Wendy Doniger seeks to understand mythology as a universal human phenomenon and attempts to identify common characteristics among mythologies. Considering my interest in mythical creatures within Ancient Israelite religion, this book was of particular interest to me. However, rather than focusing upon her understanding of mythology, her book brought another concern to mind. In particular, I found it very interesting how her book clearly demonstrates the necessity that humans relate the similar to the different, or the particular to the general. This necessity appears to be a deeply ingrained disposition within the human psyche and sheds light on how we must approach the study of mythology, and, more generally, religion.
To clarify what is meant by working from the particular to the general, I do not insinuate that we begin to studying the world by examining the tiniest particles and moving from them to the next tiniest particles, etc. Rather, I speak about the human tendency of moving from what is most familiar in everyday life to the more obscure. Consider the shepherd boy who spends his days tending to sheep. From his everyday experience, he knows that sheep are short creatures, with a thick fleece, etc. Clearly, the shepherd boy will recognize a sheep when he sees one; moreover, if he has a flock consisting of both white and black sheep, he will know that they are closely related creatures. If the boy has never seen any other animal other than sheep, and one day a goat from the neighboring hills wanders into his flock, will he consider the beast to be identical to the sheep in his flock? Certainly not! He will say, this creature has four legs, two eyes, etc., but where is its fleece? However, since he has not been previously exposed to any other sort of animal except sheep, he might even be inclined to label the goat a short-haired, horned sheep (or something similar) based on its comparison to the sheep.
Instinctively, humanity appears to have this tendency to compare and contrast things that are new and unusual to what is more familiar. Consider what Doniger says about the caveperson (who is our ancestor) and the saber-toothed tiger; namely, that even though the tiger has some differences in appearance to the lion that the caveperson decides to run from the tiger as he did from the lion (28). Doniger uses this example to strengthen her argument for the comparative mythologies approach; however, I contend that this example demonstrates a more universal human necessity of moving from the general to the particular or, similarly, to move from ‘the similar’ to ‘the different’. Here for the caveperson, the lion acts as the general or similar and the tiger as the particular or different.
Similarly, Max Muller makes the case that religion results from the experience of the particular and the contemplation of what lies beyond the finite. Max Muller demonstrates how this is the case for the ancient Aryans and demonstrates that through examining the pre-Buddhist period we can examine through linguistics how the notion of the divine evolved out of the human contemplation of the other (The Hibbert Lectures 1878: 145-152). Hence, Muller demonstrates how the human understanding of the divine or infinite (what is general) derives out of studying what is more familiar (the finite).
This is precisely the underlying point Doniger is getting at in her approach to the telescopic and microscopic view. She iterates this quite clearly in her reference to Oh What a Lovely War when she discuses the hero who is sitting under the tree which turns into a cross and disappears into a sea of crosses (20). What the viewer is really doing here is identifying with one particular person and using that person as a gateway to better understand all of the members of the graveyard. Were other soldiers like the hero of the film? Did other soldiers enjoy reading under trees? We use the protagonist as our point of comparison when it comes to the other soldiers buried beneath the white crosses. Since the protagonist is what is most familiar to us, he is used as a sort of prototype by which we can judge the identity of the other soldiers, in how they are both similar and deviate from the hero.
Finally, I wanted to note how Doniger’s own approach to the study of mythology utilizes the approach of comparing what is more familiar with what is less familiar. In particular, consider her discussion on Tamar and Judah, and Helena and Betram (36-41). Her approach is to first of all discuss what is similar between the two (36), and, then, she proceeds to discuss how the “gaps” in the Tamar and Judah story might be filled by examining comparable myths (40-41). Hence, she moves from what is more general amongst these stories to examining the missing details in the stories (what is more specific).
It seems to me inescapable to leave the method of moving from what is more particular to the more general. Moreover, this position is evidenced by Doniger’s notion that within the myth is both the microscopic and the telescopic. This demonstrates that humans must work from what is more readily available on an everyday level to what is more unusual. In particular, what she demonstrates, similar to what Muller upholds, is that humans require some sort of basis or anchor in everyday life in order to attempt to understand the divine (as is the case in Job and the Bhagavata Purana). The upshot of this human tendency of working from the general to the particular demonstrates that humans are unable to escape a categorical approach to learning, and, thus, it appears that the European project of comparative theology as really being a comparison of Christianity, to the other world’s traditions, as Masuzawa examines, is an inevitable sort of human reaction since humans have the tendency to compare what is most familiar to what is unfamiliar.
