Movements on the Horizon:
Developments and Directions

By Mary Boys From Educating in Faith

A map is an essential guide for travelers, orienting them to the landscape charted by pioneers. Eventually, however, settlers have to proceed by their own sense of things. They will frequently consult the map, which will grow tattered and torn. But eventually settlers discover other paths and landmarks by which to make their way. To establish roots means in part to have greater confidence in one's perspective on certain territory, thereby to pay attention to one's own sense of direction.

So it is with thinking about religious education. Charting a map of the field in Part One was for me an exercise in orientation, a means of locating myself in a complex enterprise. Having found the process of mapmaking necessary to make sense of where 1 had landed, I now teach mapmaking to suggest to others ways of understanding their own journeys. Conversations with others in the field have heightened my realization that my map is but one way of analyzing religious education, and I have benefited greatly from other maps. Hence my desire that the mapping of Part One be a heuristic device, a stimulus for readers to develop their own layout of the territory. My confidence is less in the finality of my own map than in the validity of mapmaking as an educational experience. Only by trying to lay out the routes of previous theories will religious educators be able to progress in understanding what they are about.

When a friend recently reached the age of forty, she described her goal as wishing to "grow down." This is what I have tried to do in Part Two, where 1 have ventured into explanation of my own particular way of locating and settling. This section reveals one settler's views. To put it another way, my quest here is to speak of religious education in a way that is both sufficiently inclusive-to encompass the range of perspectives and activities mapped in Part One-and approximately particular -to facilitate the development of specific ways of educating in faith.

It keeps the map alongside, but my own convictions and experience shall serve as guides as well. I shall utilize tile mail as :t helper, often doubling back to retrace my steps before circling onwards.

With the map from Part One in hand, 1 propose in this chapter to venture into newer terrain. From this vantage point, I see art expanse of green shoots: an expanded understanding of knowledge; the contribution of different voices, particularly feminists', to rethinking certain foundational questions; the maturation of the social sciences; and the emergence of a new vision of- the public responsibility of the church. I will describe each in turn, initially sketching the development in its broad dimensions and then filling in a more detailed account of the consequences for religious education. In the next chapter, 1 will deal explicitly with the meaning of these implications for conceptualizing the field.

WAYS OF KNOWING: DILATING OUR SENSE OF THE WORLD

The question of what it means to know, as ! have argued front the outset, is fundamental to any theory of education. How we understand knowing is particularly significant today. Perhaps this is seen more vividly in its negative manifestation.

Since the Enlightenment Western society has tended to confuse technological advance with progress, information with knowledge, reason with wisdom, credentials with education, and teaching with technique. Consequently, it tends to prize that which is verifiable, measurable, and objective. It tends to exclude forms of knowledge that are not empirical and to assign precedence to fields dealing with quantitative realities. So engineering flourishes, while the budget for the fine arts is cut. When lower test scores come to public attention, slogans such as "back to the basics" often substitute lot- a more carefully articulated and creative approach to crises in the schools.

As a result, the West seems to have constricted its understanding of education. Historian Douglas Sloan indicts modern education for being rooted in a narrowly scientific epistemology that produces "a reason without rationality, an intellect without intelligence, a knowledge without understanding . . . an exquisitely stupid cleverness adept at taking the world apart with no grasp of' what it is doing, our apparent concern."' Similarly, Houston Smith, a scholar of comparative religions, says, "we have trimmed our epistemological sails too close to the scientific desiderata of objectivity, prediction, number, and control."

Yet this is not the full story. Despite the prevalence of a mentality that treats knowledge reductionistically - what is true can be measured and objectified-evidence is accruing across the spectrum of the disciplines that such a truncated epistemology must be replaced by one that tumors knowing as a complex process, mystery-laden and beyond our "ken." As scholars from diverse fields agree, human knowing transcends the verifiable and rational-a consensus significant for religious education.

No one way of describing the intricacies of knowing suffices. However, a recent volume, Learning and Teaching the Ways of Knowing, offers some useful distinctions. Of value, fur instance, is, Jerome Burner's thesis that there are two irreducible prudes of cognition, the "paradigmatic" (or logico-scientific)- and the "narrative." Each provides a way of ordering experience, constructing reality, littering perceptions, and organizing the memory. When well applied, the paradigmatic mode leads to good theory, tight analysis, logical proof, and empirical discovery guided by reasoned hypothesis. Complementing this way of knowing is the narrative mode, which, when artfully used, leads to good stories, gripping drama, and believable historical accounts. Both modes, of course, seek to express truth. But in the paradigmatic mode, froth is essentially a clear matter (one can subject the truth to verification by experiment); in the narrative mode, however, truth is more multifaceted and elusive. Thus one judges the truth value of the two nudes differently. As Bruner' sagely observes, "science 'progresses' in a way that storytelling arid drama do not."' Parenthetically, Bruner's point is borne out by literary critic Northrop Frye's judgment that literature neither evolves nor improves. "We may have dramatists in the Future who will write plays as good as King Lear, though they'll be very different ones, but drama as a whole will not get better than King Lear."

Brunet's twofold classification notwithstanding, other dimensions of knowing may be named. Elliot Eisner argues fur the importance of the aesthetic mode as corrective to the assumption that intelligence is the manipulation of abstract ideas.', Against those who advocate a return to the basics while excluding the fine arts, he argues:

The realization that the arts represent one of the ways through which humans construct and convey meaning and the creation of art forms requires the use of judgement, perceptivity, ingenuity, and purpose-in a word, intelligence-seems to have escaped roost of those who hove commented upon the state of education, not the lease of whom are university professors sitting on admission committees and shaping admission policies fill universities.,

Another way of knowing has been suggested by Ellen Berscheid: "interpersonal knowing," which includes both social intelligence (knowing other people and oneself) and social competence (the ability to nuance the desired responses in interaction wills ushers).' Others propose that we grant validity to "practical knowledge," procedural information that is useful in one's everyday life." After all, in everyday situations, a person's thinking is "in the service of action."

As scholars explicate the different modes of knowing, we nary well feel that they are finally providing a theoretical base lilt what we have long sensed: there are many ways of knowing. And yet (in- all the wisdom of this conviction, most educational structures provide a quite narrow frame for knowing. As a case in point, consider those the culture in general regards as "intelligent." Typically, they are persons gifted with verbal or mathematical skills, as measured by standardized tests, including the "IQ" test. Not only are such tests marred by class, gender, and race biases, but the equation of certain skills with intelligence may lead people to ignore "the moral and ethical strengths of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr . . . . the sensitivity to inner nuance that distinguishes the novels of Virginia Woolf or Henry James."

It follows, then, that acknowledgment of diverse ways of knowing requires, among other factors, recognition of the complex character of human intelligence. Especially insightful in this regard is psychologist Howard Gardner's claim that intelligence is not a tangible, measurable entity, but rather a convenient way of labeling some phenomena. He suggests that we think of' various intelligences that function as sets of "know-how." Specifically, Gardner proposes six distinct intelligences: linguistic, musical, logical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, and personal." His theory of "multiple intelligences" brilliantly lays open the biases of much of Western education and provides a fascinating foundation for more imaginative curricula.

Moreover, as philosopher Maxine Greene notes, Gardner's work has political implications. Against the backdrop of the recent government report A Nation a! Risk, with its rhetoric assailing the "rising tide of mediocrity" and promoting "excellence" in education, Greene concludes that Gardner gives us a warrant for thinking of excellence in a plural sense: ". . . as the development of particular capacities like critico-creative thinking, integrity, autonomy, fidelity, imaginativeness, adventurousness, self-reflectiveness, co-operativeness, moral sensitivity, and even strength of will or persistence or stubbornness." 12 Greene continues:

If stress is placed on a prescribed range of literacies, if human beings are thought of primarily as "resources" to promote the national interest, opportunities for differential growth arid development may be severely limited in the name of relevance and efficiency. We need hot think of those whose strengths arid talents are not of the sort especially prized today: Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, James Baldwin, Gregory Bateson, Helen Caldicou, any number of others. We might think of persons peculiarly qualified to start storefront schools in inhospitable neighborhoods, those out to save tire rivers, those who engage in civil disobedience to stop nuclear war."

