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Ritual Gone Wrong
OXFORD RITUAL STUDIES Series Editors Ronald Grimes, Ritual Studies International Ute Hüsken, University of Oslo Barry Stephenson, Memorial University
THE PROBLEM OF RITUAL EFFICACY
THE DYSFUNCTION OF RITUAL IN EARLY CONFUCIANISM
Edited by William S. Sax, Johannes Quack, and Jan Weinhold
Michael David Kaulana Ing
PERFORMING THE REFORMATION Public Ritual in the City of Luther
Postcolonial Healing in the Native American Church Joseph D. Calabrese
Barry Stephenson
A DIFFERENT MEDICINE
NARRATIVES OF SORROW AND DIGNITY
RITUAL, MEDIA, AND CONFLICT Edited by Ronald L. Grimes, Ute Hüsken, Udo Simon, and Eric Venbrux
Japanese Women, Pregnancy Loss, and Modern Rituals of Grieving Bardwell L. Smith
KNOWING BODY, MOVING MIND Ritualizing and Learning at Two Buddhist Centers Patricia Q. Campbell
A Workbook on Ritual, Cultural Values, and Environmental Behavior A. David Napier
SUBVERSIVE SPIRITUALITIES How Rituals Enact the World Frédérique Apffel-Marglin
NEGOTIATING RITES Edited by Ute Hüsken and Frank Neubert
THE DANCING DEAD Ritual and Religion Among the Kapsiki/Higi of North Cameroon and Northeastern Nigeria Walter E. A. van Beek
LOOKING FOR MARY MAGDALENE Alternative Pilgrimage and Ritual Creativity at Catholic Shrines in France Anna Fedele
MAKING THINGS BETTER
AYAHUASCA SHAMANISM IN THE AMAZON AND BEYOND Edited by Beatriz Caiuby Labate and Clancy Cavnar
HOMA VARIATIONS The Study of Ritual Change Across the Longue Durée Edited by Richard K. Payne and Michael Witzel
HOMO RITUALIS Hindu Ritual and Its Significance to Ritual Theory Axel Michaels
RITUAL GONE WRONG What We Learn from Ritual Disruption Kathryn T. McClymond
Ritual Gone Wrong What We Learn from Ritual Disruption
z KATHRYN T. M C CLYMOND
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1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2016 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: McClymond, Kathryn, 1960– Title: Ritual gone wrong : what we learn from ritual disruption / Kathryn T. McClymond. Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2016. | Series: Oxford ritual studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015035940| ISBN 978–0–19–979091–3 (cloth : alk. paper) | ISBN 978–0–19–979092–0 (pbk. : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Ritual. | Rites and ceremonies. | Failure (Psychology)—Religious aspects. Classification: LCC BL600 .M363 2016 | DDC 390—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015035940 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Sheridan, USA
To my daughter, Sarah Frances McClymond
Contents
Acknowledgments
ix
Abbreviations
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Introduction
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1. Negotiating Ritual Repair: The Prāyaścitta Material in the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra
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2. Don’t Cry over Spilled Blood: Ritual Correction in the Mishnah
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3. Blood Libel: Ritual Misrepresentation
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4. Of Fists and Feathers: The Modern Olympic Games
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5. When Ritual Systems Collide: The Execution of Saddam Hussein 139 Conclusion
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Appendix: Examples of Blood Libel Cases
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Notes
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Bibliography
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Index
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Acknowledgments
Academic publications always arise out of the give and take of formal and informal conversation. I am grateful to many people who contributed directly to my thinking on ritual gone wrong or who supported my research more generally through their thoughtful conversation, insightful critiques, and generous spirits. First, I thank my colleagues (faculty and staff) in the Department of Religious Studies at Georgia State University: Abbas Barzegar, Molly Bassett, David Bell, Jonathan Herman, Claire Murata Kooy, Nadia Latif, Ellen Logan, Monique Moultrie, George Rainbolt, Tim Renick, Lou Ruprecht, Felicia Thomas, and Isaac Weiner. I also thank the research assistants who chased down sources and proofread multiple drafts of the manuscript, especially Grené Baranco, Tom LaPorte, and Kathryn Yates. In addition, I thank the anonymous readers for Oxford University Press, who offered thoughtful and helpful feedback on an initial draft of this book—they were generous and constructive reviewers, and I’m grateful for their input. Finally, I thank my colleagues in other universities who have offered feedback on drafts of chapters and who have allowed me to play out my early thinking with them in lengthy conversations, especially Ronald L. Grimes, Ute Hüsken, Laurie Patton, and Kenneth Smith. Early versions of several of the chapters included in this volume were presented in lectures around the world. Each lecture gave me an opportunity to receive thoughtful input in intellectually rich and supportive environments. I want to thank the Institute of Advanced Study in the Humanities and the Social Sciences at Universität Bern, especially Jens Schlieter; the Netherlands School of Advanced Studies in Theology & Religion, especially Anne-Marie Korte; the Faculté des lettres in the Université de Lausanne, especially Maya Burger and Philippe Bornet; the Center for the Study of Religion in the College of Arts and Sciences at Ohio State University; and the “Sacrifice Between Life and Death Symposium” (2008)
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in Weingarten, Germany. Each of these gatherings allowed me to focus on specific aspects of this research project, and I am deeply grateful to the event participants and organizers. Finally, I want to thank my family. My parents, Gretchen and Ferdinand Schoch, have been unfailing supporters of my work since my early years in graduate school. My husband, Michael Herb, provides an unwavering oasis of calm in a chaotic world. My stepchildren, Aqil and Yasmeen, have brought unexpected joy into my life. Finally, my daughter, Sarah, has taught me the value of celebrating those moments that seemingly “go wrong” in our lives by finding the unexpected opportunities that these moments offer. I dedicate this book to her.
Abbreviations
Jewish Texts Deut. Deuteronomy Gen. Genesis Lev. Leviticus M. Ber. Mishnah Berachoth M. Parah Mishnah Parah M. Zev. Mishnah Zevachim Num. Numbers
Vedic Texts AitB ĀpŚS BŚS KŚS ŚB TBr TKM TS
Aitareya Brāhmaṇa Āpastamba Śrauta Sūtra Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra Kātyāyana Śrauta Sūtra Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa Taittirīya Brāhmaṇa Trikandamandana of Bhaskara Misra Taittirīya Saṃhitā
Ritual Gone Wrong
Introduction
On Tuesday, January 20, 2009, Barack Obama took the oath of office as part of his presidential inauguration. He faithfully repeated the words pronounced by Chief Justice John Roberts: “I, Barack Hussein Obama, do solemnly swear that I will execute the office of President of the United States faithfully, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.” There was only one problem: Chief Justice Roberts got the oath wrong. As Obama repeated the Chief Justice’s words, those “in the know” commented that the oath had been administered incorrectly. The word “faithfully” is supposed to come before the phrase “execute the office.” Chief Justice Roberts stated the oath inaccurately, and, after a brief pause, Barack Obama followed the Chief Justice’s lead. Immediately pundits and legal scholars alike declared that it didn’t matter. “On Tuesday, Jeffrey Rosen, a U.S. constitutional law expert and professor at George Washington University in Washington, said stumbling over the oath had ‘no impact. News flash: He’s president.’ ”1 Reuters News emphasized, “For any conspiracy theorists worried Obama isn’t president because the oath was a little off, the 20th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution states that the new president assumes office at noon on Jan. 20.”2 However, despite these reassurances, President Obama retook the oath on the Wednesday after the inauguration. White House counsel declared, “We believe that the oath of office was administered effectively and that the President was sworn in appropriately yesterday … But the oath appears in the Constitution itself. And out of an abundance of caution, because there was one word out of sequence, Chief Roberts administered the oath a second time.”3 Why retake an oath when every single legal expert consulted stated unequivocally that it doesn’t matter? What anxiety
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provoked the desire to act “out of an abundance of caution?” This book addresses moments such as these—moments when rituals have “gone wrong.”
