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The proper use of the analytic tools of language may help us greatly in rethinking the ways and purposes of Christian education. The language of the Bible is not straightforward or descriptive when its purpose is specifically religious. If Christianity is thought of as a speech-event, giving birth to the new literary form of gospel and making use of myth, parable, story, and epistle in a distinctive way, we need to be aware of such uses in our teaching.

However, some of the early studies in language analysis warn us against too easy talk about God. The demand for verification opens up a question with which we have been concerned throughout the book. What is the empirical anchor for our beliefs? If "belief that" must precede "belief in," how do we get that way? If a disclosure is evoked, how do we distinguish it from wish-fulfillment or hallucination caused by drugs? If we can no longer think in terms of first-century mythology and world views, is there an existential or metaphysical language into which it can be translated?

We are helped here by the suggestion that there are many kinds of language-games. This can be a dangerous concept, for we may decide that astrology, spiritual mediums, insane bliks, or onlooks that are identified with God’s onlook have their own validity. But the language-game concept is helpful as we try to understand ways of thinking in other cultures, not only primitive ones or those foreign to us but also the subcultures in our own country.

When we look at the language-games among the sciences, we find a methodology that is akin to metaphysical and theological thinking. The uses and meanings of words in mathematical physics, for example, begin with imageless concepts which are verified deductively in experience, although not in terms of a specific experiment. Here is a language-game which provides an accurate empirical fit to send a man to the moon or to blow up the world, and yet it is not based on sense experience and inductive logic. It is similar to metaphysics and theology in that it needs to take account of many elements in human experience by means of generalized concepts.

There is another language-game which is more dangerous because it is open to criticism on the basis of subjectivism, privacy, and wish-fulfillment. In one form, it is so private that for Whitehead religion is said to begin with what a man does with his solitariness. For Northrop, the experience of the "undifferentiated aesthetic continuum" is private, operating on the fringes of consciousness, and yet it is universally prevalent. But this is not far different from any birth of insight.

When these two language-games are brought together, as in Whitehead’s way of looking on the world, we have a basis for what Ramsey calls a "cosmic disclosure." Thus we have grounds for talking about God not only in terms of what the concept of God means but in terms of God as objective reality. We have tried to clarify this kind of thinking at both the religious and metaphysical levels.

Primarily, however, we are concerned with the use of the tools of linguistic analysis to help us in Christian education. That is why the last half of each chapter points to its educational significance. It is at this point that the suggestions of Ramsey, Bushnell, Drinkwater, and Evans are significant, with additional help from van Buren, Whitehead, Belth, and Peters. We have been seeking to understand how Christians, in terms of our twentieth-century Western, scientific, secular culture, may speak meaningfully, communicate ideas, and evoke, hopefully, disclosures of God that may lead to commitment. This specifically religious dimension of Christian education, however, needs always to be supplemented by a theological and metaphysical framework or onlook, and this leads us from the logically odd, poetic-simple forms of discourse to more complex critical analysis.

As Christian educators, our purpose is that the gospel be heard and responded to. We are concerned with what God has done, does, and hopefully will do. Much of this activity is in the form of words, words which do things. The tools provided by the logic of self-involvement, showing how language is per-formative in terms of onlooks, are essential for the church school teacher or catechist, who also needs to be alerted to the existence of both open and closed bliks. There is a gap between the secular and Christian onlooks, and although the proclamation of Jesus as the Christ and God as the Creator may be helpful, this does not provide a basis for crossing the gap unless there is a disclosure such as Ramsey proposes. Only then can we say, "We are as certain of God as we are of ourselves and other selves."(Dallas M. High, Language, Persons and Belief [New York: Oxford University Press, 1967], p. 182.)

This means that Christian educators will seek to enable the learner to say, "I believe," not as a ritual act or as an intellectual exercise but as the assertion of trust in another "I." (See ibid., p. 168.) This is not just believing that God exists; it is more like asserting that I trust my wife and that I will back this assertion both with empirical evidence and active defense. (See Ian T. Ramsey, Religious Language [London: SCM Press, 1957; New York: Macmillan Paperback, 1963], p. 53.) So when I say, "I believe in you, God," I am willing to stand behind my statement.

What is clear, I hope, is that study of language analysis from a philosophical point of view enables us to speak more effectively and accurately, on the basis of a carefully worked out theology and metaphysics, of God as existing, who in Christ was reconciling the world to himself, and who through the community of the Spirit is drawing all men unto him, that they by and through their faith may be recipients of his grace. Of this God, we say, "I believe in . . ." There will be continuing disclosure and commitment, and the resulting action will be the ministry of the church in the world.

The various language-games which are suitable to Christian education are used most effectively within situations and relationships that are provided in the classroom or the community. The key concepts of dialogue, engagement, and kerygma may prove helpful at this point.

Dialogue

We have already referred to the biblical use of dialogue, but we need to look again at its educational significance. Reuel L. Howe pictures dialogue as an interchange of meanings between persons, in which the proper relationship tends to break down the barriers so that meaning can flow in two directions. He builds this interpretation on the basis of Martin Buber’s interpersonal relationship philosophy of "I-Thou," in which only adequate trust can be the basis for genuine dialogue between pupil and teacher. The important element is the overcoming of obstacles. The key to this understanding of dialogue is not mastering a methodology but achieving a relationship. Almost any method will work when the relationship has been established.(See Reuel L. Howe, The Miracle of Dialogue [New York: Seabury Press, 1962], pp. 37 f.)

A theory of language is related to this interpretation. Meanings of words are derived from the experience of prior relationships. One cannot even talk about dialogue until a relationship of dialogue has been established. Such basic Christian concepts as love, fellowship, forgiveness, justice, trust, and grace cannot be understood religiously unless there has been prior experience of these relationships on a purely human level, which can then be interpreted theologically. Therefore, to talk about God meaningfully we need experience of God at work in these relationships. When we have had these experiences in terms of a human onlook, we may be helped by the proper direction of attention to discern God at work in our midst.

This relationship of dialogue is essential to Christian education because it offers the situation in which many of the goals of Christian education may be achieved. We have just referred to an altered onlook. Because dialogue offers the opportunity for self-involvement, it makes possible a deeper probing of the person’s key question of "Who am I?" Therefore, in some instances, dialogue becomes the opportunity for a changed onlook, especially when one member of the group develops a special concern and ministers to the other. This can be observed as the pattern in some specialized groups, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, in which the knowledge that someone is so concerned that he can be phoned at any time of the day or night when temptation is the greatest becomes the resource for a new way of behaving. A similar group, operating as a cell within the larger body of the congregation, provides the opportunity for the exchange of stories which increase in depth as mutual trust grows within the group, leading perhaps to what Bultmann means by "authentic existence."

Dialogue may go on in almost any circumstances. The attitudes and atmosphere are what is most important. It is a sharing of stories, of onlooks, of bliks, by which profounder onlooks may be evoked, but never for the purpose of winning a victory over another. The imperialism of the teacher is effectively destroyed by this approach, although the teacher may still be the expert, leader, or coach with the right to evaluate the process. Bushnell made a similar point when he said that all one could ever do was to stimulate another’s thinking; we never put our thoughts into his head.

Dialogue, precisely because it lacks the formality of the traditional classroom, offers the opportunity to analyze the language of faith. Because of the interchange, the teacher and pupils can be more certain about the meanings of the words used, can ascertain the logically odd disclosure language of the Bible, and can try as many models and qualifiers as are necessary to make possible the evoking of a disclosure, turning to as many myths, parables, stories, and poetry as needed to aid in the process. Within the dialogue situation, the class can ignore the timetable of a syllabus and spend time enough, for example, on studying a myth to take account of its truth-value or to demythologize it and translate it into current existentialism or some other modern form of thinking. When this is achieved, as Howe suggests, with a flow of meaning in various directions, the chances of fresh onlooks occurring are very great.

Engagement

Another key concept for Christian education is engagement. David R. Hunter has made use of it to deepen the usual meaning of "encounter" or "meeting." Two trains "encounter" one another on a bridge, with disastrous results. Two automobiles "meet" at an intersection. This language reflects a theology that conceives of God as "wholly other," as transcendent in the sense of being beyond man. Thus, Emil Brunner speaks of a "divine-human encounter." This is almost at the opposite pole from the mystics, who speak of "meeting" in terms of "union." Both views may merit similar psychological descriptions.

Engagement, in contrast to encounter, is especially helpful in avoiding both extremes of interpretation. The word carries the implication of intertwining, involvement, and response in which there is give-and-take in both directions. This engagement, like Jacob’s wrestling with an angel, may seem violent, or, like Jeremiah’s experience, it may be a call to obedience, or, like Pentecost, it may be the opening of good news to others.(See David R. Hunter, Christian Education as Engagement [New York: Seabury Press, 1963]).

It seems to me that we need to look at the concept of engagement from two directions as we seek to talk about God. First, if we have been correct in our estimate of the place of relationships in the meaning of language and the framework of communication, we can carry over what we have just said about dialogue. There is, here, a way of looking on God as working through his grace in our midst; he is immanent. As we participate in experiences within a group, family, class, or congregation, and note that people seem to change their onlooks and are, in the language of the New Testament, new creations or born anew or transformed or made new in Christ, we look on this as the work of God in our midst. Here then is interpersonal engagement which is human and more.

The second direction from which to look at engagement is from our belief in God who is directly known. If we believe that our metaphysical concepts include God as a reality, on grounds similar to those proposed by Northrop, Whitehead, and Hartshorne, then we can take seriously talk about engagement with God through the experience of the "undifferentiated aesthetic continuum," which means that on the fringes of our consciousness there is the experience of what William James called the "divine more," (See William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience [New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 1902], p. 508.) and this disclosure is correlated with our concept of God as postulated in our abstract thinking.

Our study of religious language allows for both uses of the word engagement. Ramsey’s emphasis on disclosure language, the logically odd assertions that lead to the evoking of discernment or insight, which he calls a cosmic disclosure, comes close to what we have just said about engagement with God. The "language of the heart" about which Drinkwater speaks is the same type of usage. If, with Evans, we are to look on God’s glory, this again is the onlook that makes such language possible. If it is the experience of men in their solitude, as Whitehead suggests, it still has to be worked out in language in the community of believers.

Both dialogue and engagement point linguistically to the proclamation of the gospel, which is the source of Christian belief in God and in the meaning of life. Unless the kerygma stands at the center of the Christian revelation, we are not being true to a tradition that stands on the Bible, tradition, and human experience.

Kerygma

Christian teaching finds its source in the kerygma, that proclamation or story of what God has done in history and uniquely in Jesus Christ, leading to the establishing of a community centering in Christ. Attempts have been made to distinguish between kerygma as telling the story and didache as moral teaching based on the story, with C. H. Dodd as a key scholar,(See C.H. Dodd, The Apostolic Preaching [New York: Harper & Bros., 1936], pp. 3-6.) but for Christian education the distinction is difficult to maintain (if indeed it is valid).

For a brief time, the phrase "kerygmatic catechetics" was popular among Roman Catholic educators.(See Gerard S. Sloyan, ed., Modern Catechetics [New York: Macmillan, 1963]) It served its purpose in its emphasis on kerygma as a means for getting away from didactic teaching, making room for the proper mapping of religious language in teaching. If poetic-simple is a clue to religious teaching, then the catechism properly belongs in the hands of the teacher, as a summary in scientific-simple of what is proclaimed. The Bible is understood as a story of God’s mighty acts, a record of the ways in which God has revealed himself and men have appropriated the revelation. It is important, therefore, that this story be told not only in parts but in its completeness, and in such a way that it opens up to the student the possibility of response in terms of decision, commitment, and faith.

This emphasis on a biblical onlook centering in the kerygma fits in with most of the approaches we have considered. The central factor in this approach is the story, told in such a way, with the proper mapping of language, that there may be a response, even a change in onlook. David Hunter places the emphasis on the story as a way of opening up the religious issues in the lives of the students and their problems in decision-making, and these are correlated with stories that will help them grasp the meaning of these issues in terms of the Christian faith. The story comes first, and then the interpretations, and finally the propositions. The possibility of a disclosure lies in the story and not in the propositions.

From the point of view of some of the linguistic philosophers, this conclusion seems too pat. It is too much like a slightly stepped-up Bible class. It places the responsibility for the story on the teacher and the source in the Bible. If Ramsey is right, the logically odd phrases which make a disclosure possible may come from all kinds of theological discourse. The words to point to God, such as "infinitely good" or "all powerful" or "creator ex nihilo," are found in propositions and not in Bible stories. The stories may help to make the "ice break," but so may a consideration of the logically odd qualifiers, or even, as Braithwaite suggests, stories from almost any source.

If we consider dialogue, engagement, and kerygma in this manner, we are led to conclude that the curriculum is broader than any formal course of study. If we move in an existential direction, we may agree with David Hunter that religious issues provide the organizing principle; or, if we follow Schubert Ogden, we may seek an existential understanding of "authentic existence" and also look on God and his world as objective and worth metaphysical consideration; or, if we follow Marc Belth, we may be "concerned with the development of the powers of thinking, symbol manipulation, and the identification of theoretical bases for acting and speaking . . ."; in any case, we have a story to tell. The concern of the educator is that a biblical onlook should be a live option, no matter how it is demythologized or adapted so that assertions about the biblical faith have currency in today’s world. This will lead to self-involving, performative language that does not misfire.

Insofar as discernment is evoked and commitment results, the student comes to an understanding of the church’s mission. He becomes an apostle, one who is sent forth, wherever he is, to speak out and to act out his insight and his commitment. His own sphere of influence is his mission. H. Richard Niebuhr wrote that the major task of the church is "the increase of the love of God and neighbor,"(H. Richard Niebuhr, The Purpose of the Church and Its Ministry (New York: Harper and Row, 1956), p. 31. See 1 John 4:20-21, NEB: "But if a man says, ‘I love God,’ while hating his brother, he is a liar. If he does not love his brother whom he has seen, it cannot be that he loves God whom he has not seen. And indeed this command comes to us from Christ himself: that he who loves God must also love his brother.") and from some points of view these commands may be identical rather than equal. We do not select our neighbor, for he is whoever we happen to meet. We are to be in dialogue with our neighbor, to enter into engagement with him, and to share in such a way that the kerygma may be noted and responded to.

This leads us to take seriously the idea that Jesus Christ came to save the world. "In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself (2 Cor. 5:19)." There is no distinction between the sacred and the secular, for the doctrine of creation stresses that it is world-creation that we are talking about. This is the locale of the church at work. Robert Clyde Johnson writes that "the unavoidable, primal fact is that the church is in the world and the world is in the church." (Robert Clyde Johnson, ed., The Church and Its Changing Ministry [Philadelphia: United Presbyterian Church, 1961], p. 9.) This is where we believe God located his church and where we must be if we are to fulfill our discipleship. The religious issues in our lives come alive in the work and play of our life in the world.

This summary of the significance of dialogue, engagement, and kerygma as they relate to curriculum, mission, and world leads to the following as a possible statement about Christian education: It means, then, telling the story of God’s mighty acts in such a way that the listener participates in the dialogue by telling his own story, and he comes into an engagement with God and his fellows in his daily life, and therefore the meaning of his life is disclosed to him in a new way, and through commitment to God in Christ he is reborn daily as he lives as a Christian in community in the world.

The key words in the above statement are performatives, and the new onlook is a gift of disclosure or insight, made possible because a blik or onlook has been renewed or transformed. With the discernment that leads to a new or renewed commitment must go understanding. A transformed or renewed onlook must be undergirded by empirical fit and rational concepts, resulting in theological and metaphysical thinking, either at an elementary or more advanced level.

For this result to occur in a Christian context, the empirical anchor, as Ramsey suggests, may be found in worship, and worship, like other forms of religious language, has its own language-game. To that problem we turn.

Worship

Little has been done by anyone on the language of worship, beyond the claim that it is the empirical anchor for some religious assertions. Liturgical language is encrusted with tradition and often fails to speak even to the remnant of the faithful, much less to anyone else (except possibly to God himself). Not only is there obsolescence, but there is failure to provide those occasions for disclosure, discernment, and insight which are essential for renewed commitment and obedience.

One of the problems is that many liturgical phrases, although quite properly biblical in intent, are based on the King James or earlier versions of the Bible, and therefore they have an archaic or quaint or awkward quality that makes any meaningful participation difficult. Many key phrases of traditional prayers are either misleading or unintelligible. Take the familiar phrase from the Lord’s Prayer, "Lead us not into temptation." It has been translated, "Do not bring us to the test (NEB)," "Keep us clear of temptation (P)," "Do not bring us to hard testing (TEV)." If this phrase is taken literally against the background of the coming of the kingdom, how can we demythologize it so that it makes any sense in today’s world with its sense of continuity? If we believe that the time of testing will be the end of the world, when God brings in his kingdom, we can say the words without difficulty. No literal translation can bring out the meaning for the modern man. Should we then make our own paraphrase in terms of a different view of history? Should we say: "Keep us from losing our faith in you"?(See John C. Kirby, Word and Action [New York: Seabury Press, 1969], pp. xiv-xviii.)

We have the same kind of problem with "Do this in remembrance of me." Is the Holy Communion service simply a meeting of the "Jesus Memorial Society"? Or can we state more effectively what was meant: "When you do this, I will be present"? Is there here, as Schubert Ogden would say, an act of representation? If so, our liturgical phrases do not say so.

Does blood still suggest cleansing properties? Are we "washed in the blood of the lamb?" Or what does it mean when the priest quotes Jesus: "This is my blood"? What potency do we believe that blood has today, except as plasma? Does eating the body suggest a form of spiritual cannibalism?

Traditionalists may respond to such criticisms with the comment that only the initiated can understand the biblical symbolism of worship, and the problem of education is to help people learn this liturgical language. This has been the position of most liturgical scholars and of the churches. Children are exposed to traditional worship and nurtured in it until it becomes second nature to them, or they rebel against the whole system.

Attempts have been made to update the various liturgies, not always with much success. When the Roman Church began to translate the Mass from Latin to English, what surprised many people was the flatness of the translation. What might be called the "liturgical tone" was lacking, somewhat as an opera translated from Italian or German into English loses its "style." A comparison of recent English mass texts with the Book of Common Prayer suggests one of the major difficulties. When Cranmer translated from the Latin in the sixteenth century, he had available in the common language of the people a kind of rhythmic prose that could be read aloud to evoke a worshipful response. When this prose is analyzed, as it has been by John Suter, it is seen to be a form similar to what Canon Drinkwater calls poetic-simple. This rhythmic prose, carefully balanced in its cadences, with a specific format especially in those prayers called "collects," is meant to be read aloud. Many of Cranmer’s prayers are now archaic, but they can serve as a model of the wax’ in which modern prayers might be written. What is needed is the genius of a Cranmer! (See John W. Suter, The Book of English Collects [New York: Harper & Bros., 1940], pp. xxvii-xxxvi.)

The psalms, as early hymns, also are in poetic-simple. The current generation has been more successful in writing modern psalms than modern prayers. Many of the recent folk songs combine verse and guitar as the early psalms combined Hebrew parallelism and the harp. We are not far off the beam with some of the new hymns, both those that are somewhat traditional and some that are closer to the rhythms of the secular world."( See RISK: New Hymns for a New Day [Geneva: Youth Departments of the World Council of Churches and World Council of Christian Education], II, No. 3,1966.)

