Twentieth century Christian responses to religious pluralism : difference is everything 9781472410900, 1472410904, 9781472410924, 1472410920

Table of contents :
The exclusivist response --
Definitive exclusivism : Karl Barth (1886-1968) --
Hard exclusivism : Hendrik Kraemer (1888-1965) --
Conservative exclusivism : Emil Brunner (1889-1966) --
Moderate exclusivism : Lesslie Newbigin (1909-98) --
The inclusivist response --
Traditional inclusivism : Karl Rahner (1904-84) --
Progressive inclusivism : Paul Tillich (1886-1965) --
The pluralist response --
Classical pluralism I : Hans Küng (1928- ) --
Classical pluralism II : Raimundo Panikkar (1918-2010) --
Theocentric pluralism : John Hick (1922-2012) --
Anthropocentric pluralism : Wilfred Cantwell Smith (1916-2000).

Citation preview

Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism This is a highly competent, well written and very readable survey of the key players in the Christian debate on religious pluralism. It not only provides an important introduction to the field, but makes its own valuable contribution to the Christian theology of religions. Philip C. Almond, The University of Queensland, Australia Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism begins with the recognition that the traditional three-fold typology adopted by Christians in responding to other living world religions is no longer adequate and offers a much more sophisticated and developed approach. This is accomplished with particular reference to ten key twentieth century theologians, each of whom had significant influence in the field of inter-religious studies, both during their lifetime and beyond. The author rejects the exclusivism and triumphalism of traditional Christian approaches and argues strongly and persuasively that the future for interreligious relationships lies in what he describes as ‘classical pluralism’, and in an understanding of the importance of difference for inter-faith dialogue. Presenting an accessible introduction to the contemporary issues and challenges facing all those engaged in the further development of inter-faith relationships, dialogue and partnership between the world religions, Pitman argues that the future of world peace and prosperity depends on the outcome.

ASHGATE NEW CRITICAL THINKING IN RELIGION, THEOLOGY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES The Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. Headed by an international editorial advisory board of acclaimed scholars spanning the breadth of religious studies, theology and biblical studies, this openended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Other Recently Published Titles in the Series: Pannenberg on Evil, Love and God The Realisation of Divine Love Mark Hocknull Averroes and Hegel on Philosophy and Religion Catarina Belo Cassian’s Conferences Scriptural Interpretation and the Monastic Ideal Christopher J. Kelly Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality Testing Religious Truth-claims R. Scott Smith Thomas Torrance’s Mediations and Revelation Titus Chung Dalit Theology and Christian Anarchism Keith Hebden Dharma and Ecology of Hindu Communities Sustenance and Sustainability Pankaj Jain Piety and Responsibility Patterns of Unity in Karl Rahner, Karl Barth, and Vedanta Desika John N. Sheveland

Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism Difference is Everything

David Pitman University of Queensland, Australia

First published 2014 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

Copyright © 2014 David Pitman David pitman has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and patents act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data a catalogue record for this book is available from the British library The Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data has been applied for

isBn 9781472410900 (hbk) isBn 9781315549521 (ebk)

This book is dedicated to all those who helped to open my eyes to see the world in a new way and especially to Marcia for sharing the journey.

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Contents Prefaceix Introduction1 1

The Exclusivist Response

11

2

Definitive Exclusivism: Karl Barth (1886–1968)

25

3

Hard Exclusivism: Hendrik Kraemer (1888–1965)

43

4

Conservative Exclusivism: Emil Brunner (1889–1966)

55

5

Moderate Exclusivism: Lesslie Newbigin (1909–98)

67

6

The Inclusivist Response

83

7

Traditional Inclusivism: Karl Rahner (1904–84)

93

8

Progressive Inclusivism: Paul Tillich (1886–1965)

109

9

The Pluralist Response

125

10

Classical Pluralism I: Hans Küng (1928–)

143

11

Classical Pluralism II: Raimundo Panikkar (1918–2010)

159

12

Theocentric Pluralism: John Hick (1922–2012)

177

13

Anthropocentric Pluralism: Wilfred Cantwell Smith (1916–2000)

195

Conclusion

217

Bibliography219 Index   231

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Preface I was nurtured from an early age within the Australian Methodist Church and became an accredited Lay Preacher by the time I was 17 years old. At teachers college and university I joined the Evangelical Union (IVF) and felt very comfortable in the conservative understanding and interpretation of the Christian scriptures in which I was immersed during those years. I had a strong sense of my own personal salvation won for me by Christ through his death and resurrection. It never occurred to me that there was any other way in which eternal life could be secured, and I believed, with the utmost sincerity, that only Christians like me could be the subjects of God’s grace and forgiveness. The adherents of other religious traditions, about which I knew almost nothing, were pagans and idolaters, whose only hope lay in embracing the same faith I held. Christian missionaries were, therefore, God’s gift to ‘unbelievers’ and were to be held in high esteem and fervently prayed for. After some years as a teacher I entered the Methodist ministry and was ordained in 1970. Three years later I responded to an invitation from Australian Methodist Overseas Missions to go and work amongst the Indian people in Fiji, only 2 per cent of whom were Christian. I went with enthusiasm and high expectations, and the experience changed my life in ways I never expected. As with so many others who have walked a similar path to my own, it was the relationships I developed with people of other faiths, and with Hindu people in particular, that made all the difference. I was humbled, and frequently inspired, by their faith and devotion and the way in which what they believed influenced every area of their daily lives. Though I did not realise it at the time, this book had its beginning in that experience. I write as a Christian ‘insider’, deeply committed to my own faith tradition, yet very conscious of the diversity of faiths alive and at work in the world around me, each with its own authentic and vital history and contemporary significance. I have chosen to use the personal pronoun on occasions understanding and accepting that not everyone will agree with the stance I have adopted or the conclusions I have reached. However, it is my hope that there will be others who will discover that where the living religious traditions of the world are concerned, ‘difference is everything’ and in that reality there is good reason for celebration! I want to acknowledge with gratitude those Christian pluralists whose enormous and influential contributions to the field of religious studies I have, however inadequately, addressed in this book: Hans Küng, Raimundo Panikkar, John Hick and Wilfred Cantwell Smith. I am also particularly indebted to the

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powerfully imaginative and provocative thought of Alan Race and Paul Knitter. Notwithstanding any criticisms I have made of any of them, all of these scholars have inspired me with their willingness to challenge established boundaries, to embrace new ways of thinking and to envision the possibility of a better world.

Introduction The contemporary reality for the Christian church is that it attracts, and that to some degree only nominally, the allegiance of no more than one third of the world’s population. Furthermore, substantial numbers of Christians now live in multi-cultural societies in which a number of other religious traditions are represented. Ease of travel around the world and the expansion of tourism have brought Christians increasingly into contact with followers of other religious traditions. Greater numbers of Christians have gained a deeper understanding of other religions. Interaction and dialogue, formal and informal, have become more common. New ways of thinking of and responding to other faiths have developed. A growing number of Christian scholars have abandoned the traditional claim of Christianity to absolute religious truth and sought to give expression to alternative ways of stating its relationship to the various world religions. This tendency has been rigorously criticised by other writers who continue to argue that Christianity is the only true religion and Jesus Christ the only genuine incarnation of the one, holy God and the sole means of salvation. This debate, along with the attitudes it reflects, has profound significance for the manner in which the relationships between world religions will develop in the future. The implications for the Christian church are enormous. The long-established approach to mission and evangelism amongst people of other faiths is now seriously questioned and increasingly criticised. Aspects of Christian theology, including teaching regarding the incarnation of Christ, have become the subject of radical discussion. These are matters that will be discussed at length as we proceed. At the beginning, I want to identify the ongoing concern I have regarding the use of the term ‘non-Christian’. It is, I believe, yet another way, even if unintentionally, that we convey a negative message to those who are committed to a faith tradition different to our own. I have a similar concern regarding the use of terms like ‘the other’ when we are talking about those who are, in reality, our ‘neighbours’, though it is acceptable to refer to ‘other religions’ when we understand that the Christian religion is one of many. Too often our language betrays us, and we need to take much greater care about what we say and write, lest in giving offence we limit the potential for mutual dialogue and practical partnership. It is also important to say that in what follows, the term ‘salvation’ is used on a regular basis to identify the ultimate goal or outcome identified within each of the world’s living religious traditions. For Christians, this can mean inheriting the eternal life won in Jesus Christ. For Muslims, it can mean entering the promise and bliss of Paradise. For Hindus, it can mean a variety of outcomes, including escape from the otherwise endless cycle of reincarnation. For Buddhists, it can mean true enlightenment or freedom from the limiting power of human desire. However it

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may be described, all religions identify a goal toward which the faithful seek to move and the means by which that goal can be attained. I will argue that all of these goals are valid and authentic and each is a way of experiencing salvation. Generally speaking, three traditional responses to the reality of religious pluralism can be discerned in the work of Christian theologians. These responses have usually been identified as exclusivism, inclusivism and pluralism. I proceed down this path aware that a rigorous debate continues over the nature and application of this typology. Wesley Ariarajah, for example, advocates the abandonment of the established typology and urges ‘a move toward a reconstruction of a theology of religion for our day that takes full account of the actual experience of knowing other spiritual paths and living with people of other religious traditions’ (2005, 190). This is a noble goal, but we still have to wrestle with these issues knowing that we are engaging with the deeply held convictions that undergird the exclusivist, inclusivist and pluralist positions. Barnes’ attempt to redefine the meaning of the classic paradigm poses a major problem, not least because he wants to impart meanings to exclusivism, inclusivism and pluralism that they have never had in Christian theology of religions until now and, in the process, glosses over the serious implications of exclusivism and inclusivism, in particular (2002, 184). T.S. Perry is strongly critical of the established typology, describing it as ‘a polemical device that caricatures actual exclusivist and inclusivist theories while masking problems in pluralist ones’ (2001, 4). Schmidt-Leukel offers a survey of current criticisms regarding the ongoing use of the typology, that includes comment to the effect that it is inconsistent, misleading, too narrow, too broad, too abstract, offensive and pointless (2005, 14–17). However, he concludes, as I do, that the basic form of the typology continues to offer a constructive and familiar starting-point from which to address the ever-increasing complexity and sophistication of the spectrum of responses apparent amongst Christian theologians. The exclusivist response strongly reflects a very conservative position. It asserts that there is only one religion that can claim to have an exclusive hold on truth, and that is Christianity. However, we should anticipate here the special case of Karl Barth. Barth, we will see, was indeed an exclusivist, but he claimed that all religions, including Christianity, were inadequate, human manifestations of the divine self-revelation. Exclusivists, in general, say that all religious truth-claims, other than Christian, are fallible and limited. Jesus Christ is the only perfect and absolute self-revelation in human form that God has ever made. Salvation is available only through faith in Christ. The Christian Bible contains the only truly inspired and genuine record of God’s action in and through the human race and, in that regard, is without error. For exclusivists, inter-religious dialogue is seen as an opportunity to convert followers of other faiths to Christianity. This book will deal with four of the well-known representatives of this position: Karl Barth, Hendrik Kraemer, Emil Brunner and Lesslie Newbigin. The Protestant International Missionary Conferences held in 1910, 1928 and 1938 were notable for their overall support for this approach. Publications of the World Council of Churches

Introduction

3

prior to 1966, and pre-Second Vatican Council documents of the Catholic Church also reflect the exclusivist emphasis. The inclusivist response seeks to acknowledge the value to be found in other religious traditions. They are seen to be bearers of truth. They are ways in which people can genuinely know and worship God. There is even the possibility that salvation may be attained through them for the devout follower. Their scriptures are held in high regard as bearers of ancient stories and customs. Nonetheless, those who adopt this position continue to affirm the supreme place and role of Christianity amongst the religions of the world. It is even suggested that devotees of other religions actually follow Christ and are saved by him without knowing it. Inclusivists see dialogue as a vehicle for helping the followers of other religions to understand the truth that they are really saved by Christ. Key representatives of this position addressed in this book are Karl Rahner and Paul Tillich. Publications of the World Council of Churches since 1966 indicate a growing willingness, resisted by some, to wrestle with these issues, and appropriate documents of the Catholic Church arising out of the Second Vatican Council are also reflections of this response. The classical pluralist position argues that all religious traditions have an equal claim to be bearers of truth, though this is not to be interpreted as suggesting that all religions are equally true, either in and of themselves or in relation to each other. All religions are genuine, though different, pathways to salvation. People should be free to follow the religious path of their choice. It is well understood that in the vast majority of instances, religious affiliation depends almost entirely on when and where in the world a person was born. Pluralists argue that the differences between the religions are very real and should not be minimised or avoided. They are strong advocates of mutual evaluation and criticism. The pluralist response advocates dialogue as the means by which the followers of the various traditions can gain knowledge and understanding of one another and experience mutual challenge and enrichment. Representatives of this position addressed here are Hans Küng and Raimundo Panikkar. We should note at this point the decision by Gavin D’Costa to reject the threefold typology he had earlier supported, and his claim, using John Hick and Paul Knitter as examples, that pluralists are actually exclusivists (D’Costa 1996). His arguments in this regard are ultimately unconvincing, but the issue he raises requires some further comment. Insofar as ‘exclusive’ means ‘unique’, all of the Christian responses represent a form of exclusivism. There is no difficulty with that as a principle. It is only when a conviction regarding exclusive leads to the conclusion that all other religions are excluded or that all other religions are somehow included in one’s own, that a problem emerges for interfaith dialogue and relationship. Pluralism does represent a form of exclusiveness, but only insofar as it insists on the uniqueness of each religious tradition and its efficacy as a path to salvation. This distinction between exclusive and exclusion must be clearly understood and maintained. This is true, not only for intra-Christian conversation, but also for interfaith dialogue. As Pratt says:

4

Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism In the context of interreligious engagement and dialogue, if religious identity is not to succumb to syncretistic blurring or relativist reduction, then some means of exclusivity is a necessary element of identity. (2007, 293) Religious exclusivity is not the same as religious exclusivism: the one refers to identity uniqueness; the other to an excluding attitude and ideology. (Ibid. 306)

So it will be argued that it is the classical pluralist response which offers us most in terms of both a contemporary theology of world religions and a foundation that can undergird inter-religious relationship and dialogue in the future. In moving to such an important conclusion, this book will offer two major propositions. The first is that the three traditional ways of categorising the Christian response to religious pluralism are no longer adequate. While they still represent a helpful basis upon which to begin the discussion, a much more sophisticated spectrum of responses is now required. I agree with Pratt, who writes: ‘a close analysis shows … that exclusivism, inclusivism and pluralism do not denote three discrete paradigms but that each refers, in fact, to a range of sub-paradigms that may be better thought of as expressing relative positions upon a continuum’ (2007, 292). In the first instance, we will see that there are subtle, but significant, variations apparent within each of the broad streams outlined above. Secondly, we will see that within the pluralist spectrum there are at least two further quite different responses that can be identified. These are the theocentric pluralist response of John Hick and the anthropocentric pluralist response of Wilfred Cantwell Smith. It will be clear that both these responses go beyond the original parameters of the three traditional positions and must be identified as distinct pluralistic modes of understanding the relationship of Christianity and other world religions. Thirdly, the attitudes and emphases of some theologians change and evolve over time. We will see how this has been particularly true in relation to all of the pluralists: Hans Küng, Raimundo Panikkar, John Hick and Wilfred Cantwell Smith. This means that the spectrum of Christian responses to religious pluralism is not static but is, rather, a dynamic entity and must be regularly reviewed for that very reason. When we come to reflect on existing attempts to identify and expound such a spectrum of responses, we are faced with a number of problems, including significant variations, some inadequacies, confusion of boundaries, errors in classification and instances where the publication of a work precedes a major shift in the thinking of a theologian, leaving certain conclusions outdated and no longer accurate. To illustrate, let us take four books, all published in the 1980s: Christians and Religious Pluralism by Alan Race (1983), No Other Name? by Paul Knitter (1985), Theology and Religious Pluralism by Gavin D’Costa (1986b) and Towards a World Theology by Glyn Richards (1989). Alan Race, a pluralist, was a pioneer in the exposition of the threefold spectrum of responses: exclusivist, inclusivist and pluralist. His treatment of the exclusivist and inclusivist responses is clear and comprehensive. Through no fault of his own, he includes Hans Küng amongst the inclusivists where he properly

Introduction

5

belonged when Race was writing his book, though now he must be classified as a pluralist. However, it is in the pluralist section that Race poses most difficulties. Firstly, he includes Tillich here, and, as we shall see, Tillich was not a pluralist at the time of his death, even though it can be argued that he was moving in that direction. Secondly, Race does not sufficiently detail the differences in approach and emphasis that are apparent in the pluralists whose work he chooses to explore, notably Hick, Smith, Toynbee, Hocking and Troeltsch. A later publication, Christian Approaches to Other Faiths (2009), which Race jointly edited with Paul Hedges, generally maintains the same limited threefold approach. Contributions under the heading, ‘Other Approaches’, offer only subtle variations on the traditional structure. A good example of this can be found in a compelling essay by Kate McCarthy on the way in which the experience of women and their reflection on that experience, helps us to address issues of religious diversity and difference from a Christian perspective. She writes: ‘Three aspects of women’s experience across cultures seem particularly relevant to this task: the experience of otherness; a plurality of social location; and an embodied spirituality’ (2009, 77). She goes on to explore, albeit briefly, various characteristics of feminist theological method that she believes can contribute significantly to Christian engagement with other religious traditions. While she wants to claim more uniqueness for the insights of feminist theology than is warranted, McCarthy’s contribution is very important. Within the overall framework of Christian responses to religious pluralism, it does represent another perspective. However, I believe it grounds feminist theology in the classical pluralism represented in this book by Küng and Panikkar. Paul Knitter, also a pluralist, offers a more original analysis of the different responses, though I have to disagree with a number of his conclusions. He points to a ‘conservative evangelical model’, typified by Barth. He then distinguishes a ‘mainline Protestant model’, in which he includes Brunner, Newbigin and Tillich. There are such major differences between Tillich and the other two theologians that to bracket them together is most unhelpful. It makes much more sense to link Brunner and Newbigin with Barth within the broad scope of the exclusivist section and explore the differences in emphasis characteristic of each. Then Knitter chooses to include both Rahner and Küng within what he calls the ‘Catholic model’. This is even more anomalous. While Küng may have once been an orthodox inclusivist, by the time Knitter wrote No Other Name?, Küng had clearly adopted a much more radical stance. Finally, Knitter brackets Hick and Panikkar together in a consideration of a ‘theocentric model’. While both of these theologians are pluralists and can be compared on that basis, we will see how they also represent different points on the pluralist spectrum. In a later book, Introducing Theologies of Religions (2002), Knitter proposes another spectrum of responses altogether that requires some exposition and critique. He identifies four ‘models’ of response to the world religions from within the Christian tradition: ‘replacement’, fulfilment’, ‘mutuality’ and ‘acceptance’.

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His replacement model is a restatement of the exclusivist position. Although he talks about both ‘total replacement’ and ‘partial replacement’ as variations in emphasis, his overview remains an inadequate description of the diversity discernible amongst the theologians who can be identified as exclusivist. His fulfilment model revisits the origins and development of those recognised as inclusivists and so includes an overview of the official position of the Catholic Church since Vatican II and the stance adopted by the World Council of Churches. It is in his treatment of the mutuality model, his term for pluralism, that the more serious issues emerge, further reinforcing my own commitment to a more sophisticated form of the established typology rather that the creation of a new framework and new terminology. His decision to link theologians like Panikkar and Hick in the same model, without any adequate identification of how differently they interpret the pluralist position, clearly illustrates the problem with his approach. It also means that the general conclusion Knitter reaches, that the pluralists refuse to accept that world religions demonstrate far more diversity than similarity, is open to serious question (2002, 157). As we shall see, those I identify as classical pluralists, Küng and Panikkar, clearly emphasise and affirm the uniqueness of each religion and, therefore, the inescapable differences. This is also why I argue that Hick and Cantwell Smith, who do not diminish the differences but search for what might unify rather than continue to divide, must be treated separately within the overall pluralist framework, rather than as examples of the mutualist model that Knitter proposes. The confusion becomes even more apparent in Knitter’s description of his acceptance model, with its assumption that only those who advocate this approach understand and accept how different the religions really are. This exacerbates even further the earlier, and erroneous, assumption that pluralists do not understand or accept the real significance of difference. Knitter depicts the various religions as neighbours in adjoining backyards who talk to each other over the fence. The suggestion that difference has to keep us in our own backyards is an extraordinary proposition that denies what being a neighbour actually means. Good neighbours will always be seeking for ways to interact that take them beyond honest and meaningful conversation ‘over the back fence’. These are all matters that will be explored later in much more detail. Gavin D’Costa provides a very clear and straightforward exposition of the three traditional responses, referring to the work of Kraemer (exclusivist), Rahner (inclusivist) and Hick (pluralist) (1986b). The real limitation of his work lies in its lack of perception regarding the degree of variation which exists within each of these major areas of response. In any case, as we have already noted, D’Costa is now an ardent critic of the typology and rejects its use altogether (1996). Glyn Richards also attempts a more original and complex analysis of the spectrum of responses, but he too creates confusion through the identification of divisions which group unlikely candidates in some instances and separate those who really ought to be together in others. For example, he makes the same mistake as Knitter in including Rahner and Küng under the general heading of ‘Catholic’,

Introduction

7

in spite of the obvious differences between them. He also isolates Tillich into a category of his own (‘dynamic typological’), rather than relating him to Rahner as Protestant and Catholic exponents respectively of the inclusivist response. The identification of other responses, using terms like ‘essentialist’, ‘dialogical’ and ‘Christo-centric’, is also confusing, as these are emphases that are not confined to any one of the major areas of response. These examples highlight the need for a continued use of the established patterns of response – exclusivist, inclusivist, pluralist – as a way of ensuring a common basis for such studies in the future. However, the need for a more sophisticated and clearly identified spectrum of responses within these broad divisions is also pressing. What follows is an attempt to meet that need. The second major proposition argued in this book is that inter-religious dialogue, grounded in mutual respect and pursued with openness to both learning and criticism, represents the only effective basis upon which relationships between the various religious traditions can be developed and sustained. As we will see, the historical interaction of religions generally has been characterised by confrontation, mistrust and even violence. The Christian religion has often been a major protagonist in this process, not least because of its assumed position of superiority and its determination to evangelise without regard to the historical, social and cultural environments into which successive waves of missionaries ventured in the name of Christ. Race and Shafer argue that dialogue is increasingly urgent, not only because the majority of societies are now culturally and religiously pluralistic, but because peace, both within and between nations may very well depend on it (2002, 4). Race and Shafer suggest that dialogue can have relationship-building as its primary focus, or be the subject of academic research, or be an outcome of everyday life and work, or establish a basis for cooperation and partnership in projects aimed at making life better for people in need. They conclude that dialogue ‘is already transforming the way in which religion is being approached, studied and embraced in an emerging global environment’ (2002, 3). The expansion of Christendom through missionary endeavour was undergirded by a theology of exclusivism, which argued that the salvation of souls was everything and should therefore be pursued by all means available. The goal of conversion was sufficient, in and of itself, to justify the oppression of indigenous religious practices and the destruction of local cultures, which were understood to be manifestations of evil and barriers to salvation. While the missionary initiatives of the Christian church established Christianity as a major religious influence, its impact in areas dominated by the other great religious traditions was, and still is, minimal. Hinduism, Buddhism and Islam in particular have been essentially untouched by 2,000 years of active Christian missionary enterprise. Just as significant, however, is the fact that the attitudes and strategies which typified missionary outreach often had the effect of engendering a deep sense of outrage in those at whom they were directed. While elements of the old exclusivism remain, and the call for Christians to evangelise people of other faiths continues to be heard from some quarters, there has

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been a groundswell of support over the past 50 years in particular for an approach to inter-religious relationships that fosters dialogue rather than confrontation, cooperation rather than conflict, mutual respect rather than proselytising and working together rather than separately. This new spirit of religious ecumenism is to be commended, for it carries with it rich possibilities in terms of world peace, the quest for a more stable and just global society and the opportunity to work together in friendship to combat poverty, racism and disease. Such humanitarian principles are, in and of themselves, a sufficient basis for abandoning confrontation between religions, grounded in notions of superiority, in order to pursue a policy of dialogue aimed at mutual learning and cooperative action. However, this is not the only basis for a dialogical and relational approach to the interface of religions. The major part of the literature on this subject, as we will see, indicates an acceptance that the various religious traditions are systems of faith and practice grounded in particular historical–cultural settings, each essentially unique. While there are identifiable points of comparison in theology, ethics, devotional disciplines and so on, it is the inescapable differences between the traditions that must be acknowledged. Ultimately, in this regard, difference is everything. Jonathan Sacks argues that we need ‘a new religious paradigm equal to the challenge of living in the conscious presence of difference’ (2009, 100). Sacks, a rabbi, and speaking as a monotheist, suggests that this new paradigm involves both a shared humanity, which all people have in common and what he calls, ‘the dignity of difference’. He contends that the diversity which is characteristic of the human condition actually has its origin in the unity of God. He says, ‘I propose that the truth at the heart of monotheism is that God is greater than religion, that he is only partially comprehended by any one faith’ (2009, 105). While not everyone engaged in inter-religious dialogue will resonate with Sack’s bold monotheism, he nonetheless illustrates a vital principle. Difference is everywhere, but it does not have to create division. Rather it can be a powerful motivation not just for dialogue but for mutual respect, partnership and the pursuit of a better world. Historically, Christian exclusivists have dealt with this difference by rejecting anything contrary to their understanding of the Christian faith. They have had no rational basis on which to do this. Rather, it was the logical outcome of the conviction that the revelation and salvation of God in Christ was unique and therefore exclusive of all other revelations. Such an assumption of uniqueness cannot be sustained on any empirical grounds: it is a matter of faith. In that sense, every religious tradition could claim uniqueness and exclusivity. A dialogical approach to interfaith relationships allows for an acknowledgement of this reality and encourages respectful listening and sharing, in the context of which each tradition can maintain its sense of uniqueness and peculiar identity without diminishing those qualities in the others. In contrast, the exclusivist response represents an insurmountable barrier to genuine dialogue because it proceeds on the basis of an assumption that Christianity is right and the others are wrong. The inclusivist response also mitigates against effective dialogue because

Introduction

9

of the implication that the faithful of all religions are saved by Christ whether or not they know it or desire it. The theistic pluralism of Hick and the anthropological pluralism of Cantwell Smith founder in terms of dialogue, because each, in its own way, diminishes the sense of uniqueness so important to the life and identity of each religious tradition. As has already been indicated, this book will argue that the particular emphasis and spirit of the classical pluralist response provides the most appropriate framework for the interaction and cooperation of religions, both now and in the future.

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Chapter 1

The Exclusivist Response There are major differences between the world religions, and only the Christian revelation expresses ultimate truth in its declaration that there is salvation in Jesus Christ alone.

In the book of Acts, two incidents are described which indicate that from its earliest days the Christian church struggled with the question of who could belong and who should be excluded. The first of these accounts concerns the visit of the apostle Peter to the home of the gentile centurion Cornelius which resulted in the whole household becoming believers and being baptised (Acts 10:34–5). In that setting Peter declared: ‘I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but that in every nation anyone who hears him and does what is right is acceptable to him’ (Acts 10:43). In isolation, this statement suggests a very open and inclusive stance on Peter’s part. However, in the total context of the passage, it becomes clear that Peter interpreted God’s attitude to the faithful in the light of the Jesus event, because ‘everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name’ (Acts 10:43). The emphasis in this story is that nationality, culture and language are no barrier to those who hear and believe the gospel of Jesus Christ. The second occasion concerns a meeting of the apostles and elders in Jerusalem, at which it was determined that gentiles like Cornelius who became Christians could be admitted to membership of the church without the necessity for circumcision in the Jewish tradition (Acts 15:1–35). These were significant events in a church still very much in the process of forging an identity in a largely alien environment. However, they are, at the same time, stories that indicate the prevailing conviction of the early Christian church that salvation was to be found in Christ alone. In this conviction can be found the origins of the exclusivist stance in relation to other religions. As we shall see, the exclusivist position was not the only response to other religions evident in the life of the church. However, it was a significant one and has been a strongly advocated and clearly discernible stream of thought in the church from then until now. ‘The heritage of Christian exclusiveness runs deep into the New Testament and dominates the tradition from earliest times to the present’ (Braaten 1981, 70). Davis proposes: In the doctrine of the supremacy of Jesus Christ there is a tension between universalism and particularity. The higher the position granted to Christ, the more widespread must be his presence and action. The supreme exaltation

12

Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism outlined in Colossians implies a universal active presence throughout creation and in the whole of human history. … Along these lines lies the possibility of a Christian universalism that in all religions would see the work of Christ. On the other hand, the exalted Christ is the same Jesus who died on the cross. … How, then, can men be saved unless they hear of the man Jesus and his saving work and have faith in his name? The historical particularity of Jesus … is the source of Christian exclusiveness. (1970, 40–41)

Exclusivists argue that the New Testament witness in general points strongly to a faith that understands Jesus to be the unique, incarnate Son of God. They contend that the gospel stories are grounded in just such a conviction and that the preaching of the early church takes the incarnation of Christ (in the sense of the total story of his birth, life, death resurrection) as its major point of reference. Braaten makes this emphasis explicit: We hold certain truths to be solidly based on divine revelation attested by Holy Scripture. We propose four dogmatic propositions to which all Christians ought to subscribe if they are faithful to God’s revelation in Jesus Christ: First, Jesus Christ is the personal event in whom God’s final revelation has already occurred. Second, faith in Jesus as the Christ means real participation in God’s eschatological salvation. Third, the church is the community of believers who must proclaim Jesus of Nazareth as the sole Saviour of humankind until God’s Kingdom arrives in its final glory. Fourth, God’s will is that all shall be saved and that the whole creation, now in a struggle for life, will at last reach its fulfilling future in the reign of God through Jesus Christ our Lord. (1992, 3)

There is a generous resource for exclusivists in those specific texts that seem unequivocally to declare that there is salvation in Christ alone. Amongst those commonly quoted are: ‘Jesus answered him, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me”’ (John 14:6) and ‘There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved’ (Acts 4:12). Down through the centuries, this particular biblical witness has been the foundation for the conclusion that only Christianity can claim to have an exclusive hold on truth and that all other religious truth-claims are fallible and in error. Arthur Glasser is one of those who support this contention. It is the uniqueness of the truth claims of biblical Christianity that evangelicals regard as non-negotiable. Regardless of how religiously plural their communities and countries become, evangelicals will continue to regard the essence of their faith as the unique revelation of God, equally valid for all peoples. (Glasser and Amaladoss 1989, 2)

Shortly, we will consider in more detail the main themes of the exclusivist response: firstly, a conviction regarding the uniqueness of Christ; secondly, the

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assertion that Christianity is the one, true religion – a position adopted on the basis of the authority given to scripture and an emphasis on the centrality of faith. Thirdly, the contention that salvation is effected through Christ alone.1 These themes are not necessarily given the same degree of attention and emphasis by all those who represent the exclusivists, but they do, in general, illustrate the convictions and conclusions of that group. Historical Perspectives The exclusivist response has found expression in various ways in the life of the Christian churches. We need to consider a number of these before moving on to study the special contribution of certain particular individuals. Firstly, we should consider the attitude of the Roman Catholic Church. Knitter writes: ‘Risking the dangers of generalization, one might describe the attitudes of the Roman Church toward other faiths, from the patristic age to the twentieth century, as teetertottering between two fundamental beliefs: God’s universal love and desire to save, and the necessity of the church for salvation’ (1985, 121). Citing various sources from the first three centuries of the Christian church, Knitter points to evidence in the writings of the Church Fathers which indicate openness to the possibility of genuine revelation and salvation in other traditions. He notes that the Council of Arles in 473 condemned any thought that ‘Christ our Lord and Saviour did not undergo death for the salvation of all peoples’ and declared that Christ ‘does not wish anyone to perish’ (Knitter 1985, 121). There were contrary views, however, as we see in the declaration of Origen, taken up by Cyprian, that ‘outside the church, there is no salvation’. This emphasis was reiterated by Fulgentius: ‘There is no doubt that not only all heathens, but also all Jews and heretics and schismatics who die outside the church will go into that everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels’ (cited ibid. 122). Küng notes that the same strong exclusivist voice is apparent centuries later in the papal bull Unam sanctum of Pope Boniface VIII (1234–1303). ‘We are required by faith to believe and hold that there is one holy catholic and apostolic church: we firmly believe it and unreservedly profess it; outside it there is neither salvation nor remission of sins’ (cited in Küng 1967, 26). At the Council of Florence (1438–45), the declaration of Fulgentius was reiterated and it was further stated: ‘No persons, whatever almsgiving they have practiced, even if they have shed blood for the name of Christ, can be saved, unless they have remained in the bosom and unity of the Catholic Church’ (cited in Knitter 1985, 122–3). 1

  In regard to this third theme, we will also note the particular stance of the Catholic Church, most clearly enunciated by Pope Boniface in the thirteenth century, which effectively declared that salvation through Christ alone and salvation through the church were synonymous. This interpretation prevailed as official doctrine in the Catholic Church until the Second Vatican Council.

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Gradually, however, evidence appeared of attempts to soften this hard exclusivist stance. The Council of Trent (1545–63) affirmed that pagans who lived good moral lives and were true to their conscience received the baptism of ‘implicit desire’ and could, therefore, be saved even though they had not heard of Christ (cited in Knitter 1985, 123). It is this more inclusive attitude that was carried into the twentieth century. Knitter says: What took place was a development in Roman Catholic theology from an exclusive to an inclusive understanding of the church as the sole channel of grace. To state it differently, Catholic belief moved from holding ‘outside the church, no salvation’, to ‘without the church, no salvation’. (1985, 123)

We will explore this response more fully in the ‘Inclusivist’ section, with particular reference to the Second Vatican Council and the work of Karl Rahner. Secondly, the exclusivist voice was heard very strongly in the various World Missionary Conferences held during the first half of the twentieth century: Edinburgh (1910), Jerusalem (1928), Tambaram (1938), Whitby (1947), Willingen (1952) and Ghana (1958). These conferences, while ranging over a wide variety of subjects and issues, consistently reaffirmed the absolute and unique revelation of God in Christ and the conviction that salvation is possible through Christ alone. Reports from all the conferences seek to identify and affirm the ‘value’ in the other religions, but understand this essentially as a point of contact for evangelisation or as preparation for receiving the Christian gospel.2 The Tambaram Conference, for which Hendrik Kraemer wrote The Christian Message in a Non-Christian World (1938), provides a response typical of these gatherings: The end and aim of our evangelistic work is not achieved until all men everywhere are brought to a knowledge of God in Jesus Christ and to a saving faith in Him . There are many non-Christian religions that claim the allegiance of multitudes. We see and readily recognise that in them are to be found values of deep religious experience, and great moral achievements. Yet we are bold enough to call men out from them to the feet of Christ. We do so because we believe that in Him alone is the full salvation which man needs. (IMC 1939, 43–4)

Twenty years later, at the Ghana Assembly of the International Missionary Council, the language and emphasis remain unchanged. The report declares: That Christ be proclaimed has been the purpose which has held us together beneath many divergences. For we are convinced of the centrality and the urgency of the continuing missionary task. That urgency has received many 2   For a summary of the major themes which emerged at each of the conferences, see Newbigin 1969, 25–35. Regarding the value in other religions as a point of contact for evangelism, see IMC 1939, 44.

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different expressions amongst us. … But we are all agreed that this is an hour in which Christians must go out into the world in the name of Christus Victor. (cited in Orchard 1958, 183)

We should note, however, that the language of the ‘Common Call’ emanating from the most recent conference held in Edinburgh, is much softer overall. It calls for ‘authentic dialogue, respectful engagement and humble witness among people of other faiths – and no faith – to the uniqueness of Christ’ (World Missionary Conference 2010). Thirdly, in the latter part of the twentieth century, exclusivism was clearly affirmed in three successive world gatherings of evangelicals. The first of these was at Frankfurt in March 1970. A statement, entitled the ‘Frankfurt Declaration’, was formulated by Peter Beyerhaus and adopted by those present. In regard to other religions it contends that inasmuch as ‘salvation is due to the sacrificial crucifixion of Jesus Christ, which occurred once and for all for all mankind’, and inasmuch as this salvation can be gained ‘only through participation in faith. we therefore reject the false teaching that the non-Christian religions and world-views are also ways of salvation similar to belief in Christ’ (Theological Convention of Confessing Fellowships 1970). The ‘Frankfurt Declaration’ contains a further strong statement urging all Christians to accept their obligation of taking the gospel to the ‘nonChristians’ of the world. There is the clear inference that those who do not hear and believe the gospel are eternally condemned and lost (Knitter 1985, 79). An International Congress on World Evangelisation was convened at Lausanne, Switzerland, in July 1974, in reaction to what were seen to be liberal trends in the World Council of Churches. The emphases that emerged were consistent with those found in the ‘Frankfurt Declaration’. The possibility of salvation through other religions was specifically rejected. While the congress identified the need for sensitive dialogue with the adherents of other faiths, it was understood that such dialogue was intended primarily as a vehicle for evangelism (Knitter 1985, 79). A further congress, conducted in Manila in July 1989, produced a statement, the ‘Manila Manifesto’, which incorporated 21 affirmations. Several of these are of particular significance: 5. We affirm that the Jesus of history and the Christ of glory are the same person, and that this Jesus Christ is absolutely unique, for he alone is God incarnate, our sin-bearer, the conqueror of death and the coming judge. 7. We affirm that other religions and ideologies are not alternative paths to God, and that human spirituality, if unredeemed by Christ, leads not to God but to judgement, for Christ is the only way. 21. We affirm that God is calling the whole church to take the whole gospel to the whole world. So we determine to proclaim it faithfully, urgently and sacrificially, until he comes. (LCWE 1989, 110–12)

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No doubt this kind of language, and the intention it expresses, is very inspiring to those Christians who believe that they are called by God to participate in the conversion to Christ of every human being on the face of the earth. Developments over the past 20 years, as has been illustrated above, clearly indicate that there is an evangelical resurgence around the world. Paul Knitter comments: What might appear as extreme in this voice flows from a deep concern for what Evangelicals deem to be the heart of Christianity – especially as that heart beats in the churches of the Reformation. To dismiss Evangelical attitudes as outdated is simply to ignore the fact that these attitudes do represent a strong, and an increasingly louder, voice within the Christian population. (1985, 75)

It is important that we be aware of both the manner in which this ‘voice’ is expressed and the reactions, intended or not, which it engenders in people of other faiths. Bishop Arne Rudvin presented a paper to a joint Christian–Muslim consultation, putting forward a case for Christian mission to Muslims: The Faith of the New Testament is that Jesus is Lord, and that everything and everybody rightly belongs to him. Mission, therefore, is to bring all mankind to acknowledge Jesus as Lord, because he owns us all, and has a just claim on us all. Here we have the real motivation for mission. … The real motive in the New Testament for mission is that the crucified and risen Jesus is Lord. This is substantially more than saying that Jesus gives us a saving knowledge, or that he reveals something from God. … The real New Testament motivation for mission is that Jesus Christ himself is God revealed. … Jesus is Lord through whom everything is created and one day everyone shall acknowledge him as Lord. (Rudvin 1976, 377)

For Rudvin, mission is proclamation. The message about Jesus Christ is to be preached to all people everywhere. He therefore excludes from his understanding of mission both diakonia, or service, which he properly argues should be exercised without discrimination or expectation of response, and dialogue, which he argues cannot be seen as genuine evangelisation. There is a place for dialogue, he concedes, especially in order to understand the nature of other religions and therefore be better equipped to proclaim the gospel to them, but dialogue in itself is not mission and should not be identified as such. In any case, he argues, the Christian message must never be modified or compromised in the context of dialogue. ‘It should be clear that Jesus Christ has commissioned his church to proclaim a message given by him and we are not at liberty to change his message as it may be deemed necessary or expedient in the dialogue situation’ (Rudvin 1976, 383). In response, the Muslim scholar Al-Faruqi made the following points regarding Rudvin’s paper. Firstly, he said, it ignores the findings of literary–historical biblical scholarship: the conclusion by some, for example, that Matthew 28:18–20 is not an actual statement of Jesus. Secondly, it ignores the variety of Christologies

The Exclusivist Response

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discernible in both the New Testament and the writings of the early Church Fathers. Thirdly, its view of the human race as completely sinful and fallen is a warped view of human nature, which evidences good as well as evil. Fourthly, its emphasis on the vicarious suffering of Jesus is morally repugnant and depreciates the reality of the transcendence of God (Al-Faruqi 1976, 385–6). This response is significant for the manner in which it highlights the issues inherent in the exclusivist approach to other religions. It is true that most exclusivists are now much more aware of and sensitive to the special qualities that characterise other religions. Nonetheless, the exclusivists are not always sensitive to the reactions their position evokes in the adherents of other faiths or adopt the attitude that such reactions are inevitable and irrelevant. This approach is experienced as a depreciation of the scholarship, the spirituality, the long traditions, the devotion and commitment of those subjected to it and induces a justifiable sense of personal offence. The Main Themes of the Exclusivist Response We have noted the desire of many exclusivists to identify and acknowledge the spiritual and ethical richness that exists in other religious traditions. In spite of that, there is an overall impression of rigidity in the thinking and writing of the exclusivists, typified by Edmund Perry: We cannot be neutral observers of other religions. In the first place the Gospel of Jesus Christ comes to us with a built-in pre-judgement of all other faiths so that we know in advance of our study what we must ultimately conclude about them. They give meaning to life apart from that which God has given in the biblical story culminating in Jesus Christ, and they organise life outside the covenant community of Jesus Christ. Therefore, devoid of this saving knowledge and power of God, these faiths not only are unable to bring men to God, they actually lead men away from God and hold them captive from God. This definitive and blanket judgement … is not derived from our investigation of the religions, but is given in the structure and content of the Gospel faith itself. (1958, 83)

Some exclusivists, to be sure, would avoid that kind of language. However, all exclusivists have to face the reality that no matter how sensitive and open they may wish to appear, their basic convictions communicate the same message of judgement and rejection as that contained in Perry’s statement. What, then, are the themes and emphases that encapsulate the exclusivist response? The Uniqueness of Christ Firstly, exclusivists uphold the uniqueness of the revelation of God in Christ. Paul Schrotenboer writes: ‘Those who oppose religious pluralism … hold that there can

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be no peaceful coexistence among conflicting claims of truth. They hold that the particularity of the Christian revelation is an essential aspect of the skandalon of the gospel’ (1989, 118). The exclusivists, while conceding some form of general revelation through creation, focus their special attention on God’s revelation through the election of Israel as a chosen nation and the history of God’s covenant relationship with that people, which anticipates and then culminates in God’s unique, once-for-all revelation in Christ. Exclusivists argue that such knowledge and understanding of God as may have been possible through general revelation has been obscured and corrupted in all religions other than Christianity by idolatry and other manifestations of human sinfulness. God’s intention, say the exclusivists, is that Christians will witness amongst all the other religions of the world to this unique revelation in Christ, to the end that the devotees of those religions will reject their own faith and tradition and become followers of Christ. This understanding of how God acts is inadequate. It seeks to declare, from a human point of view, limits to the manner in which a sovereign God might choose to act and therefore tacitly denies that sovereignty. Wesley Ariarajah arraigns this view and writes: ‘There is no person, no history, no culture, no spirituality that is outside God’s creation and providence. … All yearnings for God, all attempts to know and love God, however right or wrong, appropriate or inappropriate, happen within God’s providence’ (1985, 10). Ariarajah further suggests that Christians have turned God into a ‘tribal God’, seeking to make God their own peculiar possession. In the process, he argues, it is the exclusivists, not the Hindus, who become polytheists. It is the Christians, he says, who are unable to declare that we all worship the one God, while Hindus can happily affirm that conviction. This exclusivist attitude also fails to give appropriate emphasis to the manner in which religious tradition, understanding and practice interact with, and are intrinsically related to, the culture in which they develop. Furthermore, it trivialises the depth and quality of the spirituality, ethical achievement and scholarship of the other religions, and depreciates the devotion and commitment of those who live them. Once again, Ariarajah has a relevant word. Christian theology should allow God to be God; it should not own God, as we own a piece of private property. We cannot fence God in and say: ‘Well, if you want to know God, come through the gate’. We do not own God; God owns us, and God owns the whole creation. This is the message of the Bible. (1985, 11)

Many exclusivists are willing to acknowledge some degree of value and truth in other religions. In that sense, they see the religions as representing a valid, though limited and inadequate, response to God’s revelation in creation and experience. Carl Braaten writes: We find in the religions an echo of God’s activity in all expressions of life because God has not left himself without a witness among the nations [Acts

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14:16–17], which means that the reality of God and his revelation lie behind the religions of humanity as anonymous mystery and hidden power. … Personal experience of God’s revelation is happening in the religions everywhere. (1992, 67–8)

However, there is a complete unwillingness to conclude from this that other religions are in and of themselves the means of salvation. Nonetheless, it is this activity of God, Braaten argues, which motivates people of other faiths to behaviour which is ‘right and just and good and true’. Stanley Grenz offers a similar proposition. He makes a positive evaluation of other religions as significant influences in ‘identity-formation and socialcohesion’, arguing that they ‘fulfil a divinely sanctioned function’ (1994, 56). Braaten refers to Romans 1:18–32 as evidence that the apostle Paul affirmed a divine revelation prior to and apart from the gospel of salvation in Jesus Christ and to Romans 2 and 7 as an argument for the understanding that God works through the conscience of all people, not just those who know Christ (1992, 69–70). He also identifies the Logos theology of the Gospel of John as support for the principle of a universal enlightenment. He concludes: ‘As religions they may not mean everything that God intends for the world, but also they do not mean nothing’ (ibid. 71). Nonetheless, having affirmed all this, he still comes to the conclusion that: The gospel of Christ functions as the final medium of revelation and therefore the critical norm in a theology of the history of religions. Whatever may be phenomenologically described as revelatory experiences in the religions, Christian theology defines salvation on the model of what God has accomplished for the world and humanity in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the Christ. (Braaten 1992, 74)

Grenz comes to the same conclusion. In their engagement with people of other religions, Christians must maintain the finality of Christ. … In the end, we humbly conclude that no other religious vision encapsulates the final purpose of God as we have come to understand it. Both the divine diagnosis of the human predicament and the ultimate answer are given in Christ. (1994, 57)

These conclusions are typical of the contemporary exclusivist response to religious pluralism. The Authority of Scripture The second exclusivist emphasis we identify is the special authority given to the Bible. Exclusivists argue that the Christian Bible contains the only truly inspired

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and genuine record of God’s action in and through the human race.3 Harold Netland says: Christian exclusivists, then, are those who maintain the uniqueness and normativity of the person and work of Jesus Christ, the truth and authority of the Bible as God’s definitive self-revelation, and who assert that where the claims of Scripture are incompatible with those of other faiths, the latter are not to be accepted as truth’ (1988, 241)

One crucial problem for exclusivists is that there is no consistency in the biblical record itself. As Ariarajah contends: ‘There is another witness to Jesus, different from the one that emerges when all the exclusivist sayings are put together, and this witness in some ways stands in contradiction to the Jesus presented in those sayings’ (1985, 22). We understand that the Bible was written by people of deep faith who sought faithfully to reflect their experience of God and bear witness to what they believed that meant, both for themselves and the world. The authors of the New Testament undertook this task in the light of what they believed about events surrounding the life of Jesus. Their language is the language of faith. It has life-changing significance for those who embrace that same faith regarding Jesus. There is no issue with that. Problems only emerge when that faith is expressed in claims of absolute truth regarding the Christian tradition, on the basis of which the truth of other religions is rejected. Ariarajah is helpful at this point also: Truth in the absolute sense is beyond anyone’s grasp, and we should not say that the Christian claims about Jesus are absolute because St John, St Paul and the Scriptures make them. There will be others who make similar claims based on authorities they set for themselves. Such claims to absolute truth lead only to intolerance and arrogance and to the unwarranted condemnation of each other’s faith-perspectives. (1985, 27)

The Centrality of Faith The third main theme of the exclusivists to be noted is the centrality of faith. Exclusivist do not attempt to argue their case regarding revelation or scripture on empirical grounds. In fact, they specifically reject the notion that these crucial doctrines can be established by argument and reason. They are received and

3

  Biblical inspiration and infallibility is a particular doctrine of evangelical Christians, who invariably support the exclusivist stance. For a summary statement of the essential emphases of evangelicalism, see Warren 1962, 1. Glasser, referring to Warren’s work concludes: ‘Most evangelicals would add the obligation to evangelize non-Christians throughout the world’ (Glasser and Amaladoss 1989, 2).

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understood by faith, which is itself the gift and action of God.4 This, of course, is a very safe position to adopt. Once again, however, the exclusivists argue against themselves. If faith cannot be empirically validated, it cannot be argued that the faith of the Christian is better, truer or more real than the faith of those who belong to other religious traditions. The exclusivists cannot have it both ways. If they wish to ground the truth of their own position in the concept of faith, they cannot deny that same option to the other religions. Eric Sharpe says, in this regard: It might be maintained … that faith is always in essence one and the same expression of man’s relationship to the Transcendent, or to God. Faith, in other words, is simply faith; and it matters not at all … whether that faith be expressed in the thought-patterns, symbols and imagery of the Hindu, Christian, Muslim or Jewish traditions. The encounter of religions, therefore, is an encounter, which penetrates the mundane observables of the individual traditions (where they remain, of course, vitally important) into the depths in which faith lives (where they do not). (1977, 150)

Salvation through Christ Alone Fourthly, the exclusivists claim that there is salvation through Christ alone. This insistence raises a number of crucial theological questions. For example, what is the fate of the Old Testament people of God, the Israelites? Further, what is to be said regarding the countless other millions who lived before Christ or have been born since and never heard the gospel? And what is the relationship of these people to the universal salvific will of God as revealed in the New Testament? Responses from the exclusivists are not at all convincing. Nor are they uniformly agreed. Some remain convinced that such persons are condemned to hell. Others hold to an agnostic stance and say they leave the matter to God (Kraemer 1939, 4; Newbigin 1981, 20). Paul Knitter makes an appropriate response: Such suggestions seem to be rather arbitrary devices, theological speculations for a dilemma that, perhaps, is more a problem for the theologians than for God. Through the haze of theological speculations, a simple question takes shape: Why can there not be other saviours besides Jesus? (1985, 269)

Furthermore, how are exclusivists like Brunner, Kraemer and Newbigin to reconcile their conviction of salvation by Christ alone, with their conclusion regarding the universal religious consciousness of humanity, given that they   We should note, however, the line of argument proposed by Lesslie Newbigin in The Gospel in a Pluralist Society. He contends that, in principle, there is no difference between the methodology of science and the methodology of theology. Both, he says, proceed on the basis of assumptions which have never been empirically established and which never can or will be (see Newbigin 1989, 1–33). 4

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believe that God is the source of this spiritual awareness and sensitivity? Surely this can only be interpreted as an expression of the grace of God at work outside the confines of the revelation in Christ (D’Costa 1986b, 69–70). The narrowly focused Christology of the exclusivists, who are almost exclusively Pauline in their preoccupation with human sinfulness and the priority of faith alone, seems to blind them to the great variety of emphases and approaches within the New Testament itself. They ignore or gloss over the major themes of other New Testament writers, such as John’s emphasis on the love of God, Matthew’s exposition regarding response to human need and James’ concern for the action dimension of faith (D’Costa 1986b, 71–2). Kasemann highlights the difficulties inherent in the divergent ways in which the Gospels present their witness regarding Jesus Christ. These variations, he says, reveal that: The confession … that Jesus is the Son of God is … explicated with the help of conceptions assimilated from the contemporary environment. The proclamation of the Incarnate One is qualified in each of our Gospels by a particular theological interest. (1964, 95–6) We are compelled to admit the existence not merely of significant tensions, but, not infrequently, of irreconcilable theological contradictions. (Ibid. 100)

Apart from all this, the exclusivist goal for the evangelisation of the whole world is as far from realisation as it ever was. In spite of all the rhetoric, not only has the impact of Christianity on the East been minimal, there has been in recent time a kind of missionary movement in reverse, with a growing interest displayed in the West for knowledge and experience of the other world religions. As Donald Dawe says: ‘The world has always been religiously plural and gives every evidence of remaining that way’ (1978, 15). In addition to all the ‘theological’ issues on which exclusivists take a stand, there is a further and particularly personal dimension of this whole matter. The exclusivist approach, by its very nature, denigrates the faith and tradition of the people of other faiths and causes consternation and outrage. Wesley Ariarajah recounts the following story told by a missionary in India. Once a Ghandian leader came to Kohima and we had fellowship with him. As I was sitting by him, he started conversing with me about religious matters: ‘There are some extreme Christians who say that man can be saved through Christ only and there is no other way. What is your view?’ ‘It is what I believe,’ I replied. ‘There are millions and millions of people in other major religions of the world. What will be their fate?’ he hastily asked. ‘According to the Bible those who do not believe in Christ will perish’, I replied. He angrily departed. My conviction is that whether we like it or not, we cannot compromise the truth. (1985, 29)

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The incident is a very good illustration of the problem. Exclusivism is inevitably subversive of goodwill and genuine dialogue, because it assumes a superior position. Many exclusivists will deny this. They advocate sensitivity, openness, listening and humility, but fail to realise that the exclusivist stance is a negation of all those qualities. Edward Said offers some helpful insights into this basic failure in relationship, in his fascinating study Orientalism, in which he explores the Western impact on the Orient. In brief, Said argues that while there are obvious elements of fact and reality in Western thinking about the East, ‘orientalism’ is largely a Western construct of what the East is like, a fabrication of convenience developed to justify and perpetuate the myth of Western superiority. Orientalism can be discussed and analysed as the corporate institution for dealing with the Orient – dealing with it by making statements about it, authorising views of it, describing it, by teaching it, settling it, ruling over it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient. (Said 1978, 3)

Exclusivists may personally and publicly regret the destructive attitudes and actions of Christians in the past as they shared actively in the process of orientalism, using the domination of the East by the West as a vehicle for propagating the gospel. Yet they remain ignorant, or immune, to the fact that their fundamental convictions perpetuate the problems still, albeit in a less dramatic way. We will see later the way in which Hendrik Kraemer supported the imposition of Christianity onto the East with the arguments that the ‘end justified the means’ and that the benefits accrued far outweighed the disadvantages. Exclusivists have the effect of creating an orientalism, whether they intend to or not. The exclusivist response has nothing to offer the world of religions other than a continuing sense of confrontation. For a variety of reasons, exclusivism will continue to attract support, not least because of the security it offers to those who have a need for certainty and because of the manner in which it appeals to that innate (albeit unconscious) conviction of Western superiority. As Diana Eck says, ‘exclusivism is more than simply a conviction about the transformative power of the particular vision one has; it is a conviction about its finality and its absolute priority over competing views’ (cited in Pratt 2007, 296). These are matters that emerge over and again in any study of the exclusivist position. They are apparent in the work of those particular theologians that we now move to address: Karl Barth, Hendrik Kraemer, Emil Brunner and Lesslie Newbigin. These are all scholars who had a profound influence on twentiethcentury theological thought. They have evidenced significant points of similarity in their writings, while differing strongly in other ways. Our purpose is fourfold: firstly, to identify, clarify and critique, the main content of their thought as this relates to the other world religions; secondly, to explore the points of similarity and difference they have in relation to each other; thirdly, to

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qualify the degree of influence they have each had on exclusivist responses to the other religions; and fourthly, to identify the most appropriate point, where each properly belongs, in the overall spectrum of exclusivist positions. As we shall see, there are very good reasons to establish a more sophisticated overview of these various responses than has hitherto been undertaken. While we may continue to talk in general about ‘exclusivists’, there are important distinctions to be identified and explored. We begin with an examination of the response revealed in the theology of Karl Barth. As already noted in the general introduction, Barth really stands in a position all his own because of the judgement he makes on all religious traditions, including Christianity. However, for a number of reasons that will be explained in the next chapter, we classify Barth as the definitive exclusivist. Hendrik Kraemer typifies what we will call the hard exclusivist response. The conservative exclusivist response is typified by Emil Brunner, and the moderate exclusivist response by Lesslie Newbigin. The basis for all these conclusions will be outlined as we proceed, and this will clearly establish the importance of recognising such distinctions within the overall response of those we have designated ‘exclusivists’.

Chapter 2

Definitive Exclusivism: Karl Barth (1886–1968) Karl Barth did not always deal in a direct way with issues relating to other religions. In fact, he had no direct knowledge of other world religions. As Braaten indicates, ‘Barth did not have any profound first-hand experience of life in the context of the other religions. What he learned about them came out of books from the safe distance of a library in Switzerland’ (1992, 62). Thompson offers an even sharper criticism: ‘Barth only ever engages with the non-Christian religions as they had been domesticated and conceptually-constructed by Christian apologists’, adding in a footnote: ‘The influences shaping his engagement with the other religions are very much framed by implicitly Christian understandings of what a “religion” should be’. He concludes: ‘Barth’s theological interpretation is confined to a very particular and arguably highly distorted account of those religions’ (2006, 8). Di Noia suggests that anyone looking to Barth for a ‘comprehensive theology’ to guide them in their reflections on the other religions will be disappointed (2000, 243–4). Commentators on Barth are divided in their conclusions regarding his attitude to world religions. Some argue that he adopted a hard line, including the rejection of any possibility that they could be salvific. Sharpe comments: For the actual religions of the modern world … he had little time. … There is little or no concern in his writings with the religions of the world, other than as shadowy demonstrations of human pride and human unwillingness to submit to the judgement of God. (1977, 89–90)

In the introduction to the section of Christians And Religious Pluralism dealing with the exclusivist response to other religions, Alan Race suggests that, ‘the inspiration for the exclusivist theories comes chiefly from the Protestant theologians Barth, Brunner and Kraemer. … The most extreme form of the exclusivist theory has been stated by Karl Barth’ (Race 1983, 11). McDowell, while acknowledging that Barth’s Christology proposes that ‘it is in Christ alone that God reveals God’s self’, nonetheless offers a completely opposite assessment to that of Race when he argues that ‘criticising Barth’s theology as straightforwardly exclusivist is a mistake’ (McDowell 2012, 254). There are others who also discern in Barth a softer and more generous response. Mueller, for example, concludes that universal salvation ‘is the logically necessary outcome of his doctrine of election and his view of reconciliation based thereon’ (1972, 152). Küng also leans toward a generous estimation of Barth in this regard

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and suggests that his later theology reflects a revaluation of his earlier attitude toward world religions (1991b, 279–80). Di Noia defends Barth against what he describes as ‘the widespread and now nearly entrenched misreadings of his theology of religion and the religions’ and concludes that ‘the charge that Barth’s position with regard to non-Christian religions falls simply at the exclusivist end … cannot be sustained’ (2000, 244). Adopting another position altogether, D’Costa proposes that in Barth’s theology we can discern elements of exclusivism, inclusivism and universalism (cited ibid. 245). In the first volume of his Church Dogmatics, Barth develops the theme of revelation as the ‘abolition’ of religion. All human expressions of religion, he says, are actually ‘unbelief’. They work against the nature and purpose of revelation. Of ourselves we are not in a position to apprehend the truth, to let God be our God and our Lord. We need to renounce all attempts even to try to apprehend this truth. From the standpoint of revelation religion is clearly seen to be a human attempt to anticipate what God in His revelation wills to do and does do. … In religion man bolts and bars himself against revelation by providing a substitute, by taking away in advance the very thing which has been given by God. … Revelation does not link up with a human religion which is already present and practised. It contradicts it, just as religion previously replaced revelation. (Barth 1936–69, I/2:301–2)

Barth includes Christianity in this judgement (1936–69, I/2:326). Nonetheless, he concludes that Christianity is the one ‘true religion’ because it is justified by revelation. The abolishing (Aufhebung) of religion by revelation need not mean only its negation: the judgement that religion is unbelief. Religion can be just as well exalted (Aufgehoben) in revelation, even though the judgement still stands: here is a true religion, just as there are justified sinners. If we abide strictly by that analogy – and we are dealing not merely with an analogy, but in a comprehensive sense with the thing itself – we need have no hesitation in saying that the Christian religion is the true religion. It is in the light of passages such as these that critics of Barth conclude that his attitude to other world religions must finally be assessed as negative and exclusive. I want to argue that the weight of the evidence, coupled with the ambiguity and inconclusiveness of Barth’s argument at various points, supports this conclusion. In order to understand the basis for this determination, we must attempt some overview of his major theological themes and emphases. Barth and Dialectical Theology Dialectical theology argues that humanity can know nothing of God except what God chooses to make known, that is, through revelation. In The Epistle to the

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Romans (1933), Barth addresses the issue of how God, who is wholly other and totally beyond the understanding of finite human minds, could also have entered into earthly history in the person of Jesus Christ. Colin Brown contends that: The characteristic themes of Barthian theology are already sounded: the sovereignty of God in the face of the creation, the triumph of grace in the face of man’s lostness in sin, and the fact that God’s dealings with men are centred in Christ. Although Barth was later to modify and develop these themes in ways he could never have suspected at this time, the sovereign freedom of God, the triumph of grace and the centrality of Christ have remained the decisive factors in his teaching. (1967, 20–21)

Brown identifies how Barth makes a profound emphasis on the total separateness of God and humanity. No human initiative or action can bridge the gulf. There is nothing in nature or history that reveals the power of God in action. God is completely holy and other. Humanity is totally sinful and helpless. Faith is not a human response, but a divine gift and miracle. The relationship between God and humanity is only possible through Jesus. This is the heart of Barth’s dialectical theology: a categorical statement of opposites (Brown 1967, 82, 108– 9, 125–32). These emphases are also evident in his Outline of Christian Dogmatics (1927), where Barth considers the issue of what the church knows about God. Again, the absolute supremacy of God is the major theme. God has spoken and this is oneway communication: God is pure, indissoluble subject, even when he makes himself object in becoming flesh, Scripture, preaching. He is and remains inaccessible to thought, or rather, he becomes accessible to thought in revelation only in all his inaccessibility, as the Master who cannot in any way be mastered by our thinking. (cited in Bowden 1971, 59–60)

This complete ‘otherness’ of God means that revelation can only ever be an act of divine initiative. However, Barth’s insistence regarding this principle created problems. Because everything depended on what God did, there was no provision for any human response. This problem exercised Barth for several further years. He offers his solution to the dilemma in Fides Quaerens Intellectum (1960b), a book on Anselm. What Barth does here is to focus attention on the being of God rather than on what God does and argues that communication between God and humanity is possible because of the rationality of God. God is totally wise and deals with humanity in a reasonable way. What he communicates to people can therefore be understood, because our rational minds are in contact with the rationality of God, who is the object of our faith. Faith is the gift of God, but this does not deny the use of human reason to better understand what God chooses to make known to humanity (see Bowden 1971, 61).

