all Quakers—and all believers—will keep in mind (and heart) the apostle Paul’s prayer in Ephesians 3:14–19:

For this reason I bend my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner self, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled to all the fullness of God.”

Bibliography

Bainton, Roland H. Here I Stand: A Life of Martin Luther. Minneapolis: Abindon, 1990.

Cranmer, Frank. “The Statement of Principles of Christian Law: A Quaker Perspective.” Ecclesiastical Law Journal 20, no. 3 (2018): 290–304. DOI:10.1017/S0956618X18000479

D'Arms, Justin, and Daniel Jacobson. Rational Sentimentalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2023.

de’Aiguebelle, Lasne. Sentimental and Practical Theology From the French of Le Chevalier De Aiguebelle. London: J. Wilkie, St. Paul’s Church-Yard; T. Davies, Russel Street, Covent Garden; S. Leacroft, Charing Cross, 1777.

De Jong, Mary G., ed. Sentimentalism in Nineteenth-Century America: Literary and Cultural Practices. Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2013.

Fox, George. Journal of George Fox. E-Book: Braunfell, 2023.

Hamm, Thomas D. Quaker Writings. New York: Penguin, 2010.

Hendler, Glenn. “Review of Transamerican Sentimentalism and Nineteenth-Century US Literary History, by Maria A. Windell.” Early American Literature 58, no. 1 (2023): 246.  https://doi.org/10.1353/eal.2023.0016.

Huxley, Leonard. Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley. New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1901.

Knox, John S. A Lexicon of Religious Facts & Figures. Dubuque: Kendall-Hunt, 2021.

Plutchik, Robert. “The Nature of Emotions.” American Scientist 89, no. 4 (2001): 345–50.

Pope, Alexander, tr. The Iliad of Homer. E-book: Project Gutenberg, 1899.

Pusey, Edward Bouverie, tr. The Confessions (St. Augustine). E-book: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2016.

Ross, Mark. “In Essentials Unity, In Non-Essentials Liberty, In All Things Charity” (2009), online: https://www.ligonier.org/learn/articles/essentials-unity-non-essentials-liberty-all-things.

Sayers, Nicola. The Promise of Nostalgia. Milton Park: Routledge, 2020.

Tranquillus, Gaius Suetonius. The Twelve Caesars. A. S. Kline, tr. E-book: Poetry in Translation, 2010.

Van Liere, Lucien, and Srđan Sremac. Trauma and Nostalgia: Practices in Memory and Identity. 1st ed. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2024.

Williams, Walter.The Rich Heritage of Quakerism. E-book: Muriwai, 2018.


[1] Leonard Huxley, Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1901), 128.

[2] Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture is taken from the New American Standard Bible (1995) update.

[3] Alexander Pope, tr., The Iliad of Homer (E-book: Project Gutenberg, 1899), 358.

[4] Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus, The Twelve Caesars. A. S. Kline, tr. (E-book: Poetry in Translation, 2010), 284.

[5] Edward Bouverie Pusey, tr., The Confessions (St. Augustine). (E-book: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2016), book 5, v. 19.

[6] Roland H. Bainton, Here I Stand: A Life of Martin Luther (Minneapolis: Abindon, 1990), 186.

[7] Lasne de’Aiguebelle. Sentimental and Practical Theology From the French of Le Chevalier De Aiguebelle (London: J. Wilkie, St. Paul’s Church-Yard; T. Davies, Russel Street, Covent Garden; S. Leacroft, Charing Cross, 1777), 1–2.

[8] Mary G. De Jong, ed., Sentimentalism in Nineteenth-Century America: Literary and Cultural Practices (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2013), 14.

[9] Glenn Hendler, Review of Transamerican Sentimentalism and Nineteenth-Century US Literary History, by Maria A. Windell. Early American Literature 58, no. 1 (2023): 246.  https://doi.org/10.1353/eal.2023.0016.

[10] Justin D'Arms and Daniel Jacobson, Rational Sentimentalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2023), 14.

[11] Robert Plutchik, “The Nature of Emotions,” American Scientist 89, no. 4 (2001): 345–46.

[12] John S. Knox, A Lexicon of Religious Facts & Figures (Dubuque: Kendall-Hunt, 2021), 51–52.

