Language, Liturgy and Meaning 9781463219833

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface To Second Edition
1. Intelligibility and Communication: Vocabulary versus Setting
2. Words as Tools and Language as Verbal Behaviour
3. Performative Language and First-Person Utterances
4. Linguistic Symbols
5. Metaphor, Myth and Narrative
Postscript to 1986 Edition

Citation preview

Language, Liturgy and Meaning

Gorgias Liturgical Studies

57

This series is intended to provide a venue for studies about liturgies as well as books containing various liturgies. Making liturgical studies available to those who wish to learn more about their own worship and practice or about the traditions of other religious groups, this series includes works on service music, the daily offices, services for special occasions, and the sacraments.

Language, Liturgy and Meaning

Anthony Thiselton

1 gorgias press 2010

Gorgias Press LLC, 180 Centennial Ave., Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2010 by Gorgias Press LLC Originally published in All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. 2010

1

ISBN 978-1-60724-349-6

ISSN 1937-3252

Published first in the U.K. by Grove Books, 1986.

Printed in the United States of America

Language Liturgy and Meaning by

Anthony C. Thiselton Principal,

St. John's

College.

Bramcote,

Nottingham

CONTENTS

Page

1. Intelligibility and Communication: Vocabulary versus Setting

3

2. Words as Tools and Language as Verbal Behaviour

10

3. Performative Language and First-Person Utterances

17

4. Linguistic Symbols

22

5. Metaphor, Myth and Narrative

25

Postscript to 1986 Edition

33

Copyright A. C. Thiselton 1975 and 1986

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION This Liturgical Study has been out of print for some years, but I am very grateful that Grove Books is making it available once again to the public, and more than glad that there is evidence of a continuing demand for it. Apart from some minor corrections, this Study retains the form in which it was written in 1975. But I have added a postscript on page 33 on a liturgical issue which has emerged strongly in the intervening years. Anthony C. Thiselton January 1986

THE COVER DESIGN is by the author

CONTENTS

Page

1. Intelligibility and Communication: Vocabulary versus Setting

3

2. Words as Tools and Language as Verbal Behaviour

10

3. Performative Language and First-Person Utterances

17

4. Linguistic Symbols

22

5. Metaphor, Myth and Narrative

25

Postscript to 1986 Edition

33

Copyright A. C. Thiselton 1975 and 1986

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION This Liturgical Study has been out of print for some years, but I am very grateful that Grove Books is making it available once again to the public, and more than glad that there is evidence of a continuing demand for it. Apart from some minor corrections, this Study retains the form in which it was written in 1975. But I have added a postscript on page 33 on a liturgical issue which has emerged strongly in the intervening years. Anthony C. Thiselton January 1986

THE COVER DESIGN is by the author

1. I N T E L L I G I B I L I T Y A N D C O M M U N I C A T I O N : V O C A B U L A R Y VERSUS SETTING Questions about vocabulary, grammar, and style, touch only a limited part of the problem of meaning. Often they remain secondary to more fundamental problems about language and communication. Yet it is on questions about vocabulary, grammar, and style, that those concerned with liturgical language seem usually to lavish their attention and energy. Admittedly questions about vocabulary are genuine and important ones. If someone asks us what 'prevent' means in the prayer 'Prevent us, 0 Lord, in all our doings . . .', in some cases what may be required is no more than to explain that 'prevent' means 'go before'. But at a deeper level, a more serious problem of meaning arises when someone asks: what is the cashvalue of the words 'go before' when they are applied to a divine being who already, according to Psalm 139, is present and active everywhere ? It is relatively easy, if we are asked about the meaning of 'Lord God of Sabaoth' in the 1662 Te Deum, to explain that 'Sabaoth' means 'hosts'. It is much more difficult, however, if someone asks us about the meaning of the seemingly innocent phrase in the 1662 Venite 'Today if ye will hear his voice'. It raises no problems of vocabulary. But what does 'hear' mean when the voice in question does not make vibrations in the air? We should not advise the baffled enquirer to buy a deaf aid. What the word 'hear' actually means in this case depends on its unusual surroundings, logical context, or application; on what Ludwig Wittgenstein calls 'grammar' in the strictly logical, conceptual, or philosophical sense of the term. He notes, 'You can't hear God speak to someone else, you can hear him only if you are being addressed'. That is a grammatical remark.1 Linguists and philosophers have described the nature of this kind of problem in many ways, but perhaps most adequately as that of the relation between a context-in-life, or a language-setting, and the logical function, use, or application of a stretch of language. The meaning, or function, depends on the setting. Hence the meaning of 'hear' in 'hearing God' differs from that of 'hear' in 'hearing Henry' because the setting is different, relating in one case to a transcendent being. Even the familiar phenomenon of polysemy, or words with multiple meanings, provides an example of how meanings depend on settings in life, and consequently of how intelligible communication depends on our knowledge of such settings. The principle in question is certainly not peculiar to theology or liturgy. For example, a speaker introduces the ordinary everyday word 'points', which involves no difficulty of vocabulary. He asks, 'What about the points?' But which of the following does he mean? (1) Did you remember to note the score ? (2) Have you sharpened your pencils? (3) Can I use this electric plug ? (4) Did your ration-book entitle you to buy that? (5) Why have you placed two fieldsmen in the same position ? (6) Have you included the Hebrew vowels ? Clearly any failure of communication or intelligibility is unlikely to be caused by mere lack of word-recognition. Communication depends on an understanding of the setting in which the word 'points' operates. In most 1

L. Wittgenstein, Zettel (Blackwell, Oxford, 1 9 6 7 ) section 717.

3

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

cases any obscurity that exists may be removed by indicating the setting briefly by means of an explanatory word or phrase. The speaker might simply add, 'I am talking about electrical supply.' But if the setting in question is unfamiliar to the hearer, the speaker may need to construct the whole 'world' of the setting by historical description (as in no. 4). The same kind of difficulty might apply to (6), in which for communication to take place the speaker may have to explain Hebrew. Perhaps most difficult of all, (5) would at first be entirely unintelligible to a hearer who had always lived in a culture in which cricket was unheard of. Gradually some kind of picture would have to be built up of the whole 'world' of cricket. Wittgenstein's remark is relevant that T o imagine a language means to imagine a form of life . . . The speaking of language is part of an activity, or of a form of life.'1 Liturgical language, in common with most religious or theological uses of language, constantly employs ordinary words in special settings which decisively determine their meanings. One role of the reading of the Bible in liturgy is that of building up the linguistic or conceptual network of co-ordinates which mark out the 'world' or frame of reference of these distinctive settings. The problem of the intelligibility of theological terms such as 'redeem' or 'save' is not solved simply by re-labelling the Christian

vocabulary, any more than the intelligibility of 'points' in cricket can be guaranteed by re-labelling all the titles of the fieldsmen. The meaning of 'redeem' or 'save' emerges as we can see paradigm cases, or model examples, of what redemption or salvation consist in, as these are portrayed in the stones of such events as the exodus, or Israel's experiences of deliverance in the Judges period, and so on. (Paradigm cases are discussed in chapter 5). This is certainly not to deny that present experiences of life are also fundamental in reaching an understanding of theological language. I shall argue that both the Biblical paradigms and contemporary life experience must form part of an over-arching frame of reference within which religious uses of language become intelligible. In particular liturgy relates to the life of the whole of God's people, who share a continuity of experience and a continuity of response to the saving acts of God from the birth of Israel to the present day. As we shall see, this continuity provides a tradition of public language-use and behaviour within which certain linguistic 'rules', or regularities or structures, can be discerned. In Wittgenstein's words, 'One learns the game by watching how others play.' 2 It is not simply a matter of re-arranging traditional vocabulary. The decisiveness of setting, as over against vocabulary, may be illustrated further both from theological and non-theological examples. Wittgenstein notes the way in which setting determines meaning in the case of the word 'exact'. 3 What does 'exact' mean? In the setting of astronomy the 'exact' distances between two stars would hardly be measured in inches. But in microbiology the 'exact 'distance between two molecules would mean something very different. The meaning of 'exactly the right time' varies with a return from holiday, getting married, and the second-hand of a watch. 1 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (Blackwell, Oxford 2 1 9 5 8 ) sections 19 and 23. 2 Ibid, section 54. Cf. further, A n t h o n y C. Thiselton, The Two Horizons (Paternoster Press, Exeter, 1980) pp. 3 7 0 - 4 2 7 , esp. 3 7 9 - 8 5 . 3 L. Wittgenstein, op. cit. section 88.

INTELLIGIBILITY A N D

COMMUNICATION

A further set of examples, h o w e v e r , can be f o u n d in the Fourth Gospel. Understanding, in J o h n , does not depend mainly on mere w o r d - r e c o g n i t ion. It may be part of the J o h a n n i n e irony that on more t h a n half a dozen occasions listeners mistake the meanings of ordinary familiar w o r d s because these w o r d s p e r f o r m their f u n c t i o n s in special settings. In J o h n 4 . 3 - 4 N i c o d e m u s fails t o understand t h e meaning of ' b i r t h ' until Jesus explains t o him that ' w a t e r and the Spirit' define the setting of t h e t e r m and thus determines its meaning. Similarly, in J o h n 4 . 1 0 - 1 2 the w o m a n of Samaria apparently misunderstands the term 'living w a t e r ' , w h i c h in a domestic setting simply means ' r u n n i n g w a t e r ' or w a t e r f r o m a spring: 'Sir, y o u have n o t h i n g t o d r a w w i t h , and the w e l l is deep; w h e r e d o y o u get that living ( r u n n i n g ) w a t e r ? ' (verse 11). Later on in the same chapter there is another m i s u n d e r s t a n d i n g a b o u t the meaning of the e v e r y - d a y w o r d ' f o o d ' : 'He said t o them, " I have f o o d t o eat of w h i c h y o u do n o t k n o w . " So the disciples said t o one another, " H a s a n y o n e b r o u g h t him f o o d ?" Jesus said t o t h e m , " M y f o o d is to do the w i l l of him w h o sent m e " ' . ( J o h n 4 . 3 2 - 3 4 ) . Large stretches of t h e sixth chapter turn o n m i s u n d e r standings a b o u t such w o r d s as 'bread', ' b l o o d ' , 'drink', and ' c o m e d o w n ' , precisely because their Christological setting gives t h e m a different meaning f r o m that of their usual settings in everyday life. It is not e n o u g h to reply that these are o n l y examples of metaphor. This observation is correct as far as it goes, b u t the p r o b l e m does not end there. To see that a w o r d is being used metaphorically w a r n s us a b o u t w h a t it does not mean; it marks off certain areas of a p p l i c a t i o n as inappropriate. But it still does n o t explain fully w h a t the metaphorical use does mean. The very issue for J o h n concerns a man's attitude t o t h e person of Christ. But t o portray Christ's uniqueness he does not try t o use esoteric t e r m i n o l o g y full of s u p p o s e d mystery of the kind that may be f o u n d in parts of the early Gnostic literature. He uses ordinary w o r d s , b u t applies t h e m in special settings. For Christian discourse, as W. D. H u d s o n points out, 'is not a special sort of language, but just ordinary language p u t t o a particular use.' 1 J o h n couples everyday w o r d s w i t h others in u n e x p e c t e d or logically unusual w a y s , a n d uses a m u l t i p l i c i t y of w o r d s or images in sufficient variety t o a l l o w t h e hearer t o cancel off all u n w a n t e d m e a n i n g s w h i c h have no application. Thus Jesus is the light, b u t he is t h e l i g h t - o f - t h e - w o r l d . He is the bread, but he is also the door, the shepherd, the w o r d , and the w a y . The predicates negate o n e another. Together, t h e y bid t h e hearer t o look b e y o n d their usual applications. The f u n c t i o n of these w o r d s in their settings, h o w e v e r , is not simply t o negate. They overlap at the edges w i t h a part of their usual meanings. A genuine overlap exists b e t w e e n the attitude and activity of the Palestinian shepherd t o w a r d s his sheep, or of the ancient ruler t o w a r d s his people, and that of Christ t o w a r d s his o w n flock, (cf. J o h n 1 0 . 1 1 - 1 6 ) . Similarly, an overlapping occurs, as J o h n notes, b e t w e e n the experience of the b l i n d m a n t o w h o m Jesus gives sight, a n d that of the believer w h o s u d d e n l y 'sees' t h e reality of Christ ( J o h n 9 . 6 - 7 ) . Paul presupposes the same overlapping w h e n he writes, 'It is the G o d w h o said, " L e t the light shine o u t of darkness" w h o has shone in our hearts t o give the light of t h e 1

W . D. Hudson, 'Some Remarks on Wittgenstein's A c c o u n t of Religious Belief' in Royal Institute of Philosophy Lectures, Vol. 2: Talk of God ( M a c M i l l a n , 1969) p.40.

5

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ' (2 Cor.4-6). The coupling of 'shone' with 'in our hearts' marks the logical peculiarity of the setting. Further examples of this have been discussed by Ian Ramsey.1 The relationship between everyday language-uses and distinctively theological ones is highly complex and can be described in a variety of ways. In a slightly different context, Wittgenstein observes suggestively that 'we see a complicated network of similarities, overlapping and crisscrossing', which can best be compared to 'family resemblances'.2 There is some kind of resemblance between hearing Henry's voice and hearing God's voice, but the nature of the resemblance cannot be described in advance before we look at the actual example. This is partly what Wittgenstein has in mind when he uses the term 'family resemblances', although the content of his discussion is that of ordinary polymorphous concepts like 'game' and not specifically religious uses of language. The neighbours may recognise one member of the Biggs family of Wapping by his nose, another by his voice. Family resemblances exist, but we cannot generalize in advance about what form these will take in any one given case. This is why no one analogy, metaphor, or overlapping language-use, can ever be adequate if language about God or Christian experience is to be intelligible. We need a number of fixed points in everyday experience from which cross-bearings can be taken, in order to mark out semantic areas which would otherwise lie beyond the edges of our conceptual map. A multiplicity of models on the one hand serves negatively to exclude unwanted meanings which are inappropriate within their new theological setting. But on the other hand this very multiplicity also points positively beyond everyday meanings to areas within which new suggested lines of meaning converge. A whole variety of settings inter-relate to define areas of application now relevant, now obsolete; now correct, now incorrect. This variety can be provided only by calling on the total resources of the long Hebrew-Christian tradition embodied primarily in the Bible, but also reaching through to the present. To understand the language of a community, therefore, one must know something about its life. In this sense, in Wittgenstein's words, 'To imagine a language is to imagine a form of life'. 'One learns the game by watching how others play.' 2 The same kind of conclusion seems to be forced on us if we take up Paul van Buren's suggestive picture of using the edges of language. 4 Language, he suggests, is like a wooden platform on which we are standing. We can stand safely near the centre, and say easily-intelligible, mundane, everyday things. Or religious men may try to extend the range of everyday language by nailing on extra planks to the edges of the platform. We can try to say new things, or at any rate things which lie further away from the familiar every-day realm. But this cannot be done by any single individual. 'Nailing on new planks or extensions to old planks, then, is the work of many 1 Cf. Ian Ramsey's discussion of models and qualifiers in Religious Language (S.C.M., London, 1957) especially pp.49-89; and also Christian Discourse (Oxford University Press, 1965), Models for Divine Activity. (S.C.M. London, 1973), and Models and Mystery (Oxford University Press, 1964). 2 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations sections 66-7. 3 ibid sections 19 and 54. 4 Paul van Buren, The Edges of Language. An Essay in the Logic of a Religion (S.C.M. London, 1972) pp.78-150 et passim. 6

INTELLIGIBILITY A N D

COMMUNICATION

1

hands.' This is because no individual can in practice follow the example of Lewis Carroll's Humpty-Dumpty and use words simply in the way that he alone intends to use them. All modern linguists and philosophers agree that intelligible and effective language depends on regularities, rules, or conventions which are accepted by a community.2 Communication takes place only when there is a shared acceptance of these conventions, and some sort of understanding, however provisional, of the setting or form of life within which the language-use in question has emerged. The name Wittgenstein has occurred a number of times already because his work is a pivotal point in the philosophy of language. The broader implication of Wittgenstein's work for the language of religion has been fruitfully explored by D. M. High, William Hordern, Robert King and many others.3 Nevertheless our conclusions about the importance of extra-linguistic settings and about the 'wholeness' or 'world' of a language-system can be confirmed from two other totally different traditions of scholarship and method in language-study. There is the 'field' approach of de Saussure and Trier, and also the tradition of hermeneutical philosophy. Trier insists that a word itself does not have meaning as an autonomous independent unit in isolation from a context or field. Dictionary entries are only provisional generalizations based on the occurrence of words in regular or characteristic settings. A word has meaning 'only as part of a whole' (nurals Tei! des Ganzenor only 'within a field' (im Feld).A In the words of Ferdinand de Saussure, 'language is a system of interdependent terms (les termes sont siUdaires) in which the value (la valeur) of 5each term results solely from the simultaneous presence of the other.' All words in the6same language which express related ideas 'limit each other reciprocally'. He illustrates his point from chess. The value of any given piece depends not so much on what it is in itself as on the state of the game, and the opponent's pieces. One more piece changes everything. Thus in language the semantic scope of the word 'red' and especially its cut-off point in relation to 'yellow', depends partly on whether the word 'orange' is available as a possible contribution to the semantic field. Whether 'fear' of God is appropriate in a certain setting may depend on the 11bid. p.83. 2 F. de Saussure, Cours de linguistique générale (édition critique, Harassowitz, Wiesbaden, 1967) pp.146-57; John Lyons, Introduction to Theoretical Linguistics (Cambridge University Press, 1969) pp.4-8, 38, 59-70, 74-5, 272 and 403; S. Ullmann Semantics. An Introduction to the Science of Meaning (Blackwell, Oxford, 1962) pp.80-115; and L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations sections 81-108, 198-315, 350-58, et passim. Cf. also Stuart C. Brown, Do Religious Claims Make Sense? (S.C.M. London, 1969) pp.176-82, and D. M. High and W. Hordern, cited below. 3 Cf. D. M. High, Language, Persons, and Belief. Studies in Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations and Religious Uses of Language (Oxford University Press, New York, 1967); William Hordern, Speaking of God. The Nature and Purpose of Theological Language (Epworth Press, London 1965); and Robert H. King, The Meaning of God (S.C.M. London, 1974). 4 J . Trier, Der Deutsche Wortschatz im Sinnbezirk des Verstandes (Winter, Heidelberg, 1931 ) p.6. 5 F. de Saussure, op. cit., fasc. 2 p.259. s Ibid. p.261. 7

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND

MEANING

relative contribution of ' a w e ' , 'terror', and so on, to the field of fear-words. In practice w e learn the semantic value of one term only by understanding its relation to others. W e need to k n o w the whole field of terms in which it functions, even if this is not to deny that a provisional understanding of the field may begin w i t h a provisional understanding of individual words. I have discussed these field semantics more fully elsewhere. 1 The problem of the part and the w h o l e in understanding language also lies at the heart of hermeneutical philosophy since Schleiermacher. T h e definitive modern w o r k on Schleiermacher's v i e w of language has been carried out by Heinz Kimmerle, w h o makes this point. Language, according to Schleiermacher, and as Kimmerle interprets him, must be understood 'in the light of the larger, more universal linguistic community in w h i c h the individual finds himself'. 2 W e need to understand w o r d s in order to understand the sentence; nevertheless our understanding of the force of individual words depends on our understanding of the w h o l e sentence. But this principle must be extended. To understand a sentence w e need to understand the paragraph, the book, the author as a w h o l e . As Richard Palmer puts it, ' S o m e h o w a kind of " l e a p " into the hermeneutical circle occurs, and w e understand the w h o l e and the parts together'. 3 In this sense Gerhard Ebeling, w h o also stands in the hermeneutical tradition, is correct w h e n he observes, 'Only w h e r e there is already previous understanding can understanding take place'. 4 But if the problem seems to be circular, h o w can understanding ever take place ? Understanding begins w h e r e there is an area of overlap, or shared experience, b e t w e e n the horizons of the hearer in his present life and t h e horizons w h i c h bound the settings that are determinative for their language and meaning. 'Hermeneutics', in this tradition of philosophy, means t h e inter-action and engagement of t w o sets of horizons in a c o m m o n understanding, or act of communication. O n the one side, in liturgy for example, w e are using language w h i c h draws its operational value from a series of settings belonging to the historical life of Israel and the Church. O n the other side, also in liturgy, there must be an engagement w i t h the presentday life-experience of the modern worshipper. 1

A. C. Thiselton, 'Semantics and the New Testament' in I. H. Marshall (ed) New Testament Interpretation (Paternoster Press, Exeter, 1977) pp.75-104. In more technical terms, 'Linguistic units have no validity independently of their paradigmatic and syntagmatic relations with other units' (John Lyons, op. cit., p.75). Cf. further R. H. Robins, General Linguistics (Longmans, London, 1964) pp.47-50; E. Brekle, Semantik. Ein Einfuhrung in die sprachwissenschaftliche Bedeutungslehre (Fink, Munich, 1972) pp.81-8; J. F. Sawyer, Semzntics in Biblical Research (S.C.M. London, 1972) passim; J. Lyons, Structural Semantics (Blackwell, Oxford, 1963) passim; and E. Guttgemanns, Studia Linguistica Neotestamentica. Gesammelte Aufsatze zur linguistischen Grundlage einer Neutestamentlichen Theologie (Kaiser, Munich, 1971) pp.75-93. 2 H. Kimmerle, 'Hermeneutical Theory or Ontological Hermeneutics in R. W. Funk (ed.) Journal for Theology and the Church 4. History and Hermeneutic (Mohr, Tubingen, 1967) p.109;cf. pp.107-21. 3 Richard E. Palmer, Hermeneutics. Interpretation Theory in Schleiermacher. Dilthey, Heidegger and Gadamer (Northwestern University Press, Ermston, 1969) p.87 (cf. F. Schleiermacher, Hermeneutik undKritik. ed. by F. Lucke, p.29). 4 G. Ebeling, Word and Faith (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1963) p.320.