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Thus, Barth’s book on Anselm marks a significant shift in emphasis from dialectic to analogy. Bowden suggests that, ‘after Anselm, the place of dialectic in Barth’s theology is taken by analogy. The relationship between God and man that makes theology possible is an analogical one’ (Bowden 1971, 62). It is not necessary that we consider Barth’s teaching on analogy in any detail. But we do need to note, as Hunsinger points out, that although it is generally argued that he moved in his emphasis from dialectical theology to the use of analogy, a dialectical element remains in his writing (1991, 69). One difficulty with dialectic, especially in the way Barth uses it, is that in the expression of opposites we may find ourselves with a meaningful paradox, or we may discover that the contradictions are so strong they become mutually exclusive. Barth and Natural Theology Barth rejected all natural theology on the basis of two premises which are central to his thinking. Firstly, that only God can give knowledge of God, and God’s decision to do that is a matter of grace. Secondly, God has chosen self-revelation, but does that through Christ and Christ alone. Barth’s celebrated debate with Brunner over this issue continued for a number of years (Brunner and Barth 1946). Brunner wanted to hold to the doctrine of salvation by grace and faith alone but to argue for some knowledge of God through a revelation in creation. Brunner chose to designate this as ‘general revelation’ and to distinguish it from natural theology, which he saw as the exercise of human reason alone. Barth understood these two principles to be mutually exclusive, holding steadfastly to his conviction that only God can give knowledge of God. Later, however, Barth was willing to concede a general revelation in nature. In relation to Romans 1:19–23, he writes: ‘The world has always been around them, has always been God’s work and as such God’s witness to Himself. Objectively the Gentiles have always had the opportunity of knowing God, His invisible being, His eternal power and Godhead’ (1959, 28; see also 1936–69, I/2:306–7, II/1:119–21). Barth sees no great gain in this, however, because he contends that the knowledge of God available in this way has been corrupted by sin and turned to idolatry. Consequently, he uses Romans 1:19–23 to conclude that the revelation through nature serves only to leave the gentiles without excuse before God. At that point he and Brunner were finally in agreement. Both continued to reject any suggestion that God could be known by the exercise of human reason alone. Whether we take account of his earlier emphatic ‘No!’ to all expressions of natural theology, or his later qualified interpretation of Romans 1:19–23, there follows the clear inference that God is only known within the Christian tradition. Again we have to ask how Barth can maintain this position and at the same time insist on both the complete sovereignty of God and the nature of revelation as a miracle of grace. David Mueller comments:

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The critics ask: does not Barth’s position conflict with the scriptural teaching affirming God’s universal revelation? They also find Barth’s interpretation of the intention of those affirming a natural theology rather strained. That is, many advocates of natural theology would not speak of man’s ‘unaided’ ascent to God via God’s preliminary manifestations of himself. Instead, they maintain that whenever man knows God … we are dealing with God’s initiative and grace. (1972, 150)

In any case, it is appropriate to raise the question of how it could be that God would create humanity with a marvellous capacity to think logically and function rationally and then preclude that gift as a means of discerning that creator in the life of the world? As Alan Race comments: There is the recurring question: has Barth so isolated theological language that it is impossible to know whether or not what he believes is credible at all? Cannot man in some of his experience and aspirations approach God outside the miracle of grace? Is theological knowledge so different from other forms of knowledge that it surpasses other forms of reason? … If God does shine for himself, as Barth’s epistemological model entails, then it involves the most extraordinary by-passing of the normal means by which knowledge comes before the human subject. (1983, 28)

I believe it has to be true, as Barth teaches, that revelation precedes religion, unless we are to regard religion (as some do) as an entirely human invention. However, revelation remains irrelevant in the human context unless it is received, interpreted and responded to. I further contend that this can only happen from within a particular historical and cultural setting, unless we are to conclude that God’s selfrevelation is imposed in some way, in which case all religious responses should be the same. We know that the exact opposite applies. The Knowledge of God It seems reasonable to argue, given Barth’s own emphasis, that his most central thesis is contained in the assertion that Jesus Christ is the only and entire revelation of God that is available to us. At the same time, he is the one and only means of reconciliation with God. In Christ, revelation and reconciliation are one and the same reality. ‘Revelation in fact does not differ from the Person of Jesus Christ, and again does not differ from the reconciliation that took place in Him. To say revelation is to say, “The Word became flesh”’ (Barth 1936–69, I/1:134). Green concludes that ‘Christology for Barth is the central Christian paradigm. For in Christology the church formulated its understanding of Jesus as this embodies the biblical revelation of the relation of God to humanity and the relation of humanity to God’ (1991, 290).

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According to Barth, the reality and validity of God’s revelation are confirmed within that revelation itself, which, because it comes from God, cannot be subject to any external evaluation. God’s revelation is a ground which has no higher or deeper ground above or below it but is an absolute ground in itself, and therefore for us a court from which there can be no possible appeal to a higher court. Its reality and truth do not rest on a superior reality and truth. They do not have to be actualized or validated as reality from this or any other point. … On the contrary, God’s revelation has its reality and truth wholly and in every respect – both ontically and noetically – within itself. (Barth 1936–69, I/1:305)

Furthermore, Barth insists that God’s revelation is not partial, but final and complete, because it has come to us in Jesus Christ, in whom the identity of God is fully revealed. ‘God is who he is, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Creator, Reconciler and Redeemer, supreme, the one true Lord; and he is known in this entirety or he is not known at all’ (1936–69, II/1:52). We also need to note how Barth grounds the doctrine of revelation in his teaching on the Trinity. The relationship of the Trinity and revelation is the major theme of the first volume of Church Dogmatics. Barth has a very strong doctrine of the Trinity, in which Christ is identical with God in every way, and where the Holy Spirit also must be equated with God in every sense (1936–69, I/1:470, 518, 534). He summarises his understanding in these terms: We mean by the doctrine of the Trinity … the proposition that He whom the Christian Church calls God and proclaims as God, therefore the God who has revealed Himself according to the witness of Scripture, is the same in unimpaired unity, yet also the same in unimpaired variety thrice in a different way. Or, in the phraseology of the dogma of the Trinity in the Church, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit in the Bible’s witness to revelation are the one God in the unity of their essence, and the one God in the Bible’s witness to revelation is in the variety of His Persons the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. (Barth 1936–69, I/1:353)

Barth concedes that his doctrine goes beyond the teaching of scripture in two ways. Firstly, in the sense that the Bible does not specifically say that the Father, Son and Spirit are of one, equal essence. Secondly, in the sense that the Bible does not say that the only way in which God is God is as Trinity. Nonetheless, he argues, these assertions are implicit in scripture and essential to the doctrine (Barth 1936–69, I/1:437). Brown concludes: Barth’s doctrine of the Trinity represents the most imposing attempt in modern times to restate the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity. Above all, it is grounded

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upon God’s revelation of Himself in Christ. It might be said that it is the supreme example of the underlying principle of Barth’s thinking, that all God’s dealings with men are effected in and through the person of Jesus Christ. (1967, 76)

So, for Barth, the Word of God is expressed in its most essential form in Jesus, and this becomes the norm for the other two mediums through which it is also communicated: scripture and proclamation, or the witness of the church (see also 1936–69, I/1:98–140). According to Barth, scripture is the second form of the Word of God. The biblical writers bear witness to Christ, either by anticipating his coming or by remembering and reflecting on it. In one sense, the Bible is just a book written by a number of people. However, through revelation it becomes the Word of God, by means of which human beings encounter the living God. ‘The Bible is God’s Word so far as God lets it be His Word, so far as God speaks through It. … The Bible therefore becomes God’s Word in this event, and it is to its being in this becoming that the tiny word relates, in the statement that the Bible is God’s Word’ (Barth 1936–69, I/1:123–4). Barth’s approach to scripture is, therefore, consistent with his basic doctrine of revelation. It is not the right human thoughts about God which form the content of the Bible, but the right divine thoughts about men. The Bible tells us not how we should talk with God but what he says to us; not how we find the way to him, but how he has sought and found the way to us; not the right relation in which we must place ourselves to him, but the covenant which he has made with all who are Abraham’s spiritual children and which he has sealed once and for all in Jesus Christ. It is this which is within the Bible. The word of God is within the Bible. (1978, 43)

It is clear that Barth sets his teaching on the inspiration of the Bible in the context of God’s revelation as a whole, so that the concept of inspiration is not only related to the scriptures but to the total process of revelation which involves both writer and reader (1936–69, I/2:514–26). Barth extends his idea of the inspiration of scripture to include even the sentence structure and punctuation of the written documents (ibid. 517–18). However, he is not willing to equate even this degree of inspiration with the associated doctrine of infallibility. To the bold postulate, that if their word is to be the Word of God they must be inerrant in every word, we oppose the even bolder assertion, that according to the scriptural witness about man, which applies to them too, they can be at fault in any word, and have been at fault in every word, and yet according to the same scriptural witness, being justified and sanctified by grace alone, they have still spoken the Word of God in their fallible and erring human word. (Barth 1936–69, I/2:529–30)

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For Barth, the scriptures, having been written by fallible human beings, do contain error. However, he does not pursue this issue in any consistent manner. In actually dealing with scripture he speaks of a capacity for error rather than of actual errors and concludes that it is not only impossible but inappropriate for us to try and decide whether one passage is correct over against any other (1936–69, I/2:508–9). On this reasoning, Barth leaves us with the conclusion that we are to understand that scripture is both true and false at the same time. God speaks through it all, but it all has the potential to be in error (see Brown 1967, 62, 67). Barth seems just as ambivalent regarding the historical criticism of the biblical records. He offers lip-service to the discipline, but in practice is largely indifferent to the issues. The canon of scripture is authoritative because it is the canon (Barth 1933, 8). Bowden comments that for Barth, ‘the Bible was a given; the limits of the canon were ultimate limits to the vehicle of divine revelation, which marked out an area utterly different from the rest of the world’ (1971, 113). Barth saw as irrelevant and pointless all objective attempts to prove the authenticity of scripture. The Bible authenticates itself; its truth is spiritually discerned (Barth 1936–69, I/2:535). There is a real difficulty here. Only an uncritical reading of Barth would allow the acceptance of the position he advocates. Barth seemed not to understand, or to regard as irrelevant, the fact that those aspects of scripture which he emphasised the most are historical issues and subject to critical study and evaluation if they are to be taken seriously. In fact, his rationale is unconvincing. He is unwilling either to adopt a genuinely critical spirit or to defend the accuracy and historicity of the biblical documents. In this regard, Bowden offers an incisive criticism when he writes: He breaks loose from the realities of the human situation into that heavenly dimension in which he seems to become so arbitrary and so difficult to grapple with. His lifelong preference for books and ideas rather than people and situations (despite all his protests to the contrary!) apparently make him forget that Christianity (and Judaism before it) did not start from a miraculous revelation from heaven, by-passing all human faculties, and an exalted, special book, but was worked out through human lives and histories and insights in a process which always has been and always will be imperfectly carried on. Is the tragedy of Barth that he is looking for an impossible, unattainable perfection in a world where by its and our very nature we have to be content with approximations? (1971, 116)

Barth’s third form of the Word of God is proclamation, the witness of the church. In this way also, God speaks to contemporary listeners and their situation. The truth of this proclamation can only be determined by comparing it with scripture. In any case, the effectiveness of preaching ultimately depends on what God does with it and through it. In practice, all three forms of the Word of God are interrelated and interdependent. However, in all three it is God in Christ who acts. Colin Brown contends that ‘for Barth, all God’s dealings with men are effected in and through

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the person of Jesus Christ. This would seem to be the basic axiom underlying Barth’s entire exposition of the Word of God’ (Brown 1967, 35). Most importantly, revelation is encounter with God in person. ‘What God utters is never in any way known and true in abstraction from God Himself. It is known and true for no other reason than that He Himself says it, that He in person is in and accompanies what is said by Him’ (Barth 1936–69, I/1:155). Barth opts for a rigorous Christology which places Christ at the centre of everything that God does. God can only be known in and through Jesus Christ, and Jesus can only be known in and through the scriptures that testify to him. Furthermore, there has been no other revelation of God since that which took place in Christ. Green comments: There is a definite priority and sequence here, of course: Jesus, scripture, church witness. And yet Barth is bold to say that when the church speaks faithfully in this way, what occurs is nothing less than the very speaking of God to the world. (1991, 25)

Two important conclusions in regard to Barth’s work have become apparent. Firstly, it will be clear from the summary of his doctrine of revelation provided so far that there is no place at all for any revelation outside of Jesus Christ. Mueller suggests that, ‘no theologian in the history of the church has interpreted the nature of God and all his relationships to man and the universe in terms of his selfrevelation in Jesus Christ as rigorously as has Barth’ (1972, 147). The categorical nature of his language totally excludes the possibility that there may be revelation and truth in any other religious tradition. He rejects the option that it might be humanly possible to have knowledge of God. He is equally strong in his criticism of the belief that God could be known through religious experience. For Barth, the only possibility lay in the initiative and action of God. Knowledge of God depends entirely on what God does. Revelation is miracle. Alan Race comments: Barth’s relentless determination is to defend the absolute free sovereignty of God to act. Both the reality and the possibility of God’s revelation belong exclusively with the divine initiative. … Here we see how Barth’s views are grounded in his epistemology, and arise directly out of it. It leads, with utter logical necessity, to the radical separation between ‘revelation’ and ‘religion’, the feature which contains within it the justification for the judgement which this theory pronounces on the other faiths. The Christian gospel belongs with ‘revelation’, and the other faiths are the product of ‘religion’. (1983, 13–14)

Secondly, that very emphasis in Barth’s work raises a serious question regarding the validity of his argument. If God alone makes knowledge of God possible, and the reality of that revelation is discerned in the event itself, how can anyone ever claim that the revelation of God occurs in one way and one way only? If revelation is always entirely God’s action then God may be imparting knowledge in different

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ways to different people all the time. Given his own stress on the sovereignty of God, it is strange that Barth should question the divine independence by suggesting that God is limited to any one mode of revelation. Our very finiteness determines that we are incapable of exercising judgement about the manner in which the revelation of God will be manifested. Barth and Universalism As we have already noted, commentators on Barth vary in their conclusions regarding his position on the possibility of a universal salvation. Some argue that the dominant themes of his theology reflect an overwhelming exclusivism. Others suggest that there is sufficient evidence to establish a much more inclusivist attitude in Barth and that this is more overt in his later writings. Consequently, before proceeding to consider the issue of Barth’s position on a universal salvation, we need to look at the evidence for and against that ‘change of mind’ in Barth that some argue is apparent. There are a number of commentators who support the idea that Barth posited a universal salvation on the basis that there is a discernible shift in his thinking which becomes increasingly apparent in his later work. As we noted earlier, Küng is one of those who support this notion, though his endorsement is hardly emphatic. Obviously a new evaluation of the knowledge of God from the world of creation and from ‘natural theology’ is emerging in Barth’s late theology, a new evaluation too of philosophy and human experience as a whole. Indeed we find, in an indirect, concealed fashion, a new evaluation of world religions, which Barth had earlier lumped together … and simply dismissed as forms of unbelief, or, worse yet, of idolatry and works righteousness. (1991b, 279)

Küng suggests that were Barth to have had the opportunity to start again, ‘he would try to elaborate a Christian theology in the context of the world’s religions and regions’ (1991b, 280; see also Kraemer 1956, 195; Brunner 1951, 123–35). Barth himself is typically ambiguous at this point. In The Humanity of God, he argues for a ‘change in direction’ and suggests that in the past there had been ‘an infirmity in our thinking and speaking’ (1960c, 37, 44). On another occasion he confessed that his Church Dogmatics contained both ‘complexities’ and ‘contradictions’ (1963, 12).1 On the other hand, he contends in the preface to Church Dogmatics IV/2 that there have been ‘no important breaks or contradictions’ in his work and expresses concern regarding those who look for evidence of these in his writings (Barth 1936–69, IV/2:xi). 1   Barth, however, distinguished between human error or contradiction in expressing truth about God and the total absence of error and contradiction in the actual truth of God itself (1936–69, I/1:8).

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Barth’s approach to theology reveals certain attitudes which offer insight into the problem we have to deal with. Firstly, using the principle of the sovereign freedom of God, he argues that theology is not bound by the rules which apply to other sciences (Barth 1936–69, I/1:9) Secondly, he decries the discipline of systematic theology as a human imposition on the freedom of theology. The various doctrines of theology are only related to each other inasmuch as they derive from a common source. They do not necessarily have any logical connection with each other (Barth 1963, 24; see also 1936–69, I/1:869, I/2:861, III/3:294–5). Assuming that Barth exercised the freedom that these principles allow, it is no wonder that there seem to be contradictions, not only between his earlier and later works, but also between the different strands of his theology. On the basis of the evidence, there is no justification for the conclusion that Barth changed his mind in any decisive way. We can now move to a study of Barth and universalism. The most helpful way to begin reflection on this issue is through a consideration of Barth’s doctrine of election. Barth offers a concept of election, grounded in the incarnation, which seems to embrace all humanity: The doctrine of election is the sum of the Gospel because of all the words that can be said or heard it is the best: that God elects man; that God is for man too the One who loves in freedom. It is grounded in the knowledge of Jesus Christ because He is both the electing God and the elected man in One. It is part of the doctrine of God because originally God’s election of man is a predestination not merely of man but of Himself. Its function is to bear basic testimony to eternal, free and unchanging grace as the beginning of all the ways and works of God. (1936–69, II/2:3, see also 54, 58–9)

Barth attaches particular importance to Ephesians 1:45 as a key text in regard to the doctrine of election. God ‘chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love. He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ.’ He also refers to Ephesians 1:11 and 3:10, Romans 8:29–30 and Colossians 1:15, to argue that when we have to do with the reality indicated by the concept of election or predestination we are not outside the sphere of the name of Jesus Christ but within it and within the sphere of the unity of very God and very man indicated by this name. (Barth 1936–69, II/2:60)

The key to understanding Barth’s doctrine of election is his insistence that Jesus Christ is not only the one who elects but is himself the one who is elected and in that election all humanity also becomes elect. ‘It is the name of Jesus Christ which, according to the divine self-revelation, forms the focus at which the two decisive beams of the truth forced upon us converge and unite: on the one hand the electing God and on the other elected man’ (Barth 1936–69, II/2:59). Jesus is both electing God and elected human (ibid. 69).

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For Barth, the phrase ‘in Christ’ has special significance, because it represents the relationship between God and humanity which is grounded in Christ: In Him God reveals Himself to man. In Him God stands before man and man stands before God. … In Him God’s plan for man is disclosed, God’s judgement on man fulfilled, God’s deliverance of man accomplished, God’s gift to man present in fullness, God’s claim and promise to man declared. In Him God has joined Himself to man. (1936–69, II/2:94)

Mary Cunningham concludes: Barth has claimed that the doctrine of predestination is the sum of the Gospel. He maintains that only a Christological interpretation of this doctrine, which views Jesus Christ as both electing God and elected human, adequately guarantees God’s graciousness and the certainty of our salvation. (1995, 78)

On the basis of these aspects of Barth’s teaching we could assume that he was advocating a universal salvation for all humanity through Christ. Green, commenting on the way in which some come to this conclusion, writes: Jesus Christ is the elect human being, not only as an individual person but above all as the representative, the head, the personification of all humanity. That is to say, all humanity – and precisely all sinful humanity – is chosen, elect, predestined by God in Jesus Christ. This is Barth’s radical reconstruction of the traditional doctrine of predestination! It is so radical a revision that critics began accusing Barth of teaching universalism, that is, the salvation of everybody. (1991, 31–2)

On the face of it, this conclusion seems obvious. Apart from his strong elucidation of the doctrine, Barth reflects what seems to be a personal hope that all of humanity will, indeed, be saved. It would be well to let oneself be spurred on by the passage, Colossians 1:19, where it is stated that God resolved, through his Son, ‘to reconcile all things unto himself’. … There is no theological justification for setting any limits on our side to the friendliness of God toward humanity which appeared in Jesus Christ. (1960c, 61–2)

The same, somewhat wistful, optimism is expressed in Church Dogmatics: There is no good reason why we should forbid ourselves, or be forbidden, openness to the possibility that in the reality of God and man in Jesus Christ there is contained much more than we might expect and therefore the supremely unexpected withdrawal of that final threat, i.e., that in the truth of this reality

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there might be expected the super-abundant promise of the final deliverance of all men. (Barth 1936–69, IV/3:477–8)

However, a deeper exploration of Barth’s work reveals that all is not what it seems. It is at this point that his ambivalence becomes most apparent, a strange response in someone who is so clear and emphatic on almost every other issue he addresses. On this particular matter he will not commit himself. On the one hand, as we have seen, he interprets a number of biblical passages in an allinclusive sense, but, on the other hand, he is not willing to fully embrace the idea of universal salvation. If we are to respect the freedom of divine grace, we cannot venture the statement that it must and will finally be coincident with the world of man as such (as in the doctrine of the so-called ‘apokatastasis’.) No such right or necessity can legitimately be deduced. (Barth 1936–69, II/2:417)

Further, Barth recognises that many of the elect do not live as the elect and he also talks about those who ‘have been rejected’ (1936–69, II/2:321, 349, 453, 455–7). ‘A “rejected” man is one who isolates himself from God by resisting his election as it has taken place in Jesus Christ. God is for him; but he is against God’ (ibid. 449). What Barth does not seem to appreciate is that the implications of this reality are enormous, especially since those who would see themselves in the category of the people not elected by Christ number at least two-thirds of the world’s population. Therefore, Barth’s identification of the ‘rejected’ hardly points to a universal salvation. Whatever may be deduced from his unwillingness to make a commitment one way or the other on this issue, it is clearly inappropriate to argue that the logical conclusion to his thinking on the matter is to posit a universal salvation. This determination is reinforced when we consider the distinction Barth draws between those who know they are redeemed and those who do not. The distinction is not between redeemed and the non-redeemed, but between those who realise it and those who do not. The emphasis in much of today’s preaching has to do with salvation in the future … instead of speaking of the perfect salvation already accomplished. Everyone is a virtual member of the Body. No one is excluded. That is a question of mission. Missionaries must tell people the truth about themselves. Missionaries must believe that Christ died for them: Indians, Chinese, and Africans, and so on. (1963, 87–8)

It is important to note regarding these statements that though they emphasise the completed work of salvation in Christ, and in that sense are consistent with Barth’s teaching about election, they still identify the unrealised dimension of that salvation. There are those who do not yet know that they have been saved, who are only ‘virtual’ members of the Body of Christ (compare Karl Rahner’s concept

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of ‘anonymous Christians’ discussed in Chapter 7). Mueller poses a pertinent question: Is it possible to speak of reconciliation being accomplished through Jesus Christ without talking of man’s appropriation? Does Barth hold these two emphases in balance? Moreover, since some do not as yet believe, is this due to a restriction in God’s love – which Barth denies – or is it due to man’s recalcitrance and his refusal of God’s love which can lead to final judgement – which Barth also appears to rule out? These are issues in which certain ambiguities remain in Barth’s thought. (1972, 152–3)

Hunsinger notes this ambivalence in Barth and concludes: Three things are to be noted about the universalist direction evident in Barth’s objectivist soteriology. … [First], the dark mystery for the traditional view is … that God does not will to save all. For the Barthian view, however, it is rather that not all human beings will to accept God’s salvation. … Second, … Barth stops short … of unequivocally proclaiming universal salvation. (1991, 131–2)

Another point at which it is suggested Barth adopts a more inclusive attitude concerns his reference to ‘other words’ and ‘other lights’, or ‘parables of the kingdom’ as he calls them, in which he raises the possibility of truth and insight coming from outside the Christian community (1936–69, IV/3:114, see also 113– 65). His initial response seems to affirm this as a reality. We now turn to the more complicated question of true words which are not spoken in the Bible or the Church, but which have to be regarded as true in relation to the one Word of God, and therefore heard like this Word, and together with it. Are there really true words, parables of the Kingdom, of this very different kind? Does Jesus Christ speak through the medium of such words? The answer is that the community which lives by the one Word of the one Prophet Jesus Christ, and is commissioned and empowered to proclaim this Word of His in the World, not only may but must accept the fact that there are such words and that it must hear them too. (Barth 1936–69, IV/3:114–15)

However, having identified this possibility, Barth proceeds to qualify it in quite significant ways. He produces a list of criteria to validate any such insights that may occur: principally, that they must be in harmony with scripture and consistent with the teaching of the church. ‘Naturally,’ he says, ‘there can be no question of words which say anything different from this one Word, but only those which do materially say what it says’ (1936–69, IV/3:115; see also the extended argument on this theme which follows). Thompson offers a very helpful reflection on the other ‘words’ and ‘lights’ of which Barth speaks. These ‘other words’ can be true and genuine, and Jesus

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Christ can reveal himself through them, yet they can only ever reveal the truth partially and implicitly, never totally and explicitly. Nonetheless, they are true words and the church has to be ready to hear them because they have the capacity to deepen understanding and faith. ‘Such words are associated … with signs of deliverance: from bondage to freedom; from despair to hope; and from division to unity’ (Thompson 2006, 13, see also 11–14). The ‘other lights’ illuminate the nature and order of creation though, they too, are always limited in some way. These lights may be revealed through scientific discovery, artistic intuition and creation, political revolution and moral reorientation and rearmament. Of course, these ‘lights’ are only ever rays or refractions of the one true light, and owe their existence to that light. Given this reality, the church should not ignore them but rather affirm them and learn from them, without ever being under any obligation to actually teach them (Thompson 2006, 15–17). For Barth, ‘Jesus Christ is the light of life’, and this ‘means that there is no other light outside or alongside His, outside or alongside the light which He is’ (1936– 69, IV/3:86). This radical modification of his apparently generous recognition of the ‘other lights’ hardly constitutes an open-hearted endorsement of the teachings espoused by other religious traditions. More than that, we cannot take random statements like those cited above and build a comprehensive argument around them. They must be compared with other comments that Barth makes (which often seem to state an opposite view) and also measured against the dominant themes of his theology, evident in categorical statements like these: Jesus is the one and only Word of God … which, because it is spoken directly by God Himself, is good as God is, has the authority and power of God and is to be heard as God Himself. (1936–69, IV/3:98) That He is the one Word of God means finally that His prophecy cannot be transcended by any other. (Ibid. 102)

In this way, Barth declares both the normativity and the superiority of the Word of God in Jesus Christ. When we consider the balance of the evidence in this way, it is clear that Barth’s exclusivism overwhelms the tentative and ambivalent overtures he makes in the direction of a universal salvation. Conclusion In determining where to place Barth in our spectrum of Christian responses to other world religions, the following conclusions emerge. Firstly, the over-riding concern evident in Church Dogmatics is to place Jesus Christ at the centre of all Christian theology. Ultimately, Barth teaches, we only know anything about God because of Jesus, and it is Jesus who has accomplished our salvation. This rigorous Christology rejects other religions as mediums of religious truth and vehicles of

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salvation, and we find ourselves confronted again and again with unambiguous statements such as the following. The Christian religion is true, because it has pleased God, who alone can be the judge in this matter, to affirm it to be the true religion … [so that Christianity] alone has the commission and the authority to be a missionary religion, i.e., to confront the world of religions as the one true religion, with absolute selfconfidence to invite and challenge it to abandon its ways and to start on the Christian way. (Barth 1936–69, I/2:350, 357)

It is on the basis of statements such as these that Hick concludes: ‘Such sublime bigotry could only be possible for the one who has no real interest in or awareness of the wider religions of mankind. For it is evident when one witnesses worship within the great world faiths, including Christianity, that the same sort of thing is going on in each’ (1980a, 90). Alan Race, though also critical of Barth, understands his motivation: It is easy to misunderstand Barth’s judgement on the world of religions. Some have seen in it the most harmful and distorting bigotry. … This would certainly be to misrepresent his genuine theological concern, which is the defence of the absolute sovereignty of God. It is not out of a perverted Christian arrogance that Barth asserts the supremacy of the Christian way, but from sheer obedience, as he sees it, to the truth that has been given in Jesus Christ. (1983, 14)

Personally, I find it extraordinary that Di Noia applaudes the Barthian argument that Christians can approach people of other faiths secure in the knowledge that Christianity is the one, true religion, yet deny that such an attitude is intrinsically arrogant (Di Noia 2000, 253). Secondly, Barth’s writings reveal, on the basis of its almost total absence, that he had no real interest in the nature and teaching of other religious traditions. Smith says that ‘[Barth’s] interpretation of Christian faith was still largely subjectivistic (despite his vigorous disclaimers); and he quite failed to see the faith of others, behind their objectified “religions”. He did not even know that they had faith’ (1981b, 100). G.H. Anderson asks: ‘Is it realistic to pronounce on other faiths without a thorough prior knowledge of their beliefs and practices? It has been reported that D.T. Niles in conversation with Barth, once asked him how he knew that Hinduism was unbelief when he had never met any Hindus himself. Barth’s reply was, “A priori”’ (Anderson 1978, 114). Thirdly, there is so much ambiguity in the various strands of Barth’s theology, that the inevitable confusion, and the need so often to ‘guess’ at what he really meant (or believed), must stand as a lasting judgement on the value of his contribution in relation to world religions. As Thompson concludes, there are many points at which all Barth does is ‘hint’ (2006, 10). We should not have to do Barth’s work for him. Where he was unwilling to commit himself, we have as much reason to

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adopt one option as another in coming to any conclusion, and the main emphases in his theology must be normative. Di Noia illustrates this principle perfectly when he writes: Two … assertions together comprise the heart of Barth’s theology of religion and the religions as it unfolds in CD I/2, para 17. The first is that … when religion is viewed in the light of divine revelation, it is revealed as Unglaube. The second is that, while this judgement falls on Christianity insofar as it is a religion, the Christian religion, in virtue of divine justifying grace alone, is nonetheless the true religion. (2000, 249)

It is my contention that there is no theological or philosophical escape from the exclusivist implications of those assertions. Fourthly, whatever Barth may have actually meant to say, we cannot ignore his influence. Unquestionably, he has had considerable impact upon those who represent the exclusivist response to other religions. Paul Knitter says: His strong affirmation of the central Evangelical principles of the authority of Scripture, the centrality and uniqueness of Jesus Christ, and the necessity of Christian witness to the world make Karl Barth an eloquent and sophisticated advocate for the Evangelical attitude toward religious pluralism. (1985, 80)

There is neither sufficient real content nor adequate clarity in his writing to counteract this influence in any significant way. For that reason, the effect of his work is just as important as its content for the purpose of determining where in the spectrum he must go. In his overall teaching and influence he must be classified as the definitive exclusivist.

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Chapter 3

Hard Exclusivism: Hendrik Kraemer (1888–1965) Hendrik Kraemer, as we shall see, represents the hard face of the exclusivist response to other world religions. Gavin D’Costa suggests that he is ‘more broadminded than some exclusivists’ (1986b, 58), and, while it is true that there is some evidence of this, his major emphases and considerable influence leave a lasting impression of rigorous exclusivism. Kraemer’s major books were published between 1938 and 1960, and he remains a significant influence in regard to Christian attitudes toward other world religions, as well as in the area of Christian missiology. Gualtieri suggests: Given the prominence attained by his thought, most of the books on missiology published after 1938 are obliged to make reference to Kraemer’s position and to indicate how their own resembles it or differs from it. … The type of theological position and missionary outlook exemplified by Kraemer continues to be an operative factor in the conservative Christianity that still abounds. (1978, 75)

During his working life, his basic attitudes changed very little, as he himself concedes. In Religion and the Christian Faith, he writes: As a whole, notwithstanding my frank acknowledgment of deficiency in treatment, I continue to hold strongly to the main theses of The Christian Message in a Non-Christian World. The present book is partly an endeavour to remedy the deficiencies of that book and to treat the same subject in a different way, without any real change in my standpoints of 1938. (Kraemer 1956, 232–3)

He was not a desk-bound academic. Most of his vast store of knowledge concerning the religions of the world was acquired during his experience as a Christian missionary in South East Asia, through extensive travel and in personal encounter with the people of those lands. Nonetheless, this level of significant interaction with people of other faiths seems to have informed his knowledge, but not his acceptance, of the real essence of world religions. Diana Eck writes in this regard: Although he lived for years in Muslim Indonesia, there are no Muslim voices in his approach. He talks about Islam, as about other traditions, but the voices of Muslims do not enter in. In discussing this particular question, there is no

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism dialogue with Muslims. There are no questions posed to us by Muslims. Rather, his method for answering the question, ‘Does and, if so, how and where does God reveal himself to Muslims?’ is to consult Christian revelation, Christian scripture and Christian theology. (1988, 380–81)

Kraemer lived, worked and wrote with an unshakeable conviction regarding the uniqueness of the revelation of God received through the historical Jesus. All religions, including Christianity, come under the judgement of that revelation. He repeatedly refers to this basic position as ‘biblical realism’, which is his way of stressing the ultimate sovereignty of God and the sinfulness of all humanity. T.S. Perry says that Kraemer’s biblical realism means that if the Christian faith is to be understood at all, it must be understood first and foremost from within on its own terms … [as a result of which] one cannot but conclude that the Christian faith is not one among many, superior to the rest … but something radically different. (2001, 89)

Mulder also expresses reservations about Kraemer’s distinction between biblical realism and the religions of the world. You immediately run into difficulty with Christianity. Is Christianity just another world religion, along with all world religions under the same judgement of biblical realism? But what is biblical realism then? Is it not always biblical realism according to the perceptions of certain Christian denominations theologies or thinkers and hence part of Christianity? Is it not always the biblical message reaching us through the eyes, ears and mouths of adherents of the Christian religion? And Christianity for sure is a religion among religions. It has its uniqueness, of course, but so have the other religions. (1989, 17)

In order to understand Kraemer, we have to explore the distinction he draws between the revelation of God in Christ, which he sees as the source and the essence of Christianity, and the nature of Christianity as a religious tradition. In making this distinction, his thinking is consistent with that of Barth: I propose to set the religions, including Christianity, in the light of the Person of Jesus Christ, who is the Revelation of God and alone has the authority to criticise – I mean, to judge discriminately and with complete understanding – every religion. … By Jesus Christ I mean that Jesus whom we know from the total witness of apostles and evangelists in the New Testament; the Jesus who says, not: This or that is the truth, but ‘I am the Truth’. So far as I am concerned … He is the criterion of truth, the standard of judgement and evaluation. (Kraemer 1962, 15–16)

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We will engage in some critical reflection on this basic Kraemer thesis at a later point. Suffice it to say here that he seems to ignore the crucial issue of how we are to deal with the fact that this revelation was received, interpreted and written down by imperfect human beings. He is willing to acknowledge that this was the case, but nowhere does he explore the obvious implications.1 In spite of the means by which the revelation was received, it remains, for Kraemer, totally authoritative and the key to his whole approach. We should also note, in this introduction, Kraemer’s emphasis on ‘dialectical theology’ (in keeping with Barth and Brunner). This has both divine and human dimensions. From God’s perspective, ‘dialectical’ reflects God’s ‘no’ to all human attempts at self-justification, which are identified as inadequate and sinful, but God’s ‘yes’ to humanity through the saving action of Jesus Christ. From a human perspective, ‘dialectical’ means the ‘condition inherent in man, of saying at the same time yes and no to his true destiny and his relatedness to the eternal’ (Kraemer 1938, 113). This is another way of saying that there is an inner conflict between the desire for relationship with God, expressed in varying degrees of spirituality and religious behaviour, and the human tendency toward personal independence and autonomy, understood in the Christian tradition as sinful rebellion against God. Kraemer puts it in these terms: The religious and moral life of man is man’s achievement, but also God’s wrestling with him; it manifests a receptivity to God, but at the same time an inexcusable disobedience and blindness to God. The world fails to know God even in its highest wisdom, although it strives to do so. Man seeks God and at the same time flees from Him in his seeking because his self-assertive selfcentredness of will, his root-sin always breaks through. (1938, 126–7)

Kraemer’s fundamental judgement on the other world religions is that they are the product of human creativity and achievement, aimed at overcoming the consequences of sin and guilt: ‘All religions … are the various efforts of man to apprehend the totality of existence’ (1956, 8). In support of this conclusion, he argues that each of the religions embraces all aspects of human experience and endeavour. They are total systems of thought, belief, ethics and behaviour, grounded in, and inclusive of, particular societies and cultures. ‘These nonChristian religions … are all-inclusive systems and theories of life, rooted in a religious basis, and therefore at the same time embrace a system of culture and civilization and a definite structure of society and state’ (ibid. 110). Kraemer’s assessment is strange, to say the least, given the normal expectation that religious faith will impact on and be expressed within the context where people live out their everyday lives. Gualtieri, responding to this proposition of Kraemers, offers a pertinent comment: ‘Surely such an inference is unwarranted. 1

  In this regard, see also Newbigin, who is critical of Kraemer at this point (1969, 77).

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Its effect is to deny an incarnational principle to any faith. Faith that does not find expression in society, in law and culture, is not authentic faith’ (1978, 278). The Context for the Encounter of Christianity and Other World Religions In his description and interpretation of the historical–cultural context for the encounter of Christianity with other religions, Kraemer suggests a number of key factors. He identifies this encounter as an invasion of the East by the West. It began towards the end of the fifteenth century with voyages and journeys of exploration, leading to increasing domination. The obvious motives were desire for wealth and power, plus a strong missionary urge. Kraemer consistently interprets this process as the irresistible and inevitable imposition of a dynamic and creative Western culture onto Eastern cultures that were inward-looking and lethargic, though characterised by a ‘latent vitality’ (1960, 55). During the nineteenth century, the real invasion of the East by the West began, marked by Western imperialism, with political, economic and cultural domination and sustained by a ‘deep conviction of innate Western spiritual and cultural superiority’ (Kraemer 1960, 60). Kraemer endeavours to be sensitive regarding the many disastrous and destructive aspects of this invasion. He recognises that the impact of the West was deeply resented in Asia as both aggressive and insulting and that morally much of it was open to serious criticism. Yet he insists that hindsight must conclude that the overall consequences were advantageous and positive. For all its faults, he argues, Western imperialism had a remarkably stimulating impact on the East. Kraemer describes the influences involved as ‘the unintended gifts of western colonialism’ (ibid. 67). These ‘gifts’ included a strong stimulus to the cultural and religious life of the countries concerned, the major contribution of Christian missions to education, social service, medical care and moral welfare, and the inevitable impetus that was given to the rise of nationalism (ibid. 74–5). Kraemer sees Christian missions, in particular, as an important ‘redeeming factor’ in Western colonialism. He believes that Christian missions had a value and importance that transcend all the mistakes and weaknesses apparent in what was thought and done. He is convinced that the ends are more important than the means. I simply wanted to point to the mystery which is always hidden in all great historic events, and to the transcendence of the consequences of historical acts and human decisions and aims over the conscious intention of man in these decisions and aims. … By its message of divine love and redemption and by its calling to show forth ‘the new creation in Christ’, the Christian Church is a body that transcends history and the common level of human existence. (Kraemer 1960, 99)

The implications of this interpretation, taken to their logical conclusion, are quite profound and disturbing. The historical record suggests that both colonial

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and ecclesial authorities did frequently operate according to these principles that Kraemer enunciates, with sad consequences for the indigenous peoples of the countries concerned. Kraemer’s identification of past sins in regard to attitudes and practices has to be set alongside his convictions regarding the ‘must’ of mission, in order to see clearly where his real emphasis lies. Christian missions represented an act of joyful obedience to what was felt as a divine commission and obligation to spread the Message of world-salvation through Jesus Christ, ‘unto the ends of the earth’. Whoever does not seize this point in its biblical plenitude of universality and of reserveless committal, not to a dogma, but to the living Lord Jesus Christ, cannot but misinterpret Christian Missions by reducing them to an annoying proselytism or an exasperating arrogance in forcing one’s own limited truth down the throats of others. (1960, 85–6)

In preparation for the World Missionary Conference held at Madras in 1938, Kraemer wrote The Christian Message in a Non-Christian World. It provoked considerable controversy, even amongst his own colleagues, because of the hard line which he adopted. Stephen Neill describes the book as ‘harsh and challenging’ (1961, 3). T.S. Perry says that the book was the ‘flash point for controversy’ (2001, 63). Kraemer’s purpose was to argue for a renewal of Christian missions ‘under any circumstances’ (1960, 31). Far from being at the end of its task of missionary enterprise, Kraemer argues, the Christian Church should understand that its work amongst people of other faiths is just beginning (ibid. 40). He is very critical of those who have come to believe that the contemporary role of Christian missions should be expressed primarily through service in the fields of education, medicine, social welfare and so on. The influence derived from such unconditional service is not enough. Recognition of Christ as lord of life must be the goal, as that is the only basis on which people will take the risk of breaking away from their traditional religious orientation (Kraemer 1960, 289–90). Kraemer is clear that conversion is a primary goal of all mission activity: ‘Evangelisation, proselytism and conversion … belong to the core of the missionary enterprise’ (1960, 296). This requires that Christian truth be presented in a manner which is both intelligible and relevant. To that end it is essential that use be made of the indigenous culture, language and traditions as a medium for the presentation of the Gospel (ibid. 316). At the same time, the Christian attitude toward other religions is to be a combination of ‘radical humility’, because the Christian is nothing more than a messenger regarding what God has done, and ‘down-right intrepidity’, because he is a witness to divine revelation (ibid. 128). Kraemer also offers some comment regarding the influence of Eastern cultures and religions on the people of Western countries. In more recent time, he says, there has been a significant ‘invasion’ of the West by the East. At the same time there have been growing feelings of dissatisfaction and negativism within the West about itself, which actually assisted this process. Most of the impact has come

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from the Indian and Islamic traditions, but especially from Buddhism. Kraemer suggests that the appeal of Eastern religion is typified in the work of religious teachers like Swami Nikhilanda, who advocated a universal religion which is not an attempt to gather the best of all religions together in a syncretistic way but which affirms that there is salvation in every religious tradition as it is (Kraemer 1960, 259–60). The essential thing is to respect other religions and find salvation in and through one’s own. Kraemer responds: This ongoing Indian influence is undoubtedly one of the main factors … that have caused in so many Western minds a well-nigh spontaneous affirmation of the idea that all religions are essentially one and have the same goal, and that consequently the relativistic ‘live and let live’ thesis is the only sensible and irrefutable wisdom. Moreover, it looks like the easiest and cheapest solution of the problem of the plurality of religions. One by-passes painlessly the deeper challenge hidden in this plurality. (1960, 260)

Having considered some aspects of the context in which Christianity has related to other religions until now, we move on to other matters. The first of these concerns Kraemer’s fundamental opposition to any form of syncretism or concept of a ‘universal’ religion. The Concept of a Universal Religion Kraemer always draws the battle-lines very clearly, even aggressively: The central issue in this coming dialogue with the grand, elusive Eastern systems of humanist thinking will, it seems, be to vindicate the personal conception of the living God as manifest in Jesus Christ, and the meaning and purpose of Man and the World in the light of God’s self-disclosure in the historical Jesus Christ. (1960, 23)

This is his basic response to those from both East and West who want the various living religions to relate and communicate from the standpoint that there is truth in all religions; that the various religions are different expressions of the same truth; that all religions are revelations of God; that we need to create one universal religion which incorporates the best of all the religions. Kraemer has no patience with these positions: The only people who maintain that it all boils down to the same thing are those who have never taken the trouble to find out what ‘it all’ is. In any case, such a verdict entirely misses the real point of the question, which has to do with truth and the intrinsic value of truth. (1962, 13)

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T.S. Perry suggests that Kraemer did not reject the notions of ‘general revelation’ and ‘natural theology’ but redefined them in order to conclude that ‘God is revealing himself in all times and in all places, but that such activity can only be discerned in hindsight, in the light of the revelation of God in Christ’ (T.S. Perry 2001, 60). Perry goes on to say that Kraemer acknowledged the reality of God’s revelation apparent in other religions but was unwilling either to describe it or to give any indication of where it may have occurred and was agnostic about what eternal significance, if any, it might have. There can be no neutrality according to Kraemer (1962, 51–2). Any attempt to adopt a neutral stance in order to maintain objectivity, though commendable, never actually works in practice. Some degree of objectivity is necessary in the study of religion in order to gain knowledge and understanding regarding the various religions. However, neutrality requires that we set aside the issue of comparative truth-claims, says Kraemer, and that he is not prepared to do. Kraemer refers to attempts to identify a universal religion that could embrace all religious traditions, a process which requires that the various religions be affirmed as different paths to the same ultimate goal, all revelations of the same divine power but understood and expressed in varying ways. Kraemer suggests that these efforts have failed for two main reasons. Firstly, because of the infinite variety to be found within the religions themselves (the objective factor) and, secondly, because of the personal experiences and convictions of those who attempt the task (the subjective factor). Over against that, he says, we have to take into account the significant divergences in understanding and emphasis to be found in the various religions regarding specific concepts and doctrines, such as, the idea of the holy, the understanding of salvation and the nature and role of revelation. There is only one conclusion to be drawn: ‘The proposition that the religions are so many different ways to the selfsame goal and are revelations of one and the same Divine power, however variously expressed, breaks down therefore on the facts of the case’ (Kraemer 1962, 63). T.S. Perry says that ‘Kraemer not only asserted the radical difference of Christianity. He also argued for the radical difference of other religions’ (2001, 111). Kraemer does acknowledge that there are many points of convergence in all religions in regard to their ideas, symbols, traditions and so on, even their faults, but he argues that this is only because all religions represent human efforts to understand the nature and purpose of existence in its entirety. The more one penetrates different religions and tries to understand them in their total, peculiar entity, the more one sees that they are worlds in themselves, with their own centres, axes, and structures, not reducible to each other or to a common denominator which expresses their inner core and makes them all translucent’ (Kraemer 1956, 76)

This leads Kraemer to conclude that if the religions are all so different, either they are all false or only one of them can be true (1956, 85).

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The Status of Christianity in Relation to Other World Religions At a number of points Kraemer acknowledges the faults and failures of the Christian church as a historical, human institution. He wants to affirm that there are ways in which the other religions are ‘better’ than Christianity as it is actually practiced in the world (1962, 116). However, for the purpose of his fundamental argument he distances the human institution from the key event out of which it grew. This is his rationale. It is essential to go back to what is original in Christianity, that from which its principles are derived, but which is not a principle in itself. In Christianity, that essence is Jesus Christ himself. He is the objective criterion upon which an assessment can be made. Jesus Christ, in saying that the truth is revealed in Him and not just by Him, constitutes Himself as the criterion. On that revelation of the truth in Jesus Christ as a given and effectual quantitative reality the Christian Church is truth in Him rests also the Church’s claim that … Christianity is the truth. (Kraemer 1962, 73)

Kraemer further argues that religious truth cannot be known from the outside. Nor can it be demonstrated intellectually to be the truth. It can only be known as it is encountered in the context of a spiritual relationship with God. Therefore, knowledge of the truth depends on God’s revelation of himself in and through Christ. We have to be willing to accept unreservedly the witness of the Bible concerning the person of Jesus Christ. Consequently, the only way in which this revelation can be received is by faith (1962, 52). Some comment on Kraemer’s position is called for, because there seem to be serious flaws in the logic of his argument. If the revelation of God in Jesus Christ can only be received by faith, then acceptance of the truth in that revelation will always be on a subjective basis. Faith is not objective. Kraemer himself rejects the possibility of any empirical criterion for evaluating faith (1962, 52). Consequently, there is no rational basis upon which it can be argued that the truth of Christian revelation is any ‘truer’ than the truth contained in any other religious tradition. Abandoning any empirical basis for the comparison of truth is a strong argument in favour of relativism. If faith is the only basis upon which truth can be evaluated then the devotees of all religions stand on equal ground. Kraemer proceeds on the basis of an in-built contradiction and therefore confounds his own argument. For example, how is Kraemer to reconcile his conviction of salvation by Christ alone with his conclusion regarding the universal religious consciousness of humanity, given that he believes that God is the source of this spiritual awareness and sensitivity? Surely, as D’Costa argues, this can only be interpreted as an expression of the grace of God at work outside the confines of the revelation in Christ (1986b, 69–70). Nonetheless, as far as Kraemer is concerned, in the light of Jesus Christ all other religions are revealed to be in error: ‘When we probe more deeply into the religions in one way or another they are shown to be religions

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of self-redemption, self-justification and self-sanctification and so to be, in their ultimate and essential meaning and significance, erroneous’ (1962, 94). However, Kraemer wants to wear a velvet glove on the iron fist. While holding steadfastly to the truth of the Christian revelation, he is happy to grant value to the other religions, because the value of a religion is not to be confused with the issue of its truth (1938, 106). ‘The fundamental rule must certainly be that undeniable value never compels us, on this ground of value alone, to hold the question of truth decided at the same time’ (1956, 83–4). In fact, Kraemer argues, value is not even a proof of authenticity. If the sublime aspects of the various religions were to be taken as proof of their authentic truth, then we would be in the position of having to accept that many contradictory truths are all nonetheless true. The real situation is that the claims and concerns of the various religions are mutually contradictory. Even the fact that the adherents of other religions may have a deep and satisfying religious experience does not guarantee that there is truth (or the same truth) in them (Kraemer 1956, 85). ‘Sublime religious and moral achievements’, Kraemer argues, are not to be confused with the divine revelation in Jesus Christ. Nor is it possible to interpret the best in other religions as in some way an anticipation or preparation for the full and perfect redemption that came in Christ. Fulfilment is not the term by which to characterise the relation of the revelation in Christ to the non-Christian religions. To use it engenders inevitably the erroneous conception that the lines of the so-called highest developments point naturally in the direction of Christ, and would end in Him if produced further. The Cross and its real meaning – reconciliation as God’s initiative and act – is antagonistic to all human religious aspirations and ends. (1938, 123)

Therefore, Kraemer concludes, in answer to the question, ‘In what way does God reveal Himself in and through non-Christian religions?’, that it has to be said that it is not possible to systematically identify where and in what manner God has revealed God’s own self through them (1938, 127). Kraemer criticises what he sees to be the totally inadequate concepts of sin and grace in other world religions (1962, 97). He categorises them in general as eudaemonistic, another critical judgement, because they emphasise striving after the highest good and the greatest happiness, as achievements of the human spirit, in contrast to Christianity, which identifies obedience to the will of God as the ideal (ibid. 86–7). He concludes that a fundamental weakness of Eastern religions is the manner in which they seek to integrate culture and religion (symbiosis), in contrast to Christianity which purports to stand over against culture and often to be in conflict with it (Kraemer 1960, 20). The problem with Kraemer’s approach is that, in clinging to the purity of the truth revealed in Jesus Christ, he acknowledges, but ignores, the reality of the human condition expressed in the Christian religion as it actually is, with its tendency toward ‘salvation by works’, its emphasis on goodness and happiness

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and its capacity to conform to the culture in which it is set. In short, in his emphasis on the truth revealed in Jesus Christ, Kraemer ‘begs the question’ by avoiding it. Gavin D’Costa, writing from an inclusivist stance, though sympathetic with some aspects of Kraemer’s Christology, nonetheless suggests that he fails badly to appreciate both the manner in which religions change and develop, and the complexity of attitudes and beliefs within each of the religions (D’Costa 1986b, 62–4). Kraemer’s determination to view each religious tradition as distinct in itself and discontinuous with any other, blinds him to some special phenomenological considerations. D’Costa refers to several, including the emphasis on the saving love of God in theistic Saiva Siddhanta literature and the principle of faith in grace alone, expressed in Shinran’s Japanese Shin-Shu Amida. D’Costa is also critical of Kraemer’s conclusion that all religions are, at centre, systems of self-justification. All this, D’Costa argues, would ‘preclude any final judgement upon the religious life of humankind, and require a more nuanced analysis than Kraemer provides’ (ibid. 61). Kraemer on the Principles of Inter-Religious Dialogue We should note that some aspects of Kraemer’s approach to dialogue are positive and creative. He suggests that in any quest for world peace and unity, religion is more likely to be a divisive than a harmonising factor and that some agreed basis upon which relationship and cooperation can take place is an urgent need (1960, 353–5). But here, as elsewhere, we have to grapple with the in-built contradictions evident in Kraemer’s argument. He is eager for dialogue to occur, while failing to understand that the attitudes he takes into that process almost certainly destine it to failure. Those willing to work at this, he says, will need to be ready to adopt two primary goals. Firstly, the pragmatic goal of dealing with misunderstanding and responding to needs and problems. Secondly, the fundamental goal of achieving a deeper exchange of witness and experience. In this regard: ‘The seriousness of true religion demands that one shall be really one’s religious self and avoid the temptation … of putting as an indispensable condition of dialogue and relationship the assumption that all religions are essentially one’ (Kraemer 1960, 356). The desire to appear humble and inclusive is, in Kraemer’s opinion, a ‘spiritual disease’ (1960, 364). He is convinced that Christians must maintain their claim to exclusiveness, learn how to present the claim intelligibly, and to explain at the same time that it has nothing to do with religious arrogance, intolerance or dogmatic absolutism; that it rather includes a real openness to truth wherever it may be found, and an inclusiveness of its own sort, far more realistic and adequate to the human situation than the superficial, glittering universalist theories of the East and of theosophical and philosophical syncretists. (Kraemer 1960, 365)

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The inherent weakness of Kraemer’s argument is nowhere more obvious than here. Whatever logic may be adopted, it is amazing that he believed that the claim to Christian exclusiveness, coupled with the use of terms like ‘erroneous’ and ‘superficial’ in regard to other approaches, and an ongoing commitment to conversion, might somehow not be construed as ‘religious arrogance’. Kraemer frequently claims that he is misunderstood, but it would seem that he is understood only too well. Conclusion In Religion and the Christian Faith, Kraemer offers a summary of the ‘message’ embodied in all of his writing. As an apostolic body, the Church is commissioned to proclaim … the message of God’s dealings with, and purpose for, the world and mankind. This message has to go out to all men, in all lands, in all situations and civilisations, in all conditions and spheres and circumstances of life, so witnessing to God’s redemptive order in Jesus Christ, by word and deed. This apostolic outreach implies the certainty of a given and knowable truth, superseding and transforming all truth by which man may live, and unveiling the falseness and distortion inherent in all human thinking and actions, even the most sublime. (1956, 18)

Whatever the conclusion we come to in regard to Kraemer’s work, we cannot deny the significance and influence of the contribution he has made. Hoedemaker says: It is virtually impossible to ignore the traces of Kraemer’s influence in presentday discussions on pluralism, mission and dialogue. His contribution at that crucially important juncture in the missionary and ecumenical movement in the years just before and after the second world war helped to formulate the basic alternatives of any theology of religions. … Kraemer is praised for underlining the distinct identity of the Christian mission in an age of uncertainty and for opening the eyes of many to the reality and the problems of a truly worldwide Christianity, but he is blamed for placing too much emphasis on the exclusiveness of the Christian message and for showing an unforgivable blindness with regard to God’s active presence in other people’s faith and religion. (1989, 41)

Kraemer placed considerable emphasis on acquiring a deep knowledge of other religions through phenomenological study. However, Alan Race makes a telling comment about this: One wonders whether Kraemer, as he developed, had really integrated such a study into his overall theory, when by the end of his life he reverted to a

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism greater dependence on his purely Christian theological principles. Ultimately, it is possible to claim, the exclusivist theory functions independently of the knowledge of other faiths. (1983, 24–5)

As we have seen, the paradox in Kraemer’s thought is contained in his desire to be magnanimous regarding the teachings and achievements of the other religions, at the same time as he dismisses them as erroneous and claims complete exclusiveness for the truth of the revelation contained in Jesus Christ. He affirms the ‘value’ in other religions, though not their truth. He clearly has a far more comprehensive knowledge of other religions than Barth, but this has little or no impact on his actual thinking. He functions out of an unrelenting commitment to the absolute nature of the revelation in Jesus Christ and is unwilling to concede the salvation of those who have never heard the gospel, preferring the option of suggesting that such an issue should be left to God. Kraemer does identify the historical failings of Christianity as an institutional religion but still manages to conclude that it has been an inestimable blessing to other cultures and religions whether they know and accept it or not. He argues in favour of dialogue but sees it essentially as a strategy for conversion and establishes preconditions which doom it to failure. Smith concludes that Kraemer was not ignorant, but stubborn: [He clung] to inherited doctrine formulated in earlier, ignorant days, and deeming it important so to cling. Personally, I feel that Kraemer was not holding on so much as being held; he never succeeded in bringing together what his heart felt, and half his brilliant head knew, with what the other half had been taught, and from which he never managed constructively to struggle. … He moved increasingly towards a more comprehensive vision. Yet he died … without ever managing to satisfy himself that he had formulated that vision adequately. (Smith 1988, 372)

Gualtieri also suggests that, in later life, Kraemer increasingly questioned the adequacy of his formulations but was never able to resolve the issues. He quotes personal conversations with both Wilfred Cantwell Smith and Raimundo Panikkar, both of whom testify to Kraemer’s doubts in this regard (Gualtieri 1978, 286). However, in the light of all the evidence, we must classify Kraemer as a hard exclusivist.

