TF: How Not To Do Evangelism

Tribulation Force, pp. 386-396

Reading the Left Behind series has caused me to re-evaluate many of the “Bible prophecy,” End-Times works I encountered before opening these books. The more I read of Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, the better that Hal Lindsay and Donald W. Thompson seem.

Thompson was the auteur behind A Thief in the Night and its sequels, the premillennial dispensationalist thrillers that circulated in church basements and coffee houses for years before the age of VHS. Thief was not a good movie. The dialogue was awful and Thompson’s endearingly awkward cast of nonprofessional actors was never able to rise above it. But the guy did have some idea of what to do with a camera and how to make the most of his tiny budget, so he was able to create some memorable images. Thompson conveys the disappearances of the Rapture with a neighbor’s lawnmower, still running but suddenly unattended — a scene that is both simpler and creepier than any of the Rapture scenes in Left Behind.

Thompson’s movies are like a PMD version of Jonathan Edwards’ famous sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” — earnest, overwrought and unintentionally campy, but sprinkled throughout with memorably unnerving bits. Those movies were also made with the same intent as Edwards’ archetypal fire-and-brimstone rant — to frighten audiences into repentance so that the unsaved might be spared the horrors portrayed. It’s that intent, that motive of sincere if strangely expressed concern for others, that makes A Thief in the Night and its many imitators vastly preferable to the Left Behind books, in which one finds only very rare expressions of concern for those unsaved others, and in which those few expressions do not seem sincere.

Thompson was part of a wave of 1970s End Times mania and nearly all of the popular “prophecy” books, movies and albums of that time shared this fire-and-brimstone, repent-for-the-end-is-nigh desire to save the unsaved. This was true of Hal Lindsey’s books from that period, and of Larry Norman’s rock and roll records, and of nearly every other PMD ancestor of the Left Behind series. They were all urgently concerned with evangelism — with saving the lost before it’s too late. Their approach to such evangelism may have been horribly askew, but that was their intent.

I expected the Left Behind books to follow that pattern, but one of the many awful surprises they held in store was that they don’t. Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins invoke fire and brimstone, but not in the hopes of frightening the unsaved into heaven. Instead they present it as a kind of revenge fantasy — a variation of the “abominable fancy.” Their central message is not, “Repent before it is too late because I do not want you to suffer all these torments I am describing,” but rather, “You’ll see, you’ll suffer all these torments and then you’ll realize too late that we were right.”

Instead of “I Wish We’d All Been Ready,” LaHaye & Jenkins’ message is “We’re ready, you’re not — neener neener neener.”*

This is true in these books even in chapters like this one, presenting Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah’s ostensibly evangelistic message. Ben-Judah’s message turns out not to be an upbeat, Billy Graham-style gospel of hope (“Good news — the Messiah has come and salvation is at hand”). Nor is it even a Jonathan Edwards or Donald W. Thompson-style message urgently pleading with others to escape the coming wrath. Ben-Judah’s message, instead, boils down to a reiteration of the core message of these books: “We’re right. You’re wrong.”

It’s worth pausing for a moment to consider how and why the authors came to believe that such a message constitutes evangelism.

It shows, I think, that the authors are unable or unwilling to consider how their message is likely to be perceived by others. That comes in part from an inability or unwillingness to listen to what others have to say. (Why should they listen, when they already know that those others are wrong?) That’s part of a larger lack of concern for or interest in others as actual people — real human beings who bring their own lives, stories, experiences and ideas to the conversation.

This lack of interest in learning about others goes hand in hand with the authors’ seeming lack of interest in learning about themselves, raising a chicken-and-egg question of cause and effect. Is their distorted and unexamined self-concept a result of their distorted and unexamined concept of others? Or vice versa?

For a sense of what I mean by this self-concept, consider that this whole business with Tsion Ben-Judah’s “research” is based on a flattering lie. It’s one thing to tell flattering lies to someone else. It’s worse to tell them to yourself. And it’s worst of all to then believe them.

The authors are pretending that this is why they believe what they believe and how they came to believe it. Ben-Judah’s research project is presented as a depiction of their “personal testimony,” as we evangelicals say — and more generally as the testimony of all real, true Christians. Ben-Judah was simply a disinterested, unbiased, rational scholar drawing disinterested, unbiased, rational conclusions from the study of sacred texts that are obviously and self-evidently authoritative to any such unbiased and rational reader.