8

INTELLIGIBILITY AND COMMUNICATION

Heinrich Ott describes this link between the two sets of horizons as a hermeneutical arch, in which the Bible constitutes the 'linguistic room or linguistic net of co-ordinates, that make the individual words of Christian language intelligible'.1 Where Ott stresses the totality of Scripture as the linguistic network, Ernst Fuchs also calls attention to the role of proclamation or preaching. Proclamation of the Gospel, he argues, must be based on, but also must create, a shared area of 'common understanding' (Einverständnis). Only then can there be genuine communication, in which language conveys reality in 'language-event' (Sprachereignis). 2 The goal in communication, according to the philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer, is the 'merging of horizons' (Horizontverschmelzung) which can be achieved, however, only if the full distinctiveness of each set of horizons is first respected and noticed.3 Although Heidegger and Wittgenstein approach language from very different directions, each in his own way stresses that the problem of communication cannot be solved in terms of vocabulary alone, in terms of the recognition of individual words.4 Trying to patch up the difficulty by merely re-labelling isolated pieces of vocabulary may even be like papering over the cracks when a more fundamental problem needs prior attention. As Ebeling puts it, 'the problem concerns not simply words, but "the word" '.5 We have argued that a first step towards grappling with this problem is to see the importance of linguistic settings within the historical life of the community. To claim that one function of reading the Bible in liturgy is to portray these settings is neither to fall into the trap of making word-history a norm for present meaning, nor to deny that Christian tradition may provide other significant settings up to the moment of the community's present life and experience. Nevertheless, part of what, for example, salvation is, can be seen in the settings portrayed by the Biblical writings, and indeed these may be said to provide in many instances the paradigm cases of such language-uses. (Paradigm-cases are discussed further in chapter 5). In6 Wittgenstein's words 'One learns the game by watching how others play.' All the same, we have been looking only at one particular aspect of the problem of language and meaning. We must now turn to questions about the kinds of language-activities which are actually going on in the present when the language of liturgy is being used. This may also shed further light on some of the claims which have already been made. 1

H. Ott, 'What is Systematic Theology?' in J . M. Robinson and J . B. Cobb (eds.) New Frontiers in Theology: 1, The Later Heidegger and Theology (Harper and Row New York, 1963) esp. pp.86-7. (Ott is following Heidegger). 2 E. Fuchs, Marburger Hermeneutik (Mohr, Tubingen, 1968) pp.171-81 and 239-43. Cf. also Hermeneutik (Mohr, Tubingen, 2 1970). 3 H. G. Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode. Grundzuge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik (Mohr, Tubinger 21965) pp.232, 286-305, 366 and 419. 4 Cf. A. C. Thiselton, The Two Horizons, pp.24-50 and 357-85, and A. Grabner-Haider, Semiotik und Theologie, Religiose Rade zwischen analytischer und hermeneutischer Philosophie (Kosel Verlag, Munich, 1973) pp.51-143. 5 G. Ebeling, The Nature of Faith (Eng. Collins, London 1961) p.15; cf. Introduction to a Theological Theory of Language (Eng. Collins, 1973) pp.91-128. 6 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 54. 9

2

WORDS AS TOOLS A N D LANGUAGE AS VERBAL BEHAVIOUR: G R A M M A R VERSUS F U N C T I O N

Too often we can be misled by the grammatical forms of our language into making premature assumptions about meanings. I have discussed elsewhere the example 'This is poison'.1 Since the word 'is' may be correctly parsed as a present indicative verb, the sentence in question might seem necessarily to take the form of a descriptive statement. But this need not be the force of the words in every situation. The utterance may function (1) as an imperative, meaning 'Quick! Fetch a doctor!' Or (2) It may convey a warning: 'Look out! Don't drink this'. (3) It may constitute a plea: 'Avenge me of my enemy'. (4) It could simply be a reproach: 'You forgot to put sugar in my tea'. We too readily assume that indicative verbs always serve to make statements, or to describe states of affairs. In order to alert us to the beguiling effect of certain grammatical forms, Wittgenstein drew a distinction between what he called 'surface grammar' and 'depth grammar.'2 The same formal surface-grammar may be used to convey a multiplicity of different meanings in terms of depth grammar. Within the framework of a very different approach to language, Noam Chomsky also underlines the ambiguity of surface-grammar, and distinguishes between 'deep structure' and 'surface structure'. Stretches of language may be translated into certain basic 'kernel' sentences, which may then be transformed into a structure containing quite different grammatical forms from that of the original stretch of language whilst elucidating the original meaning less ambiguously. In terms of surface structure, for example, 'the doctor's arrival' and 'the doctor's house' may seem to have the same forms. But one derives from the transform 'the doctor arrived', whilst the other derives from the transform 'the doctor has a house', The deep structure behind each is therefore different. 3 In order to bring out the sheer variety of functions that words perform, in contrast to their relatively simple-looking surface-appearance, Wittgenstein compares words with tools. There is a hammer, plain, a saw, a rule . . . glue, nails and screws.The functions of words are as diverse as the functions of those objects . . . What confuses us is the uniform appearance of words . . . It is like looking into the cabin of a locomotive. We see handles all looking more or less alike . . . But one is the handle of a crank which can be moved continuously . . . another is the handle of a switch which has only two effective positions.' There are 'countless different kinds of use of what we call "symbols, "words", sentences".' 'For a large class of cases . . . the meaning of a word is its use in the language.'4 Wittgenstein did not always approach language in this way. He refers to his own earlier work in the Tractatus when he comments 'It is interesting to compare the multiplicity of the tools in language . . . with what logicians have said about the structure of language. (Including the author of the 1

2 3

4

A. C. Thiselton, T h e Use of Philosophical Categories in N e w Testament H e r m e n e u t i c s ' , The Churchman 87 ( 1 9 7 3 ) p.96. L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Philosophical Investigations section 6 6 4 . N. C h o m s k y , Aspects of the Theory of Syntax ( M a s s a c h u s e t t s Institute of T e c h n o l o g y , 1 9 6 5 ) p . p . 1 6 - 2 7 , 6 4 - 1 0 6 , and 1 2 8 - 4 7 . One t r a n s f o r m has the structure N P / V i ( n o u n / p h r a s e intransitive verb), the other has t h e structure N P / V t / N a ( / n o u n phrase/transitive v e r b / / n o u n in the accusative) for further examples cf. pp.21 ff. L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Philosophical Investigations, sections 11, 12, 2 3 and 4 3 . 10

WORDS

AS TOOLS AND

LANGUAGE AS VERBAL

BEHAVIOUR

1

Tractatus Logico-PhUosophicusJ." It will be instructive to glance briefly at this earlier view, because many people approach questions about meaning in liturgy like this. At the risk of over-simplification, we may say that this view involved (1) a referential theory of meaning (i.e. that the meaning of a word is the objectto which it refers); and (2) the notion that description or statement represents the sole, or main, function of language. At the heart of the Tractatus lies the claim that 'a proposition is a picture (ein Bild) of reality', and this is thus 'a description of a state of affairs (eines Sachverhaltes)Words constitute elements of the proposition, and these in turn correspond to, or refer to, 'objects' which constitute elements of the state of affairs. Thus: 'One name stands for one thing, another for another thing, and they are combined with one another. I n this way the whole g r o u p — l i k e a tableau vivant—presents a state of affairs.' 3 'In a proposition there must be exactly as many distinguishable parts as the situation that it represents.'4 Words are virtually, as it were, labels for objects, which can be linked together by grammar to describe relations between objects. Propositions may then be related together to describe complex sets of states of affairs. But nothing else can be 'said'. There is the language of descriptive statement, which concerns only 'facts', and there are also tautologies. For the rest, 'What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.' 5 This approach, then, involves the notion that the meaning of a word is the object to which it refers. At first sight this theory may seem to be correct. We imagine that a young child learns what 'spoon' means because the mother pronounces the word whilst pointing to the spoon. This is ostensive definition. If all language functioned in this way, it would mean that an unbeliever could learn the meaning of the word 'God' only when the believer could point to an entity called God. In his later writings, however, Wittgenstein observed that a child does not in practice learn simply by ostensive definition at all, but learns the use or function of particular sounds. Often 'spoon' spoken to the infant does not mean This is called a spoon', but 'eat with this and not with your fingers'. The child who treated the utterance as a mere definition would be in trouble. The key difficulty, as Wittgenstein explains in his Blue Book, is that ostensive definition can always be interpreted in all sorts of ways. If I hold up a pencil and pronounce the sentence 'This is tove', it may mean 'This is a pencil', but it may mean 'this is round'; or 'This is wood'; or, 'This is one'; or, 'This is hard'; and so on. 6 Wittgenstein drily suggests in the Investigations, 'Point to a piece of p a p e r — A n d now point to its s h a p e — now to its c o l o u r — n o w to its number (that sounds queer). How did you do it ?'7 1

Ibid, s e c t i o n 2 3 L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Tractatus Logico-Phi/osophicus ( R o u t l e d g e a n d K e g a n Paul, L o n d o n , 1961) 4.01 and 4.023. 3 Ibid. 4 . 0 3 1 1 . " Ibid. 4 . 0 4 . 5 Ibid. 7. 6 L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , The Blue and Brown Books. Preliminary Studies for the 'Philosophical Investigations' ( B l a c k w e l l , O x f o r d 2 1 9 6 9 ) p p . 2 - 4 ; cf. Philosophical Investigations sections 2 6 - 3 7 . 7 L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Philosophical Investigations, section 33. 2

11

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

The referential theory of meaning, is fraught with difficulties at every level. Gottlob Frege pointed out many years earlier that any straightforward or simple version of this theory foundered on the fact that we do in practice use words which refer to the same object with different meanings. Thus 'evening star' is not identical in meaning with 'morning star' although both terms refer to the planet Venus. Conversely, there are other terms which have the same meaning but different referents; of which 'you' and 'here', are examples. Wittgenstein exposes the heart of the problem when he notes that it is plausible to understand meaning in terms of reference only when we are thinking of certain types of words: 'If you describe the learning of language in this way you are, I believe, thinking primarily of nouns like "table", "chair", "bread" and of people's names, and only secondarily of the names of certain actions and properties, and of the remaining kinds of word as something that will take care of itself . . . Think of exclamations alone, with their completely different functions: Water I Away! Owl Help! . . . Are you inclined still to call these words "names of objects" ?'1 To ask about the meaning of those exclamations it is more helpful to view them as verbal behaviour, and to ask: what is the speaker doing when he is making this utterance? This brings us back to our earlier example of 'This is poison'. Is its function that of a description, a command, a warning, or a reproach ? In the example of 'spoon', the meaning emerges when we enquire about the word's function, and see it as part of the mother's verbal behaviour. The reason why enquiries about meanings must begin, as we saw, with settings, is that language is part of life; part of human activity. Thus whereas it was once customary to talk about language almost exclusively in terms of statements, propositions, objects of reference, and words, we hear more today about speech-acts, linguistic activity, and verbal behaviour. Max Black makes this point explicitly. Until comparatively recently, he notes, it was customary to stress 'communication of thought to the neglect of feeling and attitude' and to emphasize 'words rather than speech-acts in context.' 2 The range of activities involved are usually called 'language-games' by Wittgenstein, although we need not enter here into a discussion of the scope of the term. It is meant to stress, among other things, that language represents an activity of life, and may therefore take as many forms as life itself: giving orders, describing an object's appearance, reporting an event, making up a story, guessing riddles, telling a joke, asking, thanking, cursing, greeting, praying. 3 'Commanding, questioning, recounting, chatting, are as much a part of our natural history as walking, eating, drinking, playing.' 4 'Only in the stream of thought and life do words have meaning.' 5 How do these principles apply to liturgy? Two general points may be made, one largely negative, the other, positive. 1

Ibid, sections 1 and 27 (my italics). On the difficulties of the referential theory of meaning, see further D. M. High op.cit.,pp.29-36 and W. P. Alston, Philosophy of Language (Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, 1 9 6 4 ) pp.11-22. 2 M. Black, The Labyrinth of Language (Pall Mall Press, London, 1 9 6 8 ) p.9. 3 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 23. 4 Ibid, section 25. 5 L. Wittgenstein, Zettel section 173.

12

WORDS AS TOOLS AND LANGUAGE AS VERBAL BEHAVIOUR

Firstly, the notion must be rejected that meaning in liturgy necessarily depends on being able to point to specific objects of reference. Paul van Buren rightly insists that certainly the meaning of 'God' cannot be communicated in this way. He writes,' "God", then, is not a separate discrete concept or word for investigation . . . To examine the word in isolation from its context in the life of religious people is to pursue an abstraction.' We need to understand the term as it is in actual use by Christians, and as it is 'embedded in the whole linguistic activity of religion'. 1 The meaning of 'God' is seen in the first instance by the role which it plays in the actual life of the Christian community, including the tradition of life and experience which nourishes it. 'God' can be identified, if he is the God of Jesus Christ, as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The term 'the God of our Fathers' is not simply a pious catchphrase; it is a positive contribution to the problem of meaning. The second main point is no less far-reaching. It concerns the sheer variety of activities which take place in language. When he instances as part of this variety, reporting events, telling stories, commanding, asking, thanking, praying, Wittgenstein might almost have been describing Christian liturgy. Liturgy contains assertions or statements, and also expressions of attitudes. It embodies thanksgiving, praise, blessing, confession, acclamation, pledge, exhortation, command; affirmation, testimony, agreement, evaluation, warning, dedicating, pardoning, declaring, greeting and praying. There are of course various ways of classifying these different language-uses, and categories overlap. Anders Jeffner, for example, distinguishes between four main families of statements, expressions, prescriptions and performatives, each of which can be sub-classified into further groups. 2 The important point is that those who belong to the w o r s h i p p i n g c o m m u n i t y s h o u l d be aware

of what

they

are doing

when

they use language in various ways. The difficulties are, firstly, that many language uses themselves overlap with one another; secondly, that surfacegrammar in languages does not contain a sufficient range of devices to mark these diverse functions; and thirdly, that theological factors can complicate already sufficiently complex matters still further. What is the community doing, for example, when it declares in the creed, 'He ascended into heaven' ? At first sight, on the level of surface-grammar 'ascended' is a past indicative active verb, and hence may be thought to function as a descriptive statement. Many worshippers undoubtedly do mean the words as a straightforward description of a factual state of affairs; as an assertion that in an observable way the risen body of Christ moved upwards from the earth into the sky 'and a cloud took him out of their sight' (Acts 1.9). Admittedly the fact that even in Luke-Acts we are concerned with the risen body of Christ may in practice be said to remove the assertion from the wholly everyday empirical realm. If this is correct, it would come under the heading of what Jeffner calls the 'problematic' set of religious sentences.3 However, if the term 'statement' is understood broadly enough, the words may be said in this sense to function for most 1 P. van Buren, op.cit.. pp.70-71. 2 A. Jeffner, The Study of Religious et passim. 3 Ibid, pp.21-67.

Language (S.C.M. London, 1972^ pp.10-12

13

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

Christians as a descriptive statement, having some very rough family resemblance to 'the rocket ascended into the sky.' It would be a serious mistake however, to imagine that we have now exhaustively accounted for the meaning of this utterance. All down the centuries there have been theologians, and now also an increasing number of ordinary Christians, who see the meaning of the ascension not in terms of spatial transference to a local heaven but as the enthronement of Christ as sovereign king. Even in Luke-Acts, which, apart from Hebrews, alone in the New Testament stresses the ascension, the weight of the Greek word hypsoo calls attention to the exaltation of Christ at God's 'right hand' of executive authority and honour (Acts 2.33; 5.31; cf. Psalm 110.1). 'He ascended into heaven' thus functions not only as a statement, but as an acclamation of Christ's kingship. Even here, still further sub-categories of language-function may again overlap within this family. In one direction, 'He ascended into heaven' constitutes an expression of joy and exultation. It is almost an exclamation, like 'Hurrah'! In a different direction it stresses the basis of Christ's sovereignty in a divine act of vindication and coronation, and constitutes a proclamation of Christ's kingship. This in turn may have yet further overtones of a pledge of loyalty, whilst also remaining proclamation, as in the case when the two perhaps overlap in 'Long live the King!' The surfacegrammar of the verb 'ascended', then, is no guide to its actual range of functions in liturgy. Its meaning is not simply that of flat statement, but is best understood as a complex nexus of overlapping language-uses. One striking example of a neglected dimension of meaning is Christian liturgy is that which Malinowski called 'phatic communion'. This is 'a type of speech in which ties of union are created by a mere exchange of words'.1 Malinowski has in mind what he calls free, aimless, social intercourse in which truisms are uttered, for example, about the weather or about the health of the listener. The subject-matter is often trivial, because it is not the function of this kind of language to give information. Indeed subjects must be selected on which immediate agreement can be assumed. Hence in everyday life phatic communion is assisted by such small talk as 'Nice day, isn't it ?' 'Yes, lovely'. Or, 'Well, we're really into Spring now'. 'Yes, it's May, isn't it?' Does any liturgical form function at least partly to assist phatic communion ? One obvious candidate for this role would be the often-repeated dialogue 'The Lord be with you . . . And also with you'. W. C. van Unnik insists that this form is connected with the idea of invoking, or assuring the addressees of, 'the dynamic presence of the Spirit. . . which enables them to perform the holy work of the spiritual sacrifices'. 2 But it is much more likely that most ordinary worshippers understand it as a salutation, even if a few solemnly pronounce it as a prayer. 1

2

B. Malinowski, 'The Problem of Meaning in Primitive Languages' in C. K. Ogden and I. A. Richards, The Meaning of Meaning (Routledge and Kegan Paul, London 21930) p.315. W. C. van Unnik, 'Dominus Vobiscum: The Background of a Liturgical Formula' in A. J . B. Higgins (ed.) New Testament Essays. Studies in Memory of T. W. Manson Manchester University Press, 1959) p.297; cf. pp.270-305. For the view that it is a greeting, see Gregory Dix, The Shape of The Liturgy (Black, London, 1945) p.58. 14

W O R D S AS TOOLS A N D L A N G U A G E AS VERBAL

BEHAVIOUR

The questions which emerge are now: (1) Is there a rightful place for phatic communion in liturgy? (2) Are the forms which are used for this the most appropriate ones? (3) Do they occur in the right contexts? (4) Is the worshipping community aware of what it is doing when it is using it ? Small talk is valuable, but not every occasion is appropriate for it. On one side, it is not necessarily out of place on formal occasions. No-one imagines that 'How do you do?' constitutes a serious enquiry about someone's welfare; but as a greeting it is not out of place in the most formal setting. However, it would be thoroughly gauche to say 'Nice day, isn't it ?' at a moment of particular solemnity. The problem about a use of language which establishes phatic communion is that it may tend to perform a trivializing role when it appears in an especially serious context. Moreover, when certain linguistic forms are regularly used for this purpose, their currency as more important acts of communication becomes devalued. 'How are you ?' as a serious question may need to be rendered as 'How are you really?') or 'I'm glad to see you', as 'I've really been looking forward to seeing you'. Hence if'saying the Lord's Prayer together' functions as a tool of phatic communion, how are we to use it as a serious prayer? The important point, once again, is that the worshipping community should be fully aware of what it is doing when it uses language. If van Unnik is correct in claiming that 'the Lord be with you' is 'properly' an assurance or a prayer concerning the dynamic presence of the Spirit, the linguistic form should make this more clear.1 If it is merely a greeting, it should be clear that it is a greeting. If words are used for the purpose, which may be legitimate in certain restricted contexts in liturgy, of aiding phatic communion, the community should be aware that it is not merely making trivial statements or uttering trivial wishes or prayers. Grammar alone will not adequately identify the language-use concerned. Grammar alone would suggest that 'How do you do ? is a question rather than a greeting. Before leaving this part of the discussion, we must conclude with a further note on the role of statements in liturgy. First and foremost, the Church in its liturgy recites the saving acts of God in history. It is not simply 'describing doctrine' in its statements about salvation, however, as G. E. Wright and more recently James Barr and others have so emphatically argued.2 Two opposite over-simplifications must be avoided. The one is the mistaken idea that 'statement' in liturgy exclusively takes the form of assent to doctrines that certain facts took place. These statements are not the flat statements of objective description. The other is the equally mistaken idea that none of them are really 'statements' at all, but only disguised expressions of the worshippers' own attitudes. The word 'Gospel' reminds us that at the very heart of Christian faith is the assertion that God has acted in human history, and particularly in Israel and in Christ. Nevertheless, this remains as assertion of faith. Hence the function of statement overlaps with that of testimony or confession. In the prePauline traditions repeated in 1 Corinthians 11.23ff. and 15.3ff., for example, factual assertions are made which could have been verified: 1 As is in fact done in Series 3 Comuunion. 2 G. E. Wright, God Who Acts. Biblical Theology as Recital p p . 3 5 - 4 6 ; and J . Barr, The Bible in the Modern World pp.75-111.

15

(S.C.M. London, 1952) (S.C.M. London, 1973)

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

'Jesus... took bread . . . ' 'Christ died . . . was buried'. But the statement that Christdied iscoupled with the confession'for our sins', and the worshipping community expresses its own self-involvement in the event. It is not therefore a simple flat assertion, buta self-involving complexone. So with the resurrection, 'Not only can all Christians join in saying "Jesus is risen". . . they all express their involvement—that is to say, their present faith— through this statement.'1 Many statements which are apparently assertions, reports, or descriptions of states of affairs turn out to have this self-involving dimension. This is not to claim, with R. B. Braithwaite, that the statement 'God is love' is no more than a pseudo-assertion which expresses 'intention to follow an agapeistic way of life.' 2 The work of such writers as Raeburne S. Heimbeck suggests extreme caution towards accepting claims of this kind. 3 Nevertheless a statement such as 'God created the world' does more than give descriptive information about the origin of the universe. Its primary function is to call men to thankfulness, to stewardship of the world's resources, and so on. Two quite different traditions of theological scholarship have underlined and expounded this point. From the point of view of British linguistic philosophy Donald Evans has fruitfully explored the self-involving function of such language.4 But also from the very different viewpoint of a rejection of 'objectification' in theological language, Rudolf Bultmann further stresses that language about God should not be understood merely as flat assertions. To talk to God, Bultmann insists, is evidently and necessarily also to talk about myself. 5 To talk about the Last Judgment is not, he claims, to describe an event located in the remote future, but to summons man to responsible action now in the present. We conclude, then, that language is an activity which can take as many varied forms as life itself. The problem of meaning is bound up with the nature and function of these linguistic activities, and certainly cannot be answered with reference only to surface-grammar or surface-structure. The key point is that the worshipping community must be aware of what it is doing; otherwise however carefully liturgical experts research into questions either of origin or of contemporary style, meanings will be distorted, trivialized, or flattened. In particular, special attention must be paid to the many areas in which two or more functions of language overlap, so that the part is taken for the whole. Painstaking research needs to be undertaken into the whole question of marking these functions when they operate in disguised ways, so that no dimension of meaning is lost to view. We now turn to a special example of a type of meaning which is sometimes overlooked, to performative language and other first-person utterances. 1

W. Marxsen, The Resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1 9 7 0 ) p.19. 2 R. B. Braithwaite, An Empiricist's View of the Nature of Religious Belief (Cambridge University Press, 1955) p.18. 3 Cf. R. S. Heimbeck, Theology and Meaning. A Critique of Metatheological Scepticism (Allen and Unwin, London, 1 9 6 9 ) especially pp.124-35 and 1 5 7 - 6 3 . 4 D. D. Evans, The Logic of Self-Involvement (S.C.M. London, 1 9 6 3 ) . Evans refers mainly to the work of J. L. Austin. 5 R. Bultmann, Faith and Understanding I (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1969) pp.53-65 and 2 8 6 - 3 1 2 ; cf. also Essays Philosophical and Theological (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1955) p.256 and H. W. Bartsch (ed.) Kerygma and Myth (S.P.C.K. London 21964 and 1962).

16

3. P E R F O R M A T I V E L A N G U A G E A N D FIRST-PERSON UTTERANCES How is the worshipping community actually using language when it exclaims, 'We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee ?' What is happening when we say, 'We do earnestly repent, and are heartily sorry for our misdoings; the remembrance of them is grievous unto us' ? The traditional answer, but one that can be misleading, is that we are expressing our state of mind. Once this is said, two kinds of problems arise. Firstly, it may be suggested that the words are not always true. Perhaps this fear lies behind the move according to which the 1662 Prayer Book words are watered down into, 'We are truly sorry and repent of all our sins'. We may not feel, it is argued, that the burden of our sins is intolerable, and it is therefore false to say so. It need hardly be pointed out that this kind of argument can become a never-ending regress. For is it, then, always true, that, as Series 3 puts it, we repent of all our sins ? At all events, the conceptual model behind this language is too often taken to be that of externalizing some kind of map of our otherwise private and inner thoughts. This map, it is assumed, can either be true or false. But to say that an utterance can be true-or-false is at once to see it as the description of a state of affairs, as a proposition or statement. A confession or act of praise, it seems, is a descriptive progress-report on a state of mind. I shall argue that this approach is misleading. But before we look more closely at this type of language, we must also note a second difficulty. Theologically, it may be assumed that God is already aware of our states of mind. Hence, on the basis of this view, it would seem that acts of repentance or praise are merely, in the end, ways of giving God information that he already knows. When we put these two difficulties together, each seems to compound the other. Why bother to tell God what he already knows well, and thereby also risk being caught uttering hypocritical untruths ? The answer to this problem is that in using language in these ways we are not primarily reporting on our states of mind at all. Wittgenstein and Austin point to a more adequate account of the situation. Wittgenstein remarks that we must make 'a radical break with the idea that language always functions in one way, always serves the same purpose: to convey thoughts—-which may be about houses, pains, good and evil, or anything else you please'.1 He devotes many pages to discussing the issue. The words 'I am in pain', he observes, may not necessarily function as a report of an inner state, so much as a more sophisticated substitute for painbehaviour such as weeping or saying 'Ouch!' Imagine, Wittgenstein suggests, that we are trying to solve a mathematical problem. Suddenly we see it, and say'Now I know how to go on.' This is not, he urges, a description of a state of mind, but 'an exclamation; it corresponds to an instinctive sound, a glad start.'2 Wittgenstein admits that sometimes there may be borderline cases. The words 'I am afraid' may in certain settings function to describe a state of3 mind, but in many cases it will be like a cry, and 'a cry is not a description.' The key point about acts of adoration or acts of confession is that they are linguistic acts. 'When it is said in a funeral oration "We mourn o u r . . . " 1

L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Ibid, section 323. 3 Ibid. II, ix, p.189. 2

Investigations section 304.

