‘The Lure of False Lights’
Chapter II of Frederick J. Nicholson's landmark history, Quakers and the Arts: A Survey of Attitudes of British Friends to the Creative Arts from the Seventeeth to the Twentieth Century. London: Friends Home Service Committee, 1968
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CHAPTER II: ‘The Lure of False Lights’
ABSTRACTING from all the workings, imaginations and speculations of his own mind, that being emptied, as it were, of himself, and so thoroughly crucified to the natural products thereof, he may be fit to receive the Lord, who will have no copartner nor rival of his own glory and power. . . . And Man being in this state the little Seed of righteousness which God hath planted in his soul . . . even the measure of grace and life . . . becomes a holy birth and geniture in man.
From Proposition XI in Robert Barclay’s ApologyThe very furnishings for our momentous voyage through ‘time and mutability’ are to be jettisoned as soon as possible, and we are to sail away only as we are blown by breezes which come wholly from another world. It is a situation which a rigid dualism of ‘worlds’ forces upon one; and these Friends saw no way out of it. In that hard strait they accepted it with all its stern consequences and made their uttermost sacrifice out of sheer loyalty to their light the highest and clearest their souls could see.
William Law and Eighteenth Century Quakerism by Stephen Hobhouse.
In the vocabulary of the first Friends the key-word was Simplicity. Simplicity (sine plexus), without folds, complexities; the core of religious faith and practice was stripped of all that was considered inessential. The simplicity of Truth was found by breaking off the accretions of creeds and removing the weary load of ‘conned and gathered stuff’. The simplicity of worship was reached through the instrumentality of silence and the refusal of outward visual and [18] auditory aids and sensuous means of grace. Emotional simplicity lay in the disowning of the Ranters and the discouragement of demonstrations of exaggerated feeling. (30) Simplicity of building and furniture was achieved by strict avoidance of elaboration, ornamentation and superfluities, in contrast to contemporary Baroque extravagancies. Simplicity of speech was stressed by the deliberate dropping of titles and the addressing of all ranks by ‘thou’ or ‘thee’ (a custom which George Fox would find already common in the neighbourly northwest). Simplicity of manner was practised in refusal to bow and scrape and doff the hat in artificial or obsequious ceremony; and plainness of dress denied the peacock-pride of Restoration fashions.
In the circumstances of the second half of the seventeenth century the Quaker emphasis upon Simplicity was a challenge to all Christians; and the unconventionality of the first Friends was the effect, not the cause, of their concentration upon essentials. (31) The utter sincerity of their witness to what they felt were the essentials of Christian faith, and of their protest against empty forms and ‘creeds outworn’ was proved by the extraordinary patience of Quakers under the most savage and prolonged persecution. Seeking not martyrdom for its own sake or to acquire merit in God’s sight (as many religious people have mistakenly done) they bore with cheerful patience long imprisonment in filthy jails, ‘turning their necessity to glorious gain’, penning encouraging or argumentative epistles, writing journals or, like Thomas Ellwood, sewing flannel night-waistcoats! It is right that all succeeding generations of Quakers should honour these brave souls. But the best of them would be the first to deplore any elevation of the means and manner of their witness to the status of idols. it would indeed have saddened them to find in the aftermath of the toleration of Quakers (beginning in the reign of William and Mary) a growing tendency to stress the letter rather than follow the spirit of the simplicities.
We may regret, but we need not condemn, the behaviour of the Quakers who lived in the quiet times which followed upon the storm and stress of the seventeenth century. Action and reaction, creation and consolidation appear to be ‘laws’ of history as well as movements in the psychic and spiritual life of men. The strong, full tide of faith which had flooded Puritan England receded, leaving in separate self-containment the various churches and sects. Among the Quakers the energy which had been missionary and aggressive became in-drawn and concerned with organisation and the conduct and manners of their members. This increasing concern with externals was already showing among Friends in the closing years of the seventeenth century; and one of its features was a marked tendency to impose uniformity of dress and colour.