[13] Thomas D. Hamm, Quaker Writings (New York: Penguin, 2010), 15.

[14] George Fox, Journal of George Fox (eBook: Braunfell, 2023), 45.

[15] Walter Williams, The Rich Heritage of Quakerism (e-book: Muriwai, 2018), location 514 of 5366.

[16] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 33.

[17] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 56.

[18] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 40.

[19] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 52.

[20] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 103.

[21] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 106.

[22] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 106.

[23] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 112.

[24] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 138.

[25] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 143.

[26] Lucien van Liere and Srđan Sremac, Trauma and Nostalgia: Practices in Memory and Identity. 1st ed. (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2024), 14.

[27] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 14.

[28] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 137.

[29] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 102.

[30] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 114.

[31] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 114.

[32] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 141.

[33] Nicola Sayers, The Promise of Nostalgia (New York: Routledge, 2020), 6.

[34] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 16.

[35] Williams, Rich Heritage, location 955 of 5366.

[36] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 26.

[37] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 71.

[38] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 104.

[39] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 111.

[40] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 134.

[41] Hamm, Quaker Writings, 139.

[42] Williams, Rich Heritage, location 1219 of 5366.

[43] Frank Cranmer, “The Statement of Principles of Christian Law: A Quaker Perspective,” Ecclesiastical Law Journal 20, no. 3 (2018): 304. DOI:10.1017/S0956618X18000479

[44] Mark Ross, “In Essentials Unity, In Non-Essentials Liberty, In All Things Charity” (2009), online: https://www.ligonier.org/learn/articles/essentials-unity-non-essentials-liberty-all-things.

THE CELESTIAL THREAD OF HOLINESS: SPENCER’S APOLOGETICAL ANALYSIS OF QUAKER HISTORY AND THEOLOGY

For centuries, scholars and historians have traditionally approached their investigation(s) of religious groups and doctrinal beliefs in three dimensions: “The evidential (a thesis based on an evidence or ‘proof’ basis), the experiential (a thesis based on personal experience as support for the embraced worldview), and the presuppositional (a thesis based on foundational knowledge which is presumed).”[1] This reality is profoundly observable in Carole D. Spencer’s 2007 book, Holiness: The Soul of Quakerism: An Historical Analysis of the Theology of Holiness in the Quaker Tradition, in which she seeks to “determine what unifying themes or values exist in Quaker history and theology, traceable to its beginnings, that can be identified as a distinct Quaker spirituality.”[2]

On this matter, Spencer’s conclusion is unequivocally offered (and expertly defended throughout her book) beginning with her statement, “My book argues that holiness is the paradigmatic theme of Quaker history and theology . . . For early Quakers, holiness began with a mystical experience of union with God.”[3] Somewhat ironically, chapter by chapter, Spencer provides a plethora of historical and religious evidence that essential Quakerism[4] has, from its inception, demonstrated an experiential form of spirituality that combines personal and public transformation, mystical union with God, radical holiness, honest contemplation, and a biblical, Christ-centered faith in the whole Gospel message.[5] Moreover, according to Spencer, Quakers embraced eight basic early Christian beliefs including a thoroughly biblical worldview, faith in the imminent second coming of Christ, being “born again” in conversion, being Spirit-filled and led, sharing the Good News to all, joyfully suffering for the faith, and allowing for perfect union with God.[6]  

Appreciating that not all Quakers would fully agree with this assessment, Spencer offers in-depth inspections of various theories of Quaker history[7] from notable scholars such as Rufus Jones, Geoffrey Nuttall, Hugh Barbour, Melvin Endy, Lewis Benson, Doug Gwyn, Richard Bailey, Arthur Roberts, John Punshon, and Thomas Hamm (among many others—including George Fox and Robert Barclay). At the end of the first chapter, Spencer notes, “Only holiness, when understood as the constellation of eight essential elements of early Quaker theology, provides a continuous identifiable theological framework to explain the evolution of Quakerism across time.”[8]