Ritual Mistakes in the Popular Imagination As I was working on this book, I had countless opportunities to describe my topic. A curious pattern developed. As I described the project, friends, colleagues, students, even relative strangers offered their stories of rituals gone wrong: weddings where the officiant said the wrong name; legal decisions where correct procedures had not been followed; public ceremonies where honored guests performed a ceremonial gesture at the wrong time. Two things struck me as I listened to these stories. First, ritual disruptions are everywhere. Everyone I spoke with could remember some ritual event that hadn’t proceeded as anticipated, where something unexpected (or just flat-out wrong) had occurred. Rarely, it seems, do rituals unfold without a hitch. Second, for the most part, rituals gone wrong are no big deal. We have enormous patience when it comes to ritual mistakes—for the most part, disruptions can be “fixed” with relatively little effort. In every anecdote I heard, the rituals continued after disruptions were addressed, with no lingering angst. When disputes arose over correct ritual procedures, higher authorities were consulted, adjustments were made as needed, and the event continued. While some folks were unhappy with a ritual authority’s specific decision, in most cases the event moved forward and the ritual system itself remained unchallenged. Ritual, for the most part, is a remarkably elastic phenomenon. I note this because when my students talk about ritual in the abstract, it is clear that they generally view ritual as rigid, fixed, and therefore unforgiving. Seasoned senior scholars often do the same. Ritual is often described as dead or wooden, and elaborate ritual systems are considered burdensome because of the sheer number of rules that “must” be followed. There is a significant disjuncture, then, between how we experience ritual (flexible, adaptive to immediate circumstances, and extremely angst-free) and how we imagine ritual (fixed, rule-bound, and unforgiving). It is important to understand how individuals and communities genuinely weigh and react to ritual error because in some instances the stakes associated with a ritual event are high. As I was beginning to draft the final chapter of this book, Osama Bin Laden was captured and killed by US
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forces. The world found out about this only after his body had been “buried at sea.” The official explanation given was that Muslim law prompted this ritual action: “The reason is bound up within Islamic practice and tradition. And that practice calls for the body of the deceased to be buried within twenty-four hours, according to a U.S. official, who spoke on Monday on condition of anonymity to discuss sensitive national security matters.”4 However, several news outlets and international organizations charged that military personnel dumped Bin Laden’s body into the ocean not for religious reasons, but so the body would not be available for examination and so as to avoid the possibility of a burial site becoming a shrine.5 Ritual isn’t just birthday parties and celebratory events. Ritual is inextricably entangled with individual, community, national, and international communities’ interests. As a result, when rituals go wrong, they warrant careful scholarly attention.
What Is Ritual? Given that this entire book will be focused on ritual, it is important to have some working understanding of the term. I understand the nature of ritual much as Jonathan Z. Smith, the noted religious studies scholar, understands the nature of religion. Smith rejects an essentialist approach to religion. Instead, with a nod to Wittgenstein, Smith outlines a polythetic approach; similarly, I argue that ritual is best understood from a polythetic perspective.6 That is to say, no single characteristic defines ritual. Rather, individual rituals share “family resemblances.” Certain characteristics tend to pop up in ritual events, clustered together in various combinations, but no single characteristic is necessary or sufficient to make an event a ritual. Because I approach ritual in this way, I tend to reject absolutist categorizations that draw sharp lines between events, strictly identifying certain events as rituals and others as not. I have argued elsewhere that it is more accurate to imagine a spectrum along which certain activities are more or less ritualized relative to one another.7 For example, virtually everyone would accept the claim that consuming a Eucharistic wafer in the context of a Catholic Christmas Mass is a ritual event, while stopping by IHOP for a piece of pie on a regular Tuesday evening is not. The question is, How should we understand the consumption of Mom’s homemade apple pie at Christmas dinner? Or the presentation of her candle-topped birthday cake on your birthday? As Ithamar Gruendwald notes, “Eating to satisfy one’s
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feeling of hunger obeys natural needs… . Paying special attention to such matters as hygienic rules, a specific recipe, establishing a repetitive pattern of repetition and even the manner in which we serve the food upgrades the eating process to the sphere of ritual behavior.”8 The question is, Where does ritual begin and end? It is useful to think of a spectrum of relative “rituality” rather than black-and-white assessments. I suggest that clusters of certain elements tend to appear in ritual phenomena in various combinations and to varying degrees. Specifically, rituals involve normative participant roles, specified materials, prescribed times and locations, preferred gestures and language, and shared understandings of the short-and long-term results for individuals and communities. These results include changes in socioreligious or cultural status but also more ephemeral results regarding “goodwill” or satisfied expectations. In certain contexts, the intended goal of ritual events is specified in great detail; in other situations, expectations are a bit more vague. I will also suggest that useful characterizations of ritual depend on the context in which ritual is being debated or discussed. That is to say, no definition or polythetic characterization will comprehend the entirety of ritual; rather, definitions and characterizations will fluctuate depending upon the context in which ritual is being discussed. The classification of a bar mitzvah as a ritual will highlight various elements depending on whether the focus of the conversation is family dynamics, gendered identity, foodstuffs, aesthetic/artistic elements, or socioeconomics. No characterization of ritual exists in a vacuum; characterization is always prompted by context. By noting “disruptions,” our current conversation also acknowledges that specific shared norms exist within distinct cultures, standards by which rituals are assessed. Because standards are established (or at least subject to acknowledgment) by a community, the present work will focus on ritual as a communal phenomenon rather than on individual experiences of ritual. This focus on events of communal concern will draw our attention in certain directions. First, I note that rituals often bond individuals into groups, and they simultaneously establish boundaries, separating certain individuals and groups from other individuals and groups—you belong, I do not. Rituals also establish hierarchies within communities, establishing stratified classes of participant roles and the possibility for collaboration and conflict between those roles. Finally, there are always multiple, sometimes conflicting social, cultural, and religious ritual systems simultaneously at play in ritual events. Individual ritual acts