Most of the experiments in rewriting the liturgy seek some clarification and more dramatic movement, but they are primarily traditional. One experiment that breaks new ground is by William Birmingham, "An Urban Liturgy of Identity." At the beginning, it reminds us of some of the attempts of linguistic analysts to speak of God:

The remainder of the service is mostly readings from modern translations of the Gospel of John, with a dramatic sharing of the Holy Communion as the climax. It is a step in the right direction.

The language of address to God has been moving from "thou" to "you." This is to avoid quaintness, and in English the "you" can be singular or plural. In other languages, the equivalent of "thou" is personal and singular, and the equivalent of "you" is more formal. But we are limited to English, and it should he "the language of the heart." We do not use "thou" when speaking to an intimate friend, a spouse, or child. Why should we do so with God? Or maybe we should be more formal with God, and the easy-going "you" fails to catch the element of the holy. But "thou" leads to verbal forms such as "hast" or "wouldst" or "makest" or other awkward and artificial English words. We need more experiments before we decide which kinds of prayer are most useful.(Examples of modern prayers can he found in such hooks as Malcolm Boyd, Are You Running with Me, Jesus? [New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1965], Michel Quoist, Prayers of Life [London: Gill & Son, 1963], Omer Tanghe, Prayers from Life [New York: P. J. Kenedy & Sons, 1968]. For an overview on worship and education see Paul H. Vieth, ‘Worship in Christian Education [Philadelphia: United Church Press. 1965]).

Such experiments are sure to multiply the ways in which people worship. This may be a good thing, provided it does not increase the scandals of our divisions. For we need to learn how to use religious language to bring the churches together so that their ministry in the world will be more effective.

Ecumenical Education

One serious reason why the churches have failed to communicate more effectively has been their divided status. Albert van den Heuvel has said that "the ecumenical movement is a laboratory where sick churches try to discover how to get well together."( "Secular Ecumenicity and the Teaching of the Faith," Religious Education, LXII [Mar-Apr. 1967], p. 121.) Even the word ecumenical has many meanings. Some Protestants were misled when the Vatican II Council was called "ecumenical" because they saw the meaning of the word from the perspective of the World Council of Churches. Some people see its meaning in terms of mergers, others in a return to Rome, others in a loose federation, others in terms of social and political action in the world. Much of what is called "ecumenical," such as the study of the positions of other churches or the bringing of people together for mutual understanding, is properly "pre-ecumenical." Sharing in the mission of God in the world is a true ecumenical activity, a kind of "secular ecumenicity" where "only those fully committed to the abolition of hunger may receive communion, only those who are fully committed to unity in the world may work for unity between the churches, only those who are fully committed to real communication between estranged people may pray, and only those willing to die for their fellows may carry the message of the resurrection."(Ibid., pp. 126, 224.) These are strong words, but they communicate a challenge. The ecumaniac is using "ecumenicity" as a performative, and his blik is showing in his careless disregard of the consequences.

The starting point is the development of an attitude, an ecumenical mentality, an onlook in which a person has, says Cardinal Bea, "a constant vision of the whole of Christianity in the whole world and in all confessions, and shapes his work according to this vision. He respects everyone, listens to all, and considers their problems as his own. From such a consideration of all those who are baptized in Christ or at least believe in him, we become more and more conscious of the problems presented by the wounded condition of a divided Christianity."( In Samuel H. Miller and C. Ernest Wright, eds., Ecumenical Dialogue at Harvard: The Roman Catholic-Protestant Colloquiam (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1964), p. 31.)

The local congregation or parish is usually incapable of achieving an ecumenical mentality, much less an approach to ecumenical action. It is irresponsible to get an individual Christian excited about the ecumenical mission to the world and to leave him alone to be crucified. Yet if the individual is not concerned about his neighbors, he does not know that the world for him is his neighborhood. If he does not see the connection between his daily life, which is secular, and his faith, his Christian education is a failure. This support for him must be on a wider basis than the local congregation, for when groups of Christians share their activities they can be more effective. It is no accident that witness against racial discrimination is always more effective when a council of churches is involved or there is an interfaith witness.( See Randolph C. Miller, "The Challenge of the Ecumenical Movement to Church Education," Kendig Brubaker Cully, ed., The Episcopal Church and Education [New York: Morehouse-Barlow Co. , 1966], pp. 227- 40.)

The vocabulary of the ecumenical movement, although often buried in the strange jargon of committee language, is at times a vehicle for communication. More often, everyday language, used by laymen as they face the problems of the world, provides dynamic insight and the possibility of commitment, as we see in the development of lay academies and other specialized lay training centers, where men and women from many occupations and denominations seek together to find out what their responsibilities are as Christians in their work.(See Lee J. Gable, Church and ‘World Encounter [Philadelphia: United Church Press, 1964]).

If people are to work together as Christians, the educational process must include study, discussion, worship, and work. The focus needs to be on imagination, for what we need most are new ways to meet new occasions in today’s world. We do not yet know what it is we need to do to fulfill God’s plan for the world. We know that war must cease, populations must be limited in their growth, poverty must be overcome, educational opportunities must be provided on a wider basis, and that people must be free to hear the good news of salvation through Jesus Christ, but these are such tremendous and complex problems that we do not know where to start. It has been suggested that unless a new Augustine or Luther emerges to bring about a new reformation, nothing much will happen. But we cannot wait for someone else. The responsibility is ours, and if we lack the stature of an Augustine or a Luther, we have the stature that God gave us.(See the two symposia on "The Ecumenical Revolution and Religious Education," Religious Education, LXI [Sept.-Oct. 1966] and LXII [Mar.- Apr. 1967.])

Why all these Words?

We come now to the end of our study of religious language. We have used a great variety of words, some of them in common use and some of them specialized and even invented for a particular purpose. Some of these words overlap in their meanings and may even be almost synonymous. Word substitution helps one to avoid being caught in a one-word situation, where the defense of the word becomes more important than the meaning to which it may point. Substitution of one word for another is never adequate, but such action may be valid and intelligible in order to communicate, as in the case of faith-decision-trust-commitment-loyalty, etc. There are shades of difference in this series, but if I use faith-know-belief that, I have obviously started with a different use of faith, or I have moved in a direction that distorts the original meaning in favor of my own theological blik.(See James Barr, The Semantics of Biblical Language [London: Oxford University Press, 1961], pp. 215-16, 256.) This forces us from dependence on definition to a study of use as a basis for meaning. We want to be sure how a word is used in a sentence, preferably in an example (paradigm case) that is clear, and then we can understand its meaning in a more difficult situation. The test of a synonym is whether it can operate in the same or a similar sentence without distortion (See ibid., p. 266.)

We have, for example, used the words blik, onlook, disclosure, discernment, insight, revelation in similar ways. I can say, "I have a blik about my wife’s cooking," or "I look on my wife’s cooking as good for my health," or "My wife’s cooking is a disclosure of her love," or "My wife’s cooking led me to the discernment of tastes I never suspected were possible," or "I had no insight into the delights of French cooking until my wife bought a French cookbook," or "My wife’s latest cooking adventure was a revelation." These words, obviously are not synonyms, and they have not been used with the same grammatical structure, but they belong to a family of words necessary to cover my intellectual and intuitive grasp of the total concept, "my wife’s cooking," and the subject is still far from exhausted.

I can attempt to share this knowledge with another by using language similar to the above, by inviting him to dinner, or by suggesting that he buy his wife a French cookbook, at which point I may run into his blik, onlook, discernment, or insight concerning his wife’s cooking. If I am reduced to a one-word approach to describe my wife’s cooking, I cannot convey the complexity of this relatively simple operation.

Let us assume that I invite my friend to dinner. The conversation about my wife’s cooking has only pointed at something, and now he has certain expectations because he has had previous experience with various foods. My language so far has been self-involving and performative about my wife, and my invitation to him is also self-involving and performative. Now he accepts. But I have invited him for three days hence. How do we know that the invitation will still be valid, or that he will respond by showing up? Our language at this point assumes the kind of thinking that provides for continuity and dependable prediction, which is based on the use of imageless postulation.( Says Northrop: "No words can mean or say anything, except as one knows, with inexpressible and unsayable immediacy, what the words are pointing at or showing, independently of the words themselves. Such knowledge is what the word mystical means. . . . The other and quite different species of mysticism is that of imageless intellectual immediacy or intuition, which concept by intellection sentences and their formal syntax self-show, but can neither point at nor say." The former leaves untouched one’s "belief in the constancy of his determinate personality through time or in eternal objects in a public spatiotemporal world. It also leaves meaningless the legal person who is obligated today by a contract he entered into yesterday." This depends on the latter approach. Man, Nature and God (New York: Pocket Books, Inc., 1962), pp. 241-43.)

My friend comes to dinner. Afterward he says, "I agree with you. I look on your wife as an excellent cook," and he adds, "and a gracious hostess. You didn’t tell me that." Here is an additional, unexpected disclosure, and he expresses himself in the performative language of self-involvement: "I would like my wife to be able to cook like yours, and to be as gracious." A behavioral-postural attitude is now developing.

This kind of language is perfectly ordinary and normal. Yet it is making use of many of the aspects of language which we use when we speak of God. This dinner illustration, built out of disclosure language and its close relatives among bliks and onlooks, with the self-involving performative element, may lead us to see that we have similar obligations when we invite people to church or to participate in a Christian education program.

What might be called the religious diet of the church will be analogous to my wife’s cooking, and the way it is presented will be in as gracious a manner as she is a hostess. Only in this way will such phrases as "Drink of me" come alive. If the model of Jesus as the water of life is to have currency, this is the kind of approach we must have in mind. If we use the model of "the body and blood of Christ" in the Holy Communion, this disclosure language is essential. But more than words is necessary, for words only point at or show the reality which is the source of our spiritual nourishment. We must be able to say, "Taste and eat."

Talk surrounds both the dinner and the sacraments. Such speaking may add a depth dimension to what is being experienced. Or the talk may seem trivial. Or it may be a conversation in a foreign tongue. However, the language may make possible the appropriating of the meaning of the meal or the sense of community, if it is sufficiently suitable in terms of providing insight through its models and logically odd qualifiers. At some point, it is hoped that the light will dawn and the diner will recognize who is his host.

Just as the guest at the dinner participates in these ways, the guest or student or worshiper in church responds with new discernment and commitment, so that we may speak of intuition, religious experience, God’s grace, or the "undifferentiated aesthetic continuum" as the nourishing element, and the self-involving language of deep caring, commitment, faith, trust, and obedience as response. One’s way of looking on God and the world is either strengthened or changed. So we begin to agree that if the invitation is genuine, if the steak is as promised, if the word is such that the invitation is accepted in fact, and if as a result there are new disclosure and commitment, there is an empirical anchor in such feeding of the flock, an empirical fit that provides verification sufficient to make one return for as many meals as possible, for here is where one finds "the way, the truth, and the life."

After one has been fed, especially when it is the bread of life, he is enabled to fulfill his responsibilities. The church which has gathered for the feast scatters so that its members may live out their vocations, meet their commitments to others, obey their ethical and social obligations wherever they happen to be, and show forth a Christian style of life.

No illustration can be forced to carry the full weight of the argument of this book, just as no parable can reflect the full power of the gospel, and no one word (not even love) can summarize the meaning of God. But we can say with the observers of the early church, "Behold how they love one another." I can say with Paul, "So I fight, and not as a shadow boxer." Just as new occasions teach new duties, so new disclosures mean new commitments, and new onlooks involve one in new performatives.

We have discussed various types of language and their implications for Christian education. Each of the categories of language has its specific uses, and the problem is to be clear about which language-game one is using and to avoid improper mixing. As language leads one into theology, either through a moment of disclosure or through the adoption of a new on-look, the religious person has the problem of fitting what he comes to believe about God into a world view. His idea of God, whether as an immanent being working through natural events, a transcendent being above yet influencing events, or a transcendent-immanent God both related and not related to history, has to be placed within some kind of world view. He comes to look on God not only as a loving being but also as related in some way to the world and to the universe. Thus his theological questions become metaphysical ones as he asks about the nature of reality, of existence, of being.

The Christian is neither an expert theologian nor an expert philosopher, but as he does theology on his own terms he is covertly doing metaphysics. His view is probably like that described by van Buren: "somewhat empirical, somewhat pragmatic, somewhat relativistic, somewhat naturalistic, but also somewhat aesthetic and somewhat personalistic."(Paul M. van Buren, "Christian Education Post Mortem Dei," Religious Education, LX [Jan-Feb. 1965], p. 5; also Theological Explorations [London: SCM Press, 1968], p. 64). This is a somewhat vague and descriptive approach and should remain such even if it fails to satisfy the experts, for it is enough for most people to build on, according to van Buren.

Frederick Ferré finds this view inadequate, however, partly because it fails in its descriptive aspect and chiefly because it lacks a normative element. A descriptive metaphysics is unable to evaluate properly even a "common sense" view.(See Frederick Ferré, "Paul M. van Buren’s A theology of Christian Education," Religions Education, LX [Jan-Feb. 1965], p. 22.) We need to make things comprehensible, even if we are limited in our vocabulary so that we say things obscurely through metaphors, analogies, and paradoxes.(See H. H. Price, H. D. Lewis, ed., Clarity Is Not Enough, pp. 39-40.) "Speculative philosophy," writes Whitehead, "is the endeavor to frame a coherent, logical, necessary system of general ideas in terms of which every element in our experience can be interpreted," but they "are not dogmatic assertions of the obvious; they are tentative formulations of the ultimate generalities."(AN. Whitehead, Process and Reality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1929; New York: Macmillan, 1929), pp. 4,12.)

Man becomes a metaphysician because he is seeking to realize his own nature as a person; he is seeking to overcome the depersonalizing that nature forces on him by interpreting the mystery at the center of all existence;(See Jan T. Ramsey, ed., Prospect for Metaphysics (New York: Philosophical Library, 1961; London: George Allen & Unwin, Ltd., 1961), pp. 191, 204.) or as C. B. Daly puts it, "metaphysics is the ‘Is’ quest for the why of being and for the why of the self as the questioner of being. There are no whys in science."(CB. Daly, ibid., p. 193; also Dallas M. High, New Essays in Religions Language (New York: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 114.)

The theologian and the lay person have been wary of metaphysics, the former because he is concerned with the religious dimension of life in isolation from metaphysical questions, the latter because of the technical demands for thinking on the nature of reality writ large. But the issue will not die, because the moment we begin to do theology we arc involved in questions about the nature of reality. If I look on God as creator or redeemer, my onlook includes the claim to deal with reality. As Dorothy Emmet writes, "The question cannot be avoided, since religion loses its nerve when it ceases to believe that it expresses in some way truth about our relation to a reality beyond ourselves which ultimately concerns us."(Dorothy Emmet, The Nature of Metaphysical Thinking [London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd., 1945], p. 4.)

From the standpoint of the use of language, we can say that religious language is incipiently metaphysical language. The logic is much the same, although perhaps more generalized in metaphysics. Is there, as Ramsey indicates, "some kind of language-map by which, in some way, to understand the whole Universe"?(Prospect for Metaphysics, p. 154) If we can locate and identify such a language map, we must use it for the proper purposes.(See Frederick Ferré "Mapping the Logic of Models," Dallas M. High, ed., New Essays in Religious Language, pp. 70-71.)

Ramsey as usual approaches the topic from an oblique angle. He suggests that we look at some uses of language which take us beyond ordinary language. In arithmetic, we can use the concept "five" to apply to cows, fingers, balls, stars, and dumplings. Mathematics and allied sciences provide generalized theories that unite various items of experience that are otherwise diverse. The idea of gravity, for example, unites falling apples, the moon and stars, and tides. It is a subordinate or ancillary scheme that helps us bring things together. Metaphysics, says Ramsey, is like this. Logic, likewise, brings things together in a specialized language, although it touches ordinary language at vital points.

One illustration used by Ramsey is as old as an elementary course in theory of knowledge. Is the stick in the water "really" crooked, as it looks in the water, or straight, as it looks on dry land? Once we understand how light rays work, we can use this theory to explain how the stick may appear crooked but really be straight. We are using a special language to get at the situation which common sense acknowledges without knowing why.

Metaphysics is concerned with getting at the nature of reality, using similar specialized language-games. It "is no mere extension of ordinary language," but by its specialized function in a subordinate role intends to be "illuminative of common-sense assertions as a whole." (Prospect for Metaphysics, p. 159.) It does not replace ordinary language and it is not a higher form of scientific language. However, metaphysical language seeks to unify the logically diverse languages of science and common sense, to provide a unified view by which we look on "reality." This takes what Ramsey calls "integrative concepts." For the theist this is the concept of God. Other integrative concepts have been used in the history of philosophical thinking, but from the standpoint of religious philosophy we come back to the key word, God.

This word, says Ramsey, is modeled after the word I. There is no purely descriptive way to get at my private knowledge of myself as a person. Something more is involved, for I can "reveal" myself to another. Such a disclosure is more than descriptive analysis. Ramsey elaborates this point as follows:

At this point, when Ramsey describes our talking about God, he consistently develops what he has already said in Religious Language, and which we evaluated in chapter 5. Such language, we recall, is logically odd and evokes disclosures. We become as certain of God as we are of ourselves, but not in terms of description.

This places metaphysics in the area of mystery. It begins with intuition, insight, disclosure, revelation, just as theology does. However, metaphysics is not satisfied with a statement of mystery. It "cannot end," says Daly, "until it has rendered such reason of that mystery that it shall not become instead absurdity. The true alternative is not mystery or clarity, but mystery or absurdity."(Ibid., p. 204; High, op. cit., p. 126)

Toward a Metaphysics

One way of starting to develop a metaphysics is to take seriously what Ramsey and Poteat say about "I" language. In other words, the model is derived from generalizing on one’s own inner experience. Our own existence is the key. The experiencing person is not a substance or a thing; he is experiencing himself as relational or social, as a process that moves from past to present to future. He is related to his own body. He is affected by the complex state of his own organism. Through all the complexities of experiences, he affects his surroundings and is affected by them, and he has to make decisions. He is a process of creative becoming.

One can think of God as supreme, unique, and qualitatively different from man, and yet interpret him in strict analogy with ourselves. Gone is the unrelated and nonsuffering Absolute, who is timeless and indifferent. As Schubert Ogden says:

Such a deity is working for our good and is affected by what we do. His perfection does not eliminate his sharing of our suffering, his sorrow over our sin, or his joy over our turning to him. He is in our midst; he is "everywhere," says John B. Cobb, Jr., "but he is not everything. The world does not exist outside God or apart from God, but the world is not God or simply part of God. The character of the world is influenced by God, but it is not determined by him, and the world in its turn contributes novelty and richness to the divine experience." (John B. Cobb, Jr., God and the World [Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1969], p. 80.)

Such a concept of God, developed to technical fullness by Whitehead and adapted by others such as Ogden, Cobb, Norman Pittenger, Peter Hamilton, Daniel Day Williams, and preeminently Charles Hartshorne, is part of a metaphysical structure of thinking. The idea of God has not been tacked onto another system, whether it be Plato’s, Aristotle’s, or Kant’s. Whitehead’s metaphysics requires a dipolar concept of God, much more complex but similar to what we have described. (None of the writers cited agrees wholly with Whitehead, but he is their inspiration at many points. They more or less agree in the way they look on the universe around us, and their vision of God is built into their metaphysical thinking.)

