The Quakers

I was of opinion that the doctrine and history of so extraordinary a people were worthy the attention of the curious. To acquaint myself with them I made a visit to one of the most eminent Quakers in England, who, after having traded thirty years, had the wisdom to prescribe limits to his fortune and to his desires, and was settled in a little solitude not far from London. Being come into it, I perceived a small but regularly built house, vastly neat, but without the least pomp of furniture. The Quaker who owned it was a hale, ruddy-complexioned old man, who had never been afflicted with sickness because he had always been insensible to passions, and a perfect stranger to intemperance. I never in my life saw a more noble or a more engaging aspect than his. He was dressed like those of his persuasion, in a plain coat without pleats in the sides, or buttons on the pockets and sleeves; and had on a beaver, the brims of which were horizontal like those of our clergy. He did not uncover himself when I appeared, and advanced towards me without once stooping his body; but there appeared more politeness in the open, humane air of his countenance, than in the custom of drawing one leg behind the other, and taking that from the head which is made to cover it. “Friend,” says he to me, “I perceive thou art a stranger, but if I can do anything for thee, only tell me.” “Sir,” said I to him, bending forwards and advancing, as is usual with us, one leg towards him, “I flatter myself that my just curiosity will not give you the least offence, and that you’ll do me the honour to inform me of the particulars of your religion.” “The people of thy country,” replied the Quaker, “are too full of their bows and compliments, but I never yet met with one of them who had so much curiosity as thyself. Come in, and let us first dine together.” I still continued to make some very unseasonable ceremonies, it not being easy to disengage one’s self at once from habits we have been long used to; and after taking part in a frugal meal, which began and ended with a prayer to God, I began to question my courteous host. I opened with that which good Catholics have more than once made to Huguenots. “My dear sir,” said I, “were you ever baptised?” “I never was,” replied the Quaker, “nor any of my brethren.” “Zounds!” say I to him, “you are not Christians, then.” “Friend,” replies the old man in a soft tone of voice, “swear not; we are Christians, and endeavour to be good Christians, but we are not of opinion that the sprinkling water on a child’s head makes him a Christian.” “Heavens!” say I, shocked at his impiety, “you have then forgot that Christ was baptised by St. John.” “Friend,” replies the mild Quaker once again, “swear not; Christ indeed was baptised by John, but He himself never baptised anyone. We are the disciples of Christ, not of John.” I pitied very much the sincerity of my worthy Quaker, and was absolutely for forcing him to get himself christened. “Were that all,” replied he very gravely, “we would submit cheerfully to baptism, purely in compliance with thy weakness, for we don’t condemn any person who uses it; but then we think that those who profess a religion of so holy, so spiritual a nature as that of Christ, ought to abstain to the utmost of their power from the Jewish ceremonies.” “O unaccountable!” say I: “what! baptism a Jewish ceremony?” “Yes, my friend,” says he, “so truly Jewish, that a great many Jews use the baptism of John to this day. Look into ancient authors, and thou wilt find that John only revived this practice; and that it had been used by the Hebrews, long before his time, in like manner as the Mahometans imitated the Ishmaelites in their pilgrimages to Mecca. Jesus indeed submitted to the baptism of John, as He had suffered Himself to be circumcised; but circumcision and the washing with water ought to be abolished by the baptism of Christ, that baptism of the Spirit, that ablution of the soul, which is the salvation of mankind. Thus the forerunner said, ‘I indeed baptise you with water unto repentance; but He that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear: he shall baptise you with the Holy Ghost and with fire.’ Likewise Paul, the great apostle of the Gentiles, writes as follows to the Corinthians, ‘Christ sent me not to baptise, but to preach the Gospel;’ and indeed Paul never baptised but two persons with water, and that very much against his inclinations. He circumcised his disciple Timothy, and the other disciples likewise circumcised all who were willing to submit to that carnal ordinance. But art thou circumcised?” added he. “I have not the honour to be so,” say I. “Well, friend,” continues the Quaker, “thou art a Christian without being circumcised, and I am one without being baptised.” Thus did this pious man make a wrong but very specious application of four or five texts of Scripture which seemed to favour the tenets of his sect; but at the same time forgot very sincerely an hundred texts which made directly against them. I had more sense than to contest with him, since there is no possibility of convincing an enthusiast. A man should never pretend to inform a lover of his mistress’s faults, no more than one who is at law, of the badness of his cause; nor attempt to win over a fanatic by strength of reasoning. Accordingly I waived the subject.

