Teaching Theology and Religion, ISSN 1368-4868, 1999, vol. 2 no. 1, pp 26^39.
On Seeing to the Horses:
Issues in Teaching and Learning in Theology
and Religious Studies After Bonino and
Lindbeck
Eileen Bellett and Clive Marsh
University College of Ripon and York St. John
We do theology ``beginning from concreteness,'' from
``particular realities.''
Jose Miguez Bonino
Abstract. This article re-examines so-called
``experiential approaches'' to theology and religious
studies. In affirming the need of the educator to attend
to both cognitive and affective aspects within teaching
and learning, and in using many concrete examples
from classroom practice, the article critically engages
with Latin American liberation theology and post-
liberalism in an attempt to clarify what ``experience'' is
being referenced when ``experiential methods'' are
used. The importance of the concrete worlds of
individual students, the responsibility of educators to
be conscious of their own power in shaping the
educational experience, and the desirability of
attending to issues surrounding economic disadvantage
within theology and religious studies feature
prominently in the study. We conclude that, though
no experience is neutral, educational contexts in
theology and religious studies can offer exemplary
settings for profound self-discovery, exploration, and
personal development through the ``hermeneutical
friction'' created by critical examination of the
narrative worlds within which we live.
Our purpose in this article is to offer a contribution to
discussion about ``experiential approaches'' to teaching
and learning in theology and religious studies.1 We are
both equally committed to exploring the value of, and
ourselves practicing, experiential methods in teaching
and learning. Our collaboration within the same staff
Published by Blackwell Publishers Ltd, Oxford OX4 1JF, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA
team and on this writing project has, however,
demonstrated a need to examine current practice and
the assumptions behind their use. We also recognized
the need to clarify our own purposes in using
experiential methods, and to review our approaches
in the light of recent developments in Christian
theology. In particular, we have seen the necessity to
reconsider the place of ``theologies from experience''
(and critique of such theologies) alongside our
advocacy of experiential approaches to teaching and
learning.
Who are ``we''? It is important for our subject-
matter that we write ourselves into our article. Eileen
Bellett qualified as a teacher and spent 15 years
teaching in schools in mainly inner-city areas in
Cleveland, North-East England, from 1969 through
to the early 1980s. After a period of further study in
which (as an educationalist) she engaged with the work
of Paulo Freire and theologies of liberation, she moved
from her position as Deputy Head-teacher of a large
North Yorkshire Primary School to become Senior
Lecturer in Theology & Religious Studies at University
College of Ripon and York St. John, specializing in
religious education. In 1991 she became Head of
Department, with responsibility for curriculum
development across programs in theology, religious
studies, and religious education. The development of
postgraduate and continuing education work has been
a feature of her time as Head. Clive Marsh studied
German, biblical studies and theology in Britain,
Germany, and the U.S.A. over a seven-year period in
the late 1970s and early 1980s before embarking on a
career in theological education. He has been in full-
time university teaching only since 1995. Most of his
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 On Seeing to the Horses
experience of theological education as a facilitator of
learning has therefore been in a seminary context, or in
informal church settings. More importantly, he has
spent most of his life in urban settings, including those
described as ``Urban Priority Areas'' which are defined
as ``districts in and around British conurbations and
cities where both quantity and quality of life are in
decline (ACCUPA 1985, 4. See also: ACAGUPA 1990,
Sedgwick 1995, Northcott 1998). He has a particular
interest in the history and theology of liberal
Protestantism, and remains puzzled by the differences
between German and American liberalisms, and thus
the nature of post-liberalisms. It was in the midst of his
puzzlement that he was introduced to the work of
George Lindbeck.
``We'' are, therefore, endeavoring to respect both
disciplines: theology & religious studies, and
education. We accept that treating theology &
religious studies as a single discipline is fraught with
difficulty. But we must do so for the purposes of this
article. We must also acknowledge that greater
emphasis is placed upon examples drawn from
teaching and learning in modules in theology rather
than religious studies (simply by virtue of our
combined teaching experience).2 But we accept that
our emphases and starting-points differ; hence the
value of our collaborative exchange. In writing this
article, alongside our shared, passionate commitment
to the importance of the study of theology and religion
and the similarity of our personal journeys from
independent evangelical church backgrounds to
participation in more mainstream Christian groups,
we have also noted significant differences, given our
diverse disciplinary perspectives. For Bellett, two
features were paramount: first, the failure of
theologians adequately to respect the significance of
teaching and learning within the discipline of theology;
second, theologians' easy assumption that teaching
about theology (and above all its history) could be
equated with learning about it. For Marsh, the value of
knowledge about the history of Christian theology for
reading the way in which ``theology'' was being
understood in our discussions seemed obvious. Mutual
challenge and critique has enabled us to reach
conclusions which, we believe, will be of use to
theological educators of many styles, and in a variety
of ways:
those equally committed to experiential
approaches, we hope to persuade to ask fresh
questions;
those reluctant to accept too widespread a use of
experiential approaches, we wish to persuade to
reconsider;
those caught up in debates between liberalism
and post-liberalism in current Christian
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27
theological discussion will, we trust, gain further
insight for reflection about their teaching and
theological method.
In the first main section, we present a number of
features of theological education which result from
being informed by experiential approaches, especially
when those approaches are also informed by liberation
theologies. In the second section we draw on critical
examinations of liberation theology's approach to
theology and education, as these apply to the
experiential approaches we employ. In the next section
we look at the recent ``turn'' from liberalism to post-
liberalism in Christian theology. Though not a form of
opposition to liberation theologies as such, and though
liberalism and liberation are often poles apart, post-
liberal critiques of so-called ``experiential-
expressivism'' prove themselves to be a form of
opposition to attempts to facilitate learning in theology
which begins from, or at least focuses upon, ``the
concrete.'' In this section we also note the crucial way,
especially in the present politically-charged, academic
context, of the necessity for tutors in the respective
fields of education and theology & religions to be
engaging in interdisciplinary endeavors. In a final
section, we draw out some conclusions from our
inquiry for the continuing usefulness, even necessity, of
experiential approaches in theology and religious
studies.
A further point about the article's structure is,
however, worth making. The depth at which the long
first section will be received by readers will depend on
a number of factors: first, the extent to which readers
have appropriate experience to draw on in order to
engage with the real-life material presented; second,
the extent to which readers actually use such
experience as part of the reading process; third,
whether readers prefer initially to read this section
lightly, revisiting it in the light of the reflection sections
offered later. As the article is structured according to
an action-reflection-action cycle, readers can pitch in at
whichever point they find helpful, allowing for the fact
that it is written with the assumption that it is likely to
be read sequentially.