Whitehead speaks of God in two ways: in the first (primordial) he is the conceptual realization of what might be; he is the structure of possibilities; he is the eternal orderer of the world. "He is," says Whitehead, "the lure for feeling, the eternal urge of desire. His particular relevance to each creative act as it arises from its own conditioned standpoint in the world, constitutes him the initial ‘object of desire’ establishing the initial phase of each subjective aim." (Process and Reality, p. 522.) In the second (consequent) way, God is sharing with creatures the power of his being, so that all increase of value in the world increases the richness of his being. He is conscious, personal, and fully actual. He has infinite patience. "He is the poet of the world, with tender patience leading it by his vision of truth, beauty, and goodness." (Ibid., p. 526)

Whitehead is protesting against some of our inherited ideas of God on both religious and metaphysical grounds. He is violently opposed to concepts of God derived from autocratic forms of government, at whose word everything began, whose rule is by divine fiat, and who is ultimately responsible for all evil and suffering. But Christianity in its original Galilean form says Whitehead,

Reality finds itself transformed and "everlasting in the Being of God. In this way, the insistent craving is justified -- the insistent craving that zest for existence be refreshed by the ever-present, unfading importance of our immediate actions, which perish and yet live for evermore.(Ibid., p. 533.)

The absolute monarch with his arbitrary control and transcendent majesty is overcome by this approach, for he has no place in a process metaphysics. But the question remains: Can a deity who is not absolute bring about the transformation of reality? ( See Daniel Day Williams, "Deity, Monarchy, and Metaphysics," Ivor Leclerc, ed., The Relevance of Whitehead (London: George Allen & Unwin; New York: Macmillan, 1961), p. 368.) Is persuasion enough? Does love conquer all? If an approach that is primarily metaphysical points toward such hope, the result approximates what many consider to be the Christian hope based on some aspects of scripture, and therefore the views of Whitehead and those who seek to interpret Christianity within a similar metaphysical framework can be commended to Christian educators.

The way of looking on God and the world derived from process metaphysics is only one possibility. There is a long tradition based on various kinds of idealism that affected theological thinking in previous years and found its modern exponents in such men as William Temple and Paul Tillich, although these two men emphasized different aspects of this tradition. There is a peculiarly American tradition based on pragmatism and pluralism exemplified at its best in William James. There is a strong trend today toward existentialism, as found in the thought of Heidegger and Bultmann. There is the denial of metaphysics as part of theological thinking, as in the theology of Karl Barth. There is the attempt to come to terms with secular views of metaphysics, as in the thought of Paul van Buren and Harvey Cox. In some thinkers, these various strands are mixed.

The point to be made is that theological and metaphysical language-games are closely related. It can even be claimed that metaphysical models are basic to theological meaning and belief ( See Frederick Ferré, "Mapping the Logic of Models," op. cit., p. 85.) Theological and metaphysical assertions are attempts to speak in generalized terms about the nature of God and the world, to back up the way one looks on the world in terms of some degree of coherence, consistency, and consideration of the nature of experience. For Whitehead, there is an overlapping between theology and metaphysics, although they are separate disciplines. "Rational religion," he writes, "must have recourse to metaphysics for a scrutiny of its terms. At the same time it contributes its own independent evidence which metaphysics must take account of in framing its description." ( AN. Whitehead, Religion in the Making [New York: Macmillan, 1926], p. 79) Both theology and metaphysics are speculative and seek to go "behind the scenes," to explain what is hidden or what is perceived by the use of concepts.(See Victor Lowe, "The Approach to Metaphysics," Ivor Leclerc, ed., The Relevance of Whitehead, op. cit., p. 200) Such language is neither descriptive in any scientific sense nor self-involving in the religious sense. The person who uses self-involving language to speak of his faith in God, however, is led to the speculative language of theology and metaphysics in order to talk about his way of looking on God and the world.( See Donald D. Evans, "Differences Between Scientific and Religious Assertions," Ian C. Barbour, ed., Science and Religion [New York: Harper & Row, 1968], pp. 125-33.)

IMPLICATIONS FOR CHRISTIAN EDUCATION

Our educational task, if we accept Whitehead’s view of metaphysics, is to assist the student to look on the world or the universe as a process or organism in which God is at work; to understand how God can be in our midst and yet stand behind the process as eternal and changeless. The interaction of everything can be a starting point.

With elementary grades, one might start with Tennyson’s poetry:

As children work over the words of this poem, they may begin to see something of the interrelationships of all growing things. If they trace the flower back to the root back to the soil back to the water back to the rain back to the sky back to the sun and back to the structure of things, at some point the light may dawn and there will be a disclosure of the way in which all things work together. This order in nature points to aesthetic order, and "the aesthetic order is derived from the immanence of God."(Religion in the Making, p.105)

- This is obviously an oversimplification, but it may start children to thinking about God as at work in the order of things and not as far off in the sky somewhere. Furthermore, it may lead to a moment of religious insight that is more than nature worship.

The yearning for a God who shares our problems is expressed in a modern version of Psalm 61:

This is an expression of religious yearning on the part of a youngster in trouble with the law. Yet, against the background of Whitehead’s concept of God, his appeal can be understood in terms of a God who participates in the life and joys and sufferings of a boy and provides a tower of strength to him. Junior high students could approach this kind of material with appreciation and depth.

A similar approach, identifying God with people in distress, is found in Robert Castle’s "Litany for the Ghetto."

This portion reflects Matthew 25:3-46, TEV: "Whenever you refused to help one of these poor ones, you refused to help me.

Carl F. Burke, Treat Me Cool, Lord (New York: Association Press, 1968), p. 71.

Quoted by John A. T. Robinson, Exploration into God (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1967), p. 138. Used by permission of Robert W. Castle, Jr.

John A. T. Robinson provides a biblical approach to this way of looking on God with a paraphrase of the first chapter of John:

This passage hardly qualifies as the poetic-simple language of Canon Drinkwater, but perhaps neither does the prologue that it paraphrases. If these two passages are placed side by side, however, by a high school or adult group, the comparison may lead to both metaphysical and religious insights. Bishop Robinson has portrayed in this paraphrase of a familiar passage the basic thrust of the Whiteheadian approach to a philosophy of religion without doing violence to the fundamental religious insight of the original. Or, at least, this might be the disclosure evoked by comparative study. In it is portrayed the call of God, the "lure" of Whitehead’s concept, as well as the work of God both as immanent spirit and as a brooding purpose.

The concept of God as immanent in the process of living raises another issue, especially with those who think in terms of substance. If God is a person, how can he and a human person occupy the same area of space-time? On a more childish level, if God is everywhere, do I inhale him when I breathe? Spirit and breath come from the same root (ruach). John B. Cobb, Jr., provides an illustration which may prove illuminating to high school and college students and to adults: If we think of God and man as subjects instead of objects, the situation changes:

Cobb believes that this "offers us our best analogy for thinking of the spatial relation of God and the world." (John B. Cobb, Jr., op. cit., p. 79,) The educational issue is that a group could struggle with this relationship until the members either fitted it into a metaphysical and theological onlook or rejected it.

The material for taking a class through the exercise of thinking metaphysically is provided in the opening sections of this chapter. For education in the religious significance of process philosophy, there are some clues in Whitehead’s summary of the major elements of religious response: worship, adventure, meaning, companionship, and peace.

Worship. Religion is a vision, says Whitehead, of that "whose possession is the final good, and yet is beyond all reach." (AN. Whitehead, Science and the Modern World [New York: Macmillan, 1927]. p.275.)"The power of God is the worship he inspires."(Ibid., p. 276.) Education makes whatever is worshipful subject to thought, and the task is to analyze what it means to worship God, who calls it forth. This is the central factor in religious response, and conduct is only a by-product.

Adventure. Whitehead means this in a specialized sense, in that all achievements of men and cultures tend to become dull and prosaic, and that the religious man is always pressing on to new forms of beauty not yet realized. There will be times of unrest and turmoil as a result of being captured by the vision of what might be, but God urges us on.

Meaning. Whitehead could see the meaning of life in the midst of evil and suffering. He could see all things perishing. At this level, Whitehead writes, "human life is a flash of occasional enjoyments lighting up a mass of pain and misery, a bagatelle of transient experience."(Ibid., p. 275.) God, because he acts by persuasion within the finite realm and vet is the source of infinite potentials, is not responsible for the evil in the world. But he takes this evil into himself and transforms ‘it. "Values are after all worth achieving," says Cobb, because "all things in the world are taken up into God’s experience." (John Cobb, Jr., A Christian Natural Theology [Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965], p. 219. I am basing my outline of these five points on pages 216-23.) Thus, there is permanence in the midst of transience.

Companionship. Here Whitehead drops into the simple language that describes relationships. God is a "companion" who shows "tender care." This is nontechnical rather than analogical language. "He is the mirror which discloses to every creature its own greatness." (Ibid., p. 220.) Such language needs to be qualified, as Ramsey suggests, but the model has its own validity. God is "the fellow-sufferer who understands." (Process and Reality, p. 532.)

Peace. This is a dynamic concept, combining freedom from self-concern with serenity, and it comes as a gift. It comes through the vision of God, and vet is beyond man’s reach. It enables one to live normally, with God in the background.

Studdert Kennedy caught the spirit of peace when he wrote:

Such a vision of the world as we are given is not guaranteed. But metaphysics is significant for religion just because it provides a basis for our understanding of the universe around us, for our acceptance of the world of sense experience, and for our capacity to look on the world as God’s world. It is an onlook, and therefore performative and self-involving.

Christian education is capable of dealing with the kinds of thinking we have described in this chapter. Indeed, if it fails to do so, it also fails to provide for a way of looking on the world in which God is active. Because our intimations of God are so often placed within the wrong kind of world view, operating with the wrong kind of language, our students are liable to conclude that the whole story is nonsense, and therefore they are frustrated because they have no place to fit whatever visions they may have into a world view that makes sense of their visions. So their visions take them out of the church into other worlds. And in this way the church loses its case for the wrong reasons and without benefit of an accurate hearing. Maybe metaphysics is more important than we think.

Our survey of self-involving performative language leads to the conclusion that what we expect to happen in Christian education may be expressed in terms of self-involvement and commitment based on a changed way of looking on God and the world. In this chapter, we examine in more detail the nature of bliks and onlooks in terms of the ways in which they may or may not be shared or changed, holding to the next chapter the issues arising from a world view or metaphysics. From the educational side, examples of possible teaching include the use of models and qualifiers in biblical and theological thinking, the use of the name of God, and the ways in which words do things. This leads to a concluding section on education as initiation as suggested by R. S. Peters.

One form of onlook is what R. M. Hare calls a blik (See above, chapter 2. See also R. M. Hare in Antony Flew and Alasdair MacIntyre, eds., New Essays in Philosophical Theology, pp. 99-103; John Wisdom, Paradox and Discovery [Oxford: Basil Blackwood, 1965], p. 43, for a thumbnail criticism; C. Ellis Nelson, Where Faith Begins [Richmond: John Knox Press, 1967], p. 9, for a strikingly similar interpretation of "presuppositions.")

A blik, we may recall, is a pervasive, probably unconscious attitude toward the world and is the basis for any inferences or explanations of a seemingly factual nature. Hare distinguishes between insane and sane bliks. It is important, he says, to recognize that everyone has a blik. It is deep-seated in the personality structure; it may reflect a rigid self-system developed to protect a person from uncanny feelings of anxiety, as in the theory of Harry Stack Sullivan; or it may provide a kind of security which is threatened by the challenge and risk of any kind of change, especially one provoked by the gospel. Furthermore, a blik may be irrational, psychotic, and unreachable by normal communication -- and certainly unresponsive to logic.

A blik is not an assertion, not a concept, not a system of thought. It is what underlies the possibility of any kind of assertion about facts and their meanings. Hare writes: "Differences between bliks about the world cannot be settled by observation of what happens to the world. . . . It is by our bliks that we decide what is and what is not an explanation." Furthermore, because bliks are a basis for self-involving language, we care very deeply about our religious assertions. It becomes very important to have the right blik.(New Essays in Philosophical Theology, pp. 100-101.)

Hare also points out that people may agree about the facts and differ intensely about the interpretation:

Even in the Gospels, on the basis of the same evidence, some concluded that Jesus was sent from God and others that he was a messenger from Beelzebub.

In other words, we can share a man’s blik to the extent that we can talk about the same facts. But if we do not share the same meaning, argument will not really help. Perhaps, as Frederick Ferré suggests, theology for Hare is no more than "statements made in a worshipful attitude about the epistemological importance of bliks." This provides us with a clue to the difficulties that theologians have when they attempt to enter genuine dialogue with each other, or that church school teachers face with recalcitrant students. Challenging a fixed blik may only increase resistance.

On the other hand, it may be that bliks are open to change. Bliks sympathetic to a Christian world view may be nurtured by home, church, and school, so that the person remains open to possible disclosures and commitments, as opposed to having a fixed blik resulting in a closed, rigid orthodoxy. Bliks, then, may be open or closed, strong or vulnerable, and sane or insane.

It is to be noted that bliks are deeply rooted in culture. Cultural anthropologists have discovered that the way one looks on his world is determined by cultural history, and that language cannot be simply translated without consideration of the cultural implications of seemingly identical words. As Northrop says, "It is only as different men use the same basic common concepts for describing, integrating, and anticipating the facts of their experience that they have a common culture."(F. S. C. Northrop, Man, Nature and God [New York: Pocket Books, Inc., 1962], pp. 35-36.)

This can be demonstrated by observing the familiar variety of cultures within a small American town. One congregation insists on a literal interpretation of the Bible, along with a separation from most of the social activities at the country club or motion picture house. Another emphasizes an odd type of dress, marriage within the communal group, and a vocabulary akin to King James English. A third lives very much in the world, mixes with nonchurchgoers at the country club, and makes its witness without emphasizing the differences among various groups. A fourth looks to the Vatican for many of its ideas, has recently put aside its Latin liturgy, and is beginning to use folk music in its worship. A fifth is seeking a new interpretation of black religion and is realigning itself for new approaches to civil rights.

These and other groups might be identified. They share a common heritage in the Bible, but their histories have been separated by many years of lack of contact at the religious level. If some of them come together for ecumenical dialogue, they are not sure what the others are talking about. On some issues, such as the Genesis stories, the Virgin Birth, birth control, sexual ethics, communism, the race question, the war, and many other issues, their bliks will be so evident that genuine dialogue will be impossible.

When, to this diversity of cultural conditioning and the resulting bliks among Christians, there are added the secular assumptions of the small town, the aspirations of the younger generation, and the mobility of the people, the diversity is even more obvious. The one unifying factor is that the people have been educated in an atmosphere that is not only secular but that reflects the easy assumptions of a scientific secularism, where all the answers may be found in terms of human knowledge.

If we look beyond the small town to the great urbanized centers, the diversity is multiplied. If we look beyond the cities to the nation, it is a wonder that people can operate on the same wave length, yet so pervasive is modern secularism that it has become a lingua franca. When we look to the wider horizons of other nations and cultures, the situation is almost overwhelming. The challenge of bliks faces us on all these levels.

An invitation to share one’s blik (See Paul M. van Buren, The Secular Meaning of the Gospel [New York: Macmillan, 1963], pp. 100-101.) is one way to interpret Christian education. Granted Hare’s use and van Buren’s adaptation of it, this becomes one form of hope for change. But bliks and onlooks are closely related, and onlooks may be the basis for an approach that is more helpful for communication of a Christian understanding of life.

Onlooks

An onlook, says Evans, is an expression of an attitude, an assertion of a way of looking on the world of experience. In some ways it may approach the meaning of blik. Let us take the standard blik illustration: "I look on all Oxford dons as murderers." As an onlook, this statement is open to investigation. Only if, against the evidence, the student persists in his belief, would we ascribe Hare’s phrase "insane blik" to him. In other words, a "sane blik" involves the kind of openness to evidence that may alter one’s onlook.

If this looks too easy, however, and makes an onlook seem like an opinion based on evidence, we need to remind ourselves of some of the features of onlooks. They express commitment, for even if I have a strange belief about Oxford dons, I am committed to protect myself from them. They are autobiographical, for it is my way of looking and reporting. They indicate that I take up an attitude or posture toward the object of my onlook. They express a judgment or decision. They are, in short, self-involving and performative.(See Donald Evans, The Logic of Self-Involvement [London: SCM Press, 1963; New York: Herder & Herder, 1969], pp. 126-27.)

Religious onlooks are expressed in forms of analogy and parable, says Evans. When I speak of God’s glory, I am using a transcendental parabolic onlook. When I speak of his power, I am using a metaphysical onlook based on the analogy of human power. If I look on God as having his own authoritative, divine onlook, I do not assume that my onlook is identical with his. If I do move to the point at which I look on my onlook as identical with God’s, I am approaching Hare’s insane blik that cannot be reasoned with(See ibid., pp. 254-56.)

The purpose of Christian discourse at one level, therefore, is to bring about a Christian or biblical onlook, for within this framework of fact and meaning the Christian is enabled to live in grace and faith. If the student asks why he should adopt this onlook, Evans answers: "Here the Christian will point to the Jesus of history and of Christian experience."(Ibid., p. 265.) But pointing is not enough. Evans continues, "Neither nature nor Jesus provide an adequate basis for a self-involving confession in God the creator unless they are interpreted in terms of a complex pattern of biblical or quasi-biblical onlooks."(Ibid., p. 267.)

If nothing can convince one to change his onlook, will he change it by "an act of faith"? But if he lacks a religious onlook to begin with, in whom does he place his faith? It seems to me that Evans leaves us with this dilemma: one must have a biblical onlook in order for Jesus Christ to provide a basis for self-involving language; one cannot gain this biblical onlook by exposure to God or Jesus outside this biblical onlook; therefore, unless there is already a biblical onlook there is no basis for Christian teaching.

But in Christian teaching something happens. In Evans language, a student may say, "I never looked on religion that way before." The statement of a religious onlook may be what John Wisdom calls "attention-directing." When one looks at an abstract painting, he may be confused. As he keeps looking, his attention is directed to some of the patterns, and he begins to look on it in a different way. He points out his discovery to a friend who has said, "I don’t see anything in that blob of paint," and the friend then says, "Now I see." The attention-directing leads to looking on the painting in a new way, although the facts have not changed.(John Wisdom, "Gods," John Hick, ed., Classical and Contemporary Readings in Philosophy and Religion, pp. 423-24.)

So also the theist and the atheist live in the same world, and as they observe the same facts, they see different patterns of meaning. The student and the Christian teacher observe the same world, but one can lead the other to see the structure of experience in a new way.

This brings us up against the promise of the gospel that a man can become a new being in Christ. The promise of transformation, of conversion, of being reborn is at the center of the Christian tradition. It is the discovery of a sense of identity or integrity, usually involving a change of direction in one’s life. It is an enabling experience, whereby one’s direction, onlook, and commitment are redirected. It is the centering of one’s total self in trust in the divine being. Such experiences may be as dramatic as Paul’s, as simple as having one’s heart "strangely warmed," as daily as the renewal of a slightly tarnished onlook at the end of the day’s work.

Normally one grows up within a Christian community and family. The growing person shares the way of attending to the reality in his life in the same way as his mentors and companions. It is said, for example, that much of the racial prejudice that develops in each generation is derived by contagion from the elder generation. The attitudes of parents, for example, as Bushnell writes, in terms of "character, feelings, spirit and principles must propagate themselves" in spite of the parents’ intentions or words (Christian Nurture [New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1947], p. 76.) Ideally, the children will acquire an onlook that is open toward religious faith and tentative in dogmatic statements of belief. This openness is not thought of so much as a protest against dogmatism as an insistence on the possibility of newer and richer insights and formulations of belief.