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and ritual systems rarely exist in isolation; rather, they interact with and influence one another in complex ways. Much of this process happens unconsciously. We start, then, by recognizing that ritual is complex, dynamic, and inextricably tied to other sociocultural elements. Given this broad understanding, we narrow our focus now to ritual disruption. To talk about disruption is to imply the existence of ritual without disruption, what we would think of as “normal.” As soon as we move into this conversation, we are in the arena of expectations. In recent academic conversations, the subject of ritual expectations has led certain scholars to understand ritual as a move toward imagining the world as it should be in contrast to how it is. The best-known proponent of this view is Jonathan Z. Smith. Smith opens one chapter of his landmark work Imagining Religion with two quotations, spanning eighteen centuries and describing two distinct ritual events. He begins with a passage from Kafka: “Leopards break into the temple and drink the sacrificial chalices dry; this occurs repeatedly, again and again: finally it can be reckoned on beforehand and becomes a part of the ceremony.” Smith continues with a quotation from Plutarch: “At Athens, Lysimache, the priestess of Athene Polias, when asked for a drink by the mule drivers who had transported the sacred vessels, replied, ‘No, for I fear it will get into the ritual.’ ”9 Smith provides these pericopes as illustrations of “the sovereign power of … routinization.”10 Routinization, as characterized by Max Weber, is the notion that a spontaneous, powerful element will be gradually regularized into practice. I disagree with this reading. Instead, I argue that these two examples illustrate the volatility of ritual, its annoying propensity for change. Both of these quotations describe how volatile rituals are, how susceptible they are to alteration by inadvertent interruptions, by the intrusion of external elements. The tendency for ritual to absorb extraneous actions into the ritual complex is not a sign that ritual routinizes over time. Rather, it is a sign that ritual is dynamic, alive, supple, and open to constant flux and change. Given ritual’s quixotic nature, I also disagree with Smith’s infamous characterization of ritual as distinct from mundane life. Smith’s view has had tremendous influence on ritual studies, so let me quote him at length: among other things, ritual represents the creation of a controlled environment where the variables (i.e., the accidents) of ordinary life may be displaced precisely because they are felt to be so overwhelmingly present and powerful. Ritual is a means of performing the way things
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ought to be in conscious tension to the way things are in such a way that this ritualized perfection is recollected in the ordinary, uncontrolled, course of things. . . . It provides the means for demonstrating that we know what ought to have been done, what ought to have taken place. But, by the fact that it is ritual action rather than everyday action, ritual demonstrates that we know “what is the case.” Ritual thus provides an occasion for reflection on and rationalization of the fact that what ought to have been done was not done, what ought to have taken place did not occur.11 For Smith, ritual references what should be, what ought to be, in sharp contrast to what actually is in our everyday lives. In presenting this model, ritual is positioned in sharp contrast with mundane reality: “Ritual is a relationship of difference between ‘nows’—the ‘now’ of everyday life and the now of ritual place; the simultaneity, but not the coexistence, of ‘here’ and ‘there.’ … Ritual precises ambiguities; it neither overcomes nor relaxes them.”12 While I understand the appeal of a sharp dichotomy between ritual life and everyday life, two factors weigh against this characterization. First, the world’s major ritual text traditions indicate that ritual is intimately, even inextricably tied to the mundane. Ritual and mundane practice are dance partners, in constant motion, shifting their physical forms in complementary ways with one another. The Mishnah expresses this intimate relationship clearly. This six-volume compendium regarding Jewish life was codified in the early third century to capture the oral teachings of rabbinic schools. In large part it provides answers to questions regarding how to deal with problems that arise in ritual performance precisely because ritual activity is inextricably intertwined with everyday living. For example, the opening of the Mishnah discusses when one may recite the Shema when a celebration has interfered with the regular routine for recitation: “It once happened that [Rabban Gamaliel’s] sons came from a house of feasting. They said to [him], ‘We have not recited the Shema yet.’ He said to them, ‘if dawn has not broken, you are required to recite it’ ” (M. Ber. 1.1). Note that Rabban Gamaliel does not chastise his sons for letting a late-night celebration have an impact on their required ritual practice; he simply tells them what to do. Religious ritual coexists peacefully with day-to-day living. The Mishnah is not unique; other classic ritual texts (e.g., the Vedic śrautasūtras) spend considerable time addressing the intimate connection between ritual practice and everyday life.
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Second, lived experience tells us that ritual events are not hermetically sealed off from everyday life. The parameters of a ritual event (both geographic and temporal) bleed into ordinary living. What, for example, is included in Christmas ritual? Does Christmas ritual include the Christmas stockings and presents, then stop while Mom cooks the turkey, and then resume with Christmas dinner? What if a family includes an impromptu snowball fight that becomes part of the family tradition over time? When does an outside observer get to say, “That is not part of the Christmas ritual?” And where is the “ought” in all of this? The prevalence of ritual mistakes means that participants are constantly moving in and out of their ritually prescribed roles, making adjustments that take into account not only the ritual moment but also everyday issues such as time and resource management, external events and priorities, and personal circumstances. Rituals are never completely divorced from everyday reality, and nowhere is this more apparent than when ritual disruptions occur.
Ritual Mistakes and Scholarship on Ritual Given the prevalence of ritual in day-to-day life, it is easy to understand that ritual has been a popular subject for scholars as well as laypeople. Ritual studies is an important subfield within large interdisciplinary fields such as anthropology and religious studies. One can think of scholarship on ritual taking several different forms. First, some research begins with thoughtful case studies of specific ritual activity, including rich, “thick” description and sociohistorical background information. For centuries scholars have observed and described the rituals of “other” communities, noting apparent similarities and differences from their own communities. Generally, this leads implicitly or explicitly to some reflection on scholars’ own ritual practices and systems. Inevitably ritual description has been followed by interpretation and even evaluation. The resulting descriptions and interpretations are often flawed (sometimes seriously flawed), but the desire to describe and understand other people’s ritual lives continues to intrigue scholars. Second, scholars have approached ritual by examining its representation in textual, historical, or archaeological sources. In these cases, we cannot assume that the representations convey what actually happened—they may, instead, reflect how individuals and communities invested in ritual systems wanted these rituals to be represented as elements within larger
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cultural systems or how they thought rituals should occur. Arguments have been made that ritual representations, what I understand as “imagined rituals,” reveal much more about what was at stake for those who recorded ritual practice than they reveal about ritual practice itself. Sometimes actual ritual participants were involved in creating representations of their ritual activity; at other times, other individuals or groups took it upon themselves to represent others’ ritual work. In these cases, an additional complication arises for ritual theorists. Scholars who observe or participate in actual ritual activity as well as those who focus on ritual representations often extrapolate from close case studies to make broader claims about ritual, attempting to discern its role in individual and community lives and its relationship with other aspects of human culture (mythology, social dynamics, gender identity, politics, economics, etc.). What is striking is the limited discussion of ritual errors and disruptions in these efforts. Accounts of ritual mistakes, adaptations, and disruptions abound in descriptions of specific ritual events. For example, Frits Staal, in his two-volume tome Agni: The Vedic Ritual of the Fire Altar (1983; popularly referred to as “AGNI” in Vedic ritual studies circles) describes how the ancient and elaborate agnicayana ceremony—a twelve- day rite involving the construction of a multilayer brick altar and the sacrifice of countless oblations—had to be adjusted to respond to the onset of the ritual patron’s wife’s menstruation.13 The authoritative ritual texts provided guidelines on how to deal with this relatively predictable event, and the ritual moved on. What is striking, however, is that Staal never addresses this adjustment to the ritual performance in the ritual theoretical work that he develops in response to the agnicayana ritual. Rules Without Meaning (1990) is Staal’s landmark theoretical work, in which he lays out an argument that rituals are rule-governed activities devoid of any meaning derived from external cultural elements. He writes, “Ritual is pure activity, without meaning or goal… . To say that ritual is for its own sake is to say that it is meaningless, without function, aim or goal, or also that it constitutes its own aim or goal.”14 My point here is not to argue with Staal’s overall theoretical approach to ritual, but rather to note that the model he develops for ritual activity in this work never addresses disruptions to rituals, how they are accounted for in complex ritual systems, and so on. Not once in this work does he mention the specific ritual adjustment made in response to the patnī’s menses; more disturbingly, nowhere in the book, which presents