In subsequent chapters, Spencer goes on to define what holiness and perfection meant (and continue to mean) for many Quakers, being “partakers of the divine nature.”[9] She notes, “Fox had a subjective experience of being transported into union with God through Christ, convincing him that he had freedom from and power over sin.”[10]This idea of holiness was (and still is) often confused with self-idolatry (or worse), but Spencer reassures, “Fox never claimed to be equal to Christ, though he and other Quakers were accused of blasphemy by the civil authorities.”[11]

Pointing to second-wave Quaker leader Robert Barclay’s Apology (1678), Spencer clarifies, “Barclay summarizes the Quaker understanding of the Gospel, the universal light as a seed in all persons (grace), which when received in the heart (justification) and allowed to bring forth its natural effect (sanctification), causes Christ to be formed within, to deliver from all sin (perfection).”[12] With such a supernatural transformation—being “born again,” Quakers received the blessings of existing as new, holy creations in God, which included receiving His grace, their celestial callings, unmediated prayer time, unfettered worship regulations, freedom to share the Good News, newfound gender opportunities, and canceling the power of sin in their lives. As Spencer notes in her 2004 article, “Perfection was a key component of early Quaker soteriology. Perfection was the culmination, the telos of the process of salvation, which begins with justification.”[13]

Yet, as with all second and third generation religious movements, “As consolidation and definition increased, beliefs and practices were formalized. A radical holiness movement transformed itself into a settled and industrious, but still austere way of life that came to be called Quietism in the eighteenth century.”[14] Spencer further remarks that in the nineteenth century,

Hicks . . . moved away from Quaker holiness and Christian orthodoxy towards a more nationalist, enlightenment, and Unitarian trajectory. Gurney moved away from Quaker holiness to a Wesleyan /Anglican evangelical, but non-mystical, type, yet nevertheless helped prepare Quakerism for a renewal of holiness through revivalism. And Wilbur maintained a tradition of Quaker holiness, but in an isolationist, sectarian form. Quaker holiness separated into modern evangelicalism and modern liberalism in the twentieth century.

Spencer concludes her book, suggesting “for holiness as the central trunk of Quakerism up to the present, rather than an offshoot.”[15] In Spencer’s opinion, not all is lost, though, regarding the holiness that empowered the first Quakers. Again, somewhat ironically, she argues (presuppositionally), “Quaker holiness [still] is contemplation with grace that [still] leads to union with God which [still] is both transcendent and immanent, grounded in the incarnation, and a mystical participation in the divine Trinity that [still] does not drain away personal intimacy, the felt experience of loving and desiring a Divine Other outside of self.”[16]

Because of its ultimate source—God—no sectarianism, liberal intellectualism, nor denominational practice can extinguish the light of God in each human being. As C. S. Lewis wrote, “A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word 'darkness' on the walls of his cell.”[17]

The Holiness Movement is more than just a social phenomenon or denominational gimmick stuck in the historical timeline. Although Spencer is correct in her assessment,

Differing branches of Quakerism developed when external pressures from social, cultural, intellectual, and political forces created tensions that disturbed the balance within this seamless cloth. Polarization arose, creating antagonistic branches with diverse identities born out of differing emphases on the meaning and expression of holiness,[18]

God ultimately decides with whom He unites, not Man.

As it was true in Moses’ time and in St. Peter’s time, it is still true today. God commands His followers, “Be holy, because I am holy” (1 Pet 1:16; Lev 11:44, 45; 19:2). Spencer’s book is a wonderful reminder that holiness is not just an option for the true believer (nor the apostate). Thus, she finishes her book with this gentle admonition: “This study of holiness requires all scholars of Quakerism to revisit their assumptions and research findings and look again at the central place holiness has had in the theological history of Quakerism.”[19]


Bibliography

Childress, Jeffery, and John S. Knox. Deconverted: The Deconstruction and Dismantling of the Contemporary Church. Wipf and Stock, 2022.

Farnsworth, Richard. A Brief Discovery of the Kingdome of Antichrist and the Downfall of it Hasteth Greatly. With a Difference Betwixt the Ordinances of Christ and of Antichrist. Early English Books, 1653. Online: https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo2/A40926.0001.001?rgn=main;view=fulltext.

Lewis, C. S. The Problem of Pain. New York: HarperCollins, 1996.