IMPLICATIONS FOR RELIGIOUS EDUCATION

The widened horizon of knowing proffered by the thinkers ,just trained above permits a more expansive understanding of religious education. It calls attention to the transcendent arid hence religious quality of all education-a theme central to the work of Parker Palmer and Dwayne Huebner. Moreover, it points to the need to incorporate a broadened concept of knowing in the field of religious education itself.

Here the work of Maria Harris is significant. Influenced particularly by philosopher Susanne Langer, as well as by Eisner, Harris has focused much of her teaching on the aesthetic quality of religious education. She recognizes the value of that empirical knowledge, "which makes arid land fertile, unlocks the secrets of obscure texts, or repairs damaged hearts." Nevertheless, Harris proposes that knowing is truncated unless it is completed by artistic knowing." Art, she argues, is the "primordial form of knowing through our bodiliness .... A person speculating, thinking, knowing in the artistic mode does not think about objects: trees, rivers, clay, tone. A person knows them, thinks through them, in actual sensible, concrete engagement."' For Harris, artistic knowing is crucial to the educational process. She claims:

Perhaps the most valuable mental attitude of the educator, whether parent or pastor or preacher or pedagogue, is closer to the poetic, artistic intelligence than to discursive intelligence. For the subject matter of education is, as is the subject matter of theology, knowledge profoundly entered, knowledge in which one dwells. Guilt, forgiveness, death, reconciliation, resurrection, love, arid faith are not primarily concepts. They are primarily human realities, lest understood in immediacy and involvement.'

In theological terms, this knowing is the source of the sacramental

imagination-that vision that sees all creation as mediating the divine. Religious educators who follow Harris's lead will necessarily be attentive to the revelatory character of art in all of' its manifestations. Their pedagogical task comprises a sensitivity to metaphor; to shape, color, dimension, medium, texture; to movement and stillness; to sound arid silence.

That such tasks are not peripheral to religious education is also the argument of ,James Michael Lee in the final volume of his trilogy, The Content of Religious Instruction. In this massive book (814 pages), Lee posits that the construct "religion" is constituted by nine contents: product arid process, cognitive and affective, verbal arid nonverbal, conscious arid unconscious, and life-style. Among the numerous implications possible in Lee's detailed unfolding of this thesis are many that harmonize with Harris's, especially since both resist equating education in religion with instruction in theology. Extrapolating from Harris and Lee, 1 suggest the following obligations for all educators, but especially religious educators:to take great care with words :rod, in particular, to appreciate symbolic language. 'teaching requires an awareness of the power of speech.

To respect silence arid draw upon nonverbal ways of communicating. 'leaching has rhythms of sound and stillness, of action arid reception. "For everything there is a season, and a tune for every matter under heaven" (Eccles. 3:1).

• To take the body seriously and attend to the sensory character of learning. Teaching is grounded in sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell.

• To honor the "right brain." Teaching involves complementing the analytical, cognitive, and logical activities of the brain's left hemisphere with the more intuitive, affective, and nonverbal activities of the right hemisphere.

• To enter imaginatively into the subject. Teaching is a stretching, an awakening, a creative activity.

These are by no means the only possible connections between Harris and Lee, but they are, I believe, essential to a more vital religious education. I will return to them in the next chapter as I develop my own definition of the field.

One other significant dimension of an expanded epistemological basis for religious education deserves attention: the work of Thomas Groome in emphasizing that knowing encompasses praxis. That is, not only is knowing embodied (apropos Harris and Lee) but it also is necessarily "relational, experiential and active"-three adjectives Groome uses consistently to describe what he means by a praxis way of knowing. Furthermore, praxis denotes intentionally and reflectively chosen ethical action, so pedagogy drawing upon Groome's movements of "shared Christian praxis" necessarily invites participants to make decisions, to respond in faith to what is being taught.

In certain respects, religious educators seem to have come full circle to an epistemology not unlike Jonathan Edwards's (see chapter 2). Though Harris, Lee, and Groome have considerably refined and extended the discussion, their interests foster a way of knowing strikingly similar to that "information of the understanding" of which Edwards spoke. For all three of them-albeit in varying ways-"spiritual knowledge," "wherein the mind not only speculates and beholds, but relishes and feels," is central. Like Edwards, they are convinced that the knowledge persons seek in matters religious should enable them to live differently.

In a phrase, what they-and I--advocate is an education that will "dilate" our sense of the world." We need a theory of knowing that will complement our emphasis on autonomy, rationality, abstraction, and skill with attention to mutuality, emotion, particularity, and awe. This is the epistemology fundamental to any "religious" education.

PERSPECTIVES ON FOUNDATIONAL QUESTIONS: LISTENING TO FEMINIST VOICES

In suggesting that religious education needs to have an epistemological basis so that our outlook is enlarged, I have used the imagery of sight: dilating our sense of the world. As the great rabbi Abraham J. Heschel observed, we tend to see simply what we know, rather than know what we see.

In this section I propose to amplify the visual image with alt auditory one. In particular, I will draw upon a body of literature-feminist theology-that deals with the voice as a metaphor for intellectual and ethical growth.

Feminist studies test the paradigms that have typically organized knowledge to exclude women or to make them marginal. By no means, however, is feminism articulated in one voice. Jean Bethke Elshtain observes: "under the broad umbrella of' Women's Studies one finds :I lively, at times contentious world of competing epistemologies, ideologies, narrative styles, and ethical and political commitments."-' Nevertheless, I think it is possible to generalize that the following five fundamental activities are characteristic of feminist theory: questioning conventional wisdom-the concepts, conclusions, and principles deeply rooted it) scholarship; reexamining sources; searching for information overlooked or previously inaccessible; attending to methodology; and stimulating new theories. Feminist theory is not so much about "raising" consciousness as it is about shattering or enlarging it. It is "perspective transforming," a matrix for an expanded understanding of reality.

FEMINIST VOICES

Attentiveness to silence is the prelude to and prerequisite for feminist theory. Listening generates questions. Who has been excluded from this conversation? Why have the experiences of women not beers sufficiently considered? Do the categories formulated by men take women's perspectives into account? For example, can one appropriately generalize about stages of development-whether in regard to moral reasoning, faith, or cognition-when the data have been drawn from male subjects? Can a theologian adequately reflect upon the human condition when only men serve as resources? Can the goals and processes of education serve society's needs when the thinking of only a relatively homogeneous group of men dominates the discussion?

Attentiveness to silence leads to suspicion: all knowing is partial and perspectival, all reason is "standpoint dependent.""' What is suspect? Conclusions long taken for granted, methodologies apparently firmly established, and canons considered closed. What is especially suspect is that differences have been ignored and glossed over. Gender does matter-not simply as a natural consequence of sex difference, but its all analytic category within which humans think about and organize their social reality." And because gender has not been taken into account, views of the world are distorted.

Buried in the silence and suspicion are the seeds of transformation. Feminist theory ultimately is directed toward enlarging society's visions. This is the point I wish to underscore as I turn now to describe in briefly some of the facets of feminist thinking in education and theology that I believe help Its to reshape our understanding of religious education.

In recent years a number of feminist scholars have been scrutinizing conclusions drawn primarily from the experience of males. Carol Gilligan, for instance, in arguing that psychological theories either ignore or devalue the development of women, takes issue with the conclusions drawn by her late Harvard colleague Lawrence Kohlberg. Kohlberg maintained that the principles of moral reasoning were universal, developing through invariantly sequential, hierarchically structured stages. Yet his research was based entirely on interviews with males. Gillian, on the basis of interviews with female subjects, proposes that women articulate their moral development "in a different voice." Whereas males tend to think formally, proceeding from theory to fact, and define the self and moral behavior autonomously, females tend to reason more contextually and inductively; moreover, they typically emphasize the interdependence of intimacy and care.' Theirs is an ethic of care rather than one of justice (as Kohlberg had concluded). Thus the universal character of Kohlberg's claims is suspect .