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an elaborate structural model of Vedic ritual, does he even mention the need to accommodate ritual errors. Staal’s failure to address the menstruation disruption in his theorizing is only one example of a common trend in ritual studies theoretical scholarship. Other ritual studies scholars have also included descriptions of ritual performances while failing to incorporate ritual disruption in their comprehensive theories. For example, anthropologist Clifford Geertz is well known for documenting a Javanese funeral “gone wrong.”15 His well- known essay “Ritual and Social Change: A Javanese Example” presents a case study of a failed Javanese funeral: A young boy [Paidjan], who was about ten years of age, who was living with his uncle and aunt, died very suddenly. His death, instead of being followed by the usual hurried, subdued, yet methodically efficient Javanese funeral ceremony and burial routine, brought on an extended period of pronounced social strain and severe psychological tension. The complex of beliefs and rituals which had for generations brought countless Javanese safely through the difficult postmortem period suddenly failed to work with its accustomed effectiveness.16 Geertz describes the social, religious, and political context in which Paidjan died. The young man was nephew to an active member of the Permai, an anti-Islamist political party. The need for his burial provided an occasion for the local Muslim burial officiant to highlight (and denigrate) the family’s political party affiliation. When this officiant refused to preside over Paidjan’s funeral rites, family and community members had to improvise. As a result, traditional elements of the funeral were changed or omitted, leaving most participants deeply unsatisfied. Paidjan’s aunt and mother “dissolved into wild hysterics” in a way completely uncharacteristic of traditional Javanese funerals.17 A few days later, during a memorial meal (slametan), the deceased man’s father commented that “it was so hard, for nowadays people didn’t agree on things anymore; one person tells you one thing and others tell you another. It’s hard to know which is right, to know what to believe … he [the father] was sorry it had been all mixed up.”18 Geertz ends his description of the “funeral gone wrong” by noting that four months later, when he was leaving Modjokuto, “the tension between the santris and the abangans in the kampong had increased, and everyone
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wondered what would happen the next time a death occurred in a Permai family.”19 Geertz focuses on the social dimensions of Javanese society in his analysis of the funeral. His goal in this analysis is to criticize the “rigidity” he finds in functionalist theory, specifically rigid distinctions between social and cultural categories. He wants instead to offer a “more dynamic functionalist approach,” an “approach which does not distinguish the ‘logico-meaningful’ cultural aspects of the ritual pattern from the ‘causal- functional’ social structural aspects is unable to account adequately for this ritual failure.”20 Geertz views ritual as a handmaiden to society at large. He comments, “This disrupted funeral was in fact but a microscopic example of the broader conflicts, structural dissolutions, and attempted reintegrations which, in one form or another, are characteristic of contemporary Indonesian society.”21 However, rituals are much more than mere symptoms of broader social conflicts. Rather, ritual systems constitute the contexts in which and modes by which individuals and communities negotiate emerging and shifting social, political, and religious roles. Rituals do not simply represent social conditions; they are, in fact, often the locus of and means by which socioreligious relationships are constructed and evolve. Ritual systems integrate religious, social, aesthetic, and political spheres, but they exist on their own terms, with rules and expectations of their own. I assert that in these systems ritual failures, mistakes, and disruptions are important elements. However, they have largely been ignored by ritual theory. Despite the fact that Smith, Staal, and Geertz acknowledge that ritual mistakes and disruptions occur from time to time, the built-in definitions of, corrections for, and responses to disruptions are not treated as integral elements of ritual systems such that they need to be incorporated into broad ritual theorizing. Distinct mistakes or interruptions are noted, explained as anomalies, and then unceremoniously set aside. For all intents and purposes, no thoughtful scholarship has taken ritual mistakes or disruptions seriously as a significant element of lived ritual life, deserving of theoretical consideration.
Organization of This Book This book is an attempt to address the gap between what has been observed in ritual events and what has been imagined about the nature of ritual more broadly. We tend to set aside ritual disruptions of various
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kinds when we try to make sense of ritual systems, despite the fact that many ritual systems not only accept the existence of these disruptions but also embrace them. The two ritual textual traditions that I am most familiar with, the ancient Vedic priestly ritual literature (śrautasūtra) and the Mishnah (an early collection of Jewish rabbinic teachings), express deep concerns about the potential fallout from ritual mistakes. Single examples from these two traditions will demonstrate the depth of these systems’ sensitivity to ritual disruption. The Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra claims, “If the oblation is pulled up, … it would injure the family; if [it] wavers, the progeny will be ruined; if it breaks into pieces or rolls down, the sacrificer will die” (BŚS 27.4). In the Vedic system, ritual mistakes can lead to death. Similarly, the Mishnah spends a great deal of time addressing a wide variety of potential ritual disruptions. For example, the majority of M. Shabbat addresses things that can go wrong with Sabbath observance. A general rule is articulated, which suggests a sophisticated awareness of the variety of forms of ritual disruptions that could occur: A general rule was laid down respecting the Sabbath. One who has entirely forgotten the principle of keeping the Sabbath and performed many kinds of work on many Sabbath days, is liable to bring out just one sin-offering. But the one who was aware of the principle of the Sabbath, but [ forgetting the day] committed many acts of work on Sabbath days, is responsible for bringing a sin-offering for each and every Sabbath day he violated. One who knew that it was the Sabbath and [still] committed many acts of work on different Sabbath days [not knowing that the specific types of work were prohibited] is responsible for bringing a separate sin-offering for every main act of work committed. One who committed many acts of work emanating from one main act is only responsible [to bring] one sin-offering. (M. Sab. 7.1) The Vedic and rabbinic systems are not unique. Virtually every extant ritual system provides for unanticipated ritual moments. A quick survey of ritual systems in various religious and cultural settings reveals that many of them speak quite directly to the existence of ritual mistakes of various kinds, and they offer specific guidance on how to remedy disruptions. This same quick survey shows that ritual systems are remarkably resilient. The ritual “experts” almost never throw their hands in the air and exclaim,
