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Friends United Meeting |
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November 2004
Scholarly Simplicity
by Nancy Thomas
A s a longtime fan of John Woolman, I loved the title of the collection, The Tendering Presence, and anticipated receiving my copy in the mail. I was not disappointed, although my reflections on reading the book lead me down some unanticipated paths.
In The Tendering Presence: Essays on John Woolman (Pendle Hill, 2003), editor Mike Heller gathers the insights of 20 contemporary scholars who reflect on the writings of 18th century Quaker John Woolman. The variety of approaches is one of the strengths of this volume. The contributors themselves represent a wide spectrum of Quaker thought, including the pastoral/evangelical branch of the family, unprogrammed Friends, some hard-to-classify Quakers (who would probably rather not be classifi ed anyway) and a Jesuit priest. The disciplines these women and men bring to their refl ections include sociology, American and English literary studies, rhetoric and communications, religion and theology, economics, education, feminism and gender studies, peace studies, history and, of course, Quaker studies, which has become a discipline in itself.
The purpose of the collection is “to deepen our understanding of John Woolman’s writings and their implications, particularly as they affect our common humanity and universal, spiritual love.” (page xi) Heller divides the books into sections: Woolman’s spirituality; literary, historical and economic issues; oppression, social change and education; and a concluding section featuring two Quaker scholars, Phillips P. Moulton and Sterling Olmsted. Each contributor analyzes a particular aspect of Woolman’s thought from the vantage point of their discipline, with implications for contemporary issues. I found myself amazed at all the possible ways to read and analyze Woolman. I naturally also found myself enjoying some articles more than others, on the basis of my own vocation as a writer (and lover of language and literature) and university teacher in Latin America. Because of this variety, the book will appeal to readers from different backgrounds and professions.
As a teacher and writer, I especially enjoyed two essays: Mary Rose O’Reilley’s “John Woolman: The Unconstructed Self” and Anne Dalke’s “‘Fully Attending to the Spirit’: John Woolman and the Practice of Quaker Pedagogy.” O’Reilley integrates her literary studies of spiritual autobiography with her personal experience as a teacher. I appreciated her sense of humor, something that doesn’t always shine out of academic writing. Anne Dalke begins with her teaching experience at a university “with vexed Quaker roots,” drawing out of Woolman a Quaker pedagogy of acceptance, humility, community, listening and gentleness. She presents a picture of a teacher as “gardener,” “midwife” and “host.” This is good stuff.
But I also discovered I could not take the book in large doses. This is defi nitely a book by academics for academics, and as such, it abounds in careful academic language. In the introduction, Heller notes that “these essays model that scholarship which seeks to practice dispassionate research at the same time that it recognizes that, as scholars, our lives also are touched personally and spiritually by Woolman’s writings.” (page xi) A good goal, but one I found not actually realized in these essays as a whole. With a few notable exceptions (O’Reilley and Dalke, for example), most of the contributors stayed on the level of “dispassionate research.”
As I read and even struggled through some of the articles, I found myself longing after simplicity. In short, I found myself drawn back to John Woolman himself and to the tendering Presence at the center. Not a bad result. I asked myself, “What would Woolman think of all this?” He was so careful with words, always waiting until “I felt Truth open the way to speak a little in much plainness and simplicity.” Having recently just emerged alive from a doctoral program, I’ve done my fair share of wading through academic language, including my own. Approaching the end of my project, I wrote a poem entitled “Writing the Dissertation,” a series of metaphors and observations, including the following:
As a teacher I write things like
- missiologically communicative text
- global discourse structure
- fragmentation/integration dichotomy
then look in the mirror to see who’s saying that stuff. It’s me, of course. I’m the one saying that stuff. Sometimes, if I catch myself in time, I can laugh. Other times, I just pray, “God, have mercy” and hope people can understand me anyway.
