“Let me heare … if thou canst say”: The Utility of the Prayer Book Catechism (1549–1604)

What Is a Catechism?

The English noun derives from the Greek verb κατήχησις meaning “to teach by word of mouth.” Its origin is oral, not chirographic, and it is there, in preliterate, oral communication, Pochatko (2017) argues, that the roots of technical writing are to be found. Studying those origins, of course, poses a problem, because before the invention of audio recording (in 1877), ⁵ spoken communication can only be preserved in memory.

This written form of interrogatory instruction reflects oral conditions. The interrogatory type of catechism formally imitates conversation, and while committed to writing, those who wrote and used the hundreds of catechisms published in the 16th and 17th centuries take for granted what Ong (1982/2002) identifies as the fundamental limitation that accounts for all or nearly all of the distinguishing characteristics of communication in oral cultures: “You know what you can recall” (p. 33). Unlike the 19th-century catechisms examined by Brockmann, the PBC was written to be memorized. The oral qualities in the catechisms discussed in Brockmann’s article—the question-and-answer format, concise responses, easy syntax, and so forth—make them more accessible than a treatise, but in the case of the PBC and other early modern religious catechisms, these features also aim to facilitate memorization. Green observes that it was widely believed this form, the interrogatory catechism, “was the most natural and effective form of oral elementary religious instruction, especially for teaching the ‘simpler’ or the ‘ruder sort’” (p. 21).

Primary oral cultures, of course, evince a mnemonic priority because recourse to a written text is impossible; in literate cultures, however, the mnemonic priority does not simply disappear because it continues to offer a real practical value regardless of the extent of literacy and availability of texts (though its relative importance is more pronounced in some domains than others). A mechanic, for example, who needs to continually look up what to do in a manual while he changes the oil in an automobile will take much too long to do the job than is practical. Some of the services we secure from experts are tasks that the nonexpert could conceivably complete with a manual at hand and sufficient time; one key advantage of the expert is precisely her recall. With regard to religious instruction, whether the student could read for him or herself, memorization was required because the content was intended to equip the child for the challenges of life in the world.

In 1549, only a minority of laity were capable of reading. ⁶ The culture of late 16th-century England, while unmistakably shaped by literacy and print, possesses unmistakable oral–aural priorities and assumptions. By this, I mean not only is there limited literacy or even that there is a high degree of oral residue present in the writing but that prevailing prejudice favors the spoken word over the printed word. This prejudice is amply attested to, as Hunt (2011) has shown, grave concerns over the possibility of salvation for the deaf: “How miserable then wert thou, if thou wert deafe,” Elnathan Parr laments in a sermon published in 1632, “for deafe men must needs be miserable, being deprived of the ordinarie means of faith” (quoted from Hunt, 2011, pp. 24–25). Of course, this homily was printed, so any deaf person could access its message if he were but taught to read. ⁷ Speaking and hearing were regarded as animate, dynamic, effective processes, but the active, effective components of reading were little appreciated. In a sermon published in 1616, Charles Richardson explained

the application of the doctrine … must worke upon the heart and affections to winne them. So that application is the very life and edge of doctrine; without which it is dull, cold, barren, and as good as dead … . Now the bare reading of the Word cannot doe this; it is the powerfull preaching of it that worketh this effect. (quoted from Hunt, 2011, p. 27)

In 1572, John Whitgift, then Dean of Lincoln (later made Archbishop of Canterbury in 1583), defended “all kinds of publishing the gospel by external voice,” against the godly Thomas Cartwright, who argued that not merely hearing the scripture read but hearing sermons preached was vital to faith. Whitgift (who in 1571, as Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, deprived Cartwright of his professorship and fellowship) contended that preaching “comprehendeth reading [the scriptures aloud] as well as it doth that which you call preaching” (quoted from Hunt, 2011, p. 31). In this debate, we see both interlocutors assuming the superiority of speaking and hearing over silent reading while debating whether a reader tethered to a text can be said to be engaged in the animate, effective act of preaching. To Cartright, simply reading from a book was “as evil as playing upon a stage” (Hunt, 2011) because the reader may not comprehend, much less be able to apply or defend, what he or she reads—a criticism of reading as old as Plato’s Socrates. The mere reader, Plato (writing as Sacrates) argued, is no better equipped to, as it were, “sally forth into the fray” than an actor playing at being a soldier. ⁸

Struggle, hardship, and conflict characterized the world of the 16th century to a far greater extent than it does for those of us who live in societies shaped by what many historians call the First through the Third Industrial Revolutions, and such differences in condition, of course, shape our assumptions about and modes of communication. Ong (1982/2002) observes “Many, if not all, oral or residually oral cultures strike literates as extraordinarily agonistic in their verbal performance and indeed in their lifestyle” (p. 43) and that characterization certainly applies to 16th-century England, the culture in which and for which the PBC was designed. This quality likely results in part from the “common and persistent physical hardships of life” (Ong, 1982/2002, p. 44). So, then, this oral quality is but a prominent instance of the highly contextual nature of oral communication (even in highly literate societies). Anyone who has ever told someone else “look at this” and accompanied the words with the gesture of a pointed finger knows the highly contextual nature of oral communication—if someone read a transcript of that conversation, the bare pronoun “this” would be useless in identifying the object. Ong describes this quality as “close reference to the human lifeworld.” Tannen (1985) argues that it is the greater relative focus on involvement that accounts for the characteristics that typify oral communication (p. 124). Because the lifeworld of oral cultures tends to be characterized by struggle, the mode of communication (a means of acting in the world) assumes and participates in those struggles. It also seems to be the case that the contextual and agonistic is more memorable—a fact well documented by psychologists that can be explained in terms of evolutionary biology. ⁹ The agonistic quality in communication as well as the prejudice against reading begins to fade through the subsequent century (especially in instructional or technical writing). Whether the rise in literacy may be a contributing cause or perhaps another result of other causes does not matter to this inquiry. These shifts can be clearly observed in the writing style of the WSC, which, although still intended for memorization, lacks the highly contextual and agonistic qualities of the PBC. Whether that made the WSC more of a challenge for students to memorize is an interesting question.