Chapter 4

Conservative Exclusivism: Emil Brunner (1889–1966) Emil Brunner, along with Karl Barth and Hendrik Kraemer, provides the essential theological rationale for the exclusivist Christian response to other world religions. Brunner’s name has often been linked with that of Barth, along with the suggestion that they both advocated essentially the same ideas. In fact, there were some significant divergences in emphasis and interpretation. As we have already noted, Brunner and Barth disagreed sharply over the issue of ‘general revelation’, and we do not need to deal with that conflict any further here. Humphrey suggests that Brunner himself was anxious to insist that he had adopted a position independent of Barth’s from the beginning (Humphrey 1976, 19). Knitter says that Brunner reacted to what he saw as a strong exclusivism in Barth toward other world religions, which denied any possibility that a genuine revelation of God could be discerned within them (Knitter 1985, 98). In regard to the comparison between Barth and Brunner, Richards says that ‘although [Brunner’s] response to religious pluralism might also be classified as exclusivist it is of a more modified form. It shows marked differences from Barth’s response and is characterized by a greater degree of openness to non-Christian religions’ (Richards 1989, 17). As we shall see, this evaluation is probably overgenerous, as any affirmation of other religions by Brunner must inevitably be read in the light of his categorical support for the contention that only the Christian revelation is ultimately true and significant, as it claims that there is salvation in Christ alone. Brunner’s essential attitude toward other world religions hardly differs at all from that of Barth. His willingness to affirm other religions as contexts in which a general revelation is clearly evident, is in stark contrast to his conviction that, from the standpoint of Jesus Christ, the non-Christian religions seem like stammering words from some half-forgotten saying: none of them is without a breath of the Holy, and yet none of them is the Holy. None of them is … without its impressive truth, and yet none of them is the truth; for their Truth is Jesus Christ. (Brunner 1947, 270)

This conclusion is grounded in Brunner’s commitment, fully shared with Barth, to the doctrine of Christian historical revelation. In fact, Brunner regarded himself primarily as a preacher of the ‘good news’ and suggested that all his

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books were a paraphrase of Romans 1:16: ‘I have complete confidence in the gospel; it is God’s power to save all who believe, first the Jews and also the Gentiles.’ Brunner and the Doctrine of Revelation Brunner’s work is grounded in the contention that the Christian faith has its origin in the historical revelation of God in Jesus Christ: For what else can be the meaning of the word Christian but just this indispensable connexion with a historical event and person …? Christian faith is faith in Jesus Christ as the supreme revelation of God. You cannot believe as a Christian without looking or pointing to this event of the past, without facing the divine revelation as having happened there and then. (1951, 14)

Brunner asserts that the Christian church exists in a world which holds to the principle that all knowledge of truth is relative. Nonetheless, he says, the church knows that it lives according to the truth which it has received through divine revelation. At different times in Christian history, says Brunner, the understanding of revelation has been corrupted. One such corruption is reflected in the idea that revelation is to be equated with the verbal inspiration and infallibility of the Bible. Another form of corruption occurred when revelation was confused with right doctrine as taught by the church (Brunner 1947, 8–10). Brunner contends that both interpretations are false. He says that in the biblical witness, revelation ‘always meant the whole of the divine activity for the salvation of the world. Him in whom the preceding revelation gains its meaning and who therefore is its fulfilment: Jesus Christ. He Himself is the Revelation’ (1947, 8). Consequently, and this is central to Brunner’s thesis, the truth of God’s revelation in Christ is discovered only in relationship with Christ, what Brunner calls, ‘truth as encounter’. Christian faith is the dynamic factor in that relationship which makes real knowledge of God possible (ibid. 9). Brunner develops this argument at considerable length in his book, Truth as Encounter (1964). This means that revelation is not to be understood primarily as the communication of information (‘propositions’) about God, but as an event, a divine–human encounter expressed and experienced in relationship. Truth as encounter is not truth about something, not even truth about something mental, about ideas. Rather, it is that truth which breaks in pieces the impersonal concept of truth and mind, truth that can be expressed only in the I–Thou form. All use of impersonal terms to describe it, the divine, the transcendent, the absolute, is indeed the inadequate way invented by the thinking of the solitary self to speak of it – or, more correctly, of Him. (Brunner 1964, 24)

The primary emphasis in the New Testament, Brunner says, is that in Jesus the kingdom of God is made present. The message and the person are one. ‘That is

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why, for the first time, we here find complete revelation. In the person of Jesus of Nazareth the person of God Himself, the holy and merciful Lord, encounters us’ (Brunner 1947, 104). This emphasis occurs repeatedly in Brunner’s work. He is convinced that it has never been possible, and never will be, for any person, by any means, to find or to know God: God is self-revealed. Revelation means God’s self-disclosure. It is not revelation about something. As long as it is that, as long as it is a word about God – even a prophetic word about God – it is not full revelation. God being Subject, person, cannot perfectly reveal himself except in personal presence. Immanuel, God himself present with us, dwelling amongst us, speaking to us, in the unity of revealing person and revealed person, so that the speaker is the same as the one of whom he speaks: that is what the New Testament preaches. In Jesus Christ we encounter the holy and merciful God in persona. (Brunner 1951, 47)

Revelation infers the imparting of unexpected knowledge. In biblical revelation, this ‘surprise’ is contained in the message of God’s free gift of forgiveness. Furthermore, in the Bible alone is revelation understood in an absolute sense, as something unique and unrepeatable. This is crucial to Brunner’s interpretation, because on the basis of this principle he makes his claim that there is salvation in Christ alone. Atonement, redemption, can, if it really takes place, happen only once for all. If Jesus Christ be really the Redeemer, then it is evident that ‘in no other is there salvation’. … Only this unconditionally personal event, the fact that God the Creator comes to man, can be absolute and unique event. (Brunner 1951, 31)

This strong, unequivocal exposition of historical revelation, the essence of the Christian tradition, stands in stark contrast with Brunner’s interpretation of general revelation. For what, in the first instance, reads as a positive recognition of other world religions, ultimately renders them both insignificant and impotent. Given this reality, there is almost a sense of surprise that Brunner made such an issue of his position regarding general revelation or the revelation of God in creation, because, having identified the principle of a general revelation, Brunner proceeds to qualify it in so many ways as to render it almost meaningless: ‘The world with a million fingers points toward God, but it cannot reveal Him to us. … That God exists is testified by reason, conscience and nature with its wonders. But who God is – God Himself must tell us in His revelation’ (1936, 16). In Revelation and Reason, Brunner is careful to distinguish between general revelation and natural theology, a demarcation about which he had not always been meticulous in earlier writings. Here, however, he wants to stress that they are two entirely different things. He is concerned that, at times, a fear of natural theology has led to the rejection of general revelation also. Natural theology allows knowledge of God through human reason without benefit of revelation and opens the way for claims of salvation outside of specific faith in Jesus

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Christ. Consequently, Brunner argues that there is no connection between natural theology and the biblical knowledge of God: ‘Biblical and natural theology will never agree; they are bitterly and fundamentally opposed’ (1947, 61). In contrast to this, Brunner argues, general revelation anticipates the specific, historical revelation of Christ, and it can only properly be understood from the perspective of Christian faith: ‘As those whose eyes have been opened by Jesus Christ, on the basis of the Biblical testimony we are able to speak of the Creation given to all’ (1947, 62). Here is Brunner’s first qualifying comment. There is a general revelation, but it can only be properly discerned, interpreted and explained from within the context of the Christian faith. His second qualification of the principle is expressed in the contention that it should never be assumed that a general revelation guarantees actual knowledge of God. Human sinfulness is such that the truth about God in creation is suppressed or distorted and finds expression in idolatry. The dialectic of sin is that, on the one hand, human beings could not be sinful if they knew nothing of God. On the other hand, because of their sin they cannot know God in a way consistent with the biblical revelation (Brunner 1947, 64–5). The gods of the heathen are partly constructions of human fantasy, partly surmise of the true God, a wild combination of both. The great thinkers like Plato and Aristotle spoke indeed of a divinity that pervaded all things. But they did not know the living God. … The heathen, even their greatest thinkers, do not rightly know the difference between God and the world, between God and man, between God and nature. These are all confused with one another. (Brunner 1936, 26)

Brunner qualifies the principle in a third way when he argues that a general revelation is apparent in other religions through their moral and ethical structures, which reflect the law of God, written on human hearts and able to be known and understood but without any knowledge of its true source and frequently ignored or compromised. The ethical content of the law, says Brunner, is universally recognised, but the divine origins of it are not. ‘All men know what is commanded and forbidden; but the reason why this is so, and therefore the deepest and most peculiar meaning of the divine command, they do not know’ (1947, 71). On this basis, Brunner is able to conclude that because the God of the biblical revelation is not known in other world religions, they are able to affirm the moral content of the law without being in a relationship of faith with the God of the Bible. Therefore, all religion, other than biblical faith, distorts the true knowledge of God. For that reason, all general revelation is, in principle, idolatrous. The other religions are all remote from the truth in some degree, but they all have in common both their ignorance regarding the God of the Bible and their need to find salvation in Jesus Christ (Brunner 1947, 71, 75). Having made such an issue of a general revelation through creation, we might have expected a willingness on Brunner’s part to explore the further implications

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that emerge within all living religious traditions. But, as we have seen, he qualifies in a negative way every characteristic of general revelation that he addresses. He is then quite unable to take the further radical step of affirming that God’s presence and action in and through other religions is for the purpose of salvation (see Humphrey 1976, 163). Only the historical revelation centred in Jesus Christ can do that. Brunner writes: It is by historical revelation that we know of the triune God, of original sin, of the reconciling work of Christ and of the consummation of the world in eternal life. It is because of our sin that we need reconciliation. It is the triune God who reveals himself and reconciles us to himself in Jesus Christ. … Each one of these doctrines is essential for and characteristic of the Christian faith. None of the non-Christian religions, none of the philosophical systems of theology, has any of these doctrines. They are absolutely specifically doctrines belonging to the Christian gospel, and whatever similarities in non-Christian theology might be pointed to are but faint and uncertain analogies. (1951, 112)

It is important, therefore, that we ask why it is that Brunner should affirm a general revelation of God in world religions but deny that they are vehicles of salvation? Richards poses the question in this way: ‘If it is the same Lord who reveals himself in creation as speaks to us through the incarnate Word, thereby making man responsible for his sin and inexcusable, why is it that his general revelation through creation should lack saving significance?’ (1989, 21). Brunner locates his response to this issue in his interpretation of human sinfulness. The Consequences of Human Sinfulness Having introduced the manner in which Brunner deals with the subject of sin, we need to consider further his emphasis on the nature and consequences of sin. Because of sin, Brunner argues, general revelation is not in itself adequate for a true knowledge of God. Therefore neither is it sufficient for salvation. The reality of salvation can only be discovered through the historical revelation of God in Jesus Christ. It is the same eternal Word of God in whom and through whom the world has been created, and who manifests Himself to us in the works of the Creation, who speaks to us in the incarnation of the Son: in the one case impersonally, and therefore imperfectly, and in the other personally and perfectly (Brunner 1947, 77)

Without the revelation of God in Christ, humanity lives in the ‘darkness or bondage’ of sin, a condition which is both personal and absolute. This represents a negative relationship with God (not the absence of a relationship), which is the antithesis of what was originally a positive relationship (Brunner 1947, 25–6).

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Human beings, according to biblical tradition, were created in God’s image. By this we are to understand ‘both the essential and the original element in man’s being’ (ibid. 53). It means that humanity can only be properly understood in the context of its relationship with God. It is this which helps us to understand the nature and impact of sin on human life, as the ‘active and actual negation of this revelation’ (ibid. 53). In the light of this, sin is to be understood not just as the breaking of God’s law, but as the destruction of communion with God (Brunner 1951, 75). The original order of creation has been upset, Brunner says, our innocence has been lost and we live in a state of sinfulness. Because of sin, the human soul is under the domination of an evil spirit and is therefore corrupted. Consequently, we may know who God is and what God expects of us, but we cannot know what God’s relationship with us is. We cannot know whether or not God forgives us and therefore we ‘remain in complete uncertainty as to what God’s relation is to us, sinful rebels as we are’ (Brunner 1951, 16–17). This perversion influences the whole of human existence and is the primary source of resistance to the Christian gospel. It is this which engenders in so many people the conclusion that the message of Christ is scandalous (ibid. 10–11). In this situation, issues of guilt and forgiveness either play no part or are ignored. Quite different things seem to be important – the expansion of the finite self to infinity, the knowledge of a divine original truth which has no relation to my personal being or personal situation, the experience of divine presence in which my being so or so, guilty or sinful, is of no concern. The religion of immediacy, therefore, not troubling about historical revelation, does not trouble either about the historical element in my situation, that is, my sin and guilt. It treats it as nonexistent. (Brunner 1951, 17–18)

The outcome of all this, Brunner says, is that the ‘religion of immediacy is essentially and necessarily a religion of self-salvation’ (1951, 18).1 This is true of mystical, rationalist, moralist, and idealist religion. Brunner cites the mysticism of India, as evidenced in the bhakti doctrine of Hinduism, as a good example of his argument. Its purpose, he says, is unity with the divine being through disengagement with the world, in which there is no recognition of sin and guilt, and no sense of need for grace and forgiveness. Religion of immediacy, which is not related to historical revelation and thinks this to be its privilege, ignores the central fact of human existence, that sin separates us from the holy God. If it is true that man is a sinner, if it is true that 1

  Note that Brunner uses the term ‘immediacy’ to emphasise the contrast he draws between the salvation available through faith in the historical Jesus, and the salvation sought in the present through the personal endeavour of individual devotees to other world religions.

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he is incapable of healing the breach which his sin has opened between himself and the Creator, if it is true that he is involved in guilt from which he cannot free himself: if all this is true, then religion of immediacy is a falsification of the human situation and is possible only on the basis and in the power of this falsification. (Brunner 1951, 21)

It is this Christian emphasis on sin, Brunner contends, which causes it to be received as a scandal, or stumbling-block, because it insists that a right relationship with God is only possible on the basis of what God does. There is nothing we can do to make it happen. In contrast, the mystical, rationalistic and idealistic religions of immediacy assume that the key to relationship with God can be found within themselves. That is why historical revelation is the great scandal or stumbling block for natural men. … To acknowledge historical revelation means to acknowledge that the truth is not in us, that the right relationship to God cannot be established from our side. … On the other hand, religion of immediacy … means that the necessary presuppositions enabling us to establish the right relation to God … lie in ourselves. (Brunner 1951, 22)

Historical revelation is therefore the communication of light and freedom, of salvation and eternal life. Brunner suggests that this is one reality which differentiates the biblical revelation from that found in other religions: ‘In the Biblical revelation the concern is not only – as in other religions – with the communication of some knowledge which is important for life, but with life itself’ (1947, 28). The Centrality of Faith Revelation, Brunner explains, is only ever what God does, even though it involves the interaction of God with human beings. What God does is only revelation when it is received by those for whom it is intended. It is the intention of revelation that it will institute the reign of God in the world through the free and loving response of obedience to the divine will. Faith, then, is first expressed in an awareness (or knowledge) of the God who reveals God’s own self. So Brunner writes: ‘To become aware of the revelation is itself revelation, and this awareness is the act of faith’ (1947, 34). Awareness must be followed by obedience, an act of self-surrender grounded in the conviction that it is the best possible thing to do. ‘Confidence (or trust) is the heart of faith’ (ibid. 35). Faith is therefore a relationship of trust and obedience, and the object of faith is Jesus Christ. Such faith is only possible because God is present and active in this relationship. Brunner goes on to compare Christian faith with its counterpart in other religions. He concedes that there is some emphasis on surrender found in all religions, but

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that this is invariably mixed with elements of self-interest and personal gain. The primary characteristic of the devotees of other religions, he argues, is that they seek to know God by their own efforts; through prayer, discipline and a holy life. They believe that this will win God’s acceptance of them. This leads to one of two conclusions: either the devotee develops a false and misleading self-confidence regarding this process or else becomes aware of how ineffective it actually is and ends up in despair. So Brunner writes: The gods of the heathen are not truly God. The true God is the God a man finds when he can no longer help himself, and he puts his hope in Him alone. To hope in God alone, not in the power of self, one’s ability or knowledge, means faith, means being God’s own. This is harder than all penances, prayers, and the good works of the pious heathen. (1936, 82)

In contrast, the biblical revelation calls humanity to unconditional surrender. ‘It is only because God has given Himself absolutely to man in Jesus Christ that man is able to surrender himself without reserve to God; it is this alone which makes “faith” – in the New Testament sense of the word – possible’ (Brunner 1947, 41). Brunner’s stance in relation to Christianity seems very idealistic. If there is no personal gain for those who have faith in Christ, why is it that Christian teaching places so much emphasis on the gift of eternal life, on the blessings of obedience, on the present experience of a fulfilling life and on reward for faithful service? A major component of evangelical preaching in the church points to the personal gain that flows from the response of faith. Brunner’s attempts to draw a stark contrast between Christianity and other religions with this kind of argument are, therefore, both surprising and inappropriate. Moreover, it flies in the face of the facts to represent Christianity as a religion in which faith has a kind of independent existence devoid of personal interest. It is true that Christian doctrine rejects the notion that salvation can be achieved by human effort (Eph. 2:8–9). Nonetheless, there are parts of the New Testament which place considerable emphasis on ‘works’ and the benefits that accrue from them. Even the apostle Paul can say ‘I keep striving to win the prize’ (Phil. 3:12–14) and the ‘Sermon on the Mount’ (Matt. 5–7) has far more to say about the blessings and rewards of right conduct than it does about faith as such. Another obvious and often quoted passage comes from James 2:14–17, where the relationship of faith and conduct is expounded, with the conclusion: ‘It is by actions that a person is put right with God, not by faith alone.’ What has become apparent is Brunner’s tendency to use the Bible selectively. He argues that the scriptures primarily witness to God’s saving action, firstly in the Old Testament revelation, but then supremely in the historical Jesus Christ. He says, that even when all the work of biblical criticism is completed, this central reality of the biblical witness remains unchanged and unchallenged. ‘All conflicts between historical criticism and faith, when closely examined, turn out to be

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non-existent’ (Brunner 1947, 282). However, Brunner has scant respect for the scriptures of other religions: What is to be said regarding the sacred books of other religions? … A different voice is to be heard in them from that which we hear in the Bible. It is not the same God, not the Good Shepherd who comes to His sheep. It is the voice of a stranger. It may be that somehow it is God’s voice, too. But if so, a scarcely recognisable voice. (1936, 20)

In the light of Brunner’s assertions regarding both the Christian Bible and the scriptures of other religious traditions, it is important here to identify in a little more detail the rationale which undergirds his argument, if only because some interesting and paradoxical issues emerge. Firstly, Brunner argues that since the New Testament writers never claim verbal inspiration (and therefore, infallibility) for themselves, neither should we (1947, 127–8). While this does not negate the reality of divine inspiration and guidance, he says, the real possibility of human weakness and error remain. Secondly, Brunner concludes that not everything in the biblical record should be understood as having equal value, or being to the same extent a reflection of the word of God (ibid. 129, 131). Since the compilation of the Bible was the work of the church, not even the canon should be considered as final and infallible. It is legitimate to re-examine, test and even revise it. Brunner’s position in these matters is not in itself all that surprising or radical in the light of critical biblical scholarship. The problem we face is how to reconcile his giant leap from this interpretation of scripture to the stance he adopts regarding the absoluteness of historical revelation. This dilemma is emphasised all the more because of his attitude to the authority of ecclesiastical teaching. Brunner contends that it is essential for the church to take great care regarding the correctness of its doctrine, because this, too, is a way in which God is revealed. In this matter the biblical witness must be the norm. The church’s doctrine, (its ‘confession of faith’), makes clear who Christ is and what it means to follow him. Adherence to the church’s ‘confession’ identifies those who belong to Christ, and it is the norm for all who preach (Brunner 1947, 151–3, 158–9). Having said that, Brunner adopts the same attitude to doctrine as he does to scripture. The ‘confession’ of the church, he says, obviously must have some authority, but this is a relative, not an absolute authority. It is necessary for discipline and teaching, but it does not represent a final, infallible knowledge and understanding of scripture. The confession of the church, like the canon of scripture, is open to revision (ibid. 160–61). Our dilemma with Brunner’s argument is now clear. Both the Bible and the teaching of the church are vehicles of absolute truth about God and the salvation available in Christ alone, yet both are fallible and open to revision. Brunner seems to confound himself at this point. If we are to maintain an ‘open mind’ regarding these traditions and see them as subject to revision with the passing of time, we

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cannot simultaneously hold to the principle that they contain the only real and absolute truth about God and identify the only real and absolute means of salvation. Revelation and the Christian Response to Other World Religions As was the case with Barth, Brunner offers no rationale for his conclusions other than the assertion that we know the Christian revelation to be the unique vehicle of divine truth because God tells us so. Ultimately it is the action of God which persuades a person to believe in Jesus Christ. It is belief in Christ which leads to trust in scripture, not the other way round. The confidence of faith comes from Christ, through the witness of the Holy Spirit (Brunner 1947, 166–70). The work of the Spirit is to witness to the truth about Christ in scripture. Such knowledge can never be acquired by self-effort. It cannot be proved and does not require proof. It is knowledge through personal encounter. This is revelation. ‘Faith in him carries with it absolute certainty. If we ask how this is possible, the answer must be that God … can bring before us his Son as the incarnate Word, and testify to him through his Spirit, so as to fill us with absolute certainty’ (Brunner 1951, 25). Brunner contends that the biblical understanding of revelation is quite different to that which is found in other religions. While they have certain characteristics in common, the Bible gives these elements a completely new meaning. The distinctiveness of biblical revelation is found in its absoluteness and its personal character (Brunner 1951, 22–3). It is Brunner’s conviction that the relationship of Christianity to other religions arises out of the nature of the Christian revelation itself. Tolerance, which respects the convictions of others, is a commendable quality, but has nothing to do with the issue of truth as such. ‘In this sense the genuine Christian missionary in particular will be “tolerant”, yet at the same time he may not believe that there is any truth in the religion of those among whom he lives’ (ibid. 219). Brunner rejects the concept of a general nature (or essence) of religion, which is embodied in some way in all religions. This, he says, is in total opposition to the Christian faith. Whatever Christianity may share in common with other religions is ‘non-essential’. The essential component of Christianity is what distinguishes it irrevocably from the other religions. ‘The uncompromising, absolute attitude toward the world religions is the natural and inevitable consequence of the Christian faith itself’ (Brunner 1951, 220–21). This conclusion is inevitable, given his conviction that the unique nature of the incarnation and the salvation won in Christ make Christianity radically discontinuous with the other religions. Brunner can only acknowledge the achievements of other religions because he contends that salvation is available through faith in Christ alone. While all the traditions may share certain things in common, only Christians know the God from whom that commonality derives. Nor is it possible, Brunner argues, to conclude that other religions point toward Christianity and are fulfilled by it in the way that the Old Testament anticipates

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the coming of Christ. Nonetheless, every other religion, even the most primitive, contains some aspects of revelation. These are derived from the general revelation to all humanity in creation, but they have been greatly corrupted. Brunner analyses, and dismisses in this way, all other religious traditions (1951, 221–34). He concludes: The common assumption that the Christian claim to revelation is opposed by a variety of similar claims of equal value is wholly untenable. … No ‘other religion’ can assert revelation in the radical unconditional sense in which the Christian faith does this, because no ‘other religion’ knows the God who is Himself the Revealer. (1951, 235–6)

Conclusion We come now to a summary of Brunner’s main arguments. He proposes that it is impossible for God to be known by any human process of thought, observation or research. God can only be known through divine initiative, evident, in the first instance, through a general revelation, which is corrupted by sin and inadequate for salvation. However, God is revealed absolutely in the historical Jesus, in whom alone salvation can be found. The truth regarding this revelation in the historical Jesus is confirmed in the hearts and minds of believers by the activity of the Holy Spirit, a process which neither requires proof nor can be proved. It is known by faith. Richards poses a crucial question in regard to these key elements in Brunner’s work: On what grounds is Brunner able to determine that there is no salvation through other religions and that the revelation of God in Christ is unique? … What is to prevent a similar religious judgement being made by adherents of religions other than Christianity for the uniqueness of their faiths? … Given the absence of any external criterion of truth to enable us to adjudicate … it would appear that there is nothing to prevent claims of uniqueness being made by different religious traditions. (1989, 122)

Our challenge to Brunner’s thesis must be made in three main areas. Firstly, even though he asserts that the canon of scripture must be constantly subject to revision, he still wants to make the biblical witness the norm for all church doctrine. We have to ask how it could be possible to use as a ‘norm’ something which could be revised at any time and still believe that it is conveying absolute and eternal truth? Furthermore, if scripture and doctrine are both mediums of God’s revelation, yet open to new understanding and interpretation, how can we ever be confident that we have actually accurately ‘received’ whatever it is that God wants to tell us? Secondly, if it is the case that God transcends the relative and limited nature of scripture and doctrine to witness directly and personally to individuals through the activity of the Holy Spirit, how can we be confident that this witness is received,

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understood and expressed any more effectively than through the traditions we already have? Such revelation must also be relative. Such revelation is received by human beings just as finite and sinful as those who wrote the bible and later interpreted its ideas in the church’s confessions of faith. Thirdly, a further difficulty we have with Brunner is not so much with his initial statements of Christian doctrine, as with the ultimate conclusions to which he comes, especially in regard to other world religions. On the basis of his primary assertions, it makes a great deal more sense to conclude that the revelation of God has occurred, and is occurring, in a great variety of ways in a number of different cultural contexts. If the Christian traditions are relative and therefore subject to revision, other religious traditions could just as well be bearers of revelation and truth. If God transcends traditions to witness directly to individuals, that could very easily have happened in the context of other cultures and religions. Because Brunner concedes a general revelation and the presence of truth in world religions, he rates as a more generous exclusivist than Barth and Kraemer. Nonetheless, in any overall assessment he must still be considered a conservative exclusivist.

Chapter 5

Moderate Exclusivism: Lesslie Newbigin (1909–98) Lesslie Newbigin is the last major figure to be considered in our review of exclusivists. In comparison with Barth, Kraemer and Brunner, Newbigin represents the more moderate face of the exclusivist position. As a former bishop of Madras, then general secretary of the International Missionary Council, and finally in his work with the World Council of Churches, Newbigin had wide-ranging personal contact with other world religions, especially those of India. It is interesting to ponder Newbigin’s personal assessment of his attitudes and conclusions. At the end of The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, he writes: The position which I have outlined is exclusivist in the sense that it affirms the unique truth of the revelation in Jesus Christ, but it is not exclusivist in the sense of denying the possibility of the salvation of the non-Christian. It is inclusivist in the sense that it refuses to limit the saving grace of God to members of the Christian Church, but it rejects an inclusivism which regards the non-Christian religions as vehicles of salvation. It is pluralist in the sense of acknowledging the gracious work of God in the lives of all human beings, but it rejects a pluralism which denies the uniqueness and decisiveness of what God has done in Jesus Christ. (Newbigin 1989, 182–3)

It must be said that Newbigin’s self-analysis is very accurate, and the statement stands as an excellent summary of his thinking. In comparison with Kraemer, who also had a thorough knowledge of other religions, Newbigin evidences a greater degree of openness and sympathy. He is willing to allow for some continuity between Christianity and other religions. T.S. Perry argues that Newbigin was an ‘eschatological agnostic’, leaving the matter of the salvation of people from other faiths to God and saying that it is not for Christians to know or decide whom God will save (2001, 18). However, he never deviates from his commitment to the uniqueness of Christ and the absolute nature of the truth embodied in the Christian revelation. That is why Adams can conclude that ‘Newbigin is to be understood as a missionary activist, who, like Barth, starts from scripture and the presumption that its truth comes “from outside”’ (2010, 61). Inevitably, this leads him into some measure of ambiguity, as we shall note in greater detail later. It is also worth noting that over a period of nearly 40 years, from the publication of A Faith For This One World in 1961, until his death, there is no obvious development in Newbigin’s thought. He spells out the same principles, in the same

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language, using some of the same illustrations, in all his books. Kettle describes Newbigin as ‘marginal’ to the theological, academic and denominational life of his time and concludes: ‘He is remembered with affection by many who knew him, and his message has inspired many in a general way, but his teaching is not often subject to careful reflection. Indeed, many have passed over his message or dismissed it’ (2008, 17–18). Notwithstanding this critical judgement on his work and influence, he is included here because he represents, with great integrity, a particular face of exclusivism that requires consideration and response. The Finality of Christ In the introduction to The Finality of Christ, Newbigin explores the threat to the idea of absoluteness posed by contemporary relativism and pluralism (1969: 9–15). He acknowledges that study of all the great religious traditions of the world has revealed the immense spiritual and ethical richness contained in them, so challenging the long-established Christian (Western) assumption of supremacy and uniqueness. In addition, he recognises that many in the West have become increasingly conscious of the havoc wreaked in the past through colonialism, oppression, exploitation, racism, slavery and war and are now unwilling any longer to claim superiority for the Christian religion, so closely linked to Western imperialism and its impact on the East. Nonetheless, he is convinced that the issue of the finality of Christ, and the proclamation of that truth by the church, remains a crucial matter: Among educated and intelligent people in all parts of the world there is a general feeling that the propagation of one’s particular religious beliefs is an activity which hardly accords with the real needs of our shrinking planet. It is plain that a faith which loses the desire to propagate itself has already lost its life. The question, therefore, of the sense in which uniqueness and finality ought to be claimed for the Christian faith is the life-and-death question for a missionary. (Newbigin 1969, 8)

At the heart of his theology, Newbigin holds the conviction that the Christ-event recorded in the Bible is the central fact of history and provides the only proper key to an understanding and interpretation of the history of the world. We must consider the issues which he raises in that regard. Firstly, there is his contention that Christ is the key to the meaning of all human history. It is Newbigin’s conviction that the question of the ‘value of the religious values of the non-Christian religions’ is no longer a primary issue. The ‘finality’ of Christ must now be addressed ‘with respect to his meaning for the secular history of mankind’ (1969, 45). The Gospel in its original form is the announcement of an event which is decisive for all men and for the whole of their life. It is an event which is described in

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universal, cosmic terms. The announcement implies that in this event all God’s purpose for the world is being brought to its fulfilment. We are not dealing here with a religious message which brings to completion and perfection the religious teaching of all the ages; we are dealing with an announcement which concerns the end of the world. The true meaning of the word ‘finality’ in relation to Jesus will be found by penetrating into the meaning of this announcement. (Newbigin 1969, 48)

Newbigin argues that historical events as such are of no great importance to Hindus, for whom truth is truth regardless of specific events or circumstances. For Hindus, the truth evident in the life and teaching of Jesus remains true whether Jesus actually lived or not. Some New Testament scholarship, Newbigin continues, adopts a similar position with the help of the German terms historich (facts established by scientific historical research) and geschichtlich (that which is of vital existential significance). On this basis, it is the meaning of the gospel today which matters rather than the historical record of its origin (Newbigin 1969, 51). Newbigin rejects this argument as totally contrary to the attitude of the New Testament writers, for whom the validation of the historical events was obviously of enormous importance. Newbigin concludes that the events of history and their meaning must be considered together (1969, 51–3). There is no history without some interpretation of its significance. The events related in the Gospels are secular history in the first instance and therefore subject to investigation and interpretation. It follows, Newbigin contends, that we cannot separate the personal, inward spiritual world from the external world of historical events. Such a dichotomy is attempted by the Hindu distinction between the inner reality of self and the outward world of illusion and by the existential claim that the only meaning of events is that which the individual gives them. On this basis, Newbigin argues, the gospel is not just about one’s own spiritual experience, but is concerned with the history of the world (1969, 55). This does not mean the denial of religious experience outside of faith in Christ. Nonetheless, conversion to Christ will result in a ‘radical repentance and conversion from all pre-Christian religious experience’ (ibid. 57). Secondly, Newbigin argues that any consideration of the biblical events as history cannot avoid the issue of election, which is central to the message of the Bible: ‘You did not choose me; I chose you [John 15:16]’ (1989, 80–81). It is possible to interpret this by concluding that the people concerned had religious experiences which made them believe that God had chosen them. Such an explanation is possible, but it leaves unresolved the question of whether those experiences were real, the result of God’s action, or whether they were imaginary. The biblical doctrine of election, Newbigin continues, proposes that the selfrevelation of God and God’s purpose in the world occur primarily through one nation and culture, that of Israel. The doctrine is frequently criticised, he says, on the grounds that universal truths are not revealed through specific and limited events. God, being God, is everywhere and always present. It is also argued that

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the idea of election is incompatible with faith in a sovereign God of grace and love (Newbigin 1961, 78). Newbigin does not deal with the first objection, except to suggest that it ultimately excludes the possibility of a personal God who can choose to act when and where he pleases. His response to the second objection is to argue that election is not just to privilege but entails responsibility, and that responsibility, given initially to the Jews, is to be witnesses to God’s revelation in Christ: ‘One is chosen to be the bearer of the message to another, one people to be God’s witnesses to all people. Each of us has to hear the gospel from the lips of another or we cannot hear it at all’ (Newbigin 1961, 79). Newbigin’s argument is that this responsibility to one’s neighbour saves Christianity from the flaw of individualism and self-concern, so apparent in other religions, where desire for one’s own salvation is paramount (ibid. 81). Thirdly, we have already noted Newbigin’s conclusion that the ‘value of the religious values of the other religions’ is no longer a primary issue. However, he gives consideration to the biblical doctrine of sin in the light of the acknowledged high moral values and ethical standards often evident in other religions. It is because we have a message of judgement and mercy for the whole human race, a message from beyond death, that we can and must go to all men, not least to those whose ethical achievement dwarfs our own, and tell them the gospel. … We have a message for the whole human race because in Christ, and in him once for all, the total rebellion of the human race against its maker is unmasked, judged and forgiven. (Newbigin 1961, 71)

Newbigin’s solution to the dilemma is to compare the moral and ethical qualities in other religions with those found in Judaism. The Pharisees and Sadducees were morally upright, but they rejected Christ and thereby came under God’s judgement. Often, says Newbigin, it is the most ethically advanced religions that oppose the preaching of the gospel most vehemently. Newbigin would do well to consider that response in the light of the manner in which the gospel most frequently came to the other religions; namely, as one dimension of Western imperialism and colonialism, within which moral and ethical values were not always either highly regarded or widely practiced. Nonetheless, he argues that God’s free offer of forgiveness threatens ‘the whole edifice of human moral achievement’ (Newbigin 1961, 73). The underlying sense of the sacred which is found in all cultures is not sufficient because it is not inevitably expressed in obedience to God’s will. Religious structures and human morality are self-centred examples of how separated from God humanity is. Barth’s theology is strongly evident in Newbigin’s thinking at this point: ‘That which all religions seek, namely a true vision of God and a true union with him, can only be the gift of God; and that gift is given in Jesus Christ. Christ is the end of religion in the same sense that he is the end of the law’ (1969, 74).

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Newbigin uses as an example the religion of grace (Visishtadvaita) associated with the teaching of Ramanuja, which incorporates much of the concept of sin and forgiveness found in Christian doctrine, including the personal response of devotion from the devotee to the divine. He acknowledges the spirituality involved and concedes that it may involve some genuine contact with the Christian God. But he ultimately rejects it as human-centred and bereft of any clear concept of God’s grace at work: ‘There is here no solid fact upon which to build your confidence in God’s grace. There is, to put it plainly, no revelation of God’s grace in action. The only certainly known reality is yourself and your need of salvation’ (Newbigin 1961, 75). Newbigin concludes that, when all these matters have been considered, the Christian is left with the responsibility and the mandate to preach Christ, because in Christ alone can be found mercy and pardon. Fourthly, Newbigin suggests that in any consideration of the issue of ‘finality’, the stance adopted is crucial: he identifies three. The first entails standing outside other religions and undertaking a study independently of commitment to any one of them. They can be analysed, evaluated and compared from psychological, sociological or ethical perspectives in much the same way as any other field of research. This may involve the application of a particular theory of religion (usually reductionist), such as has been proposed in the past by scholars like Hegel, Schleiermacher and Kant (Newbigin 1961, 15–16). The second stance also presumes impartiality, but does not identify a particular position from which the process is undertaken. Here Newbigin refers to the famous story about the king of Benares who placed an elephant in the middle of a group of blind men and asked them to identify what it was. Each, touching a different part of the elephant, gave a different answer. The implication is that the different religions are all perspectives on the same fundamental reality, but no one of them is completely adequate in itself. Newbigin concludes that ‘this tale implies either a stupendous claim on the part of the teller or a confession of total agnosticism’ (1961, 17). The story, however, is open to more than one interpretation. It could be that we understand God to be the king, with a view of the whole scene denied to anyone else, and the religions are the blind men, all with some apprehension and experience of truth, but none with all of it. Blind men can still speak. They can quickly be made aware by the others that there is more to the reality they are touching than their experience at first suggests. Such an understanding posits neither arrogance nor agnosticism. It simply asserts that there is more mystery and truth in God than any one person or religion can ever know or understand. The third possible stance is to take a position within one of the religions, acknowledge that position and what it means, and then undertake a study of other religions with as much sympathy and openness as possible. This is the methodology which Newbigin supports. Furthermore, he argues that not only is it impossible for Christians to leave their faith orientation behind when commencing a study of other religions, but they must understand the way in

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which their commitment will inevitably influence the interpretations and conclusions which are made. This, says Newbigin, is the way it has to be: The Christian who enters into the discussion must do so with the intention not only to understand and state correctly the positions which he studies, but much more to enter into feelings and experiences which underlie them and which are not foreign to him because they are part of the one human nature which he shares with all men. He must also be penitently aware of the fact that his own grasp of Christian truth is weak and confused, and he must expect to find that it has to be corrected as the result of his encounter with the living experience of men of other faiths. But his commitment to Jesus Christ, so far from being something which he can leave behind for the purpose of the study, is precisely his point of entry into it. (1961, 21)

Two points can be made in regard to this. The first is to note the way in which it illustrates the tension between Newbigin’s desire to acknowledge the spiritual realities in other religions and his theological need to assert the finality of Christ. The second is the importance of understanding that he is not suggesting that there is new truth for Christians to learn from other religions. Rather, the encounter will drive Christians to learn to comprehend and communicate their own faith more effectively. Adams says in this regard: Newbigin does accept the divine presence in the religious other; he emphasizes that Christians must be humble in [their] dealings with others, since they are charged with reminding us of our common judgement under the cross; but essentially his theology limits their validity to the extent that they serve the purpose of the gospel. … The problem with this is … that Newbigin effectively ‘generalizes’ about the others, reducing them to functions of his vision of the gospel. (2010, 66)

Fifthly, it is essential to our understanding of Newbigin to realise that, in spite of his refusal to admit a total discontinuity between Christianity and other religions in the manner of Barth and Brunner, he does see major differences in orientation and emphasis. For example, he notes the way in which contemporary scientific research and development has been readily integrated into Eastern countries and raises the question whether this can continue in cultures where religious tradition teaches the illusory nature of the immediate sensory world and the truth that reality can be found only in spiritual experience. This distinction, says Newbigin, ‘goes to the heart of the difference between religions’ (1961, 17). In drawing this contrast, however, he ignores the biblical emphasis on spiritual realities as opposed to earthly and material things. In the teaching of Jesus the material world may not be illusory, but it is certainly limited, finite and of little importance when compared with spiritual values and truth. The Gospels suggest that we should set our minds on things above; not worry about what we will eat,

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drink or wear; gather up treasure in heaven rather than on earth and so on. Is this really all that different in emphasis from the Hindu concept that the spiritual dimension is where true reality lies? Newbigin also suggests that the emphasis on the illusoriness of material life in Eastern religion is incompatible with a concern for creation. He seems to forget that Buddhism, for example, teaches an enormous regard and respect for all life, including the environment, an attitude that the West has only relatively recently begun to emulate. Newbigin also sees the fundamental idea that science contributes to the development of a better life for all as being in opposition to the cyclic concept of life common to many Eastern religions. He concludes: The point is a two-fold one: first that this modern, scientific world civilisation … contains as an essential ingredient the idea and the fact of purposive change, an idea fundamentally incompatible with the cyclical time scheme of the ancient Eastern religions; and secondly, that this linear conception of time, and the place consequently given to purposive change in the whole view of life characteristic of the scientific world civilisation, have found their way into Western civilisation from the Bible. (1961, 20)

This view also calls for comment. The Hindu concept of life may be cyclic, but surely it is also about growth, development and progress toward an ultimate goal. The Buddhist teaching regarding enlightenment also identifies an ultimate goal. The disciple, however, can choose (sacrificially) to relinquish that fulfilment and become involved in encouraging and guiding others towards that same goal. In the light of such examples, Newbigin’s claim that a linear understanding of history is uniquely Christian cannot be substantiated. He makes this mistake because he wants to insist that the historical Christ provides the key to an understanding of all history. In fact, he goes even further. He sees the development of a technological society on a world-wide basis as integral to a process of bringing all cultures into the orbit of one world history, the meaning and purpose of which is made known in Christ: ‘That coming constitutes the revelation of the true destiny of man and therefore introduces into history for the first time an absolute’ (Newbigin 1961, 20). At this point Newbigin lapses into the same sin of cultural arrogance evident in Kraemer. His union of scientific, technological advance with the biblical view of history and the identification of this with the development of a universal culture to which Christ alone gives meaning, can only be understood as a mandate for the lifestyle, values and goals of the West. Christianity: One Religion For One World In fact, it is Newbigin’s view that the world has become increasingly unified because of the universal adoption of Western technology, economics, law and

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political structures. On that basis he argues that only one world faith can have a future. Only a universal faith can command true religious loyalty and commitment: ‘No faith can be a man’s real religion, if he knows that it is only true for certain places and certain people’ (Newbigin 1961, 30). The first of these assertions is patently false. The desire for Western technology has not always corresponded to the adoption of Western legal and political systems, and in some situations where they were imposed they have since been rejected. Furthermore, as Newbigin himself acknowledges, there now exists in many Eastern countries a strong opposition to the cultural and religious influence of the West, and its former claim to moral leadership in the world is recognised as being without foundation (1961, 9–12). The second assertion is problematic, because it is evident that each of the world’s religions presently considers itself as the tradition which embodies the final truth. For the great majority of the world’s people, religious devotion and practice reflect the culture into which they were born. The knowledge that other cultures have nurtured different religious traditions does not detract from the loyalty and fervour found in any given situation. When Newbigin talks about one world faith he is referring, of course, to Christianity. He critiques and rejects a variety of other proposals, specifically those argued by Radhakrishnan, Toynbee, Hocking, Panikkar and Hick. Radhakrishnan advocates the adoption of a universal religion based on the ‘inner essence’ of all religions (1974, 316–17). This is consistent with the Indian tradition that all religions are in essence the same. Newbigin contends that the tolerance and goodwill associated with the argument that all religions have a common essence is superficial and derives from one of three sources: indifference to the truth; the belief that what religions have in common is that they are all illusory and not worth discussing; or the conviction that there is an underlying reality in all religions, and this is the real truth in them. Radhkrishnan’s teaching belongs to the third category. For him, this underlying reality is mystical experience. Newbigin rejects Radhakrishnan’s argument on the following grounds: firstly, the possibility of a fundamental truth common to all religions is a direct contradiction of biblical teaching; secondly, Hinduism proposes the ‘negative’ unity of tolerance, rather than the ‘positive’ unity of love; thirdly, Hinduism is self-centred and individualistic in its understanding of salvation; fourthly, Hinduism involves a withdrawal from the world, which it perceives to be illusory. Newbigin writes: The Hindu offer of reconciliation between religions is a consistent whole from start to finish. It begins with the assumption with which it ends, namely, that the phenomenal world of multiplicity and change is illusory. It therefore begins by a process of withdrawal from that world, and it ends with a conception of salvation which can have no organic relation to any particular historic events or to any visible historic community. Its claim to be the truth transcending all religions is necessarily at the same time a negation of the truth of those religions as their

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adherents understand them. So far from providing the basis for a permanent truce between the religions, it is – when properly understood – a declaration of war upon all religion which claims to be based upon a historic revelation. (1961, 41)

Toynbee believes that it is possible to compare and evaluate the various religions and identify both their weaknesses and their strengths. He contends that in the interests of religious unity, as a basis for tackling the problems of the world, Christianity must be willing to shake off its strongly Western character and reject its claims to uniqueness and absolute truth which have always produced arrogance and intolerance (Toynbee 1958, 85, 92–4). Newbigin criticises Toynbee for failing to offer any objective basis upon which a comparison of the religions and their value can take place. In fact, he says, Toynbee undertakes this task as a Christian, employing Christian values. He admits that pride and intolerance have too often characterised the Christian religion, but denies that the claim to uniqueness inevitably produces these traits: Pride is not an inevitable concomitant of a belief in the uniqueness of Christianity. If I believe that God really did send his Son into the world to die for me and all men, I am bound to say that that message in incomparable and final. And if I understand it rightly, it means the end of all my pride. (Newbigin 1961, 42)

Toynbee identifies the essence of the Christian message as God loves humanity so much that he is willing to sacrifice himself on its behalf (1958, 106). Consequently, all people should not only have that same love, but must express it in action and service. Newbigin criticises Toynbee on two counts. Firstly, on the basis that the conviction regarding God’s sacrificial love cannot be derived from general human experience but only from the fact of the historical Christevent: what Newbigin consistently calls ‘the total fact of Christ’. Secondly, on the grounds that Christianity is not primarily about sound ethical conduct but the proclamation of the gospel. ‘The Christian can make no exclusive claims for himself, but he must make an exclusive claim for that act, for the total fact of Christ, as providing the only point at which the final issues of human life are exposed and settled’ (Newbigin 1961, 46). W.E. Hocking proposes that a world civilisation has developed, based on technological advances. In this he and Newbigin are in agreement. Hocking then argues that we need one world religion for that one world civilisation. He concludes that Christianity could be that religion provided it is able to establish a genuine internal unity and prove that it can be a universal, not just a Western, religion. In the process, Hocking argues, Christianity will not discard its own history, but will decide to discontinue the use of the particular names and places associated with that history, in order to perpetuate the ‘idea’ inherent in it: ‘The vision of the eternal, not the eternal itself, must have its history’ (1958, 85). The willingness to discard the concrete particulars of history, including the name of

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Jesus, in favour of the ‘vision’ opens the way for the establishment of a world religion, at the heart of which is the conviction that suffering love is the ultimate reality. Newbigin criticises Hocking on the following grounds: firstly, that he emphasises the individual’s experience of the eternal as love, whereas the Bible focuses on God’s action in revealing and calling; secondly, that Hocking is willing to discard the name of Jesus, while the New Testament makes Jesus the central reality; thirdly, that Hocking wants to focus on the vision or idea or concept inherent in religious history rather than on the actual events, names and places of that history, whereas the Bible’s primary emphasis is on God acting in the real historical context. It is the faith of Christians that at one point in human history the universal and the concrete historical completely coincided, that the Man Jesus was the incarnate Word of God, that in his works and words the perfect will of God was done without defect or remainder. The complete fusion of the idea and the deed at this point in world history is the whole essence of Christianity, and if they are pulled apart there is no Gospel to preach. (Newbigin 1961, 51)

Panikkar, in an early phase of his thought, proposed a thesis grounded in the idea of Christ as the fulfilment of Hinduism (1964). His argument, at that time, can be summarised as follows. Christ is the only saviour. All who are saved are saved by him. God has made it possible for everyone to be saved. Religion is the way by which people come into relationship with God. Even before Christianity was known in India, it was the means of salvation provided for the people there. Christ saves the good and devout Hindu through the message and religious practice of Hinduism. Therefore, Christianity is the fulfilment of Hinduism. Newbigin’s criticism of Panikkar argues that the cross of Christ tells us that there is no easy salvation based on an idea of the goodwill of God. The suggestion that good Hindus are saved by their devotion is contrary to the biblical doctrine of grace as forgiveness of sin. There is no biblical evidence that religion itself is the means of salvation. In fact, the opposite is often suggested. Newbigin concludes: It must be said very plainly that this model will not do. The other religions are not to be understood and measured by their proximity to or remoteness from Christianity. They are not beginnings which are completed in the Gospel. They face in different directions, ask fundamentally different questions and look for other kinds of fulfilment than that which is given in the Gospel. (1969, 43–4)

Hick proposes what he calls a ‘Copernican Revolution’ in the theology of religion, which would place God at the centre, with all the religions, including Christianity, relating to him (1973). Newbigin rejects this approach on the basis

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that we have no one understanding of God with which all the different religions can identify. He concludes: It is very understandable that we should look for some point of view which would enable us to bring together these clashing commitments in a single framework. It is understandable, but we have to face the fact that it is impossible. The framework which I devise or discern is my ultimate commitment or else it cannot function in the way intended. As such a commitment, it must defend its claim to truth over against other claims to truth. I have no stand-point except the point where I stand. The claim I have is simply the claim that mine is the standpoint from which it is possible to discern the truth that relativises all truth. (1978, 185)

Newbigin is convinced that the Christian can only participate in interfaith dialogue on the basis of a commitment to Christ as the ultimate authority. For Newbigin, the authority of Christ is grounded in the sovereignty of God, who is the source of all existence. Jesus is often accepted by disciples of other religions as one of many gods. He may be for them the subject of devotion, one to whom they pray for help in time of need. However, argues Newbigin, their own situation and existence is central. The Bible puts God at the centre. He has absolute power and authority. ‘Jesus comes with that authority. His coming confronts men with the necessity for a fundamental decision either to accept or to reject him. To accept him means to undergo a radical and total re-orientation of being by which the centre is shifted from the self to him’ (Newbigin 1978, 62). The absolute authority of God is demonstrated in the physical, historical resurrection of Christ from the dead. It follows that the authority claimed by Jesus supersedes and over-rides all other claims to authority. This does not extend to any limitation on human freedom or integrity. God’s claim on the lives of all humanity is total, but each person is free to accept or reject him. The claim, says Newbigin, is ‘absolute but not irresistible’ (1978, 64). Christianity and the Other Religions Newbigin examines, and rejects, a number of bases upon which it has been suggested that Christian interaction with other religions could take place. The first is the contention that all other religions are completely false. Here Newbigin points to the evidence of spiritual vitality in other religions and the fact that all translations of the Bible into local languages have used the indigenous names for God. The name of the God revealed in Jesus Christ can only be known by using those names for God which have been developed within the non-Christian

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism systems of belief and worship. It is therefore impossible to claim that there is total discontinuity between the two. (1978, 192)

In any case, he says, since the New Testament avows that the light of Christ is a light for all humanity, it is not possible to say that there is no truth at all in other religions. The second position Newbigin rejects, argues that Christianity is the fulfilment of the other religions, the stance once adopted by Panikkar and typical of inclusivists in general. As we have already noted, his rejection of this thesis is on the grounds that there is a great measure of discontinuity between Christianity and other religions: ‘Each religion must be understood on its own terms and along the lines of its own central axis’ (Newbigin 1978, 194) The third position rejected by Newbigin argues that the other religions are salvific for those people not reached by the gospel because of their sincerity and devotion, though they are, in reality, still saved by Christ. This is the ‘anonymous Christian’ concept proposed by Rahner, whose work we will consider in detail in Chapter 7. Newbigin criticises this on the grounds that it is not possible to move logically from a belief that God seeks the salvation of all to the conclusion that there is salvation in all the religions. Apart from that, Newbigin is not prepared to venture a conclusion regarding the salvation of anyone, Christians included. ‘I must confess … that I find it astonishing that a theologian should think he has the authority to inform us in advance who is going to be “saved” on the last day’ (1978, 196). Newbigin rejects the view that all who do not consciously believe in Christ as lord and saviour are eternally condemned. If this were true, he suggests, Christians would be justified in using any means whatsoever (including brainwashing) in order to ensure that everyone was saved. Only God knows the human heart, and no one can judge whether someone else is saved or not. In any case, he argues, Christians too often relate salvation to something that happens after death, whereas biblical teaching emphasises the present reality of salvation as an anticipation of the fulfilment still to come. The Christ event is God’s offer of salvation to all humanity. This opportunity can be rejected and the possibility of salvation lost. However, Newbigin concludes: ‘It is not, I believe, implied that the vast multitudes who have never been presented with this Gospel call for conversion and commitment are thereby necessarily excluded from participation in God’s on-going and completed work’ (1969, 61). Newbigin points to the message of the New Testament in support of his argument that not only are we denied the right to make these judgements in advance, but there may be many surprises for those who presume to do so (see Matt. 22:1–4, 25:31–46; Luke 13:23–30; 15; John 15; 1 Cor. 4:1–5). Nevertheless, he remains ambivalent. We have no right to conclude that anyone is not saved. However, we cannot assume either that they are: This is not a small matter. It determines the way in which we approach the man of another faith. It is almost impossible for me to enter into simple, honest,

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open, and friendly communication with another person as long as I have at the back of my mind the feeling that I am one of the saved and he is one of the lost. Such a gulf is too vast to be bridged by any ordinary human communication. But the problem is not really solved if I decide from my side of the abyss that he also is saved (Newbigin 1978, 196–7).

It appears that Newbigin fails to perceive two related matters which are the inevitable outcome of the position he adopts. Firstly, he seems unaware that his insistence on approaching the adherents of other religions from the standpoint that Christ is the ultimate authority linked to his rejection of the proposals that Christ is the fulfilment of other world religions and that people of other faiths have been saved by Christ without knowing it makes his statement about avoiding judgement on who is saved and who is not seem rather hollow. Adams points clearly to this dilemma when he says that Newbigin emphasised: God’s self-revelation in Jesus Christ, its finality as the clue to the meaning of all history, and its ‘elected’ missiology by which God chooses the particular to bear witness to God’s acts for the sake of others. (Adams 2010, 49) The self-revelation of God in Christ is absolute. (Ibid. 53)

Thoughtful people committed to faiths other than Christianity, taking all that Newbigin says into account, could be excused for concluding that, in his opinion, they lie outside the realm of those who are saved. Secondly, and consequentially, it follows that, at best, Newbigin’s strategy for interaction cannot possibly succeed in being anything more than an exchange of knowledge and experience. The prior assumption that the truth which exists in other religions is subordinate to the ultimate truth of God’s revelation in Christ effectively closes the door to any other possibilities, except the (unspoken) agenda of conversion. At that point, issues of integrity and honesty have to be confronted. Newbigin grounds his own attitude in the conviction that God, in Christ, has revealed his infinite love for all humanity. Every human being has some experience of God’s grace and evidences some response to it, however limited that may be. Nonetheless, all humanity is in rebellion against God. We are all both children of God and enemies of God. Yet universalism is not acceptable, because it diminishes the significance of what God did in Christ, and it takes away the need for any real personal decision. On the other hand, it is not possible for anyone to say that those outside the Christian community are lost (Newbigin 1989, 175–6). Christians have a fourfold responsibility, says Newbigin: firstly, to gladly acknowledge every evidence of God’s grace in the lives of people of other faiths; secondly, to cooperate and work along with those of other faiths in the pursuit of goals consistent with God’s will for justice and peace in the world; thirdly, in this context of cooperation and shared commitment, to enter into real dialogue,

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not just about religious experience but with regard to the meaning and purpose of human history; fourthly, to share the story of Jesus, which has its own power and influence (1989, 175–82). Conclusion Our study of Newbigin’s thought has revealed in some detail the ambiguity referred to in the introduction. Theologically, he adopts a strong exclusivist position. Nonetheless, he remains agnostic regarding the question of salvation for that great majority of people in the world who are not Christian. The prevailing feeling about Newbigin, as indicated at the beginning, is that his pastoral heart and his theological head are incompatible. Gavin D’Costa points to this when he writes: Exclusivist theologians tend to adopt either one of two strategies to relieve this awkward tension within their position. The first, adopted by Kraemer and Newbigin, simply states that we cannot know how those who do not know Christ are saved and must leave this to ‘the wise mercy of God’ and the ‘mysterious workings of God’s Spirit’. In one sense this is true. … However, this answer seems painfully inadequate … Kraemer, Newbigin and the others seem to want to relieve this exclusivist internal tension without paying the price in terms of the theological implications of their answer. (1986b, 68)

As we have seen, Newbigin argues that the only basis upon which a Christian can encounter other religions is from the starting point of all the assertions of the gospel regarding the authority and finality of Christ. It is obvious that this is his own method. All his conclusions in relation to other religions are inevitable, because he operates on the basis of a logic which decides that anything different from that contained in his own religious tradition is necessarily inadequate or wrong. His primary mode of criticism is to argue that the Bible teaches something else to that which is proposed by another religion. Here, too, he is on shaky ground, because at other times he acknowledges that there is no irresistible proof that the Bible is right. It is accepted as true only by faith. He also affirms the fact that there are not only different contemporary interpretations of the Bible message, but that there are varying interpretations of the same events within the biblical record itself: It is not an unfortunate accident, but of the very heart of the gospel, that we do not know exactly what Jesus said or did. … This means that from the very beginning there has been in the Church debate and struggle and difference of opinion about how to interpret the secret in new situations. The New Testament itself gives us ample evidence of this. The understanding of God’s action in

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history, in other words, remains always a matter of faith and never of indubitable knowledge. (Newbigin 1989, 94–5)

It must continue to be a reason for wonder that exclusivists like Newbigin, can so readily accept this position in relation to the Bible and at the same time maintain such a resistance to the possibility of authentic truth and genuine salvation in other religions. Nonetheless, Newbigin is the most open of the exclusivists we have studied. He certainly combines a wide knowledge of other religions with a firm acknowledgment of both the depth of spirituality and the high moral and ethical standards evident in them. While he is not open to the idea that Christianity could receive new truth from other religions, he insists that in dialogue with them Christians will find themselves challenged and even humbled. More than that, Newbigin rejects the evangelistic style of the past. The contemporary approach must be one of dialogue, with the primary responsibility of the Christian being to tell the story of Jesus as contained in the New Testament. It is, of course, a dialogue grounded in the assumption of the authority and finality of Christ, that is the exclusivist way, and consequently offers little in terms of a genuine encounter. Nonetheless, we recognise the difference in attitude and emphasis that Newbigin represents. We are left with an overwhelming sense of a compassionate man trapped by a theology which leaves no room for flexibility, newness or change. On the basis of all this we rate him a moderate exclusivist.

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Chapter 6

The Inclusivist Response There are major differences between the world religions, but Christ has overcome them. Salvation is possible within any of the religious traditions, but that salvation has been won by Christ and Christ alone.

Gavin D’Costa,1 himself a representative of the inclusivists, briefly summarises this response when he writes that the inclusivist paradigm ‘affirms the salvific presence of God in non-Christian religions while still maintaining that Christ is the definitive and authoritative revelation of God’ (1986b, 80). More recently he has written: ‘God through Christ is the cause of all salvation and the Church is Christ’s body on earth, the means by which all grace is mediated. … That this grace is mediated to those outside the Church is a certainty’ (D’Costa 2011, 22). Inclusivism, therefore, acknowledges that the grace of God is operative in all the great religions of the world, yet holds to the conviction that ultimately there is salvation in Christ alone. This clearly establishes both its discontinuity and affinity with the exclusivist position. Alan Race writes: Inclusivism in the Christian theology of religions is both an acceptance and a rejection of the other faiths, a dialectical ‘yes’ and ‘no’. On the one hand it accepts the spiritual power and depth manifest in them, so that they can properly be called a locus of divine presence. On the other hand, it rejects them as not being sufficient for salvation apart from Christ, for Christ alone is saviour. To be inclusive is to believe that all non-Christian religious truth belongs ultimately to Christ and the way of discipleship which springs from him. (1983, 38)

Sources of Inclusivism in the Early Church The inclusivist emphasis can be identified in the Christian tradition from the very beginning. The writings of the Church Fathers from the first three centuries reveal a commitment to the uniqueness and finality of Christ. However, they also reflect 1   There has been some recent suggestion that D’Costa has moved to an exclusivist stance, but the evidence says otherwise. He says: ‘I write as a Roman Catholic Theologian. … This means that my theological job … is to convey the teachings of the Catholic Church. … In terms of dogma, nothing in my experience has called into question the teachings of the Church on other religions’ (2011, 3, 5). Pratt says: ‘The theologian Gavin D’Costa may be regarded as an intentional inclusivist’ (2007, 301).