Such nurture in home and church, based on the love and acceptance of the student as he is, providing a basic structure for his life, insuring that he will be free to grow, assisting him in establishing his own authenticity, and offering him a life which shares the mystery of worship, will enable him to look on his world as God’s world. This onlook, shared from the beginning of his life, may become more his own as he develops. Thus, he will acquire the use of self-involving and performative language with less risk of infelicities.

The Christian onlook, which is hard to grasp from the outside, is commended by those who are concerned to live as Christians within the group. Much of this communication is in terms of the language of relationships, which may or may not be backed by words. When students are ignored, hurt, rejected, and misunderstood by those who claim to be followers of Christ, a negative onlook may begin to form. The child sees in the failure and hypocrisy of adults the misfires and abuses of performative language. But when relationships are sound, even when there are breaks in them, the healing and redeeming power of the gospel is at work strengthening faith and supporting onlooks. Such relationships provide the background for verbal teaching.

Method and Disclosure

We arc not concerned with all the methods of Christian education but with the use of language for the nurture and changing of onlooks. We can begin to utilize at this point some of the educational insights derived from our study of language-games, the logically odd use of ordinary language, the models and qualifiers, the figurative use of seemingly descriptive words, the poetic-simple, and self-involving performatives. In genuine conversation or dialogue, for example, when trust makes listening possible, a simple confession of personal faith, an autobiographical performative statement, may be called for. In response to the questions of the learners, the teacher may join in the search by sharing the biblical onlook, which may need to be established by careful Bible study, including attention to the Bible’s use of language. In examining the Gospels, the question may be opened for discussion by telling a story or recounting a parable or creating a modern myth.

For example, a group of high school students may be facing the standard but almost impossible question, "Is God good?" An affirmative is too simple and straightforward, and, as Ramsey has suggested, the reply of Christians would be that he is "infinitely good." This brings in the issue of the logically odd qualifier. God is not just "good and more," for that is not what "infinitely" means. So, if we follow Ramsey, we will start hunting for stories that may help to evoke a disclosure. Perhaps the first story is that of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, in which there is evil in the world to be known by man. This makes possible the insight into one’s own freedom to choose good or evil. The discussion at this point could move in a number of directions. One group might stay with Genesis and examine the stories of Cain and Abel, Noah, and the tower of Babel. Another might move to the analogy of father and children as found in the psalms: "As a father is kind to his children, so is the LORD kind to those who revere him (Ps. 103:13, G)," or in Jesus’ teaching, "So if you, as bad as you are, know enough to give your children what is good, how much more surely will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him for it (Luke 11:13, G)." Or the questions may move toward non-man-made evil in a world where God is "infinitely good." The discovery of Job, as Walter Lippmann put it, was that "God is not like Job." (A preface to Morals [New York: Macmillan, 1929], p. 214)The qualifier "infinitely" places God’s goodness beyond any simile that man may use and stretches the analogy of goodness to its furthest point where the "light might dawn." There is no pious, easy answer to the issue of God’s goodness in a world where Satanic forces beyond man’s power to cope are let loose. Yet Job is enabled to say:

Here the integrity of Job is maintained in the face of a deity who opposes him. This is not trust in a deity who seems to do evil. Job’s wife, when she saw the evidence, said:

His friends gave all sorts of pious but useless advice. Job, with access to the same facts, saw them in a different pattern, in which he found a basis for his own integrity and for his own understanding of the mystery of God’s incomprehensible ways.

A teacher and class could stay with Job indefinitely, going beyond the text to the play JB, or using a passage from Isaiah to illuminate Job’s point:

The important point to note here is that in this analogy heaven and earth are entirely separate categories, not brought together by modern space exploration. The usage must be seen in its original context in order to have currency in today’s world. If this difference is not comprehended, the Isaiah model must be discarded, for it will seem that God’s goodness is only more than man’s, as a space module is more competent in space than an old piston airplane, and this is not what the qualifier "infinitely" means. Perhaps by now there will be a disclosure sufficient for the students at this point in their development.

If the students are seeking still further insight, the qualified model "infinitely good" might be extended to include "infinitely powerful" and "infinitely loving." The qualifiers are essential, for God’s power is not like man’s power and his love is not like men’s love; the analogical ascription is there, for we need to start with what we know about human power and love, but God is not like man and is not created in man’s image. Perhaps the approach here is through looking on God as operating within the framework of man’s freedom, and the story of the crucifixion and resurrection may lead to the discernment of God’s taking on himself the consequences of man’s suffering and sin. The motifs of death and new life, of being lost and found, of alienation and reconciliation may assist in the process at this point. If a disclosure occurs, there will be a changed onlook leading to self-involvement at a new level, which can be reported in performative language.

Small children have trouble with the name of God, although they sometimes have strong attachment to the name of Jesus. ibis difficulty with God’s name was brought out in an experiment with a group of second-graders in an ecumenical setting who were being taught about the Jewish faith. Dorothy Dixon reports:

To call God "God" is like calling Jesus "god-man" or one’s beloved Elizabeth "wife." No wonder that piety has addressed itself to Jesus, Mary, and the saints, preferring these genuine names to Creator, Logos, or Holy Spirit! Of course, this approach, which may be helpful at the second-grade level or which may be fanciful thinking which will not stand up, is open to question biblically. "Yahweh" is just the word that the Jews refused to pronounce because it was so holy; and they substituted various euphemisms. This difficulty, which does not have a straightforward way out, makes one point clear: we need old and new models for God in today’s world.

We do not know God’s name, and this is hard to explain to second-graders. As Ramsey says, "only God could know his own name. . . . The inevitable elusiveness of the divine name is the logical safeguard against universal idolatry. . . . But YHWH witnesses to a religious situation for whose understanding we need personal categories."(Religious Language, p. 112) Mrs. Dixon’s children were right, because the use of the name Yahweh gave them a personal handle by which they could think about God, but as they grow they will be ready for the further disclosure of the mystery where all that God will say is, "I am I," which is the ultimate tautology.

Words Do Things

Words do things. They sell every kind of merchandise, often with logically odd phrases, but more often with catchwords that are easily identifiable. They are repeated ad nauseum. This use of words is effective when it is based on motivational research, is meant to overcome man’s resistance and to arouse his desires, and is aimed at encouraging action. It is deep-seated enough to affect his onlooks and sometimes gets down to unconscious bliks.

This comparison is not irrelevant to our thesis. One of the most effective advertisements on television several years ago showed a girl who gets into all kinds of trouble, perils from which an escape is unlikely, and who always lands in a Dodge automobile. One’s attention is caught by the humor of the odd situation. Dirty and disheveled but obviously in a good humor, she then points at the viewer and says, "The Dodge Boys want you!" So we tell our logically odd stories about Jesus who is Savior and Redeemer, and at the end we say, "Christ wants you!" Both the Dodge Corporation and the church have discovered that in many cases the viewer changes his onlook and responds with a performative, by saying that he will buy a Dodge or by acknowledging Jesus as Lord.

This performative power of words to change a person’s way of thinking, by providing a new center of attention whereby the pattern of his perception of facts is changed, by stimulating a way of looking on himself and his world, by evoking a disclosure of meaning for his life, should never be discounted. The facts do not change! The empirical evidence is available equally to the atheist and theist, the Buddhist and Christian, the Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant, and Jew. But the onlooks differ not only in detail but in degree, and the question of truth remains as an expression of what is really there.

Direct discourse, based on the so-called facts, is never enough. Religious language has a richness that includes humor, hyperbole, fantasy, and appeals to the imagination, and yet it is grounded in reality. When Nathan told his little story about the poor man with the single lamb, which the rich man took in order to entertain a guest, David was deeply moved and became indignant, saying that the rich man should give the poor man four lambs and deserved to die. Against the background of David’s sexual adventures with Bathsheba and the elimination of her husband, Uriah, Nathan’s story was not objective but carried the punch line: "Thou art the man!" Here was existential self-knowledge made available, a disclosure of the meaning of the situation, and out of it came a confession and commitment by David.

This story has not lost its power or its relevance, because modern man is not different from David. He may express his attitude in terms of Playboy magazine, where his modern Bathsheba is found in the center foldout sheet, which provides a philosophical justification for such activity (although he would probably not resort to murder of a contemporary Uriah), or he may simply be a man who is aware of his masculine nature in terms of Jesus’ words that if one looks on a woman with adultery in his intentions, he is already guilty.

When this story is placed beside that of Hosea, another disclosure may be evoked. For Hosea tells us that God is loving and forgiving, not simply in terms of the forgiving by Hosea of an erring wife, but in terms of prophecy. For it takes the story of whoredom and places it in a religious context, so that we are enabled to look on Israel (and ourselves) as a faithless wife forgiven by the Lord. Therein, we look on God in his relationship with all people, not only in Hosea’s time but throughout history. Thus, we are drawn more completely into a biblical onlook. (See ibid., pp. 112-16.)

Education as Initiation

The concept of education presupposes that some kind of change in the student will occur. R. S. Peters speaks of education as initiation. "Education," he writes, "involves essentially processes which intentionally transmit what is valuable in an intelligible and voluntary manner and which create in the learner a desire to achieve it, this being seen as having its place along with other things in life."("Education as Initiation," Reginald D. Archambault, ed., Philosophical Analysis and Education [London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1965]. p. 102. See also R. S. Peters, Ethics and Education [London: George Allen & Unwin, 1966], pp. 46- 88.) This is something broader than instruction or training or even teaching, and may not meet all the criteria of what education is. Therefore, he prefers the term "initiation," which is a value-loaded term pointing to "worthwhile activities and modes of conduct." This is a slow process, because it includes not only knowing but doing as a goal for the student. He needs to know about Christianity, but he also must become competent as a believer. He not only must know theology, but he must also do it at his own level of competence.

Initiation then is a form of exploration, and

With this feeling of fraternity based on a common respect for persons, the class is free to explore, think, and act, and so to develop interests that are unsuspected.

Because it is a long process in which there is much hard work, the teacher should not expect an immediate response. Each session of a class does not end with a disclosure or a commitment. Many times, students will do nothing that has any effect on their lives, nothing approaching self-involvement or per-formative action, either verbally or physically. As Gabriel Moran writes, "The really deep values of Christian revelation are those that emerge organically over a long period of time." (Gabriel Moran, Catechesis of Revelation [New York: Herder & Herder, 1966], p. 125.) Premature commitment is more dangerous than no commitment. Children and young people may be said to be "on the way" and Christian maturity is a possibility only for adults. What Josef Goldbrunner calls the "theocentric crossing" is a gift of grace, when the disclosure does occur and the student responds. Slowly an onlook, autobiographical and performative develops, and one looks on the world as God’s. Such an onlook is metaphysical in its implications, and to this issue of metaphysics we now turn.

When one examines how language is used, it is clear that God-talk goes on and that for many people it has meaning. However, very little talk about God is possible when one is limited to descriptive language and assertions that can be empirically validated. Most religious language makes use of other categories, and it is important to know which language-game one is using and how language-games may be mixed. The word God is the key in all religious language, although phrases about him and his actions are logically odd, and we need to make use of models and qualifiers in prolific abundance if we are to provide those situations in which may be evoked disclosures leading to commitment. Although many categories of language may be used in teaching about religion, the use of poetic-simple is essential when one is seeking the possibility of new insights leading to faith.

When one speaks of commitment, however, he is led into the performative language of self-involvement.

Performative Language

Donald Evans writes that many utterances are neutral, impersonal, and descriptive.(See The Logic of Self-Involvement (London: SCM Press 1963; New York: Herder & Herder, 1969). Evans builds on the theories of J. L. Austin as found in his posthumous books: J. O. Urmson and G. J. Warnock, eds., Philosophical Papers (London: Oxford University Press, 1961); J. O. Urmson, ed., how to Do Things with Words (London: Oxford University Press, 1962); C. J. Warnock, ed., Sense and Sensibilia (London: Oxford University Press, 1963). Other utterances involve the self. If I say, "Mary is his wife," I am not necessarily involved in the relationship. In saying, "Thank you for your graciousness," I imply that I am grateful. Language is used to do things. Even if I was insincere, I committed myself to action and implied an attitude.

Such self-involving language is a species of performative language. When I say, "I submit" or "thank" or "appoint" or "judge," I am doing something, performing a speech-act. What I say is neither true nor false insofar as it is a performative, although what I say is liable to infelicities. My statement may misfire because I fail to carry through, or I am not in a position to act it out, or I make a mistake.

The self-involving performatives noted by Evans belong to two classes: Commissives and Behabitives. Commissives involve a more than verbal commitment ("promise," "pledge," "covenant," "submit," "threaten," etc.). Behabitives have to do with social behavior and imply attitudes ("thank," "praise," "apologize," "blame," etc.) Performatives need not be explicit. I can promise without using the word promise and thank without saying "thank" and worship without saving "worship." Other words, in a given context, may have the same performative force.

Evans distinguishes between the performative use of words and the causal use. The latter is not part of the meaning of the utterance but has to do with its influence on people. For example, I may evoke feelings of gratitude by saying, "Thanks be to God." The thanking is performative, but the gratitude evoked is causal.

A third use of language is the expression of feelings. Evans includes "expressive" language as a form of self-involving language. Such utterances may also express attitudes, which include being for or against someone or something. Sometimes they are strongly judgmental, including statements or implications of either opinion or value. Attitudes are relational; the expression of an attitude involves one in his relationship to another.

Onlooks

Some attitudes are what Evans calls "onlooks." He writes:

Evans provides some examples that may help to make clear what he means:

I look on God as an all-knowing Judge to be feared (Or as a trustworthy Shepherd who guides me along life’s way, or as a loving Father who yearns for the return of his children). . . .

I look on my life as a game (or as a struggle, a search, a voyage, a pilgrimage, a dream, or a drama). . . .

I look on my work as a way of making money, no more (Or as one reason for living, or as my calling from God).Ibid.,p. 125.

In these onlooks there is a commissive element, for they involve policy or intention or at least a minimum of activity. There is self-involvement. There is a degree of autobiography. They take a stand. They include judgments or verdicts, for often one is ascribing status, function, or role, even though this may be only a private opinion. They may express a world view. They are expressive of feelings or attitudes. They may evoke or cause a response. These are the common features of onlooks.

Onlooks may be literal or nonliteral. When I say, "I look on Mary as a sister," this is nonliteral. If I say, "I look on the vicar as my shepherd," the onlook is parabolic, and if I say, "I look on alcoholism as a disease," it is analogical. This is the point at which I can make a religious statement, "I look on God as a Father."

This leads to the distinction Evans makes between self-involving and rapportive utterances. The former are utterances in or through which one does something. The latter are those which are understood only to the extent to which one has an affinity or rapport with what the utterance is about. All expressions of onlook are self-involving and some also are rapportive. All expressions of religious onlook arc rapportive. V/hen a person tries to understand someone of another culture, or a genius, or even a younger or older person, he has difficulty; his understanding is limited both by his own conception of what actions are intelligible and by his inability to share the other’s views. An utterance is classified as rapportive in terms of "conditions of understanding."(See ibid., pp. 104-5, 110-13)

This emphasis on rapportive utterances leads Evans to a distinction between secular-moral and religious language which he illustrates as follows:

As one comes to the conviction that he is in rapport with God, he looks on God as transcendent and understands that God requires unlimited submission, unlimited trust, unlimited awe, and unlimited openness.(See ibid., pp. 224-25.) To express this, he uses transcendental parabolic onlooks, involving him in worship by which he acknowledges the glory and faithfulness of God. These parables concerning God have to do with what we can see in the world, with historical events, and with the heavens which "declare the glory of God."

There is usually some authority behind one’s religious on-look. It may be a creed, a church, or a person whose judgment is considered sound. Some believe that their assertions reflect a divine onlook. Others are more pragmatic, and accept as their onlook whatever facilitates their relationship with God. There is a sense in which one "makes it true for himself" by living out the onlook in his daily life, and he is persuaded that "a hidden influence enables him to act in accordance with it."(Ibid., pp. 255-56)

Evans quotes Herbert Butterfield, who with a different vocabulary says very much the same thing:

We move from a minimal knowledge that God is to an acknowledgment of him in worship and a way of life to knowing God in acquaintance, says Evans. (See ibid., p. 200) It is this process which makes religious language essential, and to understand the process we need to understand how religious language works. Words do things. They express onlooks which are self-involving and include attitudes and commitment. Of course, men may be insincere, and hypocrisy is closely related to the misuse of performative language. Many church members have used the self-involving performative sentence, "I accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior," without involvement or commitment. But if there is a new onlook, its utterance in these words is a genuine performative. He may prefer to state it differently, as in "I commit myself to the ground of being," or "I look on the world and myself as under the authority of the creator-God revealed in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ." Such performative utterances may still suffer from infelicities, but obviously they have implications for behavior in the world.

Dallas M. High uses a narrower view of self-involving language than does Evans. He analyzes the credo form as a performative: "I believe in. . . ." This first-person use has its own logic involving the relations between the concept "person" and the concept "belief." When I say, "I believe in Jones," I am performing an act of believing. This is different from a report or observation, "You believe in Jones." "Believing is something performed, owned, and claimed by, for someone, about and in someone or something." (Dallas M. High, Language, Persons, and Belief [New York: Oxford University Press, 1967], p. 160.) Although my believing is not infallible and is open to examination, I do not distrust my beliefs. High quotes Wittgenstein: "One can mistrust one’s own sentences, but not one’s own belief. If there were a verb meaning ‘to believe falsely,’ it would not have any significant first-person present indicative."(Wittgenstein. Philosophical Investigations [2d ed.; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, and New York: Macmillan, 1958], p. 109^e.)

As we have already indicated, God-talk and I-talk are closely related. High makes the same point: "The first step in making sense of religious belief-talk, and the central claim of Christian monotheism is to observe that the word God can be quite appropriately, and, indeed biblically, modeled on the personal pronoun ‘I.’" (Dallas M. High, op. cit., p. 179.) So when I assert that I believe in God, I am willing to back up this statement with some kind of justification, reasons, or even empirical evidence. It is the kind of reasoning I use to back up my claim about my wife or my children, and the model comes from interpersonal relations. Yet I may claim that the use of the model does not mean that God is a person in the sense that you are a person, which is why all personal models for God need logically odd qualifiers.

Implications for Christian Education

As we look at the implications of self-involving language for Christian education, we need to deal with what Evans calls preunderstanding, for performatives rely on some kind of descriptive assertions about reality. There can be neutral teaching about religion, which is proper in American public schools, although it approaches a spectator sport. But the teaching of religion leads us to consider the situation and possible decision, of which rejection may be one response. Confirmation needs to be reinterpreted in terms of the significance of self-involving, rapportive, performative language. Adult education, also, must be linguistically performative, leading to action. Finally, we look at the power of words to evoke new insights and to stimulate greater loyalty and action.

Before we can turn to performative language in Christian education, some kind of preunderstanding is necessary. If a policeman says, "I arrest you for driving too fast," we can point to his authority to make an arrest, to you as the driver of the car, and to the automobile. These exist as a basis for his performative utterance. We can explain this process to the little boy in the back seat. But if I say, "I accept God’s call to follow the vocation of druggist," I find that I can only point to myself. John McIntyre tells us:

The word parasitic means, I presume, to live off another. McIntyre says that a "host" statement must be strong enough to carry its parasites. Every performative statement presupposes at least a minimal knowledge on which it is based. Evans is content to leave it at this. In saving, "I acknowledge God as Lord," I presuppose that there is a God, but my acknowledgment takes me into the self-involving language that completes my picture of him through parabolic onlooks. Parables concerning God are connected with observable events and people, but the onlook points to God’s hiddenness.(See Evans, op. cit., pp. 223-27; also Evans’ essay, "Differences Between Scientific and Religious Assertions," Ian C. Barbour, ed., Science and Religion [New York: Harper & Row, 1968], pp. 101-33.)