Gilligan's research, of course, is not the final word. Empirical studies do not fully support her claim that males and females differ in moral orientation.29 111 addition, Gilligan's research has focused only oil the privileged classes and has thereby not taken social position into account. Joan Tronto suggests that the moral perspectives of minorities in the United States are much more likely to be characterized by an ethic of care than by an ethic of justice. Further, she criticizes Gilligan for insufficiently grounding her ethic in a larger context of moral arid political theory. Paul Philibert concludes that Gilligan falls prey to the same methodological weakness she has discovered in Kohlberg, namely, "a psychology of morality based upon individualistic, non-dialectical reflection.

Such criticisms notwithstanding, Gilligan's work is important for the provocative questions it raises. Do then and women differ in their thinking? Do they differ in what they prize-autonomy and relationships, respectively? And if there are differences, are they grounded in socialization or biology? Is it possible to develop an ethical vision that honors both human relationships in their particularity and abstract principles in their universality?

If questions such as these are to receive a fair hearing, attention must be given to women's experience in education. One compelling study argues that women do indeed know and view tile world from epistemological perspectives unlike men's. In their Women's Ways of Knowing, Mary Field Belenky arid three co-authors describe how women's experience shapes the way they know. Based on extensive interviews with 135 women of varying ages, circumstances, and backgrounds," the lour authors postulate that women's ways of knowing might be described as follows:

• Received knowledge: "a perspective from which women conceive of themselves as capable of receiving, even reproducing, knowledge lion the external authorities but not capable of creating knowledge oil their

own."

• Subjective knowledge: "a perspective from which truth and knowledge are conceived of as personal, private, and subjectively known or intuited."

• Procedural knowledge: "a position in which women are invested in learning and applying objective procedures for obtaining and communicating knowledge."

• Constructed knowledge: "a position in which women view all knowledge as contextual, experience themselves as creators of knowledge, and value both subjective and objective strategies for knowing.

The authors refuse to label these four perspectives "stages," in part because they take issue with the predilection of psychologists to generalize about "universal developmental pathways" when their conclusions are extrapolated from data drawn from one gender, class, or culture."

One of the most transparent points in their work is the connection between the interviewees' self-understanding and their way of knowing. The authors point out that women in some circumstances are incapable even of "received knowledge." These are women in a perspective tile authors designate "silence": women who understand themselves as mindless and voiceless-persons deaf and mute, subject to tile whims of external authority. Ann, a battered woman, says:

I could never understand what they were talking about. My schooling was very limited. I didn't learn anything. I would just sit there and let people ramble on about something I didn't understand arid would say, Yup, yup. I would be too embarrassed to ask, What do you really mean. I had trouble talking. I tried to explain something and someone told me that it was wrong, I'd burst into tears over it. I'd just fall apart."

As one might suspect, these women were among the youngest interviewees and among the most deprived economically, socially and educationally. Because of their limited experience and lack of confidence, they were only confirmed in their sense of ineptitude by schooling.

But, if a grace note might be discovered ill the lives of women such as Ann, it is that other experiences-most often giving birth and caring for children-frequently initiated a revolution in thought. These women discovered that they can learn. Perhaps fur solve, mothering nurtured their own intellectual capacities, what Sara Ruddick terms "maternal thinking":

I speak about a mother's thought-the intellectual capacities she develops, tile judgments she makes, the metaphysical attitudes site assumes, tile values she affirms. A mother engages a discipline. That is, sine asks certain questions rather than others; she establishes criteria for the truth, adequacy, and relevance of proposed answers; and she cares about tile findings she makes and call act oil. Like any discipline, hers has characteristic. errors, temptations, and goals. The discipline of maternal thought consists in establishing criteria for determining failure and success, in setting the priorities, and in identifying the virtues and liabilities the criteria presume.'

Yet typically, women first finding their voice experience learning in a limited sense: receiving, retaining, and returning the words of authorities. Not unsurprisingly in the face of these "three Rs," women who are "received knowers" tend to be intolerant in the face of ambiguity, literal in their interpretations, and fond of predictability and clarity.

Life experience often leads to the position of "subjective knowledge" in which the woman becomes tier own authority, finding truth within, and treasuring what site has learned by living. One such woman said: "There's a part of tile that I didn't even realize I had until recently instinct, intuition, whatever. It helps me and protects me. It's perceptive and astute. I just listen to the inside of me and I know what to do's' The authors conclude that women in this mode distrust logic, analysis, abstraction, and even language itself. They see these methods as alien territory belonging to men .... It is not (fiat these women have become familiar with logic and theory as tools for knowing and have chosen to reject them: they have only vague and untested prejudices against a mode of thought that they sense is unfeminine and inhuman and maybe detrimental to their capacity for feeling. This anti-rationalist attitude is primarily characteristic of women during the period of subjectivism its which they value intuition as a safer and more fruitful approach to truth."

Consequently, as the authors observe, subjectivism, despite the increase of self-confidence it signals, is a way of knowing with "maladaptive consequences." Significantly, for many women the period of subjectivism precedes tile return to formal education.

It is formal education that, in large measure, contributes to "procedural" knowledge, the voice of reason and of more conscious, systematic analysis. The authors suggest that there are two forms of procedural knowledge. One form, "separate" knowledge or critical thinking, is tile opposite of subjectivism and is essentially adversarial in character. The second form is "connected knowledge" or understanding and involves receptive rationality."' Connected knowing moves beyond procedure to empathy; the authors suggest it is related to procedural knowledge as a woman's conversation is to a male "bull session."" Women's conversation, to draw upon the distinction of peter Elbow, is the "believing game" rather than tile "doubting game"-a willingness to entertain the proposition rattier than to criticize it."' For one student, this meant reading a poem as if she were eavesdropping oil two people talking.

Typically, connected knowing involves collaboration; one sophomore described why sire enjoyed class discussion of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: "You can just read it oil toll for the story. Then you can get underneath into Mary Shelley's life and all tile hidden parts, and some people see some parts snore than others, and they can explain theta to you and show them to you. And you don't have to agree, but it's there."

Finally, tile authors claim, some women understand knowing as "constructed." This mode begins with an attempt to integrate what one knows through intuition and experience with what one learns from others.

For constructivist women, simple questions arc as rare as simple answers. Constructivists can take, and often insist upon taking, a position outside a particular context or frame of reference and look back oil "who" is asking (lie question, "why" tile question is asked at all, and "how" answers are arrived at. They no longer dutifully try to come up with answers when questions are asked. "You're asking the wrong question we often heard than say. "Your question is out of context.""

Women who know as constructivists can listen simultaneously to two inner voices: a voice for expressing emotion and a voice for sharing reasons.

Women's Ways of Knowing stimulates considerable reflection about the way educators might be more sensitive to the effect of gender oil knowing. One is suggested by the authors: "connected teaching." Imaged as midwifery, connected teaching involves students in tile processes by which teachers have come to their conclusions. 'Teacher and student participate in a cycle of confirmation-evocation-confirmation. "Midwife teachers help students deliver their words to the world, and they use their own knowledge to put the students into conversation with other voices-past and present-in the culture.

As Belenky and her co-authors call our attention to the link between knowing and tile categories of gender, race, and class, Jane Roland Martin raises our awareness of tile question of gentler in educational philosophy. In Reclaiming a Conversation: The Ideal of lire Educated Woman, Martin proposes that society must educate both for its productive needs citizenship and the workplace-and for its reproductive needs, which include not only conception and birth but also the rearing of children to maturity, caring for the sick, attending to family needs, and managing a household." In her closely reasoned argument, Martin demonstrates flow historians of educational thought have missed the concern for tile reproductive processes of society evident in the work of Plato, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Mary Wollstonecraft, Catharine Beecher, and Charlotte Gilman. As a result, they have excluded from tire educational realm tire transmission of skills, beliefs, feelings, emotions, values, and worldviews that happens in child rearing (among other instances).