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the attitude that God has revealed God’s own self to all peoples and has offered them the possibility of salvation (Knitter 1985, 121). Some aspects of the theology of the Gospel of Luke and Acts are thoroughly inclusive. The apostle Peter, in the house of the Roman Cornelius, is moved to say: ‘I now realise that it is true that God treats everyone on the same basis. Whoever worships him and does what is right is acceptable to him, no matter what race he belongs to’ (Acts 10:34–5). Acts 14:16–17 suggests an inclusive revelation of God to all humanity through creation and providence. Acts 17:22–31, Paul’s sermon to the Athenians regarding the ‘unknown God’, is an obvious biblical text to use in support of the ‘anonymous Christian’ concept of Karl Rahner. As Alan Race suggests: Paul therefore includes the impressive spiritual life of the men of Athens in the Christian way of salvation by conferring a name on the God whom they already worshipped but did not truly recognise. By being so included, their religion was simultaneously brought to completion and perfected. Another way of expressing the same theology is to say that the men of Athens had been Christians without knowing the fact. (1983, 39–40)

It seems reasonable to suggest that Luke’s willingness to embrace an inclusivist attitude reflects his own Jewish origins. Though he wants to demonstrate that Christianity supersedes Judaism, he sets his Gospel in a clear historical context, which, for Luke, was the arena of the activity of God. Luke’s inclusivism incorporates two major emphases (Luke 4:21, 24–7). Firstly, the life of Jesus outshone all those who had preceded him. He was the fulfilment of Jewish prophecy. Secondly, and more than that, Jesus was the fulfilment of God’s intention for humanity from the very beginning. The meaning and purpose of history are revealed in him. Race concludes: ‘The central ideas of Luke, mainly that Jesus is the culmination of God’s providential activity in history, reappear in later inclusivist theories, and are to some extent a foundation for them’ (1983, 41). Justin Martyr expanded Luke’s inclusivism into a more general attitude. He believed that those who lived by the ‘seminal word’ of God given to all humanity were already Christian, whether or not they had heard of Jesus. For Justin, all goodness and truth have their origin in the being and action of God. It is our belief that those men who strive to do the good which is enjoined on us have a share in God; according to our traditional belief they will by God’s grace share his dwelling. And it is our conviction that this holds good in principle for all men. … Christ is the divine Word in whom the whole human race shares, and those who live according to the light of their knowledge are Christian, even if they are considered as being godless. (cited in Race 1983, 42)

Clement of Alexandria was another of the early Church Fathers to attribute worth to other religious traditions. He believed that there were dimensions of Hinduism

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and Buddhism that were much more effective in orienting their followers to Christ than some of the Greek philosophers (Race 1983, 43). This, too, was an inclusivist stance: other religions prepare their adherents for Christianity. Tertullian referred to the ‘naturally Christian soul’ (cited in Knitter 1985, 121), and Augustine wrote that there had been one true religion from the very beginning and ‘the saving grace of this religion … has never been refused to anyone who was worthy of it’ (cited ibid.). This evidence reveals that the inclusivist response has its roots in the thinking and theology of the early church. However, as we have already noted in the introduction to the exclusivists, the emphasis began to shift from the time that Christianity became the official state religion (under Emperor Theodosius, 379–395ce) and no longer had to justify its beliefs to others. Ideology replaced apologetics. The enemies of the state became enemies of the church. There was increasing concern for the security of the church and its doctrine (Knitter 1985, 121). In a strong reaction to the Pelagian controversy, the necessity of grace for salvation, as opposed to human effort, was given considerable emphasis. People of other faiths came increasingly to be identified as those who were without grace and therefore condemned and lost. A rigid exclusivism developed, expressed clearly in the words of Fulgentius of Ruspe (533ce) and taken up by the Council of Florence in its pronouncement: ‘There is no doubt that not only all heathens, but also all Jews and all heretics and schismatics who die outside the church will go into that everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels’ (cited in Knitter 1985, 122; see also Küng 1967). The Re-Emergence of the Inclusivist Emphasis It was not until the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that the inclusivist attitudes of the early church re-emerged. The European exploration of the world revealed millions of people who had never heard the gospel. What was to be their eternal destiny? The Council of Trent endeavoured to devise a response which could affirm both the idea of God’s universal love and the necessity of the church. People of other faiths of good conscience and moral integrity ‘were implicitly expressing a desire to join the church and could thus get through the doorway of salvation’ (Knitter 1985, 123). This more positive attitude, albeit a very patronising one, persisted well into the twentieth century, with the major theological emphasis focusing on ways of explaining how people of other faiths could be understood to be within the church and therefore saved. However, it must be noted that this inclusivism was concerned only with the concept of universal grace for the purpose of salvation. It did not concern itself with the positive spiritual and moral content of other religions. That development had to wait until the meetings of the Second Vatican Council. In its various pronouncements a bold new course is charted. The council affirmed in Lumen gentium:

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism Those also can attain to everlasting salvation who through no fault of their own do not know the gospel of Christ or His Church, yet sincerely seek God and, moved by grace, strive by their deeds to do His will as it is known to them through the dictates of conscience. Nor does divine Providence deny the help necessary for salvation to those who, without blame on their part, have not yet arrived at an explicit knowledge of God, but who strive to live a good life, thanks to His grace. Whatever goodness or truth is found among them is looked upon by the Church as a preparation. She regards such qualities as given by Him who enlightens all men so that they may finally have life. (Abbott 1966, 35)

While it is not specifically stated that other world religions are salvific, Knitter suggests that is how a majority of Catholic theologians interpret the statements of the council (1985, 124). Michael Amaladoss certainly comes to that conclusion: ‘We can therefore say that the followers of other religions attain to salvation not in spite of them, but in and through them, though it is always God who saves. Religions are therefore “ways of salvation”’ (1986, 224). We see this principle reflected in the clear affirmation by the Federation of Asian Bishop’s Conferences in 1974. Speaking from their experience of the great religious traditions of Asia, they declare: We accept them as significant and positive elements in the economy of God’s design of salvation. In them we recognize and respect profound spiritual and ethical meanings and values. Over many centuries they have been the treasury of the religious experience of our ancestors, from which our contemporaries do not cease to draw light and strength. They have been and continue to be the authentic expression of the noblest longings of their hearts, and the home of their contemplation and prayer. They have helped to give shape to the histories and cultures of our nations. How then can we not give them reverence and honour? And how can we not acknowledge that God has drawn our people to Himself through them? (cited in Amaladoss 1986, 224)

The other religions are praised and affirmed for their beliefs and practices. Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam and Judaism are specifically identified in this way in the Vatican II document, Nostra aetate. More generally, the declaration says: From ancient times down to the present, there has existed among diverse peoples a certain perception of that hidden power which hovers over the course of things and over the events of human life; at times, indeed, recognition can be found of a Supreme Divinity and of a Supreme Father too. Such a perception and such a recognition instil the lives of these peoples with a profound religious sense. … The Catholic Church rejects nothing which is true and holy in these religions. She looks with sincere respect upon those ways of conduct and of life, those rules and teachings which, though differing in many particulars from

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what she holds and sets forth, nevertheless often reflect a ray of that Truth which enlightens all men. (Abbott 1966, 661–2)

Even given this more positive attitude to the qualities to be found in other religions, the council firmly maintained an insistence on the necessity of Christ for salvation (Abbott 1966, 32–3, 345–6). We see this fundamental principle expressed in Gaudium et spes: ‘Since Christ died for all men, and since the ultimate vocation of man is in fact one, and divine, we ought to believe that the Holy Spirit in a manner known only to God offers to every man the possibility of being associated with his paschal mystery’ (ibid. 221–2). This principle lies at the heart of the inclusivist position. The uniqueness of Christ and the necessity of salvation through him continue to be non-negotiable: In the ongoing dialogue of love between God and humankind, God’s offer and the human response reach a high point in Jesus, in the unique manner of a Godperson. Jesus is the definitive ‘yes’ of both God and humankind. … It is Jesus who has to incarnate himself anew in the various cultures of the world and thus lead the world to its fullness. (Amaladoss 1986, 230)

This raises questions about the degree to which God’s universal purpose for salvation is to be discerned in other religions and what that means in regard to dialogue and mission. The manner in which various Catholic theologians have dealt with these issues is therefore of great importance. This will be explored at length later in our study of Rahner, of whom Knitter says: ‘If Vatican II is a watershed in Christian attitudes towards other religions, Karl Rahner is its chief engineer’ (1985, 125). However, it is worth noting here that other, more recent, apologists for the Catholic position since Vatican II all adopt the same consistent approach. Dupuis describes Jesus as ‘the Way’ and ‘the universal mediator of God’s saving action toward people’ (2001, 191) and claims that ‘it is through the action of the risen Christ that the members of the various religious traditions share in the Reign of Christ historically present’ (ibid. 195) and that ‘in him, God has uttered to the world his decisive word’ (ibid. 248). O’Collins offers an exhaustive reflection on both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures in support of an orthodox inclusivism (2008). Barnes has some very positive things to say about the need for Christians to acknowledge their own limitations in the context of a pluralistic world and to be vulnerable in their relationships with those who are different, recognising ‘that God may act in the world in ways of which the Church does not know’ (2002, 28). Nonetheless, he upholds the notion of the Church as sacrament, ‘a sign of hope for all humankind’ (ibid. 64) and argues that in the context of dialogue we are to seek in what we are told for evidence of the ‘seeds of the Word’ (ibid. 105, 220), or to ask how ‘the face of the other [reveals] the face of Christ’ (ibid. 238). It is inclusivism in another guise.

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The Protestant Contribution to the Inclusivist Response However, it is important to realise that twentieth-century inclusivism is not the domain of Roman Catholic theologians and Vatican II only. In fact, the inclusivist approach has its twentieth-century origins in the work of the Protestant missionary, John Farquhar, outlined in The Crown of Hinduism, first published in 1913. Farquhar, who was very familiar with Hinduism, expounded the concept of Christ, not Christianity, as the fulfilment of Hinduism. It is important, therefore, that we give particular attention to the various expressions of inclusivism which have emerged since the end of the Second World War. In the immediate post-war years, very little attention was given to the relationship of Christianity and other religions. The demise of colonialism in Asia and Africa was accompanied by increasing criticism of former colonial policies and practices and of the manner in which the colonial system had been used by the Christian churches as a vehicle for the propagation of the gospel and the imposition of Western culture and values (Sharpe 1977, 103–4). There was increasing emphasis on the need for the church to become significantly more indigenous and to come to terms with the indigenous history and culture to which it was linked. Along with this there re-emerged Farquhar’s concept of Christ as the fulfilment of the spiritual quest evident in the other religions. Sharpe suggests that this became the dominant attitude for some time amongst ecumenical Christians (1977, 105–6). The approaches advocated by Barth and Kraemer were widely discarded. At the same time, however, the further development of existentialism and the work of critical biblical scholarship combined to bring into question the possibility of a precise, authoritative Christian message. The Concept of ‘Christian Presence’ From this uncertain context emerged the concept of ‘Christian presence’, and for a time this became widely advocated as the essence of relationships between Christianity and the other religions. It was especially promoted by Canon Max Warren (general secretary of the Church Missionary Society) between 1959 and 1966. His thesis is encapsulated in a well-known statement in the ‘General Introduction’ to the Christian Presence series: Our first task in approaching another people, another culture, another religion, is to take off our shoes, for the place we are approaching is holy. Else we may find ourselves treading on men’s dreams. More serious still, we may forget that God was here before our arrival. We have, then, to ask what is the authentic religious content in the experience of the Muslim, the Hindu, the Buddhist, or whoever he may be. We may, if we have asked humbly and respectfully,

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still reach the conclusion that our brethren have started from a false premise and reached a faulty conclusion. But we must not arrive at our judgement from outside their religious situation. We have to try to sit where they sit, to enter sympathetically into the pains and griefs and joys of their history and see how those pains and griefs and joys have determined the premises of their argument. We have, in a word, to be ‘present’ with them. (cited in Cragg 1959, 9; see also Warren 1976, 153–70; Taylor 1981)

Sharpe concludes that there was a process underway to identify a theological justification for this approach, given that so many had rejected the militant evangelicalism associated with much of Christian mission up to the Second World War (1977, 110). A first reading of Warren’s thesis promotes a positive response to what appears as a sensitive and appropriate mode of approach to other religions. However, a more careful analysis suggests that being ‘present’ with them, while it may lead to greater knowledge and understanding, will inevitably leave the Christian with a conviction of being in possession of the real truth. The underlying emphasis is, that at the end of it all, the Christian will ‘reach the conclusion that our brethren have started from a false premise and reached a faulty conclusion’. In fact, the genuine inclusivist has no other choice. It is true that certain passages of the New Testament suggest the idea of a ‘cosmic Christ’. The theme is strong in the Gospel of John and in parts of Paul’s letters. So we read: ‘All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being’ (John 1:3); ‘The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world’ (John 1:9); ‘For in him all things in heaven and on earth were created … all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together’ (Col. 1:16–17). However, it is of the essence of inclusivism that the cosmic Christ is always balanced by the assertion that ultimately that same Christ is the only source of real salvation. Evangelicals deplored what they saw as the depreciation of proclamation in the Christian presence principle, but that reflected a difference in methodology for mission not in the basic conviction regarding Christ as ultimate saviour. We must not forget in this overview, either the willingness of many exclusivists to affirm the spiritual and moral value of other world religions or the basic inclusivist attitude that only Christ can save. At these two points the inclusivists and most exclusivists are united. The representatives of these two responses part company over the issue of how the salvation won by Christ is effective for the adherents of other religions. The exclusivists insist on a personal response of faith based on a real knowledge of Christ. The inclusivists are willing to believe that the salvation won by Christ is effective for the followers of other faiths in and through their own religious tradition, provided they follow it faithfully and in good conscience.

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A.C. Bouquet, in a comprehensive survey of the literature of inter-faith encounter, adopts this approach. He seeks to identify the evidence which suggests that Christ has already been active in the lives of people of other faiths. The Christian preacher to the non-Christian world … will begin by recognising that if its inhabitants have enough serious purpose in them to want to talk to him about religion, or to listen to what he has to say about Christ, they have already within themselves encountered the Divine Logos, though perhaps unconsciously, have been found by Him and have been moved by Him to take some steps towards further knowledge and towards a deeper and more explicit relationship. (1958, 160)

The Influence of the World Council of Churches It is clear from our review of inclusivists so far that they reflect a variety of concepts which have much in common. The idea of Christ as the ‘crown’ or ‘fulfilment’ of other faiths; the conviction that the truth and goodness in other religions is evidence of the grace of Christ already present and at work within them; the affirmation of what Karl Rahner was to call ‘anonymous Christianity’. Since its Third Assembly in New Delhi (1961), the World Council of Churches (WCC) has also wrestled with the possibility of adopting an approach to other religions consistent with these emphases and urges that dialogue be established wherever possible. Hence the WCC established a unit in 1971 for ‘Dialogue with Men of Other Faiths and Ideologies’ (Knitter 1985, 138) However, the WCC has experienced internal tensions of its own due to the increasing number of evangelical churches in its membership with their insistence on the urgency of mission and a theology which clearly identifies the uniqueness of Christ. Wesley Ariarajah notes the gradual emergence within this difficult context of calls for a new approach but concludes: ‘at the psychological level the church has not yet adjusted to the possibility of being one among the many’ (2005, 189). In 1979, the WCC published its Guidelines on Dialogue. These reaffirm the importance of dialogue and warn against aggressive approaches and arrogant attitudes of superiority. (Samartha 1979). However, the Guidelines on Dialogue remain vague regarding a number of theological issues, including the uniqueness and normativity of Christ in relation to all peoples, and the presence of revelation and salvation in the other religions. Knitter comments: Such unresolved questions concerning whether salvation or revelation can be present in other religions would seem to place Christian participation in interreligious dialogue on a rather insecure basis. S.J. Samartha warns us not to expect too much from WCC statements. Their aim is to work for consensus, not impose it. (1985, 139)

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Inclusivism: An Overview Our review of the inclusivist response has identified a number of issues which now can be summarised as follows. Firstly, the inclusivists create a significant theological tension because of their determination to hold to the necessity of Christ for salvation along with the conviction that other religions have the capacity to be vehicles of salvation in themselves. We will reflect on the nature of this tension at some length in the course of our study. We must ask whether it is either appropriate or convincing as a means of response to other world religions and examine its potential impact on the thoughts and feelings of the adherents of those religions. Secondly, we have already noted that inclusivists are predisposed to the conclusion that Christianity is superior to other religions because of the a priori assumption that Christ is necessary for salvation and the consequent assumption that Christianity is therefore the bearer of a truth not apparent in other religions. We must also examine and critique this position as it influences the approach adopted by Christians for mission and dialogue, as well as its impact on other religions. Thirdly, while they express their understanding in various ways, inclusivists are still committed to mission and the need to proclaim the gospel amongst people of other faiths. We will question the consistency and validity of this commitment given the inclusivist conviction that the adherents of other religions can be saved by Christ without hearing of him or knowing anything about him. In this regard, there is also the issue of what happens to the ‘Christian’ status of these people when, in some way, they do hear about Christ and either fail to respond by actively choosing to be Christians or even reject the gospel message outright. On what basis can it be decided that the gospel has been presented to them in such a way that they become personally responsible if they reject it? Fourthly, there is the situation with the inclusivists, also apparent with many of the exclusivists, that the theological rationale for inclusivism can be advocated without any significant personal knowledge of other world religions. A priori theological conclusions can be reached without any need to be familiar with the history, culture, beliefs and traditions of other religions. We will question the appropriateness of a response which can function in such an impersonal and disinterested manner and of the kind of theology used to undergird it. In our consideration of particular expressions of the inclusivist response, we look at two different perspectives. These are identified as the traditional inclusivist response, typified by Karl Rahner, and the progressive inclusivist response, where the work of Paul Tillich is considered.

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Chapter 7

Traditional Inclusivism: Karl Rahner (1904–84) Since the Second Vatican Council, the inclusivist response to religious pluralism has been the official position of the Roman Catholic Church, and Karl Rahner, a Jesuit priest, has been its principal proponent. From the abundance of literature regarding religious pluralism which has been produced by Catholic writers in recent decades, Rahner offers the most thorough-going theological exposition of the issues. Eric Sharpe comments: The sheer volume of these [Catholic] publications, in book and article form … has been quite remarkable. However, this is not necessarily to say that all of them – or even most of them – have been of particularly high quality. … Many writers have rushed into print … on the basis of both an inadequate knowledge of the non-Christian traditions, other than as debating points, and of almost total unawareness of the work previously done by Protestants in the field. … What was now needed was an authoritative statement … and this was provided by the celebrated Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner. (1977, 125–6)

Paul Knitter agrees and suggests that ‘since 1961, Rahner’s cautiously structured case for the salvific value of other religions has been accepted and expanded into a common opinion among Catholic theologians’ (Knitter 1985, 127). We should note, however, that Rahner has not received the approval of all his colleagues. H. Van Straelen, an exclusivist, is very critical of Rahner, accusing him of being an armchair theologian. Straelen argues that Rahner’s ideas have done great harm to the church by removing any kind of religious demand from people of other faiths and making conversion superfluous (Straelen 1966). Liberal Catholics, like Hans Küng, criticise Rahner for his stress on the church and its essential place in the scheme of salvation (see Küng 1978, 97–8). There are a number of factors to be taken into account in any reading of Rahner’s theology. Firstly, Rahner gives very considerable authority to the church. His ecclesiology figures significantly throughout his writings. At this point Rahner is in clear opposition to the thinking of exclusivists like Barth who draw a stark distinction between the Christian faith and the institutional church. Rahner’s reasoning is much more akin to that of Newbigin who argues strongly that the gospel has to be proclaimed and lived in the context of the Christian community if it is to have any real meaning and impact. Rahner, however, goes even further than this when he writes: ‘In this sense there really is no salvation outside the Church, as

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the old theological formula has it’ (cited in D’Costa 1986b, 16). D’Costa suggests that for Rahner, ‘grace, Christology and ecclesiology are inseparable’ (ibid.). Secondly, basic to Rahner’s thought is his concept of the ‘supernatural existential’, outlined in detail in Spirit in the World (1968, 135–42), and referred to repeatedly in the various volumes of his Theological Investigations (1961–92). In essence, this concept means that there is in the human intellect a capacity, which Rahner calls ‘pre-apprehension’, to recognise the existence of an infinite range of possibilities. The consequence of this is the realisation that any moment of insight is not an end in itself, but just the beginning of an ongoing process of discovery and understanding which has limitless potential. In theological or spiritual terms, this reality reflects a person’s encounter with the infinite being and mystery of God. Our human pre-apprehension relates to God also. Every individual has an in-built capacity to encounter the limitlessness of God and begin to know and understand something of what that means. Rahner calls this ‘transcendental revelation’. In every act or experience of goodness, love, truth, beauty, trust or hope we are in touch with the grace of God which alone makes them possible. Therefore, every positive response to these realities is a response to the grace of God (see Sharpe 1977, 81–2). Thirdly, Rahner advocates a very strong Christology, and this is also a major factor in his response to the other world religions. For Rahner, the Christ-event described in the New Testament provides the fundamental clue to our understanding of the nature and action of God (1961–92, 1:164). It is Jesus who provides clarity for an understanding of the human encounter with the limitless mystery of God. Ultimately, all our questions about life, humanity and God can only be answered in relation to Christ. Given this conviction, and his desire to incorporate all the religions within the salvific will of God, Rahner has no option but to formulate a proposal which can encompass both. As we shall see, his concept of ‘anonymous Christianity’ derives directly from that demand. Fourthly, he is an apologist for orthodox Roman Catholic dogma. Hence, in numerous instances he refers for authority to some papal decree or the teaching of some recognised scholar from the past like Thomas Aquinas or one of the declarations of Vatican II. We have to remember that he is taking the validity and authority of these assertions for granted, even though his own thinking anticipated and undoubtedly influenced significantly the direction taken by Vatican II. It is important, therefore, to note Rahner’s appeal to the conclusions of Vatican II regarding the salvation of people of other faiths: ‘At least since the Second Vatican Council there can be no longer any room for doubt that the Catholic Church, as a matter of her conscious faith, regards it as established that it is possible even for such men of good will to be justified and to attain to supernatural salvation’ (1961–92, 14:283–4). Fifthly, we have to remember that Rahner was essentially an ‘arm-chair theologian’. He had little formal knowledge of other religions and proceeded with his work on the basis of theological assumptions quite unrelated to their actual natures and belief systems. As we shall see, this was possible for him because his

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conclusions are reached without reference to the independent validity and worth of the culture, tradition and content of the other religions. Rahner unsuccessfully seeks to hold in tension the two theological propositions that, on the one hand, a God of love and grace could never abandon the majority of the world’s people to eternal judgement, and, on the other hand, that salvation is only possible through the grace of God in Christ mediated primarily through the Christian Church: When we have to keep in mind both … the necessity of Christian faith and the universal salvific will of God’s love and omnipotence, we can only reconcile them by saying that somehow all men must be capable of being members of the Church; and this capacity must not be understood merely in the sense of an abstract and purely logical possibility, but as a real and historically concrete one. (Rahner 1961–92, 6:391)

The Four Primary Theses The essence of Rahner’s theology of inclusivism is contained in an essay included in Volume 5 of Theological Investigations. Most of his other work on this theme is either a repetition or a development of the basic ideas proposed in this essay. He points to the fact that the religious pluralism which exists in the world is both threatening and disturbing for Christianity, because it, more than any other religion, claims absoluteness and uniqueness. The presence of the other religions calls these claims into question (Rahner 1961–96, 5:116–17). In response to this predicament, Rahner proposes four theses. Christianity is Unique and Absolute Firstly, Rahner contends that Christianity is what it claims to be. He accepts that contemporary Christians have no option but to regard the adherents of other religions as neighbours, just as intelligent as themselves, equally as committed to the search for truth, loyal to their own religious tradition and largely unmoved by the existence of Christianity. Nevertheless, Christians of necessity must hold to the conviction that Christianity is both unique and absolute, the means of salvation provided by God for all humanity. Rahner writes: We cannot adopt that attitude of religious relativism which regards all religions as on the whole equally justifiable, and the confusion and disorder among them as relatively unimportant; or that attitude which considers that the variations and points of convergence between the different religions are, taken all in all, only concerned with inessentials. Such an attitude would, if pressed to its logical conclusions, represent the total overthrow of the Christian and Catholic faith. (1961–92, 10:31)

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism Christianity is the absolute religion, intended for all humanity, with which no other religion can be compared as equal. Christianity is not a human invention. It is the result of God’s initiative and action, grounded in the life, death and resurrection of Christ. … Salvation history reaches ‘its climax and goal in Jesus Christ’ and this is true even for those who have no knowledge of Christ. (Ibid. 5:118)

Exclusivist approaches generally adopt what has been called a ‘substitutionary’ or ‘satisfaction’ theory of the atonement, emphasising a great gulf between God and humanity created by sin. Only the Christ-event was adequate to bridge the gulf. Christ, in his death, took the necessary punishment for sin on himself and thereby made it possible for those who believe in him to be saved (D’Costa 1986b, 99). Rahner rejects this interpretation of the atonement on the grounds that it propounds the view that God had to be persuaded to offer salvation, as if God had not intended to save anyone before that moment. Rahner argues that God’s motivation for salvation is to be discerned in God’s love and mercy, and this is the true divine nature. We are to seek for an understanding of how God provides salvation in the affirmation of God’s sovereignty not in a solution which emphasises God’s capacity to be persuaded from without (Rahner 1961–92, 16:208–9). Rahner argues for the view that Jesus is the final, not the efficient, cause of God’s universal salvific purpose. God did not love and forgive because Jesus died. Rather, the death of Jesus is the ultimate statement about what God has always been doing in history. In this sense, the life, death and resurrection of Christ are a ‘sign’ or ‘sacrament’ of the salvation offered by God (1961–92, 16: 213). If salvation history is irreversibly directed in this sense to salvation, and not to damnation, through a concrete event, then this historically tangible occurrence must be a sign of the salvation of the whole world in the sense of a ‘real symbol’ and so possesses a type of causality where salvation is concerned. To this we wish to apply a well known theological concept and call it ‘sacramental’. (Rahner 1961–92, 16:214)

As D’Costa points out, modern Catholic sacramental theology imparts significant meaning to the idea of ‘sacrament’: ‘As a symbol it is actually part of, and constitutes, the reality it discloses’ (1986b, 102). On that basis, Jesus is not only a sign of God’s grace, he embodies that grace in himself; he is that grace. So whenever a person responds to the grace of God, Jesus must be present whether that person is aware of it or not. This emphasis is at the heart of Rahner’s theology (Rahner 1961–92, 16:213). Although Christianity has a pre-history, it nonetheless also has a beginning point in history. Therefore it has not always been the means of salvation for all humanity. This means, Rahner contends, that salvation history cannot and should not be equated with that part of human religious history contained in the Old and New Testaments. Salvation history, he says, ‘is coexistent with the history

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of mankind as personal and spiritual and with all that is morally good in this’ (1961–92, 10:39). However, because salvation history has its goal and climax in the God–man, Jesus Christ, all salvation history is Christian and always has been. This was true before there was ever conscious recognition of it, and before it ever found expression in Christian creeds, worship or the visible church (Rahner 1961–92, 10:39–40). Consequently, it is necessary that Christianity encounter other religions in the context of human history and confront them with its claim to be the absolute and final means of salvation (ibid. 5:119). However, it must remain an open question as to what particular point in time constitutes the moment at which the obligation of Christianity becomes absolute for the followers of other religions. Rahner suggests that this can only occur when Christianity encounters a person of another faith ‘in the real urgency and vigour of his actual existence’ (1961–92, 5:120). He concludes: What is vital in the notion of paganism and hence also of the non-Christian pagan religions (taking ‘pagan’ here as a theological concept without any disparaging intent) is not the actual refusal to accept the Christian religion but the absence of any sufficient encounter with Christianity which would have enough historical power to render the Christian religion really present in this pagan society and in the history of the people concerned. (1961–92, 5:120–21)

Be this as it may, Rahner contends that all other religions are, in principle, made obsolete by the Christ-event. They were only ever intended to offer a provisional means of salvation which would be superseded by the salvation offered in Christ. Consequently, at that point in time where Christianity becomes an ‘effective reality’ in the cultural context of another religion, that religion ceases to be a ‘legitimate’ means of salvation. For the individual devotees of that religion it is necessary that the Christian faith has been presented to them in such a manner that their rejection of it can only be interpreted as evidence of wilful disobedience and ‘grave fault’ (Rahner 1961–92, 10: 47–8). However, what seems at first to be an uncompromising stance in regard to the other religions, is immediately softened by Rahner. He argues: ‘In no case can we define with absolute certainty the precise point at which such a moment effectively occurs in the concrete life of the individual’ (1961–92, 10:48). We have no way of knowing, says Rahner, whether people reject Christianity through personal fault or in response to the urging of their conscience. On the other hand, if they do accept Christianity, then we have no way of knowing whether this is the result of human influence or a genuine response to the grace of God. On that basis we can never conclude whether people of other faiths who consciously reject Christianity have come under the judgement of God, or whether they are still faithfully following those provisional paths to salvation found within their own religious traditions. Rahner concludes: ‘In any case even today and after the coming of Christ, it is

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still perfectly conceivable that a non-Christian religion still exercises a positively saving function for the individual.’ There are many long and devious paths towards God. Any path which a person follows in good conscience is a way to God. ‘Everyone who genuinely embarks upon such a way does arrive’ (ibid. 48–9) In spite of this significant modification of his position, Rahner leaves us with a feeling of deep dissatisfaction. Even though it would be quite unfair to call Rahner an exclusivist as such, his theology at this point maintains an inherent exclusivism. In our evaluation of Newbigin, we identified the struggle apparent in his theology between his head and his heart. With Rahner, the struggle relates to the theological tension, mentioned earlier, between the necessity of Christ for salvation and the affirmation of the salvific nature of the other religions. In spite of all the calm logic he employs there is a sense here that Rahner was ‘desperate’ for a solution to his theological dilemma. John Hick, naturally critical of Rahner, comments that his position is ‘too manifestly an ad hoc contrivance to satisfy many’ (1980a, 27). There is no compelling reason to disagree with this conclusion. It is a fundamental weakness in Rahner’s theology. Lawful Religion Rahner’s second main thesis proposes the concept of ‘lawful religion’. He argues that until the moment that this real encounter between Christianity and another religion occurs, the grace of God provides the means within that religion to make it salvific for those who faithfully and in good conscience believe and follow its teaching: ‘For this reason a non-Christian religion can be recognised as a lawful religion (although only in different degrees) without thereby denying the error and depravity contained in it’ (Rahner 1961–92, 5:121). In support of this contention, Rahner argues from the viewpoint of the salvific will of God in which, he says, Christians must believe. That being so, Christians must also accept that God will have made adequate provision for this to be accomplished and that his supernatural grace has been, and is being, mediated through the other religions of the world (Rahner 1961–92, 5:123). It is just not possible to accept that all those who lived before Christ, or have lived since and never heard of Christ, are condemned. The Christian, says Rahner, ‘must reject any such suggestion, and his faith is itself in agreement with his doing so. For the Scriptures tell him expressly that God wants everyone to be saved (I Timothy 2:4)’ (ibid. 6:391; see also 17: 40–46). There is no reason to suppose that the quality of life evidenced in the followers of those religions should preclude them from being beneficiaries of God’s grace. It is ‘senseless’ and ‘cruel’, Rahner says, to think so pessimistically. On the other hand, there is every reason to think optimistically regarding God’s salvific will and its capacity to transcend the sinfulness of humanity. Rahner continues: However little we can say with certitude about the final lot of an individual inside or outside the officially constituted Christian religion, we have every reason to

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think optimistically – i.e.: truly hopefully and confidently in a Christian sense – of God who has certainly the last word and who has revealed to us that he has spoken his powerful word of reconciliation and forgiveness into the world. (1961–92, 5:123–4)

Christians believe, says Rahner, that Christ came and died for the whole world. If that is true then God in Christ not only offers the possibility of salvation but the actual salvation itself, and it is completely possible to accept that this salvation through grace is at work in and through other religions. It is for that reason, argues Rahner, that we can speak of these religions as ‘lawful’: A lawful religion means here an institutional religion whose ‘use’ by man at a certain period can be regarded on the whole as a positive means of gaining the right relationship to God and thus for the attaining of salvation, a means which is therefore positively included in God’s plan of salvation. (1961–92, 5:125)

Rahner uses the notion of the ‘covenant’ in the Old Testament to illustrate his argument. This ‘old covenant’ religion was obviously salvific, even though there was no final and absolute means of always being certain where the Goddimensions of the covenant ended and the human elements began. He concludes: ‘We must rid ourselves of the prejudice that we can face a non-Christian religion with the dilemma that it must either come from God in everything it contains and thus correspond to God’s will and positive providence, or be simply a purely human construction’ (Rahner 1961–92, 5:127). We must accept, Rahner says, that even when religious acts manifest themselves in many and varied forms, they can still be directed towards one and the same absolute. An acceptance of God’s universal salvific purpose requires that we affirm that every person lives with the possibility of entering into a saving relationship with God, and that this has always been the case. ‘If, however, man can always have a positive, saving relationship to God, and if he always had to have it, then he has always had it within that religion which in practice was at his disposal by being a factor in his sphere of existence’ (Rahner 1961–92, 5:128). This means, says Rahner, that God’s salvific purpose for all people has been effected in and through the particular religious traditions to which they adhere. ‘The morality of a people and of an age, taken in its totality, is therefore the legitimate and concrete form of the divine law’ (1961–92, 5:129). Rahner suggests that Christians have, perhaps, not looked hard enough to discern the evidence of God’s grace at work in other religions or have been blinded by prejudice to that possibility. God’s grace for salvation has always been present in other religions and still is. Whatever criticisms we may direct at Rahner’s theology, this strong, positive emphasis on other religions as means of grace remains one of his most significant contributions to the debate on religious pluralism. If this had been his starting point, rather than the exclusivist-oriented conviction regarding the absolute necessity of

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Christ for salvation, the end result may have been very different indeed. As it is, all other aspects of his theology are constantly shaped and directed by his first (and primary) thesis. This is nowhere more apparent than in his concept of ‘anonymous Christianity’. Anonymous Christianity Rahner’s third main thesis develops his concept of ‘anonymous Christianity’. He now proceeds to a further conclusion. If God’s grace for salvation is active in the other religions, then the adherents of those religions are incorporated into the will of God revealed in Christ and must be considered to be Christian without either knowing or acknowledging that fact. They are ‘anonymous Christians’. Rahner contends that since the only salvation available to the world is Christ’s salvation, then those who by God’s grace have been saved through their own religion, having no knowledge of Christ, are nonetheless saved by Christ and are not just ‘anonymous theists’ but ‘anonymous Christians’ (1961–92, 5:131–2). What anonymous Christianity signifies is nothing else than the fact that according to the Church herself an individual can already be in possession of sanctifying grace, can in other words be justified and sanctified, a child of God, an heir of heaven, positively orientated by grace towards his supernatural and eternal salvation even before he has explicitly embraced a credal statement of the Christian faith and been baptised. (Rahner 1961–92, 12:165)

Hence, if a follower of another religion does hear the gospel and decides to become a Christian, that person is not moving from a position of abandonment by God into the sphere of God’s grace. Rather the decision to convert ‘turns an anonymous Christian into someone who now also knows about his Christian belief in the depths of his grace-endowed being’ (Rahner 1961–92, 5:132). By God’s grace, it has been made possible for all people to be members of the Church, not just as an idea, but in reality. This means, says Rahner, that we must envisage degrees of membership of the church, from that which is conscious, intentional and explicit (through baptism) to that which is an ‘anonymous Christianity which can and should be called Christianity in a meaningful sense’ (ibid. 6:391). In recent years, a number of Catholic theologians have turned their attention to Rahner’s concept of anonymous Christianity and in particular to the issue of the uniqueness of Christ and Rahner’s conviction that Christ is the constitutive cause of salvation. Hans Küng is representative of those who have undertaken this critical task. Küng protests the idea of anonymous Christianity, asking ‘is not the whole of good-willed humanity thus swept with an elegant gesture across the paper thin bridge of a theological fabrication into the back door of the “holy Roman Church”?’ (1978, 98). Another Catholic commentator, William Burrows, notes:

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Karl Rahner has attempted to explain this extra-ecclesial, non-explicit operation of the grace of Christ in other religions in terms of anonymous or unconscious connection of the non-believer to Christ. In the end Rahner’s attempt to salvage belief that only in Christ comes grace for salvation has seemed to most of his critics to be unsuccessful, smacking too much of a contrived, scholastic solution, which does not satisfy either Christian liberals or conservatives, or the followers of other religious ways. (1985, 3)

From a non-Catholic, liberal perspective, John Hick sees the concept of anonymous Christianity as perpetuating the essential claim of the exclusivists regarding the possibility of salvation through Christ alone. For that reason, he says, inclusivists like Rahner are merely trying to adapt to a new situation without any modification of their fundamental principles (Hick 1973, 126). In any assessment of the concept of anonymous Christianity we must also take into account the response it engenders in those who belong to the religious traditions it gathers up and incorporates without reference to their feelings or convictions. There is no suggestion in Rahner that he is setting out to depreciate other religions in some way. He believes that anonymous Christianity represents the only way in which Christians can confidently explain the inclusion of people of other faiths within the sphere of God’s salvation. It is patently obvious that however well-intentioned Rahner’s thesis may be, it is never going to be received kindly by followers of the other world religions. As Eric Sharpe says: The Hindu is not going to thank you for even suspecting that he might be a Christian without knowing it. The attempt may be as well-meaning as you please; but in dialogical terms, it is fatal. What the Hindu undoubtedly does respect, on the other hand, is open and total Christian commitment. He may not agree with it, but he does not as a rule despise it. (1977, 129)

Rahner’s lack of perception in this regard is illustrated in an incident he describes involving a conversation he had with Keji Nishitani, a Japanese philosopher and head of the Kyoto Zen Buddhist School. Nishitani asked Rahner how he would respond to being seen as an anonymous Zen Buddhist. Rahner seeks to make a positive response to the query, but actually avoids the issue. He emphasises his conviction that grace could well be at work in a Zen Buddhist’s life, but also points out that Zen Buddhism and Christianity are in no sense the same. He certainly does not deny the possibility that Zen Buddhism could be salvific, but that is not the point (Rahner 1961–92, 16:219). When you occupy a stance which assumes Christianity (realised or anonymous) to be the only means of salvation, it is not difficult to be magnanimous in the way Rahner was on this occasion. To be designated an anonymous Zen Buddhist would in no way change Rahner’s perception of his status and salvation as a Christian. To be identified as an anonymous Christian is a totally different thing. There is no suggestion that Nishitani actually thought of Rahner as an anonymous Zen Buddhist. On the other

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hand, there is no doubt that Rahner, given his assumptions, could only see Nishitani as an anonymous Christian or else conclude that he was eternally condemned. It is necessary at this point to examine the particular theological rationale offered by Rahner in support of this concept of anonymous Christianity. He grounds his exposition in what he calls the ‘supernatural existential’, to which reference has already been made. By this Rahner means that each person, as part of God’s creation, has been given the capacity to recognise and respond to the power and the glory of God. Each person has the potential to understand that this revelation has a transcendent origin. This spiritual sensitivity to the grace of God is grounded in the very ‘being’ of each individual, a being of unlimited openness for the limitless being of God, therefore that being we call spirit. Spirit signifies that immaterial being prior to and going beyond every individual thing that can be known and grasped, that openness which is always already opened by the creative call of infinite mystery which is and must be the ultimate and the first, the all-inclusive and the fathomless ground of all that can be grasped, of all that is real and all that is possible. (Rahner 1961–92, 6:392)

Rahner concludes that human beings not only have the capacity to respond to God’s self-revelation but actively expect to receive it. It is God’s own self-giving which stimulates this spiritual awareness in people, creating a desire to know God and the capacity to respond to God. This spiritual reality, says Rahner, is the most powerful and significant factor in human existence, even when people are not consciously aware of it, or do not intentionally reflect on the fact that they are being influenced by it in daily life. It is the ‘transcendental self-bestowal of God’ (1961–92, 10:35). Rahner then explores the manner in which this fundamental aspect of each person is related to the incarnation of Christ. He reasons that if God became a human being in Jesus, then we understand that ‘man is what happens when God expresses and divests himself’ in the life of the world (1961–92, 6:393). Conversely, human beings only discover and fulfil their unique potential through encounter with the limitless mystery and power of God. Furthermore, Rahner says, Christ perfectly illustrates these two realities in his own person. He demonstrates through his life the meaning of incarnation and the capacity all people have to realise their spiritual potential in response to the infinite mystery and holiness of God revealed through his grace. It is this capacity to recognise and respond to God’s grace in revelation that Rahner calls the ‘supernatural existential’. This means positively that man in experiencing his transcendence, his limitless openness – no matter how implicit and incomprehensible it always is – also already experiences the offer of grace – not necessarily expressly as grace, as a distinctly supernatural calling, but experiences the reality of its content. But this means that the express revelation of the word of Christ is not something which comes to us from without as entirely strange, but only the explication of what

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we already are by grace and what we experience at least incoherently in the limitlessness of our transcendence. The expressly Christian revelation becomes the explicit statement of the revelation of grace which man always experiences in the depths of his being. (1961–92, 6:394)

This leads Rahner to the conclusion that because the revelation of grace already exists in all people as an essential component of their being, at the moment they accept themselves completely they are also accepting the revelation. Such a selfacceptance is demonstrated in the quality and integrity of a person’s life, and is proof of the acceptance of Christ, whether that is consciously recognised or not. ‘In the acceptance of himself man is accepting Christ as the absolute perfection and guarantee of his own anonymous movement towards God by grace’ (Rahner 1961–92, 6:394). It follows, Rahner argues, that those who reject their essential being and who therefore reject the witness of God’s grace in themselves cannot be designated ‘anonymous Christians’ nor even ‘anonymous theists’. However, those who through self-acceptance are responding to the grace of God will experience the desire to seek a fuller realisation of it on the way to discovering that they are no longer anonymous, but real, Christians. Particular circumstances may hinder the degree to which this happens, but given the right opportunity anonymous Christians will eventually come to know who they really are (Rahner 1961–92, 6:394–5). Inevitably, this emphasis of Rahner’s can only create further antagonism. It fails to recognise the significance of the fact that generation after generation of those people of other faiths who have had an encounter with Christianity and who have heard the gospel have weighed what they have heard and experienced in the balance, and rejected it. This cannot be explained away on the grounds of culpable sinfulness or on the basis that the gospel was presented inadequately or incompetently. That only serves to beg the question. In a response to Rahner’s emphasis on the constitutive salvation of Christ, some theologians are arguing strongly that the church should no longer be seen as a sanctuary of salvation, but rather as a symbol (or sacrament) of salvation. On this basis the mission of the church is not the conversion of others to Christianity but helping to bring to its fullest expression the grace and truth already present in the other religions in their own right. Paul Knitter interprets this to mean that the Church exists not to promote itself and increase its membership, but ‘to foster the love and justice, the truth and peace, that make up God’s Kingdom on earth. … The first concern of Christians should be to cooperate with, not necessarily to convert, anyone who is already promoting this Kingdom’ (1985, 132). The Missionary Imperative Rahner’s fourth thesis deals with his understanding of what he calls the ‘missionary imperative’. He argues that it is still essential for the gospel be shared with

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anonymous Christians. He suggests two main reasons for this: firstly, because the nature of grace itself demands that its real source be identified; secondly, because an overt acceptance of Christianity ensures salvation beyond any doubt whatsoever (1961–92, 5:132). Because a real knowledge of Christ is infinitely to be preferred to anonymous Christianity, the church continues to carry the responsibility of sharing the gospel with people of other faiths, ‘seeing it as a world which is to be brought to the explicit consciousness of what already belongs to it as a divine offer’ (ibid. 133). Consequently, Rahner says, acceptance of the concept of anonymous Christianity does not excuse Christians from concern for those who come into this category. It is still vitally important that they be given the opportunity to discover their real identity in Christ. Therefore, mission remains an imperative for the Church: It would be quite foolish to think that this talk about ‘anonymous Christianity’ must lessen the importance of mission, preaching, the Word of God, baptising, and so on. Anyone who wants to interpret our remarks about anonymous Christianity in this way has not merely fundamentally misunderstood them, but has not read our exposition of them with sufficient attention. (Rahner 1961–92, 6:397)

However, according to Rahner, the missionary task presupposes anonymous Christianity and believes that God’s grace has already been given, for this is the only basis upon which God’s word can be heard and received. God can only be known and recognised through God’s own presence and activity in peoples’ lives. It is therefore wrong to think that this grace only becomes active at the moment of hearing the gospel for the first time. Rahner writes: ‘Only in the light of grace can we recognise and accept the light of the gospel. The grace of faith is the necessary prior condition for the teaching of faith’ (1961–92, 12:170). Therefore, Rahner contends, the mission of the church is undertaken on the basis of a theology that assumes the existence of anonymous Christians and understands that they are the only ones who can hear the gospel message (ibid. 171). It is necessary to challenge Rahner’s continuing commitment to mission in these terms. Given his willingness to concede that other world religions are vehicles of salvation and given that the ‘redundancy’ of those religions following the encounter with Christianity remains an open question and given that significant numbers of people either never hear the gospel or only ever hear it presented inadequately (in Rahner’s terms) or hear it but still reject it in good conscience and given that the persistent Christian expectation of conversion creates ongoing hostility, the call for continuing mission seems most inappropriate. At this point the gains achieved through Rahner’s recognition of the salvific efficacy of other religions are all lost through the insistence that, in the final analysis, knowing and believing that you are saved by Christ is better than just being saved, and belonging to the Christian church is better than following the religious tradition into which you were born. In this regard Eric Sharpe comments:

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One might ask very seriously what is the point in presenting the gospel to the non-Christian at all. If he is as well off (more or less) without it, what exactly does the proclamation contribute to his well-being and destiny? This is the problem which seems hardly to be answered. (1977, 127–8)

Anonymous Christianity may be prior to explicit Christianity, Rahner says, but it does not make it redundant. On the contrary, explicit Christianity, located in the church, represents the ultimate goal of anonymous Christianity. However, Rahner is anxious to emphasise that mission is not only concerned with personal salvation. He wishes to stress that the grace of God is present in every area of peoples’ lives, and this makes it inappropriate to continue to identify personal salvation as the only or major goal of mission: The grace of God which is intended effectively to redeem all has an incarnatorial character. It wills to extend itself into all the dimensions of human life, and in other words to take effect and find expression in the historical and social dimensions of this as well. (Rahner 1961–92, 12:176)

Rahner thus stresses the responsibility of mission for the total context in which people live. However, having done that he indicates that a concern for personal salvation remains integral to the concept of mission as a whole. Hence the conscious self-realisation of a hitherto anonymous Christianity brought about through missionary preaching implies on the one hand the achievement of a more radical dimension of responsibility and on the other a greater chance of this Christianity interiorly bestowed by grace being brought to its fullness in all dimensions precisely as an explicit Christianity and in a state of radical freedom. (1961–92, 12:177)

Rahner believes that the ultimate goal of Christianity is the unity of the whole human race in the one church of Christ. However, he says, commonsense suggests that religious pluralism is a reality not likely to disappear in the foreseeable future. Nor is opposition to the Christian message likely to dissipate. However, Christians are to understand that those who oppose the gospel have simply not yet realised who they really already are (Rahner 1961–92, 5:133–4). Rahner recognises that this stance may well be considered presumptuous by those it addresses. Nonetheless, he argues, this is a presumption that must be maintained. He also acknowledges that people of other faiths could well deny that they have such an anonymous faith, but this should not prevent the Christian from continuing to uphold the principle (ibid. 16:54). He writes: The Church will go out to meet the non-Christian of tomorrow with the attitude expressed by St Paul when he said: ‘What therefore you do not know and yet worship (and yet worship!) that I proclaim to you’ [Acts 17:23]. On such a basis

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one can be tolerant, humble and yet firm towards all the non-Christian religions. (Rahner 1961–92, 5:134)

Conclusion As we have already noted, there are significant criticisms to be offered in any evaluation of Rahner’s theology regarding other world religions. Nonetheless, there are also a number of positives in his work that should be emphasised. Most importantly, Rahner takes us beyond the rigid parameters of the exclusivists and opens up new possibilities for thinking through the Christian response to religious pluralism. There can be no doubt that he struggles through the a priori assumptions regarding the unique and absolute nature of Christ and the salvation won in him to identify a way in which all world religions can be gathered up into that salvation. While his ultimate conclusions must be judged inadequate and unconvincing, he is to be commended for the thorough-going manner in which he seeks to develop a theology which will achieve his purpose. Rahner, adopting as he does a middle path, is the target of criticism from both exclusivists and pluralists. The pluralists tend to see Rahner as an exclusivist in another guise, given his insistence on salvation by Christ alone. This is not really fair to Rahner when his whole argument is considered. He is not an exclusivist as such, because he demonstrably allows for salvation in the context of other world religions. However, the origins of the pluralist criticism are clear. Rahner does hold the revelation of God in Christ to be unique and absolute (1980, 9). Nonetheless, Rahner is much more open to other religions than the pluralists give him credit for. He does not, for example, exclude the possibility that the various world religions incorporate a variety of revelations and saviours which are legitimate in their own particular socio-cultural contexts. Rahner accepts that, although Christianity represents, for him, the normative revelatory event, it is not necessarily the only one. All the others have their place in the salvific purpose of God, but ultimately they are only anticipations of the full and perfect salvation achieved through Christ (Rahner 1961–92, 17:50). Rahner was also a consistent advocate of dialogue. He contends that the Christian churches with the best chances of renewal are those engaged in dialogue with other religions and cultures (Rahner 1979). This is somewhat strange, given his own limited encounter with, and knowledge of, other religions and the fact that his theological conclusions are capable of being reached without that significant personal encounter and knowledge. John Hick, as we have already noted, is critical of the concept of ‘anonymous Christian’ precisely because it is offensive and therefore works against the possibility of effective dialogue (1980a, 27, 68; see also Küng 1978, 77–8; Race 1983, 45–62; Sharpe 1977, 129). One of Rahner’s important achievements is his contention that the encounter with God does not take place primarily on the basis of correct doctrine but in the context of a life which demonstrates the exercise of grace, for that is proof of the

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presence of God in the first instance. Of course, given his other presuppositions, Rahner could not stop there. He continued to advocate the essential role of mission in order that the anonymous Christians would eventually come to know and understand the true source of their salvation. Nonetheless, the basic premise is a very important one. D’Costa concludes: ‘Rahner’s recognition of the significance of the way in which a life is lived, and not only of what is believed, is an important contribution to the debate’ (1986b, 93). This conclusion must be conceded. Rahner certainly takes us beyond the arrogance of the exclusivists, with their emphasis on discontinuity and erroneous belief. He gives timely stress to the complex hermeneutical issues involved in any investigation or comparison of belief systems. He is very open to the possibility that there is much for Christians to learn from interaction with people of other faiths (Rahner 1961–92, 6:38, 40). Furthermore, Rahner’s exposition of the concept of ‘supernatural existential’ is a very positive dimension of his work. There are points at which he offers a profound development of the idea of a general revelation and the conviction that the grace of God is present and active in the life of every human being. It is a great pity, therefore, that having enunciated such an important principle, Rahner retreats into an exclusivist position and declares that this grace is available only through Christ. Given his a priori argument regarding the unique and absolute nature of Christ, it is the only conclusion he can come to. It is also the point at which his whole theology regarding other world religions founders. Where, then, does Rahner fit into our pattern of responses to religious pluralism? It seems that he most obviously occupies the conservative end of the inclusivist spectrum. Therefore, Rahner must be classified as a traditional inclusivist.

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Chapter 8

Progressive Inclusivism: Paul Tillich (1886–1965) When we come to a study of Paul Tillich and, in particular, his work regarding the relationship of Christianity to the other great world religions, we are made aware of an ongoing tension between his sense of the value and significance of other religions, on the one hand, and his fundamental theological principles, on the other. In regard to the former, Mircea Eliade, friend and colleague, says: The creative life of Paul Tillich was marked by a series of encounters with non-Christian and non-religious realities which he simply could not ignore, for they were part and parcel of his historical moment and, as a genuine Christian existentialist, he could not turn his back on history. (1966, 34)

On the basis of the evidence it is proposed that Tillich was an inclusivist, albeit a progressive inclusivist, until he died. We note here that there are strong voices to the contrary, that argue that towards the end of his life, in his public lectures, Tillich had adopted a pluralist stance. We will explore this intriguing proposal in more detail later. We begin with this statement of Tillich’s: The Christ, according to Christian conviction, is the center of history and, therefore, the uniting point in which all religions can be united after they have been subjected to the criticism of the power of the New Being, which is in the Christ. [Missions represent] … the attempt to transform the latent Church, which is present in the world religions … into something new, namely, the New Reality in Jesus as the Christ. (Tillich 1954, 3)

This is undoubtedly the theology of inclusivism, and it characterises Tillich’s thought in all his writings on this theme. D’Costa (1986b, 46) and Knitter (1985, xv, 97–103) agree that Tillich is an inclusivist. He believed that the revelation of God in Jesus was the criterion for an evaluation of all other revelations. In that sense, all other revelation is logically preliminary or preparatory, while the revelation in Jesus is final and definitive. Christianity ceases to be Christianity, Tillich says, when it abandons such an understanding: Christianity claims to be based on the revelation in Jesus as the final revelation. This claim establishes a Christian church, and, where this claim is absent, Christianity has ceased to exist. … But final revelation means more than the last

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism genuine revelation. It means the decisive, fulfilling, unsurpassable revelation, that which is the criterion of all others. This is the Christian claim, and this is the basis of a Christian theology. (1968, 1:147–8)

We will consider this basic theological premise in more detail later. Tillich writes as a professed Christian ‘insider’ (1963, 2). He chooses to adopt a very inclusive definition of religion, one not dependent on the worship of a god or gods and yet able to embrace reflection on those various secular movements ‘which show decisive characteristics of the religion proper, although they are at the same time profoundly different’ (ibid. 4). Tillich therefore defines religion as that ‘state of being grasped by an ultimate concern, a concern which qualifies all other concerns as preliminary and which itself contains the answer to the question of the meaning of our life’ (ibid.). It follows from this that in any encounter of religions, the primary purpose will be to identify that which represents the ‘ultimate concern’ of each. John Bowker suggests that, on the basis of Tillich’s own definition of religion, it is easy to conclude that all religions have something essential in common (Bowker 1973, 158). We should note, in passing, that in his Bampton Lectures at Columbia University in 1962, Tillich gave considerable attention to the issue of what he calls the ‘quasi-religions’. Quasi-religions are secular movements whose ultimate concern is a nation, an ideal, a particular social structure or science. This particular issue, however, does not come within the scope of our concern, and our attention must be given to the relationship of Christianity and the other great, living religious traditions. Origins and Influences Firstly, we can identify the importance of Friedrich Schelling, whose work on the history of religions was the subject of Tillich’s doctoral thesis. Stone notes that Tillich often mentioned Schelling’s influence on his thought (Stone 1980, 24). This indebtedness is reflected in Tillich’s tribute to Schelling: ‘What I learned from Schelling became determinative of my own philosophical and theological development’ (Tillich 1967, 438). Leibrecht suggests that ‘it is not a matter of chance that Tillich wrote his first two books on Schelling, with whose feeling for life and approach to thought he acknowledges profound affinity’ (Leibrecht 1959, 7). Key elements of Tillich’s systematic theology are already apparent in this work. He is, even at that early stage, committed to the idea that there is religious meaning to be discerned in the whole history of humanity. Furthermore, he asserts that all religious experience must be recognised as significant for the work of Christian theology (Stone 1980, 27).1 1   Tillich was also influenced by significant discussions with Rudolf Otto at Marburg in 1924, a meeting which established a lasting friendship (see Newport 1984, 175).

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In his doctoral dissertation, Tillich also expounds Schelling’s typology for the history of religion. Tillich’s interest in the importance of world religions is clearly apparent. At the same time, he also identifies another continuing theme in his work, to be reiterated yet again in the final lecture delivered before his death: Jesus Christ as the criterion by means of which all religions, including Christianity, are to be judged (Tillich 1966, 89). In regard to the dissertation, Stone comments: ‘The distinctive seeds of Tillich’s Christology and Christ as the criterion of all religion including Christianity are found in the closing sections of the history of religion material’ (1980, 27). At this point, Tillich’s thought is consistent with the theology of Karl Barth. Secondly, we need to note the significance of Tillich’s relationship with the Jewish community. Many of his closest friends and colleagues in Germany were Jews. He was referred to as ‘Paulus among the Jews’ (Stone 1980, 65). Tillich was among the first university professors suspended by the Nazis: of the twelve suspended at Frankfurt in April 1933, eleven were Jewish and the other was Tillich (ibid.). Tillich believed that Nazism and Judaism were diametrically opposed. He focused on the Old Testament prophets as typical of those who advocated loyalty to God over against nationalism and patriotism (ibid. 77). During the war he worked hard from his own situation in North America to foster support for persecuted Jews and allied himself with Jewish causes. It was in this context that he became convinced that Christian efforts to evangelise Jews were inappropriate, though he continued to seek dialogue with them (ibid. 78). During the war, talks by Tillich were broadcast into Germany by the Voice of America radio service, in which he claimed: The religion of the Protestant Christian … is of Jewish origin, and the Christian God of Jewish descent. The Old Testament is part of the Christian Bible, and the Reformation was founded in the spirit and name of this Jewish Paul. Christians cannot surrender their Jewish origins without giving up their Christianity. (Stone 1980, 102)

In 1953, he lectured in Berlin on the relationship of Jews and Christians: Tillich’s recommendations for the purging of anti-Semitism from the Christian churches involved the cleansing of all church publications, the emphasis on the Old Testament, the abandonment of the active mission to the Jews, the sharing of Jewish and Christian services, the joining together in the struggle for social justice, the acceptance of Jewry as representing a prophetic critique of Christianity, and the continuing of the theological dialogue with Jews about their expected Messiah and Christianity’s symbol of the second coming of Christ. (Stone 1980, 147)

Stone also refers to the large number of essays written by Tillich and the many lectures he gave on this theme:

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism Tillich’s lectures … are amongst the deepest of his writings. Long acquaintance with Jews and appreciation for Jewish philosophies conditioned him to become one of the best friends that Judaism had among the ranks of Christian theologians. … He hoped that the power of the new being in Christianity would ‘destroy the demonism of anti-Semitism’ and that a new relationship between Jews and Christians would emerge. (Stone 1980, 149; see e.g. Tillich 1938; 1971)

Wilhelm Pauck and Marion Pauck, in their biography of Tillich, say that ‘he identified himself with the fate of the Jews to such an extent that they were everlastingly grateful to him’ (1989, 157). Thirdly, in this overview of influences on Tillich, we should note that he visited Japan in 1960 and the experience was very important, as he himself acknowledges (see Newport 1984, 51). He was able to study Shintoism, Buddhism, Japanese Christianity and Confucianism. Eliade comments: ‘It seems to me that his old interest in the History of Religions was reawakened and increased by his voyage to Japan and his encounter with Buddhist and Shinto priests and scholars. The impact of this visit on Tillich’s entire life and thought was tremendous’ (1966, 31). Pauck and Pauck agree and argue that ‘his trip to Japan … served to widen his horizon as much as his transplantation to America had done twenty-seven years earlier’ (1989, 258). Tillich developed a close personal relationship with the Japanese Zen master, Hisamatsu, which prompted him to write: ‘If you meet a person who really has the qualities of a saint, which this man has, then the simple reality of his being gives you more insight into the nature of that for which he lives than any external knowledge’ (cited in Manning 2009, 255). It was out of this experience in particular that he came to the conclusion that ‘one cannot divide the religions of mankind into one true and many false religions. Rather, one must subject all religions, including Christianity, to the ultimate criterion of love which unconditionally affirms, judges, and receives the other person’ (1960, 1435). We will see how the importance of this experience is reflected in his Bampton Lectures, which were published in 1963 as Christianity and the Encounter of the World Religions. The Relationship of Christianity and Other World Religions: A Historical Overview In one of the Bampton Lectures entitled, ‘Christian Principles of Judging NonChristian Religions’, Tillich offers a historical perspective on the way in which Christians have responded to other world religions, from the time of the early church until now. He begins with a general discussion in regard to competing truth-claims. Groups and individuals, says Tillich, who are convinced that they are in the possession of truth, will naturally reject those claims to truth which conflict with their own. So, in regards to Christianity,

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it is natural and unavoidable that Christians affirm the fundamental assertion of Christianity that Jesus is the Christ and reject what denies this assertion. … Consequently, the encounter of Christianity with other religions … implies the rejection of their claims in-so-far as they contradict the Christian principle, implicitly or explicitly. (1963, 29)

However, Tillich points out, the nature of this rejection can vary considerably. Firstly, it can take the form of the total rejection of everything another group advocates. Such rejection assumes that the other religion is completely false, and, therefore, no communication between the two is possible. It can also lead to destructive conflict. Secondly, it can be expressed in a partial rejection of the beliefs and practices of another group, along with a partial acceptance. This position adopts a greater degree of tolerance, says Tillich, and can work when it is possible to verify the truth of ideas in some way. It cannot work, however, in relation to the complexity of the various religions. Thirdly, it can involve a ‘dialectical union of rejection and acceptance in the relation of the two groups … with all the tensions, uncertainties, and changes which such dialectic implies’ (Tillich 1963, 29–30). Tillich suggests that this whole issue can be addressed from the viewpoint of justice. God’s justice transcends even the covenant made with Israel. If the nation acts unjustly, God’s judgement will come upon it. It seems that Tillich wants to elevate the principle of justice to a point where all religions, including Christianity, come under its judgement. Justice, he says, transcends all religions ‘and makes the exclusiveness of any particular religion conditional. It is this principle of conditional exclusiveness which will guide our further inquiry into the attitude of Christianity to the world religions’ (Tillich 1963, 32). Tillich then explores some of the New Testament evidence for a more universal, or inclusive, attitude in relation to the other religions. He refers to Matthew 25:31, where people from every nation are justified before God on the basis of their response to human needs. He mentions the story of the Good Samaritan, where the non-Jew is justified because he showed compassion, in contrast to the representatives of the national religion. He describes the way in which Jesus defends the good works of those who do not belong to the group of disciples. He explores the universal concept of the Logos (the principle of divine self-manifestation) in the Gospel of John to identify Jesus, ‘thus freeing the interpretation of Jesus from a particularism through which he would become the property of a particular religious group’ (Tillich 1963, 3). The early Church Fathers, Tillich generalises, also gave priority to the universal presence of the Logos in all religions and cultures. This universal presence prepares the world for the very specific appearance of the Logos as the historical Christ. It was for this reason, Tillich suggests, that Augustine was able to argue that true religion had always existed but came to be called Christianity after the Christevent. Hence, other religions were not to be either summarily accepted or rejected but rather seen as preparations for the coming of Christ. They all raise profoundly

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important questions, the answers to which are found in the historical Jesus. Tillich concludes, in yet another sweeping statement: All these are well-known facts, but it is important to see them in the new light of the present encounter of the world religions, for then they show that early Christianity did not consider itself as a radical-exclusive, but as the all-inclusive religion in the sense of saying: ‘All that is true anywhere in the world belongs to us, the Christians’. (1963, 35)

The early church, Tillich contends, was inclusive but not syncretistic. Everything had to be subject to an ultimate criterion of judgement, namely, the Christ-event in history. In the seventh century, Tillich says, Christianity faced its first major external challenge since the persecution visited upon it by the Roman Empire. This was the rise of Islam. In response to this threat, Christianity became radically exclusive (Tillich 1963, 38). Yet, as time went on, Tillich notes, there were forces at work seeking a more tolerant relativism. He refers to the influence of Emperor Frederick II in Sicily in the thirteenth century, where Christian, Islamic and Jewish representatives created an environment of tolerant humanism. He also notes the work of Cardinal Nicholas Cusansus who, in the fifteenth century, wrote a book entitled De pace fidei (Peace between the Different Forms of Faith), in which he identifies a concord of religions, derived from the eternal Logos, all of which witness to an ultimate divinity. Tillich also reflects on the work of Erasmus and Zwingli, who acknowledged the activity of the Spirit beyond the life of the Christian church. He mentions the teaching of the Socinians who argued for a universal revelation in all periods of history, and he points to the work of Locke, Hume and Kant, who judged all religions, including Christianity, on the basis of their reasonableness (Tillich 1963, 40–41). There consequently developed, Tillich says, various philosophies of religion in which Christianity was subsumed into a universal concept of religion. This trend was resisted by some theologians, who maintained a claim for the exclusiveness of Christianity by contrasting revelation, confined to Christianity, with religion, all the others. Where such a distinction was lost, it was argued, Christian universalism became humanist relativism (ibid. 41–2). Tillich also comments on the work of Ernst Troeltsch (one of his own teachers), who subsumed Christianity under the general construct of religion but believed Christianity to be the best expression of what religion could be. In his earlier work, Troeltsch had advocated ‘cross-fertilisation’ across religious boundaries rather than missionary activity aimed at the conversion of the other religions (ibid. 43).2 Nonetheless, Tillich says, a majority of theologians have continued to interpret Christianity in a particularistic and absolutistic way, with special emphasis on the exclusiveness of salvation through Christ. Tillich identifies Barth as a major 2   We should note, however, that this view represents the early work of Troeltsch, who later rejected this inclusivist approach in favour of a relativist response to world religions.

