291 - The Rhetoric of Theology

The Rhetoric of Theology
By Hugh T. Kerr

WITH the exception of the guest editorial on the recent Uppsala World Council Assembly, this issue of THEOLOGY TODAY presents in printed form several of the items prepared for the Gallahue Conference on Theology, held at Princeton Theological Seminary, April 17-21, 1968. Two previous issues (April and July) also contained some material from this same conference. Among those participating in the various discussions were: Thomas J. J. Altizer, Peter Berger, Eugene C. Blake, Daniel Callahan, John B. Cobb, Sister Mary Corita, Harvey Cox, Leslie Dewart, James Dittes, Joseph Fletcher, William Hamilton, Seward Hiltner, Paul Lehmann, Martin Marty, Arthur McGill, Jurgen Moltmann, Schubert Ogden, Albert Outler, James A. Pike, J. A. T. Robinson, Stephen Rose, Rosemary Ruether, and Gabriel Vahanian.

Although the Gallahue Conference was enthusiastically hailed as a theological event of stellar brilliance, several delegates have later noted that the discussion of papers, and the papers themselves in some instances, left a feeling of disappointment and inconclusiveness. The theme of the Conference was "Next Steps for Church and Theology," and it was assumed, when assignments were made for papers and speakers, that analysis of trends and criticism of positions would give way to imaginative and innovative suggestions for theology tomorrow. Perhaps the expectation was too naive that anyone could possibly know, in these apocalyptic times, what tomorrow's theology would look like. Or it may be that negatively the Conference affirmed that whatever tomorrow will bring, it certainly will be different from today.

Conferences always promise too much, like the advance publicity which announces that a speaker will deliver an "inspirational" address. And this applies not only to the fraternity of theologians wherever they gather, but also to the World Council Assembly, and the Republican and Democrat Party Conventions. This is worth thinking about, even though editors and other kinds of public relations people are first of all interested in calling attention to the high quality of their programs. (This present issue of THEOLOGY TODAY

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is surely one of the most important in our long history of theological journalism.-Adv't.)

There appears to be less inclination today to enter into lively, creative debate on basic issues. One of the delegates to the Gallahue Conference, writing after he returned home, said: "I greatly enjoyed the Conference but came away convinced that the members of the theological community aren't really listening to each other nowadays, and it may be that I only seem to remember that we used to try!" This is a recurring complaint in many areas today, and it adds confirmation to Simon and Garfunkel's lament that people today are "talking without speaking," "hearing without listening."

It could be that the long-lived lecture circuit is at last on the way out. Students have known this for years, though teachers and preachers of all sorts have been reluctant to admit it. In any case, most of us these days intensely dislike being told what's what by an authority who smothers us with sources and arguments. It would be a mistake, however, to invoke Marshall McLuhan's name, once more, in this connection and blame the current media for terminating the Gutenberg galaxy. It's not just boredom with verbal communication that stifles discussion. It is true that at the Gallahue Conference, Sister Mary Corita's wrap-around happening was for many a psychedelic experience on a completely different level. But Pasolini's much-praised film, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, which was also part of the program and which was in its Italian version mostly non-verbal, left the viewers yawning with lassitude.

Does it make any sense to suggest that if theologians today are talking past each other, without speaking or listening, the reason may be due to the subtle but radical change in rhetorical assumptions? Rhetoric is not much heard of these days, but it's a good term to express the ambiguity of skillful and meaningful discourse, on the one hand, and artificial and pretentious put-on, on the other. The Greeks and the Romans were fond of discussing the proper principles of rhetoric, and Augustine's De Doctrina Christiana carried on the tradition within a Christian context. Of unsuspected but enormous influence in early Protestant thinking, and subsequently in modern educational and scientific theory, was the rhetorical system of Peter Ramus (1515-1572), a contemporary of John Calvin.

Breaking with the medieval Aristotelian logic, Ramus set up a

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simplified set of guidelines for the communication of ideas. Perry Miller, in his The New England Mind (1939), brought attention to the Ramist impact on American Puritanism, and more recently Walter J. Ong, S.J., has extended this perceptive clue in his book, Ramus: Method, and the Decay of Dialogue (1958). Ramus lived in the early Gutenberg revolution, and the printed page with its sequential, linear progression, line upon line, precept upon precept, provided the medium for his rhetorical system of orderly arrangement of topics and sub-topics, expounding point after point, and moving on toward an inescapable conclusion. McLuhan sees Ramus, incidentally, as a Gutenberg "surfer" and "wave-rider" akin to John Dewey's relation to the "Marconi" or "electronic" age now upon us.

Without knowing much about Ramus, and perhaps caring less, we are still doggedly grinding out Ramist rhetoric when we write theological papers, preach sermons, read and review books, prepare or listen to lectures, make reports and critiques, study for examinations, and construct that magnum opus of graduate and professional education-the Ph.D. dissertation.

If Ramus seems far-fetched, would you believe Roberts? The Roberts of Robert's Rules of Order was, appropriately, a U.S. Army General, and his manual of proper parliamentary procedure remains the undisputed arbiter of correct organization for dispatching committee business. Speaking of Ph.D. dissertations, how about something on: "Robert's Rhetoric and Theological Methodology, or Everything Decently and in Order"?

Just suppose that debate and dialectic, critique and criticism, argument and authorities, structure and system, law and order, harmony and symmetry, logical progression to a final conclusion no longer operate as important rhetorical assumptions. Then what? Suppose, as Sister Corita notes, that poetic language says more today than analytic language? Suppose, as Harvey Cox urges, that the comic élan is one authentic way to describe Christian witness today? Suppose that celebration, intensity of experience, tactile sensation, and "glory" (in the biblical sense) are the kinds of terms on which a contemporary rhetoric must be built? What kind of theological position papers would such assumptive moods produce, or would "papers" quietly disappear forever from the scene?

These perverse questions are not meant to denigrate current theological writing and scholarship (including this little piece!),

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much less to prejudge negatively the articles in this issue. But a careful examination of contemporary rhetorical principles as applied to theological communication could be a useful insight into what we are trying to do. In writing a paper, preaching a sermon, reviewing a book, making a talk, what guides our mental and behavioral processes? Are we mainly interested in persuasion and argument, information and instruction, entertainment and performance, prestige and self-justification, or what?