Our Practice (ACTION)
Words from Jose Bonino stand at the head of this
article. These words reflect two aspects of teaching and
learning which have informed our educational practice:
an experiential approach and the impact of liberation
theologies upon First World theology. In the
experience of the Discipline (formerly Department) of
Theology, Religious, and Cultural Studies at the
University College of Ripon & York St. John, these
two aspects have proved mutually interactive. In
28 Bellett and Marsh
examining the precise interplay, we have been able to
conclude six features which reflect the actual impact of
this interaction upon our teaching and learning
strategies. These are:
1) the maximizing of the use of experience brought
by students,
2) the expansion of out-of-lecture-room activity
within modules,
3) emphasis upon the development of generic and
theological skills through the learning process,
4) close attention to, and clarity in, the formulation
of learning outcomes regarding the knowledge,
skills, or understanding to be developed through
a particular module,
5) a radical reappraisal of the means of assessment
used throughout the teaching and learning
program,
6) the equal valuing of student and facilitator
perspectives within the learning process.
Clearly, a number of these changes can be related to
developments in educational theory and practice more
widely, especially with regard to developments in
critical thinking as it impacts upon education at all
levels (Penaskovic 1997). It is, however, through the
impact of liberation theologies, and the reappraisal of
experiential educational methods which that impact
produced, that these six features have come sharply
into focus for us. Furthermore, it is through our critical
reflection on our own process drawing on liberation
theology's own wrestling with the question of
appropriate educational method, and on recent
developments in Western theology's own critical
reflection on its own history that we have insights
to offer. In this section we provide an elaboration of
the features listed above.
The first feature, ``the maximizing of the use of
experience brought by students,'' is so self-evident that
it is surprising that it is not adhered to more directly
and consistently in theology and religious studies. By
``experience'' here we do not simply mean the affective
aspects of human life. Theology and religious studies
as disciplines (perhaps surprisingly) do, it seems to us,
have to work harder at allowing the affective to impact
upon the educational process. But we acknowledge at
the outset that though the affective and cognitive
dimensions of human life may need to be distinguished,
they cannot be separated. Our point is that precisely
because the affective and the cognitive interrelate, no
cognitive work can be undertaken which does not take
into account the fact that people are whole people.
Even academic work cannot only be undertaken in
relation to people's brains and cognitive capacities.
People bring their bodies, their life-stories and their
emotions along with their ideas into the classroom.
This being so, it is surprising that concreteness-
centered (experiential) approaches receive such
criticism.
Criticism, however, can be taken in one of two
directions. Either, if students are not ``religious,'' it is
assumed they have nothing or little to bring and they
can only learn ``about'' someone else's experience. Or,
if it be acknowledged that life (questions, experiences
of the numinous, or whatever)is the stuff of theology
and religious studies, then the approach is open to the
critiques of post-liberalism, that is, an assumption
lurks that there are such things as vaguely-defined
``religious experiences'' into which all human beings
tap.3 We shall say more about the latter critique in a
later section. But it is clear that more needs saying
about this feature even at this stage. How are
facilitators of learning to enable course-participants
to use their experience? What experience(s) are we
talking about? And can ``experience'' be isolated in the
way it appears to be assumed is possible, especially as
the cognitive and the affective belong together?
On the educator's side, it is clear that s/he must be
as clear as possible about each participant's ``thematic
universe'' (Freire 1972, ch. 3, esp. 6981). Most
educators can tell stories against themselves about
their own experience in this field. Here is one from
Marsh:
In an early personal tutorial I was chatting to a student
about her developing work-patterns, how she was
settling in to college life, whether she was missing
home, etc. In the course of the discussion she
mentioned that she went home most weekends. I
suggested light-heartedly that this was obviously to get
her laundry done. Her response was: ``Oh no, to go
and see my horses.''
It was Marsh's first direct encounter with what may be
called ``North Yorkshire Horse Culture,'' as it impacts
upon (as he was later to discover) a considerable
number of students. This culture is not always
associated with wealth, though often is. But it upended
the majority of his own experience as an educator, for
he had previously worked largely with people who
were not materially well-off or were unconfident about
returning to learning. But it also forced him to
acknowledge that many of his own experiences as a
learner, which he had brought to his role as an
educator, had been in formal contexts where he had
felt uncomfortable as a product of the aspiring British
working-class in a largely middle-class environment.
Furthermore, he would have to overcome assumptions
of a correlation between wealth and the student's
confidence in the learning environment because the
case of the individual student before him gave him
evidence to sever that inevitable link.
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 On Seeing to the Horses
But we are still in the realm of the educator here:
educators' own past experiences, their emotional and
class baggage, their capacity to empathize, their ability
to ``read'' their students or not, as the case may be.
As Freire expresses it so appositely: ``One of our
greatest mistakes as educators and politicians is not
perceiving that our `here' is the student's and the
people's `there''' (Escobar 1994, 55). In addressing this
important aspect of this first feature we have barely
begun to address what the students as learners actually
bring, and what experience might count as useful for
theology and religious studies.
It must first be acknowledged that an experiential
approach to theology and religious studies must not
begin with ``religious experience.'' Two reasons are
especially important: (1) educationally, such an
approach would exclude members who do not deem
that they have any experience to draw on which may
be so defined; (2) the very starting-point would
presuppose that which would have to be examined.
Even if it were presupposed that the whole of life may
be regarded as ``religious experience,'' this is of little
practical help, as students who have no sense that this
is so gain little from the ascription.
Starting from experience, from within the student's
``thematic universe'' must, then, mean something
rather different. In Bonino's words, this is ``beginning
from concreteness'' or from ``particular realities.'' But
what does this mean in practice? It can clearly only
mean beginning from the concreteness of students'
own worlds, from the things that most preoccupy
them; those which cause the greatest expenditure of
their time, effort or wealth; those things to which they
devote most attention, whether by choice or necessity.
In the combination of cultures so complex and diverse
as that which constitutes the contemporary North-
West, it is dangerous to assume too much as common
across student experience. Some features nevertheless
regularly appear, the most dominant of which is the
individualism to which students ascribe (``if that's what
someone wants to believe, then that's okay''). Against
such a background, it is understandable if there are
also immediate concerns about sheer narcissism and
self-absorption here. If theology and religious studies
merely promote greater self-examination, they may not
necessarily promote attention to God/the Divine or the
traditions which reflect such attention. A crucial
difference between the call for a starting-point from
experience, when sounded in Latin America, and a
similar call issued from York, England, may therefore
be that the latter needs even more explicit attention to
the socio-political and socio-economic context within
which learners' personal preoccupations take shape
than may at first glance be thought necessary.
``Beginning from the concrete'' needs closer definition
lest it refer to the immediately pressing (e.g., the fact
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29
that a student had no breakfast, or is to go for a
doctor's appointment shortly). Though it must be
possible to reflect theologically on all life-experience, it
does not follow that all theological learning should
become a form of theological therapy group or be
concerned only with the trivial or banal (as one of our
students so tellingly put it, ``a theology of running for
the bus''). However, who defines what is deemed
``trivial'' or ``banal'' is admittedly worth close, critical
(theological) scrutiny.
