The Character of Catechisms in Catechumenal Catechesis

First of all, I suppose I should apologize for the title of this blog post.  I couldn’t resist the temptation to multiply alliteration. Could have been worse; I momentarily thought of calling it “The Cacophonous Character of Catechisms in Catechumenal Catechesis” but then I would have had to go to confession.

       The topic, of course, is the place of classic question and answer catechisms (such as that of St. Peter Mogila, now reprinted and available at Amazon) and their usefulness in instructing inquirers and catechumens in the Church today.  Such things used to be all the rage, especially at the time of the Reformation. They were aimed at dissipating ignorance among Christians (including Christian clergy), not at instructing newcomers—and in those days there was more than enough ignorance of the Faith, both clerical and lay ignorance, to go around.  Those catechisms built on a prior system of rote learning as the faithful were taught how to recite the Pater Noster, the Creed, and the Hail Mary (in Latin, of course).  The emphasis was not on any real understanding of the faith but simply on minimal liturgical participation.

The catechisms were mostly western productions, though the Christian East inevitably borrowed the format, especially in Russia during its time of theological decadence when it drew much of its inspiration from the West (e.g. the catechisms associated with the names of Metropolitans Philaret Drozdov and Peter Mogila).   

In the West, the home of the catechism, we find Luther’s Small Catechism in 1529, Erasmus’ 1533 counter-blast, A Playne and Godly Exposytion or Declaration of the Commune Crede, the Catechism of the Council of Trent in 1566, the Reformed Westminster Shorter Catechism of 1647, and the Catechism contained in the Anglican Book of Common Prayer (1662).  Later came the famous Roman Catholic Baltimore Catechism first published in 1885.  The format seems to have embedded itself in the western (or at least Roman Catholic) psyche, since 1992 saw the publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church.  But in the Christian East, the format seems to have fallen out of favour, with no new such popular question-and-answer catechisms being produced since the somewhat hoary days of Philaret and Mogila. 

Today Orthodox Christian Faith is now no longer taught through question-and-answer catechisms but through thematically structured books such as Ware’s The Orthodox Church (first published 1963), McGuckin’s The Orthodox Church: An Introduction to its History, Doctrine, and Spiritual Culture (2011) and (on a more popular level) Clark Carleton’s The Faith: Understanding Orthodox Christianity (1997).  Fr. Thomas Hopko’s so-called “rainbow series” of books is also popular.  We might also mention the O.C.A.’s official resource for catechumens and inquirers Essential Orthodox Christian Beliefs: a Manual for Adult Instruction.

We ask: why is this?  Why does the Church (indeed, even modern Anglicans, Lutherans, and Reformed) tend to avoid the older format?  The answer is instructive.

The classic question and answer format of the older catechisms gives the impression that the Faith is primarily something for the head, a correct series of answers to set questions.  The experiential element (sometimes called the “mystical” element as in Lossky’s famous work The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church) is neglected or at least subordinated to the intellectual element. One gets the impression that “being Orthodox” equals the willingness to parrot back the correct required responses to pre-set questions. 

This is especially problematic today when there is a growing tendency to see the Faith in polemical terms.  One might get the impression that having the “right” answers is more important than love and an open heart. But, in fact, Orthodoxy cannot be reduced to a series of correct pre-set answers to previously set questions.  It is primarily a matter of the heart, a journey, an approach to God, hence the patristic aphorism “a theologian is one who prays and the one who prays is a theologian”.

The aim of the first catechisms and their predecessors was not deep understanding or comprehension of the Faith but the simple recitation of the answers given in the book.  Given the astonishing degree of ignorance prevailing in the Church, the aim was a valid and laudable one—after all, you have to start somewhere.  The Reformation catechisms also aimed at drawing lines, defining where their church stood on the controversial doctrinal questions of their day.  They functioned not simply as catechetical tools but as confessional bulwarks.  That was necessary and legitimate in its day, but it is hardly the introduction needed by inquirers today.

Furthermore, one notes a high degree of Scholastic spirit in the catechisms, which is hardly surprising given that Scholasticism as a movement was a product of the West, a product that placed an over-emphasis on syllogism, intellectualism, system, and logic.  That is not to suggest that all such catechisms were devoid of any warmth or  devotional content.  The Heidelberg Catechism, for example, begins by asking, “What is your only comfort in life and in death?” and answers, “That I am not my own but belong body and soul in life and in death to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ”.  Rather it is only to point out that such catechisms bear the unmistakable mark of their western origin and its Scholastic approach. 

We see this in such works as the Baltimore Catechism: the original work reduced the Faith to answers to 421 questions, soon expanded to four volumes of questions with volume 3 giving over 1400 answers to the topic of Confirmation alone.  I wonder if even Thomas Aquinas who wrote a Summa or two might find that a bit too much of an emphasis on the Faith as a cerebral exercise.

We see this also in St. Philaret’s catechism: a look at the table of contents reveals that it is arranged in three sections on faith, hope, and love respectively (compare 1 Corinthians 13:13).  The section on faith contains questions about the sections of the Creed and the Sacraments; that on hope contains questions on the Lord’s Prayer and the Beatitudes; and the section on love contains questions on the Ten Commandments.  Here we find a Scholastic determination to force material arbitrarily into a neat pre-arranged system—an approach almost guaranteed to decontextualize the material, ripping it from its original experiential and mystical context—i.e. its ecclesial life setting.  Such a Scholastic approach ensures a certain level of distortion.

It was otherwise with the Fathers.  For them catechumenal instruction consisted of a series of sermons expounding the Book of Genesis and also of a series of post-baptismal sermons expounding what the newly-baptized had just experienced in baptism (e.g. the Mystagogical Catecheses of St. Cyril of Jerusalem).  That is, the Faith was transmitted through Biblical exegesis and liturgical explanation.  The deeper mystical meanings of Scripture were included as was an emphasis on liturgical experience.  The Fathers did not offer a system or a Summa but a taste of how to proceed in the Christian life.  It was not a summary but an initiation.

One also sees that in an older Scholastic approach one is likely to neglect modern concerns, challenges, and problems.  For example: one would like to know how theistic evolution can be squared with the writings of the Fathers such as St. Basil on creation, or how the recent mapping of the human genome affects a belief that the human race descended genetically from only two individuals.  One would like to know how the Church deals with ecumenism, with feminism, with ethical issues such invitro fertilization.

It is unfair to ask Metropolitans Philaret or Mogila (or any older resource) to deal with such modern questions, but an answer must still be given since these are precisely the kinds of questions inquirers and catechumens are now asking.  Putting into their hands a book like Seraphim Rose’s Genesis, Creation, and Early Man or simply saying “read the sermons of the Fathers” is hardly an answer.

I would not commit the sin that C. S. Lewis once described as “chronological snobbery”, the notion that we were always of necessity smarter and better than our ancestors. After all, our Christian ancestors, both east and west, faced very different challenges and had very different resources at their fingertips than we do today.  They therefore deserve gratitude and praise for the work they did—including such work as the production of their catechisms.  We their children can best show our gratitude by meeting contemporary challenges with the same courage and creativity that they showed to meet the challenges of their day.  Their catechisms may be consulted before being placed back on the shelf.  But the world in which we now find ourselves require other and deeper resources and more detailed and complex answers, especially for inquirers and catechumens.