I thought the beliefs and history of such an extraordinary people deserved the attention of curious minds. To learn about them, I visited one of the most distinguished Quakers in England. After thirty years in trade, he had wisely set limits to both his wealth and his desires. He had settled in a quiet retreat near London. When I arrived, I saw a small, well-proportioned house, extremely neat but without any showy furnishings. Its owner was a healthy old man with a ruddy complexion. He had never been ill because he had always been free from violent passions and had never indulged in excess. I had never seen a nobler or more appealing face. Like others of his faith, he wore a plain coat, without side pleats or buttons on the pockets and sleeves. He also wore a beaver-felt hat with a flat brim, like the hats of our clergy. He did not remove his hat when I appeared, and he approached me without bowing. Yet his open, kindly expression showed more courtesy than the custom of drawing one leg behind the other. It also showed more courtesy than removing from the head the very thing made to cover it. “Friend,” he said, “I see you are a stranger, but if I can do anything for you, just tell me.” “Sir,” I said, bowing and extending one leg toward him, as we usually do, “I hope my reasonable curiosity won’t offend you. Would you do me the honor of explaining the details of your religion?” “People from your country,” replied the Quaker, “are too fond of bows and compliments. But I have never met one as curious as you. Come in, and let us have dinner first.” I went on with some very ill-timed formalities. Long-standing habits are not easily abandoned all at once. After sharing a simple meal, which began and ended with a prayer to God, I questioned my courteous host. I began with a question that good Catholics have asked Huguenots more than once. “My dear sir,” I said, “have you ever been baptized?” “I never have,” replied the Quaker, “nor have any of my fellow Quakers.” “By God!” I said. “Then you aren’t Christians.” “Friend,” the old man replied gently, “do not swear. We are Christians, and we try to be good Christians. But we do not believe that sprinkling water on a child’s head makes the child a Christian.” “Heavens!” I said, shocked at his impiety. “Have you forgotten that Christ was baptized by St. John?” “Friend,” the gentle Quaker replied again, “do not swear. Christ was indeed baptized by John, but he himself never baptized anyone. We are disciples of Christ, not of John.” I felt great pity for my worthy Quaker’s sincerity and was quite determined to force him to get baptized. “If that were all,” he replied very seriously, “we would gladly accept baptism simply to accommodate your weakness. We do not condemn anyone who practices baptism. But we believe that followers of a religion as holy and spiritual as Christ’s should avoid Jewish ceremonies whenever possible.” “How absurd!” I said. “What! Baptism a Jewish ceremony?” “Yes, my friend,” he said. “So thoroughly Jewish that many Jews still practice John’s baptism today. Read the ancient authors, and you will find that John merely revived the practice. The Hebrews had used baptism long before his time, just as the Mahometans imitated the Ishmaelites in their pilgrimages to Mecca. Jesus did submit to John’s baptism, just as he had allowed himself to be circumcised. But Christ’s baptism should replace circumcision and washing with water. His baptism is the baptism of the Spirit, the cleansing of the soul that brings salvation to mankind. Thus John, who came before Christ, said, ‘I baptize you with water for repentance. But the one coming after me is mightier than I am, and I am not worthy to carry his shoes. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.’ Likewise Paul, the great apostle to the Gentiles, writes to the Corinthians, ‘Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the Gospel.’ Indeed, Paul baptized only two people with water, and did so very much against his wishes. He circumcised his disciple Timothy. The other disciples likewise circumcised everyone willing to undergo that bodily rite. But are you circumcised?” he added. “I have not had that honor,” I said. “Well, friend,” continued the Quaker, “you are a Christian without being circumcised, and I am one without being baptized.” So this devout man gave a false but very plausible interpretation of four or five passages from Scripture. Those passages seemed to support his sect’s beliefs. Yet he quite sincerely forgot a hundred passages that directly contradicted those beliefs. I knew better than to argue with him, since there is no convincing a religious zealot. You should never try to tell a lover about his mistress’s faults, or a litigant how weak his case is. Nor should you try to win over a fanatic through reason. So I dropped the subject.

“Well,” said I to him, “what sort of a communion have you?” “We have none like that thou hintest at among us,” replied he. “How! no communion?” said I. “Only that spiritual one,” replied he, “of hearts.” He then began again to throw out his texts of Scripture; and preached a most eloquent sermon against that ordinance. He harangued in a tone as though he had been inspired, to prove that the sacraments were merely of human invention, and that the word “sacrament” was not once mentioned in the Gospel. “Excuse,” said he, “my ignorance, for I have not employed a hundredth part of the arguments which might be brought to prove the truth of our religion, but these thou thyself mayest peruse in the Exposition of our Faith written by Robert Barclay. It is one of the best pieces that ever was penned by man; and as our adversaries confess it to be of dangerous tendency, the arguments in it must necessarily be very convincing.” I promised to peruse this piece, and my Quaker imagined he had already made a convert of me. He afterwards gave me an account in few words of some singularities which make this sect the contempt of others. “Confess,” said he, “that it was very difficult for thee to refrain from laughter, when I answered all thy civilities without uncovering my head, and at the same time said ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ to thee. However, thou appearest to me too well read not to know that in Christ’s time no nation was so ridiculous as to put the plural number for the singular. Augustus Cæsar himself was spoken to in such phrases as these: ‘I love thee,’ ‘I beseech thee,’ ‘I thank thee;’ but he did not allow any person to call him ‘Domine,’ sir. It was not till many ages after that men would have the word ‘you,’ as though they were double, instead of ‘thou’ employed in speaking to them; and usurped the flattering titles of lordship, of eminence, and of holiness, which mere worms bestow on other worms by assuring them that they are with a most profound respect, and an infamous falsehood, their most obedient humble servants. It is to secure ourselves more strongly from such a shameless traffic of lies and flattery, that we ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ a king with the same freedom as we do a beggar, and salute no person; we owing nothing to mankind but charity, and to the laws respect and obedience.