But there is, if theology and religious studies are to
proceed via some form of experiential method, no side-
stepping the process of encouraging participants to
clarify in some form and at some stage, perhaps first
off, their personal preoccupations. Whether this is
quite the same as Bonino's ``starting from reality'' must
yet be further explored. It is certainly not starting from
ideas. But we may anticipate that ``concreteness'' (a
necessary starting-point) and ``reality'' (that with
which theology and religious studies, the former
especially, claim to deal) are not to be seen as
necessarily identical.
``Concreteness'' as it pertains to the individual
learner does, however, need respecting in theology
and religious studies in many different ways, especially
if liberation theology's insights are to be seen reflected
in teaching and learning. There can be no side-stepping
the socio-economic aspects of the learning process
(``What social class am I?'' ``Who pays my fees?''
``Where have my political views come from?'' ``Which
staff are on long-term contracts, and which are visiting
lecturers?''). Equally, there can be no escaping the
range of ``thematic universes,'' all of which will
interweave with the students' socio-economic
backgrounds represented in the classroom.
An example of how to ``get at'' the thematic
universes of participants, without implying that a
module is therefore ideas-centered or unrelated to past
and present life-experience, is Marsh's ``Dolphin
Questionnaire.'' Marsh begins his introductory (British
Level 2) Christian Theology module with a simple
questionnaire devised to enable participants to become
clear, and to declare, the set of attitudes to human
living that they bring into the module. Via recording of
agreement and disagreement with a series of statements
(rather than being asked what ``theology'' or
``philosophy'' they live by), participants are enabled
to clarify and present some of the convictions that
make up their value system. The questionnaire
contains such statements as: ``People are more
important than dolphins,'' ``People are of equal
importance to dolphins,'' ``Actions are evil, people
are not,'' ``People are basically good,'' ``People are
intrinsically evil.'' Importantly, participants are then
required further (in an additional column on the
questionnaire) to clarify, if they know, where this
30 Bellett and Marsh
conviction has come from (religion? education system?
media? family tradition? book? a particular experience?
political stance?). On this basis, participants become
aware that they have material to work with which does
relate to the module, even if they feel they have no
``theology'' as such, or have entered the module
assuming that its subject-matter would be wholly
distant from them.
The second feature of our approach to teaching and
learning in theology and religious studies is that
classroom experience in theology and religious studies
is never enough. Drawing on a wide range of
experience and principles from school teaching, field
education/placements, and teacher training, the value
of observational visits and hands-on experience can be
used to the maximum in a number of modules (e.g.,
Christianity in the Contemporary World, Doing
Theology, Islam, Urban Theology). For example, on
the principle that it would be more than a missed
opportunity (it would be a travesty of the subject-
matter) to undertake a module on urban theology
without part of that module taking place in a variety of
urban settings within which theology was being done,
visits are arranged to a number of urban projects.
Such out-of-classroom components have their
drawbacks. Resources are inevitably limited. Though
it would be preferable for students to be offered a
number of overnight stays in urban areas (and, even
better, lengthy placements) these cannot be offered to
all, especially under a modular system. Day-long
observational visits barely offer much of an urban
experience to people who have never lived in cities, or
in urban priority areas. Much of the experience drawn
upon within the module may thus remain at
secondhand (via the experience of those met on the
day). But as those who have organized such visits know
well, sometimes even day visits can have a telling
impact. They are better than nothing when resources
are tight. But the limitations are real, as Bellett testifies.
In the ``Doing Theology'' module, a bus-trip had been
arranged to inner-city Sheffield to visit certain areas of
deprivation, in order to examine ways in which
churches and religious groups were responding to
such urban realities. One or two students commented
that they thought this was inappropriate. A whole bus-
load of students should not be going to ``observe the
poor.'' They were not comfortable with the idea of
doing that. My immediate response was: ``But it's
better than doing nothing. And if we don't have any
experience of, or insights into, what it means to be
poor in urban Britain, then could we legitimately even
begin to raise the issues which surround urban
poverty?''
As so much reflection undertaken on educational
practice vis-a-vis urban placements and visits has
shown, and as tutor and students agreed in this
particular case, this is not the best model to use. A
better model is to send students in smaller groups,
paired with workers in urban areas, shadowing them in
their work. On a spectrum from (costly, and in non-
vocational theology and religious studies courses, often
impractical) placements to bus-trips, small group visits
and shadowing is perhaps the best option. People meet
people, and individuals have a chance for dialogue.
The encounters are embodied and more personal, even
if they are relatively brief. There is, however, no
escaping the educational impact of such encounters.
Often, though by no means always, this impact is a
direct result of the emotional aspect of the encounter.
Ned had been a squadron leader in the Royal Air
Force. He was over 60 when he visited a run-down
estate in Bradford, North England, spending a day
workshadowing a Church Army Officer. He was silent
for most of the return journey to college. ``Enjoy the
day, Ned?'' ``I've lived all these years and I never knew
... I always thought it was their fault.''
The assumption that ``having experienced equals
having learned'' must, however, be guarded against.
This principle even applies (in the case of Urban
Theology) to people from urban areas who possess a
vast resource of experience of urban living, yet are at
times strangely uncritical of their own context and the
mental world they inhabit as a result. If there is a
single, dominant objection to those of us who promote
the value of experiential methods of teaching and
learning in theology and religious studies, then it can
be found here: in the objection to visits and placements
which are insufficiently processed, as if the experience
itself will somehow automatically weave its magical
spell upon the learner. Such an objection is, however,
ultimately not to the method itself, only to its poor
execution. A poorly managed visit or placement is
simply a bad visit or placement. Without adequate
preparation, accompaniment/supervision and ensuing
reflection, a visit or placement will either fail to meet
the set learning outcomes or be misdirected in its
aspirations. There is no automatic learning from such a
visit or placement. Out-of-classroom experience must
feature as part of the whole learning experience of a
module within a clear learning outcomes framework. It
is within such a context that the learning from the
experience of the visit or the placement will be gained.
And such a procedure is merely a worked example of
the action-reflection-action cycle embodied within
both liberation theology and in good educational
practice.
The third feature begins to move towards the
learning outcomes approach to teaching and learning
which has become so prevalent across education, and
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 On Seeing to the Horses
which we fully support. We accept that it is better to
teach people to fish than to provide them with a fish.