Hence, it is important to use this approach of the particular towards the general as a basis in pedagogy. Hence, when it comes to the study of religions introducing students to religious studies through a first year World Religions course is quite fitting. In particular, it is important for the student of religion to study world religions in a very generalized way so that upon further study, the student may compare and contrast how individual religious traditions are either similar or deviate from the generalized models discussed in the introductory course.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Women’s Studies and the Collaborative Approach
I have always struggled with writing about women’s studies because I have always felt somewhat like an outsider in regards to this methodology and its concerns. Thus, I appreciate Kinsley’s position that “In the end, perhaps, the only realistic conclusion is for historians of religions to accept this situation and to recognize that in many cases we can only perceive a partial picture of the whole which must be completed by colleagues of the opposite sex.” (13). Despite this feeling of being an outsider with regards to women’s studies, I agree with Kinsley’s conclusion that women’s studies generally contributes to religious studies; however, I believe that we must remain responsible scholars and not give up on focusing upon texts from other angles, including those of other traditionally marginalized groups.
Inevitably, when studying any discipline with a particular lens, the scholar implicitly makes some sort of value judgment upon her/his discipline and what they believe is important for understanding their object of study. For example, in the case of a source-critical scholar, the researcher believes that there is a certain value in attempting to discover whether a given text utilized sources or not and, if it did use sources, what the nature of these sources are. Similarly, the feminist scholar is interested in the role of women; hence, Young remarks that traditionally feminists have been interested in “why they themselves have been virtually absent from textual canons both as knowers and the known.” (27). In addition, Kinsley writes “In the case of many of those in women’s studies, the agenda concerns undertaking scholarship that will alleviate the oppression of women in one way or another.” (10). Thus, women’s studies, naturally, tends to focus on the role of women in the world, which is a specific value judgment on behalf of the adherents of this methodology.
However, the lens of women’s studies often allows scholars to examine many disciplines from different and ‘untraditional’ angles. This is particularly true in religious studies, in which the study of religion has traditionally been the study of “men’s religion” which is not always identical to “women’s religion” (Kinsley 4). There are countless examples of the advances that have been sparked by women’s studies, such as modern feminist interpretations of the Gospel of Luke which many scholars believe have demonstrated that Jesus is depicted as particularly favorable towards women in Lukan theology (Fredrick Murphy 237).
I cannot help but be concerned, however, that women’s studies has the potentiality of leading towards a dangerous dichotomy between men’s scholarship and women’s scholarship and, similarly, between men and women in history. Young, for example, maintains that feminists have generalized about “women’s experiences under patriarchy (their subordination and victimization by men)” (33). Certainly, studying works from a feminist critical point of view has many benefits, such as the reinterpretation of the role of women in Luke’s Gospel and is important for retrieving a larger picture of the phenomena of religion. However, there have been many other marginalized groups in the past which should not be disregarded either. For example, the poor are also given a particular emphasis in Luke: “Looking at his disciples, he said: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” (Luke 6:20). Thus, although feminist criticism of various traditions can be very beneficial for better understanding religion, it is important to not mistake the part for the whole.
Young remarks that, typically, feminist scholars reject the notion of phenomenological “essences” since discussing things in a generality undermines individuality (30). I strongly agree with the feminist conception of examining individualities, but we must remain consistent and not generalize feminist approaches either. Rather, I believe that utilizing feminist approaches will help to shed light on the history of religions, but we must not assume that women are inherently lacking in voice in every in all historical circumstances: “our dissimilarity from women in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries should not lead us to suggest, as some feminists have, that they were mere victims of patriarchy” (Bynum “Introduction” 18).
In short, we must not lose sight of the individual in our research whether we take a feminist approach to studying religion, a liberationist approach, or any other approach to studying religion. I do not maintain that there is anything inherently wrong with taking a feminist approach to the study of religion or other disciplines; in fact, I believe that such an approach can be highly beneficial for scholastic studies in general. In fact, I believe that there are certain projects which must be undertaken by women in studying religions in order to come closer to having a “full picture”. What concerns me is how we appropriate the results from this (or any other) approach after we have collected our data. Thus, I maintain that it is important for feminist scholars (as all other scholars) to dialogue with peers who utilize other methodologies. We must always keep an eye to a collaborative approach. Certainly, there are times when certain generalities may be made in our studies; however, there are also an abundance of particularities which we must be open to in a collaborative approach to the study of religion. Thus, we may move from generalizations to particulars.