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“Can’t fix that!” Instead, over and over again rituals absorb mistakes, make adjustments, and move forward. This book is organized around a series of case studies of specific rituals gone wrong. Given the countless number of examples I could have used for this series, it seems important to explain how I selected the case studies included in this volume. First, the following chapters build on specific examples drawn from different time periods, locations, source materials, and traditions. It seems to me that ritual theorizing ought to speak to a wide range of data. Obviously, I (and other ritual studies scholars) benefit tremendously from focused studies of contextualized ritual systems that provide thick, rich descriptions and analyses of individual ritual events. For the purpose of this volume, however, I wanted to sample “ritual gone wrong” in various contexts to see what could be learned. Also, I have consciously avoided anthropological material. Anthropologists and ethnographers, more than other scholars of ritual, have identified ritual disruptions, often describing them in great detail. I wanted to draw attention to the discussions of ritual disruptions that appear in other types of sources: priestly ritual manuals, historical records, doctrinal pronouncements, newspaper accounts, and contemporary media. I’ve consciously drawn my data from these sources to highlight the fact that data about ritual disruption is not limited to anthropological and ethnographic accounts. Anyone who studies ritual, in virtually any source material, encounters ritual gone wrong. Third, the case studies featured here have been chosen because each example highlights a different kind of ritual gone wrong. Ritual disruption is a many-splendored thing, exhibiting numerous variations and nuances. The examples included in this volume encourage us not to think of ritual disruption monolithically, but to note the subtle shades of difference between various types of disruption and to reflect on what each type reveals about the nature of ritual more broadly. Ultimately, reviewing a wide spectrum of ritual disruption will prepare us to contribute to ritual theorizing more thoughtfully. Finally, the examples provided in this volume are meant to be illustrative, not comprehensive. It would, in fact, be impossible to present a “complete” book about ritual disruption because it occurs so frequently and takes on numerous forms. Instead, I chose to examine a few examples of ritual disruption in depth. The careful study of a few examples, I hope, will prepare the reader to notice and analyze countless other examples as she
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comes upon them and to integrate these examples in any comprehensive theoretical work that follows. And now a brief overview of the chapters ahead. Chapter 1 examines the Vedic śrautasūtras (c. 1500–500 bce), ancient Indian texts recording priestly schools’ teachings regarding ritual performance. The Vedic priestly manuals record volumes of material from different priestly traditions regarding ritual practice and correction. This material makes clear that ancient ritual traditions not only recognized that rituals were often disrupted, but they developed thoughtful, cohesive systems identifying general types of mistakes and the means for correcting those mistakes. Much of the richest, most extensive ritual literature available includes detailed discussions about how to negotiate the gap between the prescribed behavior for a ritual and the unsettling actuality of ritual mistakes or sabotage. This literature also reveals the framework underlying the Vedic ritual system. Chapter 2 focuses on early Jewish rabbinic literature, specifically tractate Zevachim in the Mishnah (~220 ce). The Mishnah, a written collection of various rabbinic debates concerning countless matters in Jewish life, spends considerable time discussing ritual. The Mishnah is intriguing for two reasons. First, in many sections it presents extensive discussions regarding rituals that had not been practiced since roughly 70 ce, particularly those related to the Temple based in Jerusalem. Yet the Mishnah records vigorous debates about errors that could be committed by priests or laity—errors that for all intents and purposes couldn’t occur anymore. In addition, the Mishnah is the expression of one ritual community (the rabbis) adjudicating the best way to correct behavior performed by another ritual community (the priests). In this chapter I explore why the rabbis continued to argue about obsolete ritual practice—what was at stake for them in these conversations? Chapter 3 examines blood libels, charges originating with Christians in early medieval Europe that Jews murdered children in order to use their blood in ritual ceremonies. In this case one ritual community (Christians) misrepresented the ritual practices of minority religious community members (Jews) as part of a broader campaign to establish their “otherness” in specific ways. Over the centuries Christians (and occasionally Muslims) have misrepresented Jewish ritual activity as a means of entrenching and justifying continuing patterns of domination. In this chapter we tackle head-on the problem of ritual represented rather than ritual performed. When does the rhetoric of representing (or misrepresenting) ritual become ritualized itself? In this chapter we
14
Introduction
also consider what the misrepresentations of Jewish ritual reveal about the Christian communities that misrepresent them. As in Chapter 2, we explore the power negotiations at work when one group describes the rituals of another group. What do these descriptions tell us about historical contexts and evolving theologies and ritual practices of the representing community? Chapter 4 focuses on the modern Olympics, specifically on the opening and victory awards ceremonies that honor the athletes. When the modern Olympic Games were inaugurated in 1896, Pierre de Coubertin, the one man most responsible for the shape and structure of the Games, instituted carefully crafted ceremonies designed to cast the individual athletes and the Olympic events as a whole in a specific light. Over the years, disruptions have occurred in both the opening and awards ceremonies. Some of these have been accidental; others have been intentional. Officials have had to determine how best to respond to these disruptions in the moment and in long-term planning to maintain the goals of the modern Olympics overall and the role that the ceremonies play in achieving those goals. In this chapter we see ritual on a world stage, and we explore how individual participants within a ritual event depart from their assigned roles to subvert ritual for their own rhetorical and political ends. Chapter 5 examines the trial and execution of Saddam Hussein (December 2006) as one of the first national ritual events of the new Iraqi regime. Here I examine ritual with global issues at stake. Virtually the entire world followed Saddam’s capture, trial, conviction, and execution. Although the events leading up to and including his death were orchestrated carefully, certain key elements clearly went wrong in various ways. This “ritual gone wrong” revealed fissures between communities within Iraq and around the globe that were never successfully addressed. In this final chapter, I ask the question, Are there some rituals that simply can never “go right?” Finally, in the Conclusion, I address the general issues raised in each of the preceding case studies, noting key themes that have emerged. Ritual subversions, misrepresentations, and simple mistakes occur daily. Their presence, and the fact that communities have developed formal and informal methods for dealing with their presence, means that our theorizing needs to embrace this reality, setting aside false divisions between ritual and day-to-day practice and underscoring instead the elasticity and pliability of ritual.
Introduction
15
Closing In the interests of full disclosure, I must acknowledge two events in my childhood that I suspect have shaped my interests in “ritual gone wrong.” In first grade I attended a Catholic school. I was the only Protestant child in the school, and I was the daughter of a divorced woman. My status made me the object of tender attentions from most of the nuns who had charge of me (especially my first-grade teacher, Sister Ruth). On one occasion my younger brother, Jim, came with my mother when she picked me up from school. At one point, he wandered off on his own. A few minutes later a young priest and Sister Ruth found my brother sipping from the font of holy water as if it were a water fountain. As my mother tells it, Sister Ruth reacted relatively calmly, but the young priest “was pretty alarmed. Assurances came from an elder priest that the episode would not taint the holiness of the water.”22 Later that year, a substitute teacher took charge of my first-grade class for a day when Sister Ruth was absent. We all dutifully filed into the chapel for morning Mass, but instead of having me sit apart from my classmates (as Sister Ruth regularly asked me to do when they took communion), the substitute teacher tried to guide me to the altar rail. Having been repeatedly told in the past why I could not join my classmates in taking communion, I moved firmly away from the substitute teacher and yelled, “You can’t do this to me—I’m Protestant!” May this book be a small apology to Sister Ruth and all the nuns and priests at St. Andrews who dealt with any ritual disruptions my family might have caused in our time there.