Such air omission, with its separation of reason from emotion and self from the other, has had tragic consequences:

Do the separations bequeathed to us by Plato matter? The great irony of tile liberal education that conies clown to us Irons Plato and still today is the mark of an educated man or woman is that it is neither tolerant nor generous .... 'there is no place in it lot- education of the body, and since most action involves bodily movement, this means there is little room in it for education of action. Nor is there room for education of other-regarded feelings and emotions. The liberally educated mail or woman will be provided with knowledge about others but will not be taught to care about their welfare or to act kindly toward them. That person will be given some understanding of society, but will not be taught to feel its injustices or even to be concerned over its late. 'The liberally educated person will be all ivory-tower person-- one who can reason but has no desire to solve real problems in the real world-for a technical person-- one who likes to solve real problems but does not care about the solutions' consequences for real people and for tile earth itself.

Martin proposes no panacea, but does call for a "gender-sensitive" education that would recognize-as Plato did not-that gender affects one's interests, expectations, behavior, and perceptions. Specifically, she proposes three steps in developing an education for the full range of society's needs:

1. Raise awareness of the hidden curriculum of schooling: its denigration of men and tile tasks, traits, and functions our culture associates with them.

2. Integrate new scholarship oil women into the curriculum.

3. Build nurturing capacities and an ethics of care into the curriculum itself.

Martin concludes that just as rationality and autonomy are posited as goals of particular subjects, and of the curriculum as a whole, so also nurturance and connection call become overarching educational goals as well as tile goals of particular subjects.' She adds one warning, However: we must avoid replicating in the curriculum the dichotomy between society's productive and reproductive processes. If our education links "nurturing capacities and tile 3 Cs [caring concern and connection) only to subjects such as home economics that arise out of the reproductive processes," we will "lose sight of the general moral, social, and political significance of these traits."" And, if rationality and autonomous judgment are linked exclusively with society's productive processes, the reproductive processes will continue to be devalued.

When feminist scholars such as Belenky and her co-authors and Martin argue for the importance of a "gender sensitive" education, they hope to expand tile horizons of education for risen and women. As Martin remarks, "one of the unanticipated rewards of bringing women into the educational realm is that the study of the education of tile 'other' half of' the population enables us to see all of education differently."5' fit their insistence that we listen to tile "different voice," these scholars stimulate us to converse about holistic educational goals, all understanding of knowing expanded by sensitivity to gender and class, a process-oriented pedagogy, art inclusive curriculum, and a vision of a society where men and women work in partnership. 111 short, they ask us to talk about those questions foundational to education.

FEMINIST THEOLOGICAL THINKING

In a similar way, feminist theologians have provoked rethinking of questions foundational to theology. Although, as Margaret Farley points out, sustained theological synthesis in the feminist mode is new oil tile horizon, a remarkable literature is burgeoning across tile range of the theological specializations. It is my intention here to "listen in" oil some of the discourse of feminist theology in order to articulate it more adequate foundation for religious education.

Feminist theologians, like their colleagues in education, recognize the epistemological grounding of their work; they consistently acknowledge the effect of standpoint, "challenging us to notice anew the angle of our vision, thereby examining how and why we see as we do, as well its examining what we see."

Examination from the feminist angle of vision provides, in the first analysis, the specter of the distorted view of women in Christian history.

Scrutiny of the tradition initially entails documenting its deformation of women. Farley aptly summarizes the results of this scrutiny:

And whether woman was thought consciously to be a threatening force in tile dialectic of history, or a temptress of men throughout all history, or a symbol of what men feared within themselves, site appears throughout tile centuries ill Christian writings as a special agent of evil. It is almost to unnecessary to cite ill this regard tile texts of Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Tertullian, Origen, Augustine, Jerome, of Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure, of Luther, John Knox and tile Puritans.'

Similarly, feminists highlight women's invisibility ill the story of tile tradition, showing how the tellers of its tales-theologians and churchmen-have narrated only a part of' the fuller text.

Precisely because the distortions and omissions in tile tradition have resulted in tile subordination and subjection of women, Elisabeth Sch6ssler Fiorenza argues that we must rethink our understanding of revelation.

She cuts to the core of Christian self-understanding in her assertion that a theology that liberates men and women "cannot accord revelatory authority to any oppressive and destructive biblical text or tradition." We must, she argues, reject those texts and traditions that perpetuate "violence, alienation and patriarchal subordination" in God's name. Rather, we must recover those elements articulating the "liberating experiences and visions of the people of God.." Thus the work of feminist theology is ultimately constructive. Indeed, one of its most singular contributions is the integration of imagination and reason in alternative renderings in areas such as Bible, systematic and spirituality. For example, Phyllis Trible uses feminism as a "hermeneutical clue" in her sensitive reading of the creation stories of Genesis, permitting her to highlight female metaphors for God and thus "allowing scripture to interpret scripture for new occasions."'" Likewise, Sch6ssler Fiorenza, conscious of women's invisibility," refuses to accept the argument from silence; that is, just because women are not explicitly mentioned in a passage does not mean only men were involved. Instead, she uses the silences about women's historical and theological experience as a clue to the "egalitarian reality" of the early Christian movement. She supplements historical-critical method-the biblical scholar's tool with an imaginative reconstruction of historical reality: "rather than understand the text as an adequate reflection of the reality about which it speaks, we must search for clues and allusions that indicate the reality about which the text is silent."

In a similar vein, Rosemary Radford Ruether has gathered a collection of texts to serve as a resource for feminist theology. Her anthology goes beyond the bounds of the Bible to include classical texts from the ancient Near East and from marginalized communities at the edges of ,Judaism and Christianity (e.g., Gnostic texts). In addition, she incorporates parables and poetry and myths. Ruether terms her collection a "working handbook of those stories from our enlarged memory of our experience"; its purpose is to stimulate discussion so that its readers can "start the work of our own theological reflection. "Ruether maintains that such a collection helps us to read canonical, patriarchal texts in a new light. Accordingly, those texts lose their normative status, and readers are stimulated to engage in the process of forming a new canon the old one is insufficient for feminist theology-so that women can define themselves rather than be defined by others."

Clearly, the authority of divinely revealed texts is a crucial question for both Schussler Fiorenza and Ruether. In fact, it is a characteristic concern of feminist theologians and the focus for lively debate among them-not all agree with Schussler Fiorenza and Ruether. By no means are feminist theologians of a single mind.

'File meaning of revelation (admittedly, a larger question than the authority of Scripture, but inextricably linked to it in Christian theology) has preoccupied twentieth-century thinkers. Feminist theologians have moved the debate ahead in their insistence that women's historical experience be taken seriously in any formulation of what is normative. In part, this reflects their rejection of theological abstraction as an end in itself. The centrality of revelation's authoritative claim comes also from the importance feminists place on relationship; as jean Lambert observes, "scripture's authority is inseparable from its function of inviting persons into relation.

The concept of relation is key throughout feminist theory and is particularly evident in the field of spirituality. Re-imaging God is fundamental: the image of God as father served so long as a dominant metaphor in Christian life that it carne to legitimize domination, whether the divine right of kings or the lordship of men over women.'' Feminists have written extensively on the feminine image of God-most notably Phyllis Trible - and suggested new images, such as God as "friend."" Of course, as Elizabeth Johnson astutely notes, calling into question an exclusively male idea of God does not therefore suggest that male imagery for God is inappropriate, since "what has been destroyed as all idol can return as an icon."',5 Nor should using female imagery fur God introduce a distraction from belief in the one God of tile ,Judeo-Christian tradition, because "the use of startling; metaphors opens up the possibility of new religious experience of the one Holy Mystery."

So important is relationship that it lies at the heart of feminist definitions of spirituality. Anne Carr speaks of spirituality as our deepest self in relation to God, and to the whole of life, embracing our relations with others, politics, society, and the world. Joanne Wolski Conn equates spirituality with the capacity to he self-transcending, that is, to be relational and freely committed. She posits that the central issues of the women's movement are also key issues in the development of spirituality in Christian life. For instance, "all empirical approach to spiritual direction" (presumably, one that takes experience seriously) "maintains that growth in prayer involves the ability to heighten awareness of what one really wants in life and how one really feels in God's presence."