17

L A N G U A G E , LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

this is surely supposed to be an expression of mourning; not to tell anything to those w h o are present.' 1 In the same way, 'We are truly sorry and repent' constitutes an act of repentance, not the communication of information. J. L. Austin examines this type of language in his valuable series of lectures How to do Things with Words. The category of language-uses in question is given the name 'performatives.' 1n a performative utterance the speaker is 'doing something rather than merely saying something.' 2 'The utterance is the performing of an action.' 3 If I say, for example, 'I give my watch to my brother', this could in certain circumstances be merely a descriptive report of what I am doing. But if it occurs in the context of a will, it is both more and also less than a descriptive statement. It is more than a statement, because it is actually doing or effecting something. It is also less, because 'true-or-false' cannot rightly be applied. Daily life contains many examples of performatives. For example, 'I bet £5 . . . ' , when I am actually making the bet, and not describing the action. 'I bid £20', when I am making the bid. When in the marriage service the bridegroom says 'I take you', he is not informing anyone about his inner intentions, but marrying his bride. When the shipping magnate's wife says 'I name this ship the St. Clair', she is not informing the crowd that whereas other people may call it the Mary Rose, her o w n inner inclination is to call it the St. Clair. She is actually doing the job of naming it. Three types of performatives are especially relevant to liturgy, namely those which Austin himself called commissives, behabitives, and exercitives. 4 'The whole point of a commissive is to commit the speaker to a certain course of action.' 6 This is what they do. Hence the words such as 'promise', 'vow', 'pledge" and 'undertake' fall into this sub-category. Behabitives include expressions of attitude and reactions to the acts of someone else. Thus they include thanking, blessing, cursing and praising. The exclamation 'God is good' may sometimes function not so much as a description of God or of an assent to a doctrine, but as an act of response to God's act. It is more than simply a true-or-false statement. We do not normally talk about true-or-false praise, true-or-false apologies, and so on, although we might talk about praise and apologies as being sincere or insincere. Whether an apology turned out to have been sincere will at least partly turn on subsequent conduct. In such we can ask: 'was the act of praise or apology consistent with subsequent acts?' Exercitives express a 'decision that something is to be so, as distinct from a judgment that it is so... It is an award, as opposed to an assessment.' 6 Examples are dedicating, naming, baptizing, proclaiming, warning, pardoning. It is important to note that exercitives do not do things simply by causal force. Austin is careful to underline this point, and Donald Evans also stresses its significance for theology. 7 A government decree may actually make certain actions legal or illegal. When such a decree is said to 'take 1 Ibid. 2 J. L. Austin, Philosophical Papers (Clarendon Press, 1961) p.222. 3 J. L. Austin, How to do Things with Words (Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1962) p.6. 4 Ibid, pp.150-163 5 Ibid, p.156. 6 Ibid. p. 154. ~> D. D. Evans, op.clt.. pp.68-78.

18

PERFORMATIVE LANGUAGE A N D FIRST-PERSON

UTTERANCES

effect', this does not depend on whether a given number of men actually change this attitude towards the actions in question, but only on whether the decree is null or properly enacted. In this sense, it is not the physical act of uttering a warning, or a pardon, or the baptism formula that actually 'does' anything, but the status of the pronouncement within the whole framework of pre-supposition, status, authority, and propriety on which the utterance depends for its performative force. I have argued this case with reference to certain cherished assumptions, which I believe to be wrong, about the supposed causal power of words of the Bible.1 In the same article I have also attacked and criticized certain widespread but mistaken views about the supposed power of blessings and cursings with particular reference to recent Biblical research on the subject. 2 Any idea of 'wordmagic' must be strenuously resisted, and I have argued this in detail. Since this force cannot be said to be merely causal, the effectiveness of performative utterances depends on a number of factors relevant to the speech-situation. Austin pays special attention to three types of necessary condition for their happy functioning. First, there must exist a relevant conventional procedure. Nowadays, for example, it would be no good my simply saying 'My seconds will call on you', because the conventions of duelling have died out. I can say 'I congratulate you', rather than 'Well done!' but I cannot say'I hereby insult you', because there is no convention for insulting people by that means. Nor is there any procedure, for instance, for ordaining dogs into holy orders. Secondly, the procedure, if it exists, must be carried out correctly and completely. Have I completed the procedure of betting when I say 'I b e t . . . " unless the other person says 'You're on' ? Thirdly, the speaker must be the person appointed to do the job. It is no use my arriving in the middle of the night and breaking the bottle against the ship with the words 'I name . . . ', if it is the shipping magnate's wife who is due to do it next day. This last point raises theological questions when it is connected with acts of blessing or absolution. In the view of many worshippers, if a woman Free Church minister gave an absolution it would be like someone's saying in a game 'I pick George', and George's shrugging it off with the words 'Not playing.' 3 It would be as if I myself were to find some old rowing boat and were to declare, 'I name this ship the Queen Elizabeth.' Many Protestant-minded worshippers would in any case tend to view all absolutions as declarations rather than as performatives. Thus Series 3 Morning Prayer does in practice allow for both possibilities: (1) 'Almighty God . . . forgive you your sins'; (2) 'Hear. . . the assurance of pardon: Your sins are forgiven . . .' Perhaps radicals who have minimal theological convictions would translate the meaning of any form into 'Let's stop worrying.' What an absolution means depends on what the community is actually doing. Thus, once again, the moral to be drawn is that the worshipping community should know what it is doing, and that what it is doing should match its own theological convictions. The liturgical reformer faces therefore two 1

A. C. Thiselton, 'The Supposed Power of Words in the Biblical Writings' in Journal of Theological Studies 25 (1974) pp.283-99. 2 Cf. further G. Wehmeier, Der Segen im A/ten Testament-Eine Semasio/ogische Untersuchung der Wurzet brk. (Reinhardt, Basel, 1 9 7 0 ) pp.75-97 et passim. 3 Or like Caligula making his horse consul. 19

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

problems in connexion with performatives. On the one hand he must try to mark them as such. This is a difficult task, for Austin himself pointed out that grammarians fail to note this language-use, and that we reach 'an impasse over any single simple criterion of grammar or vocabulary'.1 There are, however, certain linguistic devises used for example in legal language for 'operative' speech, such as the insertion of the word 'hereby'. On the other hand, the liturgical reformer must first satisfy himself as to whether the theology of the community would allow for the use of performative language in this or that case. Sufficient room must be left, if necessary by providing for the use of alternative options, to allow the community's language to do what the community itself actually does. One or two further comments may now be added about wider uses of first-person utterances that are not specifically performatives in the narrower or more explicit sense of the term. Wittgenstein noted that in the case of certain verbs a logical asymmetry exists between their meanings when they occur in the first person and the third person. It makes sense to say, 'I wonder whether he is in pain'; but it would be nonsense to exclaim, 'I wonder whether / am in pain'.2 It makes sense to say 'He believes it, but it is false.' But it would be self-contradicting to say '/ believe it, but it is false.' Wittgenstein observes, 'If there were a verb meaning "to believe falsely", it would not have any significant first person present indicative.' He draws the moral, 'My own relation to my words is wholly different from other people's.'3 The point of Wittgenstein's observations is that if the words 'I believe . . . are to have any cash-value, they must have the backing of appropriate attitudes and actions in daily life. 'I believe' functions not only as a word which introduces a descriptive content, but also as that which gives it the speaker's personal guarantee. Urmson discusses this question of the degree to which the speaker stakes his own judgment, in his essay on 'Parenthetical Verbs'. The sentence 'I believe that God is good' can be translated into the form of an assertion, but even then the parenthetical verb expresses a 4degree of stake or support on the speaker's part: 'God, I believe, is good.' On the other hand 'I believe in ...' cannot be translated into a parenthesis at all. 'I believe in God . . .' does not merely assert something about God, or even about the speaker's mental state. It is both, an evaluation of God as trustworthy, and also a pledge of loyalty. A number of philosophers, including H. H. Price, question whether the word 'belief refers primarily to an inner mental state at all.5 Does a believer stop 'believing' when he is asleep, or when his mind is occupied with other things? When we say, 'he believes', this seems to amount in practice to 'a series of conditional statements describing what he would be likely to say or do or feel if such and such circumstances were to arise'.6 For example, he would contradict the speaker if someone denied the belief, or at least feel 1 J . L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words pp.4 and 59. 2 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations sections 246-53 and 403-9. 3 Ibid., II x, pp.190 and 192 (my italics). 4 Cf. J . 0. Urmson, "Parenthetical Verbs' in Mind (1952) p.p.480-96, rp. in A. Flew (ed.) Essays in Conceptual Analysis (Macmillan, London, 1956) pp.192-212. 5 Cf. H. H. Price, Belief (Allen and Unwin, London 1969). 6 Ibid. p.20; cf. L. Wittgenstein, Zettel sections 486-505 on joy, love, and fear.

20

PERFORMATIVE

LANGUAGE

AND

FIRST-PERSON

UTTERANCES

distress; he w o u l d act o n the assumption that his belief was true; and so on. The w o r d s '/ believe' have still less to do w i t h mental states. They are not 'autobiographical information', not a description of a state of m i n d ; but 'a public act of self-commitment'. Indeed they may also serve the overlapping language-function of 'inviting our hearers to accept w h a t w e believe', since w e intend at the same time to hold forth the 'guaranteegiving' character of our confession of faith. 1 In respect of creeds V. H. Neufeld strikes an admirable balance in his valuable w o r k on the creeds in the N e w Testament. Primarily, he argues, early Christian confessions f u n c t i o n as 'a personal declaration of faith . . . an acclamation'. But they also contain an important element of descriptive content. 2 Confessions are both testimony and statement. Once again, it w o u l d be an advantage if the w o r s h i p p i n g c o m m u n i t y were made aware of w h a t it is d o i n g w i t h its words. It is probably misleading in this connexion to d r a w t o o strong a contrast between liturgical w o r d s and physical liturgical acts, as if to imply that first-person utterances were other than acts themselves, w h i c h depend for their intelligibility and consistency on the wider 'backing' of the speaker's every-day life. 3 W e earlier remarked in connexion w i t h questions about continuity and tradition that the phrase ' G o d of our fathers' w a s not just a pious slogan, but a positive contribution to the problem of communication. The same might n o w be said of the relation between first person performatives or confessions and life. Thus relationship to everyday life is not merely a matter of piety or sincerity. It concerns the intelligibility, sense, or meaning, or w h a t is being said. Wittgenstein has a series of examples w h i c h s h o w that certain utterances make sense only against a certain background of life. 4 W h a t w o u l d 'pain' mean if I said 'I think I feel intense pain, but I am not sure ?' W h a t w o u l d 'love' mean if I said, 'I loved you greatly at 3 o'clock, but it had w o r n off by 3.10' ? 5 In all these cases, Wittgenstein s h o w s us, it is not unreasonable to say that w h a t is meant depends on the form of life in w h i c h the w o r d s are embedded. Wittgenstein remarks, for example, 'only someone w h o can reflect on the past can repent.' 6 W e have tried to s h o w in this chapter that certain types of first person utterances are especially sensitive in this respect. Liturgies use a multiplicity of language that is self-involving and c o m missive. It bids the worshipper engage in acts: in pledges, in pardonings, in promises, in guarantees, in acceptances; in acts of repentance, in acts of worship. Often it needs to be made more clear that these are not primarily descriptions of mental states, and some of the involvements w h i c h are implied should be unpacked. It is impossible to be only a spectator, and yet use self-involving language w i t h meaning. W h e n performative language is employed, it must be adapted closely to the theology of the c o m m u n i t y w h i c h is asked to use it. 1 Ibid. p p . 2 9 - 3 1 . 2 (Brill, Leiden, 1 9 6 3 ) p . 1 4 4 et passim. V. H. N e u f e l d , The Earliest Christian Confessions Of. D. M . H i g h , op.cit.. p p . 1 1 3 - 1 2 6 , o n t h i s n o t i o n of ' b a c k i n g ' . Cf. also L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Zettei s e c t i o n s 1 4 3 - 4 . 4 See for e x a m p l e L. W i t t g e n s t e i n Philosophical Investigations sections 246, 250, 2 6 8 - 9 , 2 7 1 , 2 8 2 - 9 ; a n d II i, p . 1 7 4 a n d Zettei s e c t i o n s 4 7 2 - 5 7 4 . 5 Cf. L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Zettei. s e c t i o n 5 0 4 . 6 Ibid, s e c t i o n 5 1 9 . 3

21

4. LINGUISTIC SYMBOLS We have noted that liturgy embodies a large variety of language-functions which cannot be classified as flat descriptive statements. But we have not yet exhausted the resources of this type of language. Symbols constitute another type of speech which, although they often find expression superficially in the form of propositions, do not, at least according to some writers, function as cognitive statements at all. Paul Tillich declares, 'Religious symbols . . . are a representation of that which is unconditionally beyond the conceptual sphere . . . Religious symbols represent the transcendent'. Not only do they point to what is transcendent, but according to Tillich they themselves transcend to cognitive realm that 'is split into subjectivity and objectivity'. 1 Tillich is perhaps more persuasive than any other single writer in setting out a plausible case for the indispensable use of verbal symbols in all speech about God. Firstly, the main reason behind Tillich's pre-occupation with symbols is his belief that God cannot remain God if w e try to describe him by means of concepts. Such is God's otherness or transcendence, that he cannot be located and identified on our map of concepts. Hence, Tillich declares, 'the centre of my theological doctrine of knowledge is the concept of symbol.' 2 The second reason put forward by Tillich for the value of symbols is that he believes that there is a sickness and confusion of modern consciousness stemming from the decay of images or symbols that once had vital power. Tillich here follows conclusions drawn from the psychology of Jung; and a similar emphasis can also be found in such writers as Eliade and Jaspers. The end result of this neglect of symbols and their loss of power, Jung predicts, is paralysis and breakdown. Jung explains the reason for this: Symbols are vital for the necessary interplay of conscious and unconscious. Thus a sacrament, according to Tillich, 'grasps our unconscious as well as our conscious being. It grasps the creative ground of our being.' 3 This has special point within the particular framework of Tillich's o w n system, for the unconscious is said to point to God, w h o is the Ground of our Being. Thirdly, symbols like signs, point beyond themselves, although the same can be said about analogies, models, myths, or metaphors. However, a symbol differs from a sign because, according to Tillich, it 'participates in that to which it points.' 4 In attempting to explain this pivotal point he suggests the analogy of how a flag participates in the dignity of the nation. It is true that in merely discursive language we step back, as it were, from the subject-matter under description. In this sense symbolic language has the same kind of immediacy as poetry, and this is partly what Tillich means. Too often, he says, we are tempted to spoil a poem by 'explaining' it in terms of philosophical concepts, when 'one cannot do this. If one uses philosophical language or scientific language, it does not mediate the same thing which is mediated in the use of really poetic language without a mixture of any other language.' 5 1

2

3

4 5

P. Tillich, 'The Religious Symbol' in S. Hook (ed.) Religious Experiences and Truth (Oliver and Boyd, Edinburgh, 1 962) p.303. P. Tillich, 'Reply' in C. W. Kegley and R. W. Bretall (eds.) The Theology of Paul Tillich (MacMillan, New York, 1964) p.333. P. Tillich, The Shaking of the Foundations (Penguin, London, 1962) p.86; cf. also F. W. Dillistone, Christianity and Symbolism (Collins, London, 1955) pp.285-90. P. Tillich, Theology of Culture pp.54-5; and Dynamics of Faith p.42. P. Tillich, Theology ot Culture, p.57.

22

LINGUISTIC

SYMBOLS

Fourthly, Tillich insists, firstly, however, that symbols create the very capacity needed to appreciate them. 'Every symbol is two-edged. It opens up reality, and it opens the soul.' 'It opens up hidden depths of our own being.' 1 Symbols can be terrifying in their power. They can create, heal, and integrate life; or they can lead to destruction, disruption, and disintegration. The fifth point is that, with Jung, Tillich believes that symbols 'grow out of the individual or collective unconscious and cannot function without being accepted by the unconscious dimension of our being.' Hence, 'like living beings they grow and die.' Religious symbols, no less than others, should strike a note of rapport with man's unconscious, opening up experiences of 'depth' for him. 'If a religious symbol has ceased to have this function, then it dies.'2 This is of great significance for discussions of symbols in liturgy, including that of hymns. What is the power for to-day of the symbols of 'king', lord', 'father', 'shepherd' ? If symbols are to be used in liturgy, including hymns and preaching, it is essential to assess their strengths and weaknesses, and their overall role in language. 3 They have great power. Who can fail to respond to the symbol of the garden of Paradise, the inaccessible Eden, the tree of life whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, the light shining forth into the darkness ? Not to use symbols like these in liturgy or in preaching is to fight with one hand tied behind one's back. The Biblical writers make full use of this kind of symbolism, as Farrer, Thornton and Fawcett have reminded us.4 There are at least two possible explanations for the power of such symbols, which are not mutually exclusive. Jung may be correct in seeing these archetypal images as meeting responses from the depths of man's collective unconscious. The symbolism of darkness and monsters draws its power from days before the advent of electric light and machine-guns, as do dreams and nightmares. Alternatively our own earliest childhood memories, perhaps on the threshold of conscious recall, concern such very basic experiences of trauma or delight as that of being shut in, or shut out, by the closed door; of having the light come to chase away the shadows and phantoms of night; of drinking cool sparkling water on a hot summer's day; of having feasts, parties, or holidays. Within the terms which we have discussed in the first chapter, nothing could be more natural than to draw language from settings which reflect the most disturbing, delightful, or profound experiences of childhood and ordinary life, in order to describe religious realities which are no less profound, disturbing or delightful. Symbols, then, are powerful, and perform valuable functions in calling forth engagement and response on the part of the hearer as well as in serving any more descriptive purpose that they can also achieve. Nevertheless, they also suffer from fundamental limitations, and cannot serve as adequate substitutes for cognitive discourse. 1 2 3

4

Ibid, a n d Dynamics of Faith, p.43. P. T i l l i c h , Theology of Culture p.59, a n d Dynamics of Faith, loc. cit.. For t h e s p e c i f i c q u e s t i o n of Tillich's v i e w of s y m b o l s cf. A. C. T h i s e l t o n , 'The T h e o l o g y of Paul T i l l i c h ' in The Churchman 88 (1974) pp.86-107. A. Farrer, A Study in St. Mark ( D a c r e Press, L o n d o n , 1 9 5 1 ) a n d The Revelation of St. John the Divine (Clarendon Press, O x f o r d , 1 9 6 4 ) ; a n d T. F a w c e t t . Hebrew Myth and Christian Gospel ( S . C . M . L o n d o n , 1 9 7 3 ) , a n d The Symbolic Language of Religion ( S . C . M . L o n d o n , 1 9 7 0 ) . Cf. also G. Cope, Symbolism in the Bible and in the Church ( S . C . M . L o n d o n 1 9 5 9 ) .

23

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MEANING

Firstly, to acknowledge the power of symbols is not to say anything about their truth. Sufferers of certain mental illnesses, Edwyn Bevan points out, may see an added symbolic significance in anything or everything. Often they see 'things around them charged with a meaning which is sinister and terrifying . . . As they look at a table or a door, they are horribly afraid.' 1 Paul Tillich in particular does not pay enough attention to the difficulty that what may erupt from the unconscious is not necessarily the voice of God, but a chaos of images which have no basis in reality. The Biblical writers and Christian tradition are thoroughly aware of the deceitfulness of man's 'heart'. Symbols have power, but they may be variously used and interpreted. However, as soon as we begin to talk not about symbols as such, but about their use, we have moved back again into a more reflective and cognitive employment of language. Secondly, as Anders Jeffner rightly points out, Tillich's pivotal idea that a symbol, unlike a sign, somehow 'participates in' what it symbolizes is so ambiguous and ill-defined as to be described by Jeffner as 'not at all clear' and even 'very embarrassing.' 2 We have suggested that it may partly be understood in terms of the immediacy of symbols, but clearly Tillich intends to convey more than this by the idea. The problem is that language depends for its meaning only on convention—so no 'natural' connexion between language and reality can be asserted. Then, thirdly, there are questions about use. It may seem as if 'white', for example, is necessarily symbolic of purity, or goodness. But in practice its use is culturally conditioned. This is not to deny the power of symbols, but it is to resist basing this power on primitive nations of word-magic. 3 The practical lesson which follows about liturgy is that, as w e shall see, symbols function with proper effect only when their use, or meaning, is explained. For whilst a symbol may powerfully convey some kind of meaning, only a particular use of that symbol may powerfully convey the particular meaning that is the right meaning. A fourth source of difficulty is Tillich's admission that symbols as such cannot convey 'information about what God did once upon a time or will do sometime in the future.' 4 They do not describe or report historical states of affairs, in Tillich's view. The implications of this are easily worked out. All this implies that linguistic symbols perform valuable and indeed indispensable functions as supplementary tools of language alongside other uses. There is, in one sense, an element of magic and of timelessness about the Christian message, and symbols are needed to convey this. But in another sense the Gospel is neither magic nor timeless. It concerns acts of God enacted at particular times and in particular places. This aspect can only be portrayed by cognitive discursive language, and liturgy must include this family of language-uses as well as the many others which w e have noted. All the available resources of language should be used in liturgy, but symbols must not outrun their o w n appropriate function. 1 2 3

4

E. Bevan, Symbolism and Belief (Fontana ed. London 1962) p.244. A Jeffner, op. cit.. p.57. Cf. my detailed criticisms of w o r d - m a g i c in A. C. Thiselton, 'The Supposed Power of Words in the Biblical Writings', toe. cit. P. Tillich, Dynamics of Faith, p.47.

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5. METAPHOR, MYTH AND NARRATIVE One initial problem which arises is that of attempting to draw distinctons between symbol, metaphor, and myth. Metaphors, like symbols, feature among the most powerful tools available in language. They are not merely illustrative devices. They can either help a man or else lead him astray, by letting him 'see' things in certain ways. If he 'sees' the Christian life as a pilgrimage, he may well be better prepared to face hardships and difficulties, and find himself directed to consider its final goal. If he 'sees' the Bible as a sword, he will expect its words to have a cutting edge. But metaphors, or models, or pictures, can also mislead us. Wittgenstein writes 'A picture (ein Bild) held us captive'. T h e picture was the key. Oritseemerflike a key.'1 The very power of metaphors makes this problem more serious. In his notes entitled On Certainty Wittgenstein discusses how certain ways of looking at the world or at life can lie at the basis of all our thinking. These constitute, as it were, 'hinges' on which other beliefs turn. They are the 'scaffolding' of our intellectual lives; they form a 'foundation for research and action'.2 They are like the axis around which a body rotates.3 These fundamental axioms may themselves however, take the form of pictures, metaphors, or models. One man's religion and philosophy of life may revolve round the fixed point that life is a journey; that God is a stern father; that the Church is his mother; that he is a servant trading to make more talents; that he is a guardian of the flock against grievous wolves. A single metaphor, or set of metaphors, may take hold of a man. It seems like a key; and he passes under its control, C. S. Lewis draws a distinction in this connexion between what he calls master's metaphor and pupil's metaphor.4 In the case of the master's metaphor we may search deliberately for a metaphor which is likely to help someone else. We have other ways of expressing the idea, and we remain fully aware that our use of language is metaphorical. However, a pupil's metaphor is not shown, but 'found'. Our understanding is bound up with the metaphor, and in due course we can become 'entirely at the mercy of the metaphor'. If we forget that it is metaphor, we are seduced into speaking nonsense. Metaphors, then, cannot be allowed to run wild. They are too powerful and too dangerous. Nevertheless to try to tame and flatten all metaphors is to rob language of a certain raw energy which it needs if it is to capture men's imaginations and wills. Four points may be made. Firstly, metaphors should not merely be replaced by flat prosaic similes or abstract statements. A live metaphor presupposes a well-established use of language (often called the literal meaning) and then extends this use in a way which enables language to express a new 1

L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 115; and Zette! section 240. (his italics). 2 L. Wittgenstein, On Certainty (Blackwell, Oxford, 1969) sections 87, 211, 343, and 655. 3 Ibid, section 152. 4 C. S. Lewis, 'Bluspels and Flalansferes' in M. Black (ed.) The Importance of Language (Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, N. J., 1962) pp.36-50. 25