1
Negotiating Ritual Repair The
prāyaścitta
Material in the Baudhāyana śrauta Sūtra
“You will have to answer to God on Judgment Day,” he said, “if you make mistakes in the ritual.”1 We begin our exploration of rituals gone wrong with a case study from the ancient Indian Vedic tradition. It is fitting to start with material from this ritual system for several reasons. First, the Vedic tradition is well documented in collections of priestly teaching regarding ritual practice in elaborate detail. The priestly texts record information about ritual practice originally intended to be transmitted orally (in Sanskrit), dating back to roughly 1500–500 bce. These textual records provide overwhelming detail about how rituals are, to put it crassly, supposed to go. In addition, these texts record differing (often contradictory) points of view between different priestly schools regarding ritual procedure, and these disagreements offer opportunities to hear distinct schools debate what determines whether or not a ritual has proceeded correctly and incorrectly. Third, the Vedic priestly tradition includes a large body of explicit discussions of ritual mistakes and other kinds of ritual disruptions, often with detailed explanations of the consequences of specific errors or changes in ritual practices. These discussions—the focus of this chapter—offer insights into how the priestly schools understood the mechanics underlying Vedic ritual activity by illuminating principles that underlie the ritual system at work. Finally, the Vedic ritual tradition has played a significant role in the development of ritual theory. The priestly texts have been referenced by ritual theorists who have shaped the field, including canonical thinkers such as Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss (Essai sur la Nature et la Fonction du Sacrifice).2 The
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Vedic material also provides data for innovative thinking in ritual studies, such as that offered by Frits Staal. Staal bases his groundbreaking analysis of ritual on his own careful study of the agnicayana ritual, one of the most elaborate Vedic sacrifices. Yet despite the fact that Vedic literature has contributed greatly to the study of ritual in general, often challenging dominant models of ritual, sacrifice, and sacred ritual texts, relatively little attention has been paid to Vedic discussions of ritual errors. The priestly texts offer a wealth of material for the study of ritual disruption, but relatively little work has been done to examine the implications of in-depth Vedic priestly discussions of ritual errors and deliberate misperformances. In the pages to follow, we will dip into the Vedic literature to note how it prompts an appreciation for the study of ritual disruption and what it contributes to ritual theory more broadly.
The Vedic Tradition and Ritual Disruption As mentioned in the Introduction to this volume, Staal is one of the preeminent scholars of the Vedic tradition. He is perhaps best known for his documentation and analysis of a specific performance of an elaborate agnicayana (literally, the “piling of “agni”) ritual performed in Kerala, India, in 1975. Staal’s research culminated in an impressive two- volume description and photographic record of the event, as well as an abbreviated but dense discussion in his landmark theoretical work. For our purposes, it is helpful to focus on one brief passage in Staal’s abbreviated description of the event. In a few words, Staal describes how the onset of one woman’s menstrual cycle altered the performance of the complex Vedic sacrifice: In 1975, the menses of the wife of the Yajamāna [the ritual sponsor and beneficiary] began on April 13, scheduled on the second day of the ritual. The rites of the third and fourth ritual day, planned for April 14– 15, could not be executed because of the ensuing pollution; expiatory rites were performed instead. Some of the ceremonies of the third and fourth ritual days were combined and performed on April 16. As a result, ceremonies that, in the Agniṣṭoma, are performed consecutively, but that are not consecutive in the Agnicayana, were also performed consecutively on April 16, 1975, but this time as a consequence of the menses of the wife of the Yajamāna.3
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Ritual Gone Wrong
This is the full extent of Staal’s treatment of the adjustment made to the ritual. His brief (and rather perfunctory) discussion suggests that the yajamāna’s wife’s menstruation, while it presented a logistical challenge, did not present an insurmountable problem or cause any angst. The officiating priests, guided by centuries of tradition, made appropriate adjustments to the ritual without invalidating the sacrifice overall. Consequently, in chronicling the event, Staal describes the changes in the ritual’s schedule matter-of-factly and then moves on. Discussions of Vedic ritual presented in the ancient priestly texts indicate that ritual mistakes and disruptions are not unusual in Vedic sacrifice; rather, they occur with amazing frequency. Modern scholars’ personal experiences support this view. The Vedic tradition seems to have embraced the fact of ritual disruption and dealt with it head on. Within the Vedic literature entire bodies of expiatory material developed over the centuries identify and categorize possible ritual mistakes, warn of potential consequences, and prescribe redress. The priestly texts themselves document countless ways in which disruptions such as the one mentioned by Staal can occur. In fact, the priestly texts indicate that Vedic ritual specialists clearly thought long and hard about ritual mistakes, as evidenced by the fact that they list literally hundreds of specific ways that ritual mistakes can occur, how these accidents can be resolved, and how to anticipate potential mistakes in future performances, establishing general rules to guide ritual performers. This is no small matter, and I want to underscore how significant it is that an elaborate ritual, choreographed down to the most minute detail, could be faced with an event that carries the potential to pollute an entire ritual space and all the ritual participants, and yet move forward relatively smoothly. Given the level of detail that the priestly texts provide to guide Vedic sacrifice, and the anxiety that could attend potential disruptions, it is no small thing that this ritual system anticipates countless unintentional mistakes that pollute the ritual space, substances, and participants, and simultaneously provides mechanisms to prevent these disruptions from stopping rituals in their tracks. It is worth stopping for a moment to appreciate the sophisticated dynamic at work here. The most complicated Vedic rituals include detailed instructions for building custom sacrificial arenas and implements, tailor made for each individual sacrifice. Vedic sacrifices involve securing prescribed oblation materials or approved substitutes, and performing specified priestly and lay activities, painstakingly described in the ancient manuals. These manuals make it clear that even seemingly
Negotiating Ritual Repair
19
small mistakes in ritual execution can have serious consequences. Note, for example, the warning in the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra: “If the oblation is pulled up or wavers or spills out or breaks or rolls down, what should be the expiation? It is said, if pulled up, it would injure the family; if wavers, the progeny will be ruined; if it breaks into pieces or rolls down, the sacrificer will die” (BŚS 27.4). Yet while ethnographers and indigenous experts have repeatedly noted that rituals often do not play out the way they are described in the ritual manuals, these observations have had little impact on general theorizing about the nature of Vedic ritual itself. In the pages to follow, I work from the assumption that Vedic ritual events involve a constant negotiation between prescribed practice, unintentional errors, and ritual correction, and that this fact is an assumed and integral aspect of the Vedic system. To explore this, I will examine one small sample of expiatory material from the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra as an initial foray into the Vedic tradition’s thinking about ritual mistakes. Finally, I will conclude with some general thoughts about how the study of Vedic expiatory material can contribute to ritual theorizing more generally.