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proponent of this position (1963, 44–5). Such an overview of the history of the church, Tillich concludes, reveals the conviction ‘that revelatory events underlie all religions’. Furthermore, that same history suggests the ‘theological idea that the revelatory event on which Christianity is based has critical and transforming power for all religions’ (ibid. 53–4). It is possible to discern in this historical overview that Tillich offers us, the basic structure of his primary thesis. In his use of the concept of a divine justice that transcends all religions, in his identification of the idea of the universal Logos that precedes all religions, and in his focus on the centrality and determinative nature of the Christ-event as the ultimate criterion upon which all revelation is judged, Tillich seeks to establish an independent principle for the analysis and evaluation of all religious traditions, Christianity included. There is a fundamental problem with this thesis. In reality, Christianity and the Christ-event cannot be separated in such an arbitrary and idealistic manner. Barth tried to argue the same principle and failed for the same reason. Tillich fails to realise that this concept cuts across his own good intentions and reinforces that very attitude which he sees as counter-productive to positive relationships and effective inter-religious dialogue. This is a crucial concern and a major flaw in Tillich’s theology. Tillich’s Proposal for Dialogue as the Basis for the Contemporary Encounter of Christianity and World Religions Tillich is quite clear that dialogue, not conversion, must be the agenda for interaction between Christianity and other religions. Attempts at conversion have failed dismally, he says, and dialogue offers the only way to go forward. ‘It would be a tremendous step forward if Christianity were to accept this! It would mean that Christianity would judge itself when it judges the others in the present encounter of the world religions’ (Tillich 1963, 95). Tillich argues that there is no appeal or possible solution in the idea of a synthesis of religions; nor in the possibility that one particular religion will ultimately win out over the others; nor in the thought that religion itself might come to an end. There is only one way ahead, he asserts, and that is to penetrate into the depths of one’s own religion, in devotion, thought and action. In the depth of every living religion there is a point at which the religion itself loses its importance, and that to which it points breaks through its particularity, elevating it to spiritual freedom and with it to a vision of the spiritual presence in other expressions of the ultimate meaning of man’s existence. This is what Christianity must see in the present encounter of the world religions. (Tillich 1963, 97)

The tension already referred to between Tillich’s theology and his good intentions immediately becomes apparent here. There is a dichotomy that emerges in his

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argument. On the one hand, his theology binds him to a limited inclusiveness. On the other, his dialogical ideals offer a healthy pluralism. This dichotomy, so apparent to the reader, is reflected in his work over and over again. For the moment, however, we can note how Tillich explores this positive approach to dialogue in the specific context of Christian–Buddhist relationships, the subject of another of the Bampton Lectures. He writes: The kind of dialectics which, I believe, is most adequate to typological inquiries is the description of contrasting poles within one structure. A polar relation is a relation of interdependent elements, each of which is necessary for the other one and for the whole, although it is in tension with the opposite element. The tension drives both to conflicts and beyond the conflicts to possible unions of the polar elements. (Tillich 1963, 55)

Tillich argues that this methodology does not permit us to identify Christianity as the absolute religion, for at different periods in its history it has been characterised by different aspects of all of those elements and polarities that make up the religious realm (1963, 56). Each time representatives of different religions engage in dialogue about the various elements that characterise those religions, they are each also involved in an internal, silent dialogue of their own. Tillich writes: If the Christian theologian discusses with the Buddhist priest the relation of the mystical and the ethical elements in both religions and, for instance, defends the priority of the ethical over the mystical, he discusses at the same time within himself the relationship of the two in Christianity. This produces (as I can witness) both seriousness and anxiety. (1963, 57)

Tillich, lapsing yet again into sweeping generalisations, identifies the mystical (Buddhism) and the ethical (Christianity) as the opposite poles of the religious realm represented by Buddhism and Christianity. This provides a starting-point for the encounter of the two religions within a dialogical framework (Tillich 1963, 58–9). Such dialogue must begin on the basis of certain presuppositions, Tillich says. Firstly, participants need to acknowledge the value of the religious experience of each other, thereby indicating that the dialogue is important. Secondly, the participants must represent their own religious tradition with conviction, ensuring that the dialogue is serious. Thirdly, there has to be an acceptance that there is common ground from which to begin which makes both dialogue and conflict a possibility. Finally, openness is required on all sides to criticism of their own religious position. Tillich concludes: ‘If these presuppositions are realised … this way of encounter of two or more religions can be extremely fruitful and, if continuous, even of historical consequence’ (1963, 62). Dialogue best begins, Tillich contends, with discussion regarding the meaning and purpose of human existence. Ideas about God, humanity, history and salvation can come later, and in the context of this primary discussion.

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Here we have clear evidence of his Western origins and academic training. In spite of his own presuppositions, outlined above, he proceeds according to a very Western way of thinking. As Foerster observes, Tillich ‘explicitly selects, interprets, and judges the religions only according to his own categories and schemes’ (1990, 1). However, Tillich’s rationale for dialogue is both positive and appealing. It is grounded in his own life experience and adopts an appropriately open and expectant attitude, along with a willingness for self-criticism and evaluation. It affirms the value of the other religions with which dialogue is sought. When we read it in isolation from his systematic theology we are left with a totally different impression from that which the theology conveys. That is the issue we must now examine in more detail. The Theological Context As already proposed, it is to Tillich’s theology that we must look in order to proceed to any final conclusions regarding his place in the spectrum of Christian responses to other religions. In his dissertation on Schelling, Tillich writes: ‘This, then, is the content of all history: the work of Christ, namely, to sacrifice his natural being in order to find himself again in spirit and in truth; this is the content of history because it is the essence of the Spirit’ (1974, 111). Fifty-five years later, in his final lecture, and only hours before his death, Tillich reiterated this same theme, that Jesus Christ is the ultimate criterion on the basis of which history is understood and all religion is to be judged (1966, 89). During the intervening period, Tillich wrote the three volumes of Systematic Theology, in which it is possible to discern not only the arguments which he enunciates to support the validity and integrity of other religions, but also the limitations he imposes upon them. There are a number of key dimensions to Tillich’s systematic theology which provide the context for his response to other religions. Firstly, there is his concept of revelation. Revelation is the occurrence of an event which evokes ‘numinous astonishment’. The influence of Otto is apparent here (1958, 6–7). Revelation involves the giving of a sign; it is a ‘sign-event’. The reception of the sign is an ecstatic experience, which involves reason but transcends reason’s normal boundaries of subject and object (Tillich 1968, 1:124–31). Tillich identifies both original and dependent revelations. An original revelation ‘is a revelation which occurs in a constellation that did not exist before’. It is a completely new sign-event which Tillich identifies as a ‘miracle’. In an original revelation, a pure miracle and its pure ecstatic reception are joined for the first time. (ibid. 140–42). Thereafter, whenever any new individuals or groups receive this revelation, a variable factor is introduced which is different on each occasion and determined by the particular context. The revelation so received is a dependent revelation.

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The incarnation of Jesus Christ is an original revelation, in regard to which all prior and subsequent revelations are influenced by their context and are therefore dependent. In this manner, Tillich proposes a concept of revelation which both includes all the religions but at the same time subjects them to the ultimate criterion of the original revelation in Jesus Christ.3 For example, the history of the church reflects continuous revelation, but it is dependent revelation. This means that Christianity, as one context among many in which revelation occurs, is just as much subject to the original revelation in Jesus Christ as the other religions are – a very Barthian conclusion. Tillich writes: There can be no revelation in the history of the church whose point of reference is not Jesus as the Christ. If another point of reference is sought or accepted, the Christian church has lost its foundation. But final revelation means more than the last genuine revelation. It means the decisive, fulfilling, unsurpassable revelation, that which is the criterion of all the others. This is the Christian claim, and this is the basis of Christian theology. (1968, 1:148) The final revelation, the revelation in Jesus as the Christ, is universally valid, because it includes the criterion of every revelation and is the ‘finis’ or ‘telos’ (intrinsic aim) of every one of them. The final revelation is the criterion of every revelation which precedes or follows. It is the criterion of every religion and of every culture, not only of the culture and religion in and through which it has appeared. It is valid for the social existence of every human group and for the personal existence of every human individual. (Ibid. 152)4

Tillich identifies five presuppositions for the study of religions, grounded in his theology of revelation. We will consider four of them now and reserve the fifth for special reflection later. Firstly, human experiences of revelation are universal. All religions are grounded in some experience of revelation in which the opportunity for salvation is declared. ‘There are revealing and saving powers in all religions. God has not left himself unwitnessed’ (Tillich 1966, 81). Secondly, these experiences of revelation take place within the limited, finite human situation. One unavoidable dimension of this situation is human sinfulness, which determines that revelatory experiences are always received in a distorted manner. Tillich says: ‘It has come to be understood that revelation can reach man only in the form of receiving it, and every reception of it, whether more inwardly religious or more openly secular, is religion, and as religion is always humanly distorted’ (1967, 537).

3   For an exposition of Tillich’s emphasis on the finality of Christ, see Lindbeck 1983, esp. 391–2. 4   This paragraph is manifestly Tillich’s most important and central statement on revelation as it applies to the issues under discussion here.

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Thirdly, the way in which these experiences of revelation are interpreted and adapted must be subject to a process of critical evaluation. Fourthly, the history of religion and the history of culture are not independent of each other. The sacred is both the context for, and a judgement on, the secular. This means, however, that the sacred must also be subject to the criticism the secular brings to bear upon it. (Tillich 1967, 81–2). Tillich argues that only those who are prepared to take these principles seriously can ‘fully affirm the significance of the history of religions for theology against those who reject such a significance in the name of a new or an old absolutism’ (1967, 82). He goes on to explore the issue of a theology of the history of religions. The traditional Christian view, he says, limits that study to the Old and New Testaments and Christian church history since then. All other religions are judged as perversions of an original revelation and without any value for Christian theology. What is needed now, Tillich argues, is a theology in which the critical approach is balanced by a positive assessment of universal revelation. ‘This theology of the history of religions can help systematic theologians to understand the present moment and the nature of our own historical place, both in the particular character of Christianity and in its universal claim’ (ibid. 84). Tillich argues for a theology he designates ‘dynamic–typological’. There are certain elements in the experience of the holy which are always present if it is the holy which is experienced. Firstly, the holy is always experienced within the finite context of human life, appearing in some special way. This is the sacramental dimension (Tillich 1967, 86–7). Secondly, there is a critical reaction against the sacramental aspects of religion, which expresses dissatisfaction with merely concrete expressions of the holy and seeks religious experience beyond the finite and material. Tillich identifies this as the mystical element: The Holy as the Ultimate lies beyond any of its embodiments. The embodiments are justified. They are accepted but they are secondary. One must go beyond them in order to reach the highest, the Ultimate itself. The particular is denied for the Ultimate One. The concrete is devalued. (Tillich 1967, 87)

Braaten writes of the value which Tillich assigns to this mystical element in other religions. Without the mystical element in religion Tillich observed that it becomes reduced to intellectualism or moralism. True doctrines or good morals become the essence of a religion without the mystical dimension. In this he agreed basically with Schleiermacher and Rudolf Otto. … He never joined Karl Barth and Emil Brunner in their whole-sale rejection of Christian mysticism. (1967, xxiv–xxv)

Thirdly, there is the ethical or prophetic element, typical of the Jewish prophets who denounced sacramental religion that denied justice to the poor and oppressed.

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This is an important element, but in isolation from the sacramental and mystical it can become moralistic and secular. What Tillich seeks in his dynamic–typological theology is the unity and balance of these three elements. Such a religion he identifies, in anticipation, as ‘the Religion of the Concrete Spirit’. Such a religion cannot be equated with any religion that has ever existed, or exists in the present, not even Christianity. However, this ideal can be found in Paul’s doctrine of the Spirit, where the ecstatic and the rational are in unity (see Tillich 1962). While this religion does not exist in reality, nonetheless, it is that toward which the history of religions moves, and it can be discerned in a fragmentary fashion at different times and in various guises in the history of religions: We can see the whole history of religions in this sense as a fight for the Religion of the Concrete Spirit, a fight of God against religion within religion. And this phrase, the fight of God within religion against religion, could become the key for understanding the otherwise extremely chaotic, or at least seemingly chaotic, history of religions. (Tillich 1966, 88)

The decisive victory in this struggle, Tillich argues, has been won by Jesus as the Christ (1966, 89). The death of Jesus on the cross provides the criterion which identifies and actualises the Religion of the Concrete Spirit. In its fullness, it can be found only there. In this way, Tillich maintains and develops his basic thesis. He postulates not only the ideal independent principle for the evaluation of all religions, the criterion of the Christ-event, but also the concept of an ideal religion, latent and as yet unfulfilled in all religious traditions, the Religion of the Concrete Spirit, which the Christ-event makes possible. The second major area of Tillich’s theology we must consider concerns his exposition of the meaning of the atonement (1968, 2:191–208). The atonement, Tillich says, is the universal significance of Christ, which can also be expressed in the term ‘salvation’. Salvation has to do with the re-uniting of that which is separated or estranged. Jesus has made it possible for the reconciliation of God and humanity, of humanity and creation, of each person with his or her own self. ‘The doctrine of atonement is the description of the effect of the New Being in Jesus as the Christ on those who are grasped by it in their state of estrangement’ (ibid. 196). We have already noted Tillich’s emphasis on a history of revelation, at the heart of which is the original sign-event of Jesus as the Christ. In the same way, the salvation won by Christ is at the heart of all those processes of salvation which have occurred throughout history. To call Jesus ‘saviour’ is to assert that he is the ultimate criterion of every salvation experience. If, then, the salvation to eternal life is made dependent upon the encounter with Jesus as the Christ and the acceptance of his saving power, only a small number of human beings will ever reach salvation. The others … are condemned to

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exclusion from eternal life. Theologies of universalism always tried to escape this absurd and demonic idea, but it is difficult to do so, once the absolute alternative between salvation and condemnation is presupposed. Only if salvation is understood as healing and saving power through the New Being in all history is the problem put on another level. In some degree all men participate in the healing power of the New Being. (Tillich 1968, 2:193)

As we have already noted, it is fundamental to Tillich’s overall thesis that he distinguish between the determinative significance of the Christ-event and the development of Christianity as a religion which inevitably followed. The Religion of the Concrete Spirit is not Christianity. The meaning of the Christ event, Tillich says, is not to be found in the emergence of the Christian religion, but only in the event itself, which both precedes and judges that religious development. On this basis, Tillich can conclude that Jesus as the Christ is not bound to any particular religion nor even to the religious sphere as such. Once again we are confronted with a fundamental problem in Tillich’s argument. As Hans Küng properly reminds us, truth and praxis cannot be separated. Ultimately, a religion is not only what its devotees say they believe, it is also what they do (Küng 1991b, 238–9). Sometimes creed and practice are consistent. All too often in history they have been at odds with each other. Kung offers a positive and practical strategy for responding to this whole matter (ibid. 227–56). Tillich, in contrast, posits his hypothetical Religion of the Concrete Spirit, of which Jesus as the Christ is the definitive criterion. The problem is identified right there. We have, in an earlier chapter, seen it expressed just as erroneously by Karl Barth. As soon as we place Christ at the centre of every process for the analysis and evaluation of the religions, we are effectively making Christianity the criterion. Those who follow other religious traditions understand this very well, and it rightly offends them. The only Jesus that we can know about is the person to whom the New Testament witnesses and around whom the Christian church has organised its life for 2,000 years. We cannot separate Jesus from that witness or that long tradition and hypothesise about some ideal figure in an ideal religion who exists in a historical vacuum over and against all religions, yet somehow latently present in them, representing their potential to become a Religion of the Concrete Spirit. It may be an interesting philosophical concept, but it bears little relationship to reality. Richards offers a similar and telling criticism of Tillich at this point. When Tillich seeks to give a fiducial guarantee for the significance of the historical event of Jesus as the Christ, is he not guilty of a misuse of religious language? He distinguishes, for example, between the element of probability in our knowledge of the historical Jesus and the certainty we have concerning the factualness of the Christ-event, by which he means the factualness of the personal life which lies behind the biblical picture of Jesus as the Christ. It is difficult to understand why the personal life that lies behind the biblical picture of Jesus as

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the Christ should not be subject to the same kind of historical investigation as the personal life of the historical Jesus. It would appear that Tillich applies one criterion of historical truth to the question of the historical Jesus, and another criterion of historical truth to the question of the factual element of the Christ event. … Such a fiducial guarantee gives the distinct impression of seeking to provide the Christian faith with a sheltered zone, free from the harsh winds of historical investigation and criticism. (1989, 64–5)

Conclusion During 1964 and 1965, Tillich conducted a two-semester joint seminar with Mircea Eliade on the history of religions and systematic theology. This provided an opportunity for Tillich to emphasise the importance of the other religions for Christian theologians and for the world in general. This is reflected in his final lecture. Participation in the programme, he said, gave him new and fresh insights into the Christian message (Newport 1984, 57, 176). While we cannot know for certain, it is possible that these ‘new and fresh insights’ are evidenced in the fifth presupposition mentioned in relation to Tillich’s theology of revelation, but not dealt with at that point. It needs to be stated here and in Tillich’s own words: There may be – and I stress this, there may be – a central event in the history of religions which unites the positive results of those critical developments in the history of religion in and under which revelatory experiences are going on – an event which, therefore, makes possible a concrete theology that has universalistic significance. (Tillich 1966, 81)

Here, in one brief paragraph, Tillich raises a tentative question regarding his own previous unwavering commitment to the finality of Christ as both revelation and salvation. The ‘may’ could be interpreted in various ways: perhaps as a provocative inclusion in a lecture context to stimulate response and discussion; perhaps as a ploy that took account of the particular audience gathered on that occasion; perhaps as an indicator that in his old age Tillich was less certain about some things than he had been before. The difficulty inherent in trying to decide what Tillich thought is highlighted by John Foerster: ‘An unequivocal interpretation of Tillich’s writings in this field is made difficult because he never reached a point of conclusiveness in some important questions’ (1990, 1). We can only conjecture, because the evidence is suggestive and tentative but not conclusive. However, we must note here the conclusions of those who have a different mind on this matter. Alan Race is convinced that Tillich had become a pluralist in his later years (1983, 71, 85, 94–6). Dourley reminds us that Tillich had, for many years, demonstrated his willingness to set aside theological convictions he described as ‘provincialisms’ that he was no longer prepared to uphold (2008, 1). The degree to which this openness to change was apparent in his later life and

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work in regard to other world religions is a matter for serious reflection. There seems to be little doubt that he was in the process of developing new ways of thinking and responding. Dourley refers to a lecture Tillich delivered in 1961 in which he identified as a Christian provincialism ‘the denial of the redemptive efficacy of non-Christian religions’ (Dourley 2008, 4), but reminds us at the same time that in volume 3 of his Systematic Theology, published two years later, Tillich was still describing Christianity as ‘the fulfillment toward which all forms of faith are driven’ (ibid. 6). So, it seems, there was a tension evident between Tillich’s formal publications and the content of some of his public lectures, and this was never really resolved by the time of his death. Dourley believes that Tillich had reached the conclusion ‘that Christianity is not a universal and unique revelation’, but that an element of ambiguity remained (2008, 10). However, there is enough evidence for us to move him to the edge of the inclusivist spectrum. We cannot take him beyond that because he never clearly renounces his inclusivist stance. Eliade, hints at a similar conclusion when he writes in his tribute to Tillich: ‘Faithful to his vocation and his destiny, Paul Tillich did not die at the end of his career, when he had supposedly said everything important that he could say. On the contrary, he died at the beginning of another renewal of his thought’ (1966, 36). We are left with a Tillich who must still be located in the inclusivist spectrum of Christian responses to other world religions. In reaching this conclusion we should note yet again the tension which exists between the very positive nature of his basic attitudes toward other religions and the way in which his theology imposes limits on the options for real dialogue. In the final analysis, Tillich fails in his attempt to posit a philosophical resolution to religious differences through the concept of an ideal religion (the Religion of the Concrete Spirit), grounded in an idealisation of the Christ-event as the ultimate criterion for all religions, which all the religions, whether they know it or not, are actually seeking to become. Where, then, does Tillich fit in our spectrum? Perhaps he might most appropriately be classified as a progressive inclusivist. As we have seen, his attitudes are open and receptive. This spirit takes him beyond the position of Rahner.

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Chapter 9

The Pluralist Response We have noted so far that exclusivists deal with the obvious differences between religions by assuming the truth and uniqueness of the Christian revelation over against the falsity and inadequacy of the other faiths. Inclusivists, on the other hand, resolve the issue of difference by incorporating the faithful of all religious traditions into the salvation won by Christ. We have addressed at some length the difficulties inherent in both these responses to the reality of religious pluralism. We now turn our attention to a quite different way of understanding and interpreting these differences, which we identify as the pluralist response. Sources of the Pluralist Response One of the major dilemmas for pluralists lies in dealing with those biblical texts which are claimed by the exclusivists and inclusivists as incontrovertible evidence that there is salvation in Christ alone. Peggy Starkey comments on two New Testament texts which are generally considered exclusive – Acts 4:12: ‘There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved’ and John 14:6: ‘Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me”’ – and argues that verses such as these can be seen as confessional statements rather than as claims to exclusivity. In regard to Acts 4:12, she writes, The passage is a confession of faith … it is dangerous to translate confessional statements into metaphysical categories or absolute truths. The content of such language as that of Acts 4:12, therefore, was meant to affirm that Jesus is the source of salvation for the Christian community and not necessarily to deny that others might be vehicles of God’s saving grace. (Starkey 1982, 69–70)

Starkey also explores the proposal that the seemingly exclusive nature of these verses reflects the particular historical situation in which the Christian church was struggling for both identity and survival: ‘When one has opponents, often one turns to strong statements to defend a position. The struggle of the early Christians for credibility and survival may account for a great deal of the exclusivity found in the New Testament writings’ (1982, 71). To these two different ways of understanding exclusive claims in the New Testament, Starkey adds two more. Firstly, she suggests that we take into account the ignorance that prevailed amongst the early Christians in regard to other

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religions. Secondly, she proposes that their primary purpose was to preach the gospel about Christ, which they had themselves embraced with enthusiasm. They were not really concerned at all with the possibility that God might be working in and through other religions (Starkey 1982, 72). While there may be merit in these arguments, it is always going to be very difficult to deny or explain the categorical nature of exclusive texts like Acts 4:12 and John 14:6. In the end, it is probably better to accept these verses for what they seem to be, strong affirmations that there is salvation in Christ alone and recognise that this was the conviction of those who wrote them. At the same time, it is possible to point to other biblical records which appear to offer a quite different perspective. Starkey does this herself when she goes on to examine passages from both Old and New Testaments which she believes describe a more ‘universalistic picture of God’s saving activity’ (1982, 72). The passages she considers include Genesis 9, in which God’s covenant with Noah embraces all living creatures; Genesis 12:1–3, where God’s covenant with Abraham promises salvation for all people; Amos 9:7, which declares that God cares equally for all nations and peoples; Mark 7:24–30, where Jesus heals the daughter of a gentile; Matthew 25:31–46, a passage which declares that all love expressed in the care of others is also, even if unconsciously, love for God; John 4:1–42, which has Jesus in significant dialogue with a Samaritan woman; and Acts 17:22–31, where Paul acknowledges a universal revelation of God (Starkey 1982, 73–4). Starkey concludes: The Bible presents many problems to an interpretation of the universal– particular relationship that would make possible an open and positive stance to the religions of the world. The overall reason for these problems is that the Bible is the story of God’s working out his salvific will through Israel and through Jesus of Nazareth. The areas of concern for the biblical writers are not, nor could they have been, how a Christian should relate to a Buddhist. The Bible is the crucial point, however, at which theologians must begin their re-examination of the Christian tradition in light of religious pluralism. (1982, 74)

Starkey’s own rationale for adopting a pluralist stance is grounded in a theology of the Spirit, not so much as the third person of the Trinity but as the activity of God in creation and history. The purpose of the Spirit in scripture, she argues, is salvific, and this salvation is not confined to the church. ‘The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit’ (John 3:8). This reality is reflected, for example, in the story of Cornelius in Acts 10 and is also expressed in Acts 2:17: ‘I will pour out my Spirit on all humankind.’ It is important to notice that in the New Testament, there is no suggestion that the Spirit departed from Israel in order to descend on the church. The Spirit of God in the Bible is in no way limited. … On the contrary, the Bible speaks of the Spirit

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as capable of moving among all peoples regardless of their religious affiliation. The Spirit, as presented in the Bible, works through particular instruments for the sake of all humankind. (Starkey 1982, 76)

Starkey’s emphasis on the universal message of salvation in the Bible, grounded in the unrestricted activity of the Spirit, is a far stronger argument than her earlier attempts to reinterpret certain New Testament texts of an exclusivist nature. We are left with the possibility of both the particular salvation that is mediated through Christ and the further activity of God, through the Spirit, to effect the salvation of all people everywhere. The idea of a universal salvation was not widely popular in the early centuries of the Christian church, but it was present in various forms. Origen, for example, advocated the idea of a universal salvation for all. He grounded this expectation in two principles: firstly, the justice and goodness of an all-powerful God; and, secondly, in the absolute free will of every person. Walker says: ‘It is by extending the scope of free will beyond all bounds that he solves the problem of the existence of evil, and that he safeguards the justice and goodness of God’ (1964, 12). Origen espoused the concept of ‘metempsychosis’, that is, the idea of a sinful humanity ultimately being restored to God through an ongoing process of discipline, both in this life and after death. He envisioned a series of ages, each with its own creation and final judgement. At the end of each age the best human souls become angels, and the worst become demons. Those in-between and not yet fit for heaven are re-born and the process of discipline and re-formation continues (Walker 1964, 12–13, 67–8). Thus, in the course of these successive ages, the same soul can go up or down the whole hierarchy of rational creatures, from the most miserable order of demons, to the highest order of angels. This series of ages will perhaps come to an end when all souls … have cleansed themselves of sin, and freely united themselves with God. (cited in Walker 1964, 13)

In Origen’s scheme, personal free will and God’s will to save are always in tension, but ‘God is wholly good and his justice serves no other purpose than his good purpose of bringing souls back to himself. … Given unlimited time, God’s purpose will eventually prevail and all souls will be finally united to him’ (Baukham 1991, 24). Origen’s doctrine of universal salvation was first condemned as heretical at the Council of Alexandria in 400ce and then again at the Council of Constantinople in 543ce. Walker concludes: ‘In spite of Origen, and a few doubtful texts from less eminent Greek Fathers, the weight of patristic authority is heavily on the side of eternal torment’ (1964, 20). Bauckham suggests that not only Origen’s heretical reputation, but the enormous influence of Augustine, combined to make pre-eminent the Augustinian theology of judgement and hell, which prevailed for many centuries (1991, 25).

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Augustine taught that all humanity has come under judgement for sin since the fall of Adam. Everyone is tainted by Adam’s sin from birth and can only be saved from judgement by God’s grace: At times Augustine shows himself to be frankly Predestinarian. The whole human race is one mass of sin, out of which God has elected some souls to receive His unmerited mercy. There is no other explanation of the elect and nonelect than the inscrutable wisdom of God, and babies who die unbaptized go into everlasting perdition. (Cross 1963, 107)

Augustine anticipated unimaginable degrees of pain and torment for those consigned to hell: ‘That fire will be more severe than anything a man can suffer in this life’ (cited in Walker, 1964, 64). Walker reminds us that for Augustine, a component of the happiness of those who are saved and go to heaven lies in their awareness of how much the condemned are suffering. ‘This sight gives them joy because it is a manifestation of God’s justice and hatred of sin, but chiefly because it provides a contrast which heightens their awareness of their own bliss’ (ibid. 29). Bauckham suggests that the re-emergence of a universalist emphasis from the sixteenth century on was due in part to a reaction against Calvin’s doctrine of limited atonement (Bauckham 1991, 26). Almond says: For Calvin, the state of souls was fixed at death. In a very important sense, for Calvinism, the last judgement became something of a formality: those in Abraham’s bosom (or paradise) could rest assured that their blessedness would be ratified, those who were confined and bound in chains could not hope for any reprieve. (1994, 69)

The Arminians were one group who declared that salvation was open to all. As a system of faith, Arminian doctrines, formally set forth in the Remonstrance of 1610, were a theological reaction against the deterministic logic of Calvinism. The Arminians insisted that the Divine sovereignty was compatible with a real free-will in man; that Jesus Christ died for all men and not only for the elect. (Cross 1963, 88)

Nonetheless, the idea of a universal salvation was still strongly opposed, especially by those who believed that the threat of eternal damnation was essential as a means of deterring people from immoral behaviour (Bauckham 1991, 26–7). Walker writes: Why did the doctrine of hell remain almost unchallenged for so long a time, and why did it begin to lose its hold in the seventeenth century? … The most obvious answer to the first question is the very strong scriptural authority for

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the doctrine. But a more fundamental reason for the long triumph of hell was the firm and almost universal belief in its value as a deterrent in this life. It was thought that, if the fear of eternal punishment were removed, most people would behave without any moral restraint whatever and that society would collapse into an anarchical orgy. (1964, 4)

In nineteenth-century England, the influence of Origen’s work seemed to reappear as widespread discussions took place regarding the problem of hell and universal salvation. Bauckham writes: Common to almost all versions of a ‘wider hope’ was the belief that death was not the decisive break which traditional orthodoxy had taught. Repentance, conversion, moral progress are still possible after death. … Hell – or a modified version of purgatory – could be understood in this context as the pain and suffering necessary to moral growth. (1991, 29)

Significant impetus toward the idea of a universal salvation was provided by Schleiermacher, who taught that Christ has achieved salvation for all, and that this divine purpose was ultimately irresistible and could not fail (cited in Bauckham 1991, 27). J.A.T. Robinson has argued that the final division of humanity into saved and lost represents the existential situation of each person facing the challenge of the Gospel, and the force of this must not be diminished. However, universal salvation represents God’s intention grounded in the divine love for all people, and such love guarantees that in the end all will be saved (Robinson 1949; 1968, chs 10–11). We find a similar emphasis, as we shall see later, in the work of Wilfred Cantwell Smith. He argues that if God is the kind of God revealed in Jesus Christ, then we can confidently believe that people of other religions will be saved. We cannot, he says, put any boundaries around the love of God (1980, 105, 107). We shall see how this principle is identified and developed in our particular and more detailed studies of Hans Küng, Raimundo Panikkar, John Hick and Wilfred Cantwell Smith himself. We also need to be aware that for pluralists, personal contact and relationship with people of other faiths is almost always identified as a major factor in the stance they adopt. Quite apart from their theological understanding of religious pluralism, they advance strong phenomenological arguments for their position. A prevailing theme in the work of pluralists is found in their emphasis upon the overall quality of piety, devotion and morality to be observed in other religions. The attitude is made explicit in the words of Max Warren already mentioned in Chapter 6: Our first task in approaching another people, another culture, another religion, is to take off our shoes, for the place we are approaching is holy. Else we may find ourselves treading on men’s dreams. More serious still, we may forget that God was here before our arrival (cited in Cragg 1959, 9).

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It should not be assumed that this represents an unthinking and uncritical endorsement of all that other religions teach and practice, for usually it does not. However, it does give expression to the conviction that world religions are all authentic manifestations of divine activity and presence. ‘Pluralists … all testify to meeting and recognizing the presence of God and much that is good and true in non-Christian religions’ (D’Costa 1986a, 213). Of course, it is not only pluralists who are willing to affirm the good in other religions. We have already seen that exclusivists like Kraemer and Newbigin can acknowledge the achievements of the world religions and still claim that they are not vehicles of salvation. Paul Tillich, following his interaction with Buddhist philosophers and teachers during a visit to Japan, experienced a radical change in his thinking about other religions, yet continued to cling to his inclusivist conviction that devout people of all faiths are saved only by Christ. However, pluralists are able to move from their appreciation of what they see in other religions as proof of the genuine presence and activity of God, to the conclusion that these same religions are, in and of themselves, an authentic means of salvation. Knitter explores and responds to the criticism that pluralism is a ‘cleverly camouflaged but ultimately exploitative Western imposition’ into the arena of interfaith relationships and dialogue (2005a, 28). While, as Knitter acknowledges, the voice of the critics must be heard and considered, the most compelling response comes from the participants (Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, Jewish, Moslem and Christian) at the Pluralism Conference in Birmingham in 2003, who reached a consensus regarding the fundamental principles that would guide their conversations, both then and into the future (Knitter 2005b, x–xi). The majority of participants were not from the West, and it is clear that they did not experience pluralism as an imposition. The Fundamental Principles of the Pluralist Response Religions are Culture Specific Firstly, pluralists believe that the religious diversity which exists in the world is due to the very different historical and cultural environments in which the traditions originated and developed. Panikkar argues that ‘there is no religion without culture and no culture without religion’ and that, therefore, ‘the experience of God is not the monopoly of any religious system [nor] of any culture’ (2006, 27). While this process of the evolution of religious traditions was a complex one, with many different factors and influences involved, it does help us to understand both why the religions are so different, as well as the fact that religious orientation is almost always due to the particular religious tradition into which one is born. Glyn Richards says:

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It is as well to recognize that the role played by the social and cultural milieu in which we are nurtured in determining our religious attitudes is both significant and important, for without a doubt metaphysical beliefs acquired within a particular form of life tend to inform our outlook and determine the spirit in which we live our lives. (1989, 151)

This leads us to examine two different approaches to the question of how culture and religion are related: in the works of George Lindbeck and Peter Winch. In his book, The Nature of Doctrine (1984), Lindbeck argues for what he calls a ‘cultural–linguistic’ understanding of religion. He proposes this approach as a viable alternative to two other religious paradigms, which he identifies as ‘cognitive– propositional’ and ‘experiential–expressive’. One major problem with these latter approaches, Lindbeck says, is that ‘it is difficult to envision the possibility of doctrinal reconciliation without capitulation’ (1984, 16). This is because the cognitive–propositional approach brings the religions into confrontation over mutually contradictory and conflicting truth-claims, and the experiential–expressive approach suggests that the various religions are diverse expressions of the same essential core experience of the ultimate. The cultural–linguistic model, however, emphasises the way in which ‘religions resemble languages together with their correlative forms of life and are thus similar to cultures’ (ibid. 17). Lindbeck writes: In a cultural–linguistic outlook … it is just as hard to think of religions as it is to think of cultures or languages having a single, generic or universal experiential essence of which particular religions – or cultures or languages – are varied manifestations or modifications. One can in this outlook no more be religious in general than one can speak language in general. (1984, 23)

In-so-far as Lindbeck identifies the difficulties, inherent in any interpretation of religion, which lead to exclusive truth-claims, on the one hand, or the idea of a common essence, on the other, his cultural–linguistic paradigm offers a creative alternative. However, his initial emphasis on religion as that which creates experience, rather than religion as the outworking of experience, is too strong a distinction. He writes: ‘A religion can be viewed as a kind of cultural and/or linguistic framework or medium that shapes the entirety of life and thought’ (Lindbeck 1984, 33). In practice, other religions seem both to reflect and shape experience, as Lindbeck, in fact, goes on to acknowledge: ‘The relation of religion and experience … is not unilateral but dialectical. It is simplistic to say (as I earlier did) merely that religions produce experience, for the causality is reciprocal’ (ibid.). Nonetheless, Lindbeck does stress the significance of the external features of religion over the inner experience, and this remains a weakness in his argument. It is always going to be a major source of contention for those religions which understand themselves as having their origins in some form of divine selfrevelation. The outcomes that Lindbeck seeks in terms of the differences between

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religions can be adequately explained by a much more dynamic interaction of religion and culture than he is prepared to allow. He acknowledges that his paradigm is best suited to a non-theological understanding of religion (1984, 30). The strength in Lindbeck’s proposal lies in his stress on the significance of the differences between the religions as they enter into relationship and dialogue with each other. The partners in dialogue do not start with the conviction that they really basically agree, but it also means that they are not forced into the dilemma of thinking of themselves as representing a superior (or an inferior) articulation of a common experience of which the other religions are inferior (or superior) expressions. They can regard themselves as simply different and can proceed to explore their agreements and disagreements without necessarily engaging in the invidious comparisons that the assumption of a common experiential core make so tempting. (1984, 55)

In his essay, ‘Understanding a Primitive Society’ (1970), Peter Winch addresses the issue of cultural particularity, using as an example the notion of witchcraft found amongst the Azande people of Africa. Winch’s argument revolves around his contention that we are mistaken if we assume it possible to make judgements about Azande beliefs based on our own idea of what is real or unreal, scientific or irrational. Such judgements, grounded in the assumption that our own methodology is ‘scientific’, lead to the inevitable conclusion that our perceptions of reality are correct and theirs are false. Winch writes: In the first place we should notice that the check of the independently real is not peculiar to science. The trouble is that the fascination science has for us makes it easy for us to adopt its scientific form as a paradigm against which to measure the intellectual respectability of other modes of discourse. … My second point follows from the first. Reality is not what gives language sense. What is real and what is unreal shows itself in the sense that language has. … We could not in fact distinguish the real from the unreal without understanding the way this distinction operates within the language. (1970, 81–2)

Winch quite properly argues that the beginning point for an encounter with any people different from ourselves is to seek to understand them, and their culture, from their own perspective. We are not seeking a state in which things will appear to us just as they do to members of S. … But we are seeking a way of looking at things which goes beyond our previous way in that it has in some way taken account of and incorporated the other way that members of S have been looking at things. Seriously to study another way of life is necessarily to seek to extend our own –

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not simply to bring the other way within the already existing boundaries of our own. (1970, 99)

These reflections on cultural specificity and the interaction of religion and culture lead us to address the relationship of pluralism and relativism, not least because these terms are frequently used interchangeably. The matter is complicated even further because the term ‘relativism’ is also interpreted in a number of different ways. Owen Thomas distinguishes three forms of religious relativism. ‘Cultural relativism’ asserts that each religion is the appropriate expression of its own culture. ‘Epistemological relativism’ claims that we cannot know the absolute truth, but only the truth for us. We believe that Christianity is true for us, but we cannot go on to affirm that it is the truth for all peoples, since they must be the judges of that. ‘Teleological relativism’ says that all other religions are simply different paths to the same goal as Christianity (O.C. Thomas 1969, 20–21). Which path you choose is a matter of personal preference. In a very basic sense we can say that everything is relative, because ‘everything which exists does so in relation to everything else’ (Race 1983, 77). More profoundly, we can understand relativism to mean that every person’s perception and interpretation of experience and truth is limited and conditioned by the particular historical and cultural environment in which that person lives. In its most extreme form, this understanding of relativism suggests that it is impossible to compare one interpretation of truth with another because each is so specific to its historical–cultural environment. This is the position implied in Sarah Coakley’s definition of epistemological relativism: ‘Proposition p is actually true (not, note, merely thought true) relative to, or in virtue of, framework f. … The epistemological relativist holds that … truth is in some way actively constituted by the prevailing framework, context, or paradigm’ (1979, 227). If we accept this as a valid definition, it will be readily seen that epistemological relativism effectively curtails the possibility of productive inter-religious dialogue, for it leads to the conclusion that truth is so culture-specific that it can only be dealt with from within its own particular cultural context. Consequently, while it may be seen by some to be a legitimate philosophical concept, we need, for our purposes, to pursue the possibility of another way of understanding relativism, which opens the door to meaningful discussion between the religious traditions. The work of Ernst Troeltsch offers us a viable option in this regard. Ernst Troeltsch is often identified as the one who first offered a well-developed concept of historical–cultural relativism. In his early writings, Troeltsch tried to reconcile an understanding of historical relativism with the conclusion that Christianity retained a superiority over, or normativity in relation to, other religions (1972, 114), but toward the end of his life, he decided that he had been wrong in what he had said about the superiority of Christianity and its place as the point of convergence for all other religions. He realised that his thinking had been dominated by his own limited context and culture.

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism Further investigations, especially into the history of Christianity … have shown me how thoroughly individual is historical Christianity after all, and how invariably its various phases and denominations have been due to varying circumstances and conditions of life … . The inference from all that is … that a religion … always depends upon the intellectual, social and national conditions among which it exists. On the other hand, a study of the non-Christian religions convinced me more and more that their naïve claims to absolute validity are also genuinely such … though the particular character of each has been determined by the historical, geographical, and social conditions of the countries in which it has taken shape. (Troeltsch 1969, 83–4)

So Troeltsch concluded that each of the religious traditions represents a valid, though different, experience and expression of the same ‘Divine Life’. In relation to the great world religions we need to recognize that they are expressions of the religious consciousness corresponding to certain types of culture, and that it is their duty to increase in depth and purity by means of their own interior impulses. … There can be no conversion or transformation of one into the other, but only a measure of agreement and of mutual understanding. (1969, 87–8)

This was as far as Troeltsch was willing to go. He was not very optimistic regarding inter-religious relationships and saw only a limited possibility for genuine and effective interaction between the religions, believing that each would remain distinct and that all would proceed on essentially separate paths, due to the profound differences between them. In coming to this conclusion, Troeltsch was not advocating isolation. He favoured dialogue and the sharing of mutual concerns, but saw no possibility of any greater degree of unity in this life. ‘As far as the human eye can penetrate into the future, it would seem probable that the great revelations to the various civilizations will remain distinct’ (Troeltsch 1969, 90). Paul Knitter concludes: What Troeltsch offers us … can be very helpful in our efforts to understand religious pluralism. … The religions of the world are the concrete, varied, and independent manifestations of the universal revelation at work within all humankind. Troeltsch suggests to us that all religions share something in common: their genuine differences, for each is a different, particular historical manifestation of that presence. … [However] no historical manifestation of the Absolute can be absolute! That would contradict the nature of the Absolute (which is always more than the finite) and the nature of the historical (which is always limited and changing). This means that all religions, as bearers of the divine, are also relative, limited. Although each religion is a manifestation of the Absolute, there can be no absolute religion. … No wonder that Troeltsch has been called ‘the father of historical relativism’. (1985, 26)

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Alan Race picks up and develops the concepts identified by Troeltsch. However, he is much more optimistic regarding the potential outcomes of interreligious dialogue and relationship. He writes regarding relativism that it upholds the conviction of not one, but a number of spheres of saving contact between God and man. God’s revealing and redeeming activity has elicited response in a number of culturally conditioned ways throughout history. Each response is partial, incomplete, unique; but they are related to each other in that they represent different culturally focussed perceptions of the one ultimate reality. This is also sometimes termed pluralism, and is the expression preferred in this present work. (1983, 78)

Race is right in preferring the use of the term ‘pluralist’, rather than ‘relativist’, in this context. He is at some pains to distinguish between them. The problem with relativising religions, he says, is that it becomes almost impossible to engage in any kind of mutual evaluation: It could undermine concern to distinguish good from bad, the spiritually wholesome and profound from the spiritually poor and moribund religion. It could imply the first steps towards an undifferentiated syncretism and that choice between the religions would be rendered arbitrary or meaningless. Stated starkly, it could mean that if all faiths are equally true, then all faiths are equally false. (1983, 78)

However, the very nature of our contemporary world means that we are no longer isolated from one another. The possibility of meaningful and significant engagement between the adherents of the different religious traditions means that mutual learning and enrichment are no longer limited by environmental factors, but only by attitude, desire and the willingness to enter into the particular ethos of another. Knitter agrees and says: One continuing problem with the concept of historical relativism, is that the possibility remains, that one of the various relative, limited expressions of God’s revelation is superior to all the others, even though it remains relative and limited. Troeltsch considered that it was impossible to make such a judgement because each religion was confined to its own historical and cultural context. However, the possibility of critiquing, evaluating and comparing the religions would appear to be far more a realistic option today than it would have appeared in Troeltsch’s own time. (1985, 35)

To believe and practise this is to be pluralist. To claim that the limitations of our various cultures prevent us from achieving such interaction and force us into a continuing, even if amicable, isolation and independence, is to be relativist.

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Consequently, a deliberate choice has been made here to use the term ‘pluralist’ in preference to ‘relativist’. Differences Between Religions are Very Significant Secondly, and in the light of the distinction we have drawn above between pluralism and relativism, we note that pluralists argue that the differences between the religions are very significant.1 This is not to deny that two or more religions may hold in common some things they believe and do. It is to affirm, nonetheless, that the differences are profound, and that all attempts to build relationships and enter into dialogue across religious boundaries will have to begin with the acknowledgment that these major differences do exist. In this regard, John Cobb writes: Instead of beginning with the assumption that we can identify what is common to all, it would be better to listen as speakers from each strand of human historical life tell us what they have found most important and how they describe it. … The problem is the quest for what is common. Truly to accept pluralism is to abandon that quest. … Openness is inhibited by the need to state in advance what we have in common. When commonalities emerge, they should be celebrated. … When differences emerge we should celebrate them too. Indeed, it is the most radical differences that stimulate the most fundamental reconsideration. (1984, 171)

Consequently, while the quality of tolerance undergirds the pluralist response, it is not an attitude that ignores differences but a spirit of respect which enables differences to be openly acknowledged and discussed. As Colin Grant says: Nothing is to be gained by pursuing a form of inter-religious dialogue which amounts to an avoidance of the real differences among religious traditions. Any genuine encounter between representatives of different traditions must face the real differences that are present because of the distinctiveness of the traditions themselves. … Real dialogue requires confrontation with real differences. (1989, 55)2

However, in this context we also need to note that some responses to pluralism have argued for the recognition of a ‘common essence’ in all traditions, on the basis of which a wider religious unity can be affirmed and developed. This 1   Note, however, that this is a characteristic of those we have designated ‘classical pluralists’, typified by Hans Küng and Raimundo Panikkar. Other expressions of the pluralist position, Hick’s theistic pluralism and Smith’s anthropological pluralism, diminish the importance of these differences. 2   See also: ‘Differences are not dissolved in a mystical stew but regarded as a mutual good, something necessary to our own re-experiencing in the here-and-now of the absolute claim of the absolute God on our lives’ (Gorday 1989, 1148).

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view ‘emphasizes the unitary nature of the essence, or transcendental form, of religion. According to this view, there may be different forms of religion, but there is only one essence. The basic underlying truth of religion is one, but it is possible to find many different historical forms of it’ (Richards 1989, 132).3 Toynbee’s approach to this question is to argue for the division of the various religions into ‘essentials’ and ‘non-essentials’. He argues that religions have an essential essence which is common to all, even though described in widely different ways. He called this a ‘spiritual presence’. The higher religions all agree … in feeling, and feeling intensely, that Man is not the spiritually highest presence known to Man. When it comes to trying to see and describe, and even more when it comes to trying to define what that higher spiritual presence is, you find great diversity. (Toynbee 1958, 20) Man must try to place himself in harmony with that spiritual presence in the Universe that is spiritually greater than Man – a presence that, in personal terms, reveals itself as god, and, in its impersonal facet, as absolute reality. (Ibid. 22)4

In addition, Toynbee identified the ‘non-essential’ in all religions (not to be seen, however, as unimportant or unnecessary) reflected in religious practices, rituals, social conventions, cults and doctrines. It is here that the differences between religions are most obvious, but it is the ‘essential’ in the religions that binds them together and makes some kind of unity a possibility. This means that each must be willing to sacrifice their claims to superiority and exclusiveness. ‘We ought … to try to purge our Christianity of the traditional Christian belief that Christianity is unique. … We have to do this if we are to purge Christianity of the exclusive-mindedness and intolerance that follows from a belief in Christianity’s uniqueness’ (Toynbee 1958, 95–6). Toynbee envisaged that religions would become increasingly interactive and mutually influential: I would not say that I expect to see a coalescence of the historic religions, but I think it may be expected, and also may be hoped, that all religions, while retaining their historic identities, will become more and more open-minded, and … open-hearted, towards one another. (1958, 100)5 3

  Richards cites Schleiermacher, Hocking and Otto as examples of those positing an essentialist approach. 4   Toynbee identified this essence in Therevada Buddhism, Mahayana Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Islam, Christianity and Zoroastrianism. This essence has the following elements: the experience of the universe as ultimately mysterious, the meaning of the universe is to be found in an absolute reality, it reveals both the truth humans need to know and the goodness which they seek, and to live in harmony with this reality requires the rejection of human self-centredness. 5   We could compare Toynbee’s idea of the essential and non-essential in religion with Wilfred Cantwell Smith’s idea of ‘faith’ as the common element in all religions, and the

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Toynbee is, perhaps, too intent on looking for points held in common between the religions and not sufficiently mindful of the differences (1958, 4–25). Nonetheless, he is a genuine pluralist in his recognition of other religions as authentic manifestations of the revelation of God and as vehicles of salvation for their adherents. He is also strong on Christianity retaining its essential identity and emphasis in its encounter with other religions, though neither arrogantly nor aggressively. However, there are some real problems to be faced in regard to this concept of a common essence. Firstly, it is very difficult to identify what this essence might be, given the widely diverse ways in which the religions understand and express their faith. ‘Historical investigation can point to no universal principle underlying particular, historical manifestations of religion. References to an essence of religion, therefore, cannot look to historical investigation for ratification’ (Richards 1989, 153). Secondly, while it may be possible in the case of an individual religion to identify what may be considered ‘essence’ and ‘non-essentials’, we have to remember that the essence is always manifested through a particular set of creeds, cults and codes. That is to say, all religions are culture specific. ‘Every experience and statement of the common essence of religions is bound up with some non-essentials’ (Knitter 1985, 52). Thirdly, the idea of a common essence can lead to an unhelpful and uncritical tolerance. The desire for unity can lead to a conciliatory attitude that overlooks dimensions of religious practice that cry out for evaluation and critique (ibid. 53). All this must lead us to the conclusion that the ‘one essence’ idea is not particularly helpful in regard to a genuinely pluralist approach and that a continuing emphasis upon the uniqueness of each religion and the significance of the differences between the religions represents a better starting point for dialogue and relationship. As Knitter says: There is no intrinsic contradiction between the pluralist model and real diversity. One can speak, as pluralists do, of the validity of many religions, and at the same time affirm the distinctiveness of each of them. One can indicate, or search for, what the religions have in common without ignoring or hiding differences. (2005a, 37)

Each Religion is Salvific For the pluralist, a third and crucially important principle also applies. Each religion, in and of itself, is the means of salvation for its adherents. D’Costa says: ‘[The] pluralist paradigm may be characterised as one which maintains that nonChristian religions can be equally salvific paths to the one God’ (1986a, 211). ‘cumulative tradition’ as the deposit of creeds, rituals, cults and practices that characterise the particular religions and differ markedly from one to the other. Like Toynbee, Smith longed for a much more overt unity of the world religions.

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Knitter argues that we must be able to say ‘yes’ to the ‘possibility that other religions may be ways of salvation just as much as is Christianity’ and that ‘other religions are not meant to be converted to Christ’ (1985, 17). However, in identifying this particular emphasis amongst pluralists, we need to recognise that the term ‘salvation’ is not interpreted in any specific sense. Each world religion understands the idea of salvation in a particular way. These differences are one component of what is accepted as ‘given’ when inter-religious dialogue occurs. What pluralism does is to affirm, as a matter of principle, the salvific nature of religions. It rejects the exclusivist notion that salvation is achieved only through a personal faith in Jesus Christ. It further rejects the inclusivist idea that the followers of other world religions are incorporated into the salvation of Christ without knowing it. The specific nature of the salvation in each case is affirmed and then left as a matter for discussion and exploration in a dialogical relationship of mutual respect. Religions are not Necessarily Equally True and Valuable There is, in addition, a fourth important principle which is characteristic of pluralists. It is not assumed that everything the various religions teach and believe is equally true nor that all aspects of their religious practice are equally valuable and beneficial. Pluralists accept that this is as true of Christianity as it is of any of the religions. John Cobb writes: I see other movements alongside Christianity, and I find it important to evaluate them. Some I judge evil or trivial. Others seem to be carriers of some good but apparently have nothing to offer that cannot be better offered in existing Christianity. Still others contribute to the indivisible salvation of the whole world in ways that Christianity as now constituted does not and cannot. (1984, 173)

Any agenda for inter-religious dialogue will recognise this issue and make provision for a process of mutual evaluation and the critique of one religion by another. Dialogue is about Mutual Enrichment and Criticism not Conversion A fifth characteristic of the pluralist response is to be seen in the assertion that the primary purpose of dialogue is not to seek the conversion of others to one’s own faith, though the possibility of conversion is always there. Cobb writes: In faithfulness to Christ I must be open to others. When I recognize in those others something of worth and importance that I have not derived from my own tradition, I must be ready to learn even if that threatens my present beliefs. … That is what I mean by full openness. In faithfulness to Christ I must be prepared to give up even faithfulness to Christ. (1984, 174–5)

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Nonetheless, the conversion of another is not a primary agendum. Rather it is to be open to the mutual enrichment and learning that can derive from sustained and honest interaction. Cobb continues: Openness to truth concretely entails openness to the particular truth embodied in another tradition. Such openness leads to the assimilation of that truth. … As a Christian I am challenged to learn as much as I can, and to appropriate as richly as I can, from these other traditions, allowing myself thereby to be transformed. (1984, 175; see also Clooney 1988)

Cobb subsequently developed this principle even further into what he describes as a ‘transformationist’ approach to religious pluralism. Differences between the religions, he says, do not have to be a barrier to dialogue. Christianity has always appropriated ideas and customs from other religious traditions and been enriched by them. We should think of Christianity as a socio-historical movement that is in constant change. When we understand ourselves in this way, we cease to look for an unchanging essence that is threatened when we open ourselves to other communities and their different knowledge and wisdom. On the contrary, the diverse communities in our world offer an unparalleled opportunity for enriching our understanding. … This transformationist response to pluralism assumes that the apparent greatness and goodness of the other traditions is real. (Cobb 1994, 749)

Paul Knitter also gives attention to this principle. He speaks of a ‘unitive pluralism’ which allows each religion to retain its unique identity while being open to new learning and growth through interaction with the others. Our contemporary situation, Knitter says, demands of us that we become ‘world citizens’, no longer fixed in our existing situations, but willing to build relationships with those who have been ‘strangers’ to us (1985, 9). He concludes: ‘In assessing the new experience of many religions and in attempting to reassess itself in the light of a genuine dialogue with them, Christianity is offered the opportunity for genuine growth and evolution’ (ibid. 19). The Starting Point of Dialogue is the Conviction that One’s Own Faith is True, Unique and Salvific Sixthly, pluralists hold that the adherents of a particular religion always bring to any relationship in dialogue the conviction that their own faith is true, unique and salvific. This is just as true for Christians as for the adherents of any other religion: If being a Christian means unqualified affirmation of any form Christianity has ever taken, I cannot be a Christian. … But to give complete devotion to the living Christ – as Christ calls us in each moment to be transformed by the new

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possibilities given by God for that moment – that is not idolatrous or faithless. That is what Christianity is all about. (Cobb 1984, 174)

Christians, as they enter into encounter with people of other faiths, cannot set aside who they are, in whom they believe, the things that give their lives meaning, or the manner in which their religious faith is expressed. Burlan Sizemore writes: When a Christian is faced with dialogue, there are certain elements which must inevitably be part of his or her consideration. Prominent among them is the claim of Christianity to universal adequacy. … It is almost contradictory to speak of a limited Christian faith. … People who engage in Christian encounter with persons of other faiths will have to recognize that they function from within an entity which employs this kind of universal and absolute mythic language. (1976, 412–13)

The inevitable sense of conflicting, even contradictory, truth-claims and widely differing approaches to the religious life are part of the reality that has to be faced and addressed in a religiously plural world. Grant comments: This is finally what is at stake in the encounter of world religions: their direct encounter of each other in all their idiosyncratic particularity. … Whether religious traditions can really encounter each other out of these centres of particularity is the most enduring question of religious pluralism. (1989, 61)

Knitter offers a particular, and challenging, interpretation of Christian theology that he believes opens the way for Christians to confidently affirm their own faith while gladly acknowledging the authentic and effective nature of other faiths. He contends that to speak of Jesus as ‘unique’, as truly Son of God and saviour, is not to insist that he is the only son of God and the only saviour. He says: ‘By holding to “truly”, without claiming “only”, Christians can, I believe, remain faithful to the intent of the New Testament witness’ (Knitter 2011, 72). At that point, Knitter concludes, Christians are ready to engage with people of other faiths in meaningful dialogue and constructive cooperation. Our primary concern, throughout our Christian lives, but also in the way we interact with other believers, will not be to announce that Jesus is superior over all other religious figures. … Rather, it will be to be Christ and to follow Jesus. And that means following his ‘greatest commandment’ – to love, respect, learn from, challenge, cooperate with our neighbours, even or especially when those neighbours follow other religious paths. (2011, 74–5)

It also means a commitment to work for justice and to give priority to meeting the needs of the poor, the oppressed and the marginalised. If Christianity is to be distinctive, Knitter says, it should be distinctive in its commitment to change the world for the better (2011, 76–8).

