Radical re-centring

Part of the wonderful journey of discovery resulting from researching Irene Pickard's archive – it was like being a tourist for six years through other peoples minds and spiritual experiences – was encountering the radical re-centring that seems to lie at the root of Quakerism. 

The derailing of the spiritual authority of the Catholic Church by the Reformation and of its replacement, the Church of England, by the dethroning of Charles I, left a space for ordinary people to explore their spirituality without the fear of punishment. 

The publication of King James' authorised translation of the Bible into English (1611) and the spread of literacy due to the availability of books and other printed material, enabled many of the post 1611 generations to have direct access to 'the word of God' which had been denied to earlier generations. They had the tools to explore what had formally been the preserve of Latin reading priests, and some of them did just that:

At another time it was opened in me that God, who made the world, did not dwell in temples made with hands. This, at the first seemed a strange word because both priests and people use to call their temples or churches, dreadful places, and holy ground, and the temple of God. But the Lord showed me, so I did see 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.
The Journal of George Fox 1647

Fox was far from alone. The combination of direct access to the Bible and the freedom from fear of persecution led many to be radically adventurous, following where their deepest conscience led. And that was the point: they had not lost their lust for spiritual truth, if fact, set free of the fetters of church authority, it grew stronger. They sought for new centres of authority for their spirituality to replace the crumbling edifices of institutionalised religion. As Professor Alec Ryrie suggests in his Gresham College lecture The Spiritual Quest against Religion, they were bravely going where only heretics had dared to tread.

Their conclusions could be extremely radical. Here is Margaret Fell telling of George Fox's words which had so profoundly altered her life: 

'The Scriptures were the prophets’ words and Christ’s and the apostles’ words, and what as they spoke they enjoyed and possessed and had it from the Lord’. And said, ‘Then what had any to do with the Scriptures, but as they came to the Spirit that gave them forth. You will say, Christ saith this, and the apostles say this; but what canst thou say? Art thou a child of Light and hast walked in the Light, and what thou speakest is it inwardly from God?’   Margaret Fell, 1694

Conclusions that anyone could have direct access to the same source that had inspired Christ and the apostles – an inward 'light' that made truth shine in the heart; and when the light shone, the world changed:

Now I was come up in spirit through the flaming sword into the paradise of God. All things were new, and all the creation gave another smell unto me than before, beyond what words can utter.   George Fox, 1648

It was the charismatic experience of communion with the holy spirit (that of God in everyone). A radical re-centring which validated the spiritual experience of each and every person. Experiences that led to 'great openings' as Fox called them. 

And I went back into Nottinghamshire, and there the Lord shewed me that the natures of those things which were hurtful without were within, in the hearts and minds of wicked men. The natures of dogs, swine, vipers, of Sodom and Egypt. Pharoah, Cain, Ishmael, Esau, etc. The natures of these I saw within, though people had been looking without. And I cried to the Lord, saying, 'Why should I be thus, seeing I was never addicted to commit those evils?' And the Lord answered that it was needful I should have a sense of all conditions, how else should I speak to all conditions; and in this I saw the infinite love of God. I also saw that there was an ocean of darkness and death, but an infinite ocean of light and love, which flowed over the ocean of darkness. And in that also I saw the infinite love of God, and I had great openings.   George Fox, 1647

That radical, iconoclastic path was never going to be comfortable to follow, as the Woodbooke tutor Stuart Masters told in his 2020 Salter Seminar, Creating Heaven on Earth: The Radical Vision of Early Quakers: The World Turned Upside-Down.

Three hundred years after George Fox, Carl Jung was encouraging his patients to discover and connect with exactly that same centre, the inner well-spring of guidance and inspiration, no matter what they termed it: it would present itself to them in whatever form best suited their prejudices. 

The language available to Fox in a deeply Christian milieu was always going to shape the expression of his 'openings'; the language available to Jung's patients in a much more secular-scientific age would likewise shape theirs. What they shared in common was the force of that inner compass once it was discovered.