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

truth. Two things are achieved by this. On the one hand, as we have said, the hearer now 'sees' something in a new light. On the other hand, the new language-use stands in a relation of tension and often ambiguity to the old, and this tension provokes the hearer into some kind of reaction. In this sense, a metaphor is something which one 'sees' for oneself. This is of course no longer the case with dead metaphor, where a new habit of language-use has already become well-established in its own right. Probably language about the Bible as a sword has long since become dead metaphor. Hence it fulfills the first function of letting a man 'see' the Bible in a certain light; but it fails in the second function of provoking a reaction or response. Secondly, often we have to choose between reducing the force of a metaphor and leaving a certain open-endedness or ambiguity. An example of this problem may be considered by comparing the way in which Today's English Version of the Bible consistently softens the force of Biblical metaphors because it aims above all else at clarity of meaning. Thus 'put on Christ' (Gal. 3.27) becomes 'take upon themselves the qualities of Christ.' Readers are no longer left to ask the question for themselves: how does one 'put on' not new clothes, but a person ? The ambiguity has been removed, but so has the self-involvement and appeal for a reaction. Even normally dead metaphors like 'hand of the Lord' (Acts 11.21), which may not be dead to everyone, are rendered 'power of the Lord'. The powerful metaphor 'Pass from me this cup' (Luke 22.42) is flattened for sake of clarity into 'free me from having to suffer this trial'. In liturgy it is probably necessary to attempt to follow a middle course between the two extremes. If language is so highly metaphorical as to be naturally unintelligible to the average worshipper, it defeats its own ends. For it cannot be conveying meaning powerfully, if not conveying meaning at all. The third point is less basic, but is perhaps worth making briefly. We have alluded to the creation of a necessary tension between established meanings (literal use) and new or extended meanings (metaphorical use). Too great a degree of tension, however, can exceed the limits of aesthetic taste, and simply cause embarrassment. The 'point' of a good metaphor is as delicate and difficult to achieve as the point of a good joke. Hymn-writers and composers of prayers should be especially cautious about the use of twentieth-century technology as a source of metaphors. Work that survives the great fire day may indeed be gold, but hardly asbestos. The Church may be without spot or wrinkle, but it is hardly clothed in white acrylic. The Holy Spirit may search the depths, but he is hardly the believer's radar or sonar. This is because, firstly, too great a tension is set up between the two different language-uses, and secondly, this is further aggravated by the problem of register.The term register is a standard one in general linguistics. The register of speech used by a door-to-door salesman in Mayfair will be different from that used on the same business in Deptford; and each will be different from the register employed in the same area by a close friend on a social visit. Metaphors involving asbestos, sonar, polyester, acrylics, ceramics and plastics span too great a gap both in logical extension and in stylistic register. They are like a joke which is too far-fetched quite to come off. The fourth point is as important as the first. Metaphors must never be misleadingly over-extended, so that their metaphorical status is forgotten. 26

METAPHOR, MYTH AND NARRATIVE

Let us imagine that the c o m m u n i t y calls the Spirit the w i n d . It then prays for the Spirit to b l o w . W i n d is refreshing, invigorating, p o w e r f u l and so on. But in hymns, prayers, or sermons, it may also be suggested that the Christian o r t h e Christian c o m m u n i t y is a sailing ship, w h i c h the Spirit b l o w s along and powers. The metaphor is then extended in order to attack another; w e are not like oarsmen toiling to provide our o w n power. W e must let g o and let God. The metaphor has n o w become backing for a doctrine. The same applies, Ian Ramsey pointed out, about metaphors of 'pressure' or 'waves' w h e n applied to prayer. The metaphor itself provides plausibility for a particular doctrine, namely that the greater the number of people w h o pray, and the longer the period they pray for, the more God is likely to be 'moved' into action. Plumbing metaphors are used to suggest that 'sin' can block the pipe that f l o w s f r o m God, a kind of perfectionism. W e have said that metaphors should not be abandoned. However, most metaphors serve t o provide one w a y of seeing life, w h i c h should not be taken for a total v i e w . Other metaphors are also needed to cancel off those implications of the original metaphor w h i c h do not correspond to truth. If the Spirit b l o w s like w i n d , and men are powered by his breath, it should not be forgotten that men are also called to labour. If prayer seeros to mean an exertion of pressure, God is also the loving father w h o gives before w e ask. If w e are linked to God by means of a pipe w h i c h can be blocked, w e are also planted together w i t h Christ so that roots inextricably intertwine. It is the task of metaphor, like symbol, to speak to the heart, and d r a w us into seeing things in certain ways. It is then the task of theology to explain the relations b e t w e e n sets of metaphors w h i c h appear t o compete. But there must be different sets of metaphors. Otherwise, in Wittgenstein's words, a mere picture can seduce us, can b e w i t c h us and lead us astray; and the picture may hold us captive. The four sets of considerations suggest that responsibility is crucial in the use of metaphors, not least in prayers, hymns, and homilies. 1

Myth is no less p o w e r f u l than symbol or metaphor. Indeed m y t h is basically symbol or metaphor expressed in the form of a story. I have discussed the problems of defining m y t h in another place, together w i t h questions about the extent to w h i c h the Bible draws on myth, and also about Bultmann's programme of demythologizing. 2 Three or four characteristics of myth are not usually disputed: that it occurs in narrative f o r m a n d usually concerns the deeds of supernatural beings; and that w i t h i n their o w n c o m m u n i t y (even if not in others) they possess the status of believed truth. There are many possible approaches to myth, but t w o kinds of approach stand in particular contrast t o each other. Eliade, Jaspers, and J u n g , together w i t h Berdyaev and Urban, insist that myth has positive value even for modern man. It performs similar roles to those w h i c h , w e have seen, 1

2

On metaphor in general cf. W. P. Alston, op. cit.. pp.96-106; C. M. Turbayne The Myth of Metaphor (Yale University Press, New Haven, 1962); M. B. Hester, The Meaning of Poetic Metaphor (Mouton, The Hague, 1967) pp.114-92; and M. Black Models and Metaphors (Cornell University Press, Ithaca, New York, 1962), pp.25-47. A. C. Thiselton, 'Myth, Mythology' in M. C. Tenney (ed.) The Zondervan Pictorial Encyclopaedia of the Bible (Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1975) vol. 4 pp.333-43. 27

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MEANING

some of these writers associate with symbols. But Eliade, in particular, goes further than this. According to the mythical concept of time, he urges, the great archetypal events of the past are repeated, re-enacted, or reactualised in such a way as to shape, and give meaning to, the present.1 This approach has close connexions with the 'myth and ritual' approach in Old Testament studies of the nineteen-twenties and thirties, found especially in the writings of S. Mowinckel, S. H. Hooke and A. Bentzen. In the liturgical ritual of certain Psalms, for example, Bentzen writes, 'Israel experienced a repetition of the events at the Creation of the world— God's fight against the powers of Chaos, the primeval ocean, Rahab, the Dragon, and their attendant hosts of demons. The Divine fight ends in the defeat of the enemies of God . . . To "remember" the saving facts of religions means to the Ancient World that these facts are tangibly experienced. . . . The religious experience involved is best illustrated from the Toman Mass and the Lutheran interpretation of the Communion Service.'2 In Eliade's words, the passion of Christ is 're-actualized' in liturgy and especially in the eucharist. 'Christianity, by the very fact that it is a religion, has had to preserve at least one mythic attitude—the attitude towards liturgical time.' 3 The second kind of approach to myth which we shall mention is the very opposite of this. As early as in the eighteenth century Lowth, followed later by Heyne, insisted that mythical attitudes represent merely prescientific ways of understanding the world. Hartlich and Sachs have shown how this approach grew into a whole tradition of scholarship. 4 Levy Brühl, for example, sees myth as a 'pre-logical' attitude which regards the world as being peopled with 'forces'. In particular Rudolf Bultmann insists that myth reflects a world-view which is now obsolete, and incompatable with modern culture. Thus myth portrays divine transcendence spatially, as if God were 'up' above the sky. The use of myth in Christian proclamation makes the Gospel 'incredible to modern man, for he is convinced that the mythical view of the world is obsolete . . . Theology must undertake the task of stripping the Kerygma from its mythical framework, of 'demythologizing' it.' 5 Perhaps the deepest problem about myth for Bultmann is its method of 'objectification', which actually obscures the thrust of the Gospel. For example, God's word of address to men 'Act responsibly', takes the outward form of an apparently descriptive statement about a last judgment in the remote future. The message that Christ comes 'to me' takes the form of a descriptive account of the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven. Such language, Bultmann insists, must be translated into a form which better fits the existential or 'present' thrust of the Gospel. 'Myth should be interpreted not cosmologically, but anthropologically, or better existentially.' 6 1

M. Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return (rp. as Cosmos and History. Harper and Row, New York, 1959); and Myths, Dreams, and Mysteries (Fontana, ed. London, 1968) pp.27-31. 2 A. Bentzen, King and Messiah (Eng. Lutterworth, London, 1955) pp.11-12. 3 M. Eliade, Myths, Dreams and Mysteries p.30. 4 C. Hartlich and W. Sachs, Der Ursprung des Mythosbegriffes in der modernen Bibelwissenschaft (Mohr, Tubingen, 1952) especially pp.6-19 and 148-64. 5 R. Bultmann, 'New Testament and Mythology' in H. W. Bartsch (ed.) Kerygma and Myth vol. 1, p.3 (his italics). 6 Ibid. p. 10.

28

METAPHOR, MYTH AND NARRATIVE

Both these two different approaches, I believe, contain half-truths. Each says something of value; but each, taken as it stands, is wrong. Bultmann rightly sees that objectifying language can obscure the dimension of personal address but it is wrong to suppose that descriptive language can be translated into language about man exhaustively and without remainder, (even granted the givenness of the event of the cross, which Bultmann retains). Conversely, Eliade is right to point out the powerfully self-involving function of such mythical imagery. But the view of God's acts in history which is central to the Hebrew-Christian tradition seems to be incompatable with what is suggested about liturgical or mythical time, and with the fact that myth in the Bible functions only as 'broken' myth. Bultmann is correct when in his sermons he expounds the message of the last judgment in such a way that it makes an impact on the hearer here and now. But we saw in our earlier discussion of 'he ascended into heaven' that all self-involving utterances have this character, whether or not we describe them as myth. In this respect Bultmann seems to be doing little more than underlining the point noted by Calvin that speech about God is also speech about man. The question is whether it is only speech about man. Ian G. Barbour rightly comments 'I would grant that God is not encountered apart from personal involvement, without granting that God's action is limited to the sphere of selfhood.'1 There is of course, more to be said on both sides. Bultmann states two things about myth. In terms of form, myth is 'the use of imagery to express the other worldly in terms of this world.'2 This is the part of his definition which, if adequate, would not only equate myth with symbol and analogy; but also, asThielicke and others point out, would make myth indispensable to any speech about God. 3 But Bultmann also defines myth in terms of a given content: 'Supernatural forces intervene in the course of nature . . . Man is not in control of his own life.'4 In Bultmann's view it is this second aspect which makes myth pre-scientific. This view, however, can be challenged, and Wolfhart Pannenberg among others, expresses a very different viewpoint. He writes, The acceptance of divine intervention in the course of events . . . is fundamental to every religious understanding of the world, including one that is not mythical in the sense that comparative religion uses the term.' Not even the 'threestorey' world-view is specifically mythical, according to Pannenberg.5 We should be cautious about allowing the argument: myth represents a prescientific world-view; belief in divine interventions in life is mythological; therefore, belief in supernatural events is incompatible with a modern world-view. In addition to these difficulties, the linguistic consequences of demythologizing must be carefully examined. It simply does not have the same 1 2 3

4 5

Ian G. Barbour, Myths, Models and Paradigms (S.C.M. London, 1974) p.27. R. Bultmann, 'New Testament and Mythology' loc. cit., p.10. For a detailed critique see A. C. Thiselton, The Two Horizons, pp.252-92. H. Thielicke, 'The Restatement of New Testament Mythology' in H. W. Bartsch (ed.) op. cit., vol. 1 pp.138-74; and especially The Evangelical Faith (Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1974) pp.66-114. R. Bultmann, loc. cit., p.1. W. Pannenberg, 'Myth in Biblical and Christian Tradition' in Basic Questions in Theology vol. 3. (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1973) pp.14 and 67. 29

LANGUAGE,

LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

meaning, or linguistic value and function, to say 'Live responsibly', as to say both 'Live responsibly' and 'There is a last judgment'. Bultmann is right when he insists that language about the Lordship of Christ means that Christ is/77/ Lord; that I am his slave. This is the self-involving aspect of the confession 'Christ is Lord'. But when the New Testament associates his Lordship with cosmic victory, it also makes a descriptive statement, that Christ is the Lord, that he is Lord of the Church, that he is Lord of all. This cannot be translated exhaustively and without remainder into personal existential terms. The relevance of demythologizing to liturgy has been touched on briefly by J. L. Houlden. 1 He is right to point out that too often the acts of God as described in liturgy can be interpreted as mere past acts. But we do not have an alternative between stressing the past and the present, the cosmic and the individual, the supernatural and the everyday. W e need both language about the cosmic Lordship of Christ and even the last judgment; and language about my own slavehood and my present responsibility. I have suggested that we should also be cautious about the claims made by Eliade and others concerning notions of mythical or liturgical time. Whilst such claims may be made perhaps for particular religions, the kind of approach represented by Hooke, Mowinckel and Bentzen is certainly not uncontroversial today in Old Testament studies. Ideas about anamnesis, or remembering, in terms of tangible re-enactment are precarious grounds on which to base a whole doctrine and practice of the eucharist. In this respect many of the 'agreed" statements about the eucharist remain open to question. 2 Questions about myth in the Old Testament are too complex to be discussed here in detail. Elsewhere, however, I have examined the Old Testament material, and I conclude, that whilst the Old Testament writings certainly use mythical imagery, it is put to a use which is not primarily mythical. More attention should be paid, I believe, to the relation between myth and metaphor, the distinction between vocabulary and language-function, and to the question of whether certain Old Testament views of time and salvation-history are not incompatible with myth as such. 3 A s B. S. Childs rightly argues, this mythical imagery functions as 'broken' myth. Reality is determined ' n o t . . . in a series of primeval acts, but . . . through the redemptive activity of God working in history.' 4 Liturgy will include mythological imagery rather than myth as such, Broken myth is myth that is harnessed and used in accordance with reflective theology of the community. It still retains much of its symbolic, metaphorical, self-involving power; but it remains the servant of the community's life, not its master. When language is viewed as man's master, as it is for example in the later philosophy of Martin Heidegger, 1

J. L. H o u l d e n ' L i t u r g y a n d her C o m p a n i o n s : A T h e o l o g i c a l Appraisal' in R. C. D. Jasper, The Eucharist Today. Studies on Series 3 (S.P.C.K. L o n d o n , 1 9 7 4 ) p p . 1 7 2 - 3 . E.g. in Modern Eucharistic Agreement (S.P.C.K. L o n d o n , 1 9 7 3 ) p p . 2 7 (the A n g l i c a n R o m a n C a t h o l i c I n t e r n a t i o n a l C o m m i s s i o n , W i n d s o r 1 9 7 1 ) ; 5 8 ( G r o u p of Les D o m b e s , 1 9 7 2 ) a n d especially 8 4 - 5 ( S t a t e m e n t of t h e Faith a n d Order C o m m i s s i o n of the W o r l d C o u n c i l of Churches, L o u v a i n , 1 9 7 1 ) . 3 A. C. T h i s e l t o n , ' M y t h , M y t h o l o g y ' loc. cit, 4 B. S. Childs, Myth and Reality in the Old Testament ( S . C . M . L o n d o n , 2 1 9 6 2 ) p p . 4 2 - 3 , 64, 7 8 et passim.

2

30

METAPHOR, MYTH A N D

NARRATIVE

fresh sets of problems arise over the relation between language and truth. It is no advantage for language to f u n c t i o n w i t h power, if it leads men a w a y from truth. 1 Some c o m m e n t s must be made, finally, o n narrative and story. These f u n c t i o n in a distinctive way. They are self-involving, as w e l l as merely descriptive; but above all their particularity makes room for a distinctively personal dimension in the use of language. The importance of story-telling in religion seems suddenly to be receiving widespread attention, especially in the United States. The point is stressed, however, from t w o very different viewpoints. Harvey Cox in The Seduction of the Spirit and Sam Keen in To a Dancing God stress the value of man's telling his own story. Worship and theology. Cox suggests, should include personal testimony: I say h o w it is w i t h me. 2 This stands in contrast to the idea of deriving 'theology' secondhand f r o m the HebrewChristian tradition. On the other hand, the importance of story is stressed equally by a number of scholars w h o call attention to the story-like character of so much of the Biblical material. Thus Hans Frei entitles his very recent book on the subject The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative.3 Alluding to the Bible and its role in the modern w o r l d , James Barr asserts, 'Christian faith is not a set of ideas or a pattern of imagery; it may include these but they are not its essence. The essence is a set of historical f a c t s — w i t h , w e must add, an interpretation of t h e m in faith.' 4 These considerations are of fundamental importance for liturgy. As J . L. Houlden points out, 'In liturgy Christians must seek to avoid the risk of simply "expressing themselves": they must express . . . the faith w h i c h has grasped them.' This includes 'a thankful rehearsal of the "acts " o f God in man's salvation.' 5 This aspect should embrace all acts of w o r s h i p not only t h r o u g h creeds but also through narrative Bible reading; and it should certainly not be confined to the eucharist alone, in w h i c h , to my mind, w e should strictly be concerned not w i t h a w h o l e series of saving acts but more narrowly w i t h the event of the cross. However, w e may n o w make a more specifically linguistic point about narrative. W h e n w e are talking about persons and personal acts, w e are not concerned w i t h mere cases, numbers, or members of classes, but w i t h a 'thou' w h o is unique. Modern society threatens to depersonalize man, to make him a mere cog in the social or economic machine, a mere unit of c o n s u m p t i o n or production. His personhood is lost w h e n he is v i e w e d as simply a case in the doctor's records or a statistic on the planner's chart. 1

I have discussed this issue in A. C. Thiselton 'The New Hermeneutic' in H. Marshall (Paternoster, Exeter, 1 9 7 7 ) ; cf. further (ed.) New Testament Interpretation H. Jonas in The Review of Metaphysics 18 (1964) pp.207-33. 2 Harvey Cox, The Seduction of the Spirit, The Use and Misuses of People's Religion ( W i l d w o o d House, London, 1974) pp.9-13, 9 1 - 1 1 2 and 1 1 5 - 1 1 9 . 3 H. W. Frei, The Eclipse of the Biblical Narrative, A Study in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Hermeneutics (Yale University Press, New Haven, 1 9 7 4 ) . 4 J. Barr, The Bible in the Modern World (S.C.M. London, 1973) p.76. 5 J . L. Houlden, loc. cit., pp.169 and 172.

31

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

It is therefore imperative and urgent that Christian liturgy should call attention to, and preserve, the unique personhood both of God and man. How is this to be achieved ? Linguistically we must avoid talk which traffics entirely in generalizations; in terms of general rules, guiding principles, universal maxims, classes and categories. Narrative or story is the diametrical opposite of generalizing discourse. It tells what a particular man or woman actually did on a particular occasion. This is one reason why narrative features so extensively and prominently in the Bible. It is not a textbook of dogmatic theology which contains merely general rules and universal truths. Not only man, but also God is portrayed in personal terms. It may be true that God should be regarded as being 'more' than a person, but he is not less. The Bible not only uses a variety of personal images such as father, husband, shepherd, and so on; it also vindicates the notion of personhood as applied to God both by the notion that God created man in his image and also by the fact of incarnation. Both language about God and language about man, then, must function in liturgy with this personal dimension, and narrative constitutes one of the most important linguistic devices for achieving this purpose. This does raise one practical problem, however, in relation to liturgy. General truths can be expressed briefly, even in theform of short aphorisms. Narrative demands the use of much longer stretches of language. This is why, simply from a linguistic rather than a theological viewpoint, narrative Bible-reading performs an indispensable role, in which the use of mere sentences or short biblical allusions cannot be an adequate substitute. The use of substantial lectionary portions, moreover, performs the further role, which we discussed in the first chapter, of assisting a familiarity with the standard settings out of which paradigms of meaning emerged. What redemption is, we noted for example, begins to emerge when we recount the narrative of the exodus. This is not to make past history the criterion of present meaning; but it is to say that the great events of Biblical history and Biblical narrative constitute a paradigm for the meanings of many words. To use narrative portions of the Bible in a substantial or extensive way is different from using brief allusions mainly for the purpose of borrowing Biblical imagery. There is a place for this, but there are also certain dangers in doing it. The danger is that of causing confusions in meaning brought about by what Wittgenstein called using language outside its own language-game or proper setting. 'The language game in which they are to be applied is missing'.1 We tried to show in the first chapter that a word does not necessarily mean the same thing when it is torn out of one setting and placed in another. In broader terms, however. Biblical narrative provides a frame of reference and an understanding of language-settings which is indispensable for the intelligible use of language by the Christian community. This brings us back to the whole argument of the first chapter, in which we pointed out that questions about settings are no less important than questions about vocabulary, and indeed may even be logically prior to them. 1

L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 96. 32

POSTSCRIPT T O 1986 EDITION After ten years, there is nothing in the original Study w h i c h I should like to withdraw. But I welcome the opportunity to add three brief comments. First, there has been a g r o w i n g literature on the philosophy of language and on speech-act theory w h i c h remains relevant t o the position advocated here. In addition to my o w n study in The Two Horizons (Paternoster, Exeter, 1 980). I should like t o call attention to the work of one of my former research students. Dr. Janet Martin Soskice, published under the title Metaphor and Religious Language (Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1985). Second, the last ten years have also seen advances in the area of reader-response theory in literary studies. These focus on the act of reading as an avenue of approach to language and interpretation, and examine the relation between readers' expectations as readers and the demands w h i c h a linguistic text makes upon them in order actively t o engage their response. One lesson to be drawn for liturgical studies is that the danger of making liturgy bland or trivial is a far more serious one than that of being too demanding. This angle, at least in terms of literary and biblical texts, is explored in R. Lundin, A. C. Thiselton, and C. Walhout, The Responsibility of Hermeneutics (Eerdmans and Paternoster, Exeter, 1985). Third, the debate about gender-inclusive language demands attention w i t h increasing urgency. The lessons to be learned from the present study are at least t w o . In the first place, attention to semantics will show that the respective roles performed by w h a t are called marked' and 'unmarked' terms must be taken into account. 1 Marking is based on the presence or absence of some particular element of form in a pair of terms w h i c h stand in a relation of complementarity. Hostess is the marked term in opposition to host; lioness is the marked term in opposition to lion. But the formally marked member of the opposition tends to be more restricted in its distribution than the formally unmarked member.' 2 W e may call a lioness a lion, or refer to a bitch as a dog; but lioness and bitch are applicable only to a proportion of cases when we speak of lions or of dogs. This is because lion at dog perform a double function; in certain contexts they exclude their marked term (lioness, bitch), but in other contexts they stand in an inclusive relationship to the marked term. This is a relationship of hyponymy, in w h i c h lion becomes a superordinate or generic term for all lions and lionesses. It is along these lines that many argue that in liturgy man or men stands as a superordinate term for men and women. But the problem is complicated by changing perceptions about the basis of linguistic conventions themselves, and by the need to distinguish between differing contexts in w h i c h certain assumptions about gender-oppositions are operative or nonoperative. The fact that male nurse, for example, has become a marked term for w h i c h nurse is the superordinate or hyponymous term says something about the expectations of society about nursing. Hence semantic considerations lead on t o sociological ones. Semantics is the first word, but not the last word, and caution is needed on both sides of the debate against jumping too soon to hasty conclusions about how much or how little is implied by semantic convention. The debate about gender-inclusive language also gives rise to a second problem relevant to this study. W e have argued that liturgical language performs many functions. One difficulty about revising traditional conventions is that in addition to performing its primary tasks, such language also makes some statement about non-exclusive language. It thereby runs the risk of bringing feminist concerns to consciousness even at moments when, or in contexts where, this is not necessarily appropriate. It can be argued, by way of reply, that language w h i c h might be exclusive simply does, and has always done, the opposite. Or it can be argued that such revision should be done more subtly. But whatever position is finally taken on these questions, the multiple functions of language and their effects should be taken firmly into account, along with the questions about semantics w h i c h we have briefly introduced. Anthony C. Thiselton October 1 9 8 5

1

2

A b r i e f t e x t - b o o k d i s c u s s i o n of t h e s e m a n t i c p r i n c i p l e c a n be f o u n d in J o h n Lyons, Structural C a m b r i d g e U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1 9 7 7 ) p p . 3 0 5 - 1 1 . Lyons, op. cit. p . 3 0 6 .

33

Semantics

{2 v o l s .