Similarly, Carol Ochs advances the thesis that women's experience allows new insight into relationship with reality and thereby fosters a spirituality of this world. She uses mothering as a central image, defining it as a way of love, a "de-centering" of the ego with two fundamental rhythms: holding on and letting go. Like Conn, she speaks of spirituality as the culmination of the natural process of maturation. A woman contributes a vital perspective to spirituality, since men's definitions of maturity have traditionally stressed independence or individuation. In contrast, women tend to think of maturity in terms of growth in the ability to relate with others. Women offer a way of viewing the ordinary as the ground of the holy."'

IMPLICATIONS FOR RELIGIOUS EDUCATION

The range and richness of feminist voices is breathtaking, especially in view of the relatively brief period in which they have spoken. Their voices have a distinctive timbre. At times susceptible to the judgment that preoccupation with victimization has produced "one-note criticism,""' they nevertheless provide stimulating conversation partners for religious educators. Let us consider feminist educators and theologians as interlocutors as we examine two inter-related dimensions of religious education, curriculum and teaching.

If curriculum is broadly understood as the "accumulating wisdom of the Christian community," then we need to be aware of the complex, dynamic character of the tradition." Our sources for understanding Christianity originated in the finiteness of historical situations. Too often we have looked away from their incompleteness (women and other minorities invisible) and distortions (women as subordinate). The sources we have generally relied oil are excessively narrow in scope arid point of view, since most texts are authored by white, Western males. In more recent years, we may have attempted to compensate by supplementing bibliographies by adding a session on "women in the Bible" or "Luther's view of women." But such additive approaches to the curriculum are inadequate. What is needed is an integration of feminist voices into the discipline itself, so that gender becomes a category for analysis of sources. What is needed, in short, is nothing less than a rethinking of the entire curriculum. Margaret Anderson writes:

Since women have been excluded from the creation of formalized knowledge, to include women means more than just adding women into existing knowledge or making them new objects of knowledge .... Including women refers to the complex process of redefining knowledge by making women's experiences a primary subject fur knowledge, conceptualizing women as active agents in the creation of knowledge, including women's perspectives on knowledge, looking at gender as fundamental to the articulation of knowledge in Western thought, and seeing women's and men's experiences in relation to tire sex/gender system."

The feminist voice needs to stay with its as a nagging suspicion that the way things have been presented is not tire full picture. Not only is the vision we have all inherited partial, but its objectivity is suspect perspective has gone unrecognized. Despite their claim of objectivity, men have not described the world as it is, but as they perceive it. Adrienne Rich provocatively observes that "men in general think badly: in disjuncture from their personal lives, claiming objectivity where the most it-rational passions seethe, losing, as Virginia Woolf' observed, their senses in the pursuit of professionalism."' 'Fire feminist voice is necessary in the first instance to harmonize "objective" and "subjective." Feminist theory is the insistent reminder that rationality, although important, is not art end in itself. Moreover, feminist voices are speaking with a more resonant tone as they develop; their self-critique deepens witness the lively conversation around Gilligan's In a Different Voice-and their creativity is evident.

Feminist theory also reflects concern for process. In conversing with theologians, religious educators contribute an interest in pedagogy that is intrinsic to the feminist commitment to process and collaboration. Theologians operating in more traditional (nodes have typically relegated teaching to the periphery of scholarship, regarding it as mere technique. I believe that one of the most important litmus tests of feminist theology will be how seriously it takes teaching." It is in the act of teaching that many of- the ideals feminists propound are actualized.

Teaching reveals tire contours of one's commitment to process. flow we structure classes, workshops, and presentations reveals our conviction about relationships, both to tire subject at hand and to others. It tests out- understanding of authority, out- reading of sources, the value we place on imagination, and the priority we assign to dialogue.

1 will develop some of these themes in chapter 8. But for now 1 will continue my survey of the new terrain by looking at tire maturing social sciences.

"HOLINESS IS WHOLENESS": THE PERSPECTIVES OF THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

In this third section, 1 propose to outline how the social sciences enhance religious education. As in each of tire other three topics of- this chapter, such a subject is deserving of a volume in itself. In fact, tire current state of scholarship about tire social sciences gives one pause; the complexity of issues means that any survey will necessarily be selective. The social sciences have been described as an "ambitious concept," embracing a "set of disciplines of scholarship which deal with aspects of human society."" There exists no unanimity in a definition of social science or of its divisions and methodologies. The extent to which the fields encompassed by tire social sciences are "scientific" is heatedly debated. Also at issue is the extent to which they are or should be empirical. Moreover, though psychology is generally omitted from the various typologies offered by social science theorists, common parlance seems to categorize it among the activities of social science-an inclusion I will follow.

The perils indicate the importance of proceeding cautiously; they need not obscure the ways the social sciences are reshaping religious education. Insofar as the social sciences study humankind in its unity,", they permit some fascinating angles oil the theme "holiness is wholeness." In face of the vast array of insights, I will limit my report to [row sociology and psychology affect religious education.

SOCIOLOGY

I see at least three sociological streams influencing the field of religious education. One, empirical research, establishes a data base, identifying and classifying viewpoints and behaviors. Here scientific methods are prized; research design-often described at length in an appendix is key to validating a study. Sociology in this mode examines the influence of factors such as class, ethnicity, schooling, and income of) religious groups; it studies life in cults, the experience of adolescent crises of faith, and the adherence of church members to doctrinal statements.

One need only survey journals such as the Review of Religious Research or Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion to gain a sense of the careful methodologies and range of topics. Issues such as the effects of church schools," the phenomenon of church dropouts,'" and the dynamics of life in a congregation" are also analyzed. The descriptive studies proffered by such sociologists challenge religious educators to be cognizant of the complex variables at play in any given situation.

The second stream of sociological study, more attentive to historical, philosophical, and theological literature, is exemplified in the work of scholars such as Peter Berger, Gregory Baum, Robert Bellah and his associates (most notably in Habits of the Heart), and John Coleman. I will take up the work of Bellah and Coleman in particular in my concluding section on the church's new awareness of its public responsibilities.

The third stream, bearing relation to the above, is best categorized as "sociology of knowledge." This enterprise, associated originally with Max Scheler and Karl Mannheim, studies the way a person's social life influences his or her knowledge, thought, and culture b" More recently, "critical theory"-used to end critique innocent of its own presuppositions"'-has entered the vocabulary of influential religious educators and thus given prominence to sociology of knowledge.

It is most evident in the work of Thomas Groome, who, originally influenced by Paulo Freire's work (see chapter 6), found that critical theory permitted a deeper grasp of human praxis as a way of understanding. Groome's sources include George Hegel (on the unity of theory and praxis) and Karl Marx (authentic knowing should be a transformative activity directed toward human freedom and emancipation). He has also drawn upon Jurgen Habermas to broaden Marx's narrow meaning of praxis and to illuminate the "objectivist illusion"-the mistaken notion that a person can be free of presuppositions and interests. Sociology of knowledge forms a foundation of Groome's second movement of "shared Christian praxis;" since, following Habermas, lie stresses the primacy of the knowing subject and questions the spectrum of interests, symbols, attitudes, assumptions, technologies, and interests that distort communication and repress dialogue.

Shared praxis attempts to bring people to name their own constitutive knowing (that is, the knowing which arises from their own engagement it) the world), and to critically reflect on that knowing in order to uncover its source and consequence (their "interests").

Sociology of knowledge similarly influences William Bean Kennedy in his argument that religious educators need a greater ideological consciousness. In a recent article, Kennedy uses Douglas Kellner's distinction between "ideology-as-ism" (the power to give birth to a new view of the world and to motivate its advocates to political action) and "hegemonic ideology" (the acceptance of the way things are and thus an acceptance and legitimation of the status quo). Concerned lest religious educators represent instruments of hegemonic ideology, Kennedy makes six recommendations for pedagogical action. The first is a general statement that religious educators must be attentive to the content of the curriculum in which educational knowledge is "framed" in relationships between student and teacher:

As we shape our courses and develop our syllabi, we are involved in that ideological activity [in which the educational system controls knowledge and perpetuates the control of the present, hegemonic ideology. We can all too easily give up resisting and trying to make radical breakthroughs, and even forget that in sharing course goals, resources, and teaching-learning processes with students we have much free space in which to subvert or counter the larger structural controls .... As teachers in practical fields we have considerable freedom to experiment, to challenge the prevailing modes of curriculum design and course organization.