Spencer, Carole D.  “Holiness: The Quaker Way of Perfection.” Quaker History 93, no. 1 (2004): 123–47.

___.Holiness: The Soul of Quakerism: An Historical Analysis of the Theology of Holiness in the Quaker Tradition. Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2007.


[1] Jeffery Childress and John S. Knox, Deconverted: The Deconstruction and Dismantling of the Contemporary Church (Wipf and Stock, 2022), 13.

[2] Carole D. Spencer, Holiness: The Soul of Quakerism: An Historical Analysis of the Theology of Holiness in the Quaker Tradition (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2007), 1.

[3] Spencer, Holiness, 1.

[4] Spencer, Holiness, 34.

[5] Spencer, Holiness, 11.

[6] Spencer, Holiness, 11.

[7] Spencer, Holiness, 39.

[8] Spencer, Holiness, 57.

[9] Richard Farnsworth, A brief discovery of the kingdome of Antichrist and the downfall of it hasteth greatly. With a difference betwixt the ordinances of Christ and of Antichrist. This was written by One the world calleth a Quaker, in March 1653 (Early English Books, 1653), 22. Online: https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo2/A40926.0001.001?rgn=main;view=fulltext.

[10] Spencer, Holiness, 65.

[11] Spencer, Holiness, 65.

[12] Spencer, Holiness, 77.

[13] Carole D. Spencer, “Holiness: The Quaker Way of Perfection,” Quaker History 93, no. 1 (2004): 135.

[14] Spencer, Holiness, 91.

[15] Spencer, Holiness, 248.

[16] Spencer, Holiness, 249.

[17] C. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (New York: HarperCollins, 1996), 46.

[18] Spencer, Holiness, 252.

[19] Spencer, Holiness, 252.

The Holiness of God

For countless generations, people have used the term, “Holiness,” to both describe God and as a standard for His believers to follow in life. Unfortunately, the definition of Holiness has come to mean innumerable things—not all of which find their basis in scripture. Too often, Holiness has centered more around human priorities and actions (a.k.a. works-righteousness) rather than Godly ones, as seen in the bible.

Yet, despite the variegated interpretations and approaches to the idea of Holiness, Leviticus 11:44 clearly states, “For I am the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God; you shall, therefore, be holy, as I am holy.” As delivered, Holiness is not just a suggestion; it is a commandment from God, and because of that reality, it is incumbent upon all believers to seek a truer understanding of what it means to be holy today, especially in the new dangerous era of Postmodernism.

Reading through the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures, it is impossible to ignore how often Holiness is referenced, promoted, and/or mandated for God’s followers. As previously mentioned, Israel, God’s chosen people, were instructed time and time again to be holy as God is holy. In fact, the Hebrew word for holy is “Qadosh,” which means radiance, separation, or purity. Thus, Holiness is not just a legal matter; it also contains attributes of action, protection, righteousness, and exclusivity—all characteristics of God, as described in the Scriptures.

Not just an Old Testament tenet, the New Testament writers also admonish Christians to adhere to the biblical standard of Holiness. 1 Peter 1:15 states, “But as he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in ALL your conduct.” In their writings, these men directly and indirectly pushed for Holiness as they discussed being set apart from the world—morally, ethically, and spiritually. Moreover, for the Disciples and Apostles, being holy also means being faithful, blameless, loving, and obedient to God, qualities they observed in Jesus Christ during His ministry on earth.

Not surprisingly, with all these notions embedded in the concept of Holiness, it is easy to become overwhelmed with trying to conform all activities and attitudes to God’s standard of holiness. All of the aforementioned requirements of Holiness are an important part of its definition, but none alone are sufficient to define what it means to be holy. Thus, it is advisable to approach Holiness in a holistic way (ironically) in order to gain a fuller and more productive understanding of Holiness.

The most dangerous tactic that some followers have embraced throughout history is to myopically promote one aspect of Holiness as THE quintessential manifestation of Holiness while ignoring all the other characteristics of Holiness. By making the part the whole (also known as “synechdoche”), the balance of understanding Holiness is lost. Moreover, too often, Holiness is narrowly defined merely in terms of behavior alone, when it should also focus on believers’ relationships with each other and the lost.