In Christian education, therefore, we can do little about self-involvement and performatives until there is some empirical anchor. Discernment or disclosure, in Ramsey’s terms, is prior to commitment. Yet if teaching is mostly on the level of descriptive, neutral, and nonself-involving discourse, how can the student find in this a basis for a response that is self-involving in terms of behavior and commitment? Evans does not provide a solution to this problem.

The problem is easy to see. We have tools of discourse, mostly in descriptive terms, derived from scripture, tradition, and modern situations. We may use various literary forms in order to present and clarify the beliefs of the churches. Even the indifferent student may participate in God-talk at this level, for it is safe. In worship, where the language tends to be self-involving, he can remain at the spectator level. Instead of worship being an "empirical anchor," the only response is a surface one or is negative. As Bushnell saw, merely to increase teaching at this level adds to the resistance of the pupil.

Such neutral teaching may be proper in the schools, where teaching about religion in an objective fashion is the norm. But there is a large gap between such purposes of a secular school and the primary goal of Christian education. The language of the Christian faith, like the language of friendship, is meant to be performative, in terms of trust, decision, commitment, followed by behavior in both words and deeds.

This means that we need to look again at the educational implications of the suggestions of Ramsey, Bushnell, and Drinkwater. Language may be used in such a way that a disclosure may be evoked, a discernment may occur, or the imagination may be stirred. If the "light dawns" and the "ice breaks," we have a basis both for "belief that" and "acknowledgment of" which is open to analysis and checking for "empirical fit," and this can lead to commitment. The language used for such teaching is at least indirectly causal.

If the response we hope for is to come, the self-involvement must be linguistic and more. This suggests that the conditions of social learning must be such that the situation is suitable for the logically odd, poetic use of and exchange of stories to illuminate the situation. It means that what has been called "an atmosphere in which grace flourishes" must predate the language used. This places the responsibility on the teacher and the class, as reflecting the larger life of the congregation, to create the kind of interpersonal relationships in which mutual trust is possible. When anyone in a class is treated as a means or a thing, as a bag to be filled with factual knowledge that can be dumped out for examination, there is no starting point for self-involving language. When each one is treated as a person, to be respected and listened to, to be given an opportunity to tell his story as he sees it, to respond to the story of the gospel if he wishes, there may be a situation in which both existential and linguistic self-involvement may be evoked.

Of course, any situation leads to performative language. If I say, "I reject all that stuff you have been trying to put into my head," it is a strong negative judgment which is nonself-involving. If I say, "All that information about Jesus Christ leaves me cold," I am making a statement that is autobiographical and implies a negative performative. If I say, after months of struggle with an issue, "Now I see the light; this is what you have been saying all along, and I couldn’t get it," I am making an autobiographical report that includes two levels of performative, negative and positive. If we have been using many models and qualifiers, many parables, many words employing the richness of the performatives of the biblical onlook of our teaching, listening within the dialogue to whatever the students have to say, perhaps there will be moments of discernment, but this is not guaranteed by either the content or the method.

The problem involves more than the situation and the language. We are dealing with growing persons who develop new capacities for insight, discernment and commitment from day to day. For example, if we take confirmation or declaration of faith as in some degree requiring the capacity to understand, to acknowledge, to decide, and to make a commitment, we need to reconsider the age at which this can occur in the light of the findings of developmental psychology. The current practice ranges all the way from seven to eighteen years among the major denominations. For some it is the precondition for receiving Holy Communion, for others the First Communion is prior to confirmation. In the Orthodox tradition, baptism, chrism, and Holy Communion may be given to infants. If it is to be a childhood decision, with limitations on the significance of both the event and the decision, we may settle for the ages between seven and twelve. If we believe that the adolescent is seeking to stand on his own feet and identify with adults and that the church can provide an environment in which he is treated as an adult, we may place confirmation between the ages of twelve and fifteen. If we are concerned with the identity crisis, with the development of the attitude of basic trust, with the acceptance of adult responsibility within the congregation and in the world, the proper age for confirmation should be not earlier than eighteen or the school-leaving age.(See Religions Education, LVIII [Sept-Oct. 1963], pp. 411-42, and LX [July-Aug. 1965], pp. 290-302, for two symposia on "The Proper Age for a Declaration of Faith." See also W. Kent Gilbert, ed., Confirmation and Education [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1969] and Confirmation Crisis [New York: Seabury Press, 1968], especially F. J. Warnecke, "A Bishop Proposes," pp. 134-43.) If confirmation is based on the expectation of a full-fledged self-involving per-formative, based on judgment, behavior, and faith, including the expression of a biblical onlook centered in Jesus Christ, as Our rituals indicate, then it is sheer hypocrisy to expect this to he a possibility prior to eighteen. If young people leave school at eighteen, if men may be drafted at eighteen, if girls may marry without parental consent at eighteen, if young people can vote at twenty-one, society is providing for self-involving performatives at an age when they have significance, meaning, and effective expression.

Even if there is agreement on a later age, confirmation poses another problem. Walter Neidhart cites the situation in Switzerland, where, at the suggestion of Karl Barth, the Apostles’ Creed is used at confirmation, and many of the confirmands either move their lips silently or keep quiet and the congregation, not being used to this creed, does not recite it either. The ceremony becomes an empty one for all. Some pastors have reacted by eliminating any declaration of faith or vow. The words used in traditional forms have become meaningless and have no performative value, or, if they have, it is open to question whether the evidence for their effectiveness can be found in church attendance or some kind of social action. Neidhart concludes that as long as confirmation is "closely connected with social prestige, this period of life is certainly not the most favorable for a public declaration of faith and the ceremony related to it should rather remain without a vow."(Religious Education, LX [July-Aug. 1965], p. 297.) Thus, we end with a nonself-involving and meaningless religious ritual.

Russell Becker suggests that there must be enough instruction prior to confirmation so that the ceremony is a performative, and that afterward education through small groups can reinforce both understanding and commitment as one moves toward maturity.(Ibid., pp. 292-94.) This leads directly into a new level of training which is essential for the churches: lay training. Confirmation would become, as Bishop Warnecke suggests, "commissioning of the layman for his ministry in God’s world. It would be a commitment to the process of becoming, not a status quo membership."(Confirmation Crisis, p. 139.)

The adult Christian, no matter what the degree of his psychological or spiritual maturity and commitment, needs education in terms of increased understanding and strengthened performatives at and beyond the level of language. He needs to see the significance of self-involving language as he makes judgments about God, the world, and other people, as he acts in various ways as a Christian in society, and as he expresses his commitment in word and action. For many, this process begins with a deepening of understanding of a Christian or biblical onlook (which may still reflect his childhood onlook). This is why theological investigation and reflection, insofar as such endeavors are relevant to the situation, are absolutely essential; one learns to think theologically about the meaning of events in his daily life, to look on the world with all its difficulties and problems as God’s world, to look on the work of Christ at least in Ramsey’s minimum statement ("God did something through Jesus Christ"), and then to respond in terms of his developing onlook. Thus, he may be led to grasp what responsible Christian behavior is for him in his work, his home, his community, and his nation. He looks on the church, with the help of biblical images, as a community of the Holy Spirit in the world rather than as a withdrawn pietistic communal group. Hopefully, he looks on worship as the "empirical anchor," the source of indwelling strength, and the expression of his onlook toward God and man.

As we have examined the self-involving language of performatives and the significance of onlooks, our analysis has opened up another channel of Christian education. When a person uses such language, his assertions do things, provided that they are not misplaced and do not misfire. Words also have causal use. They not only reflect our experiences, relationships, and attitudes, they also have the power to change one’s onlooks. Words have changed the course of men’s lives and of history. Great preaching has been the means of disclosure and commitment. Great teaching, especially when it operates within an atmosphere in which logically odd situations are evoked, has been the means whereby the "light has dawned" and a self-involving response in words and deeds has occurred. In Austin’s phrase, when we know How to Do Things with Words, the emphasis is on "do."

The potential in Christian teaching is great, and the crime has been our failure in so many times and places to make the proper use of words. We have put great effort and devotion into using the wrong language-games. Our dry, sterile, impotent theologizing and catechizing has produced, as Drinkwater says, "neither light nor heat," and while we were talking our listeners, like Eutyches when Paul was lecturing, fell asleep. But it need not be so, if we begin to see how the imagination can create models and metaphors, can use logically odd qualifiers, can present ideas in poetic-simple language, so that new onlooks may occur. But can onlooks be changed and how? To that problem we now turn.

Many of the ideas which have been reworked in terms of logical analysis are not new. The recasting has been helpful, but older theories derived from philosophical and literary studies often provide parallels, in this chapter, we will turn to two men, Horace Bushnell, who lived in the last century in Connecticut, and Francis H. Drinkwater, a contemporary English Roman Catholic. They have similar positions and agree on the phrase which is the title for this chapter, "The Language of the Heart."

Horace Bushnell is best known for Christian Nurture, written in 1847, dealing with many aspects of the Christian education of children.(Bushnell’s first essays and defenses appeared in 1847. The book as we now know it, considerably enlarged by later essays, appeared in 1861, and the latest edition with introductions by Williston Walker and Luther A. Weigle appeared in 1947. See Christian Nurture (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1947). A selection of Bushnell’s writings is conveniently available in 11. Shelton Smith, ed., Horace Bushnell (New York: Oxford University Press, 1965). But in his own time, as a pastor in Hartford, he was in the midst of theological controversies in which he demonstrated an originality of thought and a devotion to Christian living that are equally significant for our purposes, particularly his theory of knowledge and his theory of religious language.

Although Bushnell did not develop a full theory of religious knowledge, it is clear that he combined views of intuition and reason in a way not greatly different from the position of I. T. Ramsey. His thinking in this regard was influenced by Samuel Coleridge and Victor Cousin as well as the Puritan tradition exemplified by Jonathan Edwards. From Coleridge he derived a view of the necessity of religious intuition as a basis for belief. From Cousin he adopted the view that belief in God is necessary because human thinking cannot avoid ultimate reality. Cousin expounded a "primitive spontaneity" or "intuitive reason" upon which reflection depends. From Jonathan Edwards Bushnell accepted the doctrine of "the sense of the heart." No matter how sound a man’s rational thinking may be, there must be an immediate intuition of God for his awareness to "come alive."

Knowing about God, said Bushnell, is not enough, for it is too impersonal and distant. There "is knowing God within, even as we know ourselves." This knowledge is such "that there as no language in it, no thought, no act of judgment or opinion, you simply have a self-feeling that is intuitive and direct." (Sermons on Living Subjects [New York. Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1910], p. 119; quoted by Smith, op. cit., p. 33.) This is the work of the Holy Spirit. Bushnell did not come to this conclusion easily, for he went through several crises in his own understanding of Christianity, each time with a renewed intuition of the presence of God or the living Christ.

As we will see when we turn to Bushnell’s theory of religious language, his mind was comprehensive. He did not trust any theology that had a limited vocabulary or that rode one idea. Language is too limited to deal adequately with truth about God, and we must use all of its richness, for truth has many sides. If we look at the history of Christian thought, we discover that no theory is right, for if pressed to its logical end it distorts reality and needs to be corrected by another form of statement. Yet each theory, insofar as it is responsible, stands for some aspect of truth. If we can combine the insights of the competing parties in theological discourse, by clarifying those forms which are "repugnant" and burrowing more deeply into the conflicts, a more comprehensive view will result.(See H. Shelton Smith, op. cit., pp. 111-12.)

Dissertation on Language

Although Bushnell claimed to be no expert on language, he had read widely and had been influenced by his teachers. Yet he was critical even of positions with which he had sympathy.(See his criticism of Cousin, ibid., p. 112.) His "Preliminary Dissertation on the Nature of Language, as Related to Thought and Spirit" was prefaced to his theological work, God in Christ, as a way of assisting the reader.(God in Christ [Hartford: Brown & Parsons, 1849], pp. 9-97; reprinted almost in full in Smith, op. cit., pp. 69-105.) He held to this position on language and used it in all his theological writings.

Bushnell began by proposing that we think of two men, who, having no language and having heard no words, form their own words to describe things they can point at. Thus, they are agreed on nouns as applied to things. The words are arbitrary choices. From these nouns, words are then used in adjectival wax’s or in ways of other parts of speech. He gives some examples:

And, he suggests, is a contraction of an-add. "A shine and a run are names of appearances, just as a sun and a river are names of appearances. And when these names are strung together, in the use, the sun and the shine, the river and the run, the idea of subject and predicate becomes associated."(Ibid., p. 80.)

This accounts, says Bushnell, for the way in which language develops at the physical level. We cannot always show how this occurred, and often the development may have moved according to various orders. But the point is that words are derived from their use to point to physical objects. Furthermore, our intellectual and spiritual vocabulary is derived from such physical roots in a second order of meaning. For example:

"The word spirit means, originally, breath, or air in motion; that being the symbol, in nature, of a power of moving unseen.

"The word religion is re, back, and ligo, to bind. . . . (A difference in etymology does not spoil the illustration)

"In the same wax xve have prefer, to set before; abstraction, drawing apart; reflection, turning back . . . faith, a tie or ligature."(Ibid., p. 78.)

In every language, there are words for literal use and words for figurative or analogical use. Theology belongs to the second use; theologians make a mistake when they "accept words not as signs or images, but as absolute measures and equivalents of truth; and so to run themselves, with a perfectly unsuspecting confidence, into whatever conclusions the logical forms of the words will carry them. (Ibid., p. 88. Owen Barfield, supported by C. S. Lewis and E. L. Mascall, takes an opposite position, claiming that early man did not start with either the physical or the spiritual meaning of words hut with both at once. See Barfield, Poetic Diction [New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964] pp. 72-76; C. S. Lewis, Miracles [London: Bles, 1947] p. 94; E. L. Mascall, Words and Images (London: Longmans Green & Co., 1957), p. 107. See also Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (2d ed.; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, and New York: Macmillan, 1958), pp. 2^e-10^e.) Like Ramsey after him, Bushnell was arguing for the special logical oddity of religious language.

Although words of intellect and spirit are derived from those used to point to the physical state, they do not correspond with any exactness, although there is a helpful degree of correspondence. There is a mystery in this correspondence, which is analogical and figurative and never exact. Writes Bushnell:

Furthermore, Bushnell claims that such words always distort meaning, because they impute form to what has no form. Genuine thinking at this level involves poetry, allegory, and stretching of the imagination. Only a flexible vocabulary can operate effectively. But the situation is complex, for when words grow away from their roots they take on new and sometimes false meanings, which can be checked only by returning to the original meaning, which in turn is not reliable for indicating its secondary meaning.

Here is where Bushnell’s theory begins to take on significance for theological discourse and communication. Because of the peculiarity of religious language, all words carry with them the danger of error or partial truth. So we need to make use of many words or figures of speech, thus insuring that clarity will increase and falsifications will cancel each other. This is where paradoxes are essential, for they guard against a simplistic use of words and logic.

Although Bushnell is critical of rationalism in theology, he does not object to the use of logic and reason to order one’s thought. He writes: "After the subject matter has been gotten into propositions, and cleared, perhaps, by definition, the faculty of intuition, or insight, may be suspended, and we may go on safely to reason upon the forms of the words themselves, or the ‘analogy the words bear to each other.’ " (Ibid., p. 95.)

It is obvious to Bushnell that creeds and catechisms do not provide dogmatic certainty. If we are able to look beneath the surface of the events that led to their formulations, we will find an element of truth in all of them, although they give the impression of diversity. If creeds are to be retained, we should assent to as many as possible and let them qualify each other.(Ibid., p. 101.) Such a view emphasizes the tentativeness of theology.

Bushnell spoke against imaginative speculation, although some of his own flights of imagination articulated doctrine in a meaningful way. But at the same time, he was suspicious of all systems as such. If this approach to language is accepted, said Bushnell, "the scriptures will be more studied than they have been, and in a different manner -- not as a magazine of propositions and mere dialectic entities, but as inspirations and poetic forms of life. . . . We shall seem to understand less, and shall actually receive more." (Ibid., p. 103.) This presupposes a mystic element in life.

The Bible supports such a view, for it contains not only poetry but much that is like poetry in its historical accounts. Christ gave forth utterances, says Bushnell, "in living symbols, without definitions, without proving it, . . . well understanding that truth is that which shines in its own evidence, that which finds us, to use an admirable expression of Coleridge, and thus enters into us."(Ibid., p. 98.) Men speak of being gripped or grasped by truth or by God; they are overcome or overwhelmed; they are loved. When the "light dawns," it is a revelation or a disclosure from the outside. Religious language points beyond the self.

Thus far, we have looked at Bushnell’s theory of language as a help in communication, especially in theological discourse. There is one other factor which characterizes language and ties in with his theory of Christian nurture. A person’s use of words has significance and power which are individualized and personalized, says Bushnell, "whether it be the rhythm, the collocations, the cadences, or the internal ideas, it may be impossible to guess. But his language is his own, and there is some chemistry of life in it that belongs only to him, as does the vital chemistry of his body." (Ibid., p. 102.) The person who speaks is as much a part of the communication process as the words that are used. Jesus’ words, for example, carried a greater degree of significance because he "spoke with authority." What is communicated, therefore, not only points and shows but in an important manner reveals the hidden nature of the speaker or writer.

Certainly the proper use of words is not enough to provide Christian education. As Bushnell remarks, "Much of what is called Christian nurture, not only serves to make the subject of religion odious, and that, as much as we can discover, in exact proportion to the amount of religious teaching received."(Christian Nurture, p. 11.) Even before a child can use words, the gospel "beams out" from the Christian parent "as a living epistle, before it escapes from the lips, or is taught in words." (Ibid., p. 14.) This development of the child, growing up as a Christian, is no automatic process. "It involves a struggle with evil, a fall and rescue." (Ibid., p. 15.) There is an organic relationship between parents and children, which, when properly structured and supported by love, becomes the means of grace whereby God works within the group.

This interpersonal view of relationships, seen first within the family, applies also to life in the church and in the church school class. Not only do we learn about words by pointing to their physical origins and their secondary use in religious speaking, but we also learn about words which show us grace at work in the relationships of daily life.

The Language of the Heart

We turn from Bushnell to Francis H. Drinkwater. Both of them would agree with Georges Delcuve that the aim of Christian education "is to work with grace in the awakening or the increase of that faith which justifies us.’’ (Georges Delcuve, "Confirmation at the Age of Reason," Gerard S. Sloyan, ed., Shaping the Christian Message [New York: Macmillan, 1958]. p. 281.)

Drinkwater was for many years editor of The Sower, a weekly magazine on Roman Catholic catechetics in England, as well as an inspector of Roman Catholic schools. He has been concerned with the use of words for the purpose of Christian education, and has been influenced by the thinking of Wordsworth and Coleridge. Thus, he comes at the problem from a perspective similar to that of Bushnell. There is, he says, a need for simplicity in Christian communication that will reach the middle and lower classes of society. These people have a limited vocabulary. They think in concrete terms. They are caught in the impersonal structures of an industrial society where they have lost touch with the simple, rustic life of their ancestors. Wordsworth, in his day, had the genius to articulate the charm of everyday life in terms of the loveliness of the world around him. He could "overcome the film of familiarity" by appealing to nature in a simple, poetic style that reached the heart.