(See also Stephen Brookfield's version in Boud and
Miller 1996, 39: ``We came here expecting a Walleye
dinner and you taught us how to fish.'') We support
attention to skills development both in terms of the
transferable skills and the discipline-specific skills
which may be learned through modules in theology
and religious studies. It is better that people learn, for
example, how to do theology than learn about what
theologians have done. Granted, by seeing what
theologians have done, people can learn how to do
theology for themselves. But again, the problem is that
of whether the learning can be assumed to be
automatic (it can't!). To ``do a course on Barth (or
Bonhoeffer, or Tillich)'' may not inevitably lead to an
understanding of any of those thinkers. Nor may an
understanding necessarily lead to the building of
confidence on the part of the learner to emulate Barth
(or Bonhoeffer or Tillich) for herself, in some
particular, concrete, local context. Indeed, despite a
keenness and interest to do theology, a student might
actually feel disabled in the face of the vast learning of
Barth, or even of the teacher/module director before
her (however misplaced her assumptions about that
vast learning in the latter case might be!). A learning
outcomes approach to theology and religious studies
thus sits neatly with an experiential approach when a
module makes explicit what its objectives are for the
students in terms of the knowledge, understanding,
and skills they are intended to acquire, and not merely
as a range of experiences they may be expected to have
had. Students of theology must do some theology for
themselves, and not simply critique the theology of
others. They must suggest some part of a
contemporary aspect of God which it may be possible
for a believer to hold (and know how and why it can be
considered sensible for a person to hold such a belief,
even if they do not happen to share such a belief
themselves). And in the light of the first two features
already highlighted, it will not be possible for such an
exercise to be disconnected from contemporary living
as a disembodied thought-exercise of no evident
current relevance.
Some objections to this feature are, however, worth
anticipating at this point. As Hauerwas notes, in
speaking affirmatively of James McClendon:
McClendon simply does not seem to have learned the
lesson that most of us learned in graduate school,
namely, that modern theology should primarily deal
with how to do theology (i.e., ``method'') in case one
ever gets around to doing any. Thus, much of modern
theology consists more in theologians writing books on
other theologians than in theologians doing any
theology. (Hauerwas 1997, 176)
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It is understandable if a (postmodern) unease about
modern preoccupations with ``method'' should lead to
suspicion of a learning outcomes approach to theology
and religious studies. For will not skills inevitably be
emphasized over content? Will not such an approach,
despite its good intent, perpetuate the modern/ist
preoccupation with method? It will, of course,
wherever the two aspects of the expression ``doing
theology'' are given insufficient weight, and where it is
assumed that the acquisition of skills should not be
accompanied by (rather than controlled by) the
a cq ui si t i on of a pp ro p ri a t e k no w l ed g e a n d
understanding.
``Doing'' means actively engaging in. It means the
learners themselves (staff and students) doing the
doing. ``Doing'' also means more than thinking.
Precisely because learning is always embodied, it
means reminding and being reminded that thinkers
are embodied. Risking Protestant accusations of
``works righteousness,'' it means attending to the close
link between right thinking (orthodoxy) and right
action (orthopraxis), as well as being suspicious of
notions of ``rightness,'' without theology being reduced
to ethics. And it is theology that is being done, not
anthropology, ecclesiology, or even Christology alone.
If notions of God are not examined and reformulated,
then it is not theology that is being engaged in. And if it
all does not really seem to matter to the learners (again:
students and tutors), then it cannot be theology that is
being done. Furthermore, in the same way that
learning how to fish can be enhanced by knowing
from what kinds of material fishing-rods are best made
(balsa-wood will not be good), so also there is
knowledge and understanding that can be acquired
(e.g., sources, resources, and their use) which can
enhance the skill of doing theology.
A learning outcomes approach to teaching and
learning in theology and religious studies that focuses
on what students should learn, then, does not have to
feed a modern preoccupation of salvation by method
alone. It does, though, need to be aware of how easily
it could tend in this direction. Such an approach does,
however, necessitate careful formulation of learning
outcomes. This constitutes the fourth feature of our
presentation of important aspects of an experiential
approach to teaching and learning. The learning
outcomes of a module must reflect directly a concern
to relate skills development to the acquisition of
knowledge and understanding. To continue the
example from Christian theology we are working
with, it is necessary that students be able to
``demonstrate a critical use of the theology of
Bonhoeffer in the contemporary formulation of an
aspect of Christian doctrine'' rather than ``show an
awareness of Bonhoeffer's theology'' or even
``demonstrate a profound knowledge of the theology
32 Bellett and Marsh
of Bonhoeffer in its historical setting.'' This is not a
quest for relevance. Nor is it mere functionalism. It is a
call for specificity in learning outcomes, and for a use
of appropriate verbs in clarifying those outcomes. That
both the contemporary significance of learning and its
practical use are indeed stressed should not be played
down. Implicit throughout is the question of what the
learning could possibly be for. But it would be wrong
to suppose that the theology of Bonhoeffer is being
studied in a crass pragmatic way. Those who have
offered courses on particular theologians in the past (in
a whole variety of institutions of higher learning) have
never offered them, even despite what may have been
said, in a disinterested way. The very fact that one
offers a course implies that a particular subject is
worth studying: it is always for something, even if
what it proves to be valuable for may not always
command the agreement of teacher and student.
Again, casting learning outcomes in terms of
assessable skills has its drawbacks. It could be implied,
for example, that Bonhoeffer is worth studying purely
for the purpose of constructing a contemporary
ecclesiology (if that happens to be the assessable work
set). But for such a conclusion to be reached by a
module-participant, it would be necessary to structure
such a module too tightly and be an example of bad
module-planning (and also bad teaching). Rather than
opening up the world of Bonhoeffer to creative
exploration (and diverse use), such a module would
have succeeded only in restricting Bonhoeffer's
contemporary significance. For that very reason, an
educator's own skill in matching appropriate means of
assessment to the subject-matter of a module is an
important consideration. This constitutes a fifth key
feature.
Bellett tells this story of her own teaching
experience:
Dee took the module Doing Theology in a
Revolutionary Age (a module examining how
theology is done, directly influenced by Latin
American liberation theology) and the assessable
work required was two essays, each of c.2,000
words, and a 3-hour examination. I marked her
work in the summer vacation after she left the
college. She only just passed. On the sheet on which
I recorded comments for my own use I'd written ``poor
answer ... doesn't understand the question ... lacks
depth.'' One day in July, I found a card under my
office door. It said: ``Thanks for everything
especially the course on liberation theology. I
understand so much more now, not just about
theology. Dee.'' (Poor answer ... doesn't understand
... lacks depth.) Could this be the same student?
There's something wrong here. I asked Dee's Special
Study tutor about her work in Education. She'd
produced a very good piece of work, used her school
experiences effectively and her reflections were spot
on. It was only then that I realized I'd failed Dee. I'd
given her the wrong kind of assessment.