Memorization may, at first glance, seem antithetical to the kind of active orality that both Whitgift and Cartright valued, as it relies on rote learning, which does not imply comprehension of content nor the ability to effectively apply and defend. The early modern pedagogical emphasis on memorization was never an end in itself (Green, 1996, p. 93). Memorization was regarded as a foundation or, rather, equipment, such as grammar itself, which can then be applied in countless new ways as circumstances demand. Herbert (1652), ¹⁰ describing the ideal parson, explains, “He exacts of all the Doctrine of the Catechisme; of the younger sort, the very words; of the elder, the substance” (pp. 82–83). The effective catechist,

When once all have learned the words of the Catechisme, he thinks it the most usefull way that a Pastor can take, to go over the same, but in other words: for many say the Catechisme by rote, as parrats, without ever piercing into the sense of it. (pp. 83–84)

Memorization has fallen out of vogue among the majority of modern pedagogues; instruction now typically prioritizes the abstracted processes of thinking—what is often called “critical thinking” and “creativity”—over specific content. Similarly, direct, face-to-face debate (which is highly contextual and agonistic) has a far less prominent role in advancing ideas than in the early modern era. Writing (especially particular kinds of writing) has assumed pride of place as the primary means of assessing student learning. Does the decline in the valuing of memorization and debate necessarily follow from the advances of chirographic and typographic culture? That is a difficult question. Ong seems to have thought so. Interestingly, he is far from the first to make that case. Plato’s account of Socrates’ argument against writing in the Phaedrus (to which we have already referred) anticipates Ong’s argument. Plato’s Socrates predicts writing will “atrophy people’s memories” (275a, p. 69 in Waterfield, tr. 2002). Beyond this, he anticipates the divorcing of communication from its social context:

Once anything has been written down, you find it all over the place, hobnobbing with completely inappropriate people no less than with those who understand it, and completely failing to know who it should and shouldn’t talk to. (275e, p. 70)

Although it was a printed text, the PBC was intended to be memorized and formally imitates a spoken conversation between a teacher and a student. The oral–aural qualities are vital to appreciating the PBC; although it played a significant part in the increase of literacy in this period, it did not require the child learning it to be literate. It is unsurprising, then, that in the woodcut depicting catechizing that appears in John Day’s (1578) A Book of Christian Prayers, only the catechist has the book in hand; the children do not (See Figure 2). ¹¹ The words of the PBC are intended for the tongue and the ear, not for the eye.

The PBC

There is some uncertainty regarding who wrote the 1549 PBC. ¹² Green (1996) says it “has been attributed” to Thomas Cranmer (p. 20), and certainly, as the editor of the whole Prayer Book, he is responsible for its final form as printed in the 1549 and 1552 editions, even if he did not pen the first draft. Before considering the aim of the PBC, I first wish to clarify Cranmer’s role, insofar as my analysis is concerned. I adopt (and adapt) Goffman’s (1981) tripartite division of roles often lumped together: writer, principal, and animator (rather than “writer,” Goffman uses “author”; but this implies authority, which he reserves to the principal) (p. 167). To these three I add the role of editor. Viewed through this lens, the writer (likely Cranmer or, if not him, someone he appointed) is an agent whose primary task is to carry out the aims of the principal, that is, the party or parties responsible for the aims and convictions expressed in the words of the writer. Cranmer may have prepared the initial draft; he certainly revised and edited the text in response to comments from others to finalize the text. Cranmer as editor aims to fairly represent the principal as much as does the writer. Cranmer, interestingly enough, is also an active party in the establishment of the principal, which is, in this case, the Church of England. Insofar as Cranmer, the first Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury, participated in negotiating the consensus of the principal regarding doctrine and discipline, he also partially represents the principal (indeed, to a significant degree, the historical record indicates). It does not seem, however, that the Archbishop also functioned as an animator; he did not use the catechism in the way that curates ¹³ did, that is, to provide religious instruction.

When I raise the question, what did Cranmer hope to do through the catechism? I have in mind both his role as writer/editor giving expression to the official position of the Church of England and an official within that church who had a significant hand in establishing its character. The Prayer Book indicates that Cranmer hoped to dramatically change the common understanding and practice of Christian initiation in England; what I mean is, he did not simply aim to modify the official position (as a party in the establishment of the principal) but to persuade the people of England to fully embrace the modified conception. The church had the legal authority to compel the reformed practice, which, of course, it did. But compulsory obedience is a highly incomplete reformation, and, for all his subtlety as an ecclesiastical official, Cranmer also appears to have been quite sincere in his Protestant convictions. It is not primarily through the force of law but the viva voce, the living voice of animators—namely, the parish clergy—that Cranmer hoped for the reformation to be carried out, and he had given them officially authorized words to use in the pursuit of this aim.

Other animators gave voice to the catechism as well (perhaps far outstripping what Cranmer had imagined for the text). Besides curates, who give voice to the questions, we should not overlook the children, who gave voice to the scripted answers. The PBC is not simply a text read to children; it is a dialogue between master and scholar. ¹⁴ Children, then, actively participated in animating the PBC. This strikes me as more remarkable than we might now suppose, as we live in a culture that is used to giving a great deal of attention to children and, indeed, watching them perform (at sports and musical recitals, etc.). While boys were not infrequently performers in Cathedral and College Chapel quires, and players on the public stage, these activities only involved a small number of the total population of children, and those only boys. The new requirement that all children learn to say the catechism is notably different from these other kinds of child performances for several reasons. First, it meant that every child in England had regular, fairly direct contact with a university graduate in the person of the catechizing curate (not just the occasion for it, but a legal right and responsibility). This contact involves much more than simply sitting in church listening to the sermon; the curate had to ensure that every individual child could say the catechism. If he was a conscientious minister, he would want to ensure each child could do more than parrot the words. Second, every child, both boys and girls, had, at some point, to stand before her or his whole parish to be tested in the catechism. The parish community gathered in the church is not merely auditors but witnesses in a new, public rite of passage. Every child would have the attention of the whole community—in a culture that mostly ignored children—and be able to demonstrate her or his competence to them—every child, both sexes, and all social classes—which must have made both the children as well as their parents and godparents feel very proud. In this recitation, the children were not playacting, not pretending, but proclaiming, taking public responsibility for their beliefs, and proving their readiness for confirmation and communion. Daunting though it may sound, it does not seem to have been a terribly difficult task. Baxter (1661) notes that most children met the requirement by age 4 or 5, which was deemed too early for first communion (see Green, 1996, p. 35).

Although intended primarily for children, any “ignorant person” (in the language of the Davies, ed., 1869) who had not learned it was expected to go to the parish church on Sunday evenings to learn to say the catechism; though adults, as we might expect, resented this imposition (Green, 1996, p.96). As the text of the PBC was clearly aimed at children, adults who were made to learn it along with children (who probably learned it more quickly and easily) undoubtedly felt insulted and embarrassed. Herbert, recognizing the problem, advised that only “the younger sort” should be taught and tested publicly in the church, while the “elder” catechumen should be taught privately “giving age honour, according to the Apostles rule, 1 Tim. 5.1”; he also observes that adults will continually have a refresher on these basics when they hear the children instructed in the church (p. 83).

Beyond curates and catechumens, schoolmasters and mothers were among the most common animators of the PBC (along with other catechisms, a good many of them written by mothers) as McQuade (2010, 2011) has shown. Indeed, the same page in Day?s A Book of Christian Prayers in which the earliest depiction of a minister catechizing from the Prayer Book is found, also has a woodcut of a woman holding a book as if in the act of instructing others (see Figure 1). Most likely this is a mother catechizing from the Prayer Book. Although fathers were nominally considered responsible for their children’s education, “in England domestic catechesis seems to have been the primary responsibility of the mother” (McQuade, 2011, p. 110). Because of their role as catechists, many women across social classes had their writing published, entering public discourse in a way from which they were otherwise often barred (McQuade, 2010, p. 168). And, of course, these different animators point to three distinct venues in which the PBC was commonly enacted: the parish church, the home, and the schoolhouse. I limit my focus to the ecclesiastical context.

