“In myth, as in life, knowledge of difference is the key to… politics.”
Doniger, p. 32
There are two topics that stood out in Doniger’s book, which I want to discuss, namely, comparative scholarship and academia as a political playground. These points intersect so the overall view is that comparative scholarship is a type of political activism.
Although Doniger is constructing her comparative method in the context of myth, any good liberal studies student will find her method familiar territory. She explains in defense of the comparative endeavor that:
“Indeed, one of the arguments in favor of the comparative method is that even methods that pretend to be culturally specific are in fact comparative, when you take into account the fact that the scholar studying the one Other culture will always be making implicit judgments based upon implicit comparisons between the Other culture and the scholar’s own.” (Doniger, p. 35)
I take culture to mean not merely different geographical groups, but also different historical periods and situations, as well as different genders. Interpreted in this way (which seems to be in line with the attitudes in Doniger’s book) the individual is, although not necessarily explicitly or even consciously, always interpreting his/her field of inquiry in comparison to his/her own experiences/beliefs. This should be qualified by Doniger’s position that knowledge is acquired through the experience of difference. Sameness is equivalent to identity, and therefore does not produce any new knowledge outside of the premise of equivalence. It is by exploring, again either consciously or unconsciously, how the subject is different (from us) that we gain scholarly knowledge. Doniger goes on (p. 36) construct the comparative enterprise as a triangle, and I want to go on to say that any academic enterprise is a rotating coin, one side the subject of study and the other the individual’s own subjectivity.
This position shapes how the comparative approach is defined. Doniger cautions against falling into the traps of universalism or similitude, where inevitably one voice is engulfed by the other, the familiar silences the distinctness of the unfamiliar. She explains that: “The key to the game of cross-cultural comparison lies in selecting the sorts of questions that might transcend any particular culture. (Doniger, p. 40) These questions must engage difference; they must look through the microscope and the telescope. The microscope looks at how it is a human experience, and how these compared experiences, are unique. The telescope explores how this uniqueness is an interpretation of a larger worldview. Asking the questions, shaped along these lines, of both units of comparison emphasize that while both are concerned with similar questions surrounding human existence, each has a different, yet equally valid, answer.
I now want to briefly shift gears to the political, although as the idea of the implied spider will show, this is not so much a shift in thought as a change in angle. Doniger’s implied spider may or may not be (is and is not?) the creation of the scholar. The set of questions that guide the comparative enterprise create a web, this is not just a web for myth, for any comparison unearths a web. The web is the mysterious connectedness between the units of comparison that exists outside of history. Doniger explains that: “Indeed, if we think there is no spider, there is no spider; only our belief makes it (like Tinker Bell) real… And if we think there is a spider, there is a spider.” (Doniger, p. 61) A belief in a spider, a design behind the web, is contingent upon the scholar’s acceptance of the web. The web and spider exist only if the scholar allows them to. This means that new webs can be constructed and deconstructed. How does this relate to politics? On pp. 101-107 Doniger discusses political readings and reinterpretations of myths, for example, Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” as interpreted by the Nazis and then by Coppola in “Apocalypse Now” shows how different interpretations give the myth different connotations for a modern audience. And an examination of the celebration of Guy Fawkes Day shows that participants could equally be celebrating Guy as heroic, or celebrating his capture and death. Are the webs of the comparative enterprise equally politically malleable? Masuzawa’s book showed us that the Religious Studies discipline began with a Christian centric agenda. It created a specific web, but slowly scholars deconstructed it and created new webs and spiders. If the comparative method holds the power to create these webs does it then hold the power to shape how its subjects are viewed? If the scholar who uses the coin rather than the triangle is also creating webs, then does he/she also hold the power to shape how his/her subject is viewed? If the answer is yes, then can scholars shape and re-shape political attitudes?
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
phenolomenology and gender
“Philosophy is not the reflection of a pre-existing truth, but, like art, the act of bringing truth into being.”( Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Preface p. xx.)
Is there an inherent distinction between the sexes that makes male and female perceptions of the world definitively different/separate to the extent that there are two “worlds”? Kinsley, p 7-9, seems to suggest this in his discussion of the different sets of religious interpretation/meaning given to symbols by men and women. Can the study of religion, or the study of anything for that matter, be done outside of gender perspective? I think a brief digression into phenomenology will show that these separate “worlds” of Kingsley are not inherent within the world, but due to human constructions imposed upon the world, therefore there might be a pre-sexualized/genderized realm of shared experience.
I began with the quote by Merleau-Ponty, because it reveals a side to phenomenology that I found obscured in Young’s article. Philosophy “paints” a picture of the world, that is, it shows the world, as the individual perceives it. This perceiving that Merleau-Ponty is talking about is pre-sexualized perception, He is largely concerned with what he terms a pre-reflective perception, perception before it is categorized and objectified. This is the world before it is appraised. It is from this perspective of experience before categorization that phenomenology stems. Young, then is missing the point of phenomenology so to speak when she says:
“The early phenomenologists now seem hopelessly androcentric with their use of the generic ‘he’ and their universalizing language that never asks whether the experiences of men might differ significantly from those of women, and so on. Moreover, because ‘essences’ have been determined by male phenomenologists on the basis of male experiences alone (whether intentionally or not), women have had good reason for criticizing this kind of scholarship.” (Young, p 31)
Before addressing this quote it is important to mention the problems with Young’s classification of phenomenologist. To begin with, she lumps all philosophical phenomenologists into one vague group, only offhandedly mentioning the differentiation among them. This is problematic, for her proceeding discussion of the phenomenologist terminology suffers, being overly general and lacking substance. Finally, she begins by separating philosophical phenomenologists from phenomenologists of religion, but in the body of her article it becomes hard to distinguish which group she is making claims about. Thus, in the quote above I am unclear if she is talking about one group specifically or both in general. This being the case, I will discuss the passage in relation to the phenomenologist philosophers.