It has long been recognized that examinations are not
everything. They have their uses but are not
necessarily the best way of assessing whether or not
someone has successfully achieved a particular
learning outcome. Even essays do not fulfill all
purposes. There is, though, often a reluctance in
theology and religious studies to make maximum use
of the wide range of possible means of assessing the
development of learning (book review, newspaper
article, audio-visual presentation, scripted dialogue,
critical report). However, the means by which a
student attains a new level of awareness, grasps hold
of a new insight, or acquires a new piece of
knowledge may well provide clues as to what form
of assessment may be most apposite in a given
module. An essay will rarely be the best means of
assessing learning gained through a placement or
observational visit. Learning which happens through
reflection on a particular task, or by way of reaction
to an unexpected event, may be best recorded and
assessed through a structured report (e.g., a critical
incident form, practical theology report, or learning
journal) or an oral interview. In short, attention to
the role of experience invites the greatest possible use
of imaginative approaches to means of assessment, in
order to maximize the opportunities for students to
demonstrate the extent of their learning. Such
imaginative use of assessment methods itself
facilitates learning. It also enables the assessment of
learning to occur in more accurate and apposite
ways.
A sixth feature of teaching and learning highlighted
by attention to experiential approaches is the equal
valuing of student and facilitator perspectives within
the learning process. This is much misunderstood. It
does not mean an educator pretending to know the
same as their students. Students may well know more
about some, or all, aspects of a module's content.
Realistically, this is unlikely. But even so, relative
quantities of knowledge already acquired is not what is
at issue here. Rather, the equality of the contributions
of all participants in a module group, from the
perspective of group process, must be presupposed.
One cannot, in other words, predict in advance whose
contribution will inevitably stimulate the learning of
another at a particular point. All learners may learn as
a result of the contribution of any participant; all
learners may thus become teachers at any point. This
does not mean an equality of explicit role: the
``teacher'' (as director of a module) remains the
``teacher.'' But her role gives her neither the inevitable
role as source of all knowledge, nor the right to assume
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 On Seeing to the Horses
that her own contributions will automatically or
primarily stimulate the learning she expects to be
developed.
The fifth and sixth features can be linked through
the following incident:
A student handed in an essay and received a receipt
from the departmental office as confirmation that the
essay had indeed been submitted. The essay was lost.
Neither module tutor nor student could do anything
about this. Unfortunately, no copy had been kept. A
grade would therefore need to be projected (based on
the other two of the three pieces of work required for
that particular module). The student was disappointed
because of the quantity of work she had undertaken
for that particular piece of work (worth a higher
percentage of the total grade than the other two
pieces). She thought it was quite good. The module
tutor asked, ``How are we going to decide if your
perception of `quite good' is the same as mine?'' The
student proposed, remembering roughly what she had
written, that she be allowed to examine three pieces of
work, an A, a B and a C mark, in order to negotiate a
grade. ``OK, then,'' said the module tutor, ``let's do
that. We've got to learn to trust each other.''
This incident highlights that opportunities for self- and
peer-assessment need to be valued alongside
experiential approaches to teaching and learning. The
extent of trust implicit within a commitment to peer-
assessment must also be emphasized. Were such an
incident received outside of a context within which
clear criteria for assessment existed, and without a
context of learning within which tutor-participant
relationships could be developed to such a degree, then
such trust could arguably not emerge or be legitimate.
These, then, are six key features of teaching and
learning in theology and religious studies which, we
claim, are directly influenced by, and reflect the value
of, explicit attention to experiential approaches in
education, especially where that attention converges
with concerns drawn from the impact of liberation
theology. It is now necessary to examine more
critically what lies within and between these features
to determine ways in which liberation theology is, or is
not, playing a role, and to analyze possible tensions
between the features introduced.
Critique I (REFLECTION)
Our approach to teaching and learning is an example
of theological education ``after Bonino.'' Bonino is a
representative figure. We mean ``British theological
education in the light of insights drawn from Latin
American liberation theology.'' The history of the
reception of liberation theology in Britain has
admittedly been a rocky one (see e.g. Norman 1979
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33
and Kee 1990, despite Kee 1977; for a more positive
appraisal, see Forrester 1988). Much of the concern has
centered upon the explicitly political approach which it
adopts, and especially its engagement with Marxism.
With the so-called collapse of Marxism in Eastern
Europe in the late 1980s, the ground seems prepared
for the rejection of liberation theology as something
belonging to a distinct and short-lived phase in
Christian theology's history. That this would be a
wrong and dangerous assumption is evidenced by its
practical impact, by the evident links which have been
made between practical/pastoral theology and
liberation theology, and by those prepared to see that
the lecture and the seminar need not be the only forms
and methods of theological education. (Even Marx is
not wholly out of the picture; see e.g., Newlands 1998.)
It was the methodology of Latin American
liberation theology, reflected theologically in the work
of Bonino, Gutierrez, and Segundo, and educationally
in Freire, that proved decisive for Bellett's own
professional development (Bellett 1998). Our critique
of the summary drawn from our own experience and
reflection begins with a reference back to Bonino's
words at the beginning of this article. If we [Bellett and
Marsh] do theology ``beginning from concreteness,''
and do such theology in companionship with others (as
module directors, but also as co-learners), then what
constitutes this ``concreteness''? Is it the experience
(e.g., of North Yorkshire Horse Culture) which
students bring with them and which has contributed
to the shaping of their thematic universe? Is it the
physical, political, and socio-economic context within
which they actually undertake their learning? Is it the
material with which they engage, as directed within the
undertaking of a module? However, the simple and
undoubtedly correct answer ``all three'' easily veils
some important tensions between the features we have
presented. And in what ways has liberation theology
taught us to be multiply suspicious of our own theory
and practice?
It is possible for a student's thematic universe to
militate against addressing the physical, political, and
socio-economic contexts within which a person's
learning is being developed. Beginning with
concreteness would then entail respect for the
educationally inevitable (you can only begin where
people are), but would fit uneasily with one of the
main points of liberation theology, that is, in dealing
with the concrete, you must address all aspects of
contemporary reality, including the economic and the
political. Though supportive of an experiential
starting-point, then, it soon becomes clear that
liberation theology directs people towards particular
learning experiences. ``Conscientization,'' the
development of critical consciousness as a means of
learning, clearly requires attention to the widest range
34 Bellett and Marsh
of aspects of ``concreteness'' for it to be fully realized.
In this sense, as a process, it invites students to be self-
critical with respect to their thematic universe. It must
not, from an educational perspective, be allowed to
devalue the thematic universe brought (people really
can only begin where they are). And it must not, as a
process, be permitted to control where people
eventually arrive (not everyone may end up agreeing:
ethically, theologically, politically, or whatever). But
liberation theology's attention to conscientization, as
reflected in Northern Hemisphere methods of
theological education, will not allow thematic
universes brought to the task of doing theology and
religious studies to prevent attention being paid to all
the ramifications of ``concreteness.''
What does this mean in practice? It entails out-of-
classroom experience highlighting the need for the
experience brought by learners to include full
attention to social, political, and economic factors
as part of what is being studied in theology and
religious studies. It may mean more, if liberation
theology's concerns are to be properly respected. It
may mean ensuring that out-of-classroom experience
include attention to what a ``view from the poor'' in
British (or U.S.) society looks like, so that the fullest
attention to social, political, and economic factors
can be paid. Arguably, without such a view, neither
theology nor religious studies can be undertaken
satisfactorily. How such a view is to be built into a
theology and religious studies course naturally needs
careful thought, as the examples given in the previous
section indicate. Should it emerge in each module?