POSTSCRIPT T O 1986 EDITION After ten years, there is nothing in the original Study w h i c h I should like to withdraw. But I welcome the opportunity to add three brief comments. First, there has been a g r o w i n g literature on the philosophy of language and on speech-act theory w h i c h remains relevant t o the position advocated here. In addition to my o w n study in The Two Horizons (Paternoster, Exeter, 1 980). I should like t o call attention to the work of one of my former research students. Dr. Janet Martin Soskice, published under the title Metaphor and Religious Language (Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1985). Second, the last ten years have also seen advances in the area of reader-response theory in literary studies. These focus on the act of reading as an avenue of approach to language and interpretation, and examine the relation between readers' expectations as readers and the demands w h i c h a linguistic text makes upon them in order actively t o engage their response. One lesson to be drawn for liturgical studies is that the danger of making liturgy bland or trivial is a far more serious one than that of being too demanding. This angle, at least in terms of literary and biblical texts, is explored in R. Lundin, A. C. Thiselton, and C. Walhout, The Responsibility of Hermeneutics (Eerdmans and Paternoster, Exeter, 1985). Third, the debate about gender-inclusive language demands attention w i t h increasing urgency. The lessons to be learned from the present study are at least t w o . In the first place, attention to semantics will show that the respective roles performed by w h a t are called marked' and 'unmarked' terms must be taken into account. 1 Marking is based on the presence or absence of some particular element of form in a pair of terms w h i c h stand in a relation of complementarity. Hostess is the marked term in opposition to host; lioness is the marked term in opposition to lion. But the formally marked member of the opposition tends to be more restricted in its distribution than the formally unmarked member.' 2 W e may call a lioness a lion, or refer to a bitch as a dog; but lioness and bitch are applicable only to a proportion of cases when we speak of lions or of dogs. This is because lion at dog perform a double function; in certain contexts they exclude their marked term (lioness, bitch), but in other contexts they stand in an inclusive relationship to the marked term. This is a relationship of hyponymy, in w h i c h lion becomes a superordinate or generic term for all lions and lionesses. It is along these lines that many argue that in liturgy man or men stands as a superordinate term for men and women. But the problem is complicated by changing perceptions about the basis of linguistic conventions themselves, and by the need to distinguish between differing contexts in w h i c h certain assumptions about gender-oppositions are operative or nonoperative. The fact that male nurse, for example, has become a marked term for w h i c h nurse is the superordinate or hyponymous term says something about the expectations of society about nursing. Hence semantic considerations lead on t o sociological ones. Semantics is the first word, but not the last word, and caution is needed on both sides of the debate against jumping too soon to hasty conclusions about how much or how little is implied by semantic convention. The debate about gender-inclusive language also gives rise to a second problem relevant to this study. W e have argued that liturgical language performs many functions. One difficulty about revising traditional conventions is that in addition to performing its primary tasks, such language also makes some statement about non-exclusive language. It thereby runs the risk of bringing feminist concerns to consciousness even at moments when, or in contexts where, this is not necessarily appropriate. It can be argued, by way of reply, that language w h i c h might be exclusive simply does, and has always done, the opposite. Or it can be argued that such revision should be done more subtly. But whatever position is finally taken on these questions, the multiple functions of language and their effects should be taken firmly into account, along with the questions about semantics w h i c h we have briefly introduced. Anthony C. Thiselton October 1 9 8 5

1

2

A b r i e f t e x t - b o o k d i s c u s s i o n of t h e s e m a n t i c p r i n c i p l e c a n be f o u n d in J o h n Lyons, Structural C a m b r i d g e U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1 9 7 7 ) p p . 3 0 5 - 1 1 . Lyons, op. cit. p . 3 0 6 .

33

Semantics

{2 v o l s .

Language, Liturgy and Meaning

Gorgias Liturgical Studies

57

This series is intended to provide a venue for studies about liturgies as well as books containing various liturgies. Making liturgical studies available to those who wish to learn more about their own worship and practice or about the traditions of other religious groups, this series includes works on service music, the daily offices, services for special occasions, and the sacraments.

Language, Liturgy and Meaning

Anthony Thiselton

1 gorgias press 2010

Gorgias Press LLC, 180 Centennial Ave., Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2010 by Gorgias Press LLC Originally published in All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. 2010

1

ISBN 978-1-60724-349-6

ISSN 1937-3252

Published first in the U.K. by Grove Books, 1986.

Printed in the United States of America

Language Liturgy and Meaning by

Anthony C. Thiselton Principal,

St. John's

College.

Bramcote,

Nottingham

CONTENTS

Page

1. Intelligibility and Communication: Vocabulary versus Setting

3

2. Words as Tools and Language as Verbal Behaviour

10

3. Performative Language and First-Person Utterances

17

4. Linguistic Symbols

22

5. Metaphor, Myth and Narrative

25

Postscript to 1986 Edition

33

Copyright A. C. Thiselton 1975 and 1986

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION This Liturgical Study has been out of print for some years, but I am very grateful that Grove Books is making it available once again to the public, and more than glad that there is evidence of a continuing demand for it. Apart from some minor corrections, this Study retains the form in which it was written in 1975. But I have added a postscript on page 33 on a liturgical issue which has emerged strongly in the intervening years. Anthony C. Thiselton January 1986

THE COVER DESIGN is by the author

1. I N T E L L I G I B I L I T Y A N D C O M M U N I C A T I O N : V O C A B U L A R Y VERSUS SETTING Questions about vocabulary, grammar, and style, touch only a limited part of the problem of meaning. Often they remain secondary to more fundamental problems about language and communication. Yet it is on questions about vocabulary, grammar, and style, that those concerned with liturgical language seem usually to lavish their attention and energy. Admittedly questions about vocabulary are genuine and important ones. If someone asks us what 'prevent' means in the prayer 'Prevent us, 0 Lord, in all our doings . . .', in some cases what may be required is no more than to explain that 'prevent' means 'go before'. But at a deeper level, a more serious problem of meaning arises when someone asks: what is the cashvalue of the words 'go before' when they are applied to a divine being who already, according to Psalm 139, is present and active everywhere ? It is relatively easy, if we are asked about the meaning of 'Lord God of Sabaoth' in the 1662 Te Deum, to explain that 'Sabaoth' means 'hosts'. It is much more difficult, however, if someone asks us about the meaning of the seemingly innocent phrase in the 1662 Venite 'Today if ye will hear his voice'. It raises no problems of vocabulary. But what does 'hear' mean when the voice in question does not make vibrations in the air? We should not advise the baffled enquirer to buy a deaf aid. What the word 'hear' actually means in this case depends on its unusual surroundings, logical context, or application; on what Ludwig Wittgenstein calls 'grammar' in the strictly logical, conceptual, or philosophical sense of the term. He notes, 'You can't hear God speak to someone else, you can hear him only if you are being addressed'. That is a grammatical remark.1 Linguists and philosophers have described the nature of this kind of problem in many ways, but perhaps most adequately as that of the relation between a context-in-life, or a language-setting, and the logical function, use, or application of a stretch of language. The meaning, or function, depends on the setting. Hence the meaning of 'hear' in 'hearing God' differs from that of 'hear' in 'hearing Henry' because the setting is different, relating in one case to a transcendent being. Even the familiar phenomenon of polysemy, or words with multiple meanings, provides an example of how meanings depend on settings in life, and consequently of how intelligible communication depends on our knowledge of such settings. The principle in question is certainly not peculiar to theology or liturgy. For example, a speaker introduces the ordinary everyday word 'points', which involves no difficulty of vocabulary. He asks, 'What about the points?' But which of the following does he mean? (1) Did you remember to note the score ? (2) Have you sharpened your pencils? (3) Can I use this electric plug ? (4) Did your ration-book entitle you to buy that? (5) Why have you placed two fieldsmen in the same position ? (6) Have you included the Hebrew vowels ? Clearly any failure of communication or intelligibility is unlikely to be caused by mere lack of word-recognition. Communication depends on an understanding of the setting in which the word 'points' operates. In most 1

L. Wittgenstein, Zettel (Blackwell, Oxford, 1 9 6 7 ) section 717.

3

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

cases any obscurity that exists may be removed by indicating the setting briefly by means of an explanatory word or phrase. The speaker might simply add, 'I am talking about electrical supply.' But if the setting in question is unfamiliar to the hearer, the speaker may need to construct the whole 'world' of the setting by historical description (as in no. 4). The same kind of difficulty might apply to (6), in which for communication to take place the speaker may have to explain Hebrew. Perhaps most difficult of all, (5) would at first be entirely unintelligible to a hearer who had always lived in a culture in which cricket was unheard of. Gradually some kind of picture would have to be built up of the whole 'world' of cricket. Wittgenstein's remark is relevant that T o imagine a language means to imagine a form of life . . . The speaking of language is part of an activity, or of a form of life.'1 Liturgical language, in common with most religious or theological uses of language, constantly employs ordinary words in special settings which decisively determine their meanings. One role of the reading of the Bible in liturgy is that of building up the linguistic or conceptual network of co-ordinates which mark out the 'world' or frame of reference of these distinctive settings. The problem of the intelligibility of theological terms such as 'redeem' or 'save' is not solved simply by re-labelling the Christian

vocabulary, any more than the intelligibility of 'points' in cricket can be guaranteed by re-labelling all the titles of the fieldsmen. The meaning of 'redeem' or 'save' emerges as we can see paradigm cases, or model examples, of what redemption or salvation consist in, as these are portrayed in the stones of such events as the exodus, or Israel's experiences of deliverance in the Judges period, and so on. (Paradigm cases are discussed in chapter 5). This is certainly not to deny that present experiences of life are also fundamental in reaching an understanding of theological language. I shall argue that both the Biblical paradigms and contemporary life experience must form part of an over-arching frame of reference within which religious uses of language become intelligible. In particular liturgy relates to the life of the whole of God's people, who share a continuity of experience and a continuity of response to the saving acts of God from the birth of Israel to the present day. As we shall see, this continuity provides a tradition of public language-use and behaviour within which certain linguistic 'rules', or regularities or structures, can be discerned. In Wittgenstein's words, 'One learns the game by watching how others play.' 2 It is not simply a matter of re-arranging traditional vocabulary. The decisiveness of setting, as over against vocabulary, may be illustrated further both from theological and non-theological examples. Wittgenstein notes the way in which setting determines meaning in the case of the word 'exact'. 3 What does 'exact' mean? In the setting of astronomy the 'exact' distances between two stars would hardly be measured in inches. But in microbiology the 'exact 'distance between two molecules would mean something very different. The meaning of 'exactly the right time' varies with a return from holiday, getting married, and the second-hand of a watch. 1 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations (Blackwell, Oxford 2 1 9 5 8 ) sections 19 and 23. 2 Ibid, section 54. Cf. further, A n t h o n y C. Thiselton, The Two Horizons (Paternoster Press, Exeter, 1980) pp. 3 7 0 - 4 2 7 , esp. 3 7 9 - 8 5 . 3 L. Wittgenstein, op. cit. section 88.

INTELLIGIBILITY A N D

COMMUNICATION

A further set of examples, h o w e v e r , can be f o u n d in the Fourth Gospel. Understanding, in J o h n , does not depend mainly on mere w o r d - r e c o g n i t ion. It may be part of the J o h a n n i n e irony that on more t h a n half a dozen occasions listeners mistake the meanings of ordinary familiar w o r d s because these w o r d s p e r f o r m their f u n c t i o n s in special settings. In J o h n 4 . 3 - 4 N i c o d e m u s fails t o understand t h e meaning of ' b i r t h ' until Jesus explains t o him that ' w a t e r and the Spirit' define the setting of t h e t e r m and thus determines its meaning. Similarly, in J o h n 4 . 1 0 - 1 2 the w o m a n of Samaria apparently misunderstands the term 'living w a t e r ' , w h i c h in a domestic setting simply means ' r u n n i n g w a t e r ' or w a t e r f r o m a spring: 'Sir, y o u have n o t h i n g t o d r a w w i t h , and the w e l l is deep; w h e r e d o y o u get that living ( r u n n i n g ) w a t e r ? ' (verse 11). Later on in the same chapter there is another m i s u n d e r s t a n d i n g a b o u t the meaning of the e v e r y - d a y w o r d ' f o o d ' : 'He said t o them, " I have f o o d t o eat of w h i c h y o u do n o t k n o w . " So the disciples said t o one another, " H a s a n y o n e b r o u g h t him f o o d ?" Jesus said t o t h e m , " M y f o o d is to do the w i l l of him w h o sent m e " ' . ( J o h n 4 . 3 2 - 3 4 ) . Large stretches of t h e sixth chapter turn o n m i s u n d e r standings a b o u t such w o r d s as 'bread', ' b l o o d ' , 'drink', and ' c o m e d o w n ' , precisely because their Christological setting gives t h e m a different meaning f r o m that of their usual settings in everyday life. It is not e n o u g h to reply that these are o n l y examples of metaphor. This observation is correct as far as it goes, b u t the p r o b l e m does not end there. To see that a w o r d is being used metaphorically w a r n s us a b o u t w h a t it does not mean; it marks off certain areas of a p p l i c a t i o n as inappropriate. But it still does n o t explain fully w h a t the metaphorical use does mean. The very issue for J o h n concerns a man's attitude t o t h e person of Christ. But t o portray Christ's uniqueness he does not try t o use esoteric t e r m i n o l o g y full of s u p p o s e d mystery of the kind that may be f o u n d in parts of the early Gnostic literature. He uses ordinary w o r d s , b u t applies t h e m in special settings. For Christian discourse, as W. D. H u d s o n points out, 'is not a special sort of language, but just ordinary language p u t t o a particular use.' 1 J o h n couples everyday w o r d s w i t h others in u n e x p e c t e d or logically unusual w a y s , a n d uses a m u l t i p l i c i t y of w o r d s or images in sufficient variety t o a l l o w t h e hearer t o cancel off all u n w a n t e d m e a n i n g s w h i c h have no application. Thus Jesus is the light, b u t he is t h e l i g h t - o f - t h e - w o r l d . He is the bread, but he is also the door, the shepherd, the w o r d , and the w a y . The predicates negate o n e another. Together, t h e y bid t h e hearer t o look b e y o n d their usual applications. The f u n c t i o n of these w o r d s in their settings, h o w e v e r , is not simply t o negate. They overlap at the edges w i t h a part of their usual meanings. A genuine overlap exists b e t w e e n the attitude and activity of the Palestinian shepherd t o w a r d s his sheep, or of the ancient ruler t o w a r d s his people, and that of Christ t o w a r d s his o w n flock, (cf. J o h n 1 0 . 1 1 - 1 6 ) . Similarly, an overlapping occurs, as J o h n notes, b e t w e e n the experience of the b l i n d m a n t o w h o m Jesus gives sight, a n d that of the believer w h o s u d d e n l y 'sees' t h e reality of Christ ( J o h n 9 . 6 - 7 ) . Paul presupposes the same overlapping w h e n he writes, 'It is the G o d w h o said, " L e t the light shine o u t of darkness" w h o has shone in our hearts t o give the light of t h e 1

W . D. Hudson, 'Some Remarks on Wittgenstein's A c c o u n t of Religious Belief' in Royal Institute of Philosophy Lectures, Vol. 2: Talk of God ( M a c M i l l a n , 1969) p.40.

5

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ' (2 Cor.4-6). The coupling of 'shone' with 'in our hearts' marks the logical peculiarity of the setting. Further examples of this have been discussed by Ian Ramsey.1 The relationship between everyday language-uses and distinctively theological ones is highly complex and can be described in a variety of ways. In a slightly different context, Wittgenstein observes suggestively that 'we see a complicated network of similarities, overlapping and crisscrossing', which can best be compared to 'family resemblances'.2 There is some kind of resemblance between hearing Henry's voice and hearing God's voice, but the nature of the resemblance cannot be described in advance before we look at the actual example. This is partly what Wittgenstein has in mind when he uses the term 'family resemblances', although the content of his discussion is that of ordinary polymorphous concepts like 'game' and not specifically religious uses of language. The neighbours may recognise one member of the Biggs family of Wapping by his nose, another by his voice. Family resemblances exist, but we cannot generalize in advance about what form these will take in any one given case. This is why no one analogy, metaphor, or overlapping language-use, can ever be adequate if language about God or Christian experience is to be intelligible. We need a number of fixed points in everyday experience from which cross-bearings can be taken, in order to mark out semantic areas which would otherwise lie beyond the edges of our conceptual map. A multiplicity of models on the one hand serves negatively to exclude unwanted meanings which are inappropriate within their new theological setting. But on the other hand this very multiplicity also points positively beyond everyday meanings to areas within which new suggested lines of meaning converge. A whole variety of settings inter-relate to define areas of application now relevant, now obsolete; now correct, now incorrect. This variety can be provided only by calling on the total resources of the long Hebrew-Christian tradition embodied primarily in the Bible, but also reaching through to the present. To understand the language of a community, therefore, one must know something about its life. In this sense, in Wittgenstein's words, 'To imagine a language is to imagine a form of life'. 'One learns the game by watching how others play.' 2 The same kind of conclusion seems to be forced on us if we take up Paul van Buren's suggestive picture of using the edges of language. 4 Language, he suggests, is like a wooden platform on which we are standing. We can stand safely near the centre, and say easily-intelligible, mundane, everyday things. Or religious men may try to extend the range of everyday language by nailing on extra planks to the edges of the platform. We can try to say new things, or at any rate things which lie further away from the familiar every-day realm. But this cannot be done by any single individual. 'Nailing on new planks or extensions to old planks, then, is the work of many 1 Cf. Ian Ramsey's discussion of models and qualifiers in Religious Language (S.C.M., London, 1957) especially pp.49-89; and also Christian Discourse (Oxford University Press, 1965), Models for Divine Activity. (S.C.M. London, 1973), and Models and Mystery (Oxford University Press, 1964). 2 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations sections 66-7. 3 ibid sections 19 and 54. 4 Paul van Buren, The Edges of Language. An Essay in the Logic of a Religion (S.C.M. London, 1972) pp.78-150 et passim. 6

INTELLIGIBILITY A N D

COMMUNICATION

1

hands.' This is because no individual can in practice follow the example of Lewis Carroll's Humpty-Dumpty and use words simply in the way that he alone intends to use them. All modern linguists and philosophers agree that intelligible and effective language depends on regularities, rules, or conventions which are accepted by a community.2 Communication takes place only when there is a shared acceptance of these conventions, and some sort of understanding, however provisional, of the setting or form of life within which the language-use in question has emerged. The name Wittgenstein has occurred a number of times already because his work is a pivotal point in the philosophy of language. The broader implication of Wittgenstein's work for the language of religion has been fruitfully explored by D. M. High, William Hordern, Robert King and many others.3 Nevertheless our conclusions about the importance of extra-linguistic settings and about the 'wholeness' or 'world' of a language-system can be confirmed from two other totally different traditions of scholarship and method in language-study. There is the 'field' approach of de Saussure and Trier, and also the tradition of hermeneutical philosophy. Trier insists that a word itself does not have meaning as an autonomous independent unit in isolation from a context or field. Dictionary entries are only provisional generalizations based on the occurrence of words in regular or characteristic settings. A word has meaning 'only as part of a whole' (nurals Tei! des Ganzenor only 'within a field' (im Feld).A In the words of Ferdinand de Saussure, 'language is a system of interdependent terms (les termes sont siUdaires) in which the value (la valeur) of 5each term results solely from the simultaneous presence of the other.' All words in the6same language which express related ideas 'limit each other reciprocally'. He illustrates his point from chess. The value of any given piece depends not so much on what it is in itself as on the state of the game, and the opponent's pieces. One more piece changes everything. Thus in language the semantic scope of the word 'red' and especially its cut-off point in relation to 'yellow', depends partly on whether the word 'orange' is available as a possible contribution to the semantic field. Whether 'fear' of God is appropriate in a certain setting may depend on the 11bid. p.83. 2 F. de Saussure, Cours de linguistique générale (édition critique, Harassowitz, Wiesbaden, 1967) pp.146-57; John Lyons, Introduction to Theoretical Linguistics (Cambridge University Press, 1969) pp.4-8, 38, 59-70, 74-5, 272 and 403; S. Ullmann Semantics. An Introduction to the Science of Meaning (Blackwell, Oxford, 1962) pp.80-115; and L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations sections 81-108, 198-315, 350-58, et passim. Cf. also Stuart C. Brown, Do Religious Claims Make Sense? (S.C.M. London, 1969) pp.176-82, and D. M. High and W. Hordern, cited below. 3 Cf. D. M. High, Language, Persons, and Belief. Studies in Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations and Religious Uses of Language (Oxford University Press, New York, 1967); William Hordern, Speaking of God. The Nature and Purpose of Theological Language (Epworth Press, London 1965); and Robert H. King, The Meaning of God (S.C.M. London, 1974). 4 J . Trier, Der Deutsche Wortschatz im Sinnbezirk des Verstandes (Winter, Heidelberg, 1931 ) p.6. 5 F. de Saussure, op. cit., fasc. 2 p.259. s Ibid. p.261. 7

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND

MEANING

relative contribution of ' a w e ' , 'terror', and so on, to the field of fear-words. In practice w e learn the semantic value of one term only by understanding its relation to others. W e need to k n o w the whole field of terms in which it functions, even if this is not to deny that a provisional understanding of the field may begin w i t h a provisional understanding of individual words. I have discussed these field semantics more fully elsewhere. 1 The problem of the part and the w h o l e in understanding language also lies at the heart of hermeneutical philosophy since Schleiermacher. T h e definitive modern w o r k on Schleiermacher's v i e w of language has been carried out by Heinz Kimmerle, w h o makes this point. Language, according to Schleiermacher, and as Kimmerle interprets him, must be understood 'in the light of the larger, more universal linguistic community in w h i c h the individual finds himself'. 2 W e need to understand w o r d s in order to understand the sentence; nevertheless our understanding of the force of individual words depends on our understanding of the w h o l e sentence. But this principle must be extended. To understand a sentence w e need to understand the paragraph, the book, the author as a w h o l e . As Richard Palmer puts it, ' S o m e h o w a kind of " l e a p " into the hermeneutical circle occurs, and w e understand the w h o l e and the parts together'. 3 In this sense Gerhard Ebeling, w h o also stands in the hermeneutical tradition, is correct w h e n he observes, 'Only w h e r e there is already previous understanding can understanding take place'. 4 But if the problem seems to be circular, h o w can understanding ever take place ? Understanding begins w h e r e there is an area of overlap, or shared experience, b e t w e e n the horizons of the hearer in his present life and t h e horizons w h i c h bound the settings that are determinative for their language and meaning. 'Hermeneutics', in this tradition of philosophy, means t h e inter-action and engagement of t w o sets of horizons in a c o m m o n understanding, or act of communication. O n the one side, in liturgy for example, w e are using language w h i c h draws its operational value from a series of settings belonging to the historical life of Israel and the Church. O n the other side, also in liturgy, there must be an engagement w i t h the presentday life-experience of the modern worshipper. 1

A. C. Thiselton, 'Semantics and the New Testament' in I. H. Marshall (ed) New Testament Interpretation (Paternoster Press, Exeter, 1977) pp.75-104. In more technical terms, 'Linguistic units have no validity independently of their paradigmatic and syntagmatic relations with other units' (John Lyons, op. cit., p.75). Cf. further R. H. Robins, General Linguistics (Longmans, London, 1964) pp.47-50; E. Brekle, Semantik. Ein Einfuhrung in die sprachwissenschaftliche Bedeutungslehre (Fink, Munich, 1972) pp.81-8; J. F. Sawyer, Semzntics in Biblical Research (S.C.M. London, 1972) passim; J. Lyons, Structural Semantics (Blackwell, Oxford, 1963) passim; and E. Guttgemanns, Studia Linguistica Neotestamentica. Gesammelte Aufsatze zur linguistischen Grundlage einer Neutestamentlichen Theologie (Kaiser, Munich, 1971) pp.75-93. 2 H. Kimmerle, 'Hermeneutical Theory or Ontological Hermeneutics in R. W. Funk (ed.) Journal for Theology and the Church 4. History and Hermeneutic (Mohr, Tubingen, 1967) p.109;cf. pp.107-21. 3 Richard E. Palmer, Hermeneutics. Interpretation Theory in Schleiermacher. Dilthey, Heidegger and Gadamer (Northwestern University Press, Ermston, 1969) p.87 (cf. F. Schleiermacher, Hermeneutik undKritik. ed. by F. Lucke, p.29). 4 G. Ebeling, Word and Faith (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1963) p.320.