As noted earlier, the PBC was not only printed in the Prayer Book but also in the ABC, an immensely popular introductory grammar text, and in a devotional primer intended for personal and domestic use, making it one of the most widely printed texts in the early modern era (Cummings, 2013, p. 135; Green, 1996, p. 65). Within the Prayer Book, the catechism is treated as a constitutive part of confirmation. From the first Prayer Book of 1549 until the Restoration edition of 1662, the catechism was included under the confirmation heading, before the liturgy began: “CONFIRMACION WHEREIN IS CONTEYNED A CATECHISME FOR CHILDREN.” ¹⁵ After this heading appears an unusual rubric ¹⁶ (to be discussed later) that argues for the novel, reformed approach to Christian initiation. Following the long rubric, another heading appears: “A CATECHISME, THAT IS TO SAY, AN INSTRUCCION TO BE LEARNED OF EVERY CHYLD, BEFORE HE BE BROUGHT TO BE CONFYRMED OF THE BISSHOPPE.” This placement of the catechism within the liturgy for confirmation indicates that the former belongs to the latter or is a part of it (which, I have argued elsewhere [Keane, 2020], is indicative of oral thought patterns).

The catechism is preceded by five rubrical paragraphs (usually a full page of text in most printings) that differ significantly from the rubrics that precede other liturgies in the book. Usually rubrics are prescriptive “stage directions,” but the rubric that appears at the beginning of the confirmation liturgy does much more than provide instructions for the ritual facilitator. The only comparable passages in the rest of the Prayer Book are not rubrics at all: “Of Ceremonies” (an afterword in 1549, it is made a preface in 1552 and thereafter) and the exhortations included in the communion liturgy. Like the exhortation, this rubric is a brief deliberative speech defending the new requirement; unlike the exhortations, the rubric before the catechism is not meant to be read aloud to the congregation. The exhortations, which are to be read aloud, aim to persuade the people that they should take great care to prepare themselves before communicating and (when people abstained from the table, which was very often the case) that they should communicate more often (abstinence was taken to mean lack of preparation or even an unwillingness to prepare). The preface to confirmation, however, is not meant to be read to the congregation, which means the object of persuasion must be (primarily) the clergy. In its intended readership, the rubric is most similar to “Of Ceremonies,” which explains why certain pre-Reformation rituals have been retained and others have been abolished. Both “Of Ceremonies” and the prefatory rubric in confirmation aim to convince the clergy of the reasonableness of the position that it will be their duty to teach and, indeed, enforce. Curates, as animators of the prescribed liturgy and as preachers, were key to the success of the whole project.

The placement of this odd rubric raises a question. If the new reformed pattern of Christian initiation is baptism–catechism–confirmation–communion why not introduce and argue for the sequence at the beginning of that sequence, that is, at the beginning of the baptism service? Why wait to make this case at the beginning of the confirmation liturgy, just before providing the text of the catechism (which is provided before the script for the confirmation liturgy begins)? I think this is likely because the new pattern was mostly composed of traditional materials. Baptism and confirmation are not new (though Cranmer’s vernacular liturgies for them were), and no one needed to be convinced to use them. What was new was the requirement to delay confirmation and tie it to the catechism, situating the catechism between baptism and confirmation. That was the point at which opposition could be expected; therefore, that was the point at which the argument was provided. Its placement does not suggest deductive logic but a more practical strategy—providing the argument at precisely the place where opposition is anticipated.

Interestingly, a shortened (one paragraph) version of this rubric becomes part of the scripted liturgy in the Restoration Prayer Book (1662). Why is this? Cummings (2011) merely notes “the opening preface is repeated from the order in 1549 onwards” (p. 778), which is not quite true. In 1662, the old rubric became a script, and the five paragraphs are compressed into one. William Nicholls (1710) ¹⁷ commented on the change but offered no explanation for it. Richard Baxter ¹⁸ (1661) does not mention it in his account of the proceedings of the Savoy Conference, which produced the 1662 revision of the Jacobean (1604) Prayer Book (pp. 22–23). Had bishops, who officiate at confirmation, felt the need to explain the purpose of the rite to their parishes and found the rubric offered a useful means of doing so? Morning and Evening Prayer, communion, baptism, the marriage liturgy, and even the Commination all provide a scripted explanation, so why not confirmation? On the other hand, it may be that the popular attitude toward confirmation had changed in the Interregnum, during which time the service had been abolished. Perhaps the bishops believed the people would wonder why learning and being tested in the catechism alone was not sufficient to admit a person to communion but that a nonsacramental ritual must go along with it. Perhaps it aimed to help persuade presbyterians to accept the rite. It is interesting that the scripted explanation only highlights the public ratification of baptismal vows, without drawing attention to the episcopal hand-laying ritual. Further, the 1662 also softens the rubrical requirement of confirmation before communion from “there shal none be admitted to the holy Communion, until suche tyme as he can saye the Catechisme, and bee confirmed” (Cummings, ed., 2011, p. 63) to “there shall none be admitted to the holy Communion, until such time as he be confirmed, or be ready and desirous to be confirmed.” (Cummings, ed., 2011, p. 433) This revision allows those who could say the catechism to be admitted to communion by the parish minister (the presbyterian model) without needing to wait for the bishop’s visit. Perhaps these two revisions are of a piece—whether intentionally so or not, the softening of the requirement for confirmation and the scripting of the explanation for it complement each other well.

To return to the late 16th century, Cranmer had every reason to suspect that clergy would need to be convinced to embrace the new catechism and confirmation liturgy. In northwestern Europe of the High Middle Ages, it was held that children are saved from damnation by the ritual of baptism, which removed the guilt of original sin (Ryrie, 2013, p. 329; see also Maltby, 1998, pp. 52–53). Its necessity was so keenly felt that it became common for midwives to baptize newborns if there was the slightest doubt that the infant would survive until she could be baptized by the curate in church (Cleugh, 2013, pp. 22–23). The recipient’s role in this rite was entirely passive. Confirmation was also technically expected, but there was far less of a sense of urgency about it, so it was often neglected (a problem that persisted after the Reformation; see Turrell, 2005, p. 205). In the medieval understanding of confirmation, the role of the recipient is passive, just as in baptism—it is something that happens to the child, apart from anything that she does or does not do. The Book of Common Prayer envisions a different kind of Christian initiation. It urged that baptism should take place in the context of public worship (though it permitted private baptism). High birth rates meant that, as Ryrie (2013) explains, “[i]n all but the smallest parishes, baptism was administered much more frequently than the other sacrament, the Lord’s Supper” (p. 329), which means that most people would have frequently heard this public charge read to godparents (required sponsors for baptism) at the conclusion of the liturgy:

FORASMUCH as these children have promised by you to forsake the devill and al his workes, to beleve in God, and to serve him: you must remembre that it is your partes and duetie to see that these infantes be taught, so soone as they shalbe able to learne, what a solemne vowe, promyse, and profession, they have made by you. And that they maye knowe these thynges the better: ye shall call upon them to heare sermons, and chiefly you shal provide that thei may learne the Crede, the Lordes prayer, and the ten commaundementes, in thenglish tounge: and all other thinges which a christian manne ought to knowe and beleve to his soules health. And that these children may be vertuously brought up to leade a godly and christian life; remembring alwayes that Baptisme doeth represent unto us our profession, which is to folow thexample of our Saviour Christe, and to be made lyke unto him, that as he dyed and rose againe for us: so should we (whiche are Baptised) dye from synne, and ryse agayne unto righteousnesse, continually mortifying all our evyll and corrupte affeccions, and dayly procedyng in all vertue and godlynesse of lyvyng. (Cummings, ed., 2011 pp. 51–52)

In the 1549, PBC children learned three specific texts: “the Crede, the Lordes prayer, and the ten commaundementes.” Two of these texts, the Apostle’s Creed and the Lord’s Prayer, are used in the baptismal rite and said daily in the offices of Morning and Evening Prayer. The Ten Commandments were read every Sunday morning at the beginning of ante-communion. ¹⁹ In other words, these texts were repeated very frequently; indeed, they had formed the core of religious instruction in the West for many centuries. ²⁰ Even though the Reformed pattern of Christian initiation is an innovation, the pieces out of which it is constructed are traditional. This prejudice in favor of traditional tools—not only to address familiar problems but, as in this case, to address new ones too—reflects a common, quite strong tendency of oral cultures. Ong (2002) explains

Since in a primary oral culture conceptualized knowledge that is not repeated aloud soon vanishes, oral societies must invest great energy, in saying over and over again what has been learned arduously over the ages. This need establishes a highly traditionalist or conservative set of mind that with good reason inhibits intellectual experimentation. (pp. 40–41)

As we have already seen, the placement of the catechism and confirmation liturgy explicitly points backward to baptism and forward to communion. It is a path between the two. But the catechism itself does not refer to confirmation or (before 1604) even communion; rather, it refers to baptism; it is the necessary extension of what baptism began. The catechism seems designed to ensure that infant baptism (a rite in which the recipient is passive) is not separated from belief and behavior. The final rubric in the confirmation liturgy also points to the inseparability of cult, creed, and code, by tying confirmation and the catechism to first communion: “And there shal none be admitted to the holy Communion, until suche tyme as he can saye the Catechisme, and bee confirmed.” This rubric indicates that the PBC is designed as a tool to prepare one to participate in the Lord’s Supper or communion. While the ritual action “take, eate” constitutes the climax of communion, the service also necessarily involves the reading of scripture and hearing a sermon. The Reformers saw a close connection between preaching and sacraments (Hunt, 2011, p. 52). Yet, sermons pose a real challenge; they demand much from listeners. While sermons were immensely popular, they were also difficult. English preachers often expressed worry that the people could not understand the content of their sermons and looked to the PBC to lay the necessary foundation for “fruitful” sermon-hearing, which is itself an integral part of approaching the table (Hunt, 2011, p. 237).

The Prayer Book does not explicitly identify sermon-hearing as one of the reasons for learning the catechism; however, evidence abounds (throughout this period and down to the 18th century) that English preachers saw the catechism as vital preparation for effective sermon-hearing. Herbert explains,

This practice [i.e., catechizing] exceeds even Sermons in teaching: but there being two things in Sermons, the one Informing, the other Inflaming; as Sermons come short of questions in the one, so they farre exceed them in the other. (pp. 87–88)

A Late Addition to the PBC

The 1549 PBC (which was included without any significant revision in 1552 and 1559 editions) ends with the explanation of the Lord’s Prayer. It sounds very much like an ending too: “And therefore I saye, Amen. So be it” (p. 186). The PBC does not include an explanation of the sacraments (i.e., baptism and communion). Green observes, rather dryly, “It is not easy to explain sacraments to catechumens” (p. 508), and so, in a way, the 1549 PBC avoids that difficulty by not discussing the matter. But Green further explains, while this may look like an omission of what we might expect a catechism to have, it reflects the particular design of the BPC, namely, “to bridge a gap in the liturgy between the charge to godparents in the baptism service (to ensure their godchild learnt the basics of the faith) and the presentation of the child at the ceremony of confirmation” (p. 20). Nevertheless, the lack of teaching on sacraments troubled some of the users of the PBC. In 1604, following King James I’s Hampton Court Conference, a section on the sacraments was added to the PBC, probably written by John Overall, then Dean of St.Paul’s, later Bishop of Norwich. The addendum shows the influence of the semiofficial 1572 catechism of Alexander Nowell, Overall’s predecessor as Dean of St. Paul’s, who is sometimes speculated to have been the primary drafter of the 1549 PBC. The full title of Nowell’s “middle catechism” (distinguishing it from the longer catechism by, of which it was an abridgement) indicates its intended relationship to the PBC, “A cathechisme, or institution of Christian religion: to be learned of all youth next after the little cathechisme, appointed in the Booke of common prayer.” The addendum to the catechism was added in 1604 in response to a complaint from John Rainolds, speaking on behalf of the godly party at the conference, that the PBC was too short, while Nowell’s catechism was too long (Green, 1996, p. 71). Of the many unofficial catechisms that were intended (like Nowell’s) to build on the foundation of the PBC, a good many were explicitly designed as preparation for first communion, addressing the perceived lacuna in the PBC (Green, 1996, p. 35).

Before examining the addendum, we should further pursue the question why the 1549 text does not have a section on sacraments. I think the best explanation lies in an awareness of how and in what context the PBC was designed to be used. The PBC was never intended to work in isolation from other components. It is, as already observed, embedded in the confirmation liturgy, the key new piece of the reformed sequence of Christian initiation prescribed by the Prayer Book. The meaning of each of the two sacraments is explained within the liturgies designed for their administration. Every time these liturgies are used, the congregation hears the same explanation of these sacraments read aloud—which also indicates why Cranmer urged that baptism be administered in public rather than in private. The liturgy for the Lord’s Supper provides three exhortations (relatively lengthy ones, compared with the exhortations in other services) on worthy reception—one is to be used to warn the congregation when the minister intended to celebrate the Lord’s Supper, one is to be used if the people seem reluctant to communicate, and the other is used on the Sunday when the sacrament is administered. Moreover, roughly an hour every Sunday was spent hearing the sermon. Sermons provided curates further opportunities to instruct the congregation in the meaning and “due use” of the Lord’s Supper when it was offered. The 1571 Book of Homilies prepared by John Jewel provided one sermon on sacraments generally and another on worthy receiving of the Lord’s Supper.

While the 1549 does not contain general teaching on sacraments, baptism is the focus of the opening questions, and this answer briefly elucidates the meaning of the rite: “I was made a member of Christe, the childe of god, and an inheritour of the kingdome of heaven.” So, while the PBC does not explicitly discuss communion, it does, in fact, include an explanation of baptism, the language of which is drawn directly from the New Testament (all three images—member, child, and inheritor—are common in the epistles; e.g., I Cor. 12:27; Gal. 3:26; Rom. 8:17). This explanation does not, however, address the growing questions and concerns about infant baptism that were a consequence of increased familiarity with the New Testament, which, of course, does not include any explicit reference to infant baptism.