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The pluralist response encompasses a wide range of perspectives and emphases and these need to be carefully delineated. It is possible to identify at least three distinct approaches within the broad band of the pluralist response. We shall call these the classical, theocentric and anthropocentric responses respectively. The classical response is represented by Hans Küng and Raimundo Panikkar, the theocentric response by John Hick and the anthropocentric response by Wilfred Cantwell Smith. Each of these will now be considered in turn.

Chapter 10

Classical Pluralism I: Hans Küng (1928–) There are differences between the world religions, and they really matter. Each of the religions is salvific, and each is a bearer of truth, but this does not imply that all religions are equally true, either in and of themselves, or in relation to each other.

Anyone familiar with Hans Küng’s On Being a Christian (1978) would understand why, at the time it was first published in 1974, he fitted rather neatly into the category ‘progressive inclusivist’. Küng was obviously a strong protagonist for the new Roman Catholic approach detailed in the documents of the Second Vatican Council. Yet it was clear that he also rejected the ‘anonymous Christian’ concept of Rahner in favour of an even more positive stance in relation to the other great world religions, though still very much an inclusivist one. However, to read his work over the past 40 years is to encounter a very different Küng indeed. To discern the obvious differences in approach and emphasis is a relatively easy task. It is clear that between 1974 and the publication in 1987 of Christianity and the World Religions (Küng et al. 1987), a transformation in his thinking took place. To take just one example, in On Being a Christian, Küng asks regarding Christianity: is it ‘something essentially different, really something special’ (1978, 25)? He then proceeds to answer his own question in the affirmative, and that answer constitutes the basic content of the whole book. His rationale is grounded in the conviction that Jesus is ultimately decisive, definitive and archetypal for all humanity (ibid. 123). This leads him to conclude that the other world religions offer a relative and ‘ordinary’ means of salvation, as compared to the complete and ‘extraordinary’ salvation found in Christ (ibid. 104). Consequently, other religions still need to hear the message concerning Christ. Christianity is the ‘critical catalyst and crystallisation point’ for other religions (ibid. 112). Compare this with the approach outlined in the introduction to Christianity Among World Religions: Human beings do not have religion, they are religious beings, and in very different ways at that. … There is no being first human to which is then added – by way of a plus or an accident, ornament or luxury – being Christian, Muslim, Hindu or Buddhist. No, there is only being human in a Christian, Islamic, Hindu or Buddhist way. And this is not because human beings are from the outset religious, but because religion is from the outset human. … Christianity in its varied human manifestations undoubtedly has certain features in common with other religions. From the standpoint of comparative religion at any rate the Christian faith cannot from the outset be set up as an absolute: Christianity is only one religion among many. (Küng 1986a, xii–xiii).

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The change in attitude and emphasis is clearly discernible. There is a noticeable expansion in Küng’s overt knowledge of other religions over the period identified above. From this point on, his work evidences a significant depth of understanding and a much greater degree of empathy. Perhaps the key to his change of mind is to be located there. There is reference to a considerable interaction with representatives of other religions. For example, Küng describes in an article for Christian Century (1985), a visit he made to Iran in March 1985. The invitation was issued by the Goethe Institute, in collaboration with the Ministry for Islamic Affairs. He gave an address on ‘Islam and Christianity’ and conferred with leading ayatollahs and Muslim scholars on the relationship between Christianity and Islam. It is reasonable to infer that contacts of this nature were significant in shaping his thinking. Two further books, published in quick succession, Christianity Among World Religions (Küng, Moltmann and Lefebure 1986) and Christianity and Chinese Religions (Küng and Ching 1989), are constructed around the principle of mutual response in the context of dialogue. What can be concluded is that Küng moved from the inclusivist school to the pluralist. For the sake of this study we will give some consideration to his original inclusivist position and a critique of that, before moving on to a more thorough analysis of his contemporary pluralist approach. Küng as an Inclusivist Küng’s first contribution to the debate on the Christian response to world religions is contained in a chapter of Christian Revelation and World Religions. He addresses the problem he has with the Roman Catholic dogma, ‘outside the Church no salvation’. He points to the enormous numbers of people in the contemporary world who are not Christians and have never heard of Christ and to the dilemma surrounding the matter of the countless numbers who lived before Christ. Then there are innumerable others, he says, who in the future will live outside of any Christian influence. In any case, Christians constitute a minority of the world’s population. (Küng 1967, 27–8). Furthermore, Küng quite properly argues, the era of Western imperial expansion is over. Christian mission can no longer ‘ride on the back’ of colonialism into another culture and assume the right to proselytise (1967, 28–9). Not only that, we are witnessing the renewal and resurgence of the great world religions in our time. Küng insists that the Christian church has to accept that its impact has been minimal in areas where other religious traditions have real significance. Frequently, such impact as has occurred was due to the access provided by the vehicle of Western imperialism and colonialism. The mistakes made during that time, Küng suggests, are probably irreparable (1978, 90). All of this so far is quite consistent with the basic inclusivist approach. However, Küng wants to go further. He rejects the position adopted by the Catholic Church since Vatican II, which seeks to embrace the followers of other faiths within the scope of the

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salvation won by Christ, whether they know about it or not, provided they live their own lives of faith in good conscience. He argues that other religions will see this as an expression of intolerance and a ‘somewhat dishonest evasion’ (Küng 1967, 34–5). Küng is also very critical of the ‘anonymous Christian’ concept proposed by Rahner (outlined in Chapter 7). In any case, Küng properly asserts, it is extremely unlikely that any Jew, Muslim, Hindu or Buddhist would accept the designation. They know they are not anonymous Christians and would find the assumption offensive. The solution, Küng suggests, is to be found in a positive assessment of the other world religions as an integral part of God’s universal plan of salvation (1967, 36). To that end, he appeals to the biblical witness, in both Old and New Testaments, as offering support for such a universalist understanding of salvation (ibid. 38– 46). The Priestly tradition of the Old Testament, he says, depicts all humanity as created in the image of God. Before Abraham, there were already in existence both covenant and salvation for all the people of the world. The covenant made with Noah encompassed ‘every living creature on earth’ (Gen. 9:10). Küng argues that the first chapters of Genesis give us an all-embracing universalist vision of the whole of salvation history as bound up with the history of Israel. Israel’s covenant God thus appears as the Lord of all the world, and the king over every people. … It is clear that outside Israel there is by no means only wrath and darkness, error and sin, but that here too, in a hidden way, God’s grace reigns and is at work. God and his plan of salvation are greater and more comprehensive than Israel. It is a plan directed towards the whole of mankind. (1967, 40–41)

In the preaching of Jesus, Küng contends, a similar emphasis can be discerned. He rejected nationalistic feelings of hatred toward Romans and Samaritans and excluded the possibility of revenge against gentiles from the eschatological hope, promising them rather a share in salvation (1967, 41–2; see Matt. 11:21–4; 12:41– 2; 25:31–46). Furthermore, Küng argues, the same theme can again be identified in apostolic preaching. Romans 1 clearly affirms that the ‘pagans’ have knowledge of God without benefit of special revelation, and Romans 2 allows that people of good conscience who live outside the covenant, are just as much ‘doers of the law’ as those who live within the law and have actually heard it preached (Küng 1967, 43). Küng also refers to the missionary speeches of Paul in Acts 14:8–18 and 17:16–34, as evidence that Paul clearly acknowledged the religious devotion evident in the followers of other faiths and believed that God had made himself known to them. They are ‘not forsaken by God, even if they have not been preached to’ (ibid. 44). To this point it is clear that Küng has pursued a well-defined inclusivist approach to other religions. For the purpose of our study, however, we must note here that there is a discernible shift in emphasis in Küng’s inclusivism, even between the publication of ‘The World Religions in God’s Plan of Salvation’ in 1967 and of On

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Being a Christian in 1974. This shift is reflected in a softening of Küng’s language and attitude, the first important step on his way to a pluralist position.1 We will identify and illustrate this change in his approach as we proceed. Let us consider, firstly, ‘The World Religions in God’s Plan of Salvation’. Küng concludes his review of the biblical witness outlined above with the following summary statement: 1. In the light of the universalist testimonies that pervade the Old and New Testaments it is quite impossible to maintain that the Bible takes a purely negative attitude of exclusive intolerance towards other religions. 2. It is perfectly clear that the God of the Bible is not only the God of Jews and Christians but also of all men. 3. The negative statements concerning the error, darkness, lies and sin of the pagan world refer to paganism in so far as it sets itself against the saving will of God. 4. The positive statements about the pagan world show that there exists a primitive, original communication of God to the whole of mankind. … It is certain that even in the darkness of paganism God is near to every human being and is indeed necessary for his very life. (1967, 45–6).

It is here that the nature of Küng’s early attitude is revealed. In spite of all his positive affirmations, it is abundantly obvious that he judges other religions as inferior vehicles of salvation. He therefore still wants to set the salvation they offer within the scope of the salvation won by Christ. He completes his review of the biblical material with a quote from 1 Timothy 2:4–6: ‘God desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Jesus Christ, who gave himself as a ransom for all.’ The dimension of Küng’s attitude is clarified even more when he further explores the response of Christianity to other religions. Though these religions do possess truth, he says, nonetheless they are at the same time in error. They will only find their ultimate fulfilment through conversion to the ‘true God in Jesus Christ’. Even though they are in error and far from God, God is not far from them. By him they are made able, in the midst of all their errors, to speak truly of him. The grace of the true God can witness to itself even through false gods, and can trace the image of the true God even through their misplaced and disturbed features. The grace of the true God is able to transform the mere service of idols into concealed worship of God, and merely erroneous, confused and superstitious belief or unbelief into hidden faith. (Küng 1967, 51) 1

  It is interesting to note the frequent use of terms like ‘pagan’ and ‘the darkness of paganism’ in Küng’s writing at this early stage. Such language has disappeared by the time of On Being A Christian and never reappears after that. This is a clear indication of a change in attitude. ‘Pagan’ is, after all, a pejorative word in the language of many Christians, with its strong overtones of idolatry and godlessness.

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This is the means by which Küng distinguishes between the ‘extraordinary’ way of salvation evident in Christianity and the ‘ordinary’ way of salvation available through the other religions. In this manner, every historical situation is encompassed by the grace of God, and everyone can discover salvation within their own historical condition, which includes a particular religious tradition (Küng 1967, 52). So it is the ‘right and duty’ of all people to seek God within their own religious tradition, until such time as they are confronted existentially with the revelation of Jesus Christ. Even though they do not recognise Christ for who he is, yet they teach the truth of Christ whenever they recognise humanity’s need for salvation, whenever they affirm God’s graciousness, and whenever they listen to the voice of their prophets (Küng 1967, 53–4). Küng concludes: As non-Christian religions, though they are certainly not simply un-Christian, yet they are pre-Christian, directed toward Christ. … Only the preaching of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is able in this situation to bring light and to dissipate darkness, to liberate the truth which here is in many ways oppressed and held in bondage. (1967, 56)

Küng’s message is clear. The Christian church has an obligation to proclaim the gospel to other religions, albeit without imposition or condescension (1967, 62). If the church is to be the church it must be both evangelist and witness: She can and must live as the representative for all the people of the world religions who know nothing of what God has done for them. … The church is thus the sign inviting the peoples of the world religions, so that from being Christians de iure, they may become Christians de facto, from Christians in spe, to Christians in re; that from being Christians by designation and vocation, they may become Christians by profession and witness. (Küng 1967, 66)

In the light of the above, it is hard to understand Kung’s emphatic rejection of Rahner’s ‘anonymous Christian’ concept. The evidence suggests that his own early emphasis is on the same concept described differently. Christianity, at this point in Küng’s thought, is very much the religion in which all the other religions find their fulfilment. True devotion, lived out in the context of another religion, will bring salvation, but being a Christian is still ultimately the best of all. Knitter correctly suggests that it is very difficult to reconcile the polarity apparent in Küng’s argument at this time (1985, 134). However, as noted above, there is a discernible shift in Küng’s thought which becomes evident in On Being a Christian. In this book, the most obviously pejorative language has disappeared, and Küng gives much more overt attention to the special qualities and values of other religions. Attitudes are changing, he says, and there has been in more recent time a desire to discover and evaluate the inspiration and wealth of other religions. What was once derided and rejected as

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lies and works of the devil, is now widely accepted as a revelation of the mystery of God and a way of salvation (Küng 1978, 91). Küng points to the qualities so obvious in other religions: their devotion in seeking the truth, their quest for the origin and meaning of life, their stress on the ultimate destiny of each individual, their moral and ethical awareness and concern, and their desire for salvation. All of the world religions, Küng contends, are aware of the human predicament and need for redemption. All affirm the goodness, mercy and graciousness of an absolute, in whatever manner they understand or describe it. All give special heed to their founder and/or prophets. So, Küng argues, it is clear, that all in their own way are seeking ‘one and the same ultimate reality’ (1978, 93). He writes: The theological consequences of this rethinking are obvious. We are evaluating afresh the universal perspectives of the Bible … that God is Creator and Conserver of all men, that God operates everywhere, that he has made a covenant with all men … that he wills the salvation of all men with respect of persons, and that non-Christians too, as observers of the law can be justified. In fact, then, there is salvation outside the church. In addition to particular, there can be seen a general, universal salvation history. (1978, 91)

The only way to take other religions seriously, Küng argues, is to concede that they are salvific in their own right. There is no resolution of the matter for Christians in either belittling or idealising other religions (1978, 99). There are many parallels, Küng says, between the various religions – in doctrine, ritual and life. Nonetheless, there are also substantial differences. It is not helpful, even in the interests of the contemporary study of comparative religion, to endeavour to down-play these differences (ibid. 100–101). Küng writes: In the infinite variety of religions, in their ideas, forms and languages [there is] a genuine spiritual experience of the Absolute … a hidden agreement which makes possible a radical intellectual communication between the different religions. But the agreement must not be simplified, the differences must not be smoothed out, the utterly ambiguous inward religious experience must not be made absolute, as if all the religious statements that can be articulated, all revelations and creeds, authorities, Churches, rites and manifestations were irrelevant by comparison with this inward religious experience. (1978, 102)

Here is the key to the main emphasis of On Being a Christian and to the difference between this book and his earlier essay. Küng has left behind the idea of Christianity as the fulfilment of the other world religions and instead moves to the idea of Christianity as a vehicle for challenging other religions to reconsider significant aspects of their traditions and beliefs. Dialogue between Christianity and other religions will have special benefits for them, acting as a catalyst and impetus for their own critical introspection, as an influence for the purification

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and deepening of their faith, and as an agent for the fertilisation of Christian ideas (Küng 1978, 105). Küng identifies a number of areas where he sees this challenge having special relevance. He believes that contemporary biblical scholarship can provoke a much more historical–critical approach in Islam to the study of the Qur’an (1978, 106). He sees the need for Christianity to confront Eastern religions with the issue of the impact which their cyclical view of life has on the continuing individual fatalism and social determinism which exists in their countries (ibid. 107–8). He contends that a challenge should be issued to the doctrine of reincarnation and the way in which it undergirds the perpetuation of the caste system (ibid. 108). He is critical of the traditionalism of Confucianism, with its ancestor worship, veneration of age and the priority it gives to classical education, because, he says, this supports a permanently rigid social system (ibid. 109). In noting, as he does, issues for critical dialogue between Christianity and other religions, Küng is not unmindful of major problems within ‘Christian countries’ which he believes are equally deserving of serious criticism. He points particularly to the scandal of racial prejudice, the poverty and social backwardness apparent in many places, and the lust for power and wealth so prevalent almost everywhere (1978, 110). Nonetheless, there is still a note of arrogance in Küng at this time. ‘The great world religions’, he says, ‘are now seen to be not less open but more open to question than Christianity’ (ibid. 110). Christianity has a ‘dynamism’ lacking in the other great religions (ibid. 105). Truth and salvation are not to be confused, Küng asserts, but in any dialogue between the religions the question of truth cannot be ignored or trivialised. The modern Christian ‘theology of religions’ is right in saying that people can attain salvation in other religions and in this sense the latter can reasonably be called ‘ways of salvation’. But the question of salvation does not make the question of truth superfluous. (Küng 1978, 104)

In fact, Küng contends, acknowledging that other religions are ways of salvation is not an assertion that they are equally true. However much truth other religions may exhibit, they do not offer truth for Christians. We do not want the Christian church, says Küng, arrogantly to claim an exclusive mission, condemning other religions and unfairly proselytising. Nor do we want a syncretistic mingling of all religions, seeking to harmonise even where the contradictions are obvious and thereby relativising the truth (1978, 111–12). What we need, Küng concludes, is an independent, unselfish Christian ministry to human beings in the religions. We must do this in a spirit of open-mindedness which is more than patronising accommodation; which does not lead us to deny our own faith, but also does not impose any particular response; which turns criticism from outside into self-criticism and at the same time accepts everything positive; which destroys nothing of value in the religions, but also does not incorporate uncritically

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism anything worthless. Christianity therefore should perform its service among the world religions in a dialectical unity of recognition and rejection, as critical catalyst and crystallisation point of their religious, moral, meditative, ascetic, aesthetic values. (1978, 112)

On this basis, Küng argues, Christian missionary activity makes sense. However, its primary aim would not be to win converts but to enter into genuine dialogue. The truth of other religions would be acknowledged without relativising the truth of Christianity. This would represent ‘an inclusive Christian universalism claiming for Christianity not exclusiveness, but certainly uniqueness’ (Küng 1978, 112). In this manner, Küng answers his own question posed at the beginning of On Being a Christian and declares that Christianity is ‘something essentially different, really something special’ (ibid. 25). There can be no doubt that Küng, up to and including On Being a Christian, has adopted and argued a moderate inclusivist position. Küng as a Pluralist Christianity and the World Religions reveals the ‘new’ Küng for the first time. In the preface, Küng proposes a relationship between Christianity and other religions which transcends both absolutism and relativism. Christian theologians, he says, must begin any discussion with other world religions from the viewpoint of their own faith and commitment, clearly identifying ways in which Christianity agrees or disagrees with the other religion. This process, he argues, requires that the Christian theologian be critical of Christianity in the light of other religions and critical of other religions in the light of the gospel (Küng et al. 1987, xvii). Of himself, Küng states: I have tried to walk the difficult ‘via media’ between two extremes. On the one hand I wanted to avoid a narrow-minded, conceited absolutism, which sees its own truth as ‘ab-solute’, that is, detached from the truth of the others. I have aimed to defend neither a standpoint of exclusivity, which issues a blanket condemnation of the non-Christian religions and their truth, nor a standpoint of superiority, which rates my own religion as a priori better. … But at the same time neither will anyone expect me as a Christian theologian to maintain a superficial and irresponsible relativism … that relativises all truth and nonchalantly equates all values and standards. I consider an arbitrary pluralism untenable, the view that approves and endorses without differentiation both one’s own and the other religions, without calling attention to the presence in both groups of the untruth despite all the truth. I find equally untenable the indifferentism that exempts certain religious positions and decisions from criticism. (Küng et al. 1987, xviii)

Küng’s use of the term ‘arbitrary pluralism’ here is confusing. Surely he means ‘relativism’ or ‘undifferentiated truth’. Genuine pluralism admits to the truth

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which is present in all religions and their capacity to be salvific in their own right but does not advocate an uncritical acceptance of the truth in any religion, Christianity included. This is the actual position here adopted by Küng. His use of the term ‘pluralism’, even though preceded by the qualifying adjective ‘arbitrary’, is unhelpful. In fact, Küng clarifies the matter in Christianity Among World Religions, published soon after, where he specifically rejects absolutism, relativism and inclusivism (Küng 1986b, 119–120). Having accomplished that clarification, however, he introduces another complication by arguing for what he calls a ‘combined relativism’, which he believes could facilitate a ‘productive coexistence of the various religions’, and for a ‘relationality, which enables one to see every religion as a web of connections’. He suggests that instead of religious syncretism we must work for a religious synthesis that will overcome hostility and misunderstanding and help produce peace and acceptance (Küng 1986b, 120). The problem here is that Küng is again using a term, in this case ‘combined relativism’, in the wrong sense. Whereas in the earlier book he wrote ‘pluralism’ and meant ‘relativism’, in this instance he writes ‘relativism’ but means ‘pluralism’. It is pluralism, not relativism, which allows for the truth of one religion to have a creative impact upon and influence another religion. It is pluralism which permits a dynamic relationship between the religions, in the context of which a healthy mutual critique is possible. Küng has the right idea, but he has chosen the wrong words to express it. Once we understand that, it is clear that he has by this time adopted a pluralist stance in relation to other world religions. Christians, he says, have no right to claim a monopoly on truth. However, truth must not be renounced in pursuit of better relations between religions. The boundary between truth and untruth, Küng says, lies within the parameters of one’s own religion. Honest self-criticism must precede any critical approach to the positions of others. There is true and good, false and bad in every religion, including Christianity (Küng 1986b, 121). Nonetheless, Küng argues, this does not mean for Christians the abandonment of conviction regarding the ‘normativity’ or ‘finality’ of Jesus. To do so would be to reject the most crucial aspect of the New Testament witness (Küng 1986b, 122). To hold this position, he says, is not to deny the truth of the other religions, whose followers will properly hold the same view regarding their own faith and tradition. Küng writes: Holding fast to this two thousand years old conviction of truth – without anguish or apologetic concern, but on good ground, in the way that Jews, Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists do to theirs – is, however, in no way identical with some theological ‘imperialism’ and ‘neo-colonialism’, which denies other religions their truth and rejects other prophets and seers. (Küng 1986b, 122)

In Theology for the Third Millennium, Küng endeavours to deal with the issue of conflicting truth-claims, consistently maintaining his (pluralist) attitude

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that the various religions cannot possibly be deemed significantly similar and asserting that any attempt to reconcile the obvious differences can only be achieved by ignoring the contradictions. Nor can the issue be resolved, Küng argues, by seeking to establish that ‘all myths and symbols, all revelations and professions of faith, and finally all rites and customs, authorities and phenomena in Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, and Christianity are true and valid in the same way’ (1991b, 234). Personal experience, he says, is no guarantee of reality, and ‘there can be no talk about “religious experiences” being equally true. … We must avoid the crippling relativism that makes all values and standards a matter of equal indifference’ (ibid. 235).2 In one important sense, however, Küng contends, the truth of the religions can be evaluated: Every religion is genuine, is true, insofar as it practically and factually gives proof of the ‘miraculous power’ to make a person welcome ‘in the eyes of God and man’. … In looking at the truth of religion, pragmatism simply asks how a religion, on the whole, ‘works’, what practical consequences it has, what its actual value is for the shaping of one’s personal existence and life together in society. (1991b, 229)

Küng develops this thesis at some length. He emphatically rejects the notion that religious conviction justifies behaviour which inflicts harm on any human being (1991b, 240–41). What is claimed to be truth, therefore, can only be substantiated as truth when it finds its expression in behaviour that benefits and enriches human life, and this provides a basis for evaluating truth-claims in any religious tradition (see Küng 1991a). Küng concludes that there are ‘different true religions’ and different ways of salvation which both overlap and can enrich each other. The starting point for dialogue, he argues, is not the assumption of equal truth and validity but a conviction regarding the normativity of one’s own religion, its inherent truth and the particular ‘bearer of revelation or bringer of salvation’ that is central to its teaching. ‘There is scarcely a need to engage in discussion if there is in the end nothing normative and definitive in any religion’ (Küng 1986b, 123). Küng contends that the end result of such dialogue, including any agreements that may be reached, is dependent on the process of discussion not some preconceived determination. The practice of dialogue is based on a commitment to one’s own faith, combined with a willingness to listen and understand. The dialogue must proceed on the basis of an ‘unconditional readiness to hear and learn, [an] unrestricted openness that includes a transformation of both partners in the course of the process of mutual understanding; a patiently realistic way’ (ibid. 124). It is imperative, Küng argues, that everything of value in other religions should be affirmed and that anything of no value be critically identified. Each 2

  We should note that Küng has finally got right the use of the term ‘relativism’.

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religion must be challenged to offer its ‘best and most profound message’ (Küng 1986a, xvii). All participants in the dialogue will understand that they are working towards an ‘even greater’ truth, that will change not only their understanding of themselves, but of the world and of God’ (ibid. xviii). Here, then, is the evidence that Küng has consciously moved from an inclusivist to a pluralist stance in relation to other religions. The language of confrontation has gone and is replaced by the language of mutual learning and enrichment through dialogue. The idea of Christianity as the ultimate fulfilment of other religions is gone and is replaced by a ready recognition of the truth and value of other religions. The concept of other religions as ordinary and inferior vehicles of salvation is gone and is replaced by an affirmation of their independent and complete salvific efficacy. The emphasis on Christianity as critical catalyst is reduced in favour of an openness to the positive and creative possibilities of dialogue. Küng says: ‘The more I read, travel, speak, listen, experience, the clearer it has become to me that dialogue between the religions is no remote academic affair. Rather, dialogue is a political and religious necessity – a foundation for peace between the nations’ (2009, ch. 6, loc. 1426). Küng’s pluralism can be readily discerned in his responses to Islam. Take, for example, his emphasis on the centrality of Muhammad. He says of the prophet: Muhammad is discontinuity in person, an ultimately irreducible figure, who cannot be simply derived from what preceded him, but stands radically apart from it as he, with the Qur’an, establishes permanent new standards … a shift towards a new future. (Küng et al. 1987, 25)

To accept that Muhammad was a prophet, Küng suggests, requires that we also accept that he did not invent his message, but spoke God’s word (Küng et al. 1987, 31). Then, in relation to the Qur’an, Küng refers to Willard Oxtoby’s contention that whoever is willing to read the Qur’an as the word of God discovers in reality that it is every time they read it (ibid. 29). Both Islam and Christianity, Küng asserts, face a common problem in deciding how best to respond to the impact of secularisation on life in the contemporary world. Islam – like Christianity long before it – has been caught in a double crisis typical of modern times: a crisis of relevance and identity. These are connected in a complementary fashion. Because the more a traditional religion tries to become relevant in a largely secular period shaped by this-worldly values, norms, and behaviour models, the more deeply will it be drawn into an identity crisis. And vice-versa, the more a religion tries to assert its identity in traditional rites, dogmatic beliefs, and moral ideas, the more irrelevant it becomes for a secular society. (Küng et al. 1987, 54)

The answer for both Islam and Christianity, Küng suggests, is to recognise that the process of secularisation has not signalled the end of religion, but identified

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a new and different function for religion in contemporary society. Many people, Küng says, are still asking questions about the meaning of life, suffering and death, about primary attitudes and values. There is continuing interest in the spiritual and the transcendent. Religion is not in need of ‘restoration’, Küng contends, but ‘transformation’. Christians and Muslims he says, can both agree that ‘faith in the one true God must replace faith in the false Gods of modernity’ (Küng et al. 1987, 55–6). Küng goes on to discuss issues which he suggests will have to be the subject of continuing dialogue between Christians and Muslims (Küng et al. 1987, 63–9, 93–6, 110–30).3 He also explores a number of aspects of belief which Christians and Muslims (and Jews) share in common (ibid. 86–9).4 On the basis of this discussion, Küng suggests that for the purpose of meaningful dialogue, Christians and Muslims (and Jews) must go back to their origins and be properly critical of their later developments. All three traditions, he says, were much closer in their origins. The earliest writings of Christianity, for example, are quite different in emphasis from those which emerged later from the church (ibid. 122–4). Küng makes the further point that in writing the Qur’an, Muhammad functioned in much the same way as those who wrote the New Testament. Just as they took the prophecies of the Old Testament and related them to Jesus, he took the stories about Jesus and related them to his own time: For Muhammad, Jesus’ greatness consisted in the fact that through him and in him, as God’s servant and ambassador, God himself had been at work. Thus Muhammad’s ‘Christology’ may not have been all that different from the Christology of the Jewish Christian Church. (Küng et al. 1987, 125)

Küng’s pluralism is very clearly in evidence throughout this whole discussion. His constant emphasis is on dialogue as a basis for mutual challenge, affirmation and enrichment and the need for joint discussion in relation to problems which both must face in common in the contemporary world. Küng contends that while, for Christians, Christ will remain the ‘crucial standard’ in all matters of belief and conduct, they must begin to take both Muhammad and the Qur’an more seriously:

3

  The issues which Küng explores at some length include the centrality in Islam of the sharia, Islamic law; the radicalness of Christian love; the meaning in meaningless suffering; the Christian concept of a God of love and the link this has with a similar emphasis in the mystical stream of Islam; the Qur’an’s portrait of Jesus, particularly its rejection of the divinity of Jesus, and its rejection of the doctrine of the Trinity. 4   Here Küng especially identifies belief in the one and only God; faith in the God of history, creator of the world; faith in a God who can be spoken to in prayer; faith in a God who is gracious and merciful; the eternal destiny of all persons in salvation or judgement; the immortality of the soul.

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What is needed today is not missionary activity in the colonialistic style (Christians converting Muslims, and now vice versa), but this testimony of their own faith (Muslims witnessing to Christians, and vice versa), with the goal of a mutual exchange of information, a mutual challenge, and so, ultimately, a mutual transformation. (Küng et al. 1987, 129–30)

When we come to Küng’s reflections on Hinduism we find a similar emphasis, though a very different set of issues is discussed. For example, Küng seeks to distinguish between the mystical and the prophetic religions. Mysticism, he says, is grounded in endeavour to deny or suppress basic human instincts and feelings, seeking the extinction of self in order to achieve the goal of Nirvana. Prophetic religion, on the other hand, affirms life and the will to live, stressing values and responsibility. It looks outward to the world and stimulates the emotions (Küng et al. 1987, 176–7). He concludes: In the religious history of mankind, which is characterised by immeasurable variety, all things may hang together, but they don’t all come down to the same thing. There is no undifferentiated identity, but an interdependence, with every possible kind of convergence and divergence. (Küng et al. 1987, 178)

So, Küng says, we want to avoid attempts to argue that all religions are the same, and we must also reject efforts to harmonise the different traditions. However, exclusivist conclusions are equally inappropriate. The mystical and the prophetic are found in all religious streams (Küng et al. 1987, 179). Furthermore, Küng suggests, all religions are to some degree syncretistic. ‘It is generally a sign of weakness and anxiety when a religion goes into a shell and becomes isolated; and conversely a sign of strength when it can learn from another while maintaining a critical perspective’ (ibid. 180). So Küng speaks of working towards a tension-rich synthesis [in which] the goal is not a compounding of various features from various religions, nor a mingling of gods, nor a fusing of religions, but rather a ‘dialectical’ transcending of conflicts, through inner mediation, which at once includes affirming, denying, and overcoming antagonistic positions. … Naturally, such a dialectical mediation presupposes that each religion recognises the others as dialogue partners of equal value and with equal rights. (Küng et al. 1987, 180)

The ‘pluralist’ Küng, of all the theologians we have considered so far, has offered the most balanced perspective. He is willing to incorporate not only the ‘ideals’ of religion but the obvious ‘realities’ that exist in our contemporary world. He has a genuinely objective view of Christianity and the cultures in which it is found. He does not claim social and moral endeavour and achievement for Christianity and deny them to other religions. He is able to see how the ‘popular’ expressions of the various religions have significant points of similarity (Küng et al. 1987, 258–63).

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He identifies the manner in which the processes of secularisation have implications just as serious for Eastern religions as for the Christianity of the West. He is able to acknowledge that the issues of poverty, oppression and injustice are just as real in those countries where Christianity is the dominant religion as in those places where other religious traditions are paramount (Küng et al. 1987, 265–6). A Global Ethic This brings us to a consideration of Küng’s commitment for nearly 30 years to work for the identification and acceptance of what he has called a ‘global ethic’. He has written and lectured extensively on this theme throughout that time. He reflects on this experience in a lecture delivered at Santa Clara University in March, 2005: It is a very hopeful sign for us to discover that despite the profound differences we have in religions, the ethical standards are basically the same. … So, you see, the global ethic is global also in the sense of a long, long history; it would be absurd to think that we have to reinvent it. … We have only to see that all these great sources of humanity, the religions of humanity, have the same ethical standards. (Küng 2005, 7)

In What I Believe, Küng reiterates the fundamental principles he has returned to again and again in order to emphasis, what is for him, the vital importance of this quest for a global ethic: (i) no peace among the nations without peace among the religions (ii) no peace among the religions without dialogue between the religions (iii) no dialogue between the religions without global ethical standards (iv) no survival of our globe in peace and justice without a new paradigm of international relations based on global ethical standards. (2009, ch.10, loc. 2683)

Also in What I Believe, Küng outlines the steps which led to the presentation at the Parliament of the World’s Religions in 1993 of his paper entitled, ‘Initial Declaration Toward a Global Ethic’ (2009, ch. 3). This paper was the product of a major process of inter-religious consultation. What followed was truly significant, as, for the first time in history, more than 200 representatives of all the world religions came to a consensus on a set of shared ethical values, standards and attitudes that could form the basis of a global ethic. They identified a ‘golden rule of reciprocity’, expressed in a culture of non-violence and reverence for all life, of

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solidarity and a just economic order, of tolerance and a life in truthfulness and of equal rights between men and women (ibid. ch. 10, loc. 2675). Küng concludes: ‘I do not hope for a unity of religions or any syncretism. I hope for an ecumenical peace among the world religions. … This is not an ideal world of religions, but a vision of religions that live together in peace without giving up their truth’ (2009, ch.10, locs 2771, 2787). Conclusion In this study of the major shift that has taken place in Küng’s thought, we have noted not only his more radical move from inclusivism to pluralism, but also the earlier and more subtle transition from a harder to a softer stance within the inclusivist response itself. We have been able to identify and detail substantial evidence in support of the contention that Küng has clearly changed his mind over the years. Let us finally, in summary, observe this change of mind in relation to two very specific issues. Firstly, the inclusivist Küng was very critical of the way in which he saw the doctrine of reincarnation undergirding the perpetuation of the caste system (1978, 108). The pluralist Küng, however, points to the fact that Christians have tended to be derisive and dismissive of the doctrine, overlooking the fact that a major part of the world’s population have believed in it for thousands of years, including many from the West. We have to understand, Küng now argues ‘that behind the doctrine of reincarnation lies concealed the religious–philosophical search for a meaningful, moral, just world order – the question of where to find justice in a world in which human destinies have been so unequally and unfairly allotted’ (Küng et al. 1987, 231). Secondly, the inclusivist Küng was very critical of what he called the unparalleled traditionalism of Confucianism, with its ancestor worship, veneration of age and purity of classical education, seeing these characteristics as giving support to a permanently rigid social system (1978, 109). The pluralist Küng, however, is very critical of what he describes as the insensitive condemnation and rejection by the Roman Catholic Church of this veneration of the dead and its excommunication of those who continued the practice. He asks: In a time of the deliberate suppression of death and the ‘death of man’ in Western industrial societies, might not perhaps a veneration of the dead as has been preserved in China … offer a new challenge for modern society and for Christianity? In a society that has successfully suppressed history, suffering, and death … the ‘memory of the dead’ takes on the character of incisive social criticism. Indeed, it has a humanising function and a group-cohesive effect: solidarity with the victims of history, as the Catholic theologian Johannes-Baptist Metz has justifiably emphasised again and again. (Küng and Ching 1989, 39)

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In the lecture at Santa Clara University, Kung succinctly described the point he had reached on his journey of discovery in relation to the other living faiths: It is possible – it is even very realistic – to be rooted in your own faith and to be at the same time open for the others. I often observe that people who are not really rooted in their own faith are much more uncertain, sometimes also aggressive. If you know where you stand, if you have the steadfastness in your own faith, you’ll then also have the freedom to be absolutely open for all the others. (2005, 3)

Where, then, does Küng fit into our pattern of Christian responses to religious pluralism? We identify Küng as a classical pluralist. The basic reason for choosing this option lies in his insistence that to acknowledge that all the religions are salvific and express truth, is not to say that they are all equally true, either in or of themselves, or in relation to each other.

Chapter 11

Classical Pluralism II: Raimundo Panikkar (1918–2010) Raimundo (or Raimon) Panikkar, like Hans Küng, underwent a major shift over time in his thinking with regard to other religions. Panikkar is clear about these radical changes. He points to a ‘transformation’ in his thinking. At the same time he identifies a process of ‘continuity’ by means of which this has been achieved. His break with orthodox inclusivism and his adoption of a pluralist position is well identified by words like ‘transformation’ and ‘mutation’. In the preface to the second edition of The Unknown Christ of Hinduism he writes: Why, in our time of rapid social and individual change, a second edition of a book written a quarter of a century ago? Because of a personal problem of conscience. … I feel that I owe it to many to explain the continuity of my path in spite of the mutation that has taken place both in me and in our world. … It is hoped that this second edition may offer an example of transformation without total rupture and of continuity which is not mere prolongation. (Panikkar 1981, x–xi)

Ewert Cousins picks up this emphasis on the mutational in Panikkar’s work and, offering him rather fulsome praise, says: In a mutational world there is no present – only a gap or abyss where the present world would be if we were in an evolutionary phase. Some are lost irrevocably in the past; others – a few extraordinary personalities – already live in the future. The rest fluctuate between the past and the future, not knowing where they are. Among those who have made the transition, some become the mediators of the future for the others who can make the passage. These mutational men may return from the future to draw others from the past across the abyss of the present and into the mutational world of the future. … I suggest that Raimundo Panikkar is such a ‘mutational man’ … cross-cultured … multi-dimensional … Panikkar clearly fits such a description of mutational man. (1979, 143)

In fact, it is not so much in the revised edition of The Unknown Christ of Hinduism, but in other books and journal articles, that the radical change in his thinking is made most apparent. Panikkar was born in Spain in 1918. His father was an Indian Hindu; his mother a Spanish Roman Catholic. His life and thought have reflected both the fruits and the tensions of this diversity in his home and upbringing. Cousins suggests that

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism Panikkar’s personal life has uniquely prepared him for his role of mediating across boundaries. … His theology is simultaneously experiential and speculative. It is rooted in religious experience, tapping the wellsprings of Christian spirituality at a point that can make contact with the depths of Oriental spirituality. This wealth of spiritual experience is then reflected upon with his rare gift for metaphysical speculation that draws both from the mainstream of Western European philosophy and the great philosophical traditions of the East. (1979, 133)

In 1946, Panikkar was ordained a Roman Catholic priest and from 1955 spent a number of years working in India ‘to search out his cultural roots and study Indian philosophy and religion’ (Cousins 1979, 132). His prolific literary output reflects this inner meeting of East and West. His frequent use of Hindu language and concepts and his generally philosophical approach can make his earlier work quite difficult to access. It is interesting that in his later writings he acknowledges this problem and admits to the confusion it tended to cause for many of his readers (ibid. 190). There is no doubt that his more recent work is expressed more clearly and directly. Our own reflection on, and analysis of, Panikkar’s thought must begin with the first edition of The Unknown Christ of Hinduism and his other earlier works. Panikkar as Othodox Inclusivist Paul Knitter says of Panikkar that ‘among the mutualist or pluralistic theologians … he stands out as the most resolutely pluralist’ (2002, 128). Yet the earlier Panikkar of 1964 represents the face of tolerant and magnanimous inclusivism. On the basis of both life experience and reflection he declares that Hinduism (and, by inference, other religions) is rich in tradition, doctrine and practice. He writes: ‘The spiritual history of Hinduism of the past as well as of the present tells us of true virtue, of real sanctity, of authentic mysticism and I would even dare to say, of undeniable miracles and true charity’ (Panikkar 1964, 49). Panikkar rejected then, as I do now, the use of the term ‘non-Christian’ as negative, offensive and indiscriminate and because it infers that all the other religions are false. In any case, other religions cannot be called non-Christian, he says, because Christ is already present in them. Christians have no monopoly on goodness, truth or salvation. While the fullness of God’s revelation is found in Christianity, we cannot limit the way in which the revelation of God is initiated (Panikkar 1967, 144–7). Christians, he says, have no basis on which to deny the merits and qualities of other religions. In this regard, Panikkar quotes Acts 10:28: ‘God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean.’ To hope in God, says Panikkar, and to hope in God’s salvation, is to have hope for the world. It is always about more than oneself.

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If I hope to be saved not because of myself, but because of God, I cannot make any distinction between the hope that God will save me and the hope that he will equally save others. The act of hope in God is an act which hopes in God as the goal, end and aim of every being. (1967, 155)

Therefore, hope in God means we do not have to worry about the salvation of others. Everyone is in God’s hands. The providence of God is in evidence everywhere. That providence, of course, is most profoundly evident through the living presence of Christ in Hinduism (Panikkar 1964, viii). This presence, however, is unrecognised and unacknowledged and therefore ‘hidden’. Our generation is well acquainted with the idea that Christ comes at the end of time and that all religions may be pointing towards Him, who shall be the expectation of the people. This idea, however, should not overshadow the complementary, and in a way previous truth that Christ is not only at the end but also at the beginning, Christ is not only the ontological goal of Hinduism but also its true inspirer, and His grace is the leading though hidden force pushing it towards its full disclosure. (Panikkar 1964, viii–ix)

It is on this basis that the earlier Panikkar identifies Christianity as both the ‘fullness’ and ‘real perfection’ of all religions (1964, ix). This being so, he seeks to identify an appropriate meeting-point for the dialogue that must take place between Christianity and Hinduism. Coexistence, he says, even if comfortable, is no longer acceptable. The Christian claim to universality and completeness means that it must find a way for this encounter to take place. For ‘either Christianity gives up its claim to universality, catholicity, and then peacefully coexists with other religions, or it has to substantiate its claims’ (Panikkar 1964, 2). Hinduism, Panikkar argues, is in a similar situation. A militant Christianity poses a threat it cannot ignore. Hindu doctrine could subsume a passive, coexisting Christianity into itself as one of its many branches; however, such an event would negate the very essence of Christianity. Here, Panikkar differentiates between coexistence and conversion. The seeming tolerance of coexistence contradicts the central tenet of the Christian faith and threatens it with destruction. The conversion of Hinduism, however, would not represent its destruction, but its ‘sublimation, transcendence and realisation’ (1964, 2). While Panikkar’s commitment to the finality of Christianity allows him to reach this conclusion, he does not suggest an insensitive and militant approach to the cause of conversion. He recognises the strength and integrity of Hindu belief. Humility and sincerity must characterise the encounter, he says, along with ‘a deep human honesty in searching for the truth whenever it can be found, an intellectual openness in this search without bias or prejudice, and also a profound loyalty towards one’s own religion’ (ibid. 3). In 1964, Panikkar was unable to recognise the inner contradiction between these principles for dialogue and his prior commitment to the necessity of conversion as the means by which Hinduism is to be fulfilled and perfected. In due course, as

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we shall see, he not only recognised the contradiction but moved to a position in radical opposition to this one. In regard to the proposed dialogue, Panikkar argues, Christianity must take the initiative, because Hinduism has not demonstrated any great desire to do so. The Christian position, he says, can be simply stated: Christianity and Hinduism both meet in Christ. Christ is their meeting point. The real encounter can only take place in Christ, because only in Christ do they meet. We cannot ‘prove’ this statement rationally. We can only try to show, on the one hand that they do not meet at any other point, and that on the other hand, according to Christianity and according to Hinduism as well, they can only meet in Christ, if they meet at all. (Panikkar 1964, 6)

Christ is the one and only link, or mediator, between God and humanity. He is the one who leads us to God. Therefore, Christ is already present in Hinduism, insofar as it is true and authentic. But he is not yet recognised there for who and what he is. ‘That Christ which is already in Hinduism, which therefore, Christianity recognises and worships, that Christ has not unveiled his whole face, has not yet completed his mission there. He still has to grow up and to be recognised’ (Panikkar 1964, 17). Therefore, conversion for the Hindu does not mean changing over to another culture or religion but changing into a new life and existence, the transformation of the old life (Panikkar 1964, 18). Christianity, says Panikkar, imbues Hindu religious concepts with real content and real meaning, so preventing a degeneration of those ideas into vagueness and abstractness, subject to each person’s limited interpretation. Is not the mystery of the cross the central core of Christianity? The only thing that it says is that universality, catholicity, openness and perfection do not mean vagueness, unbelief, purely abstract intention. … A Christian dogma is neither an idol, nor a limitation, nor a place to get stuck before attaining the goal. It is just the expression of the proper channel through which we reach the Absolute. (Panikkar 1964, 20)

Christianity and Hinduism, Panikkar argues, both belong to Christ, though on two different levels. Therefore, Christianity seeks an encounter with Hinduism which will allow that religion to enter into the fullness that Christ alone can give. This cannot happen because Christianity is perfect. It is not. But only because the fullness of Christ is present in Christianity (Panikkar 1964, 22). Christ is saviour of all and there is no redemption apart from him. This salvation is made available to everybody, and everyone who is saved is saved by Christ. Christ is present in some way in every person who seeks after God. Therefore, the salvation that God offers in Christ is effective in and through the Hindu religion, even though this salvation is only fully revealed in and through Christianity (ibid. 33–5).

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However, Panikkar says, the encounter between Christianity and Hinduism is not to be grounded in the identification of opposite, or mutually exclusive, concepts such as falsehood–truth, darkness–light, sin–sanctity, damnation– salvation (1964, 35). To adopt this thesis as the starting-point would be contrary both to the Christian spirit and to our knowledge and understanding of Hinduism. It would immediately set up a barrier to communication and acceptance, creating arrogance in the Christian and justifiable outrage in the Hindu (ibid. 40-41). Nothing is so distant from the Christian spirit than the attitude that would follow from a relationship of this kind. … Nothing is so dangerous in the Christian apostolate as the paternalistic attitude and the false and wrong security of one who thinks himself to be in full possession of the truth (Panikkar 1964, 41)

Over against this, Panikkar emphasises the Christian commitment to be faithful to the truth it believes has been entrusted to it. The Christian is ‘uncompromising in his attitude towards error. … He will never make a compromise with error out of the very love he has for his neighbour’ (1964, 41–2).1 Panikkar, in 1964, has no solution to offer for this apparent impasse. Apparently a Christian can, at the same time, be uncompromising yet free from the sin of intellectual arrogance. He seems to assume that Christians can maintain an appropriate spirit of openness and friendship in spite of this tension. Panikkar considers and rejects the concept of Christianity and Hinduism ‘borrowing’ aspects of each other’s religions in order to be enriched by them (1964, 43–4). The purpose of the encounter between Christianity and Hinduism is that the Christ already present in Hinduism might be discovered, recognised and affirmed for who he is, saviour and redeemer (ibid. 45–6). Hinduism, like Old Testament Judaism, anticipates and is fulfilled in New Testament Christianity. There is no real loss for Hinduism in this. Rather, it represents the gaining of its true soul (ibid. 59–61). As we shall see, this represents another attitude in Panikkar that will undergo radical change. Christians are specifically called to proclaim the gospel, says Panikkar, in word and action. Therefore, the presence of the Christian in the non-Christian context is always a witnessing presence. The task of Christians is not to impart and impose Western Christianity, but rather Hinduism, Islam and other religions are to be converted (1967, 167–8). He goes on: ‘It has to be added immediately that this converted Hinduism is, substantially, the same as the old one and yet something different, a new creature. The process of conversion implies a death and resurrection’ (ibid. 169). This, in those early years, represents the substance of Panikkar’s thinking in relation to other religions. In essence, as we have seen, it reflects a generous, 1   We note that Panikkar had an intense dislike for gender-inclusive language, especially terms like ‘human being’. He used the word ‘man’ consistently in what was, for him, an all-inclusive sense.

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but orthodox, inclusivist position, quite consistent with that of Rahner. It avoids the antithesis always overtly present in the exclusivists, yet remains ultimately patronising, a flaw that Panikkar was shortly to recognise and acknowledge. Evolution of Panikkar’s Thought As we have already noted, the evolution of Panikkar’s thought is clearly discernible through books and journal articles. The ultimate ‘mutation’ which occurs in his thinking is, at first, only hinted at, before becoming increasingly obvious. The process of change is reflected in a number of personal comments he makes at various times. In an article written in 1971 for the Anglican Theological Review, he says, after 15 years in India: ‘I “left” as a Christian; I “found” myself a Hindu; and I “return” as a Buddhist, without having ceased to be a Christian’ (1971, 220). Writing for the Harvard Theological Review in 1973, he says: ‘I shall try to rethink my approach to the problem of the encounter of the Christian faith with the religions of the world, to present it for correction or even for total eclipse’ (1973a, 113). The seeds for Panikkar’s ‘conversion’ are to be found in his cosmotheandric vision. By ‘cosmotheandric’, Panikkar means that all reality is pluralistic or multidimensional, in which the dynamic components of world (cosmic), God (divine) and man (human) are all active and interrelated at any given time. Panikkar explains the concept in this way: The cosmotheandric principle could be stated by saying that the divine, the human and the earthly … are the three irreducible dimensions which constitute the real, i.e,, any reality inasmuch as it is real. … What this intuition emphasizes is that the three dimensions of reality are neither three modes of a monolithic undifferentiated reality, nor are they three elements of a pluralistic system. There is rather one, though intrinsically threefold, relation which expresses the ultimate constitution of reality. (1993, 24)

Mendonsa says of cosmotheandric spirituality that it is ‘first of all, down to earth (cosmic), secondly, communitarian (human) and thirdly, always open (divine). It is an integrated spirituality that takes the whole of reality seriously’ (2012, 147). Panikkar argues that we cannot describe the experience of such reality in ordinary, everyday language. The use of symbol, metaphor and parable are far more appropriate and he uses these in abundance (D’Sa, 2012). Scott Eastham reminds us that, from this point on, there was continuous development in Paniikar’s thought until the end of his life (2012). In that sense, he was never satisfied with what he had written. His work was always open to further reflection and the influence of new conversations. In that same spirit, Panikkar embraced the opportunity to engage with indigenous spirituality and to explore the cultures and traditions of indigenous peoples from around the world.

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He recognised the pervasive presence of a cosmotheandric understanding of life, including a strong sense of connectedness with, and love for, the earth. Gerard Hall says that there are three assumptions underlying Panikkar’s cosmotheandric vision: the reality of which he speaks is harmonious, relational and interdependent and symbolic: While it is important to recognise the ‘symbolic difference’ between God and the world, as between one religion and another, for Panikkar, all cultures, religions and peoples are relationally and symbolically entwined with each other, with the world in which we live, and with an ultimate divine reality. (2003, 8)

We can also discern the ongoing development of Panikkar’s thought through an exploration of three other different, though closely related, issues. Firstly, one of the ways in which the change in Panikkar can be observed is in the distinction he makes between what he calls the ‘Christian fact’ and the practice of Christianity as a religion. It is a distinction which allows him to begin to move away from his earlier emphasis on Christianity, the religion, as the fulfilment of all other religions. In The Trinity and the Religious Experience of Man, Panikkar raises the issue of the problems inherent in the study of one religion from the ‘outside’ while committed from the ‘inside’ to another: ‘The result can only be negative’ (1973b, 1). However, the attempt to be completely objective does not work either, he contends. The aim is to acquire a reciprocal understanding of the ‘within-ness’ of religions, which is fundamental but not exclusive and which provides a basis for dialogue. Christianity, says Panikkar, cannot be reduced to the experience of one believer. Nor can it be reduced to a particular expression of it at some point in history. The true reality of a religion is something far greater and deeper (1973b, 2). It is essential, he argues, to distinguish between essence and form. Christianity must be dissociated from all its cultural manifestations if it is to validate its claim to universality. This is particularly important because of its Greek heritage, with a consequent emphasis on the form of something as its essence. So, ‘Christian faith must strip itself of the “Christian religion” as it actually exists and free itself for a fecundation that will affect all religions both ancient and modern’ (ibid. 3). What we call Christianity (‘form’), Panikkar says, is only one way of living the Christian faith, and it should not be identified with Christian faith (‘essence’) itself. In a chapter for The Myth of Christian Uniqueness, Panikkar identifies three dimensions of the word ‘Christian’. He refers to Christendom (a civilisation), Christianity (a religion), and Christianness (a personal religiousness). He points to the fact that in the contemporary world increasing numbers of Christians are opting for the personal religion (Christianness), without having any overt allegiance to either Christendom or Christianity (1988, 104). He concludes: To be a Christian can also be understood as confessing a personal faith, adopting a Christlike attitude inasmuch as Christ represents the central symbol of

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism one’s own life. I call this Christianness. … Christianness differentiates itself from Christianity as Christianity extricated itself from Christendom. … The increasing awareness of Christianness offers a platform from which the dilemma of exclusivism or inclusivism may be solved in favour of a healthy pluralism of religions that in no way dilutes the particular contribution of each human tradition. (Panikkar 1988, 105–7)

Panikkar draws on his own experience to explain this shift in his thinking. As a devout Roman Catholic, he went to India and was immediately confronted with a dilemma. Either he had to ‘condemn everything around him as sin and error, or throw overboard the notions of exclusivism and monopoly’ that he had been taught to accept as truth (Panikkar 1971, 222). No one was able to offer him a solution that he found satisfying. How could he live according to his own faith without a sense of exclusiveness in relation to others? ‘Can one live a religious faith to the full without feeling cut off from men either quantitatively or qualitatively – either from the rest of men down the ages or from whatever is human in them and in oneself?’ (ibid. 223). He proposes dialogue as the only appropriate response to this dilemma. It is a major and continuing theme in his writings (see esp. Panikkar 1978). For Panikkar, dialogue is not just a methodology, it is ‘a spiritual matter of the first rank, a religious act in itself which as such involves faith, hope and love. Dialogue is no bare methodology, but forms an essential part of the religious act par excellence: loving God above all things and ones’ neighbour as oneself’ (1971, 226). Love for God, says Panikkar, transcends the need to mould another person into our own image. Only then is it possible to understand my neighbour as he understands himself. It then follows, says Panikkar, that a commitment to dialogue requires of the participants a willingness to understand another’s faith from within. This is an ‘existential incarnation’ which involves a genuine experience of another’s religion from the inside. Not everyone is capable of doing this and it is not an experiment. Faith can only be lived; but the living of faith may at times demand that one risk his faith in order to remain faithful to it. … The very venture involves the risk … of a conversion so thorough-going that the convictions and beliefs he has held hitherto may vanish or undergo a far-reaching change. (Panikkar 1971, 228–9)

The point to which Panikkar wants to move is the recognition that the ultimate purpose of all religions is the same. The problem for Christians, he says, is that they too readily label as inadequate or false concepts with which they are unfamiliar. The natural attitude, however, ought to be one of ‘embracing, absorbing, embodying rather than one of repulsing, expelling, shutting out’ (1971, 233–4). Panikkar proposes that any understanding of the Christian faith which sees it as having universal significance, must allow that it can inform and influence, even transform, other religions from within without destroying their

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basic form, tradition and function. But it is the ‘Christian fact’ that is the agent of transformation, not Christianity as a religious tradition.2 The Christian fact cannot be confined to a given religion; it must be recognised as that leaven at work in every religion until it has brought them all to a higher fullness. What goes under the name of Christianity today is not the Christian fact, but basically Mediterranean religion more or less efficaciously brought over to Christ – that is, centering on Christ the set of doctrines and practices that make up religion. Owing to obvious and ineluctable historical causes, the Christian fact has not yet adequately differentiated itself from its present ‘Christian’ garb. To break the monopoly of that garb is a task as imperative as it is delicate, as vital as it is hazardous. (Panikkar 1971, 237)

It is here that we must note a fundamental problem in Panikkar’s thesis: the contention that it is possible to separate the ‘essence’ of the Christian faith from its cultural and historical context, as if there is some pure, pre-existent principle that exists quite independently of the praxis in which it is experienced and lived. We have already addressed this very same issue in regard to both Barth and Tillich. Even if, philosophically, we argue that it is possible, we have no way of knowing what it is. Culture and religion cannot really be separated in this way. The matter is further complicated by Panikkar’s use of the terms ‘Christendom’, ‘Christianity’ and ‘Christianness’. His ‘Christic fact’ does not equate with any of these, but precedes all manifestations of what it means to be Christian. Harold Coward comments: It is Panikkar’s presupposition that the ‘essence’ and ‘form’ of a religious tradition can be clearly separated that I find difficult to accept. This is an important point of Panikkar’s larger thesis. … My critical concern here has to do with the very possibility of separating ‘form’ from ‘essence’ in the experience of a religious tradition. It is my view that a religion can only be experienced in and through the historical and cultural forms of its own tradition. (1979, 187–8)

In fairness to Panikkar, it must be said that this emphasis in his thought is not inclusivism in another guise. It does represent the overt agenda that he as a Christian would wish to bring to any dialogue. But he readily accepts that followers of other traditions will bring their own convictions also. It is, for Panikkar, a beginning point for dialogue, not a principle that must be protected at all costs. Panikkar says that his aim is neither to defend or attack any religion but to struggle to understand the issues involved. He wants to identify an approach to the encounter of religions that reflects deep respect and enlightened confidence (1973a, 113). He is not prepared to accept the exclusive claim that Christianity 2   Note that Panikkar also uses the terms ‘Christic fact’ and ‘Christic principle’ interchangeably with ‘Christian fact’ (see Panikkar 1988).

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has any monopoly on salvation. He then takes the distinction between ‘Christian fact’ and ‘Christian religion’ a step further, and potentially locates the ‘fact’ in every religion. I am making, however, a fundamental assumption. The ultimate religious fact does not lie in the realm of doctrine or even of individual self-consciousness and therefore it can – and well may – be present everywhere and in every religion. … And this makes it plausible that this very fundamental – religious – fact may have different names, interpretations, levels of consciousness and the like, which are not irrelevant, but which existentially … may be equivalent. (Panikkar 1973a, 115)

So, although we may take issue with Panikkar over his distinction between ‘essence’ and ‘form’, the openness of his position is unquestionable. He does, I believe, establish the basis upon which a genuine dialogue can begin. Secondly, having sought to establish a distinction between Christian fact and Christianity as a religion, Panikkar moves to identify a similar and intimately related difference between the universal Logos and the historical Jesus. He first deals with this issue in a paper entitled, ‘The Meaning of Christ’s Name in the Universal Economy of Salvation’ (1972), presented to the International Theological Conference in India in 1971. In this paper, Panikkar concludes: ‘Christian Scripture and Tradition cannot be more precise and one-pointed: there is only one name in which there is salvation’ (1972, 197).3 This name, says Panikkar, is neither sound, nor sign, nor label. ‘It is a symbol, i.e.: the very “thing” as it appears and is, in the world of our experience’ (ibid.). A name is essential to actual existence. No ‘thing’ can exist without a name. Any name is always a part of the thing named. A name, in order to be a name, has to have some meaning (ibid. 198). A name also belongs to that particular language in which it has its proper meaning. As soon as we argue that a name has a universal significance, we are also contending that the world-view from which the name originates also has universal significance. Yet, ‘in the present world-constellation such an assumption seems untenable’ (ibid. 199). Every religion, he says, recognises something which, or someone who, makes salvation possible. This is understood in any number of possible ways: Christ, Spirit, Logos, antaryamin, guru, tathagata, saviour, grace, doctrine, prophet, dharma, book, revelation, isvara, message, love, service, knowledge, intuition, 3   Panikkar points particularly to the following passages in the Bible: Acts 3:6; 4:10, 12; 5:28, 40; 8:12, 16; 9:14; 10:43, 48; 15:25; 16:18; 19:5, 13; 22:16. It is important, for the sake of clarity, to note that in his earlier writings Panikkar uses the name ‘Jesus’ and the title ‘Christ’ interchangeably in relation to the historical person and uses the terms ‘Logos’ or ‘Word’ to identify the eternal, pre-existent divine principle of which Jesus is an incarnation. In his later work, he identifies Christ with the Logos, using terms such as ‘cosmic Christ’ or ‘universal Christ’.