8

INTELLIGIBILITY AND COMMUNICATION

Heinrich Ott describes this link between the two sets of horizons as a hermeneutical arch, in which the Bible constitutes the 'linguistic room or linguistic net of co-ordinates, that make the individual words of Christian language intelligible'.1 Where Ott stresses the totality of Scripture as the linguistic network, Ernst Fuchs also calls attention to the role of proclamation or preaching. Proclamation of the Gospel, he argues, must be based on, but also must create, a shared area of 'common understanding' (Einverständnis). Only then can there be genuine communication, in which language conveys reality in 'language-event' (Sprachereignis). 2 The goal in communication, according to the philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer, is the 'merging of horizons' (Horizontverschmelzung) which can be achieved, however, only if the full distinctiveness of each set of horizons is first respected and noticed.3 Although Heidegger and Wittgenstein approach language from very different directions, each in his own way stresses that the problem of communication cannot be solved in terms of vocabulary alone, in terms of the recognition of individual words.4 Trying to patch up the difficulty by merely re-labelling isolated pieces of vocabulary may even be like papering over the cracks when a more fundamental problem needs prior attention. As Ebeling puts it, 'the problem concerns not simply words, but "the word" '.5 We have argued that a first step towards grappling with this problem is to see the importance of linguistic settings within the historical life of the community. To claim that one function of reading the Bible in liturgy is to portray these settings is neither to fall into the trap of making word-history a norm for present meaning, nor to deny that Christian tradition may provide other significant settings up to the moment of the community's present life and experience. Nevertheless, part of what, for example, salvation is, can be seen in the settings portrayed by the Biblical writings, and indeed these may be said to provide in many instances the paradigm cases of such language-uses. (Paradigm-cases are discussed further in chapter 5). In6 Wittgenstein's words 'One learns the game by watching how others play.' All the same, we have been looking only at one particular aspect of the problem of language and meaning. We must now turn to questions about the kinds of language-activities which are actually going on in the present when the language of liturgy is being used. This may also shed further light on some of the claims which have already been made. 1

H. Ott, 'What is Systematic Theology?' in J . M. Robinson and J . B. Cobb (eds.) New Frontiers in Theology: 1, The Later Heidegger and Theology (Harper and Row New York, 1963) esp. pp.86-7. (Ott is following Heidegger). 2 E. Fuchs, Marburger Hermeneutik (Mohr, Tubingen, 1968) pp.171-81 and 239-43. Cf. also Hermeneutik (Mohr, Tubingen, 2 1970). 3 H. G. Gadamer, Wahrheit und Methode. Grundzuge einer philosophischen Hermeneutik (Mohr, Tubinger 21965) pp.232, 286-305, 366 and 419. 4 Cf. A. C. Thiselton, The Two Horizons, pp.24-50 and 357-85, and A. Grabner-Haider, Semiotik und Theologie, Religiose Rade zwischen analytischer und hermeneutischer Philosophie (Kosel Verlag, Munich, 1973) pp.51-143. 5 G. Ebeling, The Nature of Faith (Eng. Collins, London 1961) p.15; cf. Introduction to a Theological Theory of Language (Eng. Collins, 1973) pp.91-128. 6 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 54. 9

2

WORDS AS TOOLS A N D LANGUAGE AS VERBAL BEHAVIOUR: G R A M M A R VERSUS F U N C T I O N

Too often we can be misled by the grammatical forms of our language into making premature assumptions about meanings. I have discussed elsewhere the example 'This is poison'.1 Since the word 'is' may be correctly parsed as a present indicative verb, the sentence in question might seem necessarily to take the form of a descriptive statement. But this need not be the force of the words in every situation. The utterance may function (1) as an imperative, meaning 'Quick! Fetch a doctor!' Or (2) It may convey a warning: 'Look out! Don't drink this'. (3) It may constitute a plea: 'Avenge me of my enemy'. (4) It could simply be a reproach: 'You forgot to put sugar in my tea'. We too readily assume that indicative verbs always serve to make statements, or to describe states of affairs. In order to alert us to the beguiling effect of certain grammatical forms, Wittgenstein drew a distinction between what he called 'surface grammar' and 'depth grammar.'2 The same formal surface-grammar may be used to convey a multiplicity of different meanings in terms of depth grammar. Within the framework of a very different approach to language, Noam Chomsky also underlines the ambiguity of surface-grammar, and distinguishes between 'deep structure' and 'surface structure'. Stretches of language may be translated into certain basic 'kernel' sentences, which may then be transformed into a structure containing quite different grammatical forms from that of the original stretch of language whilst elucidating the original meaning less ambiguously. In terms of surface structure, for example, 'the doctor's arrival' and 'the doctor's house' may seem to have the same forms. But one derives from the transform 'the doctor arrived', whilst the other derives from the transform 'the doctor has a house', The deep structure behind each is therefore different. 3 In order to bring out the sheer variety of functions that words perform, in contrast to their relatively simple-looking surface-appearance, Wittgenstein compares words with tools. There is a hammer, plain, a saw, a rule . . . glue, nails and screws.The functions of words are as diverse as the functions of those objects . . . What confuses us is the uniform appearance of words . . . It is like looking into the cabin of a locomotive. We see handles all looking more or less alike . . . But one is the handle of a crank which can be moved continuously . . . another is the handle of a switch which has only two effective positions.' There are 'countless different kinds of use of what we call "symbols, "words", sentences".' 'For a large class of cases . . . the meaning of a word is its use in the language.'4 Wittgenstein did not always approach language in this way. He refers to his own earlier work in the Tractatus when he comments 'It is interesting to compare the multiplicity of the tools in language . . . with what logicians have said about the structure of language. (Including the author of the 1

2 3

4

A. C. Thiselton, T h e Use of Philosophical Categories in N e w Testament H e r m e n e u t i c s ' , The Churchman 87 ( 1 9 7 3 ) p.96. L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Philosophical Investigations section 6 6 4 . N. C h o m s k y , Aspects of the Theory of Syntax ( M a s s a c h u s e t t s Institute of T e c h n o l o g y , 1 9 6 5 ) p . p . 1 6 - 2 7 , 6 4 - 1 0 6 , and 1 2 8 - 4 7 . One t r a n s f o r m has the structure N P / V i ( n o u n / p h r a s e intransitive verb), the other has t h e structure N P / V t / N a ( / n o u n phrase/transitive v e r b / / n o u n in the accusative) for further examples cf. pp.21 ff. L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Philosophical Investigations, sections 11, 12, 2 3 and 4 3 . 10

WORDS

AS TOOLS AND

LANGUAGE AS VERBAL

BEHAVIOUR

1

Tractatus Logico-PhUosophicusJ." It will be instructive to glance briefly at this earlier view, because many people approach questions about meaning in liturgy like this. At the risk of over-simplification, we may say that this view involved (1) a referential theory of meaning (i.e. that the meaning of a word is the objectto which it refers); and (2) the notion that description or statement represents the sole, or main, function of language. At the heart of the Tractatus lies the claim that 'a proposition is a picture (ein Bild) of reality', and this is thus 'a description of a state of affairs (eines Sachverhaltes)Words constitute elements of the proposition, and these in turn correspond to, or refer to, 'objects' which constitute elements of the state of affairs. Thus: 'One name stands for one thing, another for another thing, and they are combined with one another. I n this way the whole g r o u p — l i k e a tableau vivant—presents a state of affairs.' 3 'In a proposition there must be exactly as many distinguishable parts as the situation that it represents.'4 Words are virtually, as it were, labels for objects, which can be linked together by grammar to describe relations between objects. Propositions may then be related together to describe complex sets of states of affairs. But nothing else can be 'said'. There is the language of descriptive statement, which concerns only 'facts', and there are also tautologies. For the rest, 'What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.' 5 This approach, then, involves the notion that the meaning of a word is the object to which it refers. At first sight this theory may seem to be correct. We imagine that a young child learns what 'spoon' means because the mother pronounces the word whilst pointing to the spoon. This is ostensive definition. If all language functioned in this way, it would mean that an unbeliever could learn the meaning of the word 'God' only when the believer could point to an entity called God. In his later writings, however, Wittgenstein observed that a child does not in practice learn simply by ostensive definition at all, but learns the use or function of particular sounds. Often 'spoon' spoken to the infant does not mean This is called a spoon', but 'eat with this and not with your fingers'. The child who treated the utterance as a mere definition would be in trouble. The key difficulty, as Wittgenstein explains in his Blue Book, is that ostensive definition can always be interpreted in all sorts of ways. If I hold up a pencil and pronounce the sentence 'This is tove', it may mean 'This is a pencil', but it may mean 'this is round'; or 'This is wood'; or, 'This is one'; or, 'This is hard'; and so on. 6 Wittgenstein drily suggests in the Investigations, 'Point to a piece of p a p e r — A n d now point to its s h a p e — now to its c o l o u r — n o w to its number (that sounds queer). How did you do it ?'7 1

Ibid, s e c t i o n 2 3 L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Tractatus Logico-Phi/osophicus ( R o u t l e d g e a n d K e g a n Paul, L o n d o n , 1961) 4.01 and 4.023. 3 Ibid. 4 . 0 3 1 1 . " Ibid. 4 . 0 4 . 5 Ibid. 7. 6 L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , The Blue and Brown Books. Preliminary Studies for the 'Philosophical Investigations' ( B l a c k w e l l , O x f o r d 2 1 9 6 9 ) p p . 2 - 4 ; cf. Philosophical Investigations sections 2 6 - 3 7 . 7 L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Philosophical Investigations, section 33. 2

11

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

The referential theory of meaning, is fraught with difficulties at every level. Gottlob Frege pointed out many years earlier that any straightforward or simple version of this theory foundered on the fact that we do in practice use words which refer to the same object with different meanings. Thus 'evening star' is not identical in meaning with 'morning star' although both terms refer to the planet Venus. Conversely, there are other terms which have the same meaning but different referents; of which 'you' and 'here', are examples. Wittgenstein exposes the heart of the problem when he notes that it is plausible to understand meaning in terms of reference only when we are thinking of certain types of words: 'If you describe the learning of language in this way you are, I believe, thinking primarily of nouns like "table", "chair", "bread" and of people's names, and only secondarily of the names of certain actions and properties, and of the remaining kinds of word as something that will take care of itself . . . Think of exclamations alone, with their completely different functions: Water I Away! Owl Help! . . . Are you inclined still to call these words "names of objects" ?'1 To ask about the meaning of those exclamations it is more helpful to view them as verbal behaviour, and to ask: what is the speaker doing when he is making this utterance? This brings us back to our earlier example of 'This is poison'. Is its function that of a description, a command, a warning, or a reproach ? In the example of 'spoon', the meaning emerges when we enquire about the word's function, and see it as part of the mother's verbal behaviour. The reason why enquiries about meanings must begin, as we saw, with settings, is that language is part of life; part of human activity. Thus whereas it was once customary to talk about language almost exclusively in terms of statements, propositions, objects of reference, and words, we hear more today about speech-acts, linguistic activity, and verbal behaviour. Max Black makes this point explicitly. Until comparatively recently, he notes, it was customary to stress 'communication of thought to the neglect of feeling and attitude' and to emphasize 'words rather than speech-acts in context.' 2 The range of activities involved are usually called 'language-games' by Wittgenstein, although we need not enter here into a discussion of the scope of the term. It is meant to stress, among other things, that language represents an activity of life, and may therefore take as many forms as life itself: giving orders, describing an object's appearance, reporting an event, making up a story, guessing riddles, telling a joke, asking, thanking, cursing, greeting, praying. 3 'Commanding, questioning, recounting, chatting, are as much a part of our natural history as walking, eating, drinking, playing.' 4 'Only in the stream of thought and life do words have meaning.' 5 How do these principles apply to liturgy? Two general points may be made, one largely negative, the other, positive. 1

Ibid, sections 1 and 27 (my italics). On the difficulties of the referential theory of meaning, see further D. M. High op.cit.,pp.29-36 and W. P. Alston, Philosophy of Language (Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, 1 9 6 4 ) pp.11-22. 2 M. Black, The Labyrinth of Language (Pall Mall Press, London, 1 9 6 8 ) p.9. 3 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 23. 4 Ibid, section 25. 5 L. Wittgenstein, Zettel section 173.

12

WORDS AS TOOLS AND LANGUAGE AS VERBAL BEHAVIOUR

Firstly, the notion must be rejected that meaning in liturgy necessarily depends on being able to point to specific objects of reference. Paul van Buren rightly insists that certainly the meaning of 'God' cannot be communicated in this way. He writes,' "God", then, is not a separate discrete concept or word for investigation . . . To examine the word in isolation from its context in the life of religious people is to pursue an abstraction.' We need to understand the term as it is in actual use by Christians, and as it is 'embedded in the whole linguistic activity of religion'. 1 The meaning of 'God' is seen in the first instance by the role which it plays in the actual life of the Christian community, including the tradition of life and experience which nourishes it. 'God' can be identified, if he is the God of Jesus Christ, as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The term 'the God of our Fathers' is not simply a pious catchphrase; it is a positive contribution to the problem of meaning. The second main point is no less far-reaching. It concerns the sheer variety of activities which take place in language. When he instances as part of this variety, reporting events, telling stories, commanding, asking, thanking, praying, Wittgenstein might almost have been describing Christian liturgy. Liturgy contains assertions or statements, and also expressions of attitudes. It embodies thanksgiving, praise, blessing, confession, acclamation, pledge, exhortation, command; affirmation, testimony, agreement, evaluation, warning, dedicating, pardoning, declaring, greeting and praying. There are of course various ways of classifying these different language-uses, and categories overlap. Anders Jeffner, for example, distinguishes between four main families of statements, expressions, prescriptions and performatives, each of which can be sub-classified into further groups. 2 The important point is that those who belong to the w o r s h i p p i n g c o m m u n i t y s h o u l d be aware

of what

they

are doing

when

they use language in various ways. The difficulties are, firstly, that many language uses themselves overlap with one another; secondly, that surfacegrammar in languages does not contain a sufficient range of devices to mark these diverse functions; and thirdly, that theological factors can complicate already sufficiently complex matters still further. What is the community doing, for example, when it declares in the creed, 'He ascended into heaven' ? At first sight, on the level of surface-grammar 'ascended' is a past indicative active verb, and hence may be thought to function as a descriptive statement. Many worshippers undoubtedly do mean the words as a straightforward description of a factual state of affairs; as an assertion that in an observable way the risen body of Christ moved upwards from the earth into the sky 'and a cloud took him out of their sight' (Acts 1.9). Admittedly the fact that even in Luke-Acts we are concerned with the risen body of Christ may in practice be said to remove the assertion from the wholly everyday empirical realm. If this is correct, it would come under the heading of what Jeffner calls the 'problematic' set of religious sentences.3 However, if the term 'statement' is understood broadly enough, the words may be said in this sense to function for most 1 P. van Buren, op.cit.. pp.70-71. 2 A. Jeffner, The Study of Religious et passim. 3 Ibid, pp.21-67.

Language (S.C.M. London, 1972^ pp.10-12

13

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

Christians as a descriptive statement, having some very rough family resemblance to 'the rocket ascended into the sky.' It would be a serious mistake however, to imagine that we have now exhaustively accounted for the meaning of this utterance. All down the centuries there have been theologians, and now also an increasing number of ordinary Christians, who see the meaning of the ascension not in terms of spatial transference to a local heaven but as the enthronement of Christ as sovereign king. Even in Luke-Acts, which, apart from Hebrews, alone in the New Testament stresses the ascension, the weight of the Greek word hypsoo calls attention to the exaltation of Christ at God's 'right hand' of executive authority and honour (Acts 2.33; 5.31; cf. Psalm 110.1). 'He ascended into heaven' thus functions not only as a statement, but as an acclamation of Christ's kingship. Even here, still further sub-categories of language-function may again overlap within this family. In one direction, 'He ascended into heaven' constitutes an expression of joy and exultation. It is almost an exclamation, like 'Hurrah'! In a different direction it stresses the basis of Christ's sovereignty in a divine act of vindication and coronation, and constitutes a proclamation of Christ's kingship. This in turn may have yet further overtones of a pledge of loyalty, whilst also remaining proclamation, as in the case when the two perhaps overlap in 'Long live the King!' The surfacegrammar of the verb 'ascended', then, is no guide to its actual range of functions in liturgy. Its meaning is not simply that of flat statement, but is best understood as a complex nexus of overlapping language-uses. One striking example of a neglected dimension of meaning is Christian liturgy is that which Malinowski called 'phatic communion'. This is 'a type of speech in which ties of union are created by a mere exchange of words'.1 Malinowski has in mind what he calls free, aimless, social intercourse in which truisms are uttered, for example, about the weather or about the health of the listener. The subject-matter is often trivial, because it is not the function of this kind of language to give information. Indeed subjects must be selected on which immediate agreement can be assumed. Hence in everyday life phatic communion is assisted by such small talk as 'Nice day, isn't it ?' 'Yes, lovely'. Or, 'Well, we're really into Spring now'. 'Yes, it's May, isn't it?' Does any liturgical form function at least partly to assist phatic communion ? One obvious candidate for this role would be the often-repeated dialogue 'The Lord be with you . . . And also with you'. W. C. van Unnik insists that this form is connected with the idea of invoking, or assuring the addressees of, 'the dynamic presence of the Spirit. . . which enables them to perform the holy work of the spiritual sacrifices'. 2 But it is much more likely that most ordinary worshippers understand it as a salutation, even if a few solemnly pronounce it as a prayer. 1

2

B. Malinowski, 'The Problem of Meaning in Primitive Languages' in C. K. Ogden and I. A. Richards, The Meaning of Meaning (Routledge and Kegan Paul, London 21930) p.315. W. C. van Unnik, 'Dominus Vobiscum: The Background of a Liturgical Formula' in A. J . B. Higgins (ed.) New Testament Essays. Studies in Memory of T. W. Manson Manchester University Press, 1959) p.297; cf. pp.270-305. For the view that it is a greeting, see Gregory Dix, The Shape of The Liturgy (Black, London, 1945) p.58. 14

W O R D S AS TOOLS A N D L A N G U A G E AS VERBAL

BEHAVIOUR

The questions which emerge are now: (1) Is there a rightful place for phatic communion in liturgy? (2) Are the forms which are used for this the most appropriate ones? (3) Do they occur in the right contexts? (4) Is the worshipping community aware of what it is doing when it is using it ? Small talk is valuable, but not every occasion is appropriate for it. On one side, it is not necessarily out of place on formal occasions. No-one imagines that 'How do you do?' constitutes a serious enquiry about someone's welfare; but as a greeting it is not out of place in the most formal setting. However, it would be thoroughly gauche to say 'Nice day, isn't it ?' at a moment of particular solemnity. The problem about a use of language which establishes phatic communion is that it may tend to perform a trivializing role when it appears in an especially serious context. Moreover, when certain linguistic forms are regularly used for this purpose, their currency as more important acts of communication becomes devalued. 'How are you ?' as a serious question may need to be rendered as 'How are you really?') or 'I'm glad to see you', as 'I've really been looking forward to seeing you'. Hence if'saying the Lord's Prayer together' functions as a tool of phatic communion, how are we to use it as a serious prayer? The important point, once again, is that the worshipping community should be fully aware of what it is doing when it uses language. If van Unnik is correct in claiming that 'the Lord be with you' is 'properly' an assurance or a prayer concerning the dynamic presence of the Spirit, the linguistic form should make this more clear.1 If it is merely a greeting, it should be clear that it is a greeting. If words are used for the purpose, which may be legitimate in certain restricted contexts in liturgy, of aiding phatic communion, the community should be aware that it is not merely making trivial statements or uttering trivial wishes or prayers. Grammar alone will not adequately identify the language-use concerned. Grammar alone would suggest that 'How do you do ? is a question rather than a greeting. Before leaving this part of the discussion, we must conclude with a further note on the role of statements in liturgy. First and foremost, the Church in its liturgy recites the saving acts of God in history. It is not simply 'describing doctrine' in its statements about salvation, however, as G. E. Wright and more recently James Barr and others have so emphatically argued.2 Two opposite over-simplifications must be avoided. The one is the mistaken idea that 'statement' in liturgy exclusively takes the form of assent to doctrines that certain facts took place. These statements are not the flat statements of objective description. The other is the equally mistaken idea that none of them are really 'statements' at all, but only disguised expressions of the worshippers' own attitudes. The word 'Gospel' reminds us that at the very heart of Christian faith is the assertion that God has acted in human history, and particularly in Israel and in Christ. Nevertheless, this remains as assertion of faith. Hence the function of statement overlaps with that of testimony or confession. In the prePauline traditions repeated in 1 Corinthians 11.23ff. and 15.3ff., for example, factual assertions are made which could have been verified: 1 As is in fact done in Series 3 Comuunion. 2 G. E. Wright, God Who Acts. Biblical Theology as Recital p p . 3 5 - 4 6 ; and J . Barr, The Bible in the Modern World pp.75-111.

15

(S.C.M. London, 1952) (S.C.M. London, 1973)

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

'Jesus... took bread . . . ' 'Christ died . . . was buried'. But the statement that Christdied iscoupled with the confession'for our sins', and the worshipping community expresses its own self-involvement in the event. It is not therefore a simple flat assertion, buta self-involving complexone. So with the resurrection, 'Not only can all Christians join in saying "Jesus is risen". . . they all express their involvement—that is to say, their present faith— through this statement.'1 Many statements which are apparently assertions, reports, or descriptions of states of affairs turn out to have this self-involving dimension. This is not to claim, with R. B. Braithwaite, that the statement 'God is love' is no more than a pseudo-assertion which expresses 'intention to follow an agapeistic way of life.' 2 The work of such writers as Raeburne S. Heimbeck suggests extreme caution towards accepting claims of this kind. 3 Nevertheless a statement such as 'God created the world' does more than give descriptive information about the origin of the universe. Its primary function is to call men to thankfulness, to stewardship of the world's resources, and so on. Two quite different traditions of theological scholarship have underlined and expounded this point. From the point of view of British linguistic philosophy Donald Evans has fruitfully explored the self-involving function of such language.4 But also from the very different viewpoint of a rejection of 'objectification' in theological language, Rudolf Bultmann further stresses that language about God should not be understood merely as flat assertions. To talk to God, Bultmann insists, is evidently and necessarily also to talk about myself. 5 To talk about the Last Judgment is not, he claims, to describe an event located in the remote future, but to summons man to responsible action now in the present. We conclude, then, that language is an activity which can take as many varied forms as life itself. The problem of meaning is bound up with the nature and function of these linguistic activities, and certainly cannot be answered with reference only to surface-grammar or surface-structure. The key point is that the worshipping community must be aware of what it is doing; otherwise however carefully liturgical experts research into questions either of origin or of contemporary style, meanings will be distorted, trivialized, or flattened. In particular, special attention must be paid to the many areas in which two or more functions of language overlap, so that the part is taken for the whole. Painstaking research needs to be undertaken into the whole question of marking these functions when they operate in disguised ways, so that no dimension of meaning is lost to view. We now turn to a special example of a type of meaning which is sometimes overlooked, to performative language and other first-person utterances. 1

W. Marxsen, The Resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1 9 7 0 ) p.19. 2 R. B. Braithwaite, An Empiricist's View of the Nature of Religious Belief (Cambridge University Press, 1955) p.18. 3 Cf. R. S. Heimbeck, Theology and Meaning. A Critique of Metatheological Scepticism (Allen and Unwin, London, 1 9 6 9 ) especially pp.124-35 and 1 5 7 - 6 3 . 4 D. D. Evans, The Logic of Self-Involvement (S.C.M. London, 1 9 6 3 ) . Evans refers mainly to the work of J. L. Austin. 5 R. Bultmann, Faith and Understanding I (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1969) pp.53-65 and 2 8 6 - 3 1 2 ; cf. also Essays Philosophical and Theological (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1955) p.256 and H. W. Bartsch (ed.) Kerygma and Myth (S.P.C.K. London 21964 and 1962).

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3. P E R F O R M A T I V E L A N G U A G E A N D FIRST-PERSON UTTERANCES How is the worshipping community actually using language when it exclaims, 'We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee ?' What is happening when we say, 'We do earnestly repent, and are heartily sorry for our misdoings; the remembrance of them is grievous unto us' ? The traditional answer, but one that can be misleading, is that we are expressing our state of mind. Once this is said, two kinds of problems arise. Firstly, it may be suggested that the words are not always true. Perhaps this fear lies behind the move according to which the 1662 Prayer Book words are watered down into, 'We are truly sorry and repent of all our sins'. We may not feel, it is argued, that the burden of our sins is intolerable, and it is therefore false to say so. It need hardly be pointed out that this kind of argument can become a never-ending regress. For is it, then, always true, that, as Series 3 puts it, we repent of all our sins ? At all events, the conceptual model behind this language is too often taken to be that of externalizing some kind of map of our otherwise private and inner thoughts. This map, it is assumed, can either be true or false. But to say that an utterance can be true-or-false is at once to see it as the description of a state of affairs, as a proposition or statement. A confession or act of praise, it seems, is a descriptive progress-report on a state of mind. I shall argue that this approach is misleading. But before we look more closely at this type of language, we must also note a second difficulty. Theologically, it may be assumed that God is already aware of our states of mind. Hence, on the basis of this view, it would seem that acts of repentance or praise are merely, in the end, ways of giving God information that he already knows. When we put these two difficulties together, each seems to compound the other. Why bother to tell God what he already knows well, and thereby also risk being caught uttering hypocritical untruths ? The answer to this problem is that in using language in these ways we are not primarily reporting on our states of mind at all. Wittgenstein and Austin point to a more adequate account of the situation. Wittgenstein remarks that we must make 'a radical break with the idea that language always functions in one way, always serves the same purpose: to convey thoughts—-which may be about houses, pains, good and evil, or anything else you please'.1 He devotes many pages to discussing the issue. The words 'I am in pain', he observes, may not necessarily function as a report of an inner state, so much as a more sophisticated substitute for painbehaviour such as weeping or saying 'Ouch!' Imagine, Wittgenstein suggests, that we are trying to solve a mathematical problem. Suddenly we see it, and say'Now I know how to go on.' This is not, he urges, a description of a state of mind, but 'an exclamation; it corresponds to an instinctive sound, a glad start.'2 Wittgenstein admits that sometimes there may be borderline cases. The words 'I am afraid' may in certain settings function to describe a state of3 mind, but in many cases it will be like a cry, and 'a cry is not a description.' The key point about acts of adoration or acts of confession is that they are linguistic acts. 'When it is said in a funeral oration "We mourn o u r . . . " 1

L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Ibid, section 323. 3 Ibid. II, ix, p.189. 2

Investigations section 304.