The other five flow from this. Kennedy recommends that religious educators make greater use of aesthetic and creative modes of learning so as to overcome "technical rationality." Furthermore, they should pay particular attention to the knowledge and experiences of oppressed groups, engage in "problem-posing" education (following Freire), utilize conflict as a tool of reflection and analysis, and operate with a "hermeneutic of suspicion"-identifying and analyzing society's contradictions. Kennedy concludes, "When things are not as they should be, religious education is called to keep a vision fresh among us, against which we can judge the personal and political decisions we must make.""'

In sum, if empirical studies make transparent the factors that shape the thoughts and behaviors of individuals and groups, then sociology of knowledge provides a lens through which patterns of domination can he identified. Sociology offers a tool for disciplining oneself to be more attentive to the world as it is. It is indispensable to religious education.

PSYCHOLOGY

Whereas sociology, particularly sociology of knowledge, has yet to influence religious education dramatically, modern psychology exercises an enormous effect on the field. Often it seems that one preparing to become a professional religious educator studies but two areas, theology and psychology. Indeed, since the days of George Albert Coe, who initiated his long career with an empirical study of the psychological dynamics of conversion in 1900, psychology has increasingly dominated the educational enterprise, with developmental psychology preeminent. Even a document heavily indebted to theological categories, Sharing the Light of Faith, the catechetical directory fit- Catholics in the United States, gives prominence to stages of human development."'

Of course, developmental psychology is not theology's only conversation partner. Psychoanalytic approaches indebted to Freud and Jung have long provoked discussion and debate, though with less obvious influence on religious education than oil pastoral care. However, a development within psychoanalytic thought, "object relations theory," is currently stimulating considerable interest, especially through Ana-Maria Rizzuto's pioneering work, The Birth of the Living God. Educational psychology, with its insights into teaching-learning 'processes, and social psychology, with its insights into the dynamics of groups and the socialization process, have also influenced the practice of religious education.

Nevertheless, developmental psychology eclipses other perspectives. Because, among various developmental theories, ,James Fowler's theory of faith development is a particularly stimulating conversation partner for religious education, 1 will assign it primacy in this section."' Furthermore, I am selecting this theory as a paradigm of the maturation of tire social sciences-a new stage of development characterized by creative exchange among scholars and by the attempt to engage public policy makers. Accordingly, I will lay out the essential elements of faith development theory, describe the general contours of the scholarly commentary the theory is engendering, and utilize its inclusion of public concerns as the transition to the fourth section of this chapter.

Fowler's identification of three sets of underlying questions faith developmentalists are pursuing establishes the intent of his theory. First, he maintains, is the inquiry about how persons become aware of and begin to form (and be formed in) attitudes of trust and loyalty, of belief and commitment that sustain them throughout their lives. Here he and his colleagues at the Center for the Study of' Faith Development at Candler School of Theology at Emory University are probing for differences in the styles of knowing and valuing that constitute faith. They cast their second question in a developmentalist's terms. Are there predictable stages or revolutions in the course of a person's attempts to make meaning? Do patterns recognizable in the cognitive, psychosocial, and moral spheres have a correlate in (lie realm of faith? Their third question asks whether a deep and abiding trust in, and loyalty to, a cause or causes greater than oneself is necessary to become fully adult and fully human."" Sharon Parks notes that the central insight of faith development theory is that the composing of meaning at the level of ultimacy undergoes predictable patterns of development in (lie direction of an enlarged capacity to embrace arid discern complexity-and thus to compose a more adequate faith (a more adequate arid trustworthy perception of a fitting composition of self, world and "God").

What are these "predictable patterns"? Fowler, in tire tradition of structural-developmental thinkers such as ,Jean Piaget arid Lawrence Kohlberg, posits tire existence of seven hierarchical, sequential, arid invariant stages of' faith. A stage ("an integrated set of pre-rational structures that constitute the thought processes of a person at a given time names a transition critical to the maturation of tine's faith."" Stage theory offers what Dwayne Huebner has termed "scaffolding of understanding.

Fowler's stages have not only been ably explicated in his own works but are also well summarized in a number of sources."2 Since they defy simple listing, I merely give a succinct outline for the sake of the reader's recall (or initiation). My intent lies less in analysis of Fowler than in reflection on his contribution to religious education.

The stages begin with the infant's primal faith developed in interaction with the primary care givers and move to the young child's individuative projective faith. In this second stage, the child's expanding horizon means that he or she can call upon symbols arid stories that will form long lasting images. The school-age child's reliance on stories, rules, and values marks the mythic-literal stage; this stage should eventually give way in adolescence to that synthesis of the strands of identity formed out of conventional beliefs and values that Fowler terms synthetic-conventional faith. Adulthood is characterized by a more explicit sense of self, individuative-reflective faith; when it leads to all appreciation of paradox and appropriation of a "second naivete" (a reclaiming of symbols after critical scrutiny), adulthood may foster conjunctive faith. Finally, Fowler asserts that some adults may be so transformed that they are closely identified with the love of the Creator for creatures; they have reached the juncture of universalizing faith.

These stages, and the theoretical construct in which they are embedded, have served as a catalyst of intense discussion. Some scholars offer a refinement of the stage theory. Sharon Parks, for instance, proposes that the movement from stages three to four really embraces two transitions: the young adult's "probing commitment" and "fragile inner dependence"; and the mature adult's "tested commitment" arid "confident inner dependence. Some, such as Walter Conn, critically assess stage theory in order to illumine the dynamics of conversion; for Conn, development is the middle term between conscience and conversion: "at key points, then, development requires conversion, arid conversion always occurs within a developmental process.""' Still others, such its (brief Moran, whom I will cite below, are more generally skeptical toward stage theory and question some of Fowler's basic premises.

Of note in this regard is the controversy over Fowler's conviction that faith is a "human universal." lie understands faith as tire activity of making meaning, of' shaping air "ultimate environment," of "construing, interpreting and responding to [lie factors of contingency, finitude arid ultimacy in our lives.""' Because all persons-whether believers or non-believers-have faith, his theory transcends the boundaries of arty particular religious stance.

Such an assumption avoids parochialism and situates faith in a broad context, but it is not without its critics. Gabriel Moran Claims that by distinguishing faith's structure from its content (belief,), Fowler has constructed a dichotomy that robs faith of its complexity.'" Fowler, who takes his critics seriously, counters that the description of 'a person's or a group's faith is incomplete without attentiveness to the stories, beliefs, symbols, and practices that constitute the content or grammar of that faith. "Fowler utilizes the final three chapters of Becoming Adult, Becoming Christian to detail his understanding of the way the "Christian story" shapes its members; he uses the thematic of covenant and vocation to reflect on how the narrative of the Christian life calls one to maturity.

Fowler's critics seem not to be entirely persuaded by his response. ,John McDargh, cognizant that Fowler has indeed made his presentation of faith more financed, questions whether the clarifications and modifications call compensate for a more fundamental problem: the structural-developmental model itself. McDargh, who finds contemporary psychoanalytic theory a more sympathetic interlocutor with religion, argues that structural-developmental thinking needs to be integrated with psychoanalytic theory.''" His reservations are echoed by Carl Schneider, who claims that Fowler lacks the "chastening of the hermeneutics of suspicion exercised by the psychodynamic approach."'"' Consequently, argues Schneider, Fowler overvalues words to the neglects the significance and behavior, neglects the significance of early childhood, and has an inadequate doctrine of evil arid sin. The critics' comments suggest at least one reason why cognitive-developmental theories have exercised more impact oil religious education than on pastoral care.'