This is how LaHaye wants to think of himself. It’s how he wants to portray himself as having come to religion. But that is not how it happened — for him or for anyone else. He was introduced to these sacred texts — these particular texts and not to other ones — and began to read them with a host of preconditioned and predetermined interpretations. His decision to accept those interpretations was shaped by his personal history and experience, by his relationships and encounters with others, and by a host of other variables including — most essentially, we Christians believe — the grace of God. The Ben-Judah scenario denies the existence and importance of all those other factors, presenting the rabbi’s conversion — and by implication, LaHaye’s — as something else, as simply an inevitable and undeniable intellectual conclusion reached from an honest and objective evaluation of data.

This is why — apart from all the howlingly awful errors and misapprehensions we discussed earlier — I cannot believe Ben-Judah’s story. That’s just not how it works. It didn’t work that way for me, or for LaHaye or Jenkins, or for anyone else. That is not my testimony or theirs or anyone else’s and so I cannot believe that it is Ben-Judah’s.

L&J have presented this “conclusions of research” myth not just to flatter their fictional representative (and thereby themselves), but also to accuse the rest of the world. Their false portrayal of how Ben-Judah came to be a real, true Christian also conveys a false portrayal of everyone who isn’t an RTC. They’re not just claiming that this is how Ben-Judah became a believer, but that this is how all nonbelievers became nonbelievers. Ben-Judah, they say, became an RTC from an honest investigation of the undeniable data. Therefore, if you are a Jew — or an atheist, a Catholic, an Episcopalian, Lutheran, Hindu, Mormon, Pagan, etc., etc. — it is because you are dishonest or because you are ignorant of the data or obstinately refusing to accept its self-evident truth.

All of us non-RTCs can thus be lumped into two and only two categories: the malicious and the ignorant.

The former category is necessary to make the plot of the Left Behind series palatable. The horrific suffering these books present for non-RTCs couldn’t be tolerated — much less enjoyed and savored — unless those others were portrayed as fully and consciously deserving such punishments. The damned here are thus portrayed a bit like the damned in a Jack Chick tract — as arrogant and deliberate deniers of what they know to be true. Like Nicolae, they hear Ben-Judah’s enumeration of the clear evidence and perversely choose to reject it.

The latter category, the ignorant, isn’t so much a subset of Them as it is a subset of Us. The merely ignorant are still innocent and thus are portrayed less as non-RTCs than as not-yet-RTCs. Since the malicious are unreachable, this latter category is the only real intended audience for Ben-Judah’s evangelistic message — or for the evangelistic message, such as it is, of the authors. The ignorant have never heard of Jesus, never been told what it is that Christians believe. Once they are told, they will either accept this obvious and compelling truth and convert to become RTCs, or else they will reject it for perverse and evil reasons and become part of the category of the malicious, the cackling, Chickian damned (“Har har!”).

That one might hear Ben-Judah’s message and simply not find it persuasive for any legitimate reason isn’t an option the authors imagine or allow for.

You may have noticed that these two categories of the malicious and the ignorant don’t seem to account for any actual humans you have ever actually met. The authors present them as comprehensive, but experience proves them to be almost nonexistent.

That’s why L&J-style evangelism will always be fruitless. A message intended for a nonexistent audience won’t be heard. And you cannot convince others of anything if you’re already convinced of something about them that just isn’t true.

This doesn’t just mean that the the authors are failing at evangelism themselves. It also means they’re setting up their readers to fail as well. Those readers are being sent forth with the expectation of encountering people who do not actually exist. They are being taught to expect to meet these imaginary innocent ignorant, the RTCs-in-waiting who have never heard of Jesus before and will gratefully ask to hear more — finding the message instantly persuasive and thus eagerly converting.

I don’t think that has ever really happened. Maybe once, but probably never.

And when this doesn’t happen for the would-be-evangelist readers of Left Behind, what have they been taught to conclude about those they actually do encounter? They have been taught that these people must all belong to that other category of the malicious and perverse deniers. So those readers’ hapless attempts at Ben-Judah-style evangelism are not just doomed to fail, they’re also designed to reinforce the Manichaean, Us-vs.-Them worldview that underlies LaHaye’s John Birch Society politics.