17

L A N G U A G E , LITURGY, A N D

MEANING

this is surely supposed to be an expression of mourning; not to tell anything to those w h o are present.' 1 In the same way, 'We are truly sorry and repent' constitutes an act of repentance, not the communication of information. J. L. Austin examines this type of language in his valuable series of lectures How to do Things with Words. The category of language-uses in question is given the name 'performatives.' 1n a performative utterance the speaker is 'doing something rather than merely saying something.' 2 'The utterance is the performing of an action.' 3 If I say, for example, 'I give my watch to my brother', this could in certain circumstances be merely a descriptive report of what I am doing. But if it occurs in the context of a will, it is both more and also less than a descriptive statement. It is more than a statement, because it is actually doing or effecting something. It is also less, because 'true-or-false' cannot rightly be applied. Daily life contains many examples of performatives. For example, 'I bet £5 . . . ' , when I am actually making the bet, and not describing the action. 'I bid £20', when I am making the bid. When in the marriage service the bridegroom says 'I take you', he is not informing anyone about his inner intentions, but marrying his bride. When the shipping magnate's wife says 'I name this ship the St. Clair', she is not informing the crowd that whereas other people may call it the Mary Rose, her o w n inner inclination is to call it the St. Clair. She is actually doing the job of naming it. Three types of performatives are especially relevant to liturgy, namely those which Austin himself called commissives, behabitives, and exercitives. 4 'The whole point of a commissive is to commit the speaker to a certain course of action.' 6 This is what they do. Hence the words such as 'promise', 'vow', 'pledge" and 'undertake' fall into this sub-category. Behabitives include expressions of attitude and reactions to the acts of someone else. Thus they include thanking, blessing, cursing and praising. The exclamation 'God is good' may sometimes function not so much as a description of God or of an assent to a doctrine, but as an act of response to God's act. It is more than simply a true-or-false statement. We do not normally talk about true-or-false praise, true-or-false apologies, and so on, although we might talk about praise and apologies as being sincere or insincere. Whether an apology turned out to have been sincere will at least partly turn on subsequent conduct. In such we can ask: 'was the act of praise or apology consistent with subsequent acts?' Exercitives express a 'decision that something is to be so, as distinct from a judgment that it is so... It is an award, as opposed to an assessment.' 6 Examples are dedicating, naming, baptizing, proclaiming, warning, pardoning. It is important to note that exercitives do not do things simply by causal force. Austin is careful to underline this point, and Donald Evans also stresses its significance for theology. 7 A government decree may actually make certain actions legal or illegal. When such a decree is said to 'take 1 Ibid. 2 J. L. Austin, Philosophical Papers (Clarendon Press, 1961) p.222. 3 J. L. Austin, How to do Things with Words (Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1962) p.6. 4 Ibid, pp.150-163 5 Ibid, p.156. 6 Ibid. p. 154. ~> D. D. Evans, op.clt.. pp.68-78.

18

PERFORMATIVE LANGUAGE A N D FIRST-PERSON

UTTERANCES

effect', this does not depend on whether a given number of men actually change this attitude towards the actions in question, but only on whether the decree is null or properly enacted. In this sense, it is not the physical act of uttering a warning, or a pardon, or the baptism formula that actually 'does' anything, but the status of the pronouncement within the whole framework of pre-supposition, status, authority, and propriety on which the utterance depends for its performative force. I have argued this case with reference to certain cherished assumptions, which I believe to be wrong, about the supposed causal power of words of the Bible.1 In the same article I have also attacked and criticized certain widespread but mistaken views about the supposed power of blessings and cursings with particular reference to recent Biblical research on the subject. 2 Any idea of 'wordmagic' must be strenuously resisted, and I have argued this in detail. Since this force cannot be said to be merely causal, the effectiveness of performative utterances depends on a number of factors relevant to the speech-situation. Austin pays special attention to three types of necessary condition for their happy functioning. First, there must exist a relevant conventional procedure. Nowadays, for example, it would be no good my simply saying 'My seconds will call on you', because the conventions of duelling have died out. I can say 'I congratulate you', rather than 'Well done!' but I cannot say'I hereby insult you', because there is no convention for insulting people by that means. Nor is there any procedure, for instance, for ordaining dogs into holy orders. Secondly, the procedure, if it exists, must be carried out correctly and completely. Have I completed the procedure of betting when I say 'I b e t . . . " unless the other person says 'You're on' ? Thirdly, the speaker must be the person appointed to do the job. It is no use my arriving in the middle of the night and breaking the bottle against the ship with the words 'I name . . . ', if it is the shipping magnate's wife who is due to do it next day. This last point raises theological questions when it is connected with acts of blessing or absolution. In the view of many worshippers, if a woman Free Church minister gave an absolution it would be like someone's saying in a game 'I pick George', and George's shrugging it off with the words 'Not playing.' 3 It would be as if I myself were to find some old rowing boat and were to declare, 'I name this ship the Queen Elizabeth.' Many Protestant-minded worshippers would in any case tend to view all absolutions as declarations rather than as performatives. Thus Series 3 Morning Prayer does in practice allow for both possibilities: (1) 'Almighty God . . . forgive you your sins'; (2) 'Hear. . . the assurance of pardon: Your sins are forgiven . . .' Perhaps radicals who have minimal theological convictions would translate the meaning of any form into 'Let's stop worrying.' What an absolution means depends on what the community is actually doing. Thus, once again, the moral to be drawn is that the worshipping community should know what it is doing, and that what it is doing should match its own theological convictions. The liturgical reformer faces therefore two 1

A. C. Thiselton, 'The Supposed Power of Words in the Biblical Writings' in Journal of Theological Studies 25 (1974) pp.283-99. 2 Cf. further G. Wehmeier, Der Segen im A/ten Testament-Eine Semasio/ogische Untersuchung der Wurzet brk. (Reinhardt, Basel, 1 9 7 0 ) pp.75-97 et passim. 3 Or like Caligula making his horse consul. 19

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

problems in connexion with performatives. On the one hand he must try to mark them as such. This is a difficult task, for Austin himself pointed out that grammarians fail to note this language-use, and that we reach 'an impasse over any single simple criterion of grammar or vocabulary'.1 There are, however, certain linguistic devises used for example in legal language for 'operative' speech, such as the insertion of the word 'hereby'. On the other hand, the liturgical reformer must first satisfy himself as to whether the theology of the community would allow for the use of performative language in this or that case. Sufficient room must be left, if necessary by providing for the use of alternative options, to allow the community's language to do what the community itself actually does. One or two further comments may now be added about wider uses of first-person utterances that are not specifically performatives in the narrower or more explicit sense of the term. Wittgenstein noted that in the case of certain verbs a logical asymmetry exists between their meanings when they occur in the first person and the third person. It makes sense to say, 'I wonder whether he is in pain'; but it would be nonsense to exclaim, 'I wonder whether / am in pain'.2 It makes sense to say 'He believes it, but it is false.' But it would be self-contradicting to say '/ believe it, but it is false.' Wittgenstein observes, 'If there were a verb meaning "to believe falsely", it would not have any significant first person present indicative.' He draws the moral, 'My own relation to my words is wholly different from other people's.'3 The point of Wittgenstein's observations is that if the words 'I believe . . . are to have any cash-value, they must have the backing of appropriate attitudes and actions in daily life. 'I believe' functions not only as a word which introduces a descriptive content, but also as that which gives it the speaker's personal guarantee. Urmson discusses this question of the degree to which the speaker stakes his own judgment, in his essay on 'Parenthetical Verbs'. The sentence 'I believe that God is good' can be translated into the form of an assertion, but even then the parenthetical verb expresses a 4degree of stake or support on the speaker's part: 'God, I believe, is good.' On the other hand 'I believe in ...' cannot be translated into a parenthesis at all. 'I believe in God . . .' does not merely assert something about God, or even about the speaker's mental state. It is both, an evaluation of God as trustworthy, and also a pledge of loyalty. A number of philosophers, including H. H. Price, question whether the word 'belief refers primarily to an inner mental state at all.5 Does a believer stop 'believing' when he is asleep, or when his mind is occupied with other things? When we say, 'he believes', this seems to amount in practice to 'a series of conditional statements describing what he would be likely to say or do or feel if such and such circumstances were to arise'.6 For example, he would contradict the speaker if someone denied the belief, or at least feel 1 J . L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words pp.4 and 59. 2 L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations sections 246-53 and 403-9. 3 Ibid., II x, pp.190 and 192 (my italics). 4 Cf. J . 0. Urmson, "Parenthetical Verbs' in Mind (1952) p.p.480-96, rp. in A. Flew (ed.) Essays in Conceptual Analysis (Macmillan, London, 1956) pp.192-212. 5 Cf. H. H. Price, Belief (Allen and Unwin, London 1969). 6 Ibid. p.20; cf. L. Wittgenstein, Zettel sections 486-505 on joy, love, and fear.

20

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LANGUAGE

AND

FIRST-PERSON

UTTERANCES

distress; he w o u l d act o n the assumption that his belief was true; and so on. The w o r d s '/ believe' have still less to do w i t h mental states. They are not 'autobiographical information', not a description of a state of m i n d ; but 'a public act of self-commitment'. Indeed they may also serve the overlapping language-function of 'inviting our hearers to accept w h a t w e believe', since w e intend at the same time to hold forth the 'guaranteegiving' character of our confession of faith. 1 In respect of creeds V. H. Neufeld strikes an admirable balance in his valuable w o r k on the creeds in the N e w Testament. Primarily, he argues, early Christian confessions f u n c t i o n as 'a personal declaration of faith . . . an acclamation'. But they also contain an important element of descriptive content. 2 Confessions are both testimony and statement. Once again, it w o u l d be an advantage if the w o r s h i p p i n g c o m m u n i t y were made aware of w h a t it is d o i n g w i t h its words. It is probably misleading in this connexion to d r a w t o o strong a contrast between liturgical w o r d s and physical liturgical acts, as if to imply that first-person utterances were other than acts themselves, w h i c h depend for their intelligibility and consistency on the wider 'backing' of the speaker's every-day life. 3 W e earlier remarked in connexion w i t h questions about continuity and tradition that the phrase ' G o d of our fathers' w a s not just a pious slogan, but a positive contribution to the problem of communication. The same might n o w be said of the relation between first person performatives or confessions and life. Thus relationship to everyday life is not merely a matter of piety or sincerity. It concerns the intelligibility, sense, or meaning, or w h a t is being said. Wittgenstein has a series of examples w h i c h s h o w that certain utterances make sense only against a certain background of life. 4 W h a t w o u l d 'pain' mean if I said 'I think I feel intense pain, but I am not sure ?' W h a t w o u l d 'love' mean if I said, 'I loved you greatly at 3 o'clock, but it had w o r n off by 3.10' ? 5 In all these cases, Wittgenstein s h o w s us, it is not unreasonable to say that w h a t is meant depends on the form of life in w h i c h the w o r d s are embedded. Wittgenstein remarks, for example, 'only someone w h o can reflect on the past can repent.' 6 W e have tried to s h o w in this chapter that certain types of first person utterances are especially sensitive in this respect. Liturgies use a multiplicity of language that is self-involving and c o m missive. It bids the worshipper engage in acts: in pledges, in pardonings, in promises, in guarantees, in acceptances; in acts of repentance, in acts of worship. Often it needs to be made more clear that these are not primarily descriptions of mental states, and some of the involvements w h i c h are implied should be unpacked. It is impossible to be only a spectator, and yet use self-involving language w i t h meaning. W h e n performative language is employed, it must be adapted closely to the theology of the c o m m u n i t y w h i c h is asked to use it. 1 Ibid. p p . 2 9 - 3 1 . 2 (Brill, Leiden, 1 9 6 3 ) p . 1 4 4 et passim. V. H. N e u f e l d , The Earliest Christian Confessions Of. D. M . H i g h , op.cit.. p p . 1 1 3 - 1 2 6 , o n t h i s n o t i o n of ' b a c k i n g ' . Cf. also L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Zettei s e c t i o n s 1 4 3 - 4 . 4 See for e x a m p l e L. W i t t g e n s t e i n Philosophical Investigations sections 246, 250, 2 6 8 - 9 , 2 7 1 , 2 8 2 - 9 ; a n d II i, p . 1 7 4 a n d Zettei s e c t i o n s 4 7 2 - 5 7 4 . 5 Cf. L. W i t t g e n s t e i n , Zettei. s e c t i o n 5 0 4 . 6 Ibid, s e c t i o n 5 1 9 . 3

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4. LINGUISTIC SYMBOLS We have noted that liturgy embodies a large variety of language-functions which cannot be classified as flat descriptive statements. But we have not yet exhausted the resources of this type of language. Symbols constitute another type of speech which, although they often find expression superficially in the form of propositions, do not, at least according to some writers, function as cognitive statements at all. Paul Tillich declares, 'Religious symbols . . . are a representation of that which is unconditionally beyond the conceptual sphere . . . Religious symbols represent the transcendent'. Not only do they point to what is transcendent, but according to Tillich they themselves transcend to cognitive realm that 'is split into subjectivity and objectivity'. 1 Tillich is perhaps more persuasive than any other single writer in setting out a plausible case for the indispensable use of verbal symbols in all speech about God. Firstly, the main reason behind Tillich's pre-occupation with symbols is his belief that God cannot remain God if w e try to describe him by means of concepts. Such is God's otherness or transcendence, that he cannot be located and identified on our map of concepts. Hence, Tillich declares, 'the centre of my theological doctrine of knowledge is the concept of symbol.' 2 The second reason put forward by Tillich for the value of symbols is that he believes that there is a sickness and confusion of modern consciousness stemming from the decay of images or symbols that once had vital power. Tillich here follows conclusions drawn from the psychology of Jung; and a similar emphasis can also be found in such writers as Eliade and Jaspers. The end result of this neglect of symbols and their loss of power, Jung predicts, is paralysis and breakdown. Jung explains the reason for this: Symbols are vital for the necessary interplay of conscious and unconscious. Thus a sacrament, according to Tillich, 'grasps our unconscious as well as our conscious being. It grasps the creative ground of our being.' 3 This has special point within the particular framework of Tillich's o w n system, for the unconscious is said to point to God, w h o is the Ground of our Being. Thirdly, symbols like signs, point beyond themselves, although the same can be said about analogies, models, myths, or metaphors. However, a symbol differs from a sign because, according to Tillich, it 'participates in that to which it points.' 4 In attempting to explain this pivotal point he suggests the analogy of how a flag participates in the dignity of the nation. It is true that in merely discursive language we step back, as it were, from the subject-matter under description. In this sense symbolic language has the same kind of immediacy as poetry, and this is partly what Tillich means. Too often, he says, we are tempted to spoil a poem by 'explaining' it in terms of philosophical concepts, when 'one cannot do this. If one uses philosophical language or scientific language, it does not mediate the same thing which is mediated in the use of really poetic language without a mixture of any other language.' 5 1

2

3

4 5

P. Tillich, 'The Religious Symbol' in S. Hook (ed.) Religious Experiences and Truth (Oliver and Boyd, Edinburgh, 1 962) p.303. P. Tillich, 'Reply' in C. W. Kegley and R. W. Bretall (eds.) The Theology of Paul Tillich (MacMillan, New York, 1964) p.333. P. Tillich, The Shaking of the Foundations (Penguin, London, 1962) p.86; cf. also F. W. Dillistone, Christianity and Symbolism (Collins, London, 1955) pp.285-90. P. Tillich, Theology of Culture pp.54-5; and Dynamics of Faith p.42. P. Tillich, Theology ot Culture, p.57.

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LINGUISTIC

SYMBOLS

Fourthly, Tillich insists, firstly, however, that symbols create the very capacity needed to appreciate them. 'Every symbol is two-edged. It opens up reality, and it opens the soul.' 'It opens up hidden depths of our own being.' 1 Symbols can be terrifying in their power. They can create, heal, and integrate life; or they can lead to destruction, disruption, and disintegration. The fifth point is that, with Jung, Tillich believes that symbols 'grow out of the individual or collective unconscious and cannot function without being accepted by the unconscious dimension of our being.' Hence, 'like living beings they grow and die.' Religious symbols, no less than others, should strike a note of rapport with man's unconscious, opening up experiences of 'depth' for him. 'If a religious symbol has ceased to have this function, then it dies.'2 This is of great significance for discussions of symbols in liturgy, including that of hymns. What is the power for to-day of the symbols of 'king', lord', 'father', 'shepherd' ? If symbols are to be used in liturgy, including hymns and preaching, it is essential to assess their strengths and weaknesses, and their overall role in language. 3 They have great power. Who can fail to respond to the symbol of the garden of Paradise, the inaccessible Eden, the tree of life whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, the light shining forth into the darkness ? Not to use symbols like these in liturgy or in preaching is to fight with one hand tied behind one's back. The Biblical writers make full use of this kind of symbolism, as Farrer, Thornton and Fawcett have reminded us.4 There are at least two possible explanations for the power of such symbols, which are not mutually exclusive. Jung may be correct in seeing these archetypal images as meeting responses from the depths of man's collective unconscious. The symbolism of darkness and monsters draws its power from days before the advent of electric light and machine-guns, as do dreams and nightmares. Alternatively our own earliest childhood memories, perhaps on the threshold of conscious recall, concern such very basic experiences of trauma or delight as that of being shut in, or shut out, by the closed door; of having the light come to chase away the shadows and phantoms of night; of drinking cool sparkling water on a hot summer's day; of having feasts, parties, or holidays. Within the terms which we have discussed in the first chapter, nothing could be more natural than to draw language from settings which reflect the most disturbing, delightful, or profound experiences of childhood and ordinary life, in order to describe religious realities which are no less profound, disturbing or delightful. Symbols, then, are powerful, and perform valuable functions in calling forth engagement and response on the part of the hearer as well as in serving any more descriptive purpose that they can also achieve. Nevertheless, they also suffer from fundamental limitations, and cannot serve as adequate substitutes for cognitive discourse. 1 2 3

4

Ibid, a n d Dynamics of Faith, p.43. P. T i l l i c h , Theology of Culture p.59, a n d Dynamics of Faith, loc. cit.. For t h e s p e c i f i c q u e s t i o n of Tillich's v i e w of s y m b o l s cf. A. C. T h i s e l t o n , 'The T h e o l o g y of Paul T i l l i c h ' in The Churchman 88 (1974) pp.86-107. A. Farrer, A Study in St. Mark ( D a c r e Press, L o n d o n , 1 9 5 1 ) a n d The Revelation of St. John the Divine (Clarendon Press, O x f o r d , 1 9 6 4 ) ; a n d T. F a w c e t t . Hebrew Myth and Christian Gospel ( S . C . M . L o n d o n , 1 9 7 3 ) , a n d The Symbolic Language of Religion ( S . C . M . L o n d o n , 1 9 7 0 ) . Cf. also G. Cope, Symbolism in the Bible and in the Church ( S . C . M . L o n d o n 1 9 5 9 ) .

23

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MEANING

Firstly, to acknowledge the power of symbols is not to say anything about their truth. Sufferers of certain mental illnesses, Edwyn Bevan points out, may see an added symbolic significance in anything or everything. Often they see 'things around them charged with a meaning which is sinister and terrifying . . . As they look at a table or a door, they are horribly afraid.' 1 Paul Tillich in particular does not pay enough attention to the difficulty that what may erupt from the unconscious is not necessarily the voice of God, but a chaos of images which have no basis in reality. The Biblical writers and Christian tradition are thoroughly aware of the deceitfulness of man's 'heart'. Symbols have power, but they may be variously used and interpreted. However, as soon as we begin to talk not about symbols as such, but about their use, we have moved back again into a more reflective and cognitive employment of language. Secondly, as Anders Jeffner rightly points out, Tillich's pivotal idea that a symbol, unlike a sign, somehow 'participates in' what it symbolizes is so ambiguous and ill-defined as to be described by Jeffner as 'not at all clear' and even 'very embarrassing.' 2 We have suggested that it may partly be understood in terms of the immediacy of symbols, but clearly Tillich intends to convey more than this by the idea. The problem is that language depends for its meaning only on convention—so no 'natural' connexion between language and reality can be asserted. Then, thirdly, there are questions about use. It may seem as if 'white', for example, is necessarily symbolic of purity, or goodness. But in practice its use is culturally conditioned. This is not to deny the power of symbols, but it is to resist basing this power on primitive nations of word-magic. 3 The practical lesson which follows about liturgy is that, as w e shall see, symbols function with proper effect only when their use, or meaning, is explained. For whilst a symbol may powerfully convey some kind of meaning, only a particular use of that symbol may powerfully convey the particular meaning that is the right meaning. A fourth source of difficulty is Tillich's admission that symbols as such cannot convey 'information about what God did once upon a time or will do sometime in the future.' 4 They do not describe or report historical states of affairs, in Tillich's view. The implications of this are easily worked out. All this implies that linguistic symbols perform valuable and indeed indispensable functions as supplementary tools of language alongside other uses. There is, in one sense, an element of magic and of timelessness about the Christian message, and symbols are needed to convey this. But in another sense the Gospel is neither magic nor timeless. It concerns acts of God enacted at particular times and in particular places. This aspect can only be portrayed by cognitive discursive language, and liturgy must include this family of language-uses as well as the many others which w e have noted. All the available resources of language should be used in liturgy, but symbols must not outrun their o w n appropriate function. 1 2 3

4

E. Bevan, Symbolism and Belief (Fontana ed. London 1962) p.244. A Jeffner, op. cit.. p.57. Cf. my detailed criticisms of w o r d - m a g i c in A. C. Thiselton, 'The Supposed Power of Words in the Biblical Writings', toe. cit. P. Tillich, Dynamics of Faith, p.47.