Young’s picture, I would argue, is outright wrong. First, I think the accusation of using “he” for the generic human is rather petty. Secondly, to say that these philosophers never questioned whether female experience might differ from male is insulting and untrue. (It is interesting to note that she only mentions Simone De Beauvoir in a footnote. I hardly think Beauvoir would have been silent about this topic in her conversations with Merleau-Ponty and Sartre!) For example, Sartre in “Being And Nothingness” directly addresses the question of sex/gender and sexuality. He says:
“Man, it is said, is a sexual being because he possesses a sex. And if the reverse were true? If sex were only the instrument and, so to speak, the image of a fundamental sexuality? If man possessed a sex only because he is originally and fundamentally a sexual being as a being who exists in the world in relation with other men?” (Sartre “Being And Nothingness,” p. 499)
Sartre is asking whether an individual’s sexuality is based on his/her gender, or if the individual possesses a gender due to his/her being a sexual being, that sexuality is more encompassing than specific gender. An individual’s gender is a contingent part of his/her facticity. This means that there will be different experiences based on gender, but sexuality is not an accident based on gender. Thus, phenomenologists such as Sartre, contra Young, do acknowledge this difference, but may not explicitly explore it in detail because they are dealing with experience in a more abstract context. Can this abstract discussion of experience be gender neutral? Boyarin, when discussing Irigaray, affirms this perspective:
“Different attitudes of the body in sexual intercourse (on enclosing, the other being enclosed), the capacity to menstruate, gestate, and lactate, all of these form a sort of material base for a subjectivity that is different from that of men but do not prescript what that subjectivity will consist of or how it will be lived.” (Boyarin, p 130)
There are different experiences based on biological difference, however this does not imply that these different subjectivities are inherently determined by biology. Thus it is valid to study how this (female) subjectivity has been constructed and lived within a specific historical period, but it is invalid to suggest that this (female) subjectivity is a completely separate entity. Are scholars continuing this oppression as “other” by creating Women’s Studies?
Is there an inherent distinction between the sexes that makes male and female perceptions of the world definitively different/separate to the extent that there are two “worlds”? Kinsley, p 7-9, seems to suggest this in his discussion of the different sets of religious interpretation/meaning given to symbols by men and women. Can the study of religion, or the study of anything for that matter, be done outside of gender perspective? I think a brief digression into phenomenology will show that these separate “worlds” of Kingsley are not inherent within the world, but due to human constructions imposed upon the world, therefore there might be a pre-sexualized/genderized realm of shared experience.
I began with the quote by Merleau-Ponty, because it reveals a side to phenomenology that I found obscured in Young’s article. Philosophy “paints” a picture of the world, that is, it shows the world, as the individual perceives it. This perceiving that Merleau-Ponty is talking about is pre-sexualized perception, He is largely concerned with what he terms a pre-reflective perception, perception before it is categorized and objectified. This is the world before it is appraised. It is from this perspective of experience before categorization that phenomenology stems. Young, then is missing the point of phenomenology so to speak when she says:
“The early phenomenologists now seem hopelessly androcentric with their use of the generic ‘he’ and their universalizing language that never asks whether the experiences of men might differ significantly from those of women, and so on. Moreover, because ‘essences’ have been determined by male phenomenologists on the basis of male experiences alone (whether intentionally or not), women have had good reason for criticizing this kind of scholarship.” (Young, p 31)
Before addressing this quote it is important to mention the problems with Young’s classification of phenomenologist. To begin with, she lumps all philosophical phenomenologists into one vague group, only offhandedly mentioning the differentiation among them. This is problematic, for her proceeding discussion of the phenomenologist terminology suffers, being overly general and lacking substance. Finally, she begins by separating philosophical phenomenologists from phenomenologists of religion, but in the body of her article it becomes hard to distinguish which group she is making claims about. Thus, in the quote above I am unclear if she is talking about one group specifically or both in general. This being the case, I will discuss the passage in relation to the phenomenologist philosophers.