Should there be a separate liberation theology
module? Such questions have been around for
decades and surface in relation to many similar
concerns (e.g., how are interfaith, sex and gender,
black, and feminist perspectives to be reflected across
theology and religious studies courses?). We are
currently in transition in our own context: we do
offer modules in liberation theology, feminist
theology, and urban theology. We also seek to ensure
that such perspectives suffuse other modules (e.g.,
Christianity in the Contemporary World, Christian
Theology, The Bible in Contemporary Perspective).
Instantly, however, we are confronted with varieties
of experience as they impinge upon approaches to
teaching and learning in theology and religious studies.
We have been dealing, at the very least, with four types
of experience:
1) experience(s) brought by participants to an
educational encounter (which shapes a learner's
thematic universe);
2) experience(s) created outside the classroom, via
placements or observational visits (which adds to
a learner's fund of experience);
3) experience(s) of those actually met via
placements or observational visits (which are
always mediated, and reflected upon by being
in turn shaped by a learner's thematic universe
but are particularly valuable by virtue of their
being embodied);
4) experience(s) implicit or explicit in any written/
viewed texts/resources being used as
conversation-partners (in this case, the
experience of liberation theologians).
To these may be added a fifth form of experience at
work in the educational processes being described:
experience(s) created in the classroom. At this point
the third to sixth features described in the previous
section become especially significant. The ways in
which all of the four types of experience become part
of the material examined and critiqued within theology
and religious studies are themselves significant for
what theology and religious studies are about, and for
the learning which takes place under these discipline
headings. How experience is made use of within the
classroom context (via guided exercises, structured
discussions, lectures) constitutes a variety of forms of
practice which in turn requires highlighting and
critiquing as part of the learning process. If any
particular form of experience, of any of the first four
types listed above, is consistently emphasized over and
above any other, then this very aspect of the learning
process will be worthy of critical examination.4
Further examination is required, however, even of
the first four types of experience just listed. For within
the first, the educator's own thematic universe (as
shaped by their particular experience) is implicit. And
this in turn has helped to shape the very educational
experience which the learners will have on a module,
via the power invested in the educator. Though the
educator (as teacher/module director) cannot wholly
control the experiences which people will have (and
certainly not what people bring), the structuring of a
module is a powerful act. The choice of what subject-
matter to introduce via formal input (e.g., lecture),
what encounters to facilitate (e.g., via observational
visits, incoming speakers), and what discussions to
stimulate (as well as who leads these discussions) is
crucial to the shaping of the educational experience
which a module becomes. The in-class and out-of-class
experiences provided within a module are thus
profoundly influenced by one particular participant.
No matter how many awkward participants there may
then prove to be in a group (who effectively try to
wrest power from a module director) there is no
escaping the fact that the tutor directs a module. Even
if content and form are negotiated, it is s/he who
invites the negotiation. On any form of an experiential
approach, however, full respect for the action-
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 On Seeing to the Horses
reflection-action cycle requires that critical reflection
by all those involved in the learning process (students
and tutor) be used in future versions of any module.
The question of the appropriateness of experiential
approaches to teaching and learning in theology and
religious studies is becoming sharpened. It can now be
expressed in this way: to whose experience are we
referring when we speak of ``experiential teaching and
learning'' in theological education? Strictly speaking,
we are only speaking of experiential method when we
refer to in-class and out-of-class experiences. Yet the
other three forms of experience are equally crucial to
the educational process: hence our use of ``experiential
approaches,'' for all its inadequacies, throughout this
article. To express the matter more sharply still: the
recent spate of ``adjectival'' theologies (black, feminist,
liberation, Hispanic, urban, Asian, queer) merely
discloses the crucial importance of the degree of
experience which has inevitably been, and must
inevitably be, part of the content of theology, and
intrinsic to theology and religious studies as
disciplines.5 So how are theology's past (in terms of
its content, and its history as a discipline) and the
adjectival present to be made sense of educationally?
In the next section, we take our inquiry a stage
further by examining the features of teaching and
learning we have identified, and the types of experience
we have uncovered, in the light of one important recent
development in Christian theological thinking: the turn
from the liberal to the post-liberal. If theological
education in the present can only be ``after Bonino,'' it
can also only be ``after Lindbeck.'' Our stance
throughout this article has implied that theology and
religious studies are inevitably, in some sense,
experiential disciplines. But does this presuppose a
particular theological stance which is itself open to
severe challenge? Does not George Lindbeck's critique
of experiential-expressivism in theology subvert the
entire approach we are seeking to commend?
Critique II (REFLECTION)
The position we are developing here, which commends
experiential approaches to theology and religious
studies, may be resting on a mistake. Perhaps we are
assuming that people ``have'' raw experiences, and that
these experiences are somehow ultimately reducible to
a single, common denominator. On this basis, we may
be supposing, across the disciplines of theology and
religious studies, that ``experiential approaches'' are
possible because people who have different experiences
can nevertheless find common ground by locating an
ultimately unifying feature, element, or ground within
those experiences. This is not, however, what our
position requires. Lindbeck himself notes that, ``The
rationale suggested, though not necessitated, by an
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35
experiential-expressivist approach is that the various
religions are diverse symbolizations of one and the
same core experience of the Ultimate. . .'' (1984, 23).
Those who hold to such a unifying view of human
experience(s) may well respond most favorably to our
proposals. But our article is about theological
education after Lindbeck, as well as after Bonino. We
must, in other words, show full cognizance of the fact
that such an appeal to experience has been not only
challenged but discredited (certainly if the ultimate
unification of such experience(s) is claimed as religious
experience).
In presenting our discussion we acknowledge that
Lindbeck, like Bonino, is a representative. He functions
for us as a focal point of a post-liberal critique of
liberalism, according to which the former highlights
the attention needed to particular discourses within the
study of religion and theology, with the result that
theology as a discipline is akin to learning a language.
Accepting that forms of Christian liberalism too often
assumed a capacity to rise above, or dig beneath,
particularity to relatively easily-identifiable universals,
and that an experiential approach to teaching and
learning in theology and religious studies may too
readily ally itself to the misguided quest for such
universals, it is important that Lindbeck's challenge be
heard and respected. On the British scene, Lindbeck
may not be widely known by name. Nor, indeed, may
post-liberalism be quite as clearly identifiable as a
theological school in the way that the Yale school is
often referred to in the USA. The critique of liberalism
(even if liberalism is often left ill-defined) is, however,
widespread. We are either ``all liberals now'' (in the
sense that implicitly or explicitly critical approaches to
Christianity and religions are more acceptable these
days), or we know that liberalism belongs to a
totalitarian, ideas-centered past which is being steadily
overcome.