The lack of an explanation of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper may reflect the reformed shift in piety away from the medieval focus on the Mass. ²² However, while the 1549 PBC neither explains nor mentions the Lord’s Supper, it does help to prepare the first-time communicant in ways that seem to have escaped the notice of participants in the Hampton Court Conference. The usefulness of the catechism as a tool for communion preparation is seen within the communion liturgy itself, in two places: the exhortation and the opening of the liturgy. All three of the exhortations provided within the liturgy emphasize preparation for reception, which involves self-examination, repentance, and prayer. The third exhortation urges communicants to

Considere what St. Paul writeth to the Corinthians, how he exhorteth all persons diligently to trye and examine themselues, before they presume to eate of that bread, and drinke of that cup: for as the benefite is great, if with a truly penitent heart and liuely fayth, we receiue that holy Sacrament (for then we spirituallye eate the fleshe of Christ, and drynke hys bloud, then we dwel in Christ and Christ in us, we be one with Christ, and Christ with us;) so is the daunger great, if we receiue the same unworthely. (p. 165)

In 1560 and 1561, Queen Elizabeth ordered that the Commandments, “God’s Precepts,” be displayed on the eastern interior wall of every church, above the place where the communion table was kept when it was not being used for the Lord’s Supper. The placement strongly suggests a relationship between the two, which aligns with the use of the Commandments within the communion liturgy. James I, in the new Constitution and Canons prepared at the Hampton Court Conference, reiterated this requirement, “that the Ten Commandments be set up upon the East-end of every Church and Chapel where the people may best see and read the same” (Davies, ed., 1869, p. 79). The other catechetical texts—the Apostle’s Creed and Lord’s Prayer—were very often set up alongside the commandments (Willis, 2017, pp. 297–317). Cressy (1980/2006) observes that “[i]n a church purged of images the eye would be caught by newly painted and enscribed tables of the Ten Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer, words which were worth a thousand pictures” (p. 3). Although many communicants could not read these boards displayed above the table, simply knowing what texts they contained seems sufficient to convey the association between the texts and the table. One can also imagine the dramatic preachers of the time pointing to the boards as he exhorted the congregation to prepare themselves or “or els let him not come to this holy table.” ²³ While the 1549 PBC does not provide an explanation of the sacraments, it does not seem as though this was an oversight; rather, the objection against it indicates a misunderstanding of the catechism’s design and how that design fits into the whole Prayer Book system. The 1549 PBC provides all the equipment needed to prepare for communion, while it leaves the explanation of the rite to the communion liturgy and the ministry of preaching.

Now, back to the 1604 addendum. As already noted, it is easy to see the seam where the new ending is stitched onto the old. The old (1549) ending (retained in 1552 and 1559) is very clearly an ending, and while the succeeding questions in the original text of the PBC are always connected to the response that precedes them, the first of the new set of 12 questions and answers about the sacraments has no obvious connection to the answer that precedes it. The new (1604) ending begins abruptly with “How many Sacraments hath Christ ordained in his Church?” The previous answer contains no reference to sacraments, and the last explicit reference to the church is found in the fifth answer, in the rehearsal of the Apostle’s Creed. As it begins by inquiring the number of sacraments, it assumes a knowledge of the concept, though there is no previous question or answer that broaches the matter (the second answer comes close, as it explains the effects of baptism). Instead, an inquiry about the meaning of the concept comes after the question about the number—the second of the new set of 12 questions. The fact that the question assumes knowledge is not unusual in and of itself, but in contrast to the seamlessness of the movement from one question and answer to the next in the original text, the lack of a connection to the preceding answer stands out. This disconnectedness also differs from Nowell’s 1571 catechism, from which Overall ²⁴ derived the structure for the addendum. The sequence of questions follows Nowell’s section on the sacraments very closely—the number of sacraments, the meaning of the word, number of parts, the outward part of baptism, and so forth—but Nowell connects each question to the preceding answer, reflecting the flow of a conversation, while Overall does not.

The average length of the answer has also decreased. They are more succinct. Many of the answers in the original PBC reflect conversational copiousness and redundancy (whether this quality should be seen as residual orality or a conscious attempt to write something that reflects the patterns of oral communication may be impossible to determine). The average length of the answers in the 1549 text is approximately 83 words, whereas the average word count for the answers in the 1604 addition is 22. The longest answer in the 1549 text is 338 words, and the second longest has 160. But the longest answer in the 1604 addition is only 42 words and the next longest 35.

The 1549 section employs 10 distinct verbal doublets (e.g., “will and commandments,” “picking and stealing,” “save and defend”) and one triplet, “keep my body in temperance, soberness, and chastity.” The 1604 section has only five distinct doublets, two of which are contained in the definition of a sacrament, “outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace,” which are then used again several times. Overall’s expression here seems to be developed from the language of Nowell’s middle catechism (1571), “a visible sign, representing an invisible and spiritual grace,” a definition that, while ultimately cobbled together from Augustine, was formulated by the magister sententiarum, Peter Lombard. ²⁵ Overall has rhythmically improved upon Nowell’s version of Lombard’s formula not least by making both halves into doublets: “an outward and visible signe of an inward and spirituall grace.” It is the most orally minded feature of the 1604 addendum, and it should not be surprising to note that it is also the most influential, long-lived of its formulations. The “outward and visible” and “inward and spiritual” doublets survive in the catechism in the 1979 revision of the Book of Common Prayer of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States (which differs a great deal from the old PBC in both approach and language), while “outward and visible” has even been used in the title of a great many books and articles (and not only in religious fields).

The original PBC is liberally sprinkled with “and”—of the 136 words of the last answer, 16 of them are “and”—reflecting the additive quality of oral discourse (Ong, 2002, p. 36), while in the addendum, the instances of “and” have noticeably dropped off. While the 1604 addendum uses fewer words overall, it evinces an increase in pronominal adverbs, which are more common in literate than oral communication. The 1549 text includes only four pronominal adverbs, while in the shorter 1604 addition, there are nine.

The questions and answers in the 1549 are framed in personal terms: There are 78 self-referential pronouns and 61 second-person pronouns. The addendum, by contrast, frames questions and answers more objectively. There are only seven self-referential pronouns and one single “thou.” The questions of the 1549 PBC have something of an adversarial tone, which is partly a result of framing the questions in personal terms but also the result of the negative cast of some questions: Question 4, “Dost thou not think that thou art bound to believe … ”; Question 7, “You said… .Tell me”; Question 12, “thou art not able to do these things … let me hear … if thou canst.” The objectivity of the 1604 addendum eliminates the agonistic quality. The 1604 addendum is less reflective of oral thought patterns, considerably less copious, additive, personal, and adversarial, aligning with the general shift in attitude toward copia ²⁶ in the 16th and 17th century (Rhodes, 1992, p. 61). These changes point ahead to the style of the WSC and the sort of technical writing typically prioritized today.