George Fox was far too much occupied with the essential simplicities of the spirit to worry about prescribing forms. He never made any regulations about a uniform style or colour of dress. Had he not, in fact, once spent the money which his good wife sent to her ‘Dear George’ on some bright red cloth to make her a mantle? His own garb, once he had discarded his leather breeches (objects of ridicule among Cromwell’s guards!), was similar to his King’s but without the trimmings; (32) and he wore his hair long almost like a Cavalier’s. It is not surprising, therefore, that George Fox’s wife, Margaret, the ‘nursing mother of Quakerism’, grew impatient with the new trend to uniformity. Had she not lived most of her long life near the blue waters of Morecambe Bay, the ever-changing light on he lakes, the russet of bracken and bent on Furness Fell and the vivid spring-time greens of the ‘in-takes’ at the foot of the hills? She could never agree that change and variety need ‘burthen the pure life’. Writing in 1700 of the new trend she declared:
Christ Jesus saith that we must take no thought what we shall eat, or what we shall drink, or what we shall put on: but bids us consider the lilies, how they grow in more royalty than Solomon. But contrary to this, we must look at no colours, nor make anything that is changeable colours as the hills are, nor sell them nor wear them; but we must be all in one dress and one colour. This is a silly poor gospel! It is more fit for us to be covered with God’s eternal Spirit, and clothed with his eternal Light, which leads us and guides us into righteousness.
Unfortunately this advice of the ‘nursing mother’ was not followed and more, not less, thought was taken on what Quakers should or should not put on, how they should speak and behave. The severity of the cut of their clothes was, from the early eighteenth century, accentuated by limitation to greys and browns, although for a period women seem to have adopted green aprons. So fixed in this severity did they become that over a hundred years after Margaret Fox’s protest a reliable observer (33) wrote:
The men wear neither lace, frills, ruffles, swords nor any of the ornaments used by the fashionable world. The women wear neither lace, flounces, lappets, rings, bracelets, necklaces, ear-rings, nor anything belonging to this class . . . All gay colours, such as red, blue, green and yellow, are exploded. Dressing in this manner, a Quaker is known by his apparel through the whole kingdom. This is not the case with any other individuals of the island, except the clergy.
The last two sentences are most significant. In the eighteenth century Quakers became a distinctive sect, a kind of closed order recognised by a uniform and a standard manner of speech and behaviour that was heavily marked by sobriety, gravity and godly fear. In 1737 membership of the ‘Society’ by birth was introduced, ensuring that children of Friends were ipso facto members of the sect. And in the following year there was issued the first written Book of Discipline. This was a series of Advices which in course of [21] time almost came to be regarded as a Quaker version of the Ten commandments. In the Advices, as in the many Epistles, sermons and journals of eighteenth century Quakers, moral prohibitions and pious prescriptions centre round sobriety, self-denial, plainness and godliness. It cannot be denied that some advice on self-denial and moderation was then, as indeed it generally is, necessary for the guidance of Christians. Some Friends were growing too prosperous, forgetting in their ease how to ‘sit loose’ to riches. John Wesley faulted Friends on this score of worldliness; and even the good-natured John Byrom could write in 1730: (34) ‘I am far from being an enemy of the Quakers because of their name "Quakers". It is their life, their love of the world, their wisdom as to this generation, their luxury and neglect of that Spirit which they particularly pretend to, which I blame in a Quaker—as well as in myself and others.’
The worldliness of some prosperous Quakers, however, does not justify the extraordinary weight and volume of warnings and advices, prohibitions and restrictions which poured out of Yearly Meetings, sermons and journals in the eighteenth century. The Epistles from Yearly Meeting, circulated to Friends everywhere, show an almost pathological fear of the ‘perishing gratifications of sense and self-love’ and a compulsion to insist on conformity. Quotations will illustrate the depth of the fear of ‘the lure of false lights’, and the degree of the compulsion which transformed the original dynamic of simplicity to an affected simplism; and a protest against empty forms to an almost perverse pride in the outward marks of a ‘peculiar people’. (35) The Epistle of 1699 sounds rather disingenuous:
Now, dear Friends, not thinking it needful to renew our oft-repeated advices, to keep out of the evil ways, fashions and customs, which the spirit of the world leads into, we recommend you to the Lord.