How convenient.

I don’t want to leave off here only saying that L&J have provided a manual on How Not To Do Evangelism. They certainly have provided that — offering a template for evangelism that seems designed to inspire ill-feeling on all sides and to be as ineffectual as it is unpleasant. But before we return to our journey through the instructively appalling pages of Tribulation Force, let me suggest a few things I think I’ve learned about a better way to approach this matter of evangelism.

1. Evangelism is hospitality.

Hospitality means opening up your life to share it with others. Sometimes that means sharing your home or your food, but here it means sharing that which is centrally and essentially important to you, the core of your identity and your source of meaning.

That seems kind of overwhelming — a bit more fraught than just inviting someone over for a cup of coffee. But in either case, it bears keeping in mind that this is what you’re doing — extending an invitation. And that this is who you’re dealing with — guests.

Guests are not obliged to swallow everything you’re serving, nor should they be compelled or feel pressured to do so. Your job, as host, is to defer to the preferences of your guests. Guests are not prisoners or detainees. If your attempts at hospitality cause your guests to feel more like prisoners — if you can see in their eyes the look of someone desperate to escape — then you’re doing it wrong. Stop. Step away. Let them go.

When you invite someone over to dinner, they will sometimes bring something with them to share in return — a nice bottle of wine, maybe, or some pie for dessert. If you turn up your nose at this contribution then you’re not being a good host. You’re not the only one sharing here and it would be unfair, not to mention rude, not to appreciate and honor what they’re sharing with you.

When I’m asked if I can recommend a good book on evangelism, I sometimes jokingly suggest Emily Post’s etiquette manual. Except I’m not really joking.

2. Evangelism requires relationship.

Without relationship, it’s not really evangelism, merely sales. Evangelism should never be anything like sales. This is not a transaction, not commerce.

People who are in a relationship with one another talk about those things that they regard as important. Unlike many white guys my age, I am not a member of the Cult of Golf. But since many of my friends are also white guys my age I often wind up talking about golf a lot. Why? Because they are my friends and it’s important to them. That’s how human relationships work.

Evangelism directed toward strangers often seems awkward and weird because it is awkward and weird. Evangelism in the context of relationship, by contrast, is natural and organic. It’s not weird when two friends talk about the things that are important to them. It would be far stranger if they didn’t.

A word of caution: It won’t do to try to start a friendship with someone as a means to evangelizing them. A friendship that exists only as a means to some other ends isn’t really a friendship at all. It’s more like the unctuous faux-friendliness of the salesman. We can all tell the difference between such professional chumminess and the real thing it imitates. Your local car salesman is probably a friendly guy, but he’s not your friend, he’s your salesman.

Life sometimes conspires to create encounters that bring about something like the trust and mutuality of friendship even if they’re not really part of any pre- or post-existing relationship. The train breaks down in the tunnel or the elevator gets stuck between floors and soon you may find yourself having one of those sacred, crossroads-of-life conversations with a complete stranger. You don’t know this person’s full name, you’ve never met before and you’ll likely never meet again, but despite that — or because of it — you find yourselves telling one another things you wouldn’t be able to say to the friends and family you have to live with every day. The old man next to you on the train says he had a child about your age, and because the train has stopped there in the tunnel he tells you something about that child that he’d needed to say for a very long time but had never been able to before. And because he told you that, and because the train is still not moving, you tell him things you also had needed to say — hopes, fears, dreams, confessions — that you had never before been able to articulate aloud.

That happens sometimes, miraculously. I don’t know that such encounters quite count as “relationships,” but they also can be, sometimes, appropriate contexts for what might be called evangelism.

3. Listen.

Like improv, evangelism is usually more about listening than it is about talking.

The Cherokee Baptist theologian Bill Baldridge tells a story about white missionaries who arrived at the Indian settlement. “We are here to tell you the story of our God and of salvation,” they announced.

The elders welcomed them, brought them food, and gathered around to hear this story. The missionaries, pleased by this enthusiastic audience, decided to go with the Long Version. They started at the beginning and over the next several hours they told the whole great Christian saga of creation, fall and redemption.