The approach has changed too. The 1549 PBC is built around three ancient texts that it aims to teach children both to say and to understand. All three texts are tied directly to the child’s baptism, presented as logical necessities for the baptized, consequent to the vows made, and useful in combat against the world, the flesh, and the devil (to be discussed later). The idea seems to be to give the child three vital pieces of equipment to take away and use throughout life and in the Prayer Book liturgies in which the child is expected to participate. The liturgical use of these texts indicates how they can be used outside of church, in daily life. They are repeated often enough in the liturgies that even a person who has not learned the PBC would likely learn these texts by heart without much effort simply by frequenting services, which indicates that simply learning to recite the texts is not the point. Mindless repetition would not meet the technical aims identified in the rubric preceding the PBC; rather (as we have already discussed), being able to use them intelligently, with the voice and the understanding also, is the aim.

By contrast, the 1604 addition is not built around a core of traditional texts that the child will encounter and use on a daily or weekly basis in church and, ideally, use on her own outside of the offices, but is instead built around a set of concepts to learn: the number of sacraments, the nature of a sacrament, the mode and significance of both sacraments, and the reason that infants are baptized. While it is true that the definition of a sacrament given in this addendum to the 1549 PBC is both ancient and widely used, it is not framed as a necessary piece of equipment to take and use in the battle against the world, the flesh, and the devil. Moreover, it is not a text that the user will continually encounter in the daily and weekly cycles of public worship. This is quite a different approach entirely. It is analytic rather than aggregative (Ong, 2002, p. 38)—the approach later followed in the 1647 WSC.

Ong (2002) observes that in oral cultures, there is a reluctance to dismantle “traditional expressions” because “it has been hard work getting them together over the generations, and there is nowhere outside the mind to store them” (pp. 38–39). We have already seen that the 1549 PBC reflects this oral predisposition in contrast with the more analytic quality of the 1604 PBC addendum, which is even more fully realized in the 1647 WSC (e.g., replacing the Apostle’s Creed with a newly composed set of analytic questions and answers—38 of them). WSC Question 39 (p. 256; parallel to Q7 of the PBC (p. 185), initiating a section on the decalogue, provides a particularly clear illustration of how much further removed from the oral cast of mind the WSC is. The WSC never asks the child to recite the whole decalogue all at once; it is considered only in a dismantled form, piece by piece. Q43 asks “What is the preface to the Ten Commandments?” Although the idea of praefatio, of “speaking before,” and rhetorical arrangement generally, of course, is oratorical long before it is literary, this kind of question seems visually rather than orally predisposed. Rather than asking the child to say the decalogue and then interpret it as a whole (as in the PBC), it asks the child to imagine the decalogue as broken into distinct pieces, of which one comes before the commandments proper. This is easy to do if one sees the commandments arranged on a page, numbered, with the introductory bit as its own paragraph before the first numbered paragraph. Apart from that, however, for the wholly unlettered child, it is a particularly difficult way of thinking. The writers of the 1647 WSC seem to assume the children who will use their catechism are readers, while the PBC (even with the 1604 addendum, retained in 1662) seems to assume only the catechist is. ²⁷

The First Question

The PBC is unique among catechisms for beginning with such a simple, unassuming question: “What is your name?” (Cummings, ed., p. 59). It is an old joke among Anglican clergy that this was to ensure at least every child would answer at least one question correctly. This question exemplifies the oral quality of the PBC. Oral communication stays close to the human lifeworld (Ong, 2002, p. 49). It is heavily contextual, and, of course, in this way it is highly useful, prioritizing practicality. The PBC begins with the familiar. It begins with the person as she is, not as she ought to be. The question, in its context, is more useful than it might appear at first glance. The catechist is asking for the child’s Christian name, the name she received when she was baptized. The line of questioning is deeply contextual; it only works if this fact can be assumed. It is not written for “Everyman,” but for a person situated in a particular context. Therefore, the catechist can confidently assume the answer to the next question: “Who gave you this name?” (Cummings, ed., p. 59), to which the answer is, “My Godfathers and Godmothers in my Baptisme, wherein I was made a member of Christe, the childe of God, and inheritour of the kingdome of heaven.” For the intended users, the first half of this answer is obvious, an answer a child who does not know the catechism might easily provide. The second half is a triple reiteration of the same point, the words of which are drawn from the common English translations of the Bible (e.g., Tyndale’s version of 1 Cor. 12:13; Rom. 8:16–17; Gal. 4:5; Matt. 18:23). Two of the phrases also echo the language of the new liturgy for baptism, the rite referenced in the answer as the occasion of the child’s naming.

The next question sheds more light on why the catechism begins as it does. It begins with the familiar fact of the child’s name in order to draw attention to those who gave the name, her godparents, and the occasion at which they gave it, her baptism. This line of questioning merely sets the stage for this question:

Question: What did your Godfathers and Godmothers then for you?

By contrast, the WSC begins: “What is the chief end of man?” The PBC’s first question, “What is your name?” points directly, specifically at the individual learning the catechism, whereas “What is the chief end of man?” points to no particular man or woman, but to humanity abstracted. Rather than beginning in the midst of the lifeworld of users, the WSC begins with the abstract concepts of humanity and the telos of the species: “What is the chief end of man?” Both starting places are reasonable enough, but one is highly contextual, while the other is abstract. One begins with the particular person and points to past experiences they can be expected to have had. The other begins with generalized humanity—no particularities are assumed.

The contrast between the two catechisms perfectly illustrates the cultural distinction that Ong (2002) argued were largely the result of increasing reliance on the technology of writing:

In the absence of elaborate analytic categories that depend on writing to structure knowledge at a distance from lived experience, oral cultures must conceptualize and verbalize all their knowledge with more or less close reference to the human lifeworld, assimilating the alien, objective world to the mort immediate, familiar interaction of human beings. A chirographic (writing) culture and even more a typographic (print) culture can distance and in a way denature even the human itemizing such things as the names of leaders and political divisions in an abstract, neutral list entirely devoid of a human action context. An oral culture has no vehicle so neutral as a list. (pp. 43–44)

The relationship of the catechism to the overall religious framework of the Westminster Assembly (1643–1653) established to replace the Elizabethan Settlement (the 1558 Act of Supremacy and 1559 Act of Uniformity) is similarly decontextual. The 1645 Directory of Public Worship (intended to replace the Book of Common Prayer) mentions catechizing as an activity that should take place sometime between the two public worship services on Sundays (p. 30). It is not mentioned in relation to baptism or communion (though the need to fence the table from the “ignorant” is specified (p. 25), which indicates not the illiterate but those who have not yet learned the basic doctrines of the faith), and the Directory does not call for a confirmation rite or godparents. The language of the WSC is impersonal and abstract; it does not refer to the person learning it or why he or she is doing so. But what it discards in personal and contextual qualities, it gains in precision and specificity. While the 1549 PBC is well suited to its particular place in the Prayer Book system of Christian initiation, it is not particularly well suited for clarifying doctrine in a scholastic sense, much less settling doctrinal disagreements (though the 1604 addendum, by contrast, is).

