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In 1983, Alan Race, an Anglican priest and theologian, developed the typology that has largely set the terms for discussion of this question over the last two decades. Race defined the available options as pluralism, inclusivism, and exclusivism (also known as restrictivism). Pluralism is the position that there are many saviors, and Jesus is just one of them. Exclusivists contend that Jesus is the only savior and explicit confession of this is necessary before one dies. Inclusivists maintain that while Christ is the only way to the Father, explicit knowledge of Him is not. "Good" Buddhists can be saved by Jesus if they recognize their inability to save themselves and cry out for mercy. Inclusivists say they are casting themselves unwittingly upon Christ, who is God's mercy.
Recently, however, this typology has come under severe attack. Joseph DiNoia and S. Mark Heim have argued that inclusivism is incoherent because it presumes that every religion has the same goal: union with a personal God. Then what is one to make of Theravadin Buddhists who seek a nirvana without beings or souls or consciousness? And what about Hindu advaitins, who insist that there is no duality or distinction, which means there cannot be a personal God or for that matter a distinct human self?
Neither—so DiNoia and Heim contend—does pluralism make sense, because it is crypto-inclusivist. It claims to believe in many goals but actually believes in only one—"reality-centeredness" for John Hick, liberation from social oppression for Paul Knitter, or universal faith and rationality for Wilfred Cantwell Smith. Pluralists believe religion is like toothpaste: brand differences are inconsequential because they all have the same function and end. In effect, then, pluralists deny any pluralism of real consequence.
Close inspection reveals that in fact every religion is exclusivist in its claims insofar as each teaches that its religious goals can be met only by following its prescriptions. For example, Gavin D'Costa has shown recently (The Meeting of Religions and the Trinity, 2000) that while the Dalai Lama tells the world that no religion is the best, he also believes that only his dGe lugs school of Tibetan Buddhism sees reality in its fullness, and that one can achieve the highest level of enlightenment only by Tibetan Buddhist practice. Hence each religion teaches its own unique salvation and way to attain it.
Race's typology, or some modified form of it, still has its defenders. But for many who are engaged in Christian theology of the religions, the need for a new framework is clear. Heim's Depth of the Riches makes a bold proposal: perhaps the religions really do get their devotees to their respective salvations, and these diverse salvations represent different dimensions of the triune God of Jesus Christ. For example, Heim wonders whether Theravada Buddhism's impersonal nirvana might be the impersonal dimension of the personal God, just as every human person contains impersonal elements such as blood chemistry. And perhaps Theravadin Buddhists have insights into that dimension of God from which Christians can learn, while at the same time missing out on the far greater riches of communion with the Trinity, which only Christians enjoy.
Heim supports this vision with a Dantean appeal to the diversity of ends found in the broader Christian tradition (Limbo, Purgatory, and Hell, the last of which Heim reserves for those who refuse to relate to others or God). He makes a biblical case for different ends by citing the variety of offices in Revelation's picture of heaven (martyrs, elders, and angels), the variety of gifts in the Pauline epistles, Paul's promise that God "will repay according to each one's deeds" (Rom. 2:6), and different "locations" such as the distinction between "death" and "Hades" in Rev. 20:13.
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