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tao, faith, God, gnosis, humanity, lord, goodness, truth and so on (Panikkar 1973a, 123–4). It is not that all such names or concepts are equal or equally valid, says Panikkar, but ‘they are equivalent from the particular point of view of the function they perform for those who believe’ (ibid. 124). This allows us to establish, as a paradigm for dialogue, the concept of a universal mediator. So then, Panikkar asks, how can we deal with the claim that there is only one name by means of which all humanity can find salvation? Peter’s affirmation that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of the living God (Matt. 16:16) can be readily understood only in the context of Jewish history and society. It will not necessarily be understood at all in other cultural contexts. Panikkar refers to the fact that in the Indian tradition everybody is the son of the living God and quotes Mahatma Gandhi: It was more than I could believe that Jesus was the only incarnate son of God, and that only he who believed in him would have everlasting life. If God could have sons, all of us were his sons. If Jesus was like God, or God Himself, then all men were like God and could be God Himself. (1972, 201)

It is not enough, says Panikkar, to discuss the question of who Jesus is in temporal and spatial terms, as someone who lived at a certain time in history in a particular geographical location. Such a person can only be understood in that particular historical and cultural context. It is no longer an adequate response to declare that all a person has to do for salvation is accept Jesus Christ and confess that he is Son of God (1972, 202). In the 1981 edition of The Unknown Christ of Hinduism, Panikkar argues that the Christian affirmation, ‘Jesus is the Christ’ is not to be understood as identical with the contention ‘the Christ is Jesus’ (1981, 14). The contemporary response to the question of who Jesus is, begins with the recognition that Jesus is not an individual in the way we usually understand the meaning of individual. He had a human nature, but he also had a divine nature, as the second person of the Trinity. In this context, Christ is man, but not one man, a single individual; he is a divine person incarnated, a divine person in hypostatic union with human nature. The Logos is revealed in Christ, and through Christ man comes in contact with the Logos, but Christ’s presence for the believer hic et nunc, is the divine presence. We are confronted in the last analysis with the issue of uniqueness instead of with the problem of individuality. (Panikkar 1972, 205–6)

Identity is not established on the basis of individuality, but by personality, which infers relationship. The identity of Christ should not, therefore, be sought in a historical individual, but in an encounter with a person (Panikkar 1972, 208–9). What makes Jesus real, says Panikkar, is his personal identity, and this personal identity only has reality when we enter into a personal relationship with him (ibid. 212).

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But Jesus is not the ‘name above every name’. Rather, he reveals that name, the ‘supername’ as Panikkar describes it. The supername is Word, it is Logos (1972, 215–6). Jesus always points beyond himself to the Father. ‘Christ … is not the revelation, not the revealed name, but the revealer of the name. The name Christ reveals is a Supername … [and] that Name has splashed on the earth in innumerable tongues’ (ibid. 218; see Col. 2:9; Acts 2:3). It is important to understand Panikkar’s position regarding the relationship between the ‘universal Logos’ and intra-religious dialogue as he proposes it. In a manner consistent with his approach in relation to the ‘essence’ and ‘form’ of religion, he is not suggesting that the purpose of dialogue is for all religious believers everywhere to ultimately reach the conclusion that the ‘essence’ of all religions is to be located in the ‘universal Logos’ (or Christ). Christians may bring that conviction. Hindus, Moslems and Buddhists will bring their own convictions regarding what that essence is (Williams 1990, 10). The essence is known by many names and is identified differently in each religious tradition. It is not agreement about a specific essence, but agreement that there is an essence which is the beginning of dialogue. Panikkar writes: ‘It is not that this reality has many names as if it were a reality outside the name. This reality is many names and each name is a new aspect, a new manifestation and revelation of it. Yet each name teaches or expresses, as it were, the undivided Mystery’ (1981, 29). For this reason, I believe misplaced Coward’s assumption that Hindus would be offended by the Christian contention that this ‘essence’ for them is Jesus Christ (Coward 1979, 189). Panikkar’s point is that this is the only conviction that a committed Christian can bring to the dialogical process. Followers of other traditions will bring theirs. I repeat my earlier contention that, in fact, Panikkar’s approach does offer the possibility that authentic dialogue can occur. He proposes [an] attitude of not wanting to hold on to any position that cannot be submitted to the analysis and criticism of another. … This attitude constitutes the initial position for a Hindu–Christian theology. What we are looking for here is not a Christianisation of Hinduism or a Hinduisation of Christianity, but in-so-far as it is possible a genuinely valid theology for both Hindu and Christian. (1979c, 13)

No religion can enter the dialogue claiming to be normative in relation to the others. It took Panikkar some years of experience and reflection to move to this point from where he stood in 1964, but move he did. We see this illustrated much more recently in his conclusion that ‘Discourse about God should never be identified with one particular belief. … So it is necessary to take into account the fundamental inadequacy of every expression. In this light, for each religion to defend its formulations is not a scandal, on the condition that it respect the others’ (Panikkar 2006, 16). Thirdly, Panikkar concludes that pluralism represents the only appropriate and effective response in the world of religions. In 1977, the Institute of

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Religious Studies of the University of California organised a symposium in honour of Panikkar under the banner, ‘Cross-Cultural Religious Understanding’. Many of the papers delivered at the symposium are collected in the Summer 1979 issue of Cross Currents. Panikkar himself gave a significant paper entitled, ‘The Myth of Pluralism: The Tower of Babel – A Meditation on Non-Violence’. It reveals the development in his thinking of a thorough-going pluralism. Once again he acknowledges the changes occurring in his thinking. ‘Perhaps then I shall begin … not just by repeating things from the past, topics about which I feel somewhat safe and sure, but rather by venturing into realms where I am insecure and run the risk of capsizing’ (1979b, 197). Reflecting on the story of the Tower of Babel, he writes: We go on dreaming the same dream of a big city enclosing everything. Perhaps after all, the Lord God knew better. … God as the symbol for the infinite, seems to be in his proper role when he is destroying all human endeavours towards comfortable finitudes . What would happen if we simply gave up wanting to build this tremendous unitarian tower? What if instead we were to remain in our small beautiful huts and houses and homes and domes and start building roads of communication … which could be converted into ways of communion between and among all the different tribes, life-styles, religions, philosophies, colours, races, and all the rest? (Panikkar 1979b, 199)

This area of Panikkar’s thought is typically encapsulated in a number of metaphors. He calls them ‘root-metaphors’ (or models). In his Intrareligious Dialogue, he identifies three. Firstly, there is the physical model: the rainbow. The white light which contains all the colours of the rainbow represents the divine light of reality. Once this passes through the prism of human experience the various colours are revealed. One colour is not the same as another, though in the rainbow the colours diffuse into one another at the edges, and colours can mix to produce various shades or a different colour altogether. Yet, each colour can also be traced back to the same original source. ‘It is only the entire rainbow that provides a complete picture of the true religious dimension of Man’ (Panikkar 1978, xix– xxi; see also 1981, 29–30). Secondly, Panikkar identifies a geometrical model: the topological invariant. Here, Panikkar mixes his metaphors somewhat, using phenomena from both chemistry and mathematics. He refers to that close similarity in the crystalline forms of otherwise unlike chemical compounds (homeomorphism) and the branch of geometry which studies those properties of figures or solid bodies which remain invariant under all continuous deformation (topology). In and through space and also due to the influence of time, a primordial and original form takes on an almost indefinite number of possible transformations through the twisting of Men, the stretching by history, the bending by natural

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Thirdly, Panikkar speaks of an anthropological model: language. This model sees each religion as a language. Religions express what a particular group of people want to believe and say and, in that sense, can evolve in the same way as language does. We cannot say that any language (or religion) is better or more perfect than another. ‘The great problem appears when we come to the encounter of language – and religions. The question here is translation. Religions are equivalent to the same extent that languages are translatable, and they are unique as much as languages are untranslatable’ (1978, xxiii–xxv). In The Unknown Christ of Hinduism, Panikkar offers a fourth metaphor. The ‘Way’, he says, cannot be separated from the ‘Goal’. If all the paths leading to a certain peak were to disappear, so would the peak itself, because the peak is the result of all the slopes leading to it. At the same time, the peak is much more than any one of the ways that lead to it. Climbers may reach the summit by different paths, but it is the same goal they all ultimately achieve. ‘For the actual wayfarer, there is only one way. Not only is it unique, it is only a “way” if it gives access to the summit’ (Panikkar 1981, 24–5). In ‘The Jordan, the Tiber and the Ganges’, we are given a fifth. The rivers of the earth, Panikkar says, do not need to meet each other, not even in the oceans, in order to be truly rivers. They can exist quite independently of each other. However, they do meet at their point of origin in the heavens, as the vapour that forms the clouds from which the rain falls that gives life to all the rivers of the earth (1988, 92). It will be apparent from all of the metaphors Panikkar proposes, that he strongly affirms the essential nature of religious diversity. Knitter says of Panikkar: ‘Differences, for him, make a vital difference’ (1985, 153) and ‘For Panikkar, when it comes to God as to religion, the free-wheeling, unpredictable Spirit will always be one step ahead of Reason or Logos. We’re never going to be able to wrap our mind around what the Spirit is up to’ (2002, 129). This insight is another of Panikkar’s most important contributions to the encounter of world religions. Pluralism, says Panikkar, is an acute existential problem because of the particular circumstances in which we live today. There are so many options, and the temptation is to want a ‘Tower of Babel’, to create some kind of religious ‘super-system’. However, that is not the attitude that pluralism adopts. Pluralism begins when the praxis compels us to take a stance in the effective presence of the other, when the praxis makes it impossible to avoid mutual interference, and the conflict cannot be solved by the victory of one part or party. Pluralism emerges when the conflict looms unavoidable. (Panikkar 1979b, 201)

Genuine pluralism, says Panikkar, emerges from an awareness that some things at least are non-negotiable and cannot be subsumed by compromise.

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‘The problem of pluralism arises when we face an insoluble conflict of ultimate values: on the one hand we cannot renounce the claims of our personal conscience, and on the other we cannot renounce the claim of our personal consciousness’ (1979b, 208). This is another vital dimension of Panikkar’s argument. It is interesting, for example, to compare this creative tension within pluralism with the ways in which exclusivists and inclusivists deal with the matter. Exclusivists, with greater or fewer degrees of struggle, opt for the claims of conscience. In the final analysis, they are unable to move beyond the parameters of their particular theology. Inclusivists resolve the tension by identifying a way in which consciousness can be acknowledged, in attaching value and richness to other religions, for example, yet remain subordinate to conscience. Both offer security to the Christian and predetermine the basis on which dialogue can occur. Panikkar, with his emphasis on authentic diversity, allows for the painful and risky interplay of both conscience and consciousness in the process of dialogue. It is, perhaps, his most significant contribution. He imparts to the notion of difference a positive dynamic quite at odds with the negative interpretation offered by the exclusivists and the tentative recognition adopted by the inclusivists. Rowan Williams comments: To affirm the plurality of religions in the way Panikkar does is actually the opposite of being a relativist and holding that all religious positions are so conditioned by their context that they are equally valid and equally invalid. … He is himself entirely committed to believing certain things about the way reality is – that is, he is committed to an ontology. And the heart of this ontology could be summarised by saying that differences matter. (1990, 4)

The adoption of a pluralist approach, Panikkar argues, is not about pragmatism, common sense or even tolerance. It lies at the heart of our human situation. Pluralism emerges from an initial awareness of the multiplicity of forms and expressions of religion that exist in our world. This develops into a sensitivity to the reality that, though one’s own interpretation and vision may be best for oneself, it is not the only possibility. Then follows the realisation that harmony is unattainable and that we have to live with diversity. Man becomes aware of both the need for diversity and the need for unity. … The problem appears when interaction becomes inevitable and we discover we have only one world for both. … At this moment, the alternatives seem to be either despair with all that it entails or hope with all that it demands. (Panikkar 1979b, 204–5)

The encounter of religions, Panikkar argues, calls for ‘interpenetration, mutual fecundation – and a mutation in the self-interpretation of these selfsame religious traditions’ (1981, 35). Such a response calls for three indispensable prerequisites, he says. These are honesty, intellectual openness and a strong loyalty to one’s own

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religious tradition. The encounter is not for the purpose of comparing doctrines that seem to be similar, nor for some kind of cultural exchange. Rather, the true meeting of religions belongs primarily not to the essential but to the existential sphere. Religions meet in the heart rather than in the mind. … In actuality, religions cannot sincerely coexist or even continue as living religions if they do not ‘co-insist’, i.e.: penetrate into the heart of each other. (Panikkar 1981, 43)

It is clear that Panikkar identifies two indispensable characteristics of the encounter of religions. Firstly, participants affirm a deep commitment to their own faith and tradition. Panikkar strongly rejects the idea that participants in dialogue must temporarily set aside their own experience, tradition and conviction, somehow suspending judgement on the validity of their own beliefs. This approach, he says, is psychologically impractical, phenomenologically inappropriate, philosophically defective, theologically weak and religiously barren. What I should not and cannot put into brackets are my religious convictions, my ultimate religious evaluations, for I must approach religious dialogue without putting my most intimate self on some safe ground outside the confrontation and challenge of the dialogue. … Interreligious dialogue demands a mutual confrontation of everything we are, believe and believe we are, in order to establish that deeper human fellowship without prejudicing the results, without precluding any possible transformation of our personal religiousness. (Panikkar 1978, 44)

Secondly, participants in the dialogue accept the possibility that the process will result in a personal conversion. Panikkar writes: To enter the new field of the religious encounter is a challenge and a risk. The religious person enters this arena without prejudice and preconceived solutions, knowing full well he may in fact have to lose a particular belief or particular religion altogether. He trusts in truth. He enters unarmed and ready to be converted himself. He may lose his life – he may also be born again. (1978, 27; see also 1973a)

Panikkar dubs this approach ‘ecumenical ecumenism’. He uses the term in the first edition of The Unknown Christ of Hinduism (1964, 31), and it recurs regularly in his writings. It is intended to express a reality in interfaith relationships which goes far beyond the outward show of tolerance and cooperation usually apparent in ecumenical movements. Ecumenical ecumenism does not mean cloudy universalism, or indiscriminative syncretism, nor yet narrow, crude particularism or barren, fanatical individualism.

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Instead, it attempts a happy interblending – which I would make bold to call androgynous before calling it theandric – of those two poles, the universal and the particular, which set up the tension in every creature. (Panikkar 1971, 221)

Panikkar’s intention is the achieving of unity without detriment to diversity. It is about mutual enrichment and criticism, without any attempt to diminish the unique contribution that each religion has to make to the others. When you enter into an intrareligious dialogue, do not think beforehand what you have to believe. When you witness to your faith, do not defend yourself or your vested interests, sacred as they may appear to you. Do like the birds in the skies: they sing and fly and do not defend their music or their beauty. When you dialogue with somebody, look at your partner as a revelatory experience as you would – and should – look at the lilies in the fields. When you engage in intrareligious dialogue, try first to remove the beam in your own eye before removing the speck in the eye of your neighbour. Blessed are you when you do not feel self-sufficient while being in dialogue. Blessed are you when you trust the other because you trust in Me. Blessed are you when you face misunderstandings from your own community or others for the sake of your fidelity to Truth. Blessed are you when you do not give up your convictions, and yet you do not set them up as absolute norms. Woe unto you, theologians and academicians, when you dismiss what others say because you find it embarrassing or not sufficiently learned. Woe unto you, you practitioners of religions, when you do not listen to the cries of the little ones. Woe unto you, you religious authorities, because you prevent change and (re)conversion. Woe unto you, religious people, because you monopolise religion and stifle the Spirit which blows where and how she wills. (1985, 773)

Conclusion Of all the theologians we have studied so far, Panikkar, along with Küng, has most to offer for a contemporary and creative encounter of world religions, not least because of his own personal journey. It is significant that, as his thought has developed, the earlier convoluted and more philosophical style has given way to one much more focused and direct. There is no doubt that Panikkar remains deeply committed to his own Christian faith, his own ‘Christianness’. This experience allows him to move beyond the parameters of traditional Christianity, both to postulate the idea of the essential ‘religious fact’ that lies at the heart of all religions and to affirm the authenticity of the particular, though different, experiences of others which derive from it. Knitter says: If as a mystic he delights in the diversity of the Divine shining through the different religions, his mystical awareness also tells him that the Divine Spirit

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism will not allow the religions, in their splendid diversity, to exist in splendid isolation and ignorance of each other. For the Sprit, though living in diversity, is also one. (2002, 130)

Panikkar has moved into that perilous area for theologians, where he seeks to hold in tension a clearly identifiable Christian faith of his own with a thoroughly pluralistic approach to the relationship of world religions overall. He has broken the ground for a new understanding of ecumenism that embraces all living religious traditions. It is an ecumenism that affirms and celebrates diversity and difference and recognises that it is only in the genuine meeting of difference that a healthy pluralism can prosper. At the same time he calls for an openness that creates vulnerability to the possibilities for conversion that such encounters may bring. Panikkar understands how impossible it is for the exclusivists and inclusivists to enter into any genuine dialogue with other religions. In his developed thought, he is neither patronising nor triumphalistic. Ewert Cousins says: He attempts to retain his Christian integrity, while plunging into the experience of other religions and affirming their authenticity and autonomy. How to accomplish this in practice and at the same time to justify its theology is a demanding challenge. Panikkar himself has provided an admirable example in practice; and he has elaborated a complex hermeneutics of world religions which would allow one to maintain simultaneously the absolute claims of Christianity while respecting and affirming the absolute claims of other traditions. (1979, 150–51)

On our spectrum of responses, Panikkar fits most obviously into the classical section of the pluralists. Panikkar expresses his central concepts in metaphors, as we have seen, and we conclude with one not yet mentioned: ‘Unfortunately, it seems that the musical score was lost in Paradise, and at present we can but stumble through our separate melodies in the hope that one day we may hear the full symphony’ (1981, 96).

Chapter 12

Theocentric Pluralism: John Hick (1922–2012) There are differences between the world religions, but we must seek ways to overcome them. One solution for Christians is to move from a Christ-centred to a God-centred approach in our theology of religion.

In God Has Many Names, John Hick describes how, as a law student, he ‘underwent a spiritual conversion in which the whole world of Christian belief and experience came vividly to life, and I became a Christian of a strongly evangelical and indeed fundamentalist kind’ (1980a, 14) He tells how one of the first articles he ever published (in the Scottish Journal of Theology in 1958) was a criticism of D.M. Baillie for failing to express the full orthodox faith (ibid. 15). In God And The Universe of Faiths, he refers to his own original conviction that there was salvation only through Christ and his tendency to ignore the implications of what that meant for the millions outside the Christian faith (1973, 117). Hick testifies to a spiritual–intellectual pilgrimage extending over a period of 15 years. He taught for some years in the United States, before returning to England to teach philosophy of religion, firstly at Cambridge and then at the University of Birmingham. His experience in the multi-cultural environment of that city and time spent studying in India and Sri Lanka became major influences in his life. He writes: I was quickly drawn into various activities in response to the practical problems of Birmingham’s pluralism, and thus into contact with the black community and with the various non-Christian religious groups. Occasionally attending worship in mosque and synagogue, temple and gurdwara, I came to see as evident that essentially the same activity takes place in them as in a Christian church: human beings meet, within the framework of a particular religious culture, to open their spirits to a higher reality which is regarded both as being the source of all their good and as making a total claim upon the living of their lives. (Hick 1981, 61)

Hick went to Birmingham in 1967 and by 1973 had written God and the Universe of Faiths, the first major exposition of the way in which his thinking had changed. He writes in the introduction: From my own point of view these chapters represent a fairly considerable process of rethinking in response to new experiences. The whole subject of the relation between Christianity and other religions is one which I had, in effect,

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism largely ignored. … I now no longer find it possible to proceed as a Christian theologian as though Christianity were the only religion in the world. Surely our thinking must be undertaken … on a more open and global basis. (Hick 1973, 9)

Christian theology, he says, is crying out for critical reflection and further development. Hick offers his own response from two major and closely interrelated perspectives. His proposal for a ‘Copernican revolution’ in the theology of religion and his radical re-interpretation of the Christian doctrine of the incarnation. These ideas represented a truly significant development of his thought when first outlined in detail in God and the Universe of Faiths, and they continued to be the major focus of his work until the end of his life. Even his later concentration on ‘Ultimate Reality’ as the key point of connection between the religions, really follows inevitably from his earlier conclusions in regard to those two key areas of theology. A very good example of this can be observed in the preface to The Metaphor of God Incarnate where the summary he provides of the contents reiterates the basic issues he had been addressing over the previous two decades. He writes: In this book … I argue (1) that Jesus himself did not teach what was to become the orthodox Christian understanding of him; (2) that the dogma of Jesus’ two natures, one human and the other divine, has proved to be incapable of being explicated in any satisfactory way; (3) that historically the traditional dogma has been used to justify great human evils; (4) that the idea of divine incarnation is better understood as metaphorical than as literal – Jesus embodied, or incarnated, the ideal of human life lived in faithful response to God, so that God was able to act through him, and he accordingly embodied a love which is a human reflection of the divine love; (5) that we can rightly take Jesus, so understood, as our Lord, the one who has made God real to us and whose life and teachings challenge us to live in God’s presence; and (6) that a non-traditional Christianity based upon this understanding of Jesus can see itself as one among a number of different human responses to the ultimate transcendent Reality that we call God. (Hick 1993, ix)

Some commentary on Hick is critical of what was deemed to be a lack of development in his thought. John Apczynski in a reflection on Hick’s An Interpretation Of Religion, comments that it ‘incorporates and integrates most of his earlier efforts on this topic’ (1992, 50). Gerard Loughlin offers a similar criticism when he writes: ‘After fifteen years [Hick] is still standing in the same space if not at the same place in that space’ (1990, 31). Hick, naturally enough, was very sensitive about such judgements. In an article for Modern Theology, he complains that criticisms of his work are often invalid because they have failed to recognise that in over 30 years of writing his thinking embodies ‘considerable developments, and even reversals of viewpoint; and this has made it possible sometimes to treat an earlier position and a later one that contradicts it as though

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they had both been presented at the same time and thus jointly constitute an incoherent position’ (Hick 1990b, 187–8). Notwithstanding the negative appraisals of some critics, it is fair to say that Hick does offer a distinctive and cogently argued case for radically re-thinking the nature of the relationship between Christianity and the other world religions. Wesley Ariarajah believes that ‘Hick’s fundamental thesis that all religious traditions must be treated seriously as responses to the “Real” (in whatever way humans have conceived it) should be the bedrock of a theology of religions’ (2005, 192). In his own mind Hick does that from a pluralist perspective. As we shall see, he is a pluralist, though he evidences a specific focus and emphasis in his response to the world religions. A ‘Copernican Revolution’ in the Theology of Religion: A Theocentric Approach In Birmingham, Hick recognised the vital significance of the culture into which one is born as the major factor determining religious orientation (1980a, 61). At the same time he was confronted by the fact that all religions claimed to be vehicles of the truth. In dealing with this apparent impasse, he says, we cannot adopt the position that Christianity is the one true faith, for that would deny God’s love for all humanity and God’s provision for the salvation of all. He writes: [Another] possibility must seem the most probable, namely, that there is but one God, who is maker and lord of all; that in his infinite fullness and richness of being he exceeds all our human attempts to grasp him in thought; and that the devout in the various great world religions are in fact worshipping that one God, but through different, overlapping concepts or mental icons of him. (Hick 1980a, 66–7; see also 1973, 100–101; 1980b, 177–8)

The religious impulse, Hick says, has always been a constant in human experience, out of which the variety of traditions has evolved from time to time due to particular influences and circumstances. These are the great creative religious moments in human history from which the distinguishable religious traditions have stemmed. Theologically, such moments are intersections of divine grace, divine initiative, divine truth, with human faith, human response, human enlightenment. They have made their impact on human life so as to affect the development of cultures. (1973, 102)

Therefore, Hick concludes, it is not at all helpful to categorise religions as true or false, any more than cultures can be deemed true or false. It is far better, he says, to think of the various religious traditions as all in some way true, rather than all in some way false. This does not mean that the religions are pure and devoid of

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all human distortion, but that in and through them a genuine interaction with the transcendent divine reality has taken place (Hick 1984a, 229–30) Differences are not because of error, but reflect the variety of cultures, languages and contexts represented around the world. Confrontation and conflict have characterised relationships between the various religious traditions, Hick says, not because of the religions themselves but because the religions are institutionalised and the institutions become intolerant and defensive, suspicious and aggressive (1973, 103). However, Hick does not advocate, or anticipate, the emergence of a single world religion. The various religions have developed in particular contexts to meet particular needs, he says, and the resultant variety in religious traditions will always remain. He writes: The concrete particularities forming a spiritual home in which people can live – the revered Scriptures, the familiar liturgical words and actions, the stirring music, the framework of credal belief, the much-loved stories of founder, saints, and heroes – must continue in their separate streams of living tradition: for in losing their particularity they would lose their life and their power to nourish. (Hick 1980a, 77–8)

We should also note, in this overview of the development of Hick’s thought, that he was well aware of how the best and the worst are manifested in each of the religious traditions. It has become abundantly clear to me that, at its best, each of the great world faiths constitutes a perception of and a response to the ultimate divine reality which they all in their different ways affirm; and also that within each there are to be found true saints through whom the Transcendent shines within the fabric of our human life. It is also clear that at its worst each religion sanctifies the cruelty, ignorance, sloth, selfishness and violent propensities of our human species. … But considering them as totalities we can only acknowledge that within each the process of salvation/liberation/human-perfecting can and does take place. (1981, 61)

A close scrutiny of Christianity as a religion, Hick quite properly contends, uncovers no specific moral or historical evidence to support any absolute claim. A study of the ‘saints’ in the various religions does not lead to any such conclusion nor does an examination of social action or concern for justice. Nor is there any convincing argument to link the development of science and the rise of industrialisation with the influence of Christianity. The truth is that in many instances forces within Christendom resisted these movements. Nor is there any evidence that Christianity is better equipped to respond to the secularisation and materialism of modern society. Nor does Christianity emerge with particular distinction in regard to its record in relation to the ideals of human equality, freedom and justice, or concern for the environment. (Hick 1988).

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Nearly 20 years later, Hick was still reiterating this theme. Each of the religious traditions, he says, identifies ‘something that is deeply and tragically defective in our ordinary human situation’ and each ‘proclaims the possibility, which can even begin to be realized here and now, of a limitlessly better state’, what Christians call ‘salvation’ (2005, 3–4). In this response, Hick is not suggesting that other religions have a better record overall, simply that Christianity can make no claim to distinction in regard to any of these issues. A theological truth-claim to absoluteness is not supported by an equivalent quality of life and action. When we try, then, to look at the religious traditions as long-lived historical entities we find in each case a complex mix of valuable and harmful elements. Each has provided an effective framework of meaning for millions of adherents … but each has at the same time sanctified vicious human evils. … To our partial and fallible human view they constitute different ways of being human in relation to the Eternal, each with both its cultural glories and its episodes of violent destructiveness. … None can be singled out as manifestly superior. (Hick 1988, 30–31)

All religions have their institutional form, and they also have their expression in the lives of countless individuals who respond on a personal level to their sense of something much greater than themselves, an ultimate reality that Christians call ‘God’ but which in other traditions is referred to in different ways. Therefore, Hick concludes, we have to take into account the religious experience of all peoples, and this will lead to the development of theologies which are not sectarian but global in their scope. The traditional idea of theology as a constant of divinely revealed truths is now obsolete, he says. Theology can no longer be confined within a particular culture, but must take account of religious experience in the widest possible human spectrum (1973, 104). On the basis of these fundamental principles, Hick proposes a ‘Copernican revolution’ in the theology of religion. He compares the exclusivist and inclusivist responses to the world religions which place Christianity at the centre, with the Ptolemaic understanding of astronomy which put the earth at the centre of the universe. Just as the Copernican solution to the structure of the universe revolutionised astronomy, he says, so a Copernican revolution in theology is needed to deal adequately with the issues of religious pluralism in general and the relationship of Christianity to the other world religions in particular. Now the Copernican revolution in astronomy consisted in a transformation in the way in which men understood the universe and their own location within it. It involved a shift from the dogma that the earth is the centre of the revolving universe to the realisation that it is the sun that is at the centre, with all the planets, including our earth, moving around it. And the needed Copernican revolution in theology involves an equally radical transformation in our conception of the

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universe of faiths and the place of our own religion within it. It involves a shift from the dogma that Christianity is at the centre to the realisation that it is God who is at the centre, and that all the religions of mankind, including our own, serve and revolve around him. (Hick 1973, 130–31)

In support of this fundamental shift from a Christocentric to a theocentric theology of religion, Hick suggests that in the historical period when the great religious traditions were developing (from 800bce onwards), it was quite impossible for God to be manifested through any one human agent to all of humanity. The vast distances and consequent slowness of travel and communication, meant that the various religions developed essentially within their own geographical and cultural contexts. Consequently, ‘if there was to be a revelation of the divine reality to mankind it had to be a pluriform revelation, a series of revealing experiences occurring independently within the different streams of human history’ (Hick 1973, 137). Historically speaking, Hick concludes, the various religious movements were not rivals. Each developed within its own area of influence and the ‘boundaries’ have hardly changed over the centuries. Missionary endeavours across the boundaries have met with minimal success (1973, 138). The only reasonable conclusion to be drawn from all this, Hick says, is that the historical evidence points to a movement of divine self-revelation around the world. It is always the same divine reality that is revealed, and the variations in human response reflect the particular circumstances of that group of people. While there cannot be one world religion, Hick says, there is the possibility of a world theology which recognises that the idea of a transcendent reality is not confined to Christianity. A world theology could interpret the religious experience of all the religions. Such a theology is developed on the basis of the authenticity of the religious experience identified in all the traditions. It also allows for ‘a distinction between, on the one hand, the Eternal One in itself, as the infinite Reality which exceeds the scope of human thought, language, and experience, and, on the other hand, the Eternal One as experienced, thought, and expressed by finite human creatures’ (1980a, 24, see also 52, 59, 67, 79–115).1 What then, Hick asks, are we to make of the conflicting truth-claims emanating from this diverse group of religious traditions? He suggests that we start with the understanding, common to all religious traditions, that God is infinite and therefore incapable of being limited to, or encompassed by, any one of them. It follows from this that the different traditions can all reflect encounters with the same divine reality, such that ‘all are images of the divine, each expressing some aspect or range of aspects and yet none by itself fully and exhaustively corresponding to the infinite nature of the ultimate reality’ (Hick 1973, 140). 1

  Hick frequently reiterates his argument regarding the distinction to be made between the Eternal One in itself, in its eternal self-existent being, and the Eternal One in relation to humanity as experienced within that variety of different cultural contexts which exist in our world (e.g. 1984a).

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Re-Interpreting the Incarnation Having advocated the principle of a global and theocentric approach to any theology of religion, Hick goes on to consider the question of where and how Christianity fits into the overall scheme. To that end he addresses the issue of what constitutes the essence of Christianity. He identifies this essence as ‘a way of life which is also a way to salvation, to man’s wholeness and his eternal life’ (1973, 109). The permanent, unchanging foundation of Christianity as a way of life has its origin in the ‘Christ-event’ (ibid. 111). Hick adopts the position that, although Jesus was a real person, there is a great deal we cannot say about him with any certainty, both as regards actual historical detail and as regards the precise words he spoke. What we have is the interpreted memories of a community who came to believe that he was the promised Messiah and who did encounter God through him in a way that changed their lives (ibid. 112–13). This specific aspect of Hick’s Christology is the key to understanding most of what he wants to say about the nature and significance of the life of Jesus. In essence, he challenges virtually every fundamental tenet of orthodox Christian doctrine.2 We need to consider a number of these issues because they are central to Hick’s argument. Firstly, there is the matter of Jesus’ own self-awareness. Hick seriously doubts that Jesus thought of himself as God incarnate. It makes an enormous difference whether we are talking about a divine incarnation which was conscious and self-proclaimed, and which is accordingly taught on the authority of the incarnate one himself … or whether, as now seems much more likely, the incarnational motif is an idea seized upon by his followers and projected back upon the historical Jesus. (1979, 48)

Certainly, Hick argues, Jesus thought of himself as genuinely human, yet intensely aware of and responsive to the God he knew as ‘Father’, who had called him to a special ministry. This relationship was powerfully expressed in both his teaching and actions. The idea that Jesus proclaimed himself as God incarnate, and as the sole point of saving contact between God and man, is without adequate historical foundation and represents a doctrine developed by the church. We should therefore not infer, from the Christian experience of redemption through Christ, that salvation cannot be experienced in any other way. (Hick 1973, 145)

  See Hick 1979. In this essay, Hick questions the need for Jesus to die to atone for the sins of humanity, suggests that there is a real problem with the idea of God dying on the cross and contends that it is meaningless anyway, rejects the idea of the particularity of the incarnation of Christ and rejects the fully human, fully divine idea in relation to Jesus. 2

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The difficulty we face, Hick says, is that each religious tradition has its own special person or scripture through which it believes the divine reality has been made known. The absolute nature of the claims made in regard to each of these revelations seems to make them all mutually exclusive. This is certainly true of Christian claims regarding the divinity and uniqueness of the incarnate Jesus. However, Hick contends, the way in which these basic details were taken up in the context of faith and developed by the early church, reflected the GraecoRoman culture, language and thought-forms which provided the vehicle for the development of Christian theology in those first centuries. Had Christianity expanded eastwards instead of westwards, Hick says, Christian theology would have been expressed quite differently: It is likely that instead of Jesus being identified as the divine Logos or the divine Son he would have been identified as a Bodhisattva who, like Gotama some four centuries earlier, had attained to Buddahood or perfect relationship to reality, but had in compassion for suffering mankind voluntarily lived out his human life in order to show others the way to salvation. (1973, 117)

Had this happened, Hick continues, it would not have been a wrong development, simply a different one. Secondly, Hick rejects the traditional Christian doctrine of the Trinity and proposes a radical reinterpretation. The basis of his ideas can be found in Christianity At The Centre, where he discusses the meaning of the incarnation at some length. He consigns to history the credal formula that Christ is of ‘one substance with the Father’. It belongs to a different thought-world, he says, and is no longer helpful (Hick 1968, 32–3). Adams concludes: So, for [Hick], the mythological understanding of the incarnation of God in Jesus makes more sense of Christian experience, since it explains the way in which a certain attitude of faithfulness, a desire to follow and imitate Jesus as our ‘saviour’, is evoked in us, without requiring us to believe the ontological peculiarity of God and Jesus sharing ‘substance’. (2010, 35)

It is far better, Hick argues, to focus on the idea of divine activity, so that ‘one envisages the human actions and attitudes of Jesus as being at the same time God’s actions and attitudes – an expression of God’s love for his creatures’ (1968, 34). This is not a matter of ‘one substance’, but of a qualitative identity between the attitudes and actions of God and the attitudes and actions of Jesus. The human Jesus was not infinite. His attitudes and actions, expressed in love, were subject to his finite human nature. However, it was still an authentic expression of the infinite divine love of the Father. The same divine love is at its source the love of God the Father for his creation and at its entry into human history the love of the man Jesus of Nazareth for the

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men and women with whom he had to do. . …He was God’s attitude to mankind made flesh. And since this living revelation was in a finite human life, it did not consist in the embodiment of the divine grace towards man in its totality and without remainder, but in a series of living samples of that grace at work in a variety of human situations. (Hick 1968, 37–8)

It is Hick’s contention that we should understand the concept of Trinity as a way of knowing God through three different roles: Creator (God the Father), Redeemer (God the Son) and Sanctifier (God the Spirit). Father, Son and Spirit are thus not three distinct but interrelated individuals who could be said to love and communicate with one another, but symbolise three aspects of the divine nature. … God is one and undivided in the eternal divine nature, but is humanly experienced, and therefore humanly thought, in these three ways. (1989b, 201)

Hick argues further that the concept of the Trinity was not part of Jesus’ own teaching and only emerged as a doctrine in the controversies and debates of the fourth century, where its primary purpose was to undergird the doctrine of the Incarnation (1989b, 202; 1990a, 96–8). Thirdly, Hick therefore proposes a new Christology which takes its shape out of his critique of the traditional notion of ‘substance’ and in response to some emphases in biblical scholarship. To that end, he uses the work of Donald Baillie and Geoffrey Lampe as indicators of a new direction in Christological thought that lead naturally to the conclusion he himself wishes to reach (1989b, 205). In relation to Baillie, he identifies particularly that writer’s emphasis on a ‘paradox of grace’, by which he means that when we do God’s will we are acting independently and responsibly, yet God’s grace is working through us at the same time. In the same way, the life of Jesus was authentically human and, at the same time, a life through which God was at work (ibid. 205–6). In making the incarnation intelligible in this way, Hick continues, Baillie discarded the traditional language of ‘natures’ and ‘substance’ and connected the idea of incarnation with our own experience of the divine grace at work through human life. Hick concludes: ‘The union of divine and human action which occurs whenever God’s grace works effectively in a man’s or a woman’s life was operating to a total extent in the life of Jesus’ (ibid. 206; see Baillie 1961, 114, 117–18). In reference to Lampe, Hick points particularly to his notion of the Spirit of God, not as a divine hypostasis distinct from God the Father and God the Son, but as God himself being active in relation to humanity. The principal activity of the Spirit is ‘inspiration’, and hence Lampe speaks of a ‘Christology of inspiration’ (1977, 11–12, 23, 34, 96). Both Baillie and Lampe, Hick says, maintained a position regarding the uniqueness of Christ. However, this conclusion was not based on the traditional understanding of divine incarnation, but rather on the conviction that the grace

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of God was perfectly and fully manifested in and through the human Jesus. Hick himself wants to argue that the Christology of Baillie and Lampe does not logically have to lead to the conclusion that the Christian revelation is unique. For if Jesus was a human being in and through whom God’s grace was at work in a special way, then it follows that there may be other human beings in and through whom God also worked in this way. The primacy of the Christian revelation thus no longer follows as a logical corollary from either Baillie’s or Lampe’s Christology. To see Jesus as exemplifying in a special degree the paradox of grace, or the inspiration of God the Spirit, is thus far to leave open the further question as to how this particular exemplification stands in relation to other exemplifications, such as those that lie at the basis of some of the other great religious traditions. Baillie and Lampe both believed that the reality of grace/inspiration in the life of Jesus was unique because total and absolute. But the point I want to stress is that this belief is no longer, in the light of this type of Christology, a necessary inference from the concept of incarnation itself, but must be a judgement based upon historical evidence. (Hick 1989b, 208)

Hick argues that the language of incarnation is mythological. Myth, he says, has to be distinguished from theory, or hypothesis, because a theory has to be either true or false (or partly true and partly false). Myths, on the other hand, allow us to respond to a particular phenomenon without necessarily having to understand it or explain it. He defines myth as ‘a story which is told but which is not literally true, or an idea or image which is applied to something or someone but which does not literally apply, but which invites a particular attitude in its hearers’ (Hick 1973, 166–7). Adams suggests that ‘Hick’s demythologizing is about exposing as myth that which has been literalized; it is simply about rediscovering the presumed intentions behind our language, how they mean to evoke certain attitudes in us’ (2010, 34). The incarnation, Hick says, is a mystery that cannot be explained and which can only be accepted and believed on the basis of faith. The incarnation, therefore, is not theological theory but religious myth. Orthodox Christological statements, as in the creeds, reaffirm the mystery without any attempt to explain it. ‘Heretical’ Christological statements endeavour to explain the incarnation but always at the expense of either Christ’s humanity or deity. Both the humanity and the deity can only be taken seriously, Hick contends, in the context of mystery. The incarnation, he says, is not an hypothesis still waiting to be adequately defined; rather, it is not an hypothesis at all. It is a mythological idea. As such it cannot literally apply to Jesus. But as a poetic image – which is powerfully evocative even though it conveys no literal meaning – it expresses the religious significance of Jesus in a way that has proved effective for nearly two millennia. It thus fulfils its function, which is to evoke an appropriate response of faith in Jesus. (1973, 172)

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Furthermore, Hick argues, statements in the Gospel of John, such as ‘I and the Father are one’ and ‘No one comes to the Father but by me’, clearly reflect the theological development that had occurred in the church during the first century and are not to be understood as literal sayings of Jesus himself (1977, 171). I see the Nazarene, then, as intensely and overwhelmingly conscious of the reality of God. He was a man of God, living in the unseen presence of God, and addressing God as abba, father. His spirit was open to God and his life was a continuous response to the divine love as both utterly gracious and utterly demanding. He was so powerfully God-conscious that his life vibrated, as it were, to the divine life. (Hick 1977, 172)

Adams concludes that ‘Hick comes to see Jesus as the primary actor, rather than God acting in him. Jesus manifests vibrantly the human potential for reflecting God’s love’ (2010, 32). Given these realities, Hick argues, Jesus must have been aware that he was conscious of, and obedient to, God to a degree far beyond that of others, even to the point of accepting the title of Messiah. He obviously had great spiritual power, and increasing numbers of people made him the focus of their faith and devotion (Hick 1973, 173–4). It is not surprising, then, Hick suggests, that in time the church expressed its convictions regarding Jesus in the language of divinity, language already pre-existent in the Jewish scriptures (ibid. 174–5). Those who followed Jesus, Hick says, and made him the focus of their faith and devotion, felt themselves drawn into a new relationship of love and reconciliation with God, grounded in the concept of grace. This sense of relationship with God was the context in which they came to believe that the death of Jesus was an atoning sacrifice and from there to conclude that Jesus was divine (1973, 176). In this way the poetry of metaphorical son of God developed into the prose of metaphysical God the Son of the same substance as the Father. This conviction was then institutionalised, encapsulated in the creeds and has remained normative for Christians ever since. ‘It therefore seems reasonable to conclude that the real point and value of the incarnational doctrine is not indicative but expressive, not to assert a metaphysical fact but to express a valuation and evoke an attitude’ (Hick 1973, 178). This is not to deny, Hick says, the authenticity of the religious experience of those who make the Christian response of faith. But, on the other hand, neither does it exclude the possibility of encounters with God outside the Christian tradition. In each case the true believer experiences divine revelation, divine activity, divine claim, divine grace. In each case the human capacity for faith and worship is fully activated and a total response of devotion takes place. Why not, then, presume that the ultimate divine reality is in fact encountered and responded to in different ways in all these different streams of religious experience. (Hick 1973, 175)

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Every religious tradition has its myths, Hick argues, and these myths serve the same purpose in each case. In this context, it is impossible to argue that the salvation offered by Christ is unique or superior to that experienced in other religions. Any such absolute claim, from within any one of the religions, can only ever be a dogma beyond verification (Hick 1973, 177). Who or What is God? Up to this point, Hick has adopted a theocentric (or theistic) approach as the basis for his theology of world religions. However, in the early 1980s we can discern an identifiable shift in his thinking in regard to language about God. From this point on he wants to focus attention primarily on the ‘Ultimate Reality’ about which he has previously spoken and which he believes lies at the heart of every religious tradition. In Who or What is God? he gives us a summary of his thinking in this regard (Hick 2008, 1–13). It will be very apparent that this shift in Hick’s theology, though a logical extension and development of his ‘Copernican revolution’, involves much more than a change in terminology. Hick emphatically rejects the particular Christian notion of a personal God who is infinitely powerful and who intervenes in human affairs in an apparently arbitrary and unpredictable manner. He argues that to achieve a contemporary understanding of who or what God is, we must take into account not only Christianity but the teaching of all the world religions, which ‘involve forms of life and thought that claim to lead to a transforming relationship, of limitless value, with an eternal reality that both transcends, and in the case of the Eastern traditions, is also immanent within, us’ (Hick 2008, 4). Hick also suggests that, since Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism and some strands of Hinduism do not see that eternal reality as personal, Christians should now consciously choose to use the name ‘God’ as their Western term for ‘Ultimate Reality’ or the ‘Real’ and indicates that this is the usage he has himself adopted. Hick applauds the work of the Christian mystic ‘Dionysius’ (possibly, he says, a Syrian monk writing around 500ce) for his emphasis on the ‘ineffability’ of God, though Hick himself prefers the term ‘transcategorial’. Hick argues that we can no longer talk sensibly about the attributes of God, but rather have to take on board the much more radical idea of a reality which is what it is, but whose nature lies beyond the scope of our conceptual and linguistic systems. When we speak about such a reality we are not, then, speaking about it as it is in itself, totally beyond the range of our comprehension, but about its impact upon us, the difference it makes within the realm of human experience, to which our concepts and hence our languages do apply. (2008, 5)

Hick concludes that when we talk about attributes like goodness, wisdom and love, we are describing the experience we have as humans deriving from the

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influence of that Ultimate Reality on our lives, but we should never assume that we are identifying actual attributes of the Ultimate Reality itself. He says: ‘This distinction between the ultimate divine reality and its humanly thinkable and experienceable form (or forms) is … found within each of the … great traditions’ (2008, 9). Hick affirms the contention by Aquinas that ‘things known are in the knower according to the mode of the knower’, as a way of emphasising that the differences between the various religious traditions are primarily due to the particular historical–cultural contexts in which they first developed, and he uses an analogy to illustrate the point: ‘The sun’s light is refracted by the earth’s atmosphere into the spectrum of the different colours of the rainbow. Perhaps the ultimate light of the universal divine presence is refracted by our different human religious cultures into the spectrum of the different world faiths’ (2008, 12). Hick also believes that the so-called ‘Golden Rule’, evident in some form in every religious tradition, has its origin in a common human response to the impact of this same universal divine presence experienced in each of these different historical-cultural contexts, and so creates the potential for the kind of global ethic that Küng promoted so passionately (2008, 154–5). Adams says that ‘Hick sees in all ethical religious traditions a commitment to be transformed from “self-centredness” to “Real-centredness”’ (2010, 36). Hick argues that there are, in fact, values common to all the world religions, what the apostle Paul called the ‘fruit of the Spirit’ (Gal. 5:22–3), and the universal search for social and international justice and peace. He concludes: What has made me, personally, come to doubt the assumption of the unique superiority of my own Christian faith is that the observable fruits do not seem to be specially concentrated in the Christian church but, on the contrary, seem to be spread more or less evenly around the world, with its different cultures and religions. (Hick 2005, 8)

In order to address this reality from within his own Christian faith, Hick says that he has chosen to adopt the basic principle of ‘religious pluralism’ and his starting point is the affirmation in all religious traditions that the Ultimate Reality is ‘beyond the scope of human description and understanding’ (2005, 9). Furthermore, the way in which humans describe this Ultimate Reality is very much conditioned (and limited) by our human ways of thinking, knowing and responding in our particular and very different contexts. Hick concludes: ‘I suggest that the best religious account we can give of the global situation is that of a single ineffable Ultimate Reality whose universal presence is being differently conceived and experienced and responded to within the different human religious institutions’ (2005, 12).

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Interfaith Dialogue Hick’s approach to interfaith dialogue flows naturally from the theological basis of his work already outlined. He sees that the various truth-claims of the different religions can be the subject of a theological dialogue which takes place somewhere on or moving about within a spectrum which ranges between two opposite conceptions of its nature. At one extreme there is a purely confessional dialogue, in which each partner witnesses to his own faith, convinced that this has absolute truth while his partner’s has only relative truth. At the other extreme is truth-seeking dialogue, in which each is conscious that the transcendent Being is infinitely greater than his own limited vision of it, and in which the partners accordingly seek to share their visions in the hope that each may be helped toward a further awareness of the divine Reality before which they both stand. (1980a, 116–17)

The confessional attitude, says Hick, derives in recent theology from the work of Karl Barth and the application of this to the world religions by Hendrik Kraemer (Hick 1980a, 117). The confessional stance assumes the uniqueness of one’s own religion. Dialogue from this perspective has, as its primary purpose, the conversion of the other. Dialogue, therefore, consists of the sharing of mutually incompatible convictions and can lead only to conversion, on the one hand, or a hardening of differences, on the other. Mostly, Hick correctly observes, it is the latter (ibid. 121). Hick, as we would expect, opts for the truth-seeking option. It assumes both the commitment to their traditions of those involved, as well as an openness to, and respect for, each other. There is an expectation that conflicting truth-claims will be examined and critiqued and that mutual enrichment will occur. What can be said with assurance is that each of the great streams of faith within which human life is lived can learn from the others; and that any hope for the future lies largely in the world ecumenical dialogue which is taking place in so many ways and at so many levels. (Hick 1980a, 136)

There is no difficulty with the basic principles for dialogue that Hick enunciates. The problem lies in his radical theological re-interpretation of the incarnation, whereby he negates the single most important dimension of the Christian tradition and so diminishes the significance of difference as a fundamental principle of the pluralistic approach. More than that, it is not always easy to identify in Hick’s work a distinction between his proposal for a particular way of thinking about the incarnation and his strategy for facilitating inter-religious dialogue. There is a lingering unease about the degree to which the theology becomes a servant of the strategy. In the context of a reflection on inter-religious relationships in Sri Lanka, Lakshman Wickremesinghe (bishop of Kurunagala) offers a critique of Hick’s approach. It is yet another expression, he says, of that loss of confidence evident in some sections of post-imperial Western Christianity, along with their very limited

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experience of living in a multi-religious society (1979, 392–3). Wickremesinghe himself advocates an approach to dialogue which involves those, whatever tradition they may be from, who have a conviction ‘that their religious visions are uniquely central and normative for all, and who accept conflicting truth-claims as part of the genuine context of inter-religious dialogue’ (ibid. 391). Hick’s attempts to relativise, or ‘explain away’, these conflicting truth-claims is neither helpful or convincing. Wickremesinghe says: These fundamental religious visions focused in their respective symbolic images are indeed making conflicting truth-claims about things as they are. That is why the way in which Dr Hick seeks to explain away these claims does not, to my mind, correspond to the facts as they are. (1979, 392)

Another example of Hick’s problems in this area is reflected in his attempts to deal with the Christian doctrine of the Trinity as an issue creating difficulty for dialogue with Jews and Muslims. He tries to compare the Christian threefold naming of God with the 99 beautiful names for God in the tradition of Islam. He suggests that the 99 names can be divided into three groups that could be seen to correspond to the threefold roles of God. In this way he attempts to harmonise Christian and Muslim doctrine. In much the same manner he also endeavours to link names for God in the Jewish Scriptures with the idea of the Trinity (Hick 1989b, 199–201). This approach is criticised by the Islamic scholar, Muzzamil Siddiqui, who suggests that it is ‘confusing’ and yet another attempt to impose a Christian pattern on Islamic teaching: I am reminded of a story that I was told by a Christian evangelist. He said that a man was very doubtful of the Trinity and kept on arguing against it the whole day. At night while asleep he saw in his dream three strings over his head. As he looked upward he saw all of them connected to one rope hanging down from heaven. He woke up confessing the Trinity. I said to my evangelist friend, ‘suppose he had seen four or five strings over his head what would have been his belief?’ (1989, 212–13)

It appears, then, that although Hick has every good intention in the approach to religious dialogue he outlines, it is neither a workable basis nor one that will readily appeal to a majority of those committed to their own particular tradition. Conclusion Gavin D’Costa claims that Hick ‘is arguably the most thorough and far-reaching representative’ of the pluralist position (1986b, 22; see also Cracknell 1986, 105; Race 1983, 82). However, in identifying Hick as a pluralist, we recognise, at the same time, the distinctive emphasis which he brings to the theology of religion. It

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is of the essence of religious pluralism that the various traditions are understood, at one and the same time, as both unique and non-exclusive. Pluralism recognises and affirms the ways in which religions are different and declares that each is authentically salvific in its own right. Further, pluralism encourages dialogue as a means of both mutual criticism and enrichment but without diminishing or denigrating the fundamental doctrines that undergird each tradition. In summary, we can identify the pluralist position as follows: ‘There are significant differences and they really do matter!’ All dialogue begins with the recognition of just how different the religions are and just how much the distinctive nature of each is valued by its own adherents. Hick, while recognising that there are differences, seeks to down-play them in the interests of closer relationship. The primary quest is to find common ground. Hick’s strategy is to seek a common principle that transcends all of the religions, yet which each could accept as a primary source of identity and meaning. In the process, he restates central Christian doctrines in a new and different way in order to facilitate the achievement of the desired outcome. A significant instance of Hick’s overall approach is to be found in his lack of any clear notion of revelation. He adopts what is essentially a phenomenological approach. He begins with the evidence of religious belief and practice available on a world-wide scale and moves from there to the conclusion that the different religious traditions represent various responses to the same Ultimate Reality. His concept of religion is very human-centred. This brings him into immediate conflict with the great prophetic traditions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, each of which has a strong doctrine of revelation grounded in the initiative and action of God. The Islamic scholar, Muzzamil Siddiqui, while responsive to Hick’s Christology, is critical of his idea that the various religions are just different human responses to the same divine reality. Muslims, Siddiqui says, who have such a strong prophetic tradition grounded in the idea of God’s initiative in revelation, find this approach very unsatisfactory (1989, 211). Hick offers no clues as to how the connection between the Ultimate Reality and the religious faithful is effected, and yet, as we have seen, he makes much of the experiential dimension of religion. As John Apczynski comments, ‘the only thing believers may ever legitimately claim about the Real-in-itself is that it is the source of their phenomenal experiences. Nothing can be said about the noumenal source of these experiences’ (1992, 45). This means that there can be no substantial basis on which to compare and evaluate the truth-claims of the different religions. In fact, Hick seems intent in his Christology to eliminate anything at all that might cause offence. In the end, we cannot even trust in his conclusion that Jesus expressed the love of God in a uniquely human way, because, on the basis of his argument, we also have to accept that the witness to Jesus is itself a totally human construction emerging from the historical/cultural context of the first century. Adams concludes that Hick’s Christology ‘prevents him from affirming the otherness and particularity of the Christian tradition … not least because it denies the possibility of meaningful

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revelation’ (2010, 40). More than that, Adams says, Hick does not give due attention to the ‘otherness’ of the other religions either, and this diminishes rather than enhances the possibility of effective dialogue (ibid. 46). Since Hick uses the Christian tradition as his basic example and applies the principle to all the other religions as well, there can be no doubt that he diminishes in importance the truth-claims of them all. When his arguments are taken to their logical conclusion, the differences that exist do not matter. John Apczynski comments: The reason for Hick’s apparent willingness to accept the claims of all traditions can now be uncovered: his implicit commitment to the liberal intellectual tradition effectively detaches him from the substantive truth claims of every tradition so that in the final analysis the truth of none of them matters. (1992, 48)

A genuine pluralism accepts that as Ultimate Reality is identified and described from within each religious tradition, what is being shared is true for those sharing it, but the truth being shared is not absolute and so exclusive of the truth-claims of others. In the context of dialogue, all truth-claims can be explored and are open to challenge. Notwithstanding that possibility, the essential diversity and difference in the world religions cannot be overcome by dialogue, but understanding can be deepened, relationships strengthened, mutual respect enhanced and agreement reached about practical ways in which the religions can work together for the good of all. As Bernhardt says, ‘any religious community will come to deeper understanding of its own beliefs through interreligious dialogue and through wrestling with the issue of a theology of religions’ (2005, 199). As we have seen, Hick does properly fit into that group of theologians whom we have identified as pluralists. However, his distinctive theology means that we must see him as occupying a particular position on our spectrum of responses to religious pluralism, which we have described as ‘theocentric pluralism’. The decision to use the term ‘theocentric’ is based on Hick’s own decision to continue to use the word ‘God’ as the Christian way of referring to the Ultimate Reality that he identifies in each of the religious traditions.

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Chapter 13

Anthropocentric Pluralism: Wilfred Cantwell Smith (1916–2000) There are differences between the world religions, but we should ignore these in order to identify a common basis for a universal religious community to which all can belong. It is faith that is central to all religious response, and faith is a uniquely human quality.

An extensive reading of Wilfred Cantwell Smith induces a strong impression of masterly scholarship, conveyed in a somewhat complex and even old-fashioned style. However, both the focus and direction of his work are clear. It is fair to say that Smith had identified his ‘vision’ at a very early stage and that all his work from that time on was directed toward spelling out and substantiating that vision. Frank Whaling refers to an essay Smith wrote in 1959 as a pivotal work marking a discernible shift away from his concentration on Islamic studies to embrace a ‘global concern for the total religious situation of mankind’. Whaling continues: Already in 1959 the seed of his underlying approach was there. … We see hinted at already eight potentially important concepts: his stress upon persons, his concern to understand the world-view of others, his notion that religious truth must encompass the data of faith as well as the data of ongoing tradition, his global awareness of the total human community, his perception that Transcendent Reality (however defined) is part of the subject matter of the study of religion, his emphasis upon dialogue and more importantly colloquium as involving corporate critical self-consciousness, his conviction that the study of religion although crucial is part of the greater whole of human knowledge, and his insistence that the views of non-westerners and persons of other religious traditions must be given due seriousness within the greater whole. (1984, 6)

There is a strong impression, that derives from reading Smith’s subsequent works, of a well-defined strategy which aims at substantiating each of these key elements in his thought. We will see how systematically that strategy was developed over the ensuing years. Smith’s vision is encapsulated in the idea of a world community, in which people of diverse history and culture are united by a religious consciousness held in common in spite of the very different ways in which that consciousness is understood and expressed. The need for such a world community, Smith argues, must transcend all those things which presently divide us.