The Apostle’s Creed

As noted earlier, the PBC introduces Christian theology with the Apostle’s Creed. The WSC, more boldly innovative, replaces the Apostles Creed with a newly composed summary of the faith. The way the two catechisms handle the basic summary of the Christian faith illustrates the difference in approach particularly clearly. The theological controversies of the century between the composition of the two catechisms led to the development of what is now often called Protestant scholasticism (Leith, 1973, p. 67), which valued increasingly more precise and strictly logical doctrinal formulations. In contrast to 16th-century confessions of faith and catechisms, 17th-century ones, such as the Westminster Standards, are “abstract, objective, and logical” (Leith, 1973). These developments were part of a broader set of trends in which the influence of Petrus Ramus played a significant role. His division of logic and rhetoric had a great influence in Cambridge beginning with Gabriel Harvey (Cummings, 2002, pp. 254–258; Rhodes, 1992, pp. 58–61). Ramism shaped theological developments at Cambridge from 1571 until the Restoration (Cummings, 2002, p. 254), which is particularly visible in the works of William Ames and William Perkins. The many sermons preached in the Westminster Assembly during their years of deliberation (1643–1649) reflect a newly developed “plain style,” based on Ramist priorities. The new homiletical style was promoted by Perkins (Cummings, 2002), perhaps the most popular English divine and preacher of the Elizabethan Era (Cummings, 2002, p. 256; Patterson, 2017, p. 63). The Westminster Assembly’s (1644) A Directory for the Public Worship of God, which officially replaced the Book of Common Prayer, goes so far as to prescribe the use of plain style for sermons. Of course, the Book of Common Prayer was concerned with plainness as well (see, e.g., Keane, 2020), but it is not one informed by the Ramist logic or Baconian rejection of copia, which, priorities, Cummings (2002) notes are inherently textual rather than oral (p. 256).

In the PBC, when the catechist instructs the child, “Rehearse the articles of thy beliefe,” he replies with the Apostle’s Creed, a text the Prayer Book prescribed to be read twice daily (at Morning and Evening Prayer). The language of the Apostles Creed is also used in the baptismal vows; in other words, it is the very form of words that the child’s godparents used to profess faith in Christ on half of the baptized child. Now the same words are put in the mouth of the child preparing for confirmation. After reciting the Creed, the child is asked to elaborate on the meaning of the words, for which the scripted response is only three concise sentences:

Firste, I learne to beleve in God the father, who hath made me and all the worlde. Secondely, in God the sonne who hath redemed me and all mankinde. Thirdly, in god the holy goste, who sanctifyeth me and all the electe people of god.

The comparable section of the WSC is 35 questions long, Questions 4 to 38. It begins like this:

Q4: What is God?

A4: God is a Spirit, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable, in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth.

Q5: Are there more Gods than one?

A5: There is but one only, the living and true God.

Q6: How many persons are there in the Godhead?

A6: There are three persons in the Godhead; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; and these three are one God, the same in substance, equal in power and glory.

Green (1996) notes that the question of whether to use the Creed was contentious one for the Westminster Assembly, and he suggests “One reason for the departure may have been that the Apostles’ Creed was not in the Bible” (p. 284). I do not think, however, that can have been the most compelling reason, because the language used instead is not taken directly out of the Bible either; it does not at all seem that the Westminster divines were concerned to express Biblical doctrines using only biblical language. While all the propositions included in this extract can be supported with particular passages of the Christian scriptures (and such a list of “proofs” was provided by the Assembly), the sentence “God is a Spirit, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable, in his being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth” is a synthesis that does not reflect the words, style, or mode of expression found in any biblical text. Rather, the answers here reflect the language of Chapter 2 of the Confession of Faith—completed by the Westminster Assembly in 1646 to replace the 1571 Articles of Religion and approved (with some alterations) by Parliament in 1648. Green (1996) notes further that “the Westminster divines ensured that the Creed was printed separately at the beginning or the end of their form” (p. 285), so it does not seem that they opposed or wished to do away with the familiar form but that it was simply not “precise and exact” enough for their purposes, as Leith (1973) suggests (p. 71).

What the new catechism gained in theological precision it lost in perspicuity, particularly for children. Green (1996) observes “Those catechists who used it found that its answers needed explaining or subdividing to make them digestible to the young or ignorant” (p. 82). Nevertheless, with its technical clarity and precision, as Green also says, “the face of English catechizing was changed permanently” (p. 81); the WSC “won … praise not only from contemporary and succeeding generations of presbyterians” but also episcopalians during the Interregnum after the Restoration, and even down to the present (e.g., J. I. Packer) as well as Independents and Baptists (Green, 1996).

The World, the Flesh, and the Devil

The antagonistic trinity of the world, the flesh, and the devil figure prominently in the PBC, appearing in the third answer (as a review of the vows of baptism) and then (in a somewhat different form) in the 13th answer (i.e., the last answer before the 1604 addition). In the latter, the triad is more described than named: “And that it wyll please him to saue and defende us in all daungers gostly and bodyly” corresponds to the world; “And that he will kepe us from all synne and wyckednes,” corresponds to the flesh; “and from our gostly enemye, and from everlasting death” (p. 186) corresponds to the devil, while, of course, “everlasting death” is the inevitable end for all under the sway of the infernal triad. The triad not only bookends the PBC but maps onto the baptismal service and the litany, which the Prayer Book prescribes for use thrice weekly: “From fornicacion, and al other deadly synne, and from all the diceites of the world, the fleshe, and the deuill. Good lord, deliuer us” (p. 42).

In the third answer, the child explains what happened at her baptism:

[My godparents] did promise and vowe three thinges in my name. First, that I should forsake the devil and all his workes and pompes, the vanities of the wicked worlde, and all the sinne full lustes of the fleshe. Secondly, that I should beleve all the articles of the Christian fayth. And thirdly, that I should kepe Goddes holy will and commaundementes and walke in the same al the daies of my life. (Cummings, ed., p. 59)

The renunciation reflects the traditional doctrine of original sin. By inheritance from the fallen first-parents, each person is born into the dominion of the Devil, whom various New Testament writers called “the prince of this world” or “the air” and that, in order to be translated into the Kingdom of God, the demonic influence must first be exorcised (e.g., Eph. 2:1–6). Matthew 12.43–45, for example, illustrates this belief: An individual freed from demonic possession is likened to an empty house, waiting to be filled with something. First remove the former principal and then welcome the new principal. Following the renunciation, the candidate (via her godparents) turns toward and affirms her new Lord. “[B]eleve” here does not mean merely intellectual assent to the propositional content of the Creed but rather means something like “in this I place my trust” and “to this I pledge my loyalty.” If baptism translates the individual from the dominion of the devil to the dominion of Christ, then the Creed is an oath of loyalty.