All of this has led me to reflect on what may seem to be a contradiction within Quakerism: the high value we place on simplicity in all of life, including the ways we use language, and, at the same time, the importance we give to academic excellence. In our history we’ve said, “Christ is among us as our Teacher,” then gone around founding universities. Perhaps this is not so much a contradiction as it is something that makes us interesting. At any rate, I take it as a challenge to integrate academic excellence with simplicity of heart and clarity of expression. I sense many of the writers in The Tendering Presence also wrestling with this issue.
I’m reminded of the time a few years ago when, in a conversation with a beloved Quaker mentor, I expressed my desire to go into doctoral studies. “Why, Nancy?” he asked. “Your gift is poetry. You don’t need more schooling to write well. Experience life and write from your center.” I still recognize this as good advice, even though I didn’t take it. Something that’s helping me bring together these seemingly conflictive Quaker values is what I’m coming to recognize as a spirituality of academics. I find it interesting that Heller entitles the last section of his book, “Scholars Who Became Disciples.” The link between scholarship and discipleship provides a key to a spirituality of academics.
I first discovered this link last year as I read through Matthew 13 and was brought up short by Jesus’ words to his disciples at the end of this section. After asking them if they understand his parables of the kingdom and why he uses this form, and after receiving their affirmative answer, Jesus concludes by saying, “Therefore every scribe who has become a disciple of the kingdom of heaven is like a head of a household, who brings forth out of his treasure things new and old.” Matthew 13:52 (NASB)
At the time of Jesus, a scribe was more than a court reporter. He was a teaching scholar, one versed in all the legal details of Jewish law, an academic, a Ph.D. with tenure. The first thing that caught my attention was Jesus’ positive reference to scribes. Elsewhere in the Gospels, he links scribes with Pharisees and calls them hypocrites, people who use academic or religious language to hide their poverty of spirit. But here we obviously have a different breed, “scribes who have become disciples;” teachers who are simultaneously learners and followers of Jesus. Academics who, in the language of John Woolman, have learned to “keep low” as they respond to the Spirit’s leading. This gives me hope.
These disciple/scribes are like the head of a large household that would have included in those days several generations of the family, numerous servants and possibly slaves (sorry, Mr. Woolman). The responsible household “head” would keep supplies on hand from which to provide for those under his care in time of need. Applied to godly scholars, this is the picture of one who teaches from a wealth of personal resources, studies and professional experience, giving out to those under his or her care in ways that genuinely meet needs.
The scholarly disciple gives “things old and new.” I had one of those “aha!” moments when I read this part. As part of my own research, I have applied what’s called relevance theory to the communication of the gospel. Basically, relevance theory comes down to communication that meets receptors’ needs by beginning with familiar forms and content (“old things”), but includes when appropriate fresh forms that attract with content that fills a gap (“new things”). Jesus said it better. I’m glad to know that a scholar and a disciple can live together in one body. I’m glad for the godly Christian scholars who have personally influenced me and taught me more than their subject matter. They’ve been models that help me live out my current role as teacher, mentor, writer and, above all, disciple of Jesus. Many have shown me how to keep simple in the complex world of higher education.
I like the book, The Tendering Presence: Essays on John Woolman. (I like Woolman’s Journalbetter, but probably every contributor to this anthology would agree with me!) As a book by academics, written in academic language, for academic readers, it probably fulfills the requirements of relevant communication and makes a valuable contribution. I’m glad I own a copy. I will re-read many of the essays. But I am drawn to the singleness of eye, the simplicity of heart and the clarity of speech that John Woolman so beautifully demonstrates. With his example, and as part of a faith community that includes academic Quakers but is not limited to them, let us strive to be “taught by renewed experience to labor for an inward stillness, at no time to seek for words, but to live in the spirit of Truth and utter that to the people which Truth opened in us.” (John Woolman)
Nancy Thomas is serving in Santa Cruz at the Universidad Evangelica Boliviana with the Bolivia Friends Mission.