[22] The Epistle of 1704 reads:
And this meeting . . . doth earnestly recommend that all, who make profession of the truth, take care to be exemplary in what they wear, and what they use; so as to avoid the vain customs of the world, and all extravagancy in colour and fashion.
1732:
And, as it is evident that the simplicity and distinguishing plainness of our holy profession are too much lost among us, respecting language, apparel and behaviour; we therefore earnestly exhort all to keep under the power of the Cross of Christ, which will crucify to the world, and the vanities of it, and bring up in a true life of self-denial, agreeable to the gospel, and example of our elders.
1738:
Avoid sports, plays and all such diversions as tending to alienate the mind from God. . . . It is apparent, to our very great grief, that the simplicity and distinguishing plainness of our profession respecting language, apparel and behaviour is too much departed from by many among us.
In 1739 there is a similar warning against the ‘growing sin of pride in apparel’, and the Epistle of 1742 mourns the turning aside ‘into the follies, vanities and pastimes of the world’.
1745 records ‘a great declension among too many of the professors of truth, from that Christian plainness and humble deportment which our ancient Friends were exemplary in’; and two years later further degeneration is noted in these respects of plainness of speech and apparel among many who ‘by a mean compliance with the customs and fashions of this evil world, made under the mistaken notion of rendering themselves agreeable to others, are indeed become contemptible even in the eyes of those they seek to please.’
And so to the end of the century—and beyond. In 1785 Yearly Meeting reminds Friends again:
Frequent and earnest have been the Advices of former Yearly Meetings, that all under our name may avoid the [23] attendance of vain sports, and places of amusement, (36) which divert the mind from serious reflection, and incline it to wantonness and vanity. Understanding that diversions of this kind are spreading, and playhouses increasing in various places, we are concerned to renew a caution on this subject: being clearly convinced of the pernicious effects of these evil practices, the inventions of degenerate man.
Yearly Meeting of 1799 finishes the eighteenth century with: ‘This Meeting has repeatedly testified against vain sports, and places of diversion, as so many allurements tending to draw the mind from its watch.’
In almost every Epistle of that century there are urgent appeals to parents to keep their children ‘out of the vain and foolish fashions and ways of the world, and in plainness of language, habit and behaviour.’ This natural but fearful concern for children’s moral welfare is a constant theme of the sermons and testimonies of the itinerant Ministers of these times. John Griffiths spoke for most of them when he deplored an ‘earthly, lofty spirit’. His advice to parents and children (37) includes a strong plea to refrain from all works,
which being barely for amusement are unprofitable; whereas time is very precious, short and uncertain; therefore it should be carefully improved to the soul’s everlasting advantage. . . . Carefully shun the vain, unprofitable amusements, as well as the corrupt conversation of the world; all being earnestly admonished to avoid everything in their dress and address which might have the least tendency to render them suitable for an intercourse, league or amity with the children of the land, or of a depraved degenerate world that wallows in pollution and great defilements.
[24] This Quaker exclusiveness is even justified as a divine ordinance, illustrating the recurrent tendency in religious people to foist their prejudices upon the Deity. John Roper of Norwich in 1768 wrote An Epistle to Parents, etc. . . . Respecting Dress and Address in which he says:
Although to the eye of natural wisdom the cock of the hat, the cut of a coat, the form of a cap . . . may appear insignificant. . .yet the spiritual eye can see they are all mercifully designed by infinite Wisdom to build a separation, to form, though by such despicable briars and thorns, a hedge that pricks on both sides to prevent an improper, unsafe conmunication, association and intermarrying with those among whom we dwell. (38)
This prickly hedge which the Society of Friends (39) erected to guard the morality of their members caused too much introspection and a hyper-sensitivity to guilt, particularly in the young. Even to peep over the hedge was denounced as sinful. Reading some of the testimonies and journals of Friends of this time one is torn between admiration of their consistent loyalty and compassion for what seems an unnecessary obsession with guilt.