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At this early stage, Smith does not envisage that such a world community as he proposes would require that anyone should diminish or compromise their allegiance to a particular religious tradition. While there is never a point at which he overtly rejects this principle, we will see how the pursuit of his vision ultimately compels him into a major compromise in this regard, leaving him with a splendid ideal but minimal realistic hope of ever achieving his goal in the manner he espouses. However, in order to reach that point we need to trace the pattern of Smith’s thinking as it unfolds in a series of major publications, essays and articles. For this purpose we can identify a number of key issues that are central to his argument and which he reiterates on a regular basis. Firstly, his rejection of the term ‘religion’ as a helpful or valid way of understanding humanity’s relationship with the transcendent. Secondly, his criticism of belief as a basis for religious understanding and practice. Thirdly, his notion that faith as a fundamental quality of human existence constitutes the core of the religious life which is to be understood essentially as personal and relational. Fourthly, his vision for a world community and his commitment to the concept of ‘corporate critical self-consciousness’ as the guiding principle for dialogue and interaction between the various religious traditions. Each of these theses needs to be considered in turn, but through it all his personal vision is clear and sustained. A new day has dawned in the world’s religious history. It is a day in which it has become, for the first time ever, possible – and divinely imperative – for Christians to join Christianly, joyously, with delight, in endeavouring to build in collaboration with others a world of peace, mutual understanding, mutual respect, and love; of intelligent interpretations of our diverse spiritual involvements and commitments; and of collaborative exploration of our various visions of truth and good. (Smith 1988, 373)

The Idea of ‘Religion’ Smith’s initial thesis is that the use of the term ‘religion’ and the attendant question ‘What is the nature of religion?’ represent an approach that is not helpful and which should be abandoned. He writes: I suggest that an understanding of the variegated and evolving religious situation of mankind can proceed … only if that question in that form be set aside or

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dropped, as inapt. … Neither religion in general nor any one of the religions … is in itself an intelligible entity, a valid object of inquiry or of concern either for the scholar or for the man of faith. (1964, 16)

We should note that Smith does not suggest the disuse of the term ‘religious’, because, he says, living religiously is an attribute of persons and is not to be confused with the institutionalisation of religion (1964, 176). The term ‘religion’, Smith argues, is very difficult to define. In fact, we are confronted with a great diversity of definitions and no evidence of any general agreement. In any case, Smith says, the term is almost exclusively Western in origin and use. Other cultures have what we would call a ‘religious’ consciousness without an equivalent word to ‘religion’ (1964, 52–8) This much at least is clear and is crucial: that men throughout history and throughout the world have been able to be religious without the assistance of a special term, without the intellectual analysis that the term implies. In fact, I have come to feel that, in some ways, it is probably easier to be religious without the concept; that the notion of religion can become an enemy to piety. … It is not entirely foolish to suggest that the rise of the concept ‘religion’ is in some ways correlated with a decline in the practice of religion itself. (1964, 22)

Smith provides a historical overview describing the use of the term in the Western world from Roman times until the present (1964, 23–49). The scholarship involved in such a survey should not be underestimated. The 26 pages of text are accompanied by 53 pages of detailed notes. This research, he concludes, identifies four different usages of the term. Firstly, religion is understood as personal piety, the faith of an individual and how that faith is experienced and expressed. Secondly, religion is identified as a historical system of beliefs, rituals, morals and doctrines. Religion, in this sense, can be understood as studied objectively, and it is quite proper to use the term in the plural as well as its singular form. Thirdly, the term is used to describe a system in its ideal form rather than its actual historical reality. Fourthly, religion is used in a generic sense to include all the other three usages (ibid. 47–8) The result of all this, Smith concludes, is confusion and distortion. He writes: I have become strongly convinced that the vitality of personal faith, on the one hand, and, on the other hand (quite separately), progress in understanding – even at an academic level – of the traditions of other people throughout history and throughout the world, are both seriously blocked by our attempt to conceptualise what is involved in each case in terms of [a] religion. (1964, 48–9)

It is important for our understanding of Smith to realise what he is doing here in terms of his overall argument. He wants to establish the principle that people and not systems must be central to any consideration of the religious consciousness of

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humanity and how that is expressed. The problem with the concept of ‘religion’, as Smith sees it, is that the opposite is achieved, because ‘its evolution has included a long-range development that we may term a process of reification: mentally making religion into a thing, gradually coming to conceive it as an objective systematic reality’ (1964, 50). He outlines the process of reification as ‘the preaching of a vision, the emergence of followers, the organisation of a community, the posting of an intellectual ideal of that community, [and] the definition of the actual pattern of its institutions’ (ibid. 64). This concept of religion, Smith argues, is also reflected in the Western practice, which developed in the nineteenth century, of giving names to the major religions (1964, 58–61,119–121; 1979, 136–8). This practice, Smith declares, was very inappropriate, for the names are meaningless and misleading. For example, in reference to Hinduism, he writes: My objection to the term ‘Hinduism’, of course, is not on the grounds that nothing exists. Obviously an enormous quantity of phenomena is to be found that this term covers. My point, and I think that this is the first step that one must take towards understanding something of the vision of Hindus, is that the mass of religious phenomena that we shelter under the umbrella of that term, is not a unity and does not aspire to be. (1964, 63)

Further, Smith points out, there are no words for Confucianist, Buddhist or Taoist in the Chinese language. While the three schools of thought to which these terms have been applied do exist in China and have done for centuries, they are not clearly definable communities with official doctrines, membership rituals or organisational structures. He writes: ‘The question “Is Confucianism a religion?” is one that the West has never been able to answer, and China never able to ask’ (1964, 66). Smith also reminds us that there is no word for ‘religion’ in the Hebrew Old Testament and no specific name for the religion of the Jews. The term ‘Judaism’ was Greek in origin (ibid. 68), and the name ‘Christian’ was first applied to the followers of Jesus by outsiders ‘and adopted by the community itself reluctantly and only gradually, [for] what was proclaimed was explicitly not a system, but a person, and life “in” that person’ (ibid. 69). Smith goes on to trace the process of change which occurred from the first century until the nineteenth by means of which that ‘way of life’ was systematised and organised and became a ‘religion’. He concludes: ‘Here, then, is a process of institutionalisation, of conceptual reification. Concepts, terminology, and attention shift from personal orientation to an ideal, then to an abstraction, finally to an institution’ (1964, 73). The end result, Smith argues, is that Christianity, as religion, has usurped in peoples’ lives the place of personal faith in God. So much is this so, that a task of the modern religious reformer is to help men not to let their religion stand between them and God. Faith … is deeply personal, dynamic, ultimate. … A Christian who takes God seriously must surely recognise

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that God does not give a fig for Christianity. God is concerned with people, not with things. … God does not reveal religions; He reveals Himself. (1964, 116)

Smith’s position is abundantly clear. Religion distracts a person from the exercise of faith. None of the great religious leaders, he says, ever established a religion. Rather they pointed people beyond institutions to a holy reality that transcended earthly structures and systems.1 Since the concept of ‘religion’ is inadequate and confusing for the insider, Smith argues, it will also be misleading for the outsider, or observer, who may well have a significant intellectual knowledge regarding a particular tradition, yet have no real understanding at all regarding what it means to individual believers or the impact it has on them (1964, 123). He writes: Outsiders, then, in their conception of other men’s religions, have tended to drain these of any but mundane content. They have done this by throwing a conceptual boundary around their own interpretation, thus imposing on other people a limit to which their own mind has given birth. Yet the point of man’s religious life lies in man’s being introduced in it to that which is without limits. Any attempt to conceptualise a religion is a contradiction in terms. The student’s first responsibility is to recognise that there is always and in principle more in any man’s faith than any other man can see. (1964, 128)

It is impossible to define what a particular religion is, Smith contends. This is not to suggest that they do not exist, as they obviously do. However, they exist in such richness and diversity and are subject to such a process of change and development, that to attempt definition is fruitless. The future, Smith adds, is just as unpredictable and unknowable. Definitions, he says, set limits, and no one has the right to set limits in regard to the relationship of human beings and the transcendent (1964, 131). No doubt many will respond positively to Smith’s critique of religion and the religions. John Hick says that Smith ‘in his work on the concepts of religion and of religions has been responsible, more than any other single individual, for the change which has taken place within a single generation in the way in which many of us perceive the religious life of mankind’ (Hick 1984b, 147). In regard to the whole matter of religion and religions, as elsewhere in Smith’s work, we are faced with a questionable methodology. What he does constantly is to propose a new frame of reference, supportive of his primary vision, which allows him to set aside anything which he considers to be inappropriate. In doing so, he frees himself from the need to deal with actual realities in order to focus on his desired outcome. This will not do as a methodology, however much we 1   Smith is well aware that other scholars have also deplored the notion of ‘religion’, both from within the Christian tradition and outside it. He cites Barth (1936–69, I/2:280– 361) and Brunner (1947, 264, 272).

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may support the goal he seeks. In this instance, he tries to avoid the inevitable implications of the reality that religions are all culturally conditioned, each the product of a historical process. Whether we like the end product or not is irrelevant. We still have to deal with that reality evident in what we identify as the various religious traditions in our world. Edward Hughes suggests, in a ‘soft’ critique, that ‘Smith’s extreme solution to the ambiguities surrounding “religion” is unnecessary’ (1986, 41). Hugo Meynell is more to the point when he writes: It is well worth pointing out, as Cantwell Smith does, that concepts like ‘Christian’, ‘Buddhist’ and ‘Muslim’, let alone ‘Hindu’, do not as it were have hard boundaries; there is in each case a penumbra of sets of beliefs and practices such that it does not make sense to insist that they are either ‘Buddhist’ (or whatever) on the one hand, or not. But this does not of itself entail that the very conception of ‘a religion’ is a misleading one. … The fact that it is not at all clear just beyond what point of non-belief or non-practice someone would cease to be a Christian, or a Muslim, or a Buddhist, by no means implies that the terms … are useless or inextricably misleading. Cantwell Smith brings out very well that religions are at best untidy and mutually related unities, by no means sealed off one from another, but it does not immediately follow that they are not unities at all. (1985, 156)

Smith goes on to propose a solution in regard to the study of religious life and experience. He suggests that having abandoned the idea of religion, we should work with two other concepts. He identifies these as ‘cumulative tradition’ and ‘faith’. The link between the two is the living person. By cumulative tradition Smith means, ‘the entire mass of overt objective data that constitute the historical deposit, as it were, of the past religious life of the community in question … anything that can be and is transmitted from one person, one generation, to another, and that an historian can observe’ (1979, 141). The significance of the cumulative tradition is that it not only constantly changes and grows, but provides for each successive generation the context in which people experience the transcendent and respond in faith. A ‘religion’ is not to be equated with its cumulative tradition alone, for within that tradition stands the human person whose spirit is open, in some degree, to the transcendent (ibid. 145). By ‘faith’ Smith means the ‘inner religious experience or involvement of a particular person; the impingement on him of the transcendent, putative or real’ (ibid. 141). Such personal faith cannot be seen by others, but the outward expressions of it can be. These ‘expressions’ are many and varied and can be observed in words, actions, ritual, morality, art, institutions, law, community and character. Such expressions of faith, Smith insists, must be understood for what they are or they can never be fully understood: ‘The traditions cannot be interpreted in human history if the fact of the transcendent element in men’s participation in them is denied or neglected’ (1979, 155). Of this faith, Smith suggests, certain

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things can be said. Firstly, it is personal and therefore can never be said to be either static or exactly the same as anyone else’s (ibid. 171–2). Secondly, faith cannot be identified as ‘Christian’, ‘Buddhist’, ‘Hindu’ or anything else: We are all persons, clustered in mundane communities, no doubt, and labelled with mundane labels but, so far as transcendence is concerned, encountering it each directly, personally, if at all. In the eyes of God each of us is a person, not a type. (Smith 1979, 172)

Thirdly, there is no ideal faith that a person has to have or to which a person must conform. Later, we will explore Smith’s concept of faith in more detail. For the moment, let us see where he has tried to lead us to this point. In his attack on the idea of religion, Smith seeks to discredit the whole notion of religious systems as a way of understanding the human response to the transcendent. The problem with this approach, as he sees it, is that it institutionalises and depersonalises religious experience and expression within particular historical and cultural contexts, sets up artificial dichotomies and unnecessary tensions between the different traditions, and fails to recognise the diversity which exists in reality within particular traditions at any given time, as well as the significant changes which occur with the passage of time. The solution Smith proposes is to move, in a radical way, from an institutional interpretation of religious experience and expression to what is essentially a personal and relational, human-centred approach. However, he is conscious of another conceptual barrier to the realisation of his vision, the contemporary notion of belief. The Idea of ‘Belief’ Because of the personal and relational approach that Smith wants to emphasise, he adopts a particularly critical stance in regard to the contemporary nature and use of the term ‘belief’. His main contention is that ‘those who make belief central to the religious life have taken a wrong turning’ (1977, 36). The way in which ‘belief’ is now understood and used, especially in terms of propositions, does not help us to deal with issues of meaning and truth, Smith says, only the key notion of ‘faith’ can do that: This judgement, to which I have slowly come, is based on observation of the religious history of humankind. It is based also on my own personal commitment as an intellectual to the pursuit of rational truth. It has involved as well my personal experience as a Christian living the life of faith. (1977, 38)

The nature and content of belief varies significantly, not only between the different religious traditions, but also within any specific tradition over periods

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of time. Not only that, Smith says, but it can also be demonstrated that both the meaning and use of the term itself have changed as well. One might perhaps sum up one aspect of the history of these matters over the past few centuries in the following way. The affirmation, ‘I believe in God’ used to mean: ‘Given the reality of God as a fact of the universe, I hereby pledge to Him my heart and soul. I committedly opt to live in loyalty to Him. I offer my life to be judged by Him, trusting His mercy.’ Today the statement may be taken by some as meaning: ‘Given the uncertainty as to whether there be a God or not, as a fact of modern life, I announce that my opinion is yes. I judge God to be existent. (1977, 44)

Smith traces for us the historical process by means of which this change in emphasis occurred, with particular reference to the influence of the philosopher John Stuart Mill and his contention that belief and truth can only ever be expressed in the form of propositions (Smith 1977, 46–51). A further dimension of this change is to be found in a trend away from the personal, ‘I believe’, to a much more common use of the impersonal ‘he believes’ or ‘they believe’. This is a subtle, but significant difference, Smith argues. The historical fact is that belief in the third person, belief of other people, has come to be seen largely as a question of prior orientation, of ideational pattern, of the framework within which the drama of life, and of faith, has been staged, rather than that of that drama itself. Believing designates no longer a quality of personal life but the terms of reference in relation to which that quality is articulated. (1977, 56)

Not only has the issue of belief been made more impersonal, Smith says, but it is now common practice to reflect on propositions without any reference to belief at all. He concludes: ‘The history of the word “believe” involves a gradual severing of its link with truth. … The word denotes doubt, and connotes falsehood’ (1977, 60– 65; see also 1979, 107–20). He is also convinced that it is now too late to do anything about it, so that ‘the Christian Church might be well advised to cut its losses, and to begin again’ (Smith 1979, 121). This modern sense of belief cannot be found in either the Qur’an or the Bible, Smith contends (1977, 39; see also 1964, 154–73). He offers a detailed analysis of the word, in order to argue his thesis that the modern meaning of belief has had no place in the history of Christian thought (1977, 78). Faith, he says, precedes belief, and the reversal of this order is a modern and tragic heresy. Belief is just one of the many overt expressions of faith (Smith 1979, 18–19). Faith is a personal quality, while belief ‘is the holding of certain ideas … an activity of the mind’ (ibid. 12).

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The Idea of ‘Faith’ In the New Testament, Smith argues, faith is identified as a quality in its own right, without reference to an object. The assumption that faith in something or someone is inferred is, Smith argues, ‘a modern theological judgement read into the New Testament out of present day orientations and conceptual presuppositions’ (1977, 91). Faith is a quality of the person, Smith says, and it is not possible to understand human religious life until we have recognised this fact. Such faith is a universal quality. It identifies a relationship between the human person and God, in which God is the subject, not the object. Smith argues that ‘faith is nourished and patterned by the tradition, is formed and in some sense sustained by it – yet faith precedes and transcends the tradition, and in turn sustains it’ (1979, 5). He is very strong on the point that whatever the origin of a religious tradition, what it is now reflects the participation, thought and response (that is, the faith) of that tradition’s membership over many centuries. For Smith, ‘faith is an engagement’ and ‘to know faith authentically is to become oneself involved, to know it in personal committed fashion in one or another of its varied forms’ (ibid. 5–6). However, faith is such a fundamental religious category, Smith says, that it becomes essential not only to understand it in the context of particular traditions but also to understand it generically. This requires that we go beyond creeds, practices and institutions, as observable, outward expressions of religious tradition, to engage with the personal, human dimension of religious life (ibid. 7–8). Smith suggests that faith has a number of identifiable characteristics. Firstly, he says, it is clear that faith is not the same everywhere. There are varieties of faith within one particular tradition, and there are also similarities that cross religious boundaries. Many persons in modern times have found, once they have penetrated beyond the outward patterns to the quality of personal life, that those patterns nourish, that there is less difference between the faith of Christians and that of Muslims and of Hindus than there is among the formulae and symbols by which that faith is visibly expressed. Secondly, they have found that the faith of a particular Christian may, once the outward wrappings are set aside, differ from the faith of a Muslim or a Hindu less than it differs from the faith of another Christian. (Smith 1979, 11)

This happens, Smith says, because faith is about a direct encounter between people and God, which may be mediated by sacraments, doctrines or structures but which always transcends them. ‘Faith is a quality of the person, not the system’ (1979, 12). Secondly, while stressing that there are significant varieties of faith, Smith also makes the point that faith is not always ‘admirable’. There is undeniable evidence

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from around the world, he says, of bigotry, perversion, ignorance and oppression, all expressed in the name of faith (1979, 130–31). This is a timely reminder, Smith says, that faith is always limited in some way. No matter how open or responsive, faith is inevitably limited by psychological, sociological and other contextual influences. Faith is inevitably shaped by the time and circumstances in which people live (ibid. 131–32). Hence, faith cannot be comprehensively delineated. ‘One might be so tempted; yet the temptation must be resisted. … Faith can never be expressed in words. … For the moment our concern is to insist only that, whatever idea of faith one may form, it must be an idea adequate to faith as a global human quality’ (ibid. 133). Thirdly, Smith insists, faith that evidences the very best qualities of humanity can be found in all societies and cultures (1979, 131). In the past, he argues, there were two major obstacles to recognising faith – geographical isolation and exclusivist theological dogma – but change is now occurring in relation to both of these. The various religious systems of the world are not fancy elaborations tacked onto human history as curiosities over and above the standard human. They are, rather, the principal attempts at being human. … What sort of faith one has is contingent; but to have faith is central. … Faith is man’s participation in God’s dealings with humankind. (Smith 1979, 138, 140)

Fourthly, Smith contends that faith is universal. ‘Humankind is characterised by faith. The history of religion is the history of man.’ Central to Smith’s thesis is the conviction that ‘faith is the essential human quality: that it is constitutive of man as human; that personality is constituted by our universal ability, or invitation, to live in terms of a transcendent dimension, and in response to it’ (1979, 129). Fifthly, although faith is first and foremost a human quality, it does have an intellectual component, Smith says: Religious faith intellectually is first of all the ability to see the point of a tradition. At the propositional level, religious or otherwise, it concerns an ability that formulations potentially have: that of allowing or inducing those who hear them to move beyond them to the truth with which the person who framed them was in touch. (1979, 160)

Hence, faith both recognises the transcendent and affirms the fact that, albeit imperfectly, truth regarding the transcendent can be, and has been, apprehended in a variety of historical and cultural contexts. ‘Faith is saying “yes” to truth; and it would not do to minimise the truth that Christians, or that Muslims, or that any of the others did in fact see and to which in their lives they responded’ (Smith 1979, 163). Truth, for Smith, is therefore not just an objective matter. It has great personal significance. He argues that the tendency in Western society to deal with truth propositionally rather than personally creates many problems for us

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(1974b, 30–31). Far better, he contends, to realise that truth is not primarily about propositions, but about persons. ‘The locus of truth is persons’ (ibid. 20). Each of the traditions, Smith says, has seen the truth in its own way, has declared that truth to be important and has affirmed loyalty to that truth to be vital. He goes on to show how these principles were evidenced in the work of scholars from various religious traditions and how, furthermore, each was able to go beyond these basic principles to declare that truth is always greater than the truth expounded in one’s own particular tradition (1979, 159–61). Our world will not cease to evince differences of conviction. … Nevertheless, presumably we can in principle learn from each other. Our immediate loyalties may diverge, as may the ways in which we nurture them, as well as the extent to which each of us can move from a self-regarding to a self-transcending living, as faith entails. Yet those were not absurd who held that reason is in principle universal, and that in the intellectual realm humankind converges. Truth is ultimately one, although the human forms of truth and the forms of faith decorate or bespatter our world diversely. Our unity is real transcendently; whether history will so move that we approximate it more closely actually in the construction on earth of a world community, not merely a world society already virtually with us, is a question of our ability to act in terms of transcending truth, and love. (Smith 1979, 171)

Again we come to a crucial point in Smith’s overall argument. Faith is the most important human quality. It has to be understood generically. It is a personal, human response to the transcendent. It cannot be equated with religious systems, but it does represent what all the members of those systems hold in common, in spite of the diverse and inadequate ways in which it is expressed. Faith is, therefore, the basic source of unity in the world. It enables people to go beyond the obvious differences that have divided them until now to recognise and affirm their unity in a transcendence and truth far greater than any one tradition has ever been able to encompass or express. What we have here is another key example of Smith’s determination to personalise religious experience and expression, although always in the context of community. Faith may be personal, but it is also relational. Faith is essential to the possibility of a world community. The Idea of a ‘World Community’ Early in Towards a World Theology, Smith declares: The vision to be set forth in this presentation is of the unity or coherence of humankind’s religious history. At one level, this unity is a matter of empirical observation. It is an historical fact. At another level, it is a matter of theological

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We are not well equipped or prepared, Smith says, to discern this unity in our religious history. We are much more conscious of religious diversity, both within and between the many traditions. The solution, he suggests, is not to be found in looking for community and discarding anything not held in common. This not only lacks integrity, but would be very destructive. Unity cannot be found through such a strategy (1981b, 4–5). The unity we seek, Smith says, is to be discerned within a historical continuum in which all are interconnected, even though manifestly different. I am arguing only that on earth what the communities have in common is that their several histories, individually already complex, can be understood, and indeed can be understood better, and in the end can be understood only, in terms of each other: as strands in a still more complex whole. (1981b, 6)

We are only just beginning to be aware of this degree of interconnectedness, Smith says. It is a personal dream, he adds, that before he dies he might be able to write a world history of religion in the singular, century by century, rather than system by system (1981b, 6). Smith begins his reflection on this religious unity through reference to three illustrations: a myth that had a central place for Tolstoy, Roman Catholic use of rosary beads and the exchange of greeting cards for special occasions (1981b, 6–15). All of these, Smith is able to show, evidence a high degree of interconnectedness between various religious traditions extending back for many centuries, frequently without any awareness of where they came from in the first instance. These examples might be seen as of peripheral importance, Smith concedes, but similar connections can be identified in relation to such matters as rites of passage, the idea of the devil and of hell, the central place given to scripture, and the idea of God (ibid. 15–16). ‘The Christian idea of God in its course over the centuries has been, the historian can now see, a part of the world history of the idea of God on earth. Christians receiving from, contributing to and participating in that total history’ (ibid. 16). God may not change, Smith says, but the ways in which God is thought about have changed constantly both within the various religious traditions and across the span of time. We have now reached a point, he argues, where the religious history of the world is being looked at in a fresh way, the way in which God has looked at it all along (1981b, 16–18). It is, therefore, Smith says, a serious mistake to try and construct an unchangeable and invincible expression of Christianity in order to ensure our separateness and uniqueness. In fact, given what we now know, there can be no excuse for doing so (ibid. 22–3). Pluralism and religious diversity are a reality and our task is to understand what that means. We are at the beginning of a new era in world ecumenical relationships,

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Smith says, which offers the possibility for a new kind of relationship between Christians and other religious traditions. Theologians will never again be able to ignore the reality that we live in a religiously plural world. There is now an awareness that Christian questions are not the only questions, nor Christian answers the only answers (1980, 90–93). It is morally reprehensible, Smith says, that Christians who avow an exclusive claim to truth and salvation, do so with a vested interest in being right, for then the inevitable consequence is that disciples of all other traditions are irrevocably damned (1980, 99). He goes on to affirm the principle that if God is the kind of God revealed in Jesus Christ, then we can confidently believe that people of other faiths are saved. We have no basis upon which to establish boundaries around God’s love (ibid. 105, 107). Religious history is about human activity, Smith contends. Each person is a part of that history, both contributing to it in some way and also being influenced by it. Some obviously participate and contribute more significantly than others. Some are influenced and changed more than others. To say that religious history is about human activity is not to deny or diminish the importance of the transcendent, Smith adds. However, it is nonetheless a human activity. To live within a particular religious tradition is to be a participant in a process, ‘to participate in a particular form of history’ (1981b, 31). What Smith proposes then, as a basic thesis, is ‘the conceptualisation of historical process as the context of religious life, and participation as the mode of religious life’ (1981b, 33). This, he says, provides a far more accurate picture of what has been happening in our world over the centuries and helps to avoid the distortions inherent in past ideational patterns, and the inevitable dichotomies that derive from them. Furthermore, he argues, just as there has been an interconnectedness between religious traditions in the past, they still impact on each other in the present and will continue to do so into the future (ibid. 38). Smith, of course, wants to push this point to suggest it may therefore be possible for each person to have a real sense of being a participant in the one religious history of humanity, albeit as a Christian, Muslim, Hindu or Buddhist. He recognises the ‘boldness’ of his proposal, yet maintains: What is beginning to happen around the earth today is the incredibly exciting development that will eventually mean that each person, certainly each group, participates in the religious history of humankind – as self-consciously the context for faith. … For, ultimately, the only community there is, the one to which I know that I truly belong, is the community, world-wide and historylong, of humankind. (1981b, 44)

Smith goes on to identify the primary characteristics of this world-wide community. Firstly, this community affirms that the religious life is primarily about being human. The faith of a religious person, Smith says, is not to be found in the structures, doctrines, scriptures and practices of their religious tradition. Rather,

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Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism it lies in the human heart; is what that tradition means to people; is what the universe means to them, in the light of that tradition. … The study of religion is the study of persons … and indeed of human lives at their most intimate, most profound, most primary, most transcendent. (1981b, 47–8)

Outside the West, Smith says, the history of religion is the history of culture. This has significant implications for our understanding of both religion and life. By contrast, in the West, the forces of secularisation are such that religion is often seen as an optional extra that some people choose. If this is the starting-point, it is impossible to understand the religious history of the world. For, Smith writes, ‘men and women have not been human, and then Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, rationalist–humanist, or whatever, in addition. Rather there has been a Jewish way of being human, a Hindu way, a Greek-metaphysics way, a Christian way’ (1981b, 53). Religion is inherently human. In regard to this emphasis on the human in Smith’s work, Edward Hughes has this to say: On first viewing, Smith’s analysis of faith may appear excessively anthropocentric. Is not faith also a gift of God? … Though Smith often speaks as if faith is saved by its own agency, it must be remembered that faith is not selforiginating. … Smith explicitly claims that faith is a gift. … Rather than holding Smith’s analysis to be extremely anthropocentric, we would be more correct to say that his position is extremely theocentric. (1986, 34)

Smith himself is clear that his own faith is theocentric rather than Christocentric (1981a, 198). However, it is not easy to find a strong doctrine of the revelation and action of God in Smith’s work. His overwhelming emphasis is on the human person as the locus of faith and truth. In Towards a World Theology, for example, he says that history, since it is about humanity, inevitably has in it an element of the transcendent (1981b, 3). It is important to note the order of things here. Smith’s position is quite contrary to the orthodox Christian doctrine that God is at the centre of history, revealed in it and through it by God’s own initiative and action. Smith clearly puts the human person at the centre. It is helpful to recall some of his key notions: ‘the study of religion is the study of persons’ (ibid. 48); ‘religion … is inherently human’ (ibid. 53); faith is primarily a ‘human quality’ (1979, 6); ‘the locus of truth is persons’ (1974b, 20). He is very anthropocentric, and, in that regard, Hughes is wrong. The second essential characteristic of the world community Smith identifies as ‘corporate critical self-consciousness’. In order to understand what he means, we need to note the distinction he draws between ‘human knowing’ and ‘humane knowing’. ‘Human knowledge’, he says, is what humans know about the material world, the non-human. ‘Humane knowledge’, on the other hand, is what humans know about themselves. This is the origin of his concept of self-consciousness (Smith 1981b, 56–7). Smith writes: ‘It may seem cavalier to assert that all knowledge of man by man is ipso facto self-consciousness. The assertion is true

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only in so far as all humankind is one. And it becomes operative (and salvific) in so far as that unity is seen, and felt, is willed’ (ibid. 57). This means, says Smith, that while it may be possible to study the material world objectively, it is a serious mistake to think that persons can be studied in this way. However, this does not mean that the only alternative is a subjective study. Smith posits a third option which he calls a ‘corporate critical self-consciousness’, by which he means, that critical, rational, inductive self-consciousness by which a community of persons … is aware of any given particular human condition or action as a condition or action of itself as a community, yet of one part but not of the whole of itself; and is aware of it as it is experienced and understood both subjectively (personally, existentially) and objectively (externally, critically, analytically; as one used to say, scientifically). (1981b 60)

In corporate critical self-consciousness, Smith asserts, the validity of what is discovered has to be verified both by those personally involved and those critical observers not directly involved. ‘The proper goal of humane knowing, then, the ideal to which the human mind should aspire, academically, scientifically, is not objectivity but corporate critical self-consciousness’ (1981b, 60). This approach, Smith claims, serves to emphasise properly the distinction between persons and material objects and to highlight the uniqueness of human qualities such as self-transcendence, a sense of justice, imagination, compassion and the capacity to respond to beauty, as well as the human capacity for destructiveness, evil and dishonesty (1981b, 60–61). This is to say, Smith contends, that until we recognise that other people are human beings like ourselves, ‘humane knowledge’ is impossible. He writes: If some wish to call this kind of humane knowledge ‘unscientific’ I do not much mind; I would rather be on the right track than orthodox. … There are things in human consciousness waiting to be known, things of enormous significance for all of us; and some of us are resolved to know them, and have devised methods and procedures and understandings for knowing them and for making them known. It is true that these things are not objects, and cannot be known objectively, but they are real and can be known accurately, verifiably, humanely. (1981b, 65)

To understand any human behaviour or feeling of others, is to recognise that, if we ourselves were in that situation, the options available to us would include the actions or qualities we have observed. To be an historian, or, indeed, a rational student in any humane field, is to stand imaginatively in the shoes of others. This is possible, in principle, because we are persons, and because they are persons. Two of the fundamental qualities

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One result of this is that humane knowledge promotes community. In contrast, objective knowledge in relation to humans derives from and exacerbates division, control and manipulation and is inherently immoral. It does not, and cannot, lead to personal understanding and relationship. Furthermore, Smith says, such objective knowledge is idiosyncratic and sectarian. It is pursued by people from within particular groups or ‘disciplines’ who tend to produce work for those who also belong to their own group or discipline. This is not objectivity, but subjectivity with a vengeance, Smith declares, and it is very divisive (1981b, 71, 74). Learning in the humanities involves being open to that that may be greater than oneself; greater at least, than one has been until now. The process of knowing is a process of becoming … the point of learning about man is the joy (and duty) of knowing, which inherently comprises a changing of oneself. (1981b, 76).

A commitment to the pursuit of humane knowledge, Smith urges, requires both humility and respect, mutuality and equality, for people’s humanity is at stake. The goal, he declares, is for all humankind to know each other through becoming one community. ‘Our solidarity precedes our particularity; and is part of our self-transcendence. The truth of all of us is part of the truth of each of us’ (1981b, 79). At the time of writing Towards a World Theology, Smith was reasonably optimistic in regard to a positive outcome for the process he envisaged (ibid. 102). But within a few years, an element of doubt appeared in his work (1988, 373). The third characteristic of this new community, Smith asserts, is to be found in a world theology that both undergirds and reflects it. Such a theology is necessary because it is not possible to write an authentic theology of religions from within the perspective of one tradition only. A Christian theology of religions, for example, runs the risk of being seen as relativistic, on the one hand, or as dogmatic, on the other. Neither attitude represents an openness to new knowledge or understanding (1981b, 109). Smith’s own aim, he explains, is not to write a theology of comparative religion, but rather to point toward what kind of theology it will be. ‘The exciting new phase in religious history into which we are just on the threshold of entering, is the emergence … of a global and verified self-consciousness of religious diversity’ (ibid. 124). Smith seeks a theology that emerges out of all the religions of the world. This will be a theology of faith in its many forms, ‘a theology of the religious history of humankind’ (1981b, 124–5). Such a theology can only be written by those who know that the people of all religious groups are members of one community, to which they themselves belong and in which they participate. Such a theology has not yet been written, he says, but this is the task that lies ahead of us (ibid. 125–6).

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An Evaluation It is a noble vision that Smith espouses. However, it is necessary to ask whether such a goal is achievable, given the principles he has himself identified as integral to his thesis. Firstly, while it is true that Smith sees our humanity as that which we all hold in common, and all religious traditions as various ways of being human, he is quick to affirm the significant diversity that those traditions represent and which is abundantly obvious to even the most casual observer. It has to be held as extremely doubtful, in the light of history and experience, that such a degree of diversity can be accommodated in any world theology. The differences are too obvious, too central to the nature and life of the various traditions, too much the focus of faith and practice, to be as readily modified or integrated as Smith’s proposed theology requires. He acknowledges himself that since each of them has its own all-embracing world-view, no one of them can readily be subordinated to or subsumed under any other. We cannot use the criteria of one to critique another (Smith 1974a, 157). The reality is that religious traditions can affirm the principle of a common humanity, and the implications of that for the pursuit of cooperation in the world for the mutual benefit of all, without the need for a world theology or the attempt to write one. The likelihood is that any such theology would, in the end, be so bland and general as to be of little interest or significance to anyone. John Cobb makes a similar emphasis: Instead of beginning with the assumption that we can identify what is common to all, it would be better to listen as speakers from each strand of human historical life tell us what they have found most important and how they describe it. … Let us allow Buddhists to be Buddhists, whether that makes them religious or not … Confucianists to be Confucianists … Marxists to be Marxists, Christians to be Christians. … Quite apart from any such categories as religion or faith, there is plenty of reason to see that these proper names point to diverse ways of living and experiencing that are important for both the past and the future of the world. However, we should take them all seriously, as far as possible in their own terms, and allow each to challenge our beliefs and assumptions. That is a better way to a world theology than the effort to determine what is common to all. (1984, 171–2)

Secondly, Smith himself imposes an impossible condition on the process of seeking agreement on what might be included in such a theology. He proposes that in the field of comparative religion, ‘the intellectual task is to construct statements that will be simultaneously intelligible within two religious communities as well as in the academic world’ (1981b, 98). This, for Smith, is a primary characteristic of humane knowledge and must therefore be operative in the formulation of a theology consistent with that notion. Even with the best will in the world, it is very difficult to see how such a goal could be achievable

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or to imagine what kind of theology would result from the application of such a principle. There can be no question but that many and significant tenets of the various traditions would be put at risk. It is most unlikely, therefore, that conversations would even begin. It is one thing to seek understanding through dialogue. It is another thing altogether to pre-determine the basis upon which the validity of religious statements will be decided. Gavin D’Costa picks up on this issue: To suggest that the Christian doctrine of God must be understandable to Muslims and Hindus is one thing, and quite an admirable desire at that; to suggest that it be acceptable to Muslims and Hindus is something entirely different and quite problematic. The obvious question is, why should it be? Such a proposal certainly detracts from any notion that the Christian revelation is a call to conversion, a challenge to the world and its many forms of idolatry, both religious and non-religious. In fact, acceptability of the sort Smith seeks is dangerously utopian in detracting from the truth claims of Christianity – or for that matter, any other religion. (1992, 329)

Let us take, as an example, the Christian doctrine of the lordship of Christ. Smith has very little to say of a Christological nature in his work. He is preoccupied with other issues. It is interesting, therefore, that he was asked to offer a summation at a conference dealing with the theme of ‘Christ’s Lordship and Religious Pluralism’. His comments, typically, are much more concerned with the second part of the theme than with the first. His purpose, however, is clear. He urges that we draw back from the notion of Christ’s lordship as a proposition, in favour of understanding the term existentially and, in that sense, as a call to service. He asks Christians to speak of Jesus as ‘my lord’ rather than ‘the Lord’ in the interests of religious pluralism (1981a). Now, in a way, this is a perfectly reasonable thing to do. It suggests the possibility for faith sharing in a dialogical context in which Christians do not adopt an exclusivist approach. However, it is also clear that such a primary Christian doctrine cannot be so easily set aside, even when dialogue is pursued in an open-hearted and genuine manner. It has to be faced and dealt with in the context of the dialogue, not abandoned as a prerequisite to dialogue. This is the only approach which affirms the genuinely pluralistic nature of our world and remains true to it. Smith uses the language of pluralism, but he is so preoccupied with building community, that he is in danger of replacing pluralism with a synthesism grounded in a theology of compromise. Gordon Pruett comments in this regard: [Smith’s] analysis of religion … arises out of his refusal to accept and support any concept of religion that it not consistent with and contributory to the world community. That is, his understanding of faith, transcendence and the

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cumulative tradition is a function of the obvious and vital good of the world community. (1990, 398)2

Thirdly, Smith’s approach has the effect of down-playing the particular and unique nature of the various religious traditions. In Belief and History, he does emphasise the differences in the process of rejecting the principle of relativism. He says: ‘Absolute relativism is to be rejected, on multiple grounds: it is anhistorical, irrational, un-Christian, un-Islamic, even un-Hindu’ (1977, 29). In The Meaning and End of Religion, he again stresses the differences, saying in regard to the various traditions: They are different not only in detail but in basic orientation. Each is unique. Each is an exception on some quite fundamental matters to any generalisations that one might make about the others. … One must come to recognise … that not merely do they propound differing answers but rather that often they are asking different questions. (1964, 78–9)

However, there is a strong element in Smith’s work which seeks to down-play the differences in the quest for common ground. In his stress on the religious life as personal and relational, historical traditions, along with their doctrines, rituals and customs, are relegated to a place of secondary importance. Other religions, as such, are identified by Smith as potentially destructive of faith. Of course, Smith may well be right in one sense, but it seems in the pursuit of his vision for a world community he is prepared to forsake the principle of difference so clearly enunciated at an earlier time. If, in fact, he wants to hold to the idea of difference and uniqueness, then surely his goal, in the form he desires it, recedes further and further into the future. This issue is apparent in an essay he wrote on conflicting truth-claims published in 1974, in which he argues that to describe religious diversity in terms of conflicting truth-claims is neither necessary or helpful. Again we see him searching for a solution consistent with his own vision. Our ways of perceiving the world, he says, are culturally conditioned, and the way in which we perceive an issue will directly influence our manner of responding. The potential for distortion in all this is considerable, which should lead us to realise in the first instance that the conflict of truth-claims may be apparent rather than real. Smith prefers the Muslim concept of ‘bearing witness’ (1974b, 159), which, given the history of interfaith relationships over many centuries, could well be interpreted in a quite different manner to that which he intends. 2

  At another point, Pruett writes: ‘Smith’s goal for almost all of his career has not been the explanation of religion. … It has always been the proper understanding of human persons; and by proper understanding he means an understanding that meets the sole criterion of being conducive to the realisation of the world community. His entire corpus must be read as concerned with this matter, and this matter alone’ (1990, 411).

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Smith is right when he affirms dialogue as the opportunity for ‘enrichment and deeper knowledge and understanding’ (1974b, 160), but surely the dialogue has to begin at a point of real honesty. To suggest that conflicting truth-claims are more suspected than actual is to ‘fly in the face of the facts’ to such a degree that genuine interaction may be impossible. William Wainwright identifies these issues in a critique of Smith’s work: It seems to me that a clear-sighted recognition of the contemporary must include a recognition that conflicting doctrinal schemes are an important part of it, and that because these conflicting doctrinal schemes are more essential to Christian or Buddhist or Muslim faith than Smith is prepared to admit, our situation is more difficult than he acknowledges and the hope of some sort of convergence of the traditions is more problematic. To take people seriously we must take their beliefs seriously. I would suggest that we do not do this when we minimise the importance of their beliefs by arguing that they are really not essential to their genuine insights. To be told that the truth of the doctrinal scheme to which I adhere is comparatively unimportant is to be told that something which may matter very much to me doesn’t really matter. It would not be surprising if I were to feel patronized or judge that my concerns had not been taken seriously. (1984, 366)

Edward Hughes also raises a doubt regarding Smith’s strategy, suggesting that conflict is a necessary component of effective, honest relationship. He says that ‘there is not only a truth that is born out of compassion but one that is hewn out of struggle’ (1986, 204). Conclusion Of his own vision for a world community, Smith once wrote: I have no idea whether it will be practically feasible to build together a better world: the modern world is a gloomy and unpromising place. We may fail, as Christians and others have throughout failed in part to actualize their vision to which God has severally called us. Yet fail or succeed, surely it is clear that God’s will for the twenty-first century, the mission that God has entrusted to us and to all humanity, is some such ideal. Or at the very least, we may reach out to build friendship and mutual trust and affection between and among individual persons, whatever their background. (1988, 373)

It is a matter for regret that we can affirm Smith’s vision as bold and admirable and at the same time conclude that his own uncertainty regarding the outcome is justified because his strategy for achieving it is probably unworkable.

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Smith undoubtedly must be seen in the spectrum of Christian responses to religious pluralism to occupy a place of his own. Because of his major focus on the human dimension of faith and religion, we have described him as an anthropocentric pluralist.

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Conclusion Our reflections on these Christian responses to religious pluralism have been based on three primary assertions. Firstly, that the grouping of individual theologians into one of the three broad categories, exclusivist, inclusivist or pluralist, continues to be a helpful, though finally inadequate, way of dealing with the variety of responses that can now be identified. Attempts to establish different categories of response outside of, or across, these three main divisions have tended to be confusing and generally unhelpful. Secondly, while the retention of the three broad divisions is necessary, a much more sophisticated spectrum of responses within each is now essential. We have identified that spectrum in the following terms: The exclusivist response: Karl Barth: the definitive exclusivist Hendrik Kraemer: the hard exclusivist Emil Brunner: the conservative exclusivist Lesslie Newbigin: the moderate exclusivist The inclusivist response: Karl Rahner: the traditional inclusivist Paul Tillich: the progressive inclusivist The pluralist response: Hans Küng and Raimundo Panikkar: the classical pluralists John Hick: the theocentric pluralist Wilfred Cantwell Smith: the anthropocentric pluralist Thirdly, we have identified the classical pluralist response, from amongst all those dealt with, as the one which offers us the most creative and positive future in the relationships between world religions. We have argued that the exclusivist response, in all its forms, is divisive and destructive in regard to relationships between Christianity and other religious traditions. It reinforces attitudes of superiority and creates barriers to effective dialogue. In spite of fervent affirmations to the contrary, it is inherently disrespectful of other religions. In fact, exclusivism, by its very nature, sets Christianity apart as unique, the only true revelation of God, the one and only means of salvation. While it establishes a secure position from which those who wish can sit in judgement on other traditions, exclusivism has nothing to offer the future relationship of world religions other than a continuing climate of confrontation and conflict. The inclusivist response, though initially more positive in its assessment of the intrinsic value of the religions and affirming of their salvific efficacy is also revealed, in any final analysis, to be patronising and arrogant. In their attempt to

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gather up the religions into the salvation won by Christ and their assertion that the religions find their fulfilment in Christianity, the inclusivists are also dismissive of the independent identity and significance of other religions in their own right. This, too, inevitably creates major barriers to any real dialogue and relationship. Paradoxically, the theocentric and anthropocentric pluralists, in spite of their whole-hearted affirmation of the value inherent in the various religions and their salvific efficacy, also ultimately diminish the strength of their endorsements by seeking to defuse the importance and impact of the obvious differences that exist between religions. In pursuing the common ground, rather than recognising and accepting the differences, these pluralists also devalue the uniqueness of each religious tradition. This, too, creates a barrier to dialogue and relationship. Hodgson points us to the future when he says: The special challenge today is to keep the refining process going by encouraging religions, through dialogue and interaction, to identify one another’s blind spots and to contribute reciprocally to the spiritual growth of all. The outcome will not be a melding of religions but a deepened insight into each tradition and a sharing of resources toward the end of mutual enrichment and transformation. (2005, 143)

It is the classical pluralists, typified by Küng and Panikkar, who leave us with the possibility of something genuinely positive and creative. The classical pluralists recognise the essential interaction of religion and culture, along with the quite profound impact that each has on the other. They perceive the significance that one’s place of birth tends to have on religious identity and allegiance. They affirm the uniqueness and salvific efficacy of the individual traditions. They also understand that there are no easy solutions to the problems that have developed over many centuries but recognise that, without an authentic affirmation of the profound differences that exist and without a fundamental respect for the identity and tradition of each religion, no valid or lasting relationship is possible. Furthermore, they also understand that any significant relationship will incorporate a process of mutual evaluation and criticism, so enabling pressing and contentious issues to be confronted and discussed. If there is to be a positive future in the relationships between world religions, it surely lies in the principles and strategies identified by the classical pluralists, with all the risks and possibilities that those principles and strategies entail. As Kenneth Cracknell properly reminds us: It is not agreeable to our natural bents and inclinations to be thus vulnerable. We would – left to ourselves – prefer to live in a well-walled city, and even within that fortress, clothed in suits of armour. But the pilgrim sets out from the place of security in quest of the holy place – a city or a kingdom which lies somewhere over the rainbow, beyond the furthest horizon. He or she sets out, too, knowing that there will be perils, dangers, vicissitudes all along the way. (1986, 147)

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Index

Adams G., 67, 72, 79, 184, 186, 187, 189, 192, 193 Amaladoss M., 12, 20, 86, 87 anonymous Christian, 38, 78, 84, 90, 94, 100–106, 143, 145, 147 Ariarajah W., 2, 18, 20, 22, 90, 179 Augustine, 85, 113, 128 Barth K., 2, 5, 23, 24, 25–42, 44, 45, 54, 55, 64, 66, 67, 72, 88, 93, 111, 114, 115, 119, 121, 167, 190, 199, 217 belief, 74, 78, 84, 107, 129, 146, 154, 170, 174, 186, 192, 196, 201, 202, 213 Catholic, 14 Christian, 15, 64, 75, 84, 100, 101, 137, 177 Hindu, 161 Systems, 94, 107, 154, 180 Bible (The), 2, 18, 19, 20, 22, 30, 31, 32, 38, 50, 56, 57, 58, 63, 64, 66, 68, 76, 77, 80, 81, 111, 126, 127, 146, 148 biblical criticism, 62 realism, 44 record, story, witness, 12, 17, 20, 32, 37, 56, 58, 60, 63, 65, 69, 70, 72, 73, 74, 76, 78, 80, 84, 121, 125, 126, 145, 146 revelation, 29, 57, 58, 61, 62, 64 scholarship, 16, 63, 88, 149, 185 writers, 31, 126 Bowden J., 27, 28, 32 Braaten C.E., 11, 12, 18, 19, 25, 119 Brown C., 27, 30, 32, 33 Brunner E., 2, 5, 21, 23, 24, 25, 28, 34, 45, 55–66, 67, 72, 119, 199, 217 Buddhism/Buddhist, 1, 48, 73, 85, 86, 88, 101, 112, 116, 126, 130, 137, 143,

145, 151, 152, 164, 170, 188, 198, 200, 201, 207, 208, 211, 214 Catholic Church, 3, 6, 13, 83, 86, 93, 94, 144, 157 Christian, 1, 2, 27, 38, 56, 71, 72, 75, 77, 80, 81, 84, 85, 89, 97, 98, 100, 101, 105, 140, 141, 143, 147, 160, 163, 165, 167, 173, 198, 200, 201 Bible, 2, 19, 44, 63, 87, 111 Church, 1, 7, 11, 13, 30, 46, 47, 50, 56, 67, 88, 95, 104, 109, 111, 114, 118, 121, 125, 127, 144, 147, 149, 177, 189, 202 faith and belief, 8, 40, 44, 56, 58, 59, 61, 64, 65, 68, 93, 95, 97, 100, 109, 110, 122, 137, 143, 161, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 169, 175, 176, 177, 183, 189, 212 gospel, 14, 33, 59, 60 message, 16, 53, 75, 88, 105, 122 mission, 7, 16, 43, 46, 47, 53, 64, 89, 90, 144, 150 religion, 1, 7, 26, 40, 41, 44, 45, 51, 68, 75, 97, 98, 121, 165 response(s), 3, 4, 5, 39, 55, 117, 144, 158, 187, 215, 217 revelation, 11, 18, 44, 50, 51, 55, 64, 65, 67, 103, 125, 186, 212 theologians, 2, 112, 116, 122, 150, 178 theology, 1, 2, 18, 19, 34, 39, 44, 54, 83, 110, 119, 141, 149, 178, 184 tradition, 5, 20, 28, 45, 57, 66, 83, 126, 187, 190, 192, 193, 199 christology, 22, 25, 29, 33, 39, 52, 94, 111, 154, 183, 185, 186, 192 conversion, 7, 16, 47, 53, 54, 69, 78, 79, 93, 103, 104, 114, 115, 129, 134,

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139, 140, 146, 161, 162, 163, 164, 166, 174, 175, 176, 177, 190, 212 Copernican revolution, 76, 178, 179, 181, 188 critical self-consciousness, 195, 196, 208, 209 culture(s)/cultural, 7, 18, 45, 46, 47, 51, 52, 54, 66, 69, 70, 72, 73, 74, 86, 87, 88, 91, 95, 106, 113, 118, 119, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 155, 156, 162, 164, 165, 167, 177, 179, 184, 189, 195, 197, 204, 208, 218 D’Costa G., 3, 4, 6, 22, 26, 43, 50, 52, 80, 83, 94, 96, 107, 109, 130, 138, 191, 212 dialectical, 26, 28, 45, 83. 113, 131, 150, 155 theology, 26, 27, 28, 45 dialogical, 7, 8, 101, 116, 139, 170, 212 dialogue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 9, 15, 16, 23, 48, 52–4, 77, 79, 81, 87, 90, 91, 106, 111, 115–17, 123, 130, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 138, 139, 140, 141, 144, 148, 149, 150, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 161, 162, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 173, 174, 175, 176, 190–91, 192, 193, 195, 196, 212, 214, 217, 218 difference, 5, 6, 8, 23, 49, 58, 72, 80, 81, 89, 125, 165, 168, 172, 173, 176, 190, 193, 203, 213 Di Noia J.A., 25, 26, 40, 41 doctrine, 13, 20, 54, 63, 65, 66, 71, 85, 106, 131, 148, 168, 191, 208, 212 election, 25, 35, 69 incarnation, 178, 183, 185, 187 hell, 128, 129 Hindu, 60, 160, 161 infallibility, 31 Jesus (Christ), 11, 36, 63, 212 predestination, 36 reincarnation, 149, 157 revelation, 30, 31, 33, 55, 56, 192, 208 salvation, 28, 62, 76, 120, 127, 128 sin, 70 Trinity (the), 30, 154, 184, 185, 191

Eastern (culture and religion), 46, 47, 48, 51, 72, 73, 74, 149, 156, 188 Eliade M., 109, 122, 123 essence (of religion), 12, 21, 30, 43, 44, 50, 57, 64, 74, 76, 119, 131, 136, 137, 138, 140, 161, 165, 167, 168, 170, 192 ethical (standards and behaviour), 17, 18, 58, 68, 70, 71, 75, 81, 86, 116, 119, 148, 156, 189 exclusivism, 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 11–24, 25–82, 85, 98, 166, 217 exclusivist, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 41, 43, 54, 55, 66, 67, 80, 81, 83, 93, 96, 98, 99, 106, 107, 127, 139, 155, 181, 204, 212, 217 Frankfurt Declaration, 15 God (sovereignty of), 27, 28, 33, 34, 40, 44, 77, 96, 128 Green C., 29, 33, 36 Gualtieri A.R., 43, 45, 54 Hick J., 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 40, 74, 76, 98, 101, 106, 129, 142, 177–94, 199, 217 Hinduism/Hindu, 1, 7, 18, 21, 40, 60, 69, 73, 74, 76, 84, 86, 88, 101, 130, 137, 143, 145, 152, 155, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 169, 170, 172, 174, 188, 198, 200, 201, 203, 207, 208, 212, 213 Hocking W.E., 5, 74, 75, 76, 137 humanity, 8, 19, 21, 26, 27, 29, 35, 36, 45, 65, 70, 77, 78, 84, 94, 95, 96, 100, 110, 116, 120, 129, 145, 156, 162, 169, 182, 185, 198, 204, 207, 208, 210, 211, 214 God’s love for, 75, 79, 179 of God, 34 of Jesus, 19, 143, 186 relationship with God, 60, 62 religious consciousness, 50 sinfulness, 27, 44, 59, 79, 96, 98, 127, 128

Index incarnate, 12, 15, 59, 64, 76, 87, 169, 178, 183, 184, 187 incarnation, 1, 22, 64, 102, 118, 166, 168, 178, 183, 184, 186, 190, 195 inclusivism, 2,4, 26, 67, 83–91, 93–123, 145, 151, 157, 159, 160, 166, 167 inclusivist, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 14, 34, 52, 67, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 91, 93, 107, 109, 114, 123, 130, 139, 143, 144, 145, 150, 153, 157, 160, 164, 181, 217 indigenous, 47, 77, 164 institution/institutional, 23, 50, 54, 93, 99, 180, 181, 187, 189, 199, 201, 203, 210 Islam/Muslim, 1, 7, 16, 21, 43, 44, 48, 86, 88, 114, 137, 143, 144, 145, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 163, 191, 192, 195, 200,203, 204, 207, 208, 212, 213, 214 Jesus (Christ), 1, 2, 12, 16, 17, 20, 21, 22, 27, 29, 31, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 47, 50, 52, 53, 56, 57, 58, 59, 62, 64, 69, 70, 72, 76, 77, 80, 81, 84, 87, 94, 96, 102, 109, 111, 113, 114, 117, 121, 122, 125, 126, 128, 129, 139, 141, 145, 146, 151, 168, 169, 170, 178, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 207, 212 gospel of, 11, 17, 19, 147 humanity, 187–92 in Islam, 154–5 only means of salvation, 11, 14, 16, 27, 33, 39, 45, 47, 50, 57, 58, 59, 65, 96, 97, 120 revelation of God, 29, 30, 33, 44, 48, 50, 51, 54, 56, 59, 65, 79, 109, 118, 120, 147 Truth (the), 40, 44, 50, 55, 69 unique, 1, 2, 12, 15, 41, 44, 67, 87, 141 Judaism/Jews/Jewish, 11, 13, 21, 32, 56, 70, 84, 85, 86, 111, 112, 114, 119, 130, 137, 145, 146, 151, 152, 154, 169, 187, 191, 208 justice, 79, 103, 111, 113, 115, 119, 127, 128, 141, 156, 157, 180, 189, 209

233

Knitter P., 3, 4, 5, 6, 13, 14, 15, 16, 21, 41, 55, 84, 85, 86, 87, 90, 93, 103, 109, 130, 134, 135, 138, 139, 140, 141, 147, 160, 172, 175 Kraemer H., 2, 6, 14, 21, 23, 24, 25, 34, 43–54, 55, 66, 67, 73, 80, 88, 130, 190, 217 Küng H., 3, 4, 5, 6, 13, 25, 34, 85, 93, 100, 106, 121, 129, 136, 142, 143–58, 159, 175, 189, 217, 218 Manila Manifesto, 15 metaphor, 164, 171, 172, 176, 178 mission, 1, 16, 37, 47, 53, 87, 89, 90, 91, 103, 104, 105, 107, 111, 144, 149, 214 missionary (activity), 7, 14, 22, 40, 46, 47, 64, 68, 103, 104, 105, 114, 150, 155, 182 moral (values and behaviour), 14, 39, 45, 46, 51, 58, 60, 70, 74, 81, 85, 89, 97, 99, 119, 129, 148, 150, 153, 155, 157, 180, 197, 200, 207 Mueller D., 25, 28, 33, 38 mutual/mutuality, 1, 3, 6, 7, 8, 134, 135, 139, 140, 144, 152, 153, 155, 173, 174, 175, 190, 192, 193, 196, 200, 210, 214, 218 mysticism/mystic/mystical, 60, 61, 74, 116, 119, 120, 136, 154, 155, 160, 175, 188 Natural Theology, 28, 29, 34, 49, 57, 58 neighbour(s), 1, 6, 70, 95, 141, 163, 166, 175 Newbigin L., 2, 5, 14, 21, 23, 24, 45, 67–82, 93, 98, 130, 217 New Testament, 11, 17, 20, 21, 22, 44, 56, 57, 62, 69, 76, 78, 80, 81, 89, 94, 113, 125, 126, 127, 154, 163, 203 faith of, 16 motivation for mission, 16 witness, 12, 121, 141, 151 writers, 22, 63, 69 non-Christian, 1, 14, 25, 26, 45, 51, 55, 59, 67, 68, 77, 83, 90, 93, 97, 98, 99, 105, 106, 109, 112, 123, 130, 134, 138, 147, 150, 160, 163, 177

234

Twentieth Century Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism

Panikkar R., 3, 4, 5, 6, 54, 74, 76, 78, 129, 130, 136, 142, 159–76, 217, 218 peace, 7, 8, 18, 52, 79, 103, 114, 151, 153, 156, 157, 161, 189, 196 Perry T.S., 2, 44, 47, 49, 67 pluralism, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 17, 19, 25, 41, 53, 55, 67, 68, 93, 95, 99, 105, 106, 107, 116, 125, 126, 129, 130, 133, 134, 135, 136, 139, 140, 141, 143–215, 217 pluralist, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 21, 67, 106, 109, 122, 125, 126, 130, 135, 136, 138, 139, 142, 144, 146, 150, 151, 153, 155, 157, 158, 159, 160, 173, 179, 191, 192, 215, 217 Pratt D., 3, 4, 23, 83 providence, 18, 86, 99, 161 Race A., 2, 4, 5, 7, 25, 29, 33, 40, 53, 83, 84, 85, 106, 122, 133, 135, 191 Rahner K., 3, 5, 6, 7, 14, 78, 84, 87, 90, 91, 93–107, 123, 143, 145, 164, 217 relationship(s) between the world religions, 1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 23, 52, 64, 87, 88, 109, 110, 112, 115, 129, 130, 132, 143, 135, 136, 138, 139, 140, 144, 151, 163, 174, 176, 179, 180, 181, 193, 206, 207, 213, 217, 218 relativism (relative), 4, 50, 56, 63, 65, 66, 68, 95, 114, 133, 134, 135, 136, 143, 150, 151, 152, 190, 213 religious consciousness, 21, 50, 104, 134, 168, 173, 195, 197 respect, 7, 8, 37, 48, 63, 73, 86, 101, 136, 139, 141, 148, 167, 170, 190, 193, 196, 210, 218 revelation (of God), 2, 8, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18, 19, 20, 22, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 41, 44, 45, 47, 49, 50, 51, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 70, 71, 73, 75, 79, 83, 84, 90, 94, 102, 103, 106, 107, 109, 110, 114, 115, 117, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123, 125, 126, 134, 135, 138, 145, 147, 148,

160, 170, 182, 185, 186, 187, 192, 208, 212, 217 Richards G., 4, 6, 55, 59, 65, 121, 130, 137, 138 salvation, 1, 2, 7, 8, 49, 51, 56, 59, 61, 62, 64, 70, 71, 76, 78, 80, 81, 86, 90, 96, 97, 120, 130, 139, 149 future reality, 37, 78 God’s decision, 54 inclusivist understanding, 89, 91, 97, 98, 99, 100, 106, 107 necessity of church, 13, 14, 93, 144 necessity of grace, 85, 95, 101 only through Christ, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 19, 21, 28, 36, 39, 40, 47, 50, 55, 57, 58, 59, 63, 64, 65, 67, 83, 87, 89, 95, 96, 97, 101, 114, 125, 126, 146–7 through all religions, 3, 13, 48, 59, 84, 86, 89, 94, 99, 100, 103, 104, 118, 125, 130, 138, 139, 143, 148, 149, 152, 153, 168, 179, 180, 184, 188 universal, 25, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 87, 126, 127, 128, 129, 145, 148 Second Vatican Council, 3, 13, 14, 85, 93, 94, 143 secular/secularisation, 68, 110, 118, 119, 120, 153, 180, 208 Sharpe E., 21, 25, 88, 89, 93, 94, 101, 104, 106 Smith W.C., 4, 5, 6, 9, 40, 54, 129, 138, 142, 195–215, 217 Starkey P., 125, 126, 127 supernatural existential, 94, 102, 107 theocentric, 5, 42, 79, 182, 183, 188, 193, 208, 218 Thompson G., 25, 38, 39, 40 Tillich P., 3, 5, 7, 91, 109–23, 130, 167, 217 tolerance (and intolerance), 20, 52, 64, 74, 75, 113, 136, 137, 138, 145, 146, 157, 161, 173, 174 Toynbee A., 5, 74, 75, 137, 138 tradition, 1, 5, 17, 18, 36, 47, 84, 129, 138, 139, 151, 160, 167, 169, 178, 191, 195, 197, 200, 203, 204, 208, 210

Index Christian, 11, 20, 28, 43, 45, 57, 60, 66, 119, 126, 137, 167, 175, 184, 185, 187, 193 religious, 1, 2, 3, 7, 8, 9, 13, 21, 22, 24, 33, 39, 40, 43, 48, 49, 50, 63, 64, 65, 66, 68, 72, 74, 80, 83, 86, 87, 89, 91, 93, 95, 97, 99, 101, 104, 110, 115, 116, 121, 125, 130, 133, 134, 135, 136, 140, 141, 147, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 164, 166, 167, 170, 173, 174, 179, 180, 181, 182, 186, 188, 189, 190, 192, 193, 196, 200, 201, 205, 206, 207, 211, 212, 213, 214, 217, 218 Troeltsch E., 5, 114, 133, 134, 135 truth, 2, 3, 8, 18, 21, 26, 35, 37, 48, 50, 56, 58, 60, 61, 65, 69, 71, 72, 74, 84, 94, 113, 121, 133, 137, 149, 151, 153, 157, 160, 161, 163, 174, 190, 195, 201, 202, 204, 205, 206, 208, 210, 214 absolute, 1, 11, 12, 20, 22, 30, 63, 64, 65, 74, 75, 77, 190, 191, 192, 193, 212, 213, 214 bearers of, 3, 143 Christian, 47, 50, 51, 53, 56, 64, 67, 72, 89, 91, 125, 133, 150, 163, 207 claims, 2, 12, 18, 20, 49, 112, 131, 141, 151, 152, 181, 182, 190, 191, 192, 193, 212, 213, 214 culture specific, 133 in other religions, 33, 38, 39, 48, 51, 54, 55, 58, 64, 66, 69, 71, 74, 78, 79, 81, 83, 86, 90, 95, 103, 140, 146, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 158, 179 Jesus as, 12, 40, 44, 50, 51, 52, 54, 55, 56, 64, 65, 67, 68, 79, 117, 122, 125, 146, 147, 161

235 of the Bible, 20, 32, 67

ultimate reality, 76, 135, 148, 165, 170, 178, 180, 181, 187, 188, 189, 192, 193 universal claim of Christianity, 119, 166 concept of religion, 114, 138 culture, 73 divine presence, 189 enlightenment, 19 faith, 203, 204 grace of God, 85 love of God, 13, 85 mediator, 169 presence of the Logos, 113, 115, 168, 170 religion, 48, 49, 74, 75, 114, 195 religious community, 195 religious consciousness, 21, 50, 131 religious values, 189 revelation, 29, 114, 118, 119, 123, 126, 134 salvation, 11, 12, 21, 25, 26, 34–9, 79, 87, 95, 96, 99, 114, 121, 127, 128, 129, 145, 148, 174 significance of Christ, 120 truths, 69 Warren M., 20, 88, 89, 129 Western (culture and religion), 23, 46, 47, 48, 68, 70, 73, 74, 75, 88, 117, 130, 144, 157, 160, 163, 188, 190, 195, 197, 198, 204 world community, 195, 196, 205, 208, 212, 213, 214 World Council of Churches, 2, 3, 6, 15, 67, 90 World Missionary Conferences, 2, 14, 15, 47