Young’s picture, I would argue, is outright wrong. First, I think the accusation of using “he” for the generic human is rather petty. Secondly, to say that these philosophers never questioned whether female experience might differ from male is insulting and untrue. (It is interesting to note that she only mentions Simone De Beauvoir in a footnote. I hardly think Beauvoir would have been silent about this topic in her conversations with Merleau-Ponty and Sartre!) For example, Sartre in “Being And Nothingness” directly addresses the question of sex/gender and sexuality. He says:
“Man, it is said, is a sexual being because he possesses a sex. And if the reverse were true? If sex were only the instrument and, so to speak, the image of a fundamental sexuality? If man possessed a sex only because he is originally and fundamentally a sexual being as a being who exists in the world in relation with other men?” (Sartre “Being And Nothingness,” p. 499)
Sartre is asking whether an individual’s sexuality is based on his/her gender, or if the individual possesses a gender due to his/her being a sexual being, that sexuality is more encompassing than specific gender. An individual’s gender is a contingent part of his/her facticity. This means that there will be different experiences based on gender, but sexuality is not an accident based on gender. Thus, phenomenologists such as Sartre, contra Young, do acknowledge this difference, but may not explicitly explore it in detail because they are dealing with experience in a more abstract context. Can this abstract discussion of experience be gender neutral? Boyarin, when discussing Irigaray, affirms this perspective:
“Different attitudes of the body in sexual intercourse (on enclosing, the other being enclosed), the capacity to menstruate, gestate, and lactate, all of these form a sort of material base for a subjectivity that is different from that of men but do not prescript what that subjectivity will consist of or how it will be lived.” (Boyarin, p 130)
There are different experiences based on biological difference, however this does not imply that these different subjectivities are inherently determined by biology. Thus it is valid to study how this (female) subjectivity has been constructed and lived within a specific historical period, but it is invalid to suggest that this (female) subjectivity is a completely separate entity. Are scholars continuing this oppression as “other” by creating Women’s Studies?
Sunday, October 5, 2008
philosophical frustrations
These chapters by Clark, if anything, left me incessantly cursing postmodernism. As a student of philosophy I enjoy the intellectual games that postmodernism provides, but not being a postmodernist myself I cringe at all mention of postmodernist theory. The problem I have with postmodern theory, as presented by Clark, is the emphasis on literary theory. (Not that I have anything against literary theory, but I have been taught to make a clear distinction between the work I do and literary theory and history.) This literary perspective culminates in the discussion of text and context. What is a text? Does it need to be read within a historical context? Is there a transcendent means to the text? Can we discover the author’s intention and true meaning? They are important ideas to discuss, but not necessarily explicitly relevant to philosophical discussion; it is interesting look at how philosophical theory is applied, but would be anachronistic to apply it to earlier philosophy. This is not to say that philosophers do not interpret their predecessors, for example, Kant’s critique of empiricism, and Deleuze’s critiques of Hume, Spinoza and Kant, but one could not apply Deleuze’s philosophical method to Hegel’s concepts in an attempt to understand Hegel.
Postmodern philosophy seeks to understand the way the world is, that is, it seeks to be prescriptive rather than proscriptive. Therefore, it rejects the transcendent and finds meaning only in the immanent. Looking at critiques of contextualism Clark summarizes Derrida, “To believe that the reader must locate one particular and exclusive context in order to understand a text, Derrida concludes, is itself a ‘metaphysical assumption.’” (p. 142) There is no transcendent being to a text, or anything for that matter. Assuming that there is a true context within which to understand a text, is to assume that transcendent being. There is no Truth with a capital T. Put another way; there is no meaning only meaningfulness. In a way philosophers such as Derrida and Deleuze are merely describing what they saw occurring in philosophical scholarship. Scholars of philosophy constantly battle with each other about interpretations. In this battle, where concepts are constantly re-defined and re-interpreted, no Truth emerges. The lasting value of this enterprise is the meanings that are formed. How could a scholar apply this literary theory that Clark espouses, which is derived from a particular school of philosophy, to a different philosophical school? Or does this only apply to historians of ancient Christian studies?
I think the best way to sum up my frustration with postmodern theory is to look at the infamous postmodern generator. Here we have a program that randomly generates essays using the recursive grammar of postmodern dialogue. Some critics of postmodernism take this as a proof of its falsity. Can you find “meaning” in the essay generated? If language is an arbitrary system of essentially meaningless signs then are all texts no better than one of these essays? This is a fun rebuttal to make against postmodernism, but I think it misses the point of the original philosophy. Postmodernism does not declare that there is no meaning. We can have meaning without transcendence. But this meaning is multifarious. It is not a theory of the proper way to read or analyze a text, but a theory of what occurs when reading a text. There are as many texts as readers; there are as many Platos or Derridas as there are readers of Plato and Derrida. That is why we continue to have scholarly debates about these things.
I think reading the chapters for this week highlighted the difficulty I am having in understanding this concept of methodology and its application to my work. Clark was addressing history and literary theory in relation to ancient Christian Studies. She was using as methodology philosophers in the discipline I am working within. That does not work for me. I can understand the relation of reader, author and text in terms of postmodern theory, in terms of structuralism, conceptualism, etc., but this is a dialogue for literary theory.
Postmodern philosophy seeks to understand the way the world is, that is, it seeks to be prescriptive rather than proscriptive. Therefore, it rejects the transcendent and finds meaning only in the immanent. Looking at critiques of contextualism Clark summarizes Derrida, “To believe that the reader must locate one particular and exclusive context in order to understand a text, Derrida concludes, is itself a ‘metaphysical assumption.’” (p. 142) There is no transcendent being to a text, or anything for that matter. Assuming that there is a true context within which to understand a text, is to assume that transcendent being. There is no Truth with a capital T. Put another way; there is no meaning only meaningfulness. In a way philosophers such as Derrida and Deleuze are merely describing what they saw occurring in philosophical scholarship. Scholars of philosophy constantly battle with each other about interpretations. In this battle, where concepts are constantly re-defined and re-interpreted, no Truth emerges. The lasting value of this enterprise is the meanings that are formed. How could a scholar apply this literary theory that Clark espouses, which is derived from a particular school of philosophy, to a different philosophical school? Or does this only apply to historians of ancient Christian studies?