When at last the missionaries were finished, the elders thanked them. “This is a good story,” the elders said. “Now we would like to share with you our story.”

The missionaries were furious. Hadn’t these people been listening? Didn’t they realize that they had just heard the One True Story and that their old story, whatever it was, no longer mattered?

The missionaries abruptly left, shaking the dust off their shoes and heading out to find some other group more receptive to to their message.

4. Your story is not an argument.

Evangelism is often presented as something that starts with a sales pitch and ends in an argument. That’s wrong from start to finish. At its core, evangelism involves telling your story. That’s not a debate or an argument, it’s a testimony, a narrative (one that hasn’t ended yet).

Arguments about religion can be a lot of fun and they can sometimes even be productive. Their usefulness, though, is almost never a matter of persuasion, but rather of two friendly foes helping one another to clarify their own thoughts.

That’s the healthy version. In the unhealthy version, it’s more about two unfriendly foes using each other to reinforce for themselves what they already believe.

That distinction between healthy and unhealthy arguments has to do with whether those involved in the argument are willing to listen to and to try to understand what the other is saying. If they both are, then the argument may prove enjoyable and useful — and perhaps even marginally persuasive. But if neither one is really listening or really interested in understanding what the other side is saying, then all that’s going on is two people with their fingers stuck in their ears shouting slogans in an effort to drown out the sound of their own doubts.

The Ben-Judah broadcast in Tribulation Force strikes me as the unhealthy kind of religious argument. Nothing in this chapter is really designed to persuade those who disagree with Ben-Judah’s or the authors’ views. It is designed, rather, to reassure those who already believe and to help them buttress their faltering faith.

Those in need of such reassurance would do well to avoid attempts at evangelism. Better that way for all involved.

Anyway, my point here is not to describe how best to argue evangelistically, but rather that evangelism usually ought to avoid argument. Your story is not an argument. Stick with your story.

That story should tell more than just how or why or when you began to be a Christian. That’s how we evangelicals are often taught to present our “personal testimony,” but that’s like telling a story that consists of nothing but “Once upon a time.” Telling your story means telling what it means to you that you are a Christian — why this is the most important thing to you, how it changes and shapes and directs your life, how you wouldn’t be you without the faith, hope and love you have found.

Of course, if you’re telling this story to a friend, to someone who knows you and has known you for some time, then they may already know all of that.

And if you’re trying to tell such a story but you realize that you can’t say how the faith you are trying to share actually does change or shape or direct your life, then you may find that you’re going to need to tell a better story.

And the only way to tell a better story and still have it be your story is to start living a better story.

That’s probably why so many people seem to find it easier to get in arguments than it is to tell their stories.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

* The Left Behind series is thus a reflection of a larger cultural change in American evangelical Christianity. The earlier wave of PMD enthusiasm came at a time when evangelicals’ contact with the larger culture was primarily evangelistic, but by the 1990s when these books were typed, that contact had become primarily political. Where Norman, Thompson and 1970s-era Lindsey were oddball expressions of the hopeful, inclusive faith typified by Billy Graham, the Left Behind books are expressions of the partisan, militant, power-seeking faith of Jerry Falwell, James Dobson and Pat Robertson. They’re not primarily about invitation, but about identity. Not about drawing others to Christ, but about drawing lines between us and them and mobilizing “the base” as a special-interest voting bloc.

But then it’s not quite accurate to say that Left Behind is a reflection of this dismaying cultural shift. It’s more deliberate than that. Tim LaHaye was one of the central figures who worked hard to bring about this change in American evangelicalism. The John Birchification of American evangelical Christianity has always been his life’s work.

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  • ako

    My guess is that they’re trying to claim Jew McHugeJew’s speech here actually managed to convert a flesh-and-blood person:

    “Why, now that he mentions it, Jesus was born of a virgin and rose from the dead!  That probably means he was the messiah!  Why’d I never think of that before?”

    Okay, that speech converting atheists is even stupider than it converting religious Jews.  Because for Jews, it’s saying that a bunch of only-works-from-a-Christian-perspective proves that if the Christian Bible is completely factually accurate, Jesus is the Messiah, but at least the Messiah is important in Judaism.   For atheists, it’s saying that a bunch of only-works-from-a-Christian-perspective interpretation proves that if the Christian Bible is completely factually accurate, Jesus is something religiously important to people who practice Judaism.  Making the claim rely on two religions that atheists don’t believe on doesn’t make it twice as convincing or anything.