The testimony of Pardshaw Monthly Meeting, in Cumberland, concerning Jane Pearson, who died in 1816 at the ripe age of 81, whets an irreverent curiosity: ‘In early life, she was strongly inclined to gaiety, but by submitting to the powerful, heart-searching operations of divine love, clearly manifested, those natural propensities were brought into subjection. ’ When we read Jane’s own memorandums (40) for evidence of gaiety we find:
Now it pleased the Lord by his good Spirit, to work in my heart, in my young years; which brought a godly sorrow over [25] me, and a fear lest I should be taken away in my childish follies. When the bell used to toll for those of other persuasions, oh! the awe and inward fear attendant on these occasions! I would say in my heart: ‘These are now called off the stage of this world, and fixed as for ever it must be . . . for oh! I was afraid to die, and that awful for ever and ever, brought sadness over me.
Later, Jane records that when she was about seventeen: ‘I was guilty of many wrong things, which brought heavy judgement on me; and living with an aunt at Carlisle, was much exposed; she keeping a shop, and I being from under the strict eye of my mother.’
What the many wrong things were Jane does not specify but the ‘judgement’ which she believed they brought on was heavy indeed. At the ‘age of between one and two and twenty’ she married John Pearson, a ‘sober, religious young man’. Then the ‘heavy judgement’ began.
About a year after my marriage, my false rest was broken; though I was rightly married, and, I trust, in best wisdom. United to a choice husband, I swimmed as in an ocean of pleasure; but I witnessed, instead of peace on earth, a heart-piercing sword. My undone condition was present with me day and night. . . . The enemy followed me closely with most grievous besetments; things that my very soul loathed would he charge upon me to be my own. . . . I ate my bread weeping, and mingled my drink with tears; I was as amongst fiery serpents, and as in the jaws of a devouring adversary, who was exulting and darting into my mind, that the next temptation would sweep me away. . . .I now abhorred myself as in dust and ashes, because the enemy was thus permitted to assault me.
Now, it seems to be particularly significant that when Jane did nearly overcome the enemy she began to regard a new concern for externals as a sign of her approaching spiritual victory. ‘I now began,’ she writes (the italics are mine),
[26] to have great scruples respecting my wearing apparel, as also that of my children, the furniture of our house, etc. I coveted to have all things enough in the simplicity. I thought of John’s raiment of camel’s hair, a leathern girdle about his loins, and his meat locusts and wild honey. There was no delicacy here, either in eating or in apparel. And now, whatever the strong will in me seemed to loath, or have aversion to, into that very thing, in the cross, was I led; though it seemed, an indignity to my very frame and disposition which was not thoroughly redeemed from nicety, and a desire to be somewhat in the eyes of the world. Thus was I led till I had no will; and was simple enough, through being mortified every moment; for I had always some scruple upon my mind whether things were right or not, till I was rendered flexible and docile, ready to take any impression the Lord would stamp upon me.
When Jane’s victory was complete she began to offer ministry in her Meeting and later she became a travelling Minister in the northwest of England. Perhaps it is uncharitable to point out that only those Friends who conformed to the strictest standards of plainness were then acceptable as itinerant Ministers! Jane’s obsession with the cultivation of complete docility and deliberate self-immolation was by no means exceptional. It was testified of Mary Stacey (b. 1755), daughter of Isaac and Rachel Wilson of Kendal, that:
the guarded education of our dear friend had preserved her from many of the temptations and contaminations of the world; yet she was often humbled under a strong sense of her many transgressions and her proneness to sin, of her awful responsibility as an accountable being, and of that purity of heart, and holiness in all manner of conversation to which we are called. . . . It was her continued concern to be found bearing her daily cross. (The italics are mine.)
[27] It has been necessary to labour the account of the advices on plainness of apparel and the prohibitions of recreations because it is not fully realised how thoroughly generations of Friends were conditioned to a manner of life that neglected the graces and opposed the pleasures of human existence. So successful was the policy of prohibitions that their observance became the most distinguishing feature, the very badge, of Quakerism. There were, of course, some Friends who did not practise uncompromising plainness, but these so-called ‘gay’ Friends (like the Gurney girls of Earlham) (41) shocked the majority of their sober brethren.