I think the best way to sum up my frustration with postmodern theory is to look at the infamous postmodern generator. Here we have a program that randomly generates essays using the recursive grammar of postmodern dialogue. Some critics of postmodernism take this as a proof of its falsity. Can you find “meaning” in the essay generated? If language is an arbitrary system of essentially meaningless signs then are all texts no better than one of these essays? This is a fun rebuttal to make against postmodernism, but I think it misses the point of the original philosophy. Postmodernism does not declare that there is no meaning. We can have meaning without transcendence. But this meaning is multifarious. It is not a theory of the proper way to read or analyze a text, but a theory of what occurs when reading a text. There are as many texts as readers; there are as many Platos or Derridas as there are readers of Plato and Derrida. That is why we continue to have scholarly debates about these things.
I think reading the chapters for this week highlighted the difficulty I am having in understanding this concept of methodology and its application to my work. Clark was addressing history and literary theory in relation to ancient Christian Studies. She was using as methodology philosophers in the discipline I am working within. That does not work for me. I can understand the relation of reader, author and text in terms of postmodern theory, in terms of structuralism, conceptualism, etc., but this is a dialogue for literary theory.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
grant proposal
The goal of my research is to investigate the philosophical development of the al-Insan al-Kamil, the Perfect Individual, leading to its conceptualization within Ibn al-’Arabi’s thought. Although the long-term goal of my research is to forward the development of the al-Insan al-Kamil as a philosophical concept, this large project has to begin with a basic understanding of what the al-Insan al-Kamil is and where it originated. Thus, my research at this stage will be focused solely on the conceptual origins leading up to its solidification in the thought of Ibn al-’Arabi.
Little to no Western scholarship has focused on the topic of the al-Insan al-Kamil, yet it is acknowledged as one of the key elements in the thought of Ibn al-‘Arabi, one of the most influential Sufi thinkers. What does exist on the topic consists of paragraphs and footnotes, or at the very most, a chapter or two interspersed in major scholarly works. For instance in, the foremost North American Ibn al-‘Arabi scholar, William Chittick’s recently published book he explains: “The underlying theme of Ibn ‘Arabi’s writings is not, as many would have it, wahdat al-wujud, ‘the Oneness of Being,’ but rather the achievement of human perfection.” ( Chittick, p 49) But despite saying this Chittick has produced no substantial scholarship on this concept, choosing only to discuss it in footnotes and brief paragraphs.
An example of a more substantial discussion is Toshihiko Izutsu’s "A Comparative Study of The Key Philosophical Concepts in Sufism and Taoism", which devotes one part of the three part work to the thought of Ibn al-‘Arabi. He tells us: “Ibn ‘Arabi’s philosophy is, in brief, a theoretical description of the entire world of being and existence as it is reflected in the eye of the Perfect Man.” (Izutsu, p 14) And unlike most other scholars he devotes nearly fifty pages of the two hundred and seventy-two to a discussion of the concept. But if this concept is such a vital component of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s system why has it received such little treatment by current scholarship?
One exception to this brevity is Masataka Takeshita’s published doctoral dissertation, "Ibn ‘Arabi’s Theory of the Perfect Man and its Place in the History of Islamic Thought", which he claims is a historical examination of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s concept:
I limit myself to one of Ibn ‘Arabi’s most celebrated theories, that is, the theory of the Perfect Man, I try to examine Ibn ‘Arabi’s thought in historical perspective. Although he is in many ways an original figure in the intellectual history of Islam, his thought is, nevertheless, firmly rooted in Islamic traditions. (Takeshita, p 4)
This is a critical step in the development of Ibn ‘Arabi scholarship. However, William Chittick, in a book review, criticizes this work for being overly ambitious and falling short of actually analyzing the concept itself. This being a caution to future scholars, my research will be more analytic and smaller in scope.
My project is divided into two parts. The first part will analyze how Greek Aristotelian and NeoPlatonic thought influenced the concept of individual/human perfection in Islamic philosophy. Already having a background in philosophy, this allows me to situate Ibn al-‘Arabi within the discipline of philosophy and to draw on the body of my academic knowledge. The second part will analyze how the idea of human perfection within the body of Islamic philosophy is linked to Ibn al-‘Arabi’s concept of the al-Insan al-Kamil.
My previous research MA in philosophy at Brock University analyzed the concept of the al-Insan al-Kamil within Ibn al-‘Arabi’s thought. Having no formal background in Sufism or Ibn al-‘Arabi it centered on analyzing various questions within the concept pertaining to the philosophy of the self, such as: what type of being does the Perfect Individual have, who can be a Perfect Individual, how does the Perfect Individual behave. Thus, while I have a strong background in the philosophical questions pertaining to this concept, I lack the background in Islamic studies, specifically in the broader historical development of Islamic and Sufi thought and in the Arabic language. The purpose of this second MA in Religion at the University of Toronto is to full those lacks so I can continue my larger research goals. Therefore I am focusing on acquiring a strong reading knowledge of Arabic and a solid understanding of the development of philosophical/religious thought in Classical Islamic philosophy and early Sufism. Taking classes on Arabic, classical Islamic philosophy, and mystical Persian Poetry this academic year is fulfilling this. The final research project outlined above, undertaken in the second year of my MA will be the culmination of my previous research and the research done at the University of Toronto, and will be the foundation for more extensive research at the PhD level and at the post-doctoral level.