Inevitably, when studying any discipline with a particular lens, the scholar implicitly makes some sort of value judgment upon her/his discipline and what they believe is important for understanding their object of study. For example, in the case of a source-critical scholar, the researcher believes that there is a certain value in attempting to discover whether a given text utilized sources or not and, if it did use sources, what the nature of these sources are. Similarly, the feminist scholar is interested in the role of women; hence, Young remarks that traditionally feminists have been interested in “why they themselves have been virtually absent from textual canons both as knowers and the known.” (27). In addition, Kinsley writes “In the case of many of those in women’s studies, the agenda concerns undertaking scholarship that will alleviate the oppression of women in one way or another.” (10). Thus, women’s studies, naturally, tends to focus on the role of women in the world, which is a specific value judgment on behalf of the adherents of this methodology.
However, the lens of women’s studies often allows scholars to examine many disciplines from different and ‘untraditional’ angles. This is particularly true in religious studies, in which the study of religion has traditionally been the study of “men’s religion” which is not always identical to “women’s religion” (Kinsley 4). There are countless examples of the advances that have been sparked by women’s studies, such as modern feminist interpretations of the Gospel of Luke which many scholars believe have demonstrated that Jesus is depicted as particularly favorable towards women in Lukan theology (Fredrick Murphy 237).
I cannot help but be concerned, however, that women’s studies has the potentiality of leading towards a dangerous dichotomy between men’s scholarship and women’s scholarship and, similarly, between men and women in history. Young, for example, maintains that feminists have generalized about “women’s experiences under patriarchy (their subordination and victimization by men)” (33). Certainly, studying works from a feminist critical point of view has many benefits, such as the reinterpretation of the role of women in Luke’s Gospel and is important for retrieving a larger picture of the phenomena of religion. However, there have been many other marginalized groups in the past which should not be disregarded either. For example, the poor are also given a particular emphasis in Luke: “Looking at his disciples, he said: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” (Luke 6:20). Thus, although feminist criticism of various traditions can be very beneficial for better understanding religion, it is important to not mistake the part for the whole.
Young remarks that, typically, feminist scholars reject the notion of phenomenological “essences” since discussing things in a generality undermines individuality (30). I strongly agree with the feminist conception of examining individualities, but we must remain consistent and not generalize feminist approaches either. Rather, I believe that utilizing feminist approaches will help to shed light on the history of religions, but we must not assume that women are inherently lacking in voice in every in all historical circumstances: “our dissimilarity from women in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries should not lead us to suggest, as some feminists have, that they were mere victims of patriarchy” (Bynum “Introduction” 18).
In short, we must not lose sight of the individual in our research whether we take a feminist approach to studying religion, a liberationist approach, or any other approach to studying religion. I do not maintain that there is anything inherently wrong with taking a feminist approach to the study of religion or other disciplines; in fact, I believe that such an approach can be highly beneficial for scholastic studies in general. In fact, I believe that there are certain projects which must be undertaken by women in studying religions in order to come closer to having a “full picture”. What concerns me is how we appropriate the results from this (or any other) approach after we have collected our data. Thus, I maintain that it is important for feminist scholars (as all other scholars) to dialogue with peers who utilize other methodologies. We must always keep an eye to a collaborative approach. Certainly, there are times when certain generalities may be made in our studies; however, there are also an abundance of particularities which we must be open to in a collaborative approach to the study of religion. Thus, we may move from generalizations to particulars.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Placing the Context into a “Context”
While I was reading Elizabeth Clark’s work, I found myself attempting to absorb each of the various scholars’ positions and consider how they might be applied to the study of biblical texts. In particular, I found myself deeply intrigued by the problem of contextualism. This problem has surfaced several times within our course discussions over the past several weeks, so this week I will examine several limitations with regards to contextualism, especially the problem of choosing a proper context of genesis.
According to Clark “contextualism refers to historians’ customary appeal to the explanatory force of extratextual political, economic, and social phenomena” (138). On the most basic level, contextualism has to do with explaining something (for example a text) based on the context out of which it arose. However, what is it we are referring to when we discuss the context of the genesis of a text? If we examine the Hebrew Bible, we find a highly complex collection of various literary writings, which arguably, emerged out of a span of about a thousand years. Within the contemporary canon of the Tanakh are three divisions – the Torah, the Nevi’im, and the Ketuvim – and each of these sections gained authoritative or ‘canonical’ status within Judaism at different periods in time. The final section (the Ketuvim) may have received canonical status at the Council of Yavne around 100 CE. Accordingly, the ‘context’ out of which the canonical Tanakh may have emerged was in the city of Yavne, under the leadership of Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, shortly after the fall of the Second Temple.