A republic of seekers not an empire of believers

From the very start Quakerism was a rebellion against institutionalised religion. Quakers felt that the churches – notably the Catholic, Anglican and Presbyterian – were of this world and of worldly power. They were empires that held their subjects in place by enforcing an adherence to belief. Enforcement that could extend well beyond fines and imprisonment to torture and burning at the stake. Quakers were averse to creating new institutions and hierarchies – especially the latter – so they strove to have only the barest minimum of organisational structures creating in effect a republic of seekers who engaged collectively in a search for truth. For many years they referred to themselves as 'The Friends of Truth', or simply as 'The Friends'.

From their heritage amongst the Seekers they gained a deep dislike and distrust for any who would set themselves up as authorities: they were deeply anti-clerical and anti-creedal. Although often well read in the bible, they did not regard it as an authority either: it might and did inspire, but it did not command. 

They gathered together and sat in silence – often long periods of silence – waiting for direct inspiration and guidance. A silence that might be cultured by what they had read or heard, but in which they tested the spiritual truth of those words and waited beyond that for an inner feeling of rightness that was not of their own volition. 

There was suspicion of 'creaturely activity' that was to be recognised by states of excitement or elation. They would not have been happy among modern evangelicals! God's voice was that 'still voice of calm': a feeling of being at one with what was revealed. This was a trend in Quakerism inherited from the Seekers that came more to the fore in the Eighteenth century, although the Seventeenth century generations were well practised in silent waiting – at the deepest level they were all shaped by it.

Eighteenth century Friends, in the Age of Reason, put their trust in that which was Beyond Reason and we neglect the quietist tradition at our peril. Its most compelling image was that of the Aeolian harp which, being nothing in itself, was in its very emptiness the instrument through which the winds of God could play. We err, and err gravely, if we think that quietism has anything to do with “being quiet”, with indolence, or with aloofness from the world. It protested against “creaturely activity” but taught that the soul, emptied of self-will and self-running, was being prepared to be the instrument of the holy spirit. Edward H Milligan: Nine for the Nine Bright Shiners: The Seeker, Autumn 1987

Around this kernel grew a set of practices; a way of living rather than believing. They set themselves apart in dress, in manner and by the 'right ordering' of life. Effectively they set up a counterculture, so much so that when the opportunity arose many fled Britain for the hardships of settling in Pennsylvania and breaking new land rather than giving up their 'distinctiveness' and conforming to the demands of King, Church and Country. A distinctiveness that had earned them many spells in prison and repeated fines or distraint of their goods and chattels.

They devised methods of collective governance that created a minimum of institution. No priest or ministers only Elders and, the unfortunately named, Overseers. In the light of slavery 'overseer' is not a word in favour now for describing what was a pastoral function concerned with the wellbeing of Friends: much needed when in the early years they spent so much time in prisons, or having their goods or chattels distrained. Neither appointment was ever permanent, but only held for a limited time – often no more than three years – to prevent the accumulation of power. Often there were also two servants of the Meeting: the Clerk and the Treasurer. Neither with any power to do anything beyond what was instructed by the Meeting. Likewise, they only served for a limited time. None were ever paid: it was a way of rendering service.

Those instructions came from the inspirations that arose in the silence of the 'gathered' meetings of Friends. That 'still quiet voice of God' was the authority sought. It spoke through the voice of one or other Friend during Meeting, guiding their words. It was recognised by the lack of resistance to its truth on the part of the listeners. It mattered not if it were man, woman or child that spoke: the truth spoke for itself. It created a harmonious accord between Friends when it arose. Quakers have never voted on any matter to this day – voting divides: seeking truth unites. 

Carl Jung admired this way of proceeding, feeling that the Quakers had discovered a method of shared access to what he termed 'the God-archypype' that was both an element within the deep mind of each and beyond in what he termed 'the collective unconscious'. In his letter to Irene Pickard he referred to them as being "the only true Christians" because of exactly that charismatic element. 