Little to no Western scholarship has focused on the topic of the al-Insan al-Kamil, yet it is acknowledged as one of the key elements in the thought of Ibn al-‘Arabi, one of the most influential Sufi thinkers. What does exist on the topic consists of paragraphs and footnotes, or at the very most, a chapter or two interspersed in major scholarly works. For instance in, the foremost North American Ibn al-‘Arabi scholar, William Chittick’s recently published book he explains: “The underlying theme of Ibn ‘Arabi’s writings is not, as many would have it, wahdat al-wujud, ‘the Oneness of Being,’ but rather the achievement of human perfection.” ( Chittick, p 49) But despite saying this Chittick has produced no substantial scholarship on this concept, choosing only to discuss it in footnotes and brief paragraphs.
An example of a more substantial discussion is Toshihiko Izutsu’s "A Comparative Study of The Key Philosophical Concepts in Sufism and Taoism", which devotes one part of the three part work to the thought of Ibn al-‘Arabi. He tells us: “Ibn ‘Arabi’s philosophy is, in brief, a theoretical description of the entire world of being and existence as it is reflected in the eye of the Perfect Man.” (Izutsu, p 14) And unlike most other scholars he devotes nearly fifty pages of the two hundred and seventy-two to a discussion of the concept. But if this concept is such a vital component of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s system why has it received such little treatment by current scholarship?
One exception to this brevity is Masataka Takeshita’s published doctoral dissertation, "Ibn ‘Arabi’s Theory of the Perfect Man and its Place in the History of Islamic Thought", which he claims is a historical examination of Ibn al-‘Arabi’s concept:
I limit myself to one of Ibn ‘Arabi’s most celebrated theories, that is, the theory of the Perfect Man, I try to examine Ibn ‘Arabi’s thought in historical perspective. Although he is in many ways an original figure in the intellectual history of Islam, his thought is, nevertheless, firmly rooted in Islamic traditions. (Takeshita, p 4)
This is a critical step in the development of Ibn ‘Arabi scholarship. However, William Chittick, in a book review, criticizes this work for being overly ambitious and falling short of actually analyzing the concept itself. This being a caution to future scholars, my research will be more analytic and smaller in scope.
My project is divided into two parts. The first part will analyze how Greek Aristotelian and NeoPlatonic thought influenced the concept of individual/human perfection in Islamic philosophy. Already having a background in philosophy, this allows me to situate Ibn al-‘Arabi within the discipline of philosophy and to draw on the body of my academic knowledge. The second part will analyze how the idea of human perfection within the body of Islamic philosophy is linked to Ibn al-‘Arabi’s concept of the al-Insan al-Kamil.
My previous research MA in philosophy at Brock University analyzed the concept of the al-Insan al-Kamil within Ibn al-‘Arabi’s thought. Having no formal background in Sufism or Ibn al-‘Arabi it centered on analyzing various questions within the concept pertaining to the philosophy of the self, such as: what type of being does the Perfect Individual have, who can be a Perfect Individual, how does the Perfect Individual behave. Thus, while I have a strong background in the philosophical questions pertaining to this concept, I lack the background in Islamic studies, specifically in the broader historical development of Islamic and Sufi thought and in the Arabic language. The purpose of this second MA in Religion at the University of Toronto is to full those lacks so I can continue my larger research goals. Therefore I am focusing on acquiring a strong reading knowledge of Arabic and a solid understanding of the development of philosophical/religious thought in Classical Islamic philosophy and early Sufism. Taking classes on Arabic, classical Islamic philosophy, and mystical Persian Poetry this academic year is fulfilling this. The final research project outlined above, undertaken in the second year of my MA will be the culmination of my previous research and the research done at the University of Toronto, and will be the foundation for more extensive research at the PhD level and at the post-doctoral level.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
The Evolution of World Religions Dialogue
Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance.
- Article 18, Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948)
Why begin with a quote from the UDHR, and how is it relevant to this week’s readings? The UDHR marks the birth of universal human right’s discourse, it is the world’s cumulative pronouncement after World War II that all persons share a common humanity, and as such it represents a fundamental shift in the way the West viewed the world. This marked the end of colonialism and imperialism, it changed the way different cultures were viewed by the West, and it change the way the West viewed religion. (This is a broad, idealistic picture but this is not the place to debate the pitfalls of the UDHR and the human rights movement.) As such it can be used as a conceptual marker for our modern discourse on religion. For it is in this document that a paradigm shift that created our current method of analyzing the world was born. I argue that although Masuzawa claims to be taking a historical approach to the development of World Religions discourse (Introduction, p. 13) she glosses over (at least in the chapters we read for this week) the historical context within which these developments took place. She does not address some of the major ideological and philosophical trends of the times that shaped this discourse, such as: manifest destiny, skepticism and evolutionary theory, something I find especially important. She says: “Our task, then, is not to cleanse and purify the science we have inherited- such efforts, in any case, always seem to end up whitewashing our own situation rather than rectifying the past- but rather it is a matter of being historical differently.” (p. 21) What does she mean by “being historical differently”? Is this contingent upon our own historical placement? If this is so, then is it not vital to understand the historical situation of the early World Religions scholars so we can better understand how we can be or are historical differently? Is saying a scholar was the product of his/her times a type of attempted cleansing or justifying?