This is one ‘context’ out of which we may interpret the Hebrew Bible and, in particular, the Ketuvim. Surely understanding the context out of which this canon emerged will help to shed some light on the texts themselves; for example, the texts accepted as canonical will have been chosen since they are relevant to several of the concerns that the community would have had at the time and, thus, would likely have some sort of recurring theme or themes. Furthermore, we might assume some sort of editorial order, whether thematic or hierarchical, that the community would have had for the books when they gathered them into a single collection. However, the Council of Yavne is merely one of the ‘contexts’ out of which the Hebrew Bible emerged.
It is of the utmost importance to recall that the Hebrew Bible did not emerge solely out of this single context. This was merely the context out of which the Tanakh as a tripartite canon arose. Rather, each individual book in this corpus has its own context out of which it emerged. Similar to Barthes, Derrida, and Kristeva’s notion of texts being “tissues of quotations” (132), many of these individual texts themselves are collections and redactions of several sources, which, in turn, have their own literary history out of which they emerged. For instance, according to the Documentary Hypothesis, the Pentateuch has, at least, four separate sources, which form an intricate literary history. Each source – J, E, P, and D – were collected and redacted under very different circumstances between the tenth and fifth centuries BCE. Moreover, the J source, for example, is speculated to contain several sources of its own.
Hence, if we wish to consider the context out of which the Pentateuch arose, we can imagine and discuss at least five different ones: 1) the context out of which the sub-sources of J (as well as E, P, and D’s sub-sources) emerged, 2) the context out of which J was collected and redacted, 3) the context in which J and E were combined into the JE source, 4) the context out of which P was incorporated into the JE source, and 5) the context out of which the final form of the Pentateuch was redacted and the book of Deuteronomy was added to the Tetrateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers) to form the Pentateuch. This scenario is further complicated by the fact that J, E, P, and D (and their sub-sources) had, likely, all been passed down orally for several years prior to their literary composition, which seems to begin to blur the distinction between text and context. Moreover, there are scribal variances amongst various Pentateuchal manuscripts, and the Documentary Hypothesis itself is merely conjectural and may not accurately represent the literary composition of the Pentateuch. Simply put, one of the major problems with contextualism is choosing which context is the one most important for properly understanding any given text (Clark 141)?
There are numerous other problems with contextualism. For example, the numerous contexts themselves out of which texts emerge are fluid. For instance, the author of a given text does not instantaneously produce a text. The author spends a period of time either compiling and redacting sources or writing a text. Thus, even the voice of the author may change during the time of composition; such that, even within a single text produced by one author, the text’s ideology need not be entirely consistent throughout. The author is not necessarily constrained by any particular moment in time or any single doctrine. Thus, even the most fundamental assumptions we might assume a text must adhere to, such as the Principle of Non-Contradiction, may not be adhered to throughout the text. Hence, Skinner would have a difficult time in uncovering an author’s intentions (139), given that the author’s intentions are fluid; for instance, most scholars distinguish between an early, middle, and late Plato whose philosophy changes radically throughout his own works.
Finally, even if we are able to isolate a single context out of which the text emerged, the problem of what I shall call contextual expansion arises. Namely, if a text can be understood by its context, we face the problem that it may be ever expanding. For instance, when we come across an archeological discovery in Israel that affects a reading of the book of Kings, our knowledge of the context out of which the text arose expands. Furthermore, if we have a further discovery, our context will expand again, etc. Seemingly, our context will be ever expanding. Thus, at what given point might we assume that our understanding of a given context is sufficient to properly understand a text? Hence, there are several severe limitations to contextualism. Moreover, there is no need to assume that there is merely a single context of genesis for any text; rather, there are several geneses out of which a plethora of meanings arise. Hence, it becomes more fruitful to discuss the development of the composition of a text and its role in a particular community at a given point in time.