An element that concerned itself not with theological niceties of whether 'God' existed or not, or what he/she/it/they might be but with the vitality of the experience:

That is why whenever we speak of religious content we move in a world of images that point to something ineffable. We do not know how clear or unclear these images, metaphors, and concepts are in respect of their transcendental object. If, for instance, we say “God” we give an expression to an image or verbal concept which has undergone many changes in the course of time. We are, however, unable to say with any degree of certainty — unless it be by faith — whether these changes affect only the images and concepts, or the Unspeakable itself. After all we can imagine God as an eternally flowing current of vital energy that endlessly changes shape just as easily as we can imagine him as an eternally unmoved unchangeable essence. Our reason is sure of one thing: that it manipulates images and ideas which are dependent on human imagination and its temporal and local conditions, and which have therefore changed innumerable times in the course of their long history. C G Jung: Answer to Job

Complete, definitive & long, or selective & short?

What to do? What to do? Masses of material: many documents, papers, articles, speeches, letters, booklets, notes, drafts, etc. Add an associated library of 115 Jungian related titles. In all the product of near seventy years. A pile of stuff that Irene Pickard described as her 'compost heap' (Inward Light, No 59, Spring 1960). How best to process and present this trove? How to put over its significance? Was there indeed any coherence in the collection? Was there a narrative that would bring it together? How to relate its creation to its historical context? How to trace the lines of development within? Who were the main actors? What were the consequences of their very evident interest that brought these items together and preserved them? How does exploring and writing about it fit into public discourse? What discourse? Within which communities?

Opening an archive is rather like discovering a cave system. An unguessed at network of chambers and passageways is explored, and slowly the system is charted. Perhaps cave paintings, or remains are discovered, and natural wonders revealed. A catalogue of what is there might be created, and a guide to how to access it written and detailed maps drawn. Maybe a history of its discovery and exploration is recorded. What was unknown becomes shared and public. It becomes accessible and known, and may even be valued and added to tourist itineraries. It becomes part of the public landscape.

There clearly was a central event of importance: the direct contact in the 1930s between a group of Geneva Quakers and the psychologist Carl Jung and his circle, just at a time when Jung was developing his theories about the fundamental importance to psychological health and wellbeing of what might be termed the 'spiritual' aspect of life. 

There are the antecedents to this event. Then there are the consequents. How much of each belongs in an account? Where to start and end the narrative? The choice of length and depth would very much dictate how much of each to include, as would considerations of who the likely audience might be and which discourses it might contribute to.

The question of purpose comes into all of this. What is my purpose in researching and reporting on the archive? The latter is easily answered: lacking a specific career goal, such as submitting a thesis, or building a reputation – I am post-career, retired, somewhat past such concerns – I have written about the archive and its creators because that is the only way I know of coming to understand what it contains. It has been my way of processing the contents and their relationship to the historical context. I have then felt compelled to share what I have discovered because, other than whatever contribution it might make to the historical record and the discourses around that, I think it will interest others who share my overlapping interests: philosophy, psychology, history, theology, peace-studies, ethics, Quakerism and the love of a good story. As I opened up the archive, that latter became obvious. 

The main protagonists had extraordinary lives. True, that was in part because they lived in what the apocryphal Chinese curse calls 'interesting times'; but most pertinently they proceeded through those times in countercultural ways. Their history is a history of exception not of conformity. Pacifists and peace-makers in a time of war and bellicose posturing; quietly and undogmatically religious in a time of avant-garde secularism and iconoclasm; deeply and self-critically questioning in a time of assertive certainties (patriotism, nationalism, imperialism, fascism, communism); open and receptive to new and emerging ideas and pluralities, whilst remaining connected and even embedded in their reluctantly evolving and somewhat traditionalist faith community. 

To top it all there were the elements of a good yarn: romance, thwarted love, danger, adventure, and the quest of a woman to find her place in a fast changing and disorientating world; and of an otherwise obscure man who became a founding member of the United Nations secretariat and who was instrumental in helping to shape the post Second World War order.