This section was, however, a tough one to write.
Post-liberalism's impact upon theological education is
arguably at its earliest stages (in Britain at least). We
thus found ourselves reflecting recognition that a
movement in theology, the importance of which
seemed self-evident in that discipline, did not seem so
significant in another. Here, in other words, we
encountered an aspect of the sheer difficulty and
complexity of interdisciplinary work. We also saw that
such interdisciplinary work, whether intended or not,
is a direct result of the present political climate in
British higher education. Greater attention to teaching
quality is requiring all higher education institutions
(even theology and religious studies departments) to
listen to those in their midst who have been formally
trained in teaching and learning. Equally,
educationalists within the field of theology and
religious studies are being compelled to consider
36 Bellett and Marsh
developments in theology and religious studies in ways
which have seemed less pressing in the past. What,
then, does attention to Lindbeck mean for teaching and
learning?
In his highly influential work of 1984, The Nature
of Doctrine: Religion and Theology in a Postliberal
Age, Lindbeck identifies and argues against what he
calls experiential-expressivism, a view of doctrines
which interprets them as ``noninformative and
nondiscursive symbols of inner feelings, attitudes,
or existential orientations'' (Lindbeck 1984, 16).
Though related to a particularly Christian,
theological discussion about the status and function
of doctrines, Lindbeck's argument has wider
significance as a challenge to all approaches to
theology and religious studies, and educational
method and practice within these disciplines, which
appear to be operating from ``inner feelings,
attitudes, or existential orientations'' and working
towards the subject-matter of religion and theology.
If Lindbeck is right in his critique, then experiential
approaches may simply not be possible. Or, more
accurately, they are unwise, because they distort the
way that theology and religion actually work:
autobiography has become theology, and religions
as such are undervalued in their particularity.
Our attempt to commend an experiential approach
must therefore take Lindbeck's critique seriously in
clarifying how people's ``feelings, attitudes, or
existential orientations'' are being engaged in the
educational process. Our thesis is simple: education
only happens when ``inner feelings, attitudes, or
existential orientations'' are engaged and affected in
some way. But these cannot, after Lindbeck, be seen as
raw, uninterpreted starting-points for theology or
religious studies.6 In this sense we fully accept that
theology and religious studies are primarily
hermeneutical disciplines, which require people to
bring their thematic universes alongside a range of
theological or religious traditions in order critically to
examine them. Our claim, however, is that the way we
have adopted experiential approaches in our own
teaching and learning strategies (i.e., with reference to
liberation theology) has enabled us to avoid some of
the criticisms Lindbeck makes of experiential-
expressivism. Indeed, where Lindbeck takes us is,
perhaps strangely, close to where Freire also wants us
to be. His critique of experiential-expressivism,
however, requires the stark separation of the cognitive
from the affective in ways which, post-Bonino, are
surprising.
Both our teaching experience and insights drawn
from Freire indicate quite clearly that the affective
aspects of human living must be taken into account in
theological education because they are part of the
political dimensions of the learning experience. The
issue, therefore, is how such aspects of human
experience are to be accessed and examined within
theology and religious studies in a manner which is not
prone to Lindbeck's critique.
Lindbeck's identification of a main strand of
Christian thought which, he claims, espoused
experiential-expressivism is instructive here:
This approach [experiential-expressivism] highlights
the resemblances of religions to aesthetic enterprises
and is particularly congenial to the liberal theologies
influenced by the Continental developments that began
with Schleiermacher. (1984, 16)
Experiential-expressivism, in other words, reflects a
liberal agenda, Schleiermacher being the father of
modern liberal theology. In the final chapter of his
seminal work, ``Toward a Postliberal Theology,''
Lindbeck develops his own line of thinking in direct
contrast to liberalism's tendencies. The chapter is rich
with pungent critique and constructive proposals. The
suggestion, however, that ``religious communities are
likely to be practically relevant in the long run to the
degree that they do not first ask what is either practical
or relevant, but instead concentrate on their own
intratextual outlooks and forms of life'' (1984, 128),
does not sound promising if applied also to the settings
in the academy within which the practices and ideas of
those religious communities are to be expounded and
examined. One wonders, then, where the place of
experience has gone in Lindbeck's keenness to clarify
the primacy of narrative and tradition, and the learning
of the grammar of those narratives and traditions, as
the focal point of theology.
Lindbeck is, of course, far from suggesting that
experience has no place in theology (1984, 36). Nor is
he simply reasserting a propositional approach to
theology, according to which theology is about the
learning of a tradition in the sense that it entails a
``banking concept'' of education (to use Freire's term),
in which religious believers are expected to store up a
stock of knowledge. His approach is more tradition-
centered than the liberals he critiques, but it is about
learning how to live within a tradition and use it. In
order to press his point, however, Lindbeck must
effectively play down the affective dimensions of
human living. He must also starkly polarize the social
dimension of religion, over against the individualizing
tendencies of the academy:
Religions are seen as multiple suppliers of different
forms of a single commodity needed for transcendent
self-expression and self-realization. Theologians,
ministers and perhaps above all teachers of religion
in colleges and universities whose job is to meet the
demand are under great pressure in these
circumstances to emphasize the experiential-
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 On Seeing to the Horses
expressive aspects of religion. It is thus they that can
most easily market it. (1984, 22)
But what if a notion of ``beginning from concreteness''
entails respect for the socially-constructed thematic
universes of course-participants? Admittedly, Lindbeck
may respond that we are not experiential-expressivists
at all; we are, in fact, simply taking his position as read
and applying it more widely, beyond the particularity
of identifiable religions to the particularity, for
example, of political, familial, and class discourses.
This may be so. But our experience(!) suggests that the
way in which we begin from concreteness is perceived
as beginning from experience by those who participate
in our courses. Therefore, even if there are distinctions
to be drawn along the lines that Lindbeck suggests,
there is yet a further conceptuality to be devised which
does justice to the pre-reflective, yet already
``thematized,'' material which people bring to courses
in theology and religious studies, which is close to
experience, yet culturally-shaped.
Lindbeck has a clear place for concreteness in his
approach: the concreteness of the believing
community. The particularity of the religious discourse
within which a religious believer is located relates to
concrete communities. In the case of the concreteness
with which we must work in our contexts of teaching
and learning, the participants' thematic universes relate
to a whole variety of discrete discourses, located in
many and diverse concrete communities, not
necessarily religious. It is thus hardly surprising that
Lindbeck suspects teachers of being prone to
experiential-expressivism: it is easier to dodge the
social components of our thoughts and beliefs and to
seek a lowest common denominator. But Freire the
educationalist will not let us do this, and it is precisely
because of the edge which his political, socio-economic
concerns provide that we cannot dodge the culturally-
constructed nature of our thematic universes.