Looking at this from a different angle, we might ask whether our problem with the history of World Religions scholastics is rooted in the different conception of the “other” that they had. The UDHR, to use my contemporary example, is based on the idea that the other is also human, so shares a common set of inherent “rights,” that is inherently the same although culturally diverse. Thus, in contemporary Western scholasticism the other is on equal footing with us and although this other may have a different religious tradition this tradition shares an equal legitimacy with our religious tradition. (This generalization is overtly idealistic, but purposefully so to highlight the general assumption that may or may not be practically employed by the individual.) This is in contrast to the various ideas of the “other” that existed in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. Smith gives a good illustration of this difference in reference to the explorer/colonist’s view of the natives’ “religion.” Smith explains:
“[Religion] is a category imposed from the outside on some aspect of native culture. It is the other… who [is] solely responsible for the content of the terms… In constructing the second-order, generic category ‘religion,’ its characteristics are those that appear natural to the other.” (Smith, p. 269)
We find here that the “other” is defined as culturally strange, truly separate from us, and therefore the only way this strangeness can be understood is to find/create symbols in that otherness that conform to our norm. Yet, constant contact leads to an erosion of this strangeness. Van Voorst, in relation to contact with religious texts, points out that: “The more we genuinely encounter world scriptures in their full range of reception and use, the less likely we will be to inject our own biases into the scriptures of others.” (Van Voorst, p. 11) Thus, over time, according to Van Voorst, our biases diminish due to our evolving understanding of the foreign religious texts. Does this explain the slow evolution in the historical approach to World Religions from the superiority of Christianity to the democratization of religions? Yet at the end of his essay Smith says something that throws a wrench into this idea. He says: “‘Religion’ is… a term created by scholars for their intellectual purposes and therefore is theirs to define.” (p.281) Does this mean we trade old biases for new ones? Instead of finding a “truer” perspective do we just change our definitions and therefore our language game?
Returning back to the idea of history. Masuzawa’s very last sentence in Chapter Two should be a particularly sobering thought for us. She says: “Surely, our thorough lack of interest in their logic is ultimately to the detriment of our own historical understanding.” (p. 104) Should we be concerned then, not with finding means of separating us from them, but with understanding the preconceptions of their times that guided them and how this gradually changed? After all we are the heirs of the Western scholarly tradition, should we not understand the past logic of this tradition before we seek to create a new logic of our own?
Finally, the lingering questions for me after reflecting on Masuzawa, Van Voorst, and Smith are: what biases and/or assumed “Truths” does scholarship today hold that might make a future academia blush at us the way we blush at the early founders of World Religions dialogue? Is our only hope to strive to be individuals ahead of our times, or is this an act of hubris that will lead us to disaster? Is it better to be a Maurice who had good intentions, that is, a scholar who strives for accuracy but whose work falls short, or a Hardwick, a scholar who is rigorous in an effort to uphold the bias of his time (Reference Masuzawa pp. 96-97)? Or ultimately are these things we have little to no control over?
- Article 18, Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948)
Why begin with a quote from the UDHR, and how is it relevant to this week’s readings? The UDHR marks the birth of universal human right’s discourse, it is the world’s cumulative pronouncement after World War II that all persons share a common humanity, and as such it represents a fundamental shift in the way the West viewed the world. This marked the end of colonialism and imperialism, it changed the way different cultures were viewed by the West, and it change the way the West viewed religion. (This is a broad, idealistic picture but this is not the place to debate the pitfalls of the UDHR and the human rights movement.) As such it can be used as a conceptual marker for our modern discourse on religion. For it is in this document that a paradigm shift that created our current method of analyzing the world was born. I argue that although Masuzawa claims to be taking a historical approach to the development of World Religions discourse (Introduction, p. 13) she glosses over (at least in the chapters we read for this week) the historical context within which these developments took place. She does not address some of the major ideological and philosophical trends of the times that shaped this discourse, such as: manifest destiny, skepticism and evolutionary theory, something I find especially important. She says: “Our task, then, is not to cleanse and purify the science we have inherited- such efforts, in any case, always seem to end up whitewashing our own situation rather than rectifying the past- but rather it is a matter of being historical differently.” (p. 21) What does she mean by “being historical differently”? Is this contingent upon our own historical placement? If this is so, then is it not vital to understand the historical situation of the early World Religions scholars so we can better understand how we can be or are historical differently? Is saying a scholar was the product of his/her times a type of attempted cleansing or justifying?