According to Clark “contextualism refers to historians’ customary appeal to the explanatory force of extratextual political, economic, and social phenomena” (138). On the most basic level, contextualism has to do with explaining something (for example a text) based on the context out of which it arose. However, what is it we are referring to when we discuss the context of the genesis of a text? If we examine the Hebrew Bible, we find a highly complex collection of various literary writings, which arguably, emerged out of a span of about a thousand years. Within the contemporary canon of the Tanakh are three divisions – the Torah, the Nevi’im, and the Ketuvim – and each of these sections gained authoritative or ‘canonical’ status within Judaism at different periods in time. The final section (the Ketuvim) may have received canonical status at the Council of Yavne around 100 CE. Accordingly, the ‘context’ out of which the canonical Tanakh may have emerged was in the city of Yavne, under the leadership of Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, shortly after the fall of the Second Temple.
This is one ‘context’ out of which we may interpret the Hebrew Bible and, in particular, the Ketuvim. Surely understanding the context out of which this canon emerged will help to shed some light on the texts themselves; for example, the texts accepted as canonical will have been chosen since they are relevant to several of the concerns that the community would have had at the time and, thus, would likely have some sort of recurring theme or themes. Furthermore, we might assume some sort of editorial order, whether thematic or hierarchical, that the community would have had for the books when they gathered them into a single collection. However, the Council of Yavne is merely one of the ‘contexts’ out of which the Hebrew Bible emerged.
It is of the utmost importance to recall that the Hebrew Bible did not emerge solely out of this single context. This was merely the context out of which the Tanakh as a tripartite canon arose. Rather, each individual book in this corpus has its own context out of which it emerged. Similar to Barthes, Derrida, and Kristeva’s notion of texts being “tissues of quotations” (132), many of these individual texts themselves are collections and redactions of several sources, which, in turn, have their own literary history out of which they emerged. For instance, according to the Documentary Hypothesis, the Pentateuch has, at least, four separate sources, which form an intricate literary history. Each source – J, E, P, and D – were collected and redacted under very different circumstances between the tenth and fifth centuries BCE. Moreover, the J source, for example, is speculated to contain several sources of its own.
Hence, if we wish to consider the context out of which the Pentateuch arose, we can imagine and discuss at least five different ones: 1) the context out of which the sub-sources of J (as well as E, P, and D’s sub-sources) emerged, 2) the context out of which J was collected and redacted, 3) the context in which J and E were combined into the JE source, 4) the context out of which P was incorporated into the JE source, and 5) the context out of which the final form of the Pentateuch was redacted and the book of Deuteronomy was added to the Tetrateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers) to form the Pentateuch. This scenario is further complicated by the fact that J, E, P, and D (and their sub-sources) had, likely, all been passed down orally for several years prior to their literary composition, which seems to begin to blur the distinction between text and context. Moreover, there are scribal variances amongst various Pentateuchal manuscripts, and the Documentary Hypothesis itself is merely conjectural and may not accurately represent the literary composition of the Pentateuch. Simply put, one of the major problems with contextualism is choosing which context is the one most important for properly understanding any given text (Clark 141)?
There are numerous other problems with contextualism. For example, the numerous contexts themselves out of which texts emerge are fluid. For instance, the author of a given text does not instantaneously produce a text. The author spends a period of time either compiling and redacting sources or writing a text. Thus, even the voice of the author may change during the time of composition; such that, even within a single text produced by one author, the text’s ideology need not be entirely consistent throughout. The author is not necessarily constrained by any particular moment in time or any single doctrine. Thus, even the most fundamental assumptions we might assume a text must adhere to, such as the Principle of Non-Contradiction, may not be adhered to throughout the text. Hence, Skinner would have a difficult time in uncovering an author’s intentions (139), given that the author’s intentions are fluid; for instance, most scholars distinguish between an early, middle, and late Plato whose philosophy changes radically throughout his own works.
Finally, even if we are able to isolate a single context out of which the text emerged, the problem of what I shall call contextual expansion arises. Namely, if a text can be understood by its context, we face the problem that it may be ever expanding. For instance, when we come across an archeological discovery in Israel that affects a reading of the book of Kings, our knowledge of the context out of which the text arose expands. Furthermore, if we have a further discovery, our context will expand again, etc. Seemingly, our context will be ever expanding. Thus, at what given point might we assume that our understanding of a given context is sufficient to properly understand a text? Hence, there are several severe limitations to contextualism. Moreover, there is no need to assume that there is merely a single context of genesis for any text; rather, there are several geneses out of which a plethora of meanings arise. Hence, it becomes more fruitful to discuss the development of the composition of a text and its role in a particular community at a given point in time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