It is significant that when Thomas Clarkson published in 1806 his famous A Portraiture of Quakerism (42) he put in the forefront a lengthy section entitled ‘Moral Education’ (Vol.1, Chapters I-IX) which was a description of all the prohibitions that were regarded as the distinguishing marks of Quakers. This ‘Portraiture’ recorded and transmitted an image by which Quakers were well-known in this country and, by means of translation into French, became propagated abroad. The portrait is all the more valuable coming from one who was himself not a member of the Society of Friends but who, from the year 1787, through his work for the abolition of the slave-trade, was ‘thrown frequently into their company’. He writes: ‘Their houses were, of course, open to me in all parts of the kingdom. Hence I came to a knowledge of their living manners, which no other person, who was not a Quaker, could have easily obtained. ’ Clarkson did not suffer from our modern fear of ‘value-judgments’; he is openly sympathetic but balanced and just in his appraisal. The chapter headings of the section on Moral Education are worth quoting, as they give not only the facts of the various Quaker prohibitions but indicate the main reasons.
In his first chapter Clarkson briefly states:
The principal prohibitions which the Quakers have made on the subject of their moral education. . . . Among the bodily [28] exercises, dancing and the diversions of the field have been proscribed. Among the mental, music, novels, the theatre, and all games of chance of every description have been forbidden.
Then he proceeds to consider each of these prohibitions separately. Passing over the prohibition of cards and gaming we come to Chapter III, of which the heading reads: ‘Music forbidden—general apology for the Quakers on account of their prohibition of so delightful a science—Music particularly abused at the present day—wherein this abuse consists—present use of it almost inseparable from this abuse.’ He continues to amplify these headings by pointing out that Plato would not allow music any place in his pure republic, and George Fox opined that it ‘could not be admitted in a system of pure Christianity’. ‘Music practice,’ Clarkson says, ‘must be acknowledged by the sober world to be chargeable with a criminal waste of time’. This charge was repeated by hundreds of schoolmasters and, as we shall find, by most Quaker parents until around the middle of last century. The sedentary nature of music practice, the Quakers (according to Clarkson) declare, makes it unhealthy. Instrumental music does not ‘improve the mind’, gives ‘no solid encouragement nor hope, nor prospects’; it is not ‘productive of elevated thoughts’, is a ‘sensual gratification’ and prevents the exercise of the Christian duty of frequent retirement. Vocal music is prohibited as it articulates ideas which may ‘convey poison to the mind’, e.g. Bacchanalian, hunting or martial songs. ‘Youth make no selection but learn all that fall in their way. . . . Like inexperienced mariners, they know not where to look for the deep and the shallow water; and allured by enchanting circumstances, they may, like those who are reported to have been enticed by the voices of the fabulous syrens, (43) easily overlook the danger that assuredly awaits them in their course.’
The theatre is the theme of Chapter IV.
The theatre as well as music abused—plays respectable in their origin; but degenerated—Solon, Plato and the ancient [29] moralists against them—particularly immoral in England in the time of Charles II—forbidden by George Fox—sentiments of Archbishop Tillotson—of William Law (44)—English plays better than formerly, but still objectionable—prohibitions of George Fox still continued by the Quakers.
Theatre forbidden by the Quakers on account of the manner of the drama—first, as it personates the character of others; secondly, as it professes to reform vice.
Theatre forbidden on account of the internal contents of the drama—both of those of tragedy and of comedy—those contents hold out false morals and prospects and weaken the sinews of morality—observations of Lord Kaimes upon the subject.
Theatre forbidden because injurious to the happiness of man by disqualifying him for the pleasures of religion—this effect arises from its tendency to accustom individuals to light thoughts—to injure their moral feelings—to occasion an extraordinary excitement of the mind—and from the very nature of the enjoyments which it produces.