Vedic Sacrifice The Vedic sacrificial system is one of the oldest and most complex sacrificial systems in the world. Scholars traditionally locate the Vedic period between 1500 and 500 bce, with some texts dated as early as 900 bce. The Vedic period is often referred to as the “brahmanical” period because a sacrificial system identified with the brahmans or priestly class seems to have dominated religious life during this time. Over the following centuries, various Hindu and non-Hindu traditions developed in reaction to the complex hierarchical sacrificial system outlined in the Vedas, but Vedic practice continues within India to this day, and it offers some of the richest material for the academic study of ritual. Vedic sacrifice has been examined in detail by numerous scholars, most notably Jan Gonda, Jan C. Heesterman, Stephanie Jamison, Nancy Jay, Charles Malamoud, Laurie Patton, Brian K. Smith, and Frits Staal, and I direct the reader to these scholars’ writings for in-depth descriptions and analyses of Vedic practice.4 Generally, Vedic sacrifice is divided into two broad categories, public and domestic. This essay will focus on the public or śrauta sacrificial system. Śrauta sacrificial practice can be remarkably
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Ritual Gone Wrong
complex, involving the construction of an outdoor temporary sacrificial space, the establishment of three ritual fires, the participation of numerous priests, and the presentation of multiple offerings, including milk products, grain cakes, animal substances, and soma juice (a plant extract). The selection, preparation, and manipulation of offerings made from these substances are prescribed carefully by the Vedas, the apauruṣeya, or eternal texts that are traditionally said to undergird creation itself. Correct performance of the sacrifice can lead to worldly benefits—progeny, wealth, military success, and so on—as well as the attainment of heaven. Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa (ŚB) 14.3.2.1 states, for example, “This—that is, the sacrifice— is the self of all beings, of all deities; after its successful completion, the sacrificer prospers with wealth and cattle.”5 In addition, the elements of the sacrifice are also correlated with elements on the macrocosmic level, and so ritual activity is said to sustain the entire cosmos through its regular performance as well as to generate specific benefits for an individual sacrificer. For all these reasons, ritual theorists have frequently turned to Vedic material as they have developed their own theoretical approaches to ritual. Most recently, Staal has offered his controversial discussion of the “meaninglessness” of ritual based on years of studying Vedic ritual.6 Ritual manuals known as śrautasūtras provide the most extensive textual descriptions of Vedic ritual available to us. Gonda summarizes, “The śrautasūtras are manuals compiled for a practical purpose, viz. giving directions to those who officiated at the several solemn sacrificial rites that were performed or recommended in Vedic times. Their authors provide us with many detailed and meticulously accurate descriptions of these ceremonies.”7 M. Winternitz asserts, “The Śrautasūtras thus contain directions for the laying of the three sacrificial fires, for the fire-sacrifice (Agnihotra), the new and full moon sacrifices, the sacrifices of the seasons, the animal sacrifice and especially for the soma-sacrifice with its numerous variations. They are our most important source for the understanding of the Indian sacrifice-cult, and their significance as sources for the history of religion cannot be estimated highly enough.”8 The various śrautasūtras developed out of distinct priestly schools, reflecting various priestly philosophical and practical approaches to the performance of Vedic śrauta rituals. The śrautasūtras, often thought of as idealized ritual “manuals,” build on teachings provided in the Vedas, and their content was originally transmitted orally from priest to priest. Winternitz provides an example to illustrate how the oral nature of the transmission affects the śrautasūtras: “the Śrauta and Gṛhyasūtras of
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21
the Black Yajurveda … give only the first words of the verses or Yajus- formulas, which are taken literally from the Saṃhitā to which they belong, that is, taking for granted that they are known, while they give other mantras for instance those out of the Ṛgveda or Atharvaveda, in entirety.”9 In other words, the śrautasūtras, while essential to an understanding of Vedic sacrifice, are incomplete; they assume a baseline of knowledge on the part of the reader, who is assumed to be a trained priest himself. One cannot hope to replicate Vedic ritual practice from the material provided in the śrautasūtras alone, but they are a necessary starting point. The Vedic śrautasūtras offer numerous discussions of ritual errors and correction. As Samiran Chandra Chakrabarti summarizes nicely, The Vedic texts accordingly warn us that any flaw in the performance of a sacrifice may lead to disastrous results. For example, Tvaṣṭṛ’s son (Vṛtra) was killed by Indra, Pūṣan lost his teeth, and Bhaga his eyesight, Bhāllaveya fell victim of a chariot-accident, and Āṣāḍhi Sauśromateya lost his life—all for committing errors in the sacrificial procedure.10 Clearly, in Vedic practice the consequences of ritual error are serious. As a result, the Vedic tradition goes to great lengths to delineate what one has to do to correct a ritual mistake. Within the sacrificial arena, the brahman priest acts as a general overseer. He is specifically charged with identifying errors as they occur and then performing (or directing others to perform) the appropriate corrective activity. Ritual reparations—or prāyaścittas— make it possible for rituals to continue after a mistake has been made and to accomplish their stated goals despite mistakes in their performance. Āpastamba Śrauta Sūtra (ĀŚS) 9.1.4 explains, “a prāyaścitta is a rite performed in order to get rid of errors” or, more accurately, the consequences of errors.11 It would be impossible to review all of the prāyaścitta material within the Vedic corpus. For the purposes of this chapter, I will focus on a self- contained section of expiatory material within the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra (BŚS). The Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra was probably compiled between 800 and 400 bce.12 Although followers of the Baudhāyana school currently (since at least the fourteenth century) live in Kerala and Karnataka in south India, the Sūtra itself was probably composed in northwest India. C. G. Kashikar’s recently published critical edition and translation makes this text more accessible to modern scholars.13 Kashikar concludes from
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Ritual Gone Wrong
his research that Baudhāyana himself “orally transmitted the discourses to his disciples. Probably he was the first ācārya [teacher-mentor] who set the ritual of the Taittirīya recension in order for the facility in performance, and orally explained it to his pupils.”14 The Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra is a helpful resource for an initial study of ritual error because a large portion of its prāyaścitta material falls within a discrete praśna or chapter.15 Kashikar concludes that this organization reflects how the text was compiled: Baudhāyana intended to lay down the expiation-rites side by side with the Ādhvaryava; he did not intend to collect the expiation-rites separately in any Praśna. Some follower of the Baudhāyana school felt it necessary to devote special space to the expiation-rites in the Sutra-text following the practice of the other Śrautasutras. While doing so, he took care not to touch the expiation-rites already dealt with in the Sutra-text following the Taittiriya texts. He recorded such expiation-rites as had become established in his time.16 In other words, expiatory information is included both in the main discussions of the rituals and in its own distinct section. The distinct section probably includes later expiatory rites added by a disciple of Baudhāyana, not Baudhāyana himself. The presence of this expiatory material makes several assumptions that warrant some attention at this point in our discussion. First, this expiatory material assumes that rituals can and should be performed according to certain guidelines; there are correct (and therefore incorrect) ways to conduct rituals. Second, it assumes that if these guidelines are not met, a ritual will not fulfill its intended purpose. Even worse, the error may bring about serious unintended—and unwanted—results. Third, expiatory activity assumes that ritual mistakes can generate negative results no matter what the ritual participants intended. In other words, ritual action, rather than intention, is key here. For the most part, it does not matter whether or not one intended to perform an action correctly—what matters is what actually occurred.17 In fact, several passages indicate that participants may not recognize that an error has occurred, so expiatory actions are performed just in case. For example, BŚS 27.2 notes, He offers the Samiṣṭayajus offerings for the total offerings of the sacrifice. By means of them one compensates for whatever might
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23
have been ferocious in the sacrifice, whatever disjoined, whatever might have transgressed the normal procedure, whatever might not have sufficed for the needs of the procedure, whatever might have been overdone and whatever might not have been properly done.18 Fourth, ritual reparation assumes that mistakes in ritual can be corrected—they are not irreversible. This point deserves further attention because it points to one way in which ritual differs from mundane reality. Ritual expiation allows ritual participants a “do over” opportunity that minimizes or even eradicates the negative consequences of ritual errors. We will return to this point, because the fact that ritual practitioners can negotiate their way forward in ritual activity even after committing mistakes deserves appreciation. Finally, the expiatory material presented in the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra, for all intents and purposes, assumes that ritual errors are the result of innocent mistakes, not deliberate misperformances or sabotage. However, as other scholars have pointed, the same training and expertise that prepare a priest to accomplish the ritual patron’s goals for a sacrifice equip the priest to sabotage that sacrifice.19 This can have dire consequences for the ritual patron, as we shall see. I will set aside the notion of “ritual sabotage” for the moment, but we will return to it later in this chapter. For now, innocent, unintentional ritual mistakes present enough challenges.