If I were chasing reputation or career, then a short, punchy account would do the job; but there would only be opportunity for one bite of this particular cherry. A definitive account would be unlikely ever to be written if a short, punchy account was chosen; however, a definitive account would take time and would be difficult to find a publisher for. What was in the archive deserved better than a hit and grab raid, as did the lives of the protagonists, so in the end its been the long haul: a definitive account.

What Is Spirituality? Spirituality is like an adventure park waiting to be explored

Firstly, you don't have to give up! You don't have to be like people who equate spirituality with a religion they decide is false, then abandon. It is possible to look at spirituality another way, as something free of institutional structures and hierarchies, not so much about dogma and beliefs as about attitudes, values and practices, about what motivates you (us) at the deepest level, influencing how you think and behave, helping you find a true and useful place in your community, culture and in the world.

Larry Culliford, M.B., B.Chir. (Cantab), M.R.C. Psych. (UK), is the author of The Psychology of Spirituality and a psychiatrist in Sussex, England. The quote comes from his blog. 

Silently waiting, sitting, hour on hour, week after week, slowly tempering the 'soul' – that inner spirit that drives life forward – like a patient hen sitting on her eggs. This is why they speak of Quakers being 'seasoned', like timbers; raw and green freshly felled wood is of limited use – it will warp and twist too much. The self, too full of ego, twists and warps. Tempered over time, seasoned by the long hours of silent waiting, the 'must have now, must do, must …' subsides as it cannot have the instant gratification it craves. Then the slow hatching of a deeper compassion and care for the living emerges. 

Before Jung 'religion' and 'spirituality' were equated. You were either an entirely secular – a non-believing, reductively rational materialist – or practised one or other religions: signed up and induced into the 'fold' and fed with a pre-packaged meal of belief, which you might be required to regurgitate on occasions. Increasingly that was a diet that was proving to be too indigestible for many.

What Jung found among his patients were increasing numbers who had become alienated from 'religion' as proffered, and who were suffering from varying degrees of ennui as a result. They were – as the title of one of his books suggested – examples of Modern Man in Search of a Soul. They were cast adrift from the anchoring points traditionally provided by religions, but had found no substitute, often believing they needed none: that is why they were floundering and came to him for help. 

His prescription was to look inwardly into the deep mind, often using dreams as a portal – although preferring what he called 'active imagination' – to try to find some anchor points. These often appeared symbolically represented in the pregnant imagery generated in the liminal spaces between full consciousness and the hypnagogic or hypnopompic stages of sleep.   

Such discoveries activated the spiritual aspect of his patients lives – put them in touch with their 'soul'. He was little concerned what symbols triggered such awakening, which religion they might come from – he suspected that they were older than any particular religion – just recurring in different guises as religions transformed and evolved. What mattered was their psychological function in helping his patients become more integrated – less distressed and broken.

That shift from outward induction into a received religion, to inward seeking for what resonates, marks the change from being religious to being spiritual. A phenomena even more marked in recent times than in Jung's lifetime. Books such as Spiritual but not Religious (Robert C Fuller), After Religion (Gordon Lynch), After God (Don Cupitt), or even the Dali Lama's own Beyond Religion being testament to that shift. 

What Jung admired about the Quakers was that they had already made that shift. Their centuries old practice of silent waiting opening them to being spiritually alert rather than being tied to outward forms of worship – the proscribed rituals of religion. Their rejection of creeds and dogmas readying them to respond to what arose rather than providing them with fixed formulas and ready answers.

It was a fascinating part of my research discovering the interactions between the Jungs (both Carl and Emma) and the Geneva Quakers on exactly such topics; and then tracing the consequences of that encounter for the Quaker world and beyond.

Where to begin?

Fitting an archive into its historical context poses a question of where to begin. The obvious answer is 'begin at the beginning'; but where is the beginning? Well, that depends on the audience!