This, of course, is no longer the case. The people arc caught in a routine in which the charm of nature has been forgotten and cannot be renewed by field trips or poetry. Yet preaching at mass, storytelling, and dialogue need to reach the "heart." Drinkwater says that "if people can’t see the difference between the emotions and the heart they have not even begun to understand what it is all about." ("Using Christian Words" Sloyan, ed., op. cit., p. 271.) Like Coleridge and Bushnell, Drinkwater is thinking in terms of the total thinking, willing, loving person who is enabled to respond "with all his heart."

The trouble with so much language is that it refers to some "substance" as the meaning of words that are meant to illuminate relationships or personal meanings. ‘‘Grace’’ as a theological doctrine, says Drinkwater as an example, is often interpreted as similar to some substance like bread or niedicine, but "if we just said that God comes to live in our soul, and this New Life is what is meant by ‘grace,’ ‘‘ would this not have meaning for simple people?(Ibid., p. 273.)

There are, says Drinkwater, four categories of language:

1. Scientific-difficult: This is the language of mathematical physics or of the theology of Thomas Aquinas. It is essential for technical analysis, for scientific hypotheses, and for discussions among professionals. It is the language used for the establishment of the theological basis for Christian education.

2. Scientific-simple: This is the language of simplified arithmetic, of a weather report, and of the catechism. It is essential for passing on information on a non-technical and impersonal basis, but it never reaches the heart.

3. Poetic-difficult: This is the language of Francis Thompson in The Hound of Heaven or of some of the poetry of T. S. Eliot and Robert Browning. At its worst, it is like the poem of which Browning is reported to have said: "When I wrote it only God and Robert Browning knew what it meant; now, God only knows."

4. Poetic-simple: This is the "language of the heart." Drink-water’s example is Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. It is the language found in much of the Bible, especially the psalms, the beatitudes, and some of the parables of Jesus. Poetry is here used in the broad sense that parallels some of the logically odd qualifiers suggested by Ramsey and the combinations of words recommended by Bushnell, who also recognizes the significance of poetry. Even when a poet has been using difficult words, Drinkwater reminds us, when he wants to get to the heart he uses poetic-simple:

This language is so simple that every word but one is of a single syllable.(See Ibid., pp. 274-75.)

"The science of theology," he writes, "must erect a lofty structure of truth expressed in scientific language upon a basis of truth expressed in non-scientific language. It is like building a mighty bridge not on solid ground, but across some wide river bed. This can be done to last, but not by any second-rate engineers in a hurry." (Ibid., p.277) Teachers need to reverse this process. They need to be grounded in theology, even when it does not reach the heart, but they need to translate the scientific-difficult language into something more immediately meaningful. Often they are content to translate from scientific-difficult into scientific-simple, and we get a kind of catechetical teaching that is deadly, turning out parrots who can repeat formulae rather than believers who are afire with faith. It is never enough to translate scientific-difficult into scientific-simple, unless the purpose is that of analysis for those who are limited in education or in acquaintance with the field.

"Teachers with pious but second-rate minds, faced with the task of teaching the scientific-difficult jargon of seminary theology and catechisms, prove quite unequal to the task of translating it even into scientific-simple language, much less the poetic-simple.(Ibid., pp. 279-80.) We need all levels of difficulty in the use of language to do the total job, but what we usually miss out on is this key task of translation into the rich and imaginative images and idioms of poetic-simple.

Drinkwater contrasts the purposes of the basic categories of language. He writes:

What Drinkwater has in focus is one specific purpose of Christian education: to evoke light and heat. Amos Wilder puts it this way: The gospel’s "poem forms . . . focus upon the heart and its ultimate response to God. . . . Plastic and rhythmic language must be called forth to convey this level of experience." Ian T. Ramsey, recognizing that not all poetic or logically odd language is necessarily religious, reminds all teachers that "a useful antidote for straightforward language might be found in suitable doses of poetry or greater familiarity with the curiously odd words thrown up in scientific theories." (Religious Language [London: SCM Press, 1957; Macmillan Paperback, 1963], p.48.)

Is this sufficient? Or do we need to emphasize the point that there is a basis for belief that may be expressed in more technical language, as Drinkwater suggests in his bridge-building illustration? Ronald Hepburn warns that the analogy between poetry and theology

Drinkwater does not deal with this issue of apologetics. Ramsey, however, believes that logically odd phrases that lead to disclosures can be related to an underlying reality tested by "empirical fit" and speaks of the "empirical anchor" of worship. I doubt if this would satisfy Hepburn, but the evidence from Northrop, Hartshorne, and Whitehead (chapter 3) provides a broader empirical and rational base. Hepburn says that "the symbolic vessel requires a nonsymbolic anchor," (Ibid., p. 162.) and the question remains for the reader to decide whether this empirical anchor is found in the suggestions of Ramsey, Northrop, Bushnell, and others.

Drinkwater certainly does not rely on the poetic-simple for the verification of the beliefs that are to be communicated. Poetic-simple is a vehicle of language for communication so that the total person may respond. It is, in Ramsey’s words, "disclosure" language, not "verification" language. The two logics, like the two language-games, are not identical.

Implications for Christian Education

As we derive implications for Christian education from Bushnell and Drinkwater, we need to examine the meaning of "poetic," see its use in the Bible even in the narrative mode, look at some modern examples of the poetic, and then stress Bushnell’s emphasis on the multiple use of words especially as they can be rooted hack into the prosaic and descriptive uses. But poetic-simple is not the whole of religious communication. Drinkwater suggests way’s of using the other categories of language, and it becomes clear that there are proper uses of scientific-simple, poetic-difficult, and, on a more analytical level, scientific-difficult. And all such uses of language, to be effective in the religious sense as talk about God, take us back into the issue of the experience and meaning of worship.

It appears that Ramsey, Bushnell, and Drinkwater are arguing at one level of their thought for an identical theory of the use of words for communicating in terms of "the language of the heart." They are using "poetic" in a broad sense, as rich, concrete, image thinking. They are thinking more in terms of Jesus’ parables than in terms of the psalms; more in terms of metaphors and models than in terms of hymns; more in terms of unusual picture language than in terms of Pilgrim’s Progress; but both sides of these parallels are part of the picture. The emphasis is on avoiding straightforward, prosaic language, whether it be theological jargon or scientific description. This means avoiding scale or picture models and yet appealing to the images in the human mind. It means stories of real people and parables of imaginary people without falling into fantasy thinking. It means evoking disclosures of an objective reality in life without stimulating bigotry or fanaticism. It means sensing the "undifferentiated aesthetic continuum" without losing consciousness of God as logos, revealed in Jesus Christ, but probably never using such language to express it. It means the experience of the mystery of the "numinous" in worship without withdrawal from the world of the secular. It means discernment of the divine followed by commitment.

When we turn to the language of the gospel, we find this point of view confirmed. The story, the parable, the poem, the myth, and other verbal symbols are the forms of presentation. The vividness of the anecdotes, with their quick flashes into the meaning of Jesus’ ministry, provides occasions for discernment and commitment. The parables, with their remarkable secular realism and their challenge to go and do likewise, assist us in gaining self-knowledge when we identify with one of the characters. The challenge of the miracles for our understanding of the meaning of Jesus’ ministry forces us to see the logical oddity of their presentation. The poetry, especially in Luke, some of which is written into our traditional liturgies, challenges our Imagination. Why, for example, does Bach’s Magnificat leave out the penultimate note at a crucial point about the rich and the poor? Is music capable of the same logical improprieties as words? Those passages which many consider to be myth provide a different kind of challenge. Are they now so preposterous that Bultmann’s demythologizing is the only solution? And when they have been translated into the vocabulary of existentialism, are we helped or hindered? The language of "authentic existence" may pose for some the kind of logical oddity that evokes a disclosure.

Furthermore, all of these examples suggest the narrative mode which is also the key to understanding the Old Testament. There are those who claim that the basic understanding of any passage comes from identifying with one of the characters and therefore appropriating the revelation presumed to be present. The teacher is faced with the problem of reading or retelling the story in such a way that for that age-level some degree of appropriation is possible, for otherwise no disclosure could be evoked. To tell a story so that the "light dawns" and the "ice breaks" usually means using the "language of the heart." This is easier to state than it is to practice. Often the teacher not only finds it difficult to translate the story properly for the age-level, but he is unable to see the point himself. Good techniques of storytelling are not sufficient to overcome the basic handicap of lack of insight. Many times, the approach involves telling two stories, so that the biblical and the modern stories overlap and interpenetrate each other, and in the intermingling of the two stories the "light dawns." Just as a metaphor involves the mixture of two different images, so a mingling of stories may provide a disclosure situation. This is particularly true in an age when the biblical stories reflect either an irrelevant culture or an irrelevant historical period, as they do for most Westerners today. If the students have knowledge of a fund of biblical stories, it may be possible to tell a modern parallel and let them make the identification of the biblical story that is intended, thus bringing the biblical insight into their own span of attention through their own efforts. If we can bring the stories of our own lives together with Christian stories, it may lead to an increase in both self-awareness and in discernment of God in our midst.

Poetry as such has a large part to play in telling of the meaning of Christianity. Children are capable of writing and understanding simple poetry. Here is a sample of the writing of a boy in the tenth grade (fourth form in England):

A boy a year older catches something of the paradox of living in today’s world, and the oddities face us with the possibility of a new discernment:

Like the psalms, the poetry of modern youth, to the accompaniment of a guitar rather than a harp, expresses the hopes and fears, the realities and the aspirations, the discernment and commitment which they do not often find in more traditional forms of creed and worship. It is no accident that religious themes pervade many of the folk songs of the younger generation.

Those who have seen a performance of A Man Dies, a mime passion drama by Ernest Marvin developed by teenagers in Bristol, England, with its dancing and its music, realize that the message comes through most strongly in the words of its songs. The music is rhythmic in a mixture of the jazz and folk song idioms, and the words crowd into the consciousness with their power. This is especially true of the song which reoccurs with different words throughout the play:

As the words continue, sung to a haunting tune with a beguine beat, the message comes through so that the light may dawn for those who would not hear the story in any other form, and it comes with renewed power to those who already accept the power of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Bushnell and Drinkwater provide another insight which may be interpreted in terms of Drinkwater’s poetic-simple. The richness of Christian imagery demands a plurality of models and words. If we can increase the number of models and qualifiers, and if we can find synonyms for key words, somewhere along the line there may be a glimmer of light or a thawing of the ice. The New Testament is particularly helpful, for in the attempt to understand the meaning of Jesus we find a total of forty-two names, many of which have currency in today’s world, and in the search for images of the church, we find ninety-six, some of which still have meaning.(See Vincent Taylor, The Names of Jesus [New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1953]; Paul S. Minear, Images of the Church hr the New Testament [Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960]. A theological wordbook for seventh grade and up incorporating some of these ideas is found in More than Words [New York: Seabury Press, 1955, 1958]). When we talk about God, the concepts are less frequent, but the Old Testament provides four names and avoids the basic one, YHWH, because it is too holy to speak. There is the question of whether God is a name or not, or if it has the same oddity as the tautology "I am I."

The use of poetic-simple, logically odd language is primarily for reaching the total person. Insofar as the aim of Christian teaching is to evoke disclosures and commitment, this is the kind of language which our logical mapping of religious discourse requires. We shall see in the next chapter that we also need to incorporate the performative language of self involvement. But the purpose of Christian education is not exhausted at this point.

Briefly, let us look at Drinkwater’s categories of language again. His emphasis on "the language of the heart" and the "poetic-simple" is in terms of unsophisticated and uneducated people, who might find other forms of language extremely difficult. But even the uneducated ask intelligent questions, involving analysis and criticism. Therefore, it seems to me that if there is to be dialogue of any sort, it is essential that we use critical tools in as simple a way as possible. This is not a justification of theological jargon, but of the use of what Drinkwater calls scientific-simple as a basis for reasoning, analysis, and explanation. The problem arises when the conventional terms, however simple, have lost their meaning and their power to communicate; then we need to search for new words or find new referrals for the old ones.

My guess is that we need to do a great deal more with this kind of simple language. Here again we may be helped by Bushnell’s suggestion that spiritual words have physical roots. There are secular references for most words used religiously. A boy objected to the use of "conversion" and "redemption" in church, for, as he said, "conversion and redemption are banking terms." If a class would take a number of such scientific-simple terms and compare their secular and religious uses, such words might come alive, especially when logically odd qualifiers are added. The search for synonyms is also worthwhile. For example, a class could take faith and its synonyms and find current secular and religious meanings: faith-decision-trust-commitment-belief in (not that).

The other categories of language have their value for Christian education. There are some who will want to move beyond the poetic-simple to the poetic-difficult. They can do this without going outside the Bible, especially in some of the more complicated psalms or difficult selections from the prophets. They may wish to delve into the literature of great poetry. Any stimulus to the imagination is likely to increase religious insight, and it is a mistake to assume that all disclosures can be reduced to poetic-simple without the danger of some loss of meaning. Isaiah 55, for example, is a mixture of poetic-simple and poetic-difficult, and may be understood at varying levels of meaning.

Furthermore, there are those who want to think analytically about religion. Some such students are taking university courses in religious studies, but others are those in our congregations who are capable of what Piaget calls "formal operational" thinking. They may be teenagers or adults. The controversies over John A. T. Robinson’s Honest to God and the "death of God" debates surprised many educators and clergy who did not believe that lay people would discuss theological issues at this level. Here, then, is the point at which scientific-difficult language enters the picture at the parish and Sunday school level as well as at the college and university level. It has been said that many clergy overrate their parishioner’s information and underrate their intelligence. This, I think, is often true. The problem is to provide situations in which the questions they are capable of asking may be met with honesty and in a language they are capable of using. Even the careful distinction of the various language-games may be one of the most valuable of all exercises in religious thinking, as I hope this book demonstrates.

There is one more issue coming from the Bushnell and Drinkwater contributions to our thinking. I suppose that the gospel may be heard in any situation, but Ramsey suggests that the situation in which the oddity of the language fits must also be evoked, and he suggests worship as the empirical anchor. Bushnell agrees that worship provides the framework, but he also insists that nurturing occurs within the organic unity of the family. Reuel L. Howe indicates that words have currency only when they point to previous experience in interpersonal relations. Love, for example, is not likely to be interpreted adequately by a person who has never known love from his parents; trust is meaningless to those who never have had the experience of basic trust; faith is an impossibility for those whose faith in other people has been destroyed. Religious words are influential when the person using them stands behind them, guaranteeing them not only by a sense of conviction but by an integrity of action (as is made abundantly clear in the letter of James). This suggests that there is more to the language of faith than an appeal to the "language of the heart," important as this is. The opposite point is not to be neglected: words have power to change the human situation, for they have performative value. We will look at this topic in the next chapter.

So far we have been looking at religious language in terms of natural theology and natural religion. We have been concerned to show that there is a God about whom we may speak. We have not dealt with a supernatural revealed theology, except to suggest that when men think of God as "wholly other" it is difficult if not impossible to talk of God so that men will understand.

We now turn to a position which has become for me a watershed in thinking about religious language. It is the point at which the "light dawned" in my own consideration of the use of words in Christian education.(See my Christian Nurture and the Church [New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1961], pp. 88-94.) The key book is Religious Language, by Ian T. Ramsey, now Lord Bishop of Durham.( Religious Language (London: SCM Press, 1957; New York: Macmillan Paperback, 1963). "The central problem of theology," he writes, "is how to use, how to qualify observational language so as to be suitable currency for what in part exceeds it -- the situations in which theology is founded."(Ibid., p. 38.)

This involves some kind of empirical grounding for religious assertions if the language of faith is to be meaningful Ramsey makes three important points:

"Being sure in religion," he writes, "does not entail being certain in theology."(Ibid., p. 47. See Ramsey, Christian Discourse [London: Oxford University Press, 1965], p. 89) Theology can be tested by its stability in the face of many data and its ability to incorporate them into a meaningful whole. This is similar to the work of an archeologist who applies his theory to a gathering of stones and who discovers that one conceptual theory may fit better than another, but this is not real deduction. Furthermore "it is a built-in hazard of disclosures, as contrasted with ‘facts’ provided by scientific reporting, that they give rise to no self-guaranteed assertions." (Christian Discourse, p. 25.)

This thesis, we will see, comes up in a variety of ways in Ramsey’s thought. It is derived from Joseph Butler’s statement that "probability is the very guide of life." By this, he does not mean that we have nothing but doubt and uncertainty, but he does mean that in practical matters a man must act against the odds, and does it reasonably when he does so. It is similar to the position of William James, who saw clearly that there were living, forced, and momentous options facing men and that to sit on a fence waiting for evidence that is not available is to make a negative choice. Loyalty and commitment operate in areas in which theoretically we have only probability. We act in important situations when the odds are only even and sometimes when they are against us, as when a child is drowning and one tries to save him in spite of being a poor swimmer.(Religious Language, pp. 15-17; Christian Discourse, pp. 23-24. See William James, The Will to Believe and Other Essays [New York: Longmans Green & Co., 1897], pp. 2-11, 96-103.)

Religious Situations

The power of Ramsey’s discourse arises as much from his illustrations as from his analyses of religious language, which makes it difficult to summarize his position without repeating his examples. He describes religion primarily in terms of ‘‘discernment" or "disclosure" and "commitment."

In religious language, he says, "we use phrases that are in certain ways odd, peculiar, and unusual." When these phrases are sufficiently parallel to discernment, "they ‘come alive’ the ‘light dawns’. . . the ‘ice breaks’. . . the ‘penny drops,’" and a disclosure is evoked in the other.(Religious Language, p.19.)

In such characteristically personal situations, new insights may come over one in various ways. The use of a nickname, the humorous situation that "breaks the ice" at a stuffy party, swearing which offends the pious because it is close to the logic of the language about God, the use of words with a specialized meaning and enclosed in quotation marks or inverted commas, the discovery of someone’s name after an encounter on an impersonal level are incidents which may lead to discernment. Such situations, common in everyday life as well as in religious situations, have, say’s Ramsey "an objective reference and are, as all situations, subject-object in structure."(Ibid., p. 28.) They achieve "depth" alongside subjective changes.

A response of commitment accompanies a discernment in "a characteristically religions situation." When one faces a situation, however simple or complex, his response is in terms of freedom, which may or mar not be based on a sense of duty or loyalty. Even the commitments may operate on different levels. One may make a partial commitment to mathematical axioms, recognizing that there are options although the axioms are universal in their range. One may make a complete commitment to cricket or baseball, so that it infiltrates one’s whole life, but obviously it is not universal in its claim. "Religious commitment," suggests Ramsey, "combines the total commitment to a pastime, to a ship, to a person, with the breadth of mathematical commitment." (Ibid. p. 35.) It is something that ‘‘grips’’ us; it takes a personal revolution to accept it, and once accepted it takes another conversion to reject it.

The Christian "cosmic commitment on Christ" is expressed in ordinary language used in logically odd ways. Ramsey calls this "object language and more," that is, language which "exhibits logical impropriety." One notes that religious language is like that expressed in personal situations, suggesting that "I-talk" and "God-talk" are logically related. Ramsey suggests that the logic of nicknames is akin to the use of such a term as "Son of man" by Jesus.(See ibid., pp. 137-43.) Ordinary words are strained or are mixed with others in unusual ways.

The key words of religion, says Ramsey, are found in "significant tautologies." When we force someone to a final explanation of why he did something, he will sax’, "Because I chose to do it," or one step further, "Because I am I." We also talk about "Duty for duty’s sake" or sax’ that "God’s will is my conscience." ‘We also say, "God is love." This, says Ramsey, is not a platitude but "a significant tautology labeling a commitment." (Ibid., p. 46.)