“Well,” I asked him, “what kind of communion do you have?” “We have nothing like the communion you mean,” he replied. “What! No communion?” I said. “Only the spiritual communion of hearts,” he replied. He then began quoting Scripture again and preached a most eloquent sermon against the rite of communion. He spoke as though inspired, arguing that the sacraments were merely human inventions. The word “sacrament,” he said, never appeared in the Gospel. “Forgive my ignorance,” he said. “I have not used a hundredth of the arguments that could prove the truth of our religion. But you can read those arguments yourself in the Exposition of our Faith, written by Robert Barclay. It is one of the best works anyone has ever written. And since our opponents admit that the book is dangerous, its arguments must necessarily be very convincing.” I promised to read the book, and my Quaker imagined he had already converted me. He then briefly described some peculiar customs that made others look down on his sect. “Admit,” he said, “that you found it very hard not to laugh when I returned all your polite greetings. I kept my hat on and called you ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ at the same time. Still, you seem too well-read not to know how people spoke in Christ’s time. No nation then was so ridiculous as to use a plural pronoun for one person. Even Augustus Cæsar was addressed with phrases like ‘I love thee,’ ‘I beg thee,’ and ‘I thank thee.’ But he allowed no one to call him ‘Domine,’ or sir. Only many centuries later did people insist on being called ‘you’ instead of ‘thou,’ as though they were two people. They also claimed flattering titles like lordship, eminence, and holiness. Mere worms bestow these titles on other worms. With the deepest respect and a disgraceful lie, they assure one another that they are their most obedient, humble servants. To guard ourselves more firmly against this shameless trade in lies and flattery, we use ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ with everyone. We address a king as freely as a beggar, and we bow to no one. We owe our fellow human beings nothing but charity, and the laws nothing but respect and obedience.

“Our apparel is also somewhat different from that of others, and this purely, that it may be a perpetual warning to us not to imitate them. Others wear the badges and marks of their several dignities, and we those of Christian humility. We fly from all assemblies of pleasure, from diversions of every kind, and from places where gaming is practised; and indeed our case would be very deplorable, should we fill with such levities as those I have mentioned the heart which ought to be the habitation of God. We never swear, not even in a court of justice, being of opinion that the most holy name of God ought not to be prostituted in the miserable contests betwixt man and man. When we are obliged to appear before a magistrate upon other people’s account (for law-suits are unknown among the Friends), we give evidence to the truth by sealing it with our yea or nay; and the judges believe us on our bare affirmation, whilst so many other Christians forswear themselves on the holy Gospels. We never war or fight in any case; but it is not that we are afraid, for so far from shuddering at the thoughts of death, we on the contrary bless the moment which unites us with the Being of Beings; but the reason of our not using the outward sword is, that we are neither wolves, tigers, nor mastiffs, but men and Christians. Our God, who has commanded us to love our enemies, and to suffer without repining, would certainly not permit us to cross the seas, merely because murderers clothed in scarlet, and wearing caps two foot high, enlist citizens by a noise made with two little sticks on an ass’s skin extended. And when, after a victory is gained, the whole city of London is illuminated; when the sky is in a blaze with fireworks, and a noise is heard in the air, of thanksgivings, of bells, of organs, and of the cannon, we groan in silence, and are deeply affected with sadness of spirit and brokenness of heart, for the sad havoc which is the occasion of those public rejoicings.”

“Our clothing is also somewhat different from other people’s, solely to remind us constantly not to imitate them. Others wear signs and symbols of their various ranks, and we wear signs of Christian humility. We avoid all gatherings for pleasure, every kind of entertainment, and places where people gamble. Indeed, our condition would be pitiful if we filled our hearts with such frivolous things. Our hearts should be God’s home. We never swear oaths, not even in court. We believe God’s most holy name should not be degraded by use in the miserable disputes between people. When we must appear before a magistrate on someone else’s behalf, we confirm the truth with a simple yes or no. Lawsuits among the Friends are unknown. Judges believe our plain statements, while so many other Christians swear falsely on the holy Gospels. We never go to war or fight under any circumstances. But our refusal is not caused by fear. Far from trembling at the thought of death, we bless the moment that unites us with the Being of Beings. We refuse to use physical swords because we are neither wolves, tigers, nor mastiffs, but human beings and Christians. Our God has commanded us to love our enemies and suffer without complaint. He would certainly not allow us to cross the seas merely because murderers in scarlet uniforms recruit citizens. These murderers wear caps two feet high and recruit by beating two little sticks against a stretched donkey skin. And when a victory is won, the whole city of London is lit up in celebration. The sky blazes with fireworks, and the air fills with thanksgiving, bells, organs, and cannon fire. When these celebrations take place, we groan in silence. We are deeply saddened and heartbroken by the terrible destruction that gives rise to this public rejoicing.”