To the study of Quakerism, Caroline Stephen brought the judgment of an intellectual person who came into contact with the Society of Friends at a mature age, after having closely analyzed her own position in regard to religion and the church. In Quaker Strongholds, as in her other writings, she seems to keep constantly in mind the points of view of those to whom Quakerism is new and strange and of those well-versed in its belief and practice, making a kind of bridge between them. She makes a bridge, also, between the early and the modern in Quaker thought, her candid and fearless analyses seeming in many instances to belong to our own time, rather than to that in which she wrote.
Since this is an abridgement, it has seemed necessary to confine it to Caroline Stephen’s explanation of the particular tenets which she so repeatedly asserts to be “cornerstone and foundation” of Quakerism – the faith which she so triumphantly made her own.
A well written testimony to the benefits of the silent or unprogrammed worship of the Society of Friends. Stephen is a Quaker by convincement, meaning she joined by coming to the society as an adult. While she discusses her perspectives on prayer and a personal God who talks to those who listen, I found more value in her discussion of the value of sitting in silence as a community. A few excerpts demonstrate her thinking on this particular topic:
"I think it is inevitable that the more deeply we penetrate into the recesses of the human mind, the more we should have a sense of approaching an inner sanctuary, and that there is a very real and deep sense in which these words, "within you" may be understood as meaning "above all in your inmost depths." (pp. 9-10)
"Conscience, as we all know, is liable to perversion, to morbid exaggerations, to partial insensibility, to twists and crotchets of all sorts, and itself needs correction by various external standards. Conscience, therefore, can never be our supreme and absolute guide." (pp. 13-14)
“The silence we value is not the mere outward silence of the lips. It is a deep quietness of the heart and mind, a laying aside of all preoccupation with passing things – yes, even with the workings of our own minds; a resolute fixing of the heart upon that which is unchangeable and eternal.” (p. 17)
"Silence and resolution, indeed, seem almost like different aspects of the same thing. And silence is assuredly an art to be acquired, a discipline to be steadily practiced, before it can become the instinctive habit and unfailing resource of the soul.” (p. 19)
In these fragments one sees the relation to meditation and prayer of other faiths, but also the strong and inviting distinction.