Ramsey’s conclusion is "that for the religious man ‘God’ is a key word, an irreducible posit, an ultimate of explanation expressive of the kind of commitment he professes. It is to be talked about in terms of the object-language over which it presides, but only when this object-language is qualified; in which case this qualified object-language becomes also currency for that odd discernment with which religious commitment, when it is not bigotry or fanaticism, will necessarily he associated.

"Meanwhile, as a corollary," continues Ramsey, "we can note that to understand religious language or theology we must first evoke the odd kind of situation to which I have given various parallels." (Ibid., p. 47.)This provides a basis not only for theology and communication, but for an understanding of Christian education.

Models and Qualifiers

The word model is just beginning to have widespread use in theology, but it has been a staple of scientific thinking for many years. The most elementary model is a scale or picture model, from which someone may make something. The mockup of a new automobile shows what it will look like when manufactured. Models of airplanes are tested in wind tunnels. Theology has used picture models for God as king or judge operating in a heavenly kingdom.

Models assist one to be articulate, to make accurate descriptions, or to take a familiar situation in order to reach a less familiar one. Scale or picture models rely on identity. But some models reproduce the structure and only approach what is to be reproduced. Max Black calls these latter, "analogue" models. Ramsey further modifies Black’s view with what he calls "disclosure" models, for these rely on the "similarity-with-a-difference" that produces insight.(Ibid., pp. 47 ff.) Science also uses such models to generate insight, especially when direct empirical verification is impossible, although they may be indirectly verified in crucial experiments. So also, theological models may make discourse possible, simplify complexities, and point to what otherwise eludes us. They are tested by what Ramsey calls "empirical fit" or "empirical accord" rather than by means of data specified by verifiable deduction.

Ramsey cautions us never to he satisfied with any one model. Any model will prove too limiting, one-sided, or if pressed too far actually false. The most reliable religious discourse has the widest possible range of models. Of course some models arc more fertile than others. They need to be "suitably contextualized in a multi-model discourse." (Ramsey, "Talking About God: Models Ancient and Modern," F. W. Dillistone, ed., Myth and Symbol (London: SPCK, 1966), p. 85.) Furthermore, Ramsey warns that our discourse must fit the world around us, for otherwise we will be talking nonsense. Just as in a previous time talk about seed time and harvest was suitable, so today we need to find relevance for our models in dark streets and traffic jams. A suitable model refers to God, on the one hand, and illuminates the situation, on the other; we must be careful about both reference and preference.

Ramsey’s interpretation of models is helped by comparing them with similes and metaphors. A simile is like a pictorial model, as when we say that a seasick person is "as green as a leaf." A metaphor is more like a disclosure model. It opens up many possibilities of articulation, but chiefly it is a means of disclosure. "Metaphors, like models," says Ramsey, "are rooted in disclosures and born in insight." ( Models and Mystery (London: Oxford University Press, 1964), They disclose but do not explain a mystery. Two realms of thought meet in a tangential manner, which at first sight may seem eccentric, and each language illuminates the other, although in "the most selective and subtle way."(Ibid., p. 52.) What is disclosed includes them both but is no mere combination.

Ramsey points out that his position is similar to that of Max Black, even to agreement that both science and the humanities build on imaginative insights. But Ramsey emphasizes the word disclosure to point to the objective reference. The objective reference in theology, however, is mystery, and therefore there is always a logical gap between the model used and the disclosure that occurs. Theology thrives on a diversity of models which leads to "life by a thousand enrichments" rather than the death of God "by a thousand qualifications." (Ibid., p. 60; also see Max Black, Models and Metaphors: Studies in Language and Philosophy [Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1962], p. 221.)

Because all models are inadequate and diversity is essential for religious discourse, every model needs "qualifiers." These qualifiers are not further descriptions, for their logical status is not that of labels: rather they point the model in such a way that disclosure becomes possible.(Ibid., p. 60; Religious Language, p. 62.) Models do not provide blueprints or descriptions of God, but when properly qualified they do present such improprieties as may lead to discernment(See Religious Language, p. 62.)

When we speak of God as "first cause," "first" is a qualifier. This is a way of placing God as prior to all causes, and various stories can be told or analyses pressed back until the "light dawns." "First" does not have the logical position of "proximate" or "remote," which are adjectives. The similar grammatical structure does not imply a similar logical structure. Ramsey uses "infinitely wise," "infinitely good," and "eternal purpose" for a similar kind of logical analysis. In each case the qualifier makes the difference, changing the logical function of the key word as applied to God. This is particularly clear in his treatment of "creation ex nihilo." We use the word creation to apply to everything from the making of a Dior dress to painting an abstract picture to the birth of a dog. But when "ex nihilo" qualifies the model "creation," one does not take this literally as making something out of nothing" but as the expression of a sense of one-sided dependence." Furthermore, it "places ‘God’ as a ‘key’ word, for the universe of ‘creatures.’"(Ibid., p. 73) When a disclosure occurs, it becomes a present claim about God and not a discussion of Genesis as a past story.

In these illustrations, Ramsey speaks of "positing the word ‘God,’" but notice that he never speaks of "positing God." "Theology is after all only our way of talking about God." (Ibid., p. 74.) Ramsey says that "God-talk" is both meaningful and objective in reference. But we do not invent a particular model with its proper qualifier to "produce God. That would be semantic magic."(Ibid., p. 99.) We cannot guarantee a disclosure.

Language of the Bible

Did the writers of the Bible use such logically odd language? They certainly did, but Ramsey realizes, of course, that they did not do so explicitly. Only recently have we had the need for this kind of logical examination. One of the reasons that we cannot write a history of Jesus is that the Gospels do not pay much attention to historical method as we know it today’. The Fourth Gospel’s key is: "The Word became flesh." "Flesh" is a descriptive physical word, but "the Word" (logos) refers to a realm of discourse that is primarily abstract. Yet "Word" and "flesh" are joined by "became," a "link word," says Ramsey, that cannot be modeled. "To understand it there has to be evoked just the kind of situation which ‘The Word became flesh’ expresses." (Ibid., p. 103; also see Christian Discourse, pp. 1-27.)

If we use the logically odd phrase "Word of God" to describe the Bible, with "Word" as the model and "of God" as the qualifier, so that we speak of "hearing" God’s Word, we mean that if we follow the verbal pattern formed by the words of scripture, we may find ourselves in a situation in which a disclosure occurs; the "light dawns" or the "ice breaks." We do not dare to treat the Bible as straightforward logic or history, even though it contains such, if we want to discern the objective reality and mystery to which it points.(See ibid., pp. 106-7)

The logical oddness of biblical language, with its riotous mixture of phrases, is perhaps best illustrated in Peter’s sermon in Acts: "This Jesus, God raised up, and of that we are witnesses. Being therefore at the right hand of God, and having received from the Father the promise of the Holy Spirit, he has poured out this which you see and hear. . . . Let all the house of Israel therefore know assuredly that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified (Acts 2:32-33, 36)." These words, put together in a riotous mixture that was foolishness to the Greeks and a stumbling block to the Jews, evoked a disclosure. Look at the strange qualifiers: the raised Jesus, a crucified and risen Messiah, God has made him Lord and Christ, whom you crucified. Jesus is the key word, and the odd qualifiers that do not fit normal expectations made possible discernment and commitment. They were not convinced by argument but were "cut to the heart." We may believe that Peter s sermon on Pentecost was successful, for it is recorded that three thousand were baptized. His sermon was the kerygma in rough and ready form, before it had even been demythologized in later New Testament documents -- much less by Bultmann.(See ibid., pp. 154-56.)

"God" is a key word for religious assertions. We may speak of God as mystery, using many models and qualifiers in order to express our beliefs. Men "posit talk of God" in a variety of ways, but this does not necessarily mean that God as objective reality lacks unity or identity. When we say that "God has disclosed himself" or "revealed himself," we are not moving into a new realm of human knowledge. Ramsey’s use of discernment is similar to William Temple’s interpretation of revelation. Temple writes that unless one sees revelation in the rising of the sun, one is not likely to see it in the rising of the Son of Man from the dead. Revelation is "the coincidence of a particularly revealing event and a particularly appreciative mind." (William Temple, Nature, Man and God [London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd., 1934], p. 306,) The point is that this is the way knowledge occurs in both the secular and the religious fields of knowledge, and any concepts resulting from the insights of the "mind divinely illumined" must be fully tested for consistency, coherence, and "empirical fit." (See W.D. Hudson, "Discernment Situations: Some Philosophical Difficulties," Scottish Journal of Theology, XIX (Dec. 1966), pp. 435-45, for some criticisms of these knowledge claims.) There is a logical "impropriety" that is not the same as "irrational" or "nonrational" in that the oddity of the logic of religious language makes possible the evocation and articulation of key insights. There are grounds in such a claim for a distinction between dreams or hallucinations and religious assertions that point to and express the nonobservable.

The word God also functions as the "integrator word" in metaphysics, just as the word I functions as an "integrator word’’ in individual experience. Just as the word I is elusive, even when used by myself, and seemingly transcends the experience that others have of me, so also "God" is a word that eludes any set empirical formulas. Thus Ramsey writes that ‘God is active’ links any and all descriptive assertions about the Universe, such as science in particular specializes in."(Ian T. Ramsey, ed., Prospect for Metaphysics (New York: Philosophical Library, 1961; London: George Allen & Unwin, 1961) p.174. See William H. Poteat, "God and the ‘Private-I," Dallas M. High, ed., New Essays on Religious Language (New York: Oxford University Press. 1969). pp. 127-37.) This is why the word transcendent appears in Ramsey’s writings; but it is not always clear whether he is stressing the "transempirical" as a concept of imageless thinking or whether there is a "nonobservable" beyond all human endeavor; if it is the latter, there is a question whether we have any right to be articulate about it.

One other element in Ramsey’s thought has been developing; this is the need for models that arise out of situations of interpersonal relationships. The concept of substance is outmoded in reference to both the human person and to God. Recent studies in both the interpersonal and existential nature of man provide new models for biblical and theological concepts. Not only do interpersonal relationships offer possibilities for disclosure situations, but it is likely that "a theology of relationships" may provide a superstructure for the foundation of belief in the reality of God. Once belief in God is supported in terms of "empirical fit," it is legitimate to expand concepts relating to God in terms of models derived from interpersonal relations. This approach may lead to new models and qualifiers for assertions about God, partly along the lines of thought of Martin Buber, John Oman, and H. H. Farmer.(See Ramsey, "Contemporary Philosophy and the Christian Faith in Religious Studies, I (Oct. 1965), pp. 53, 57-58. See also Martin Buber, I and Thou (2d ed.; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1958); John Oman. Grace and Personality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1917; New York: Association Press. 1961); H. H. Farmer, Towards Belief in God (New York: Macmillan, 1943) and God and Men (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1961). In Christian education, Reuel L. Howe has made use of such models.(See Howe, Man’s Need and God’s Action [New York: Seabury Press, 1953])

Implications for Christian Education

Ramsey’s contributions to Christian education theory are both direct and indirect. He defines the purpose of Christian education, makes clear the place of theology, suggests that a variety of words and models be used, provides a basis for the selection of stories and parables, and seeks to anchor the process in worship. He then makes specific suggestions about the use of the past, dialogue with other disciplines, illumination of strange logical forms, the need for new models, and finding those situations to which religious language can speak.

The purpose of Christian education, in Ramsey’s view, should be quite clear. It is

‘Within this framework are places for stories, parables, poetry and other proper logical placings of religious language in terms of models and their qualifiers, metaphors, and analogies. The empirical base is grounded in worship and interpersonal relations. Theological analysis is proper within this framework of the appropriate logical mapping of phrases. History is taken seriously, but the existential note is at the center, for discernment followed by commitment involves self-understanding and self-involvement as well as’ relation to objective reality.

Dogmatism has no place in this system. Ramsey writes:

He speaks of being "sure in religion, while being tentative, but contextually tentative in theology."(On Being Sure in Religion p. 90.) We start from an original context but we operate in our own context. Although our beliefs are grounded in a disclosure from God, we never reach a complete understanding of the divine mystery.

‘Theology, Ramsey reminds us, is built out of ordinary language used in a logically odd way. As we will see in the next chapter, this is similar to Horace Bushnell’s theory of the origin of theological words, but points to the unexpectedness of the way in which words are related. Also, Bushnell and Ramsey are agreed that a great variety of words must be used, for the goal is to keep on with words and phrases, models and qualifiers, until, hopefully, a disclosure occurs. In principle, any story may lead to the desired discernment (See Religious Language, p. 80.) as is clear from our previous consideration of the positions of Braithwaite and van Buren. But Ramsey backs off from this conclusion, for it could lead to a "fantasy world." History, theology, and logical criteria such as coherence govern the choice of stories.

Say’s Ramsey:

The choice of stories is governed by the comparison of the context of the original story with the current context, taking into consideration what it might mean at various levels of development. The choice may be a biblical story, but there are many stories from all kinds of sources that may serve the purposes of Christian teaching. It is a warning to all teachers that motion pictures using biblical themes often have less religious significance than secular ones that deal with the real issues of life. Biblical stories when properly related to life have power, but if they are wrongly mapped in a prosaic or literal framework they sink to the level of a Cecil De Mille spectacular motion picture.

Parables, which are not stories about historical characters or about empirically descriptive events, have similar power, and for a very good reason. Ian M. Crombie say’s:

Here is a principle which may be applied to many teaching devices. If the teacher prefers to teach myth as myth, without demythologizing, he can apply the principle of interpretation which Crombie suggests as a basis for discussion. Poetry may be interpreted in the same way. But a parable often has an extra sting which other forms may lack: "Go and do likewise." It is not only an occasion for a disclosure but also for commitment.

Stories, parables, and other forms of discourse for purposes of Christian education do not exist in isolation. Ramsey provides for this indirectly with the off-hand corollary "that to understand religious language or theology we must first evoke the odd kind of situation."(Religious Language, p. 47) It is not clear to me how much this involves. He places the "empirical anchorage" in "worship, wonder, awe. Without such an empirical anchorage all our theological thinking is in vain, and where there is controversy and argument we are to look for their resolution where they are fulfilled: in worship."(Ibid., p.89.)

This is one kind of situation in which discernment may be evoked, but the language of worship needs the same kind of logical analysis that Ramsey has provided for other forms of the language of faith. The unreality of worship is one of the barriers to any kind of Christian nurture for many people. Furthermore, the statement on worship does not take into account the characteristically personal and interpersonal situations to which Ramsey briefly alludes in a later article.(Religious Studies, I [Oct. 1965], pp. 53, 57-58.) Here there needs to be an awareness of the kinds of groups that make disclosures possible. Just as there needs to be some degree of prior awareness of God before language about God has currency, so there needs to be what Reucl L. Howe calls the "language of relationships" before words can have any currency at all.

With the emphasis on discernment and commitment, it sometimes seems that the end of Christian education is reached when a "decision for Christ" has been made. But it is Ramsey’s key belief that all knowledge and education is rooted in insight, and thus the process of gaining additional knowledge is a continuous one. Therefore, Christian education needs to be implemented at all levels of thinking and action. There are five ways in which this may be done.

First, suggests Ramsey, we can speak of the "will of God" in terms of belief and action if we study how people with Christian commitment have talked. We discover that they have related themselves in several ways to their environment, taking seriously their involvement in the life around them. They found that in some eases they could not conscientiously participate, and they took the consequences. But normally they were not distinguished from other religious groups in terms of language, dress, food, or most of their customs, except for worship. Such a study of the past could lead contextually to the situation today, in terms of any key social or ethical problems. This could lead to an insight,

Second, Christian education needs to be brought into dialogue with other disciplines. Theology belongs in the realm of secular discourse, even with all of its logical oddities, for like the sciences and humanities it has its models and metaphors. If a genuine dialogue occurs, as it can at the university level, theology will learn much about the "ever-changing models of the various disciplines" and "work out appropriately new routes to God" as well as alert other disciplines to its own developments. Theology no longer dominates any other discipline, but it can point to the underlying theistic reality supporting all of them. Not only at the university level is this dialogue important, however, for it needs to go on as best it may within the framework of religious classes in schools and churches so that the student may know how he can stand as a Christian believer in a secular world. ( Models and Mystery, p. 70. See also "A New Prospect for Theology," Theology, LXVII, No. 534 [Dec. 1964], pp. 527- 33.)

Third, and perhaps most significant as something new in Christian education, we can assist students in understanding by illuminating the strange logical forms which the language about God takes. "Those who sing: ‘I love you for a hundred thousand reasons, but most of all I love you ’cos you’re you’ are not likely, if they are consistent, to expect religious language to be of the plain ‘down to earth’ kind, or likely to expect reasoning in religion to be of the ‘knock-down’ compelling kind." We can help them to see the connections between the language of faith and the language of love, or between the language of models and the language of art, or between the various language-games that Wittgenstein mentions.

Fourth, many theological models "have been drained of their disclosure possibilities by the vast sociological, psychological, and cultural changes which separate us from the biblical, not least the Old Testament world." (Ramsey, in F. W. Dillistone, ed., Myth and Symbol, p. 92.) This is probably the single most frustrating factor in the communication of the gospel. Some models have been worn thin by premature exposure to children, so that their use at a later age is ineffective; but chiefly we have the problem of vast cultural changes in recent years. It is at this point, even without the help of linguistic analysis, that new models are being sought in such experiments as the coffeehouse ministry,(See John D. Perry, Jr., The Coffee House Ministry [Richmond: John Knox Press, 1966]) jazz and folk song masses, the underground church, and new translations of religious terms. In today’s world the sports car may replace the strong tower and the personnel officer may be a better symbol than the good shepherd.(See Carl F. Burke, God Is for Real, Man [New York: Association Press, 1966], p. 39) A generation ago, a viable model was "Railways to heaven," which at least was closer to the truth than "God is my co-pilot." Current folk songs are loaded with models that speak to the younger generation, often with pathos and hope that match the psalms. Such new models, drawn from relevant experience in today’s world, come from words that reflect new ideals and fervent hopes and have a basis in fact, but they need to he qualified so that they are never reducible to picture models.(See Myth and Symbol, p. 96.)

A fifth and final point made by Ramsey is that "if there is to be any religious education at all, there must be religious situations for children to explore." Such an experience as "basic trust," for example, is essential, and as part of it there needs to be appropriate language interacting with the experience. Except for worship, basic religious situations reside in secular experience, in terms of issues that are faced and relationships that are both nourishing and nurturing. To relate daily experience to Christian faith is not easy. It may involve both increased sensitivity and hard thinking. And why should not hard thinking be as essential to religion as to mathematics? ( See I. T. Ramsey, "The Plowden Report," Learning for Living, VI [May 1967], pp. 22-25.)

Bishop Ramsey, then, has led us to a deeper appreciation of the key to understanding religious language in terms of disclosure and commitment, of models and qualifiers, and of logically odd arrangements of ordinary language.

In the first three chapters, we have considered the kinds of literary forms found in the Bible, the challenge of linguistic analysis to our teaching, and the data for any assertions about the existence of God. If "God-talk" is at least a possibility, we need to ask questions about the kinds of language that have been and can be used. One of the most perplexing of these questions has centered on the nature and use of myth.