An audience of professional historians might need little in the way of context, especially if they were cultural or intellectual historians (no, not historians who are intellectuals, but historian who study the history of ideas!), or those with an interest in the history of religious movements, or specialists in the history of psychology, or engaged in the history of Peace Studies. 

But then much of the archive was Jungian, so perhaps not historians, but Jungians, or others with an interest in the human mind. 

Then again, Irene Pickard, whose archive it was, was a Quaker – so Quakers? 

How about students of Peace Studies? So much of the why that group of Quakers in Geneva were so deeply interested in what Jung had to say was because of its implications for the peace work they were engaged with.

There were so many overlapping potential circles of interest in the story of the archive and its creators; a case of intersectionality if there ever was.

Even a Quaker audience posed a problem. Many Quakers may not need a lot of context – one might hope so! Although a repeated complaint is how little Quakers know of Quaker history: after all, it is not essential to being a Friend. What matters is what Friends do and how that enriches their lives and the lives of others. The shared space of stillness and silence which engenders so much is why people come, allied with the commitment to living out the truth of what is encountered. That living out often encapsulated as the testimonies of Simplicity, Truth, Equality, Peace and Sustainability. Easily said, but much more complex in the unpacking.

For instance, 'simplicity' means de-ritualising, stripping down to the bear essentials: you, in stillness and silence, sitting with a few others, preferably in a quiet and plain space set aside for the purpose, unburdened by the weight of theology or orchestration by a cleric; but it means so much more too – taking that straightforwardness into daily life. But to do all this – to live it – does not need much, if any, knowledge of Quaker history. Even Quakers might need far more context than might be supposed if they are to appreciate what is in the archive and how that has contributed to shaping modern Quakerism.

To return to the question: who are the likely readers? Clearly the less specialist, the more context would be needed. 

In deciding how to use the fruits of my research I was greatly helped by those wonderfully chance conversations that happen. Friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues – in fact anyone who got chatting to me asking what I was doing these days – got a very, very brief synopsis of what I was researching into. Once they heard, they often said "Oh! I'd like to read about that. Let me know when you have produced something. Sound like it would make a good book."

So, the likely audience seemed to be far wider than professional historian, Jungians, Quakers or other odd assorted individuals; and that helped determine the answer of where to begin: start at the very beginning. Assume anyone reading is simply interested but has no specific background. The sort of person who might mooch through non-fiction titles in a book-store.  

That set the the question of who on earth are the Quakers and how did they come about, as the starting point for the narrative of how and why Irene Pickard's archive came to be created and preserved – but in no more than 1500 words. That meant a lot of simplifying and compacting! And going back to 1652.

No. I tell a lie! To 1612 and the burning at the stake of Bartholomew Legate.

No! That not it. To the Lollards in the mid 14th century.

Actually, to a streak of perversity among the English, Welsh, Scots and Irish, that waves a finger at any would be authority.

Am I fullfilling Godwin's law?

 Jung, the Quakers and Hitler – why the Hitler? He certainly was not there when I started. 

It began with my being invited to look at an archive left to an elderly Friend (yes, the capital is intended, she was a Quaker, born and bred, and an active Member – yes that capital too – of the Society of Friends – yep, and those) who was deeply concerned that her mother's archive might be lost or destroyed when she died. That was exactly what had happened to her mother's friend's archive when she died: it was mistakenly sold along with the household furniture. She had been the first Jungian analyst in Washington D.C., a founder of the Friends Conference on Religion and Psychology, and for many years the editor of Inward Light. Among her papers would have been many fascinating letters exchanged between her, the Jungs (yes, both Carl and Emma) and her own analyst for many years – Tina Keller-Jenny. Posterity lost out there: they're gone – the letters and all – no doubt consigned to some rubbish dump or incinerator.

Needless to say, Irene Pickard's surviving daughter was concerned that the same fate should not happen to her mothers archive. She had inherited them from her sister – herself a psychiatrist – who had inherited them from their mother. They had both understood that the archive was worth preserving, that its contents were certainly unique and irreplaceable, and might well be of value to future researchers. Some of it had already been used as a resource for one post-graduate submission for a higher degree, and another academic had written a paper about their father – Bertram Pickard. His papers, and some of his wife's, had been preserved. They had been gifted to the Swarthmore College Peace Collection. 