Theatre forbidden because injurious to the happiness of man by disqualifying him for domestic ertjoyments—Quakers value these next to the pleasures of religion—sentiments of Cowper—theatre has this tendency, by weaning gradually from a love of home—and has it in a greater degree than any other of the amusements of the world.
Quakers conceive they can sanction no amusements, but such as could have originated in Christian minds—exhibitions of the drama could have had, they believe, no such origin—early Christians abandoned them on their conversion—arguments of the latter on this subject as taken from Tertullian, Minucius Felix, Cyprian, Lactantius and others.
[30] The above constitutes an accurate record of the reasons for the Quakers’ antipathy to the theatre, though it must seem odd to the modern reader that they were apparently ignorant of the close connection of drama with the Church.
In Chapter V Clarkson proceeds to outline the Quaker objections to dancing: ‘Dancing forbidden—Greeks and Romans differed on this subject—motive on which the Greeks encouraged dancing—motives on which the moderns encouraged it—way in which the Quakers view it.’ The way the Quakers viewed the ballroom was, according to Clarkson (who seemed to agree with them) as a hot-bed of ‘pride, envy, irritability and passions of the malevolent kind’.
Partners, he says, are frequently dissatisfied with each other. One thinks his partner too old; another too ugly; another below him. Matched often in this unequal manner, they go down the dance in a sort of dudgeon, having no cordial disposition towards each other, and having persons before their eyes in the same room with whom they could have cordially danced. Nor are instances wanting where the pride of some has fixed upon the mediocrity of others, as a reason why they should reluctantly lend them their hands when falling in with them in the dance. The slight is soon perceived, and disgust arises in both parties. Various other instances might be mentioned where very improper passions are excited.
From the prohibition of dancing to the forbidding of novels (Chapter VI):
Novels forbidden, as producing an affectation of knowledge—a romantic spirit—and a perverted morality and by creating an indisposition towards other kinds of reading, they prevent moral improvement and real delight of the mind—hence novel-reading more pernicious than many other amusements.
Such sweeping condemnation of novels in general seems to us now grossly unjust to novelists with a serious purpose. For it was this eighteenth century that saw the works of the Puritan imagination of Richardson; Goldsmith’s simple charity and innocent sentimentalism; and the original moral and social intentions of Fielding (however [31] indulgent in manners he might be): all novelists who, far from preventing moral improvement, actually aimed to promote it.
Passing over Chapter VII (prohibition of ‘diversions of the field’) we find the concluding chapters of ‘Moral Education’ are devoted to the objections by philosophical moralists to Quaker prohibitions and also to the Quaker replies to these criticisms. To the obvious criticism that Quaker morality is largely negative and that there can really be no ‘security but in knowledge and the positive love of virtue’ the Quaker replies (according to our author) that though the ‘system of filling the mind with virtue’ may be the most desirable ‘it cannot be acted upon abstractly’. Then Clarkson adds a highly significant paragraph.
The prohibitions, as far as they have a tendency to curb the spirit, would not be injurious, in the opinion of the Quakers, because it is their plan in education to produce humble, and passive and obedient characters; and because spirit, or high-mindedness, or high feeling, is no trait in the Christian character. . . . Genuine Quaker parents . . . insist upon the subjugation of the will. It is their object to make their children lowly, patient and submissive.