Looking at this from a different angle, we might ask whether our problem with the history of World Religions scholastics is rooted in the different conception of the “other” that they had. The UDHR, to use my contemporary example, is based on the idea that the other is also human, so shares a common set of inherent “rights,” that is inherently the same although culturally diverse. Thus, in contemporary Western scholasticism the other is on equal footing with us and although this other may have a different religious tradition this tradition shares an equal legitimacy with our religious tradition. (This generalization is overtly idealistic, but purposefully so to highlight the general assumption that may or may not be practically employed by the individual.) This is in contrast to the various ideas of the “other” that existed in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. Smith gives a good illustration of this difference in reference to the explorer/colonist’s view of the natives’ “religion.” Smith explains:
“[Religion] is a category imposed from the outside on some aspect of native culture. It is the other… who [is] solely responsible for the content of the terms… In constructing the second-order, generic category ‘religion,’ its characteristics are those that appear natural to the other.” (Smith, p. 269)
We find here that the “other” is defined as culturally strange, truly separate from us, and therefore the only way this strangeness can be understood is to find/create symbols in that otherness that conform to our norm. Yet, constant contact leads to an erosion of this strangeness. Van Voorst, in relation to contact with religious texts, points out that: “The more we genuinely encounter world scriptures in their full range of reception and use, the less likely we will be to inject our own biases into the scriptures of others.” (Van Voorst, p. 11) Thus, over time, according to Van Voorst, our biases diminish due to our evolving understanding of the foreign religious texts. Does this explain the slow evolution in the historical approach to World Religions from the superiority of Christianity to the democratization of religions? Yet at the end of his essay Smith says something that throws a wrench into this idea. He says: “‘Religion’ is… a term created by scholars for their intellectual purposes and therefore is theirs to define.” (p.281) Does this mean we trade old biases for new ones? Instead of finding a “truer” perspective do we just change our definitions and therefore our language game?
Returning back to the idea of history. Masuzawa’s very last sentence in Chapter Two should be a particularly sobering thought for us. She says: “Surely, our thorough lack of interest in their logic is ultimately to the detriment of our own historical understanding.” (p. 104) Should we be concerned then, not with finding means of separating us from them, but with understanding the preconceptions of their times that guided them and how this gradually changed? After all we are the heirs of the Western scholarly tradition, should we not understand the past logic of this tradition before we seek to create a new logic of our own?
Finally, the lingering questions for me after reflecting on Masuzawa, Van Voorst, and Smith are: what biases and/or assumed “Truths” does scholarship today hold that might make a future academia blush at us the way we blush at the early founders of World Religions dialogue? Is our only hope to strive to be individuals ahead of our times, or is this an act of hubris that will lead us to disaster? Is it better to be a Maurice who had good intentions, that is, a scholar who strives for accuracy but whose work falls short, or a Hardwick, a scholar who is rigorous in an effort to uphold the bias of his time (Reference Masuzawa pp. 96-97)? Or ultimately are these things we have little to no control over?
Sunday, September 14, 2008
methodology I think
I found the issue of methodology relating to the three articles a fascinating exercise on my own academic biases. Thus, while addressing some of the questions posed by Dr. Garrett I will explore why I found Huntington’s Introduction to be a better methodological model.
Structure and articulation are inextricably linked in these pieces, for structure dictates how you can say something and how you say something implies a type of structure in an essay. Bynum and Huntington have very different structures. Bynum has a narrative approach while Huntington is analytical. Bynum’s approach allows her to create a dialogue between the past and present, a point I will come back to. In doing this however her approach relies on the connection of various intertwined narratives that tie her theme together. For example in “Fragments” she starts by describing how two scholars from the Middle Ages understood bodily fragmentation (pp. 11-13). Then (pp. 13-14) she goes on to discuss fragmentation in terms of a collection of essays, all dealing with various “fragmented” topics. She returns to the theme of fragmentation (pp. 21-23) by asserting that medieval history has been fragmented off from the rest of history due to a lack of engagement with new historical theory, something she seeks to engage. And finally, the last part of her Introduction (pp. 24-26) deals with the idea that all historical work is fragmentary, that is only partial and liable to change. This is a rather relaxed method, mingling theory with narrative and anecdote, which I found more expositional than argumentative. I found her humorous and engaging, although somewhat informal, perhaps given that her intended audience was broader than just scholars in her field, thus trying to make her writing appeal to the amateur “historian” or the novice student.
Huntington is dealing with a much more theoretical topic and applies what I found to be a much more rigorous and authoritarian method. He is more succinct in defining his terms, and the methods he is countering, for his purpose is to present a method whereby scholars can discuss the meaning and not just the historical and philological aspects of the text. Thus, he begins by outlining the currently accepted scholarly methods for studying Asian religious philosophy, points to their failings, and outlines what he believes to be a better approach to the texts, i.e., one that addresses problems of interpretation. This might be the heart of my bias, for I find a method dealing with meaning and interpretation more engaging than one that is expositional.
He, unlike Bynum in either of her articles, quotes from scholars who support his method (pp. 8, 10, 14) and from the Western philosophical traditions of hermeneutics and epistemology that provide the groundwork for his interpretive method (pp. 7, 9, 10). Bynum tends to use her references to other scholarship for empirical data rather than theoretical abstraction, and she mentions them more in passing than to prove a point (for Huntington they directly help to justify his methodological claim). In fact, in “Holy Feast” she does not name any scholar outside of the time period she is writing about, which may be intentional on her part, since her purpose in the book is to reveal the past. She says: “It is a book about then, not about now… My commitment, vision, and method are historical; I intend to reveal the past in its strangeness as well as its familiarity” (“Holy Feast” p. 8). In “Fragments” however, she does use major twentieth century intellectual thought. She says: “The three methodological pieces all use major twentieth century intellectual figures as means to better understand late medieval religion” (“Fragments” p. 14). This contrasts the different purposes in her books, and thus the different methods employed. In “Fragments” to show how the past engages questions that are seen as modern, and in “Holy Feast” to show how the past was.