And that was where Hitler got in.

It is simply not possible to write about what was in Irene's archive without him. He had dominated their lives for far too many years because Bertram was actively involved in peace work for most of his life, spending a large part of it in the shadow of the rise of Hitler – an experience that almost cost all of his family their lives –and then in the aftermath of the Third Reich, helping to repair the damage. 

I was asked a simple question when I was invited to look at Irene's Jungian archive. Was the archive of value? As it contained heaps of Jungian related material, including correspondence with him, and was a record of how a group of Quakers struggled with and absorbed his ideas, coming in time to disseminate them on both sides of the Atlantic. There was no doubt in my mind it was of value. It contained a remarkable story waiting to be told, especially as it was interwoven with the story of the Pickard's peace work as a background.

I was allowed to have privileged access to the papers before a home was found for them among the Quaker archives at the University of Essex.  

Godwin's law? The longer the discussion, the more likely a Nazi comparison becomes, and with long enough discussions, it is a certainty. So in discussing my researches, it was utterly and completely unavoidable that I would fulfil the law. 

I understand that in some groups this would automatically signal the end of a discussion. Well, that's me stymied then, given what I am writing about.

Margaret Fell and Spinoza

One of the more unlikely surprises I had during my research was a connection between Margaret Fell (1614 – 1702) and Baruch Spinoza (1632 – 1677): Spinoza translated Margaret's Epistles to the Jews into Hebrew. 

Margaret Fell, who became George Fox's wife later in her life, is very much one of the co-founders of Quakerism, giving it the pastoral structures that enabled it to survive, especially through those early years of persecution and imprisonment. She herself suffered two lengthy spells in prison. Perhaps her most significant writing is Womens Speaking Justified (1666), in which she argued for spiritual equality between men and women, and equal weight being given to their ministry. It is in many ways the foundation of the Testimony of Equality that has stood ever since.

Spinoza I knew from my undergraduate studies in the early 1970s. Margaret Fell I only encountered after I came into Quaker circles some ten or so years ago. That Spinoza, one of the outstanding philosophers of his age, should have encountered Quakers at all seemed unlikely: Quakers were very few and thin on the ground, almost unknown outside England or Wales at that time, and he was a Dutch Jew, who never travelled outside of the Netherlands.

However, following his expulsion from the Amsterdam Jewish community (1656), Spinoza formed relationships with the Dutch Collegiants and via them with the Quakers, some of whom were travelling in Holland, having been drawn to the Collegiants, feeling that they were fellow spirits. He didn't join either, but he did spend time with both, moving to be nearer the headquarters of the Collegiants. It was during that period he offered to translate Margaret's epistle.

In many ways the Collegiants and the Quakers shared much in common, certainly in their attitude of distaste for the established and hierarchical churches, and for a shared attitude towards scriptures as inspired guidance rather than divine writ. They also shared a great tolerance of diverse views, seeing what spoke in people's hearts to be a better guide than the diktats of any church. 

Both had many among them those who embraced Spinoza's vision of God – a view very far removed from the dominant vision of the times. It has been called pantheism – the identity of reality and divinity – or, more crudely, God = Nature, but it is more sophisticated than that. However, it was a vision that placed human beings as the active agents and 'God' as a passive background, enabling and inspiring, but not controlling or interfering. This was humans as moral agents come of age.

It was exactly such attitudes that led George Keith (1638-1716) – an early Quaker and one of Fox's travelling companions both in the Netherlands and in America – to eventually abandon the Quakers, accusing them of being 'deists'. He would have know well what he meant by such a term, having graduated from Aberdeen in Theology before turning Quaker. Deists do not see God as playing an intercessional or active part in human affairs: very much Spinoza's view. He unequivocally denied a personal 'God' as mere superstition.