  • Matri

    You’re talking about the “even atheists believe the bible was divinely inspired” crowd. They have no clue on how to make sense.

  • John Mark Ockerbloom

    Gotchaye: I think I see your point,  but I’ll note that the title of the post is “how *not* to do evangelism”, not “how to do evangelism”.   That is, Fred is presenting what he’s talking about as necessary, but not presenting it as sufficient.

    On the other hand, the title to the followup post, “Use words if necessary” I consider at best hyperbole.  Just as a journalist generally has to use words (sometimes with other media) to effectively communicate the news, so too does a complete evangelism need to use words as part of effectively communicating the Good News, which includes the message that Christ died and rose for us.  There’s a reason that Christians are one of the groups known as a “religion of the book”.

  • http://twitter.com/FearlessSon FearlessSon

    In reference to the “D&D teaches children how to use real demon-summoning spells” element:

    Obligatory Krakow link.

  • Technomad

    If the fundies thought plain ol’ first-ed D+D was “satanic,” their heads would have asploded if they’d ever seen Warhammer FRP.

  • MaryKaye

    There’s a very simple reason that D&D has generated protests and Warhammer FRP, Vampire: the Masquerade, In Nomine, etc, etc. did not:

    Publicity.

    You get minimal publicity making a fuss about an obscure game that no one has ever heard of.  You get a lot more publicity making a fuss about a common game that many people have heard of, that they can find in stores, that their relatives or neighbors may be playing.  And publicity leads to money.

    A friend wrote a letter of protest about the 700 Club’s anti-D&D screed.  He got back a letter that said, “Thanks for being concerned about this important topic, please send us some money.”  *That* is the point, at least at the upper organisational levels.  It’s not about whether the game is particularly wicked (it’s pretty tame, actually, by the standards of the hobby)–it’s about what will attract attention, and thus money.

  • http://www.facebook.com/people/Patrick-McGraw/100001988854074 Patrick McGraw

    Pretty much. Note that Vampire: The Masquerade did get such attention during the nineties when its popularity was at a height.

    Although when you get into smaller groups trying to build concern, there will generally be less of a need to find the most well-known examples, and they can start cherry-picking data. There are a number of media, genres, or other things where the “moral crusaders” find the most vile examples they can, and then tell everyone those are what the whole thing is like. (I’m looking at you, Gail Dines.)

    If RPGs were more popular, I’m sure FATAL would have been the name on every anti-RPG crusader’s lips, trying to convince people it was typical of RPGs as a whole.

  • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=659001961 Brad Ellison

    One of the pamphlets my Mom read when I was a kid (which contributed to my not playing D&D until college) made repeated references to the horrific violence and blasphemy they found in various fringe third-party supplements and treated them as if they were right out of the Player’s Handbook, so yeah, safe to say you’re right.

  • http://pulse.yahoo.com/_GNQSGJKQCN2QITH4VRYAMDYFSU Mark

    >After all, who should I focus my efforts on — those who profess different beliefs but claim to >be living happy and healthy lives, or those who share my label but are, by their own >admission, constantly filled with guilt and fear of an avenging God?

    >
    >I can see how that makes sense as you seem to understand “evangelism” as just “convert >others”, and I can also see you realize that Fred isn’t using the same definition. I’d suggest >however that Fred’s definition is better – unless you particularly want “evangelical” to be a >bad word.

    >The question is basically, what are you converting others to ? The problem with “evangelism” >= “converting others through any means necessary” is that it reduces Evangelical Christianity >to a pyramid scheme, where the religion consists of converting others to the religion, which is seems to work that way, but I think it’s unfair. Not just for people like Fred who don’t want >such an Amway religion, but even the most fundamentalist hypothetical-bus >convert->everyone Christian has more beliefs on what Christianity is than just “convert >others”. Those tend to be problematic “other beliefs”, but they’re there.