This brings up the problem of history addressed in all three Introductions. Bynum’s methodology creates a link between the past and the present. In “Fragments” the goal is to show how the medieval mind understood problems that are in the forefront of history today, to bring medieval history into the realm of modern historical method. In “Holy Feast” the goal is to show how the past is unique from the present. Although Bynum mentions in both Introductions that present day society is not a direct descendant from medieval society she can make these links because the she is working within the same tradition, that is Western tradition. For Huntington history and the historical consciousness become more complicated. He says: “This introduction to the Madhyamika is predicated on a conviction that any attempt at understanding the texts must proceed through an effort to uncover our own presuppositions as well as those of the Indian and Tibetan authors” (pp. 14-15). The Western religious/philosophical vocabulary is different from the Indian, and the Western scholar cannot empty him/herself of this contingency. History is both enemy and friend, for helps give context to the Buddhist texts, but it also burdens the translator with hidden presuppositions. Thus, Huntington makes use of Gadamer’s theory of hermeneutics to aid the western reader in understanding these texts.
Could it be that because my research is centered on engaging a topic as a philosophical concept that I found Huntington’s method more appealing? Or, could it be that working with non-Western material in English requires a more critical approach? Since that is what I plan on doing, the issues of translation and interpretation will have to be a necessary part of my methodology.
Structure and articulation are inextricably linked in these pieces, for structure dictates how you can say something and how you say something implies a type of structure in an essay. Bynum and Huntington have very different structures. Bynum has a narrative approach while Huntington is analytical. Bynum’s approach allows her to create a dialogue between the past and present, a point I will come back to. In doing this however her approach relies on the connection of various intertwined narratives that tie her theme together. For example in “Fragments” she starts by describing how two scholars from the Middle Ages understood bodily fragmentation (pp. 11-13). Then (pp. 13-14) she goes on to discuss fragmentation in terms of a collection of essays, all dealing with various “fragmented” topics. She returns to the theme of fragmentation (pp. 21-23) by asserting that medieval history has been fragmented off from the rest of history due to a lack of engagement with new historical theory, something she seeks to engage. And finally, the last part of her Introduction (pp. 24-26) deals with the idea that all historical work is fragmentary, that is only partial and liable to change. This is a rather relaxed method, mingling theory with narrative and anecdote, which I found more expositional than argumentative. I found her humorous and engaging, although somewhat informal, perhaps given that her intended audience was broader than just scholars in her field, thus trying to make her writing appeal to the amateur “historian” or the novice student.
Huntington is dealing with a much more theoretical topic and applies what I found to be a much more rigorous and authoritarian method. He is more succinct in defining his terms, and the methods he is countering, for his purpose is to present a method whereby scholars can discuss the meaning and not just the historical and philological aspects of the text. Thus, he begins by outlining the currently accepted scholarly methods for studying Asian religious philosophy, points to their failings, and outlines what he believes to be a better approach to the texts, i.e., one that addresses problems of interpretation. This might be the heart of my bias, for I find a method dealing with meaning and interpretation more engaging than one that is expositional.
He, unlike Bynum in either of her articles, quotes from scholars who support his method (pp. 8, 10, 14) and from the Western philosophical traditions of hermeneutics and epistemology that provide the groundwork for his interpretive method (pp. 7, 9, 10). Bynum tends to use her references to other scholarship for empirical data rather than theoretical abstraction, and she mentions them more in passing than to prove a point (for Huntington they directly help to justify his methodological claim). In fact, in “Holy Feast” she does not name any scholar outside of the time period she is writing about, which may be intentional on her part, since her purpose in the book is to reveal the past. She says: “It is a book about then, not about now… My commitment, vision, and method are historical; I intend to reveal the past in its strangeness as well as its familiarity” (“Holy Feast” p. 8). In “Fragments” however, she does use major twentieth century intellectual thought. She says: “The three methodological pieces all use major twentieth century intellectual figures as means to better understand late medieval religion” (“Fragments” p. 14). This contrasts the different purposes in her books, and thus the different methods employed. In “Fragments” to show how the past engages questions that are seen as modern, and in “Holy Feast” to show how the past was.
This brings up the problem of history addressed in all three Introductions. Bynum’s methodology creates a link between the past and the present. In “Fragments” the goal is to show how the medieval mind understood problems that are in the forefront of history today, to bring medieval history into the realm of modern historical method. In “Holy Feast” the goal is to show how the past is unique from the present. Although Bynum mentions in both Introductions that present day society is not a direct descendant from medieval society she can make these links because the she is working within the same tradition, that is Western tradition. For Huntington history and the historical consciousness become more complicated. He says: “This introduction to the Madhyamika is predicated on a conviction that any attempt at understanding the texts must proceed through an effort to uncover our own presuppositions as well as those of the Indian and Tibetan authors” (pp. 14-15). The Western religious/philosophical vocabulary is different from the Indian, and the Western scholar cannot empty him/herself of this contingency. History is both enemy and friend, for helps give context to the Buddhist texts, but it also burdens the translator with hidden presuppositions. Thus, Huntington makes use of Gadamer’s theory of hermeneutics to aid the western reader in understanding these texts.
Could it be that because my research is centered on engaging a topic as a philosophical concept that I found Huntington’s method more appealing? Or, could it be that working with non-Western material in English requires a more critical approach? Since that is what I plan on doing, the issues of translation and interpretation will have to be a necessary part of my methodology.
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