In our approach to teaching and learning in an
academic context and in Lindbeck's approach to
workings of doctrine in an ecclesial setting, then,
experience, concreteness, and narrative (``text'') all
find a place. Our experiential approach advocates
beginning from the concreteness of participants'
thematic universes. It does not strive to reach a single
point, on the basis of an assumption of any underlying
unity. It accepts the culturally-conditioned nature of
those thematic universes. But it resists being dismissive
of the apparent immediacy of what is readily called
``experience'' by participants who bring important
material with them to our sessions. As an educational
process, conscientization cannot prescribe an end-
result. It presses people critically to examine the
interpreted world they inhabit. (An excellent example
of this is the Monte Mario story in Freire 1981, 30.)
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37
One of the main responsibilities of an educator in
theology and religious studies who adopts an
experiential approach, then, is to enable all
participants to become clear about the ``textual''
traditions within which their own thematic universes
are located, however diverse those ``traditions'' may
be. The approach suggested for the exposure of what
a student brings to theological education is relevant
here. The ``Dolphin questionnaire'' could be read as
an implicit form of ``starting with ideas'' (though
these are, at least, students' ideas!). In fact it begins
with experience in the only form in which experience
can be handled: as experience shaped into a thematic
universe, which needs drawing out, and its roots
identified, in order to be examined. Only by such or
similar means can conscientizing occur, can theology
happen, can the experiential dimension of the study
of theology and religion be explored. And only by
such, or similar, means can the experiential
dimensions of the theology of others (and thus also
the theological dimensions of the experience of
others) be disclosed, in order to be living resources
for participants. In all this, perhaps we discover that
Freire was something of a postmodernist before
postmodernism. His work stands, however, as a
sharp political challenge to some of the apparent
ethical indifferentism of postmodern trends.7
A consequence can be drawn from our discussion
for Lindbeck's reading of experiential-expressivism.
Perhaps experiential-expressivism never was quite
what it seemed. The lazy pluralism which would
want to unify too much too quickly must certainly be
firmly dismissed. But the persistence of the
immediate, the pressing, the preoccupying, the
stubbornly deep conviction, even if not the raw
experience, with which experiential approaches to
teaching and learning in theology and religious
studies can begin are suggestive not just of particular
narratives, cultural constructs, or intratextual
language-games. There may be no common human
experience, but there are certainly some strikingly
similar things that happen inside and outside of
religions and across the most diverse of cultures. And
there are whole people with feelings, attitudes,
orientations, convictions and bodies, as well as ideas
and beliefs to be dealt with here. To recognize this,
and to do this insight justice, is not to argue for a
single theology, or a single religion. Nor may it
necessarily entail holding to a unified ontology.
Realists and non-realists can, and must, still both
eat at the same table. But it does suggest that
Lindbeck's account of what doctrine is fails to do full
justice to the experience of how theological education
actually works. Here, at least, is a case where
theology, religious studies, and education would all
benefit from a longer conversation with each other.
38 Bellett and Marsh
In Conclusion? (ACTION)
We have argued for the persistence of experiential
approaches to teaching and learning in theology and
religious studies. Such approaches should prosper in
the light of both Bonino and Lindbeck. Reading
Bonino in the light of Lindbeck, we acknowledge that
particular experiences are to be encouraged, and that
the particularity of these experiences veils a particular
narrative (God's bias is to the poor). Such
``experiences'' are to be facilitated in a variety of
forms inside and outside of the classroom. People will
not ``have'' new, raw experiences. But efforts must be
expended to ensure that participants know that they
are dealing with more than ideas when tackling
theology and religion.
Reading Lindbeck in the light of Bonino, we wish to
stress that ``experience'' in all its complex and
multifaceted nature must not be lost sight of within
an emphasis upon narrative and tradition, lest
narrative and tradition become but a different way of
evading concreteness. The point of theology and
religious studies must be to enable participants to
examine how rituals and traditions live in relation to
people's experience.
Reading both Bonino and Lindbeck in the light of
our own practice, we are conscious of the range of
experiences embodied within the thematic universes
presented to us by particular people (and often
relatively unreflected upon) which find a place within
our classes. We are conscious, too, of our responsibility
to foster the juxtaposing of ``texts'' (in the widest
sense, and as embodied in people). Our role is to rub
one ``text'' alongside another, to create hermeneutical
friction (and accept that heat the warmth of insight
and the power of passion is caused). Be it the ``literal
text'' of words on a page, the ``text'' of an experienced
life brought by a participant, or the narrative presented
by a visiting speaker or supervisor, the point of
experiential teaching and learning is to make such
interaction count as personal, social, and political
development. The extent to which such development
explicitly entails theology in the case of individual
participants cannot be prejudged. Theological and
religious resources are to be used. They may be
deconstructed by their users in the process. Educators
can do no more than commend their use, no matter
how highly they may happen to value those resources
themselves, and no matter what particular theological
or philosophical outlooks may underpin their practice.
But in all this, concreteness remains crucial. And as
befits the cycle of learning which we seek to use, we
must return via our own reflection to the need to
act afresh. Chastened by the critique of other co-
learners, we must turn to plan our next modules.
Notes
1. We use the term ``experiential approaches'' with caution.
Bellett notes its possible equation with so-called
``discovery methods'' of education in Primary Schools
in the 1960s. As will be clear from our critical interaction
with post-liberalism, we wish to affirm the place of
experience in theology and religious studies, without
implying that the mere use of self-expression (the way in
which ``discovery methods'' have become discredited) is
enough. Throughout this article we use liberation
theology to stand for Latin American theologies of
liberation.
2. We do, however, wish to draw attention to, and affirm,
the comments made by Linda Woodhead 1998, 44, which
suggest that theology and religious studies, though
distinct, are not t o be seen a s necessarily
methodologically separate.
3. And in this respect, theology & religious studies at
Higher Education levels is repeating the mistakes of those
who deployed ``discovery methods'' badly.
4. This is very likely to happen in some form via an
emphasis upon the fourth form of experience (when not
necessarily constituted by the experience of Liberation
Theologians), that is, wherever a particular theologian,
theological movement, or school of religious studies is
granted authoritative status then their experience is
effectively being prioritized.
5. One does not have to go far to stress the significance of
experience in all theologies, even those from theologians
not often regarded as the champions of theologians of
experience (see, e.g., the brilliant intellectual biography
of the early Barth: McCormack 1995).
6. This is where Bellett's resistance to the equation of
``discovery methods'' of education with ``experiential
approaches'' is again significant: how is the whole person
to be engaged in theology and religious studies (as we
both believe must be) without ``inner feelings'' alone
controlling all that is studied and concluded in the name
of religion?
7. ``Freire is at the same time a traditional, a modernist and
a postmodernist intellectual, and he cannot be easily
classified as a romantic or a pragmatic intellectual . . .''
Torres, in Escobar 1994, 22.
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