     

    I have recently read “Bridge to Terabithia”, and that book also contains a very remarkable episode. Jess and Maybelle, siblings from a christian family, are friends with Leslie, a girl from non-religious family. One day they take Leslie to the church on a sermon, and afterwards they discuss it. Maybelle admits she doesn’t like the sermon, but they have to gho to church and hear it because its part of the faith and “If you don’t believe in Jesus, You go to Hell after you die”. Leslie contradicts that God probably is too busy making the world wonderful to condemn people to hell, But Jess and Maybelle insist thet Leslie must convert, or else. The only reason of convesion they bring in is fear of Hell. Leslie, put off by this replies: “That’s strange. You have to believe this – and you HATE it. I don’t have to believe this – but I find it beautiful.”

    This episode describes neatly what is wrong with “Evangelising by Fear”. It makes faith into a necessary, but hated thing which drags you  down, instills you with fear and uncertainity. 

    What Fred suggest instills one with joy. The story should be “found beautiful” to do so. Jess and Maybelle can’t find any arguments for Leslie even though she is far more open towards Christianity than most people. On the other hand she doesn’t really needs conversion as much as the others (including Jess) need “reliving Christianity”. Thus The whole evangelising on LaHaye and jenkinns falls flat.

  • http://pulse.yahoo.com/_GNQSGJKQCN2QITH4VRYAMDYFSU Mark

    >After all, who should I focus my efforts on — those who profess different beliefs but claim to >be living happy and healthy lives, or those who share my label but are, by their own >admission, constantly filled with guilt and fear of an avenging God?

    >
    >I can see how that makes sense as you seem to understand “evangelism” as just “convert >others”, and I can also see you realize that Fred isn’t using the same definition. I’d suggest >however that Fred’s definition is better – unless you particularly want “evangelical” to be a >bad word.

    >The question is basically, what are you converting others to ? The problem with “evangelism” >= “converting others through any means necessary” is that it reduces Evangelical Christianity >to a pyramid scheme, where the religion consists of converting others to the religion, which is seems to work that way, but I think it’s unfair. Not just for people like Fred who don’t want >such an Amway religion, but even the most fundamentalist hypothetical-bus >convert->everyone Christian has more beliefs on what Christianity is than just “convert >others”. Those tend to be problematic “other beliefs”, but they’re there.

     

    I have recently read “Bridge to Terabithia”, and that book also contains a very remarkable episode. Jess and Maybelle, siblings from a christian family, are friends with Leslie, a girl from non-religious family. One day they take Leslie to the church on a sermon, and afterwards they discuss it. Maybelle admits she doesn’t like the sermon, but they have to gho to church and hear it because its part of the faith and “If you don’t believe in Jesus, You go to Hell after you die”. Leslie contradicts that God probably is too busy making the world wonderful to condemn people to hell, But Jess and Maybelle insist thet Leslie must convert, or else. The only reason of convesion they bring in is fear of Hell. Leslie, put off by this replies: “That’s strange. You have to believe this – and you HATE it. I don’t have to believe this – but I find it beautiful.”

    This episode describes neatly what is wrong with “Evangelising by Fear”. It makes faith into a necessary, but hated thing which drags you  down, instills you with fear and uncertainity. 

    What Fred suggest instills one with joy. The story should be “found beautiful” to do so. Jess and Maybelle can’t find any arguments for Leslie even though she is far more open towards Christianity than most people. On the other hand she doesn’t really needs conversion as much as the others (including Jess) need “reliving Christianity”. Thus The whole evangelising on LaHaye and jenkinns falls flat.

  • http://timothy.green.name/ Timothy (TRiG)

    Edit: Sorry. Post made in error.

  • Brightie

     How about a mixture of one and two? I can’t be the only person who has, on the one hand, genuinely liked and respected people as friends, and on the other hand, felt like I’m being a bad member of my faith (largely because of guilting from religious leaders) if I’m not trying to “reach” them.

  • Brightie

     Gotta love how the “healer” looks like a bad cosplay of a superhero…

  • Brightie

     So… according to him they, what, needed to manufacture a war to throw millions of the faithful into to die, and needed to create an enemy to slaughter, and therefore invented Islam right before launching the Crusades? Or what is his idea of their schtick with this? 0.o

  • Brightie

     I don’t know, perhaps the Catholic kid could become a moralising-but-brilliant detective… or, if you time-skip around enough, grow up to be a licensed exorcist. :p


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