I call attention to the criticisms lest religious educators accept faith development theory-or any schema-prematurely and simplistically. But my reading of tire burgeoning literature on faith development has persuaded me that air extraordinary network of scholarship is emerging. Crossing the boundaries of the disciplines, this literature provides an important horizon for religious educators because tire questions are foundational. What is faith? Conversion? How does social science enhance theology? What are the limitations of social science?"'2 What does theology have to say to tire social sciences?""

Before leaving faith development theory, I wish to point out another component: its turn toward society. '['his turn has two aspects. One is a receptivity to critical theory. For example, Sharon Parks, following Dwayne Huebner, notes tire danger of the metaphor of development, an image rooted in biological maturation that may also absorb a disguised imperialism (e.g., "underdeveloped" nations); she suggests that tire metaphor of transformation may be preferable.'"

The other aspect is all interest in the education of "public" Christians. III Fowler's reading of tile American experience, covenant was once a "root metaphor drew together a diverse yet harmonious human society. With tile dis-establsihment of religion and tire embrace of secularism, neither schools not other social institutions could reinforce moral teaching as they had in colonial days. Consequently, education has become increasingly divorced from its ethical moorings.

What is needed, Fowler proposes, is attentiveness to the moral dimension of development. This includes a critical appraisal of current root metaphors such as power, "mechanism" (a machinelike predictability to relations), relationship, and systems. Moreover, these metaphors ought to be governed by covenantal commitment so !hilt citizens (ill) build :t society in partnership with one another, nature, and their Creator. If this were tire case, then four implications fur public policy would follow. First, the state should provide assistance for families in nurturing children rather than fostering competition. Second, school curricula ought to reflect prevalent root metaphors and the stages of faith development. Third, the state should assume leadership in monitoring and guiding television programming along relational and conventional lines. Fourth, this nation ought to find ways to teach and give public expression to its theoretic arid biblical grounding."

Fowler's interest in widening the circle of conversation (cads directly to a consideration of tire public responsibility of the church.

BOTH DISCIPLES AND CITIZENS: THE PUBLIC RESPONSIBILITY OF THE CHURCH

James Fowler's advocacy of the power of biblical metaphors to serve as a centripetal force in a fragmented society highlights a topic being probed by a loose network of scholars working in the area of religion and society.

Sociologist John Coleman, for instance, argues that although three different traditions-republican theory, biblical religion, arid Enlightenment liberalism- have contributed to the public sell'- understanding of the United States, the "tradition of biblical religion seems tile most potent symbolic resource we possess to address the sense of drill in American identity and purpose. Similarly, Robert Bellah and his associates, authors of Habits of the Heart, cite Martin Luther King,Jr.'s usage of biblical and republican themes as a model of ''how American individualism might be transformed.

Nevertheless, the mere appropriation of biblical language does not in itself lead to civic commitments, as each of these authors is keenly aware. Alan Peshkin has documented this in his educational analysis of a fundamentalist Christian school. Despite his respect ;tit([ admiration for tile integrity of the faculty, administration, and students of Bethel Baptist Academy (the fictitious name assigned to the school), where Peshkin spent four semesters as an observer, Peshkin observes that such a school is ultimately divisive. He writes, "when one's beliefs admit of no uncertainty, one thereby bars debate, bargaining, and compromise.

Because the school communicated facts and feelings that led students to look negatively oil Americans of differing beliefs, Peshkin argues, "from the perspective of the pluralist America that I value I see that tile more successful the Bethanys of America are, the less successful will be the ideal of pluralism which assures their survival Like Peshkin, historian Martin Marty laments the decrease of faith iii civility in recent times. He lampoons the current situation in which "civility yields to uncivil bumper-sticker warfare, where non-sequiturs posing as premises turn out to be conclusions.""" Marty argues that tile church needs to accept the call to help people combine their inward journey with their vocation as citizens. In contrast to the narrow dogmatism of tile ecclesiology chronicled by Peshkin, Marty stresses the inclusive character of the "public church": "a family of apostolic churches with Jesus (:grist at the center, churches which are especially sensitive to the res publica the public order that surrounds arid includes people of faith.""' Its special task is correlating the evangelistic impulse with an ecumenical viewpoint.

The public church may never be a majority, at least in the present order where the simple answers of snore authoritarian traditions of faith dominate. Yet its members have a vital vocation: to bring humanity to a new stage of faith in which "the Cod of prey is left behind and people can affirm what they believe without pouncing on others."'

Educating people for membership in the "public church" is one of tile most important tasks religious educators confront in the late twentieth century. It is a demanding task, raising many questions and posing new challenges. For example, how is it possible in a pluralistic society to educate people in the traditions of their own community of faith while simultaneously preparing them to participate in the shaping of the res publica How does one teach passionate loyalty to Cod while also reaching tolerance for people who do not share that commitment? How does one develop the ability to be steeped both in the language of faith and in tile language of secular culture?

Questions such as these are not quickly answered. But simply to ask them leads to new directions. Further, three topics that constitute a basis for initial wrestling with tile questions are tile mission of the church, tile relation of religion arid politics, arid the obligations of citizenship in enhancing the practice of Christian life. Each of these topics contains implications for religious education.

MISSION of THE CHURCH

One of the tasks incumbent upon Christians is tile obligation to understand how the church relates to the world. As 11. Richard Niebuhr's study Christ and Culture demonstrates, Christians have assumed radically different perspectives. Moreover, even within a particular denominational heritage, diverse viewpoints may coexist or new ones emerge. As the survey of Catholic educational philosophy in chapter 5 has shown, twentieth-century Catholicism has moved from its nineteenth-century defensive, intransigent position relative to the world to a more affirming, open stance. This is reflected in Vatican 11's Pastoral Constitution oil the Church in the Modern World and boldly articulated in this key statement from tile 1971 Synod document "Justice in tile World":

Action on behalf of justice and participation in the transformation of the world fully appear to us as a constitutive dimension of the preaching of the Gospel, or, in other words, of tile Church's mission fur tile redemption of the human race and its liberation from every oppressive situation.''

But what concepts undergrid such a notion of ecclesial mission? Roger D. Haight's argument is persuasive: mission, a constitutive symbol of the church, is most broadly conceived as humanization. Haight proposes two analogies: the church (communio) is related to its mission (missio) as existence is to the purpose of existence; and the church is related to the modern world as the missionary church is to the non-Christian world."' By nature, the church is turned outward toward the world. The "whole being of the church is a being-for-the-world."" 5 Its mission is to be a vital sign of Christ among all peoples and cultures. And just as the missionary church inculturates itself' in order to bear witness to the -Christ, so too should the church critically arid consciously adapt to the modern world if it hopes to be all adequate sign. Inculturation makes new demands: "If the church is to be really immersed in a culture because it grows out of the lived experience of Christ in that culture, then there must be doctrine in new languages, sacramental symbols with new meanings arid nuances, church polity with different styles of organization ."Only all inculturated church call bear witness to Christ adequately.

What does the inculturated church have to say in tile modern world? What has become clearer in our tune is that evangelization must enfold humanization. Both, as Haight puts it, are "equally essential dimensions of one outward symbolic thrust of tile church.' He cites Philippine theologian Catalinci G. Aravelo: "Wherever the church sees grace overcoming sin, it must put its force arid energy. Its whole direction is toward forwarding the purposes of grace in the world." The church has a responsibility to name God's activity in the world, to be a prophetic critic of society, and to be a mediating agency, supporting whatever seems to be the manifestation of God's gracious activity in the world.

THE CHURCH AND POLITICS: SOME HELPFUL, DISTINCTIONS

To talk, however, of the church's commitment to the public order inevitably seems to result in all emotional debate about the propriety of ecclesial participation in politics. Almost always the problem lies, at least initially, its the conflation of the term "politics" with "partisan politics."

And yet the political order embraces a much broader spectrum of activities such as the formulation of policy, debate over laws, advocacy of certain programs, and the exercise of the powers of elected office. Some distinctions are needed.