In reality, a person is not holy because of his or her actions; people are holy because of their relationship with God through Jesus Christ. As one of my former Seminary professors put it, Holiness (or sanctification) is “the dynamic relationship between God and His followers” (Dr. Larry Shelton, 2002). It is a recognition that humanity is flawed, but God is not. It is a desire to separate from the evil of the world to the good of the divine in order to find true peace, true purification of the heart, mind, and soul. Finally, it is a synthesis of belief and action in the life of the believer that leads to a deeper, more meaningful reconciliation with God.

This understanding may sound complicated, but it is not. Ultimately, Holiness comes down to a character transformation wherein the believer is no longer serving sin but embracing God and His ways. It is being lovingly obedient to Yahweh—not only because it is “commanded,” but because it is a good, healthy, and wise way to maintain and cultivate one’s relationship with the Creator/Redeemer. All believers are adopted children of God through our brotherhood with Jesus Christ. Striving for Holiness, then, is just a healthy expression of appreciation for our Father, and a request to get as close to God as possible—just like His Son.

To put it in simpler terms, Holiness is moving closer to God through a covenantal relationship in Jesus Christ. Outside of this concept or relationship, being holy has little meaning. Therefore, reading the biblical exhortation to “be holy for I am holy,” a fuller understanding can be observed. Being holy is not just an obscure list of do’s and don’ts; being holy removes the stumbling blocks that prevent us from moving closer to the divine source of love, power, and salvation in our relationship with God.

Still, Holiness has come to have some bad connotations in the postmodern era. In many circles (Christian and non-believer alike), piety and Holiness are synonymous with snobbery and elitism. In reality, though, Holiness is the humble admission that our sinful ways are not His good ways; therefore, we need to reflect Him more. With that healthy attitude, believers can experience and share their deep affection with God, each other, and to the world who needs love now more than ever.

We are called to be holy as God is holy. Yet, making the part the whole and picking one aspect of Holiness to focus on might be a practical and efficient way of exercising one’s faith, but Christianity is not about pragmatism or expediency. It is about shining in the darkness; it is about discarding all that hurts our relationship with God; it is about submitting to the Lordship of Jesus Christ and rejecting our own self-righteousness and self-deification.

Holiness needs to be sought after in its entirety, and the why of being holy is just as important (if not more) than the how, because striving for Holiness allows a closer and less encumbered communion with God, the Father—and truly, nothing else in life is as important as our relationship with Him who created and saved us.

NINETEENTH-CENTURY QUAKERISM: THOMAS HAMM’S TALE OF TRANSFORMATION

When it comes to religious life in nineteenth-century America, it can easily be said that many Christian communities—from all denominations—experienced dramatic, often schismatic shifts in their beliefs, doctrines, praxes, and emphases. This is perhaps no more apparent than with the Quakers, whose spirit of unity and purpose seemingly mutated during the 1800s into one of insular bifurcation and dismissive factionalism, challenging (or rejecting) the original mission of the movement under the leadership of its founder, George Fox. As Hamm and Barnes note, “Schisms had rent Quakerism asunder, and labels such as Hicksite, Orthodox, Wilburite, Gurneyite, and Conservative were required to denote its branches.”[1] Yet, the etiology of these groups did not happen overnight; most were decades in their development and were fundamentally driven by a myriad of cultural and historical forces (such as Westward expansionism, the Civil War, industrialization, educational reforms, economic prosperity, and suffrage). 

In his epic historical volume, The Transformation of American Quakerism: Orthodox Friends, 1800–1907, Thomas Hamm thoroughly discusses how a religious movement that once prided itself in its simplicity of mission and manner “had split into three mutually antagonistic factions that feuded bitterly over the direction that the society was to take.”[2] Moreover, chapter-by-chapter, readers can see how Fox’s original criticism concerning religious culture and conformity acting as impediments—not aids—for experiencing peace and joy in the Lord[3] was still relevant in the nineteenth century. The joie de vivre of primitive Quakerism slowly and surely was replaced with other, less mollifying sentiments, due mainly to Quakerism’s progression from idealization to personalization to amplification and finally to institutionalization, after Fox died in 1691.