The most popular understanding of myth is as a narrative of a purely fictitious character concerning supernatural beings. Often it is used in the sense of being a tale lacking in truth, and usually thought of as coming from some primitive or unscientific culture. Because of this, its more technical use in religious literature is frequently misunderstood. It seems like nonsense to speak of the "truth value of myth," yet the study of religions myths leads to just this assertion, for as we talk about God as in any way supernatural we move into categories of language which are other than commonsense description. Reinhold Niebuhr says:

One of the major problems in communicating ideas or concepts found in the Bible derives from the use of myth as a form of language. If the pupils are led to understand that all myths are false, we have the choice either of denying that such literature is mythical or of asserting that myths carry meanings not otherwise communicable. If they are unwilling to accept the myths as they stand because of the contradictions between the biblical and modern world views, we face the difficulties of demythologizing.

Bultmann and Myth

It is at this point that it is helpful to consider the contribution of Rudolf Bultmann, who has done more with New Testament mythology than most writers. Bultmann uses myth in a limited and narrow sense which cannot be identified with an ideology or with make-believe. "Mythology," says Bultmann, "is that manner of representation in which the unworldly and divine appears as worldly and human -- or, in short, in which the transcendent appears as the immanent. Thus, in the mythological manner of representation, God’s transcendence is thought of as spatial distance." (Schubert Ogden’s interpretation of Bultmann is extremely helpful. He has made his own translations of the passages from Bultmann. I have followed these and have given the sources both in Bultmann’s writings and n Ogden’s hook. For this passage, H. W. Bartsch, ed., Kerygma and Mythos, I (2d ed.; Hamburg: Herbert Reich-Evangelischer Verlag, 1951), p. 22, n. 2; English translation (E. T.), Kerygma and Myth (New York: Harper & Bros., 1961)’ p. 10. Schubert Ogden, Christ Without Myth (New York: Harper & Bros., 1961), p. 24. See Ogden’s definition of myth in his The Reality of God (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), p. 104.) A myth puts God "out there" in space and time and allows for his incursion into the sensed world of man through miracles. A myth, then, tells a story of supernatural occurrences within history and therefore results in a double view of history. For the natural mail, who sees his world in terms only of secular events, such a double image is unnecessary even if possible. This is the point at which we pick up the report of Bultmann’s treatment of the biblical "three-story" universe with its unnatural causes, a world picture that is automatically rejected by modern man.

Because the modern man confuses the mythological picture of the world with the New Testament teaching about himself, sin, salvation, resurrection, and the sacraments, he rejects the total package. This leads some men to pick and choose among the myths, retaining those which are not too impossible and rejecting others, but this procedure fails to get at the root of the matter, for the radical question is whether the truth of the New Testament can exist outside its outmoded mythological picture of the world. Most men reinterpret the New Testament either unconsciously or selectively, but Bultmann claims that "if the New Testament is to maintain its validity, there is nothing else to do but demythologize it."(Kerygma und Mythos, I, p. 22; E. T,, p. 10; Ogden, Christ Without Myth, p. 39. Gilbert Ryle writes, "A myth is, of course, not a fairy story. It is the presentation of facts belonging to one category in the idioms appropriate to another. To explode a myth is, accordingly, not to deny the facts but to reallocate them." What we do is to make "a category mistake." The Concept of Mind (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1949; Peregrine Books, 1963), p. 10.)

This word "demythologizing" has been a red flag for scholars, Christian educators, and lay people. However, it is something that has been going on since the beginning of Christianity and can be found within the New Testament itself. This is especially true in the changing of expectations of the end of the age between the time that Paul wrote to the Thessalonians and the writing of the Fourth Gospel. Even the change in the choice of myths is a form of demythologizing. As one traces out the developments of theology down to the present time, it is obvious that the process has continued.

To Bultmann, this is a cause for rejoicing, for he wants the gospel to speak to the present generation. But it is more than this, for it is "a demand of faith itself." Faith cannot be a slave to any world view, mythological or scientific. If we reflect on the self-knowledge that is essential to faith, we conclude that "it is this call that demythologization wants to follow."(Kerygma und Mythos, II, p. 207; E. T., p. 210; Ogden, Christ Without Myth, p. 43.)

One way of looking at Bultmann’s endeavor is to consider it as translation. It is an attempt to fit the gospel to man’s condition. He has adopted the categories of existentialism, as derived from Martin Heidegger. Theological thinking, he says, is concerned with the immediate understanding of one’s self as a person. This is different from thinking about one’s self or one’s world. It tries to get at the basic question of "Who am I?" In reading the Bible, one tries to share the experiences and the historical situation represented in the document and to look for the answer to his own question for self-understanding. The new understanding is the gift of the new creation, for God is judge now and is calling men to decide for life or death.(See Christ Without Myth, p. 62.) Bultmann insists on the uniqueness of each man’s search for God:

Genuine faith in God is to be sharply distinguished from what is customarily called a world-view. The knowledge of the power that creates and limits our existence is not a theoretical knowledge, but, on the contrary, is a knowledge that breaks in upon us at critical moments in existence itself. It is never possessed as a secure possession or as a quieting insight, hut rather constantly has to make its way against all the temptations that continually emerge Out of existence and give man the illusion he can still dispose of himself and has his life in his own hands -- even if it be by virtue of just such an insight. . . . Therefore, genuine faith in God is not a general truth which I acknowledge, of which I dispose, and which I apply. On the contrary, it is what it is only as something that constantly grows up and is laid hold of anew. (Glauben und Verstehen (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1952), pp. 6 ff.; Ogden, Christ Without Myth, p. 67. Note how Bultmann’s description is similar to Ramsey’s approach described in chapter 5.)

Bultmann asserts that Jesus was a historical figure and that the crucifixion occurred as a public event. But these public facts are not the crucial ones. His main point is that the cross becomes real with personal force in one’s own existence. It comes alive in my history (Geschichte) because it is already a reality in secular history (Historie) ("German has two words for history -- Geschichte and Historie. As Bultmann uses them, the former refers to an event so far as it is significant for human existence (e.g., the cross as the salvation-occurrence through which I understand myself as judged and forgiven by God), while the latter refers to an event considered in abstraction from such significance (e.g., the cross as an incident in the annals of ancient history)." From a letter from Ogden.) Not all events recorded in the Bible are historical in this sense (Historie) as any scholar would agree, but Bultmann judges each event on its merits. What is theologically and religiously important is how it affects my history (Geschichte).

For Bultmann, then,

Only by demythologizing can the hidden reality of God in mail’s authentic existence be expressed, and of this we may speak analogically.

This brings us back to the problem of language. Bultmann suggests that there are other languages than those of science arid myth. ‘‘Indeed, there is a language of faith in which existence naively expresses itself, and, corresponding with this language there is also a science that speaks of existence without objectifying it to worldly being." Bultmann is here asking us to adopt the nonmythological language of Heidegger as having currency for today’s world.

Bultmann’s position is more sophisticated and complicated than this, but this is enough of a summary to indicate its possible values for Christian education. It is a position open to serious criticism, as Ogden has pointed out(See Ogden, ibid., pp. 99-111.) But it may also serve as a basis for further development of theological thinking, as we find it in Ogden’s writings.

"Christ without Myth"

Ogden writes that his first principle is that "the demand for demythologization that arises with necessity from the situation of modern man must be accepted without condition." (Ibid., p. 127) Ogden is willing to use mythology in both teaching and preaching, although it causes difficulty in communication unless it is understood as myth. But teaching is not complete unless myth is translated, although not necessarily into Bultmann’s categories. Theology which is purely mythical and translated so that it is limited to statements about God alone is untenable. Statements about God always have implications for man, so that we can say, "theology is the truth-about-God-in-relation-to-man."(See my The Clue to Christian Education [New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1950], p. 5.)

This, however, does not make theology Christian. Here Ogden places his second principle that "the sole norm for every legitimate theological assertion is the revealed word of God declared in Jesus Christ, expressed in Holy Scripture, and made concretely present in the proclamation of the church through its word and sacraments."(Ogden, Christ Without Myth, p. 138) The center of the gospel must be freed from myth in order to be a basis for any kind of knowledge that can be verified.

God has always made himself known, and therefore all men and men in all times are responsible and without excuse. In such a framework, we can have "Christ without myth," where he is understood as "the final reality of God’s love that confronts us as sovereign gift and demand in all the events of our existence."(Ibid., p. 161.)

We speak of God analogically. Whereas Bultmann uses analogy only within an existentialist framework, Ogden claims that we can think of God analogically within other philosophies. Furthermore, we can "speak of God ‘analogically’ without also having to speak of him ‘mythologically,’" as Charles Hartshorne has made clear.(Ibid., 147.) This can be done, says Ogden, without sacrificing Bultmann’s and Heidegger’s insights, (See The Reality of God, pp. 149-57, 174-87.) for there is a theocentric basis to religious belief that is beyond myth. If we think of a world view in terms of process philosophy, we can develop a way of thinking that takes account of both existential analysis and external reality.("Unless process philosophy is informed by existential analysis, its lack of an explicit anthropology, which handicaps it for theological employment, can hardly be remedied in keeping with its own implicit principles." Ogden, Christ Without Myth, p. 152.)

Educational Insights

As we turn to the educational insights to be derived from Bultmann and Ogden, we will consider the following points: the significance of Jesus Christ, the varied uses of myth against the background of the religious issues in life, the use of objective language about God, the requirement for meaning and reassurance in teaching, the problem of being saved without knowledge of Jesus and the teaching of comparative study of religions, and the value of distinctions between myth and reality for children.

The purpose of teaching and preaching is to bring about a response, for such communication requires a decision. This is the distinction between "knowledge about" and "acquaintance with," and we are concerned primarily with the latter. The emphasis is on self-understanding and personal decision, or, in other language, on insight and commitment. This is the point at which the word existential is important in Christian education, for it confronts the hearer with such questions as "Who am I?" "Why should I?" and "Who are you?"

As Ogden indicates, this can be expressed in nonmythological language: ‘‘Jesus’ office as the Christ consists precisely in his being the bearer, through word and deed and tragic destiny, of the eternal word of God’s love, which is the transcendent meaning of all created things and the final event before which man must decide his existence." (Ibid., p. 160; see also Rudolf Bultmann, Jesus and the Word (2d ed.; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1958), pp. 212-19.)

A second educational insight surrounds the specialized use of the word myth. It is "the report of an occurrence or an event," says Bultmann, "in which supernatural or superhuman powers or persons are at work. . . . Myth objectifies the transcendent and thus makes it immanent."’(Kerygma und Mythos, II, pp. 180, 184; Ogden, Christ Without Myth, pp. 24-25.)The problem is that of language-games, in which mythological language is contradicted by scientific language about the same world. If God is conceived as a subject addressing man in his self-awareness, neither language is suitable, for language about the external world is inadequate for expressing existential self-awareness. It has become an impossible situation, because man can no longer think about the world in mythological terms and must think existentially about the meaning of his life. Therefore, in order for the Christian myths to be communicable and understandable, they must be demythologized into existentialist language. This is the primary distinction that must be accepted in order to use Bultmann’s insights in Christian education.

Another way of resolving the problem is that of Amos Wilder, who understands the language of mythology to be similar to that of poetry. If this is so, then the imagery of myth recognized as myth may be used as a means of self-understanding and of interpreting this world as God’s world. Ogden agrees that myth may be used educationally in this way.

The danger is that myths when improperly presented may degenerate into unbelievable fairy stories. A boy came home from his first day at Sunday school and his father asked him what he had learned. He replied with a story about Moses, who placed his people on trucks, drove to the edge of the water where his soldiers built a pontoon bridge, and just after the Jews crossed the bridge the enemy appeared, so the engineers blew up the bridge and all Pharaoh’s soldiers were drowned. The father objected to such a tall tale, and the boy replied: "But Dad! If I told you what the teacher really said, you would never believe it!" (See Religious Education. LX (Sept-Oct. 1965),pp. 368-69.)

On the other hand, when we approach such stories in terms of complete demythologizing, we are left with existential categories only. If we were consistent at this point, we could probably omit most biblical myths and recommend that the students relate to each other the stories of their own lives in terms of the achievement of self-understanding and "authentic existence." I can see how this approach might he helpful, but there would remain the question of a reference point in the Christian tradition to assist the students in their specifically Christian outlook and commitment.

If we start our teaching with the religious issues in the lives of students, as David Hunter suggests,(See David R. Hunter, Christian Education as Engagement [New York: Seabury Press, 1963], pp. 32-48.) we still have to deal with the relationship of these issues to the work of God and the church, to the biblical stories, and to the consequences for Christian living. This may be done by placing existential analysis within the framework of a metaphysics in which God works nonmythologically, by interpreting God as working in public history (Historie) as well as in personal history (Geschichte), and by seeing myth as the opportunity for externalizing the issues from which the students started. (See Jerome Bruner, On Knowing [Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1962], p. 32.) Such an approach makes it possible to look on the world in such a way that one finds meaning in these issues of daily life and sees them as religious.

The concept of myth, then, helps us in at least three ways. (I) If we take seriously the ‘‘truth value’’ in myth, as Reinhold Niebuhr suggests, we are enabled to look for the same kind of meaning in a myth that we find in a parable. (2) Because we believe we can find truth through myth, we are not threatened when we discover in the light of our twentieth-century mentality that we must reinterpret many biblical incidents as myths. These two distinctions are equally important. for the first assists us in gaining a more adequate biblical basis for interpreting the meaning of our lives and the second helps us to maintain our intellectual integrity in the face of our knowledge in other fields. But this leads to a third problem which arises from the second. (3) If many stories may be interpreted as myth, how are we to protect the historical basis of Christian belief? It seems to me that we have enough integrity in our historical scholarship, even if we rely on the secular canons of historicity, to be clear that much of what the Bible records is history or is based on reminiscence of actual events. Within the Christian way of looking on history, these secular events may also be interpreted as evidence of God’s activity in history and as revelation. This latter point matters greatly, for it is far too easy to say with the skeptics that even if the entire historical base of Christianity were swept away, Christianity would still be "existentially true" (whatever that means). The Christian claim, however, is based on historical events and human experience, as I see my biblical onlook operating.

A third educational insight comes from Ogden’s thought as he moves beyond Bultmann into a concern for objective language. Ogden is able to speak of "the truth-about-God-in-relation-to-man" within the framework of a view of reality in which God exists. Language about God in existential terms is grounded in objective reality because God is a creative agent in the world beyond man. Also, there is a Christ event in history with evidence available in terms of secular data, although the existential element helps to make clear its significance in terms of decision. Thus objective language is as necessary as existentialist language in talk about God.

A fourth implication for our interpretation of Ogden’s thought is the existential demand for meaning or reassurance. At this point, Ogden makes use of the thought of one of the language philosophers, Stephen Toulmin.(See Stephen Toulmin, The Place of Reason in Ethics [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1950], pp. 202-21.) It is "the function of religious assertions to provide ‘reassurance,’ " says Ogden. "Logically prior to every particular religious assertion is an original confidence in the meaning and worth of life, through which not simply all our religious answers, but even our religious questions first become possible or have any sense." Such confidence or reassurance is directly relevant to our living in a world which provides both scientific explanations and moral responsibilities. One may act scientifically or morally without considering religious questions, but if we follow our scientific or moral reasoning to the final limits, we are faced with religious questions. Furthermore, no religious thinking is completed until it involves the whole of life.

From the point of view of Christian education, the logically prior original confidence cannot be completely lacking psychologically if we hope to assist in the building of faith As this confidence is reassured in the nurturing process and by means of the living symbols of worship and life in community, faith is strengthened. As Ogden puts it, "religious assertions can serve to reassure us only because they themselves are the re-presentation of a confidence somehow already present prior to their being made." (Ibid., p. 334.) When that confidence is absent, many religious assertions seem to be like shouting in the dark that the light is shining. Even the language of faith needs something to build on, for confidence is more than words and must arise from the relationships of home, church, school, and community.

One final question is faced by Ogden, and it needs to be answered on two levels. It is the question so often asked in high school classes, either in relation to thc study of other religions or of missions: Can people be saved without Jesus? According to Ogden, they can. He cites the Bible as a basis for this belief.(Romans 1:18 ff.; 3:21; 4:3, 16. See Christ Without Myth, p. 154.) Men have found God otherwise than through faith in or knowledge of Jesus of Nazareth. There is a subtle point to be made here, and Ogden refers to Frederick D. Maurice, who wrote:

If Christ is eternal, if he was offered to mankind before and after he came in the flesh, which Maurice claims is orthodox belief, then we can say that Christ spoke through the prophets and speaks today. In any literal sense, this may be interpreted as being independent of Jesus. So we can say that Christ or the Word or the Logos or the Second Person of the Trinity has always been universal and has manifested himself in many ways to all people. But Ogden, while agreeing with this approach, also claims that Jesus is the "decisive manifestation" and is of unique significance. This point of view is not an argument against missions but for respect for others’ faiths. It also provides a background for prior belief in God’s existence and activity as a basis for understanding the significance of Jesus as the Christ for Christian faith.

Respect for those who know God without reference to Jesus of Nazareth, however, does not provide the Christian basis for faith. For theology to be Christian, the norm is Jesus Christ as found in scripture, proclamation, sacraments, and teaching. The "event Jesus of Nazareth" is "the decisive manifestation of this divine love" (Christ Without Myth, p. 153.) for God works through the cross and ‘‘the entire reality of Jesus of Nazareth’’ provides the possibility of existential understanding. There is a sense in which the Jesus of history (Historie) becomes the Jesus of my history (Geschichte) which is possible when the "theocentric basis and sanction" (Ibid., p. 143.) for belief in Jesus as the Christ is recognized.

So when the high school student asks if Muslims or Buddhists can be saved, he is facing the question of whether he as a Christian can be saved. When he shows an interest in world religions, he is not (as is often thought) evading the problem of understanding Christianity, but he is asking a question that makes possible existential understanding as a Christian. If we miss this point, we fail to see the significance of our teaching about Jesus Christ.(For an example of this kind of approach at its best, see Ninian Smart, World Religions: A Dialogue (London: SCM Press, 1960; Penguin Paperback, 1966), a text for advanced high school or college students.) Incidentally, however, by comparing what he knows about Christianity with what he can learn about other religions, he can achieve a perspective by which to understand the uniqueness of the Christian tradition and to face up to the meaning of the Christian mission. Even the comparison of the mythologies of the various religions will help him to understand more clearly the significance of the myths of the Christian tradition.

Bultmann, then, must be taken seriously by all religious teachers, for even young children need to identify the kinds of language-games they are playing. Before the age of five, they are content with almost any story, and the problem is to find ones that relate to the issues they are facing. But soon after the age of six, they can identify myths and want to know which stories are "true" (meaning factual). If we let them explore possible meanings in "just a story," they can begin to seek their own meaning and do some elementary demythologizing.

If primary school children are facing sibling rivalry in the family, they may be helped with the story of Cain and Abel to understand themselves. They can handle this story as a myth without trying to demythologize it, but as they identify with "Am I my brother’s keeper?" (or baby-sitter?), it will take on existential significance.

The value of demythologizing for children from seven to twelve is that it guards against their tendency to take such stories literally. If Goldman is right, the literal option at this age level almost guarantees rejection of both story and meaning when the student moves into puberty (unless his mental development is arrested at what Piaget calls the concrete operational level). But at this age, as at later ages, they are also going to ask, "What really did happen?" At this point, we need to make distinctions between language that can be supported by historical data and language which operates on other levels. Ogden provides some distinctions that may help us find the criteria for such teaching. If religious faith is to provide reassurance, we need to be able to say that "God is" or ‘God exists" and that "Jesus lived, said and did certain things, and died" and that "the disciples experienced new life which they identified as the risen Lord." Often, however, our language refers to these experiences in categories other than the descriptive and historical and in assertions which are logically odd. Therefore, we need to explore other possibilities of linguistic expression.