In the next chapter we shall look at representative examples of this Quaker insistence on the subjugation of the will and the discouragement of high spirit. But before we leave our guide let us hear what Clarkson says about Quakers and the painter’s art. For this we have to look outside the section on ‘Moral Education’. We find it in the section following, which is called (appropriately enough) ‘Peculiar Customs’. Pictures are mentioned briefly as articles of Quaker furniture. As this is generally ‘plain and frugal’, pictures are regarded as superfluous. Only three are regularly found in the houses of Friends, namely ‘Penn&139;s Treaty with the Indians’, the ‘Interior of a Slave Ship’ and a ‘Plan of Ackworth School’. Later on the portrait of Clarkson himself qualified! ‘But though,’ writes Clarkson,
the Quakers are not in the practice of hanging up prints in frames, yet there are amateurs among them who have a [32] number of variety of prints . . . chiefly in collections, bound together in books, or preserved in portfolios, and not in frames as ornamental. These amateurs, however, are but few in number. The Quakers have in general only a plain and useful education. They are not brought up to admire such things; and they have therefore in general but little taste for the fine and masterly productions of the painter’s art. . . There may be here and there an individual who has had a portrait of some of his family taken, but such instances may be considered as rare exceptions from the general rule. (45)
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NOTES
30. George Fox deplored the hysteria of James Naylors female followers. Quakers' antipathy to religious emotionalism showed itself in their later attitude to Methodism. Back to text
31. Too many people, including some historians, have ‘explained’ Quaker anti-aestheticism by saying that it was due to the absence of ritual, sacraments, stained-glass and incense. But the early Friends dispensed with these aids to worship because they sought the simplest essentials. This affirmation of essential simplicity was their fundamental attitude, the core of their beliefs (and later of their ‘theology’, if one can speak of Quaker theology). With a different attitude, another set of beliefs (theology, if you wish) there would necessarily have been a different attitude to aesthetic expression and appreciation. Back to text
32. See Gummere (Amelia M.) The Quaker: a study in costume. Philadelphia: Ferris & Leach, 1901. Back to text
33. Clarkson (Thomas) A Portraiture of Quakerism, Vol. I. Peculiar Customs. London:Longman, Hurst, 1806, 3 vols. Back to text
34. See Hobhouse (Stephen) William Law and Eighteenth Century Quakerism. London: Allen & Unwin, 1927. The title of this chapter is taken from this book. Byrom was the author of the hymn ‘Christians Awake, Salute the happy morn’, and a friend of Quaker William Vigor. Back to text
35. Extracts from: Epistles from the Yearly Meeting of Friends, held in London, to the Quarterly and Monthly Meetings in Great Britain, Ireland and Elsewhere: from 1681-1857. London: Edward Marsh, 1858, 2 vols. (Italics in quotations are mine.) Back to text
36. The theatre was regarded by Quakers following Penn as a den of iniquity. During this period David Garrick and Richard Brinsley Sheridan were in turn the directors of the Drury Lane Theatre. Back to text
37. From the Journal of the Life, Travels and Labours in the work of the Ministry of John Griffith: also his brief Remarks upon Sundry important Subjects. First published in York in 1830 but written in 1779. Back to text
38. Brayshaw (A. Neave) The Quakers: their story and message. 3rd edn. London: Allen Unwin, 1938, p. 189. Back to text
39. For a Quaker to marry a non-Quaker was then to incur disownment. Quaker intermarriage was undoubtedly a means of intensifying and perpetuating the faults as well as the virtues of the sect. Back to text
40. Wilkinson (Thomas) ed. Sketches of Piety, in the Life and Religious experiences of Jane Pearson, extracted from her own Memorandums. York: William Alexander, 1817. Back to text
41. 0ne of these, Elizabeth, was ‘converted’ from Gay to Plain Quakerism and later married Joseph Fry. Back to text
42. Clarkson (Thomas) A Portraiture of Quakerism. London: Longman, Hurst, 1806, 3 vols. Back to text
43. Not for Young Quakers to know ‘What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed’ (Sir Thomas Browne). Even William Cowper, the poet, stigmatised music as debauchery! Back to text
44. In this matter William Law was in step with John Wesley and J. J. Rousseau! Law wrote a book called The Unlawfulness of Stage Entertainments, innocent, no doubt, of the word-play! Back to text
45. Exceptions were probably not as rare as Clarkson thought. We do know that in spite of the many objections to Quaker portraits a considerable number were painted in the first half of the nineteenth century. The only portrait, however, of an early Quaker that is without doubt authentic is that of William Sewel of Amsterdam (b. 1654), author of the first history of Quakerism. For a scholarly investigation of this subject the reader should consult Nickalls (John) Some Quaker Portraits: certain and uncertain. Supplement 29, Journal of the Friends Historical Society. London: Friends Historical Society, 1958. Back to text