Madonna Kolbenschlag suggests a tri-level taxonomy of the political order. The first level, partisan activity represents the narrowest use of the term; its aim is gaining and exercising political power in government. The second level is more properly nonpartisan: activity directed toward influencing the exercise of power, public policy, or the electoral process outside constituted political structure. She suggests that strikes, demonstrations, lobbying and testimony before a legislative exemplify this level. Groups such as political action committees, ecumenical and interfaith organizations, women's groups, labor unions, episcopal conferences and neighborhood action committees participate in politics primarily at this level.

At the third level is activity directed towards the presentation of a general philosophy of socio-political life or of a moral vision. Church teaching (e.g., the recent letters of the US Catholic bishops and of the Methodist bishops on peace) exemplifies this level, as do groups such as the League of Women Voters, Common Cause, think tanks and research institutes.

Richard McBrien has suggested a more refined differentiation in his identification of eight levels of political activity: (1) participation in public debate over an issue (2) personal association with office holders in order to influence their behaviour (3) public action intended to highlight deficiencies in the political system (4) leadership of organized religious-political movements that have a broad social and political agenda (5) active support of, or opposition to, candidates for public office by means of voter registration, fund raising, direct mailing and endorsements (6) indirect support of, or opposition to candidates for public office by means of public statements and appearances (7) acceptance and exercise of appointed public office (8) active candidacy for and service in elected political office.

The usefulness of both the Kolbenschlag and McBrien taxonomies is that they give clarity to politics, a term carelessly used in everyday speech. Those who claim, for instance, that the church ought to stay out of politics need to refine their assertion to specify at what level ecclesial participation is misguided and to provide warrant for their judgment. Politics embraces a wide spectrum of activities. It has to do with the public forum and with the process of decision making that occurs there. The public church therefore is necessarily engaged in the political order although not all its adherents will come to consensus about the appropriateness of participating on all levels.

A further note: the lack of clarity regarding the term 'politics' is a serious problem for the church today. Especially in denominations whose leaders are actively engaged in articulating a moral vision (e.g. in the episcopal letters on peace) educators have an obligation to help members in making distinctions. Clarification is necessary so that members may understand not simply the goals of their leaders but also grasp their own obligation to contribute to the political order.

CITIZENSHIP AND DISCIPLESHIP

In the Church in the Education of the Public, the authors claim that communities of faith are the only intentional agencies that bear a primary responsibility for the religious. For the church to restrict its educational ministry to itself ignores this crucial public responsibility" (emphasis added). It is the task of the church to reclaim the religious (i.e., the sacred dimensions of reality) in education. Accordingly, the authors challenge educators in the church to develop ways for people to make meaning out of the interplay between religious experience and daily life. Fundamental to their challenge is shaping the 'sacramental imagination' seeing all of reality in light of God's incarnate presence in the world--so that the stories, images and rituals of the church might infuse the whole of our common life with a religious dimension. Church members bring to the public order a sense of compassion honed by the images and stories of their tradition.

There can be little doubt that the heritage of Christians offers them a profound formation in the inextricable linkage of love of God and love of neighbour (see Mark 12:29-31). Whether it is the passionate outcry of the prophet Isaiah against empty rituals (see Isa. 1:1-17) or Luke's parable of the so-called good Samaritan (see Luke 10:29-37) or the powerful rhetoric of interpreters such as Martin Luther King, Jr., educators have an extraordinarily rich tradition of stories and images from which to draw. What the church has to contribute to the political order is in the phrase of Walter Brueggmann, the language of 'transformative imagination'. It is the educator's task to teach the church's communal language so that this imagination is formed for the good of the world.

But educators in the church also have something to gain from the public sphere precisely because the demands of citizenship enhance discipleship. John Coleman argues that the obligations of citizenship add three dimensions to Christian discipleship. First, citizenship widens the scope of one's love of neighbor; the duties of citizenship protect the church from narrow parochial introspection. To be conscious of one's obligation in the public sphere forces the person of faith to look beyond his/her own needs and to widen the horizon of concerns. It demands praying with one's eyes wide open, as it were, taking notice of the world's suffering.

In the second place, citizenship offers the opportunity for humbler service, for sharing in the day to day process of giving form to a vision, for laboring in the "often intractable day-to-day reality of politics." To participate in the public forum involves learning to speak in the language of secular warrants, rather than simply in the familiar terminology of faith. It. asks the church to ground its proclamations in activity in the daily interactions of society; it demands the church become knowledgeable about the resolution of conflict, about economics, about food and transportation systems, and other issues so vital in the global village. Third, Coleman terms citizenship a demanding test of reality that provides an "experiential proving ground . . . for Christians to put flesh on their hopes for a transformed future based oil the already achieved and transforming power of Christ in history." Disciples who are citizens cannot merely proclaim "Lord, Lord" but must show how their hope that Christ has conquered death and sin makes a difference in this world.

If Coleman's argument is taken seriously, educators must look to the public responsibilities of' the church as an essential dimension of their curriculum. Several implications follow.

IMPLICATIONS FOR RELIGIOUS EDUCATION

A decade ago Gabriel Moran suggested that religious educators needed to be bilingual. They needed, he claimed, to be able to speak both the language of their ecclesiastical tradition and of the educational realm. Today we might say that this bilinguality extends to the responsibility of religious educators to engage in the pedagogics of both citizenship and discipleship. Educators must give access to the traditions of the church and to the understandings and skills prerequisite for participation in the common life. Otherwise, the educator has constricted the meaning of the church's mission. It is the responsibility of the religious educator, among others, to evangelize in such a manner as to engage civic concerns. John Coleman has said that "churches must regain a sense of their public role as corporate citizens. They can uniquely create forums for a moral culture of politics and economic life. They can provide shared 'neutral space' where politics can be pursued beyond mere naked interest.

The obligation to form people for a dual commitment gives even more importance to the dynamics of teaching. To teach another the communal language of one's religious heritage implies immersing her or him in the great symbols, stories, and rituals that transform the imagination. To teach another the obligations of citizenship suggests practice in "translating" religious meanings into secular terminology. Religious education requires the artistry of' the sacramental imagination and the pragmatics of public service.

To engage in these two pedagogics, religious educators themselves need to participate in the political realm at some level. This implies a commitment to study issues and to discuss them both within and beyond the boundaries of one's religious heritage. Religious educators also should consider linking with other agencies in the community with which they share a common agenda.

Consider, for example, those agencies that, like the church, are committed to fostering brotherhood and sisterhood and eradicating racial hatred. Religious congregations can form their members in the "transformative imagination" by evoking, liar example, the root metaphor of covenant: those bound to God in covenant are bonded to their brothers and sisters as well. Thus, in Boston about a decade ago, ,Jewish and Christian leaders concerned about the atmosphere of racial intolerance asked their congregants to sign a covenant pledging commitment t) 'justice, equity and harmony.""' But not all people speak (or are persuaded by) the language of covenant. Other agencies beyond the confines of church and synagogue need to draw upon alternative languages, such as those that express the ideals of' American life (e.g., the Bill of' Rights), and to argue their cases in secular terms.

An excellent example is the recent work of the New England regional office of the National Conference of Christians and ,Jews (NCCJ) in sponsoring three programs to counter racism. A videotape of dramatic vignettes, "Minorities in the Mainstream," focused on issues of discrimination in the corporate world. A workshop for real estate professionals explored issues involved with fair housing. A curriculum on conflict W resolution for elementary school students enabled young people to develop skills to confront prejudice.

Programs by agencies like the NCCJ deserve the support the church educators because they complement the symbols, stories, and rituals of' particular religious traditions with others from this nation's heritage. To this end, every ministerial and educational group in the church (e.g., the directors of religious education in a diocese) ought to designate a liaison with agencies such as the NCCJ, Bread for the World, and neighborhood associations. If, as Moran hits suggested, religious education is "the attempt to keep education open to the undreamed possibilities of the human race," its practitioners in the churches must find ways of' embodying that vision in the world. Only when religious educators in the church move beyond ecclesial boundaries will they become leaven.