Friends At Cape May

Their founder George Fox (1624-91) called them scornfully Friends because Christ said to his disciples, "I have called you friends." But because Founder Fox preached that the time had come for men to quake and tremble before the Lord, the irreverent called his following Quakers. The word has long since ceased to be a term of reproach.

Quakers abhor intensity of word or deed, believe merely that "the presence of God is an illumination to the soul." When they gather for worship they keep silent, knowing that this "Inner Light" will move them to say what is fitting when it is fitting. (If no one is moved after an hour of quiet, the meeting is over.) Quakers have little ritual, no ordained priesthood. Their societies are organized simply in Preparative Meetings (one or more congregations), Monthly Meetings (one or more Preparative Meetings), Quarterly Meetings (members from several Monthly Meetings), Yearly Meetings (members from several Quarterly Meetings), General Conferences (numerous Yearly Meetings). At Cape May,N. J., 1,300 U. S. Quakers met last week for their biennial Conference.

Perennial problem of the Friends, who are militant pacifists, is War. Last week they reaffirmed their pacifism, told young Friends how they could avoid military drill at college,* sent Quaker Paul Comly French to Washington in vigorous protest against the Burke-Wadsworth conscription bill now before Congress.

Never primarily evangelists, Quakers have lately scrutinized converts more carefully than ever, have delayed the admission of many a draft-age applicant. Their fear: if a large number of new Quakers should presently appear before the draft boards, lifelong Quakers might be refused the noncombatant duties which most were permitted in World War I. Good illustration of Quaker methods is the American Friends Service Committee, of which pink-cheeked, cricket-playing Philosopher Rufus Matthew Jones, 77, is chairman, and bucktoothed, towheaded Clarence Evan Pickett executive secretary. Organized in 1917 to clear up what mess it could in World War I's wake, the Committee raised and spent $25,000,000 in its first decade to care for Europe's needy. Without neglecting its work in the U. S. (among West Virginia miners, Okies in California), the Committee is once more going full blast in Poland, Czecho-Slovakia, France, Spain, Germany, Austria, hopes soon to be permitted in The Netherlands and Belgium. The Committee is Episcopalian Eleanor Roosevelt's favorite charity, to which she has given some $150,000 from radio earnings.

Last week serious-minded, serious-mannered Quaker delegates opened their business sessions at Cape May with silent periods of meditation, conducted meetings with as little fuss as they do their worship. Exception: a speech by well-loved Frank Aydelotte (who last month left the presidency of Quaker Swarthmore College to become director of the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton, N. J.) discussing Clarence Streit's Federal Union. His listeners applauded Dr. Aydelotte so loudly that other Friends, surprised, left round-table discussions upstairs, hurried to see what was the matter.

Quakers still cling to the habit of honest enterprise that made their forbears men of wealth and power, are influential in U. S. affairs out of all proportion to their numbers (112,000). Since majority rule is distasteful to them, they try to reach unanimous consent on a subject, else promptly shelve it. Votes are never taken at Friends' meetings, and even if they were, dissident Friends would not consider themselves bound by the results.

*They should have parents, minister and friends write to college officials asking for exemption, should state their opposition to drill when registering, be "courteous, brief, friendly but firm . . . in the face of possible attempts to 'bluff' you into submission or to get you to compromise by 'trying drill for a while.' "

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