24

5. METAPHOR, MYTH AND NARRATIVE One initial problem which arises is that of attempting to draw distinctons between symbol, metaphor, and myth. Metaphors, like symbols, feature among the most powerful tools available in language. They are not merely illustrative devices. They can either help a man or else lead him astray, by letting him 'see' things in certain ways. If he 'sees' the Christian life as a pilgrimage, he may well be better prepared to face hardships and difficulties, and find himself directed to consider its final goal. If he 'sees' the Bible as a sword, he will expect its words to have a cutting edge. But metaphors, or models, or pictures, can also mislead us. Wittgenstein writes 'A picture (ein Bild) held us captive'. T h e picture was the key. Oritseemerflike a key.'1 The very power of metaphors makes this problem more serious. In his notes entitled On Certainty Wittgenstein discusses how certain ways of looking at the world or at life can lie at the basis of all our thinking. These constitute, as it were, 'hinges' on which other beliefs turn. They are the 'scaffolding' of our intellectual lives; they form a 'foundation for research and action'.2 They are like the axis around which a body rotates.3 These fundamental axioms may themselves however, take the form of pictures, metaphors, or models. One man's religion and philosophy of life may revolve round the fixed point that life is a journey; that God is a stern father; that the Church is his mother; that he is a servant trading to make more talents; that he is a guardian of the flock against grievous wolves. A single metaphor, or set of metaphors, may take hold of a man. It seems like a key; and he passes under its control, C. S. Lewis draws a distinction in this connexion between what he calls master's metaphor and pupil's metaphor.4 In the case of the master's metaphor we may search deliberately for a metaphor which is likely to help someone else. We have other ways of expressing the idea, and we remain fully aware that our use of language is metaphorical. However, a pupil's metaphor is not shown, but 'found'. Our understanding is bound up with the metaphor, and in due course we can become 'entirely at the mercy of the metaphor'. If we forget that it is metaphor, we are seduced into speaking nonsense. Metaphors, then, cannot be allowed to run wild. They are too powerful and too dangerous. Nevertheless to try to tame and flatten all metaphors is to rob language of a certain raw energy which it needs if it is to capture men's imaginations and wills. Four points may be made. Firstly, metaphors should not merely be replaced by flat prosaic similes or abstract statements. A live metaphor presupposes a well-established use of language (often called the literal meaning) and then extends this use in a way which enables language to express a new 1

L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 115; and Zette! section 240. (his italics). 2 L. Wittgenstein, On Certainty (Blackwell, Oxford, 1969) sections 87, 211, 343, and 655. 3 Ibid, section 152. 4 C. S. Lewis, 'Bluspels and Flalansferes' in M. Black (ed.) The Importance of Language (Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, N. J., 1962) pp.36-50. 25

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

truth. Two things are achieved by this. On the one hand, as we have said, the hearer now 'sees' something in a new light. On the other hand, the new language-use stands in a relation of tension and often ambiguity to the old, and this tension provokes the hearer into some kind of reaction. In this sense, a metaphor is something which one 'sees' for oneself. This is of course no longer the case with dead metaphor, where a new habit of language-use has already become well-established in its own right. Probably language about the Bible as a sword has long since become dead metaphor. Hence it fulfills the first function of letting a man 'see' the Bible in a certain light; but it fails in the second function of provoking a reaction or response. Secondly, often we have to choose between reducing the force of a metaphor and leaving a certain open-endedness or ambiguity. An example of this problem may be considered by comparing the way in which Today's English Version of the Bible consistently softens the force of Biblical metaphors because it aims above all else at clarity of meaning. Thus 'put on Christ' (Gal. 3.27) becomes 'take upon themselves the qualities of Christ.' Readers are no longer left to ask the question for themselves: how does one 'put on' not new clothes, but a person ? The ambiguity has been removed, but so has the self-involvement and appeal for a reaction. Even normally dead metaphors like 'hand of the Lord' (Acts 11.21), which may not be dead to everyone, are rendered 'power of the Lord'. The powerful metaphor 'Pass from me this cup' (Luke 22.42) is flattened for sake of clarity into 'free me from having to suffer this trial'. In liturgy it is probably necessary to attempt to follow a middle course between the two extremes. If language is so highly metaphorical as to be naturally unintelligible to the average worshipper, it defeats its own ends. For it cannot be conveying meaning powerfully, if not conveying meaning at all. The third point is less basic, but is perhaps worth making briefly. We have alluded to the creation of a necessary tension between established meanings (literal use) and new or extended meanings (metaphorical use). Too great a degree of tension, however, can exceed the limits of aesthetic taste, and simply cause embarrassment. The 'point' of a good metaphor is as delicate and difficult to achieve as the point of a good joke. Hymn-writers and composers of prayers should be especially cautious about the use of twentieth-century technology as a source of metaphors. Work that survives the great fire day may indeed be gold, but hardly asbestos. The Church may be without spot or wrinkle, but it is hardly clothed in white acrylic. The Holy Spirit may search the depths, but he is hardly the believer's radar or sonar. This is because, firstly, too great a tension is set up between the two different language-uses, and secondly, this is further aggravated by the problem of register.The term register is a standard one in general linguistics. The register of speech used by a door-to-door salesman in Mayfair will be different from that used on the same business in Deptford; and each will be different from the register employed in the same area by a close friend on a social visit. Metaphors involving asbestos, sonar, polyester, acrylics, ceramics and plastics span too great a gap both in logical extension and in stylistic register. They are like a joke which is too far-fetched quite to come off. The fourth point is as important as the first. Metaphors must never be misleadingly over-extended, so that their metaphorical status is forgotten. 26

METAPHOR, MYTH AND NARRATIVE

Let us imagine that the c o m m u n i t y calls the Spirit the w i n d . It then prays for the Spirit to b l o w . W i n d is refreshing, invigorating, p o w e r f u l and so on. But in hymns, prayers, or sermons, it may also be suggested that the Christian o r t h e Christian c o m m u n i t y is a sailing ship, w h i c h the Spirit b l o w s along and powers. The metaphor is then extended in order to attack another; w e are not like oarsmen toiling to provide our o w n power. W e must let g o and let God. The metaphor has n o w become backing for a doctrine. The same applies, Ian Ramsey pointed out, about metaphors of 'pressure' or 'waves' w h e n applied to prayer. The metaphor itself provides plausibility for a particular doctrine, namely that the greater the number of people w h o pray, and the longer the period they pray for, the more God is likely to be 'moved' into action. Plumbing metaphors are used to suggest that 'sin' can block the pipe that f l o w s f r o m God, a kind of perfectionism. W e have said that metaphors should not be abandoned. However, most metaphors serve t o provide one w a y of seeing life, w h i c h should not be taken for a total v i e w . Other metaphors are also needed to cancel off those implications of the original metaphor w h i c h do not correspond to truth. If the Spirit b l o w s like w i n d , and men are powered by his breath, it should not be forgotten that men are also called to labour. If prayer seeros to mean an exertion of pressure, God is also the loving father w h o gives before w e ask. If w e are linked to God by means of a pipe w h i c h can be blocked, w e are also planted together w i t h Christ so that roots inextricably intertwine. It is the task of metaphor, like symbol, to speak to the heart, and d r a w us into seeing things in certain ways. It is then the task of theology to explain the relations b e t w e e n sets of metaphors w h i c h appear t o compete. But there must be different sets of metaphors. Otherwise, in Wittgenstein's words, a mere picture can seduce us, can b e w i t c h us and lead us astray; and the picture may hold us captive. The four sets of considerations suggest that responsibility is crucial in the use of metaphors, not least in prayers, hymns, and homilies. 1

Myth is no less p o w e r f u l than symbol or metaphor. Indeed m y t h is basically symbol or metaphor expressed in the form of a story. I have discussed the problems of defining m y t h in another place, together w i t h questions about the extent to w h i c h the Bible draws on myth, and also about Bultmann's programme of demythologizing. 2 Three or four characteristics of myth are not usually disputed: that it occurs in narrative f o r m a n d usually concerns the deeds of supernatural beings; and that w i t h i n their o w n c o m m u n i t y (even if not in others) they possess the status of believed truth. There are many possible approaches to myth, but t w o kinds of approach stand in particular contrast t o each other. Eliade, Jaspers, and J u n g , together w i t h Berdyaev and Urban, insist that myth has positive value even for modern man. It performs similar roles to those w h i c h , w e have seen, 1

2

On metaphor in general cf. W. P. Alston, op. cit.. pp.96-106; C. M. Turbayne The Myth of Metaphor (Yale University Press, New Haven, 1962); M. B. Hester, The Meaning of Poetic Metaphor (Mouton, The Hague, 1967) pp.114-92; and M. Black Models and Metaphors (Cornell University Press, Ithaca, New York, 1962), pp.25-47. A. C. Thiselton, 'Myth, Mythology' in M. C. Tenney (ed.) The Zondervan Pictorial Encyclopaedia of the Bible (Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1975) vol. 4 pp.333-43. 27

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some of these writers associate with symbols. But Eliade, in particular, goes further than this. According to the mythical concept of time, he urges, the great archetypal events of the past are repeated, re-enacted, or reactualised in such a way as to shape, and give meaning to, the present.1 This approach has close connexions with the 'myth and ritual' approach in Old Testament studies of the nineteen-twenties and thirties, found especially in the writings of S. Mowinckel, S. H. Hooke and A. Bentzen. In the liturgical ritual of certain Psalms, for example, Bentzen writes, 'Israel experienced a repetition of the events at the Creation of the world— God's fight against the powers of Chaos, the primeval ocean, Rahab, the Dragon, and their attendant hosts of demons. The Divine fight ends in the defeat of the enemies of God . . . To "remember" the saving facts of religions means to the Ancient World that these facts are tangibly experienced. . . . The religious experience involved is best illustrated from the Toman Mass and the Lutheran interpretation of the Communion Service.'2 In Eliade's words, the passion of Christ is 're-actualized' in liturgy and especially in the eucharist. 'Christianity, by the very fact that it is a religion, has had to preserve at least one mythic attitude—the attitude towards liturgical time.' 3 The second kind of approach to myth which we shall mention is the very opposite of this. As early as in the eighteenth century Lowth, followed later by Heyne, insisted that mythical attitudes represent merely prescientific ways of understanding the world. Hartlich and Sachs have shown how this approach grew into a whole tradition of scholarship. 4 Levy Brühl, for example, sees myth as a 'pre-logical' attitude which regards the world as being peopled with 'forces'. In particular Rudolf Bultmann insists that myth reflects a world-view which is now obsolete, and incompatable with modern culture. Thus myth portrays divine transcendence spatially, as if God were 'up' above the sky. The use of myth in Christian proclamation makes the Gospel 'incredible to modern man, for he is convinced that the mythical view of the world is obsolete . . . Theology must undertake the task of stripping the Kerygma from its mythical framework, of 'demythologizing' it.' 5 Perhaps the deepest problem about myth for Bultmann is its method of 'objectification', which actually obscures the thrust of the Gospel. For example, God's word of address to men 'Act responsibly', takes the outward form of an apparently descriptive statement about a last judgment in the remote future. The message that Christ comes 'to me' takes the form of a descriptive account of the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven. Such language, Bultmann insists, must be translated into a form which better fits the existential or 'present' thrust of the Gospel. 'Myth should be interpreted not cosmologically, but anthropologically, or better existentially.' 6 1

M. Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return (rp. as Cosmos and History. Harper and Row, New York, 1959); and Myths, Dreams, and Mysteries (Fontana, ed. London, 1968) pp.27-31. 2 A. Bentzen, King and Messiah (Eng. Lutterworth, London, 1955) pp.11-12. 3 M. Eliade, Myths, Dreams and Mysteries p.30. 4 C. Hartlich and W. Sachs, Der Ursprung des Mythosbegriffes in der modernen Bibelwissenschaft (Mohr, Tubingen, 1952) especially pp.6-19 and 148-64. 5 R. Bultmann, 'New Testament and Mythology' in H. W. Bartsch (ed.) Kerygma and Myth vol. 1, p.3 (his italics). 6 Ibid. p. 10.

28

METAPHOR, MYTH AND NARRATIVE

Both these two different approaches, I believe, contain half-truths. Each says something of value; but each, taken as it stands, is wrong. Bultmann rightly sees that objectifying language can obscure the dimension of personal address but it is wrong to suppose that descriptive language can be translated into language about man exhaustively and without remainder, (even granted the givenness of the event of the cross, which Bultmann retains). Conversely, Eliade is right to point out the powerfully self-involving function of such mythical imagery. But the view of God's acts in history which is central to the Hebrew-Christian tradition seems to be incompatable with what is suggested about liturgical or mythical time, and with the fact that myth in the Bible functions only as 'broken' myth. Bultmann is correct when in his sermons he expounds the message of the last judgment in such a way that it makes an impact on the hearer here and now. But we saw in our earlier discussion of 'he ascended into heaven' that all self-involving utterances have this character, whether or not we describe them as myth. In this respect Bultmann seems to be doing little more than underlining the point noted by Calvin that speech about God is also speech about man. The question is whether it is only speech about man. Ian G. Barbour rightly comments 'I would grant that God is not encountered apart from personal involvement, without granting that God's action is limited to the sphere of selfhood.'1 There is of course, more to be said on both sides. Bultmann states two things about myth. In terms of form, myth is 'the use of imagery to express the other worldly in terms of this world.'2 This is the part of his definition which, if adequate, would not only equate myth with symbol and analogy; but also, asThielicke and others point out, would make myth indispensable to any speech about God. 3 But Bultmann also defines myth in terms of a given content: 'Supernatural forces intervene in the course of nature . . . Man is not in control of his own life.'4 In Bultmann's view it is this second aspect which makes myth pre-scientific. This view, however, can be challenged, and Wolfhart Pannenberg among others, expresses a very different viewpoint. He writes, The acceptance of divine intervention in the course of events . . . is fundamental to every religious understanding of the world, including one that is not mythical in the sense that comparative religion uses the term.' Not even the 'threestorey' world-view is specifically mythical, according to Pannenberg.5 We should be cautious about allowing the argument: myth represents a prescientific world-view; belief in divine interventions in life is mythological; therefore, belief in supernatural events is incompatible with a modern world-view. In addition to these difficulties, the linguistic consequences of demythologizing must be carefully examined. It simply does not have the same 1 2 3

4 5

Ian G. Barbour, Myths, Models and Paradigms (S.C.M. London, 1974) p.27. R. Bultmann, 'New Testament and Mythology' loc. cit., p.10. For a detailed critique see A. C. Thiselton, The Two Horizons, pp.252-92. H. Thielicke, 'The Restatement of New Testament Mythology' in H. W. Bartsch (ed.) op. cit., vol. 1 pp.138-74; and especially The Evangelical Faith (Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1974) pp.66-114. R. Bultmann, loc. cit., p.1. W. Pannenberg, 'Myth in Biblical and Christian Tradition' in Basic Questions in Theology vol. 3. (Eng. S.C.M. London, 1973) pp.14 and 67. 29

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meaning, or linguistic value and function, to say 'Live responsibly', as to say both 'Live responsibly' and 'There is a last judgment'. Bultmann is right when he insists that language about the Lordship of Christ means that Christ is/77/ Lord; that I am his slave. This is the self-involving aspect of the confession 'Christ is Lord'. But when the New Testament associates his Lordship with cosmic victory, it also makes a descriptive statement, that Christ is the Lord, that he is Lord of the Church, that he is Lord of all. This cannot be translated exhaustively and without remainder into personal existential terms. The relevance of demythologizing to liturgy has been touched on briefly by J. L. Houlden. 1 He is right to point out that too often the acts of God as described in liturgy can be interpreted as mere past acts. But we do not have an alternative between stressing the past and the present, the cosmic and the individual, the supernatural and the everyday. W e need both language about the cosmic Lordship of Christ and even the last judgment; and language about my own slavehood and my present responsibility. I have suggested that we should also be cautious about the claims made by Eliade and others concerning notions of mythical or liturgical time. Whilst such claims may be made perhaps for particular religions, the kind of approach represented by Hooke, Mowinckel and Bentzen is certainly not uncontroversial today in Old Testament studies. Ideas about anamnesis, or remembering, in terms of tangible re-enactment are precarious grounds on which to base a whole doctrine and practice of the eucharist. In this respect many of the 'agreed" statements about the eucharist remain open to question. 2 Questions about myth in the Old Testament are too complex to be discussed here in detail. Elsewhere, however, I have examined the Old Testament material, and I conclude, that whilst the Old Testament writings certainly use mythical imagery, it is put to a use which is not primarily mythical. More attention should be paid, I believe, to the relation between myth and metaphor, the distinction between vocabulary and language-function, and to the question of whether certain Old Testament views of time and salvation-history are not incompatible with myth as such. 3 A s B. S. Childs rightly argues, this mythical imagery functions as 'broken' myth. Reality is determined ' n o t . . . in a series of primeval acts, but . . . through the redemptive activity of God working in history.' 4 Liturgy will include mythological imagery rather than myth as such, Broken myth is myth that is harnessed and used in accordance with reflective theology of the community. It still retains much of its symbolic, metaphorical, self-involving power; but it remains the servant of the community's life, not its master. When language is viewed as man's master, as it is for example in the later philosophy of Martin Heidegger, 1

J. L. H o u l d e n ' L i t u r g y a n d her C o m p a n i o n s : A T h e o l o g i c a l Appraisal' in R. C. D. Jasper, The Eucharist Today. Studies on Series 3 (S.P.C.K. L o n d o n , 1 9 7 4 ) p p . 1 7 2 - 3 . E.g. in Modern Eucharistic Agreement (S.P.C.K. L o n d o n , 1 9 7 3 ) p p . 2 7 (the A n g l i c a n R o m a n C a t h o l i c I n t e r n a t i o n a l C o m m i s s i o n , W i n d s o r 1 9 7 1 ) ; 5 8 ( G r o u p of Les D o m b e s , 1 9 7 2 ) a n d especially 8 4 - 5 ( S t a t e m e n t of t h e Faith a n d Order C o m m i s s i o n of the W o r l d C o u n c i l of Churches, L o u v a i n , 1 9 7 1 ) . 3 A. C. T h i s e l t o n , ' M y t h , M y t h o l o g y ' loc. cit, 4 B. S. Childs, Myth and Reality in the Old Testament ( S . C . M . L o n d o n , 2 1 9 6 2 ) p p . 4 2 - 3 , 64, 7 8 et passim.

2

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NARRATIVE

fresh sets of problems arise over the relation between language and truth. It is no advantage for language to f u n c t i o n w i t h power, if it leads men a w a y from truth. 1 Some c o m m e n t s must be made, finally, o n narrative and story. These f u n c t i o n in a distinctive way. They are self-involving, as w e l l as merely descriptive; but above all their particularity makes room for a distinctively personal dimension in the use of language. The importance of story-telling in religion seems suddenly to be receiving widespread attention, especially in the United States. The point is stressed, however, from t w o very different viewpoints. Harvey Cox in The Seduction of the Spirit and Sam Keen in To a Dancing God stress the value of man's telling his own story. Worship and theology. Cox suggests, should include personal testimony: I say h o w it is w i t h me. 2 This stands in contrast to the idea of deriving 'theology' secondhand f r o m the HebrewChristian tradition. On the other hand, the importance of story is stressed equally by a number of scholars w h o call attention to the story-like character of so much of the Biblical material. Thus Hans Frei entitles his very recent book on the subject The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative.3 Alluding to the Bible and its role in the modern w o r l d , James Barr asserts, 'Christian faith is not a set of ideas or a pattern of imagery; it may include these but they are not its essence. The essence is a set of historical f a c t s — w i t h , w e must add, an interpretation of t h e m in faith.' 4 These considerations are of fundamental importance for liturgy. As J . L. Houlden points out, 'In liturgy Christians must seek to avoid the risk of simply "expressing themselves": they must express . . . the faith w h i c h has grasped them.' This includes 'a thankful rehearsal of the "acts " o f God in man's salvation.' 5 This aspect should embrace all acts of w o r s h i p not only t h r o u g h creeds but also through narrative Bible reading; and it should certainly not be confined to the eucharist alone, in w h i c h , to my mind, w e should strictly be concerned not w i t h a w h o l e series of saving acts but more narrowly w i t h the event of the cross. However, w e may n o w make a more specifically linguistic point about narrative. W h e n w e are talking about persons and personal acts, w e are not concerned w i t h mere cases, numbers, or members of classes, but w i t h a 'thou' w h o is unique. Modern society threatens to depersonalize man, to make him a mere cog in the social or economic machine, a mere unit of c o n s u m p t i o n or production. His personhood is lost w h e n he is v i e w e d as simply a case in the doctor's records or a statistic on the planner's chart. 1

I have discussed this issue in A. C. Thiselton 'The New Hermeneutic' in H. Marshall (Paternoster, Exeter, 1 9 7 7 ) ; cf. further (ed.) New Testament Interpretation H. Jonas in The Review of Metaphysics 18 (1964) pp.207-33. 2 Harvey Cox, The Seduction of the Spirit, The Use and Misuses of People's Religion ( W i l d w o o d House, London, 1974) pp.9-13, 9 1 - 1 1 2 and 1 1 5 - 1 1 9 . 3 H. W. Frei, The Eclipse of the Biblical Narrative, A Study in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Hermeneutics (Yale University Press, New Haven, 1 9 7 4 ) . 4 J. Barr, The Bible in the Modern World (S.C.M. London, 1973) p.76. 5 J . L. Houlden, loc. cit., pp.169 and 172.

31

LANGUAGE, LITURGY, AND MEANING

It is therefore imperative and urgent that Christian liturgy should call attention to, and preserve, the unique personhood both of God and man. How is this to be achieved ? Linguistically we must avoid talk which traffics entirely in generalizations; in terms of general rules, guiding principles, universal maxims, classes and categories. Narrative or story is the diametrical opposite of generalizing discourse. It tells what a particular man or woman actually did on a particular occasion. This is one reason why narrative features so extensively and prominently in the Bible. It is not a textbook of dogmatic theology which contains merely general rules and universal truths. Not only man, but also God is portrayed in personal terms. It may be true that God should be regarded as being 'more' than a person, but he is not less. The Bible not only uses a variety of personal images such as father, husband, shepherd, and so on; it also vindicates the notion of personhood as applied to God both by the notion that God created man in his image and also by the fact of incarnation. Both language about God and language about man, then, must function in liturgy with this personal dimension, and narrative constitutes one of the most important linguistic devices for achieving this purpose. This does raise one practical problem, however, in relation to liturgy. General truths can be expressed briefly, even in theform of short aphorisms. Narrative demands the use of much longer stretches of language. This is why, simply from a linguistic rather than a theological viewpoint, narrative Bible-reading performs an indispensable role, in which the use of mere sentences or short biblical allusions cannot be an adequate substitute. The use of substantial lectionary portions, moreover, performs the further role, which we discussed in the first chapter, of assisting a familiarity with the standard settings out of which paradigms of meaning emerged. What redemption is, we noted for example, begins to emerge when we recount the narrative of the exodus. This is not to make past history the criterion of present meaning; but it is to say that the great events of Biblical history and Biblical narrative constitute a paradigm for the meanings of many words. To use narrative portions of the Bible in a substantial or extensive way is different from using brief allusions mainly for the purpose of borrowing Biblical imagery. There is a place for this, but there are also certain dangers in doing it. The danger is that of causing confusions in meaning brought about by what Wittgenstein called using language outside its own language-game or proper setting. 'The language game in which they are to be applied is missing'.1 We tried to show in the first chapter that a word does not necessarily mean the same thing when it is torn out of one setting and placed in another. In broader terms, however. Biblical narrative provides a frame of reference and an understanding of language-settings which is indispensable for the intelligible use of language by the Christian community. This brings us back to the whole argument of the first chapter, in which we pointed out that questions about settings are no less important than questions about vocabulary, and indeed may even be logically prior to them. 1

L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations section 96. 32

POSTSCRIPT T O 1986 EDITION After ten years, there is nothing in the original Study w h i c h I should like to withdraw. But I welcome the opportunity to add three brief comments. First, there has been a g r o w i n g literature on the philosophy of language and on speech-act theory w h i c h remains relevant t o the position advocated here. In addition to my o w n study in The Two Horizons (Paternoster, Exeter, 1 980). I should like t o call attention to the work of one of my former research students. Dr. Janet Martin Soskice, published under the title Metaphor and Religious Language (Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1985). Second, the last ten years have also seen advances in the area of reader-response theory in literary studies. These focus on the act of reading as an avenue of approach to language and interpretation, and examine the relation between readers' expectations as readers and the demands w h i c h a linguistic text makes upon them in order actively t o engage their response. One lesson to be drawn for liturgical studies is that the danger of making liturgy bland or trivial is a far more serious one than that of being too demanding. This angle, at least in terms of literary and biblical texts, is explored in R. Lundin, A. C. Thiselton, and C. Walhout, The Responsibility of Hermeneutics (Eerdmans and Paternoster, Exeter, 1985). Third, the debate about gender-inclusive language demands attention w i t h increasing urgency. The lessons to be learned from the present study are at least t w o . In the first place, attention to semantics will show that the respective roles performed by w h a t are called marked' and 'unmarked' terms must be taken into account. 1 Marking is based on the presence or absence of some particular element of form in a pair of terms w h i c h stand in a relation of complementarity. Hostess is the marked term in opposition to host; lioness is the marked term in opposition to lion. But the formally marked member of the opposition tends to be more restricted in its distribution than the formally unmarked member.' 2 W e may call a lioness a lion, or refer to a bitch as a dog; but lioness and bitch are applicable only to a proportion of cases when we speak of lions or of dogs. This is because lion at dog perform a double function; in certain contexts they exclude their marked term (lioness, bitch), but in other contexts they stand in an inclusive relationship to the marked term. This is a relationship of hyponymy, in w h i c h lion becomes a superordinate or generic term for all lions and lionesses. It is along these lines that many argue that in liturgy man or men stands as a superordinate term for men and women. But the problem is complicated by changing perceptions about the basis of linguistic conventions themselves, and by the need to distinguish between differing contexts in w h i c h certain assumptions about gender-oppositions are operative or nonoperative. The fact that male nurse, for example, has become a marked term for w h i c h nurse is the superordinate or hyponymous term says something about the expectations of society about nursing. Hence semantic considerations lead on t o sociological ones. Semantics is the first word, but not the last word, and caution is needed on both sides of the debate against jumping too soon to hasty conclusions about how much or how little is implied by semantic convention. The debate about gender-inclusive language also gives rise to a second problem relevant to this study. W e have argued that liturgical language performs many functions. One difficulty about revising traditional conventions is that in addition to performing its primary tasks, such language also makes some statement about non-exclusive language. It thereby runs the risk of bringing feminist concerns to consciousness even at moments when, or in contexts where, this is not necessarily appropriate. It can be argued, by way of reply, that language w h i c h might be exclusive simply does, and has always done, the opposite. Or it can be argued that such revision should be done more subtly. But whatever position is finally taken on these questions, the multiple functions of language and their effects should be taken firmly into account, along with the questions about semantics w h i c h we have briefly introduced. Anthony C. Thiselton October 1 9 8 5

1

2

A b r i e f t e x t - b o o k d i s c u s s i o n of t h e s e m a n t i c p r i n c i p l e c a n be f o u n d in J o h n Lyons, Structural C a m b r i d g e U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1 9 7 7 ) p p . 3 0 5 - 1 1 . Lyons, op. cit. p . 3 0 6 .

33

Semantics

{2 v o l s .