In the WSC, this triad has disappeared. The world appears five times in the WSC but never in the sense that it is used in the PBC. The first time is in answer 28, describing the second advent of Christ “to judge the world at the last day” (p. 252). This instance is the closest that WSC comes to the PBC sense of the world, but, even here, I think we should take the world in its neutral sense of the created realm—because all, the elect and the reprobate, are subject to this judgment—rather than the antagonistic sense of the world as the realm opposed to the Kingdom of God. The next two are in answer 59 (p. 260), which refers to the beginning and end of the world; this sense is clearly neutral, not antagonistic. The last two uses are in the same phrase “worldly imployments and recreations” used in the 60th and 61st answers (260, 261), which refer to the otherwise good things one might do, but ought not to do on the Sabbath day, which instead, should be spent “the whole time in the publick and private exercises of Gods worship, except so much as is to be taken up in the works of necessity and mercy” (p. 260). The words “devil” and “flesh” do not appear at all in the WSC.

OPEN IN VIEWER

Figure 1.

Page From A Book of Christian Prayers, Printed by John Day in London, 1578 (Dunfermline Carnegie Library, George Reid Collection, 25).

OPEN IN VIEWER

Figure 2.

Detail of Woodcut From A Book of Christian Prayers, Printed by John Day in London, 1578 (Dunfermline Carnegie Library, George Reid Collection, 25).

There are, to be sure, many references to sin (38, to be precise), but it is defined differently than in the PBC. In the 13th answer of the PBC, the doublet “synne and wyckednes” appears to be parallel to “the flesh,” that is, vitiated or postlapsarian human nature. The WSC, by contrast, defines sin (in answer fourteen) as “any want of conformity unto, or transgression of the Law of God” (p. 248). I do not wish to overstate the distinction between these. Both, of course, derive from biblical texts, which contribute to a multifaceted picture of a complex theological concept; nevertheless, they clearly represent different paradigms for conceptualizing sin, and, in light of the contrasting distinctive qualities, we have already seen in the mid-16th- and mid-17th-century catechisms, it is not at all surprising which catechism employs which paradigm. The WSC prioritizes the more abstract, technical characterization. The context in which the concept is introduced in each catechism also matches up with the distinctions we have already observed. The PBC invokes a context of antagonistic experiences that the child learning the catechism will already find familiar—needs, dangers, wickedness, enemies, and death. The WSC introduces sin within the theological sequence of creation (p. 247), covenant of life (p. 247), original sin (p. 248), and election, covenant of grace, and redemption (p. 249). This introduction to sin is, of course, further removed from actual experience and conceptually more difficult. While the WSC was designed to replace the PBC and to meet the same basic need—that is, to prepare those baptized in infancy to confess the faith for themselves and become communicants—it seems better suited to a more advanced student than the PBC.

I am tempted to say that in this difference the PBC reflects a more medieval Catholic worldview while the WSC a more reformed view; however, I am not convinced that is an entirely fair characterization. ²⁸ The dangers of world, the flesh, and the devil are not at all absent from reformed preaching; and the more precise and teleological approach of the WSC is not at all unlike a medieval scholastic writer (e.g., Aquinas). I think the most useful way to characterize the difference is that the one is more oral and the other more bookish. The one seems to constantly point to the world beyond the text, while the other seems to pull one into the world of the text, that is, into its conceptual schema. If we recall Herbert’s distinction between catechizing and preaching—the latter is best suited to inflame, while the former is best suited to instruct—it seems as if, in the WSC, this division has become sharper. This distinction also seems to me quite similar to Tannen’s (1985) “involvement- and information-focused strategies” (p. 137).

Conclusions

The PBC (along with the many other catechisms written in the early modern period) exemplify secondary orality, an oral form that depends on writing. It is intended to be performed aloud as an exchange between catechist and catechumen -- the catechist reading the questions and the catechumen reciting memorized answers. The differences in the 1549 and 1604 sections of the PBC indicate that by 1604 the internal logic may have been misunderstood by Bishop Overall (or whomever was responsible for drafting it) and the other clergy assembled at the Hampton Court Conference, as well as King James VI/I (who authorized the revision). Something had shifted, it seems, in the slightly more than fifty years between the composition of these texts and that shift can be well described in Ongian terms as indicative of a move away from writing that strongly reflects oral communication patterns. When the 1647 WSC is added to the picture -- a snap-shot of another similar instructional text half-century later -- the evidence aligns with what Ong would have us expect. There are, of course, other ways of accounting for that evidence. It seems likely that the fierce religious debates of the era forced church officials to use increasingly precise language. Scholastic Protestantism was beginning to emerge. These two explanations, however, are not mutually exclusive. The drive to use more precise language calls for increasing reliance on the technology of writing.

Although the catechist (parish clergy, schoolmaster, or parent) must be literate to use the PBC, effective use does not assume literacy on the part of the child (or other catechumen). Since literacy was still quite low in 1549, the PBC had to be designed in such a way as to be a useful instructional tool for unlettered children. Likewise, only one copy of the text is required for effective use. Learners do not have to obtain a personal copy of this text to participate in the instructional exchange. Indeed, since the text is intended for memorization, not having access to a personal copy of the text could, in fact, help facilitate that aim. The PBC, then, offers a model that could be adapted to the needs of contemporary technical communicators working in environments with limited (or no) access to printed texts and/or literacy.

In other words, the oral qualities examined in this paper are not merely indicative of the age of the text, but are features that enhance the usability of the text. They are particularly well-suited to children (for whom the PBC was designed) and conceptually accessible. Such overall design features as beginning with the child's name and a specific, momentous event in the child's life, articulating the purpose for which the catechism is being learned, naming foes, and focusing on familiar texts -- texts the child has likely already heard and will frequently hear again -- all these show a high focus on interpersonal involvement, which would help to secure the child's attention and interest. The focus on involvement can also be seen in the movement from question to answer, when new questions arise out of the immediately preceding answer. Other features, like the use of formulaic expressions, the preference for “and” over subordinative conjunctions, also contributes to the conversational quality of the PBC -- at least its 1549 text.

My analysis points to the usefulness of the oral features of the catechism to its technical aims. What Ramist-influenced “plain style” gains in precision, objectivity, and concision seems to come at the cost of other useful features like memorability and the obviousness of contextual applications of content. Recognition of the usefulness of oral or involvement-focused features or strategies in technical writing also, of course, suggests the continued value of those features. Attention to oral features is likely to prove useful for FAQs, for example, or any form of written instructions that aims at broad accessibility and easy recall and application. As people increasingly turn to audio and audio-visual media -- like audiobooks, podcasts, and YouTube -- for a variety of informational needs, from “Do It Yourself” projects to help with difficult homework assignments, the study and effective use of the features of oral communication will become increasingly important. Anyone who has made use of an instructional video, for example, and had to frequently “rewind” the video in order to follow the instructions will immediately recognize the advantage of the frequent reiterations that are a hallmark of oral communication. The potential of these features to enhance contemporary instructional materials accessed primarily or solely aurally warrants further study, particularly investigation of the effects on user experience.