In The Transformation, Hamm leads readers through the historical phenomena of Quietism, which “deemphasized preaching and all other external means of grace and instead focused on shutting out anything that might distract from the achievement of total spiritual communion with God,”[4] in search of embracing the Inward Light[5] heralded by Fox in the 1640s (idealization). The Quietists could be considered purists in their approach, just as the Wilburites would be decades later. Hamm remarks, “In Wilburite eyes, the early Friends had been given a greater measure of understanding than others in grasping the truths of Christianity.”[6]

Perhaps due to the individualistic nature of Quakerism (personalization) and Fox’s assessment, “Why should any man have power over any other man's faith, seeing Christ Himself is the author of it?”[7] the solidity of Quakerism began to splinter, with amateur leaders such as New Yorker Elias Hicks suggesting an alternative spiritual path to traditional Quakerism. As Knox explains, “With controversy stemming from the unorthodox, Universalist teachings of Elias Hicks who asserted that the Bible was secondary to the light of God within every human being, the conference concluded with a Quaker split called the Great Separation of 1827.”[8] Hamm further states, “Hicks’s ‘heresies’ lay not in his championship of the Inner Light but rather in conclusions about Christ and the Bible that he drew from his [own] perception of the light.”[9]

For many Quakers, this was too far of a theological jump to make, doctrinally, and they felt threatened by this newly emerging heterodoxy. Concerned about this dangerous movement, English banker and Quaker preacher Joseph John Gurney traveled “across the pond” in 1837. Hamm notes, “He believed that Friends were carrying the doctrine of the Inner Light to dangerous and unscriptural extremes.” Therefore, Gurney (somewhat ironically) set out in America to emphasize (amplification) what he considered to be proper Quakerism, in his own learned opinion.

This was a pivotal moment in nineteenth-century Quakerism, for “Friends rediscovered evangelical elements in their own tradition and came to see themselves as a portion of the evangelical army that was fighting for the preservation of revealed religion against deism and Unitarianism, as part of evangelical Protestantism.”[10] Rather than a people separate and distinct in mission and methodology from other Protestant groups, by mid-century, many Quakers embraced an ecumenical spirit with other pastors and evangelists from Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian camps—and joined in with their emphases on Bible reading, instantaneous conversions, and other general Protestant liturgies (institutionalization).[11]

Not surprisingly, these adoptions led to further challenges by Quakers concerned about the corruption of the faith and the amalgamation with other denominations. Hamm writes,

Thus, Wilburite Friends tried to defend the old faith. In their eyes, Gurneyism was dangerous because it offered a false but enticing way to salvation, one designed to appeal to a love of ease. The Wilburites would not give in to it. They would continue to uphold the old ways of bearing the cross. Nothing would sway them from it: not the popularity with the world that Gurney's evangelicalism offered, not intellectual arguments, not even causes with laudable objects but conducted according to worldly methods. They would make no compromises.[12]

Hamm goes on the detail and discuss various renewal movements,[13] revivals,[14] reorganizations,[15] and reassertions[16] that occurred during and after the Civil War—and as America pushed farther into the Western frontier. He states, “Between 1880 and 1895 Friends absorbed themselves in debates that had few parallels outside the society but that were vital to subsequent Quaker history: the existence of the Inner Light, the nature of Quaker ministry, and the spirituality of the ordinances.”[17]

Other influential and defining meetings and conferences followed throughout the nineteenth century (the First Day School Associations—1868, the Union of Philanthropic Labor—1881, the Friends Religious Conference—1893, the Friends Educational Conference—1894, etc.), leading up to the association’s debut at the Friends General Conference in Chautauqua, New York in August of 1900. There, seven eastern Hicksite meetings banded together (Baltimore, Genesee, Illinois, Indiana, New York, Ohio, and Philadelphia) to create a new, permanent, united committee to facilitate future conferences and assist in the on-going service of like-minded Friends.[18]

In 1887, with Gurneyite Holiness consensus in mind, the Friends United Meeting (formerly known as the Five Years Meeting) began at the Indiana Yearly Meeting, with prominent Quaker leaders such as J. B. Braithwaite, Esther Frame, Rufus Jones, William Nicholson, David Upedgraff, and James Wood in attendance.[19] The 1887 meeting concluded with the embrace of the Richmond Declaration of Faith (an orthodox, evangelical assertion, doctrinally) as the centralized concensus for the participating Gurneyite yearly meetings.[20] This would (hopefully) protect them from the dangers of the growing liberal milieu in the United States[21] creating disharmony and division within the Friends movement; and would provide a proposal for future legislative conferences to promote unity and doctrinal soundness within Quaker communities through the creation of a Uniform Discipline, or statement of faith and principles.[22]

In his Introduction to The Transformation, Hamm explains,

The aims of this study are to bring a new understanding of the diversity and complexity of American Quaker history; to shed new light on the background of Quaker benevolence and humanitarianism as well as to make intelligible a century of doctrinal debates that might otherwise leave the uninitiated mystified; and, above all, to show that nineteenth-century Quaker history was in large part a series of interactions between American Friends and the larger political, social, and especially religious world.[23]

 

To benefit of the reader and any serious student of Quakerism, in The Transformation, Hamm did just as he promised—and with great fairness and in great fullness.

Bibliography

Evans, William, and Thomas Evans, eds. “Memoir of George Fox.” In The Friends' Library: Comprising Journals, Doctrinal Treatises, and Other Writings of Members of the Religious society of Friends. Vol. XIV. Philadelphia: Joseph Rakestraw, 1837.

 

Fox, George. Memoir of George Fox. Philadelphia: Tract Association of Friends, 1893.

 

Hamm, Thomas D. The Transformation of American Quakerism: Orthodox Friends, 1800–1907. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1992.

 

Hamm, Thomas D., and Isaac Barnes May. “Conflict and Transformation, 1808–1920.” In The Cambridge Companion to Quakerism. Stephen W. Angell and Pink Dandelion, eds. Cambridge University Press, 2018.

 

Kenworthy, Leonard S. Quaker Quotations on Faith and Practice. Philadelphia: Publications Committee Friends General Conference, 1983.

 

Knox, John S. “Friends General Conference.” In Encyclopedia of Christianity in the United States. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015.

 

––––––. “Friends United Meeting.” InEncyclopedia of Christianity in the United States.Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015.


[1] Thomas D. Hamm and Isaac Barnes May, “Conflict and Transformation, 1808–1920,” in The Cambridge Companion to Quakerism (Stephen W. Angell and Pink Dandelion, eds. Cambridge University Press, 2018), 32.

[2] Thomas D. Hamm, The Transformation of American Quakerism: Orthodox Friends, 1800–1907 (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1992), 98.

[3] Memoir of George Fox (Philadelphia: Tract Association of Friends, 1893), 14–15.

[4] Hamm, The Transformation, 2.

[5] Leonard S. Kenworthy, Quaker Quotations on Faith and Practice (Philadelphia: Publications Committee Friends General Conference, 1983), 35.

[6] Hamm, The Transformation, 32.

[7] William Evans and Thomas Evans, eds., “Memoir of George Fox,” in The Friends' Library: Comprising Journals, Doctrinal Treatises, and Other Writings of Members of the Religious society of Friends. Vol. XIV (Philadelphia: Joseph Rakestraw, 1837), 76.

[8] John S. Knox, “Friends General Conference,” in Encyclopedia of Christianity in the United States (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015),920.

[9] Hamm, The Transformation, 16.

[10] Hamm, The Transformation, 25.

[11] Hamm, The Transformation, 30.

[12] Hamm, The Transformation, 34.

[13] Hamm, The Transformation, 50.

[14] Hamm, The Transformation, 73.

[15] Hamm, The Transformation, 89.

[16] Hamm, The Transformation, 42.

[17] Hamm, The Transformation, 121–22.

[18] Knox, “Friends General Conference,” 920.

[19] Hamm, The Transformation, 173.

[20] Hamm, The Transformation, 137.

[21] Hamm, The Transformation, 164–65.

[22] John S. Knox, “Friends United Meeting,” in Encyclopedia of Christianity in the United States (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015), 921.

[23] Hamm, The Transformation, XV.