Ritual Mistakes The expiatory material found in praśna 27 of the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra addresses several key issues. First, it suggests general categories of errors that can occur during a sacrifice, followed by specific examples and descriptions of these errors. As we will see later, mistakes can occur with virtually every concrete element of the ritual, including the mantras, the sacrificial setting, the participants, the ritual activity, and the offering substances. As Axel Michaels points out, “The number of possible mishaps is almost infinite… . Āśvalāyana-Prāyaścittāni 1b, for example, lists what could eventually be subject to errors: the sacrificial material, place and time of the ritual, the sacrificial fees, the priest and his wife.”20 Second, the prāyaścitta material prescribes specific remedies for specific ritual errors. We will review these in more detail later, but in general ritual remedies in the Vedic context always involve action,
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Ritual Gone Wrong
specifically pronouncing a specific mantra coupled with ritual gestures or movements. Mistakes can occur in many arenas. BŚS 27 begins by discussing errors associated with the mantras. This concern reflects the Vedic sacrificial system’s dependence upon sacred speech as a performative activity. Ritual speech makes things happen within the ritual arena, quite apart from any ritual actor’s intentions, so errors within speech have to be corrected. Specific examples include skipping a required mantra, invoking the wrong deity, and mispronouncing a word, accent, or syllable (BŚS 27.2). Errors can also arise in the natural setting of the sacrifice. The Vedic ritual system assumes the existence of unseen connections (bandhus) between the natural, ritual, and cosmological realms. As a result, many ritual activities are correlated with specific geographical locations, cardinal directions, seasons of the year, and specific times of day. Problems with any of these natural elements can generate problems in the sacrifice. For example, BŚS 27.1 notes that if “the sun does not become visible while a sacrificial rite is going on,” expiation is necessary. It is not unusual for rituals to begin or end at sunrise, so if the sun is not visible for some reason, logistical problems arise. To offset these problems, ghee offerings are made in conjunction with appropriate verses to make it possible for the ritual to continue relatively uninterrupted. In addition, any number of things can go wrong with the constructed sacrificial arena. In Vedic practice, a temporary sacrificial space is laid out and constructed for individual śrauta sacrifices; no permanent ritual space exists. Priests are hired, land is cleared, utensils are fashioned, and offerings are obtained with a particular sacrificial goal (and beneficiary) in mind. Mistakes in any element of the ritual space—incorrect measurements, inappropriate materials, and so on—pollute the sacrifice and nullify its effect. The texts are particularly concerned with the sacrificial fires, which are at the heart of Vedic sacrifice. Participants prepare offerings on certain fires within the sacrificial space and present offerings into others. As the fires consume these offerings, it is understood that they transport them to the appropriate deities. When the gods receive offerings, they are ritually compelled to respond. Offerings are not mere gifts; they set cosmological forces into motion that prompt the gods to react. Ultimately, therefore, the fires make it possible for a sacrificer to manipulate the cosmos so that he can obtain his desires.
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Unfortunately, the fires are susceptible to numerous problems. For example, the fires can become ritually polluted: “The kindling woods become defiled on account of eight contingencies. The defilement of kindling woods occurs as a result of contact with an impure object, a dog, a cāṇḍāla, a śūdra, a crow, a sinner, a donkey, or a woman in her menses” (BŚS 27.8). An earlier passage warns, “if a man, chariot, horse, ox, buffalo, boar, serpent, deer, dog or any quadraped passes between the fires,” the fires are considered violated. Fortunately (as became clear in the 1975 agnicayana), one can take specific expiatory measures to repair the damage. BŚS 27.2 generalizes, “In any case of damage to the sacred fires he should put a fire-stick on the fire with the verse, ‘O wealth-bringing Agni, may the Vasus, Rudras and Ādityas reinstall you; may the priests reinstall you with offerings. Nourish your bodies with clarified butter; may the desires of the sacrificer be fulfilled.’ He should also offer a spoonful [while pronouncing] this verse.” Fires also become extinguished occasionally, so there are elaborate instructions on how to reestablish each fire.21 Frederick M. Smith notes that references to “extinguished fires” may not refer primarily to fires that have literally “gone out”; they may refer more broadly to ritually useless fires: “Most of the contingencies are the result of not taking proper care of the fires, of allowing the fires or the sacrificer or his wife to become polluted, or of committing mistakes. In most cases the fire(s) are not actually extinguished but are rendered ritually useless, i.e. they are ‘(considered) lost’ (naṣṭa).”22 Michaels notes that fire “mishaps” could lead to death, the absence of heirs, and even “unpleasant things in this and the next world.”23 Over time, a retrospective interpretive move developed that was associated with the sacrificial fires. If major problems developed in a man’s life, it became common to assume that there was a problem with his sacrificial fires. P.V. Kane explains, When within a year after a man sets up the Vedic fires he suffers from severe illness (such as dropsy) or suffers loss of wealth or his son dies or his near relatives are harassed or made captive by his enemies or he becomes crippled in a limb, or if he is desirous of prosperity or fame he again sets up the fires. (997–998) In other words, if certain life difficulties arise, a householder may choose to explain them as a result of ritual gone wrong. Specifically, he may suspect that his sacrificial fires have become ritually useless, thus rendering
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Ritual Gone Wrong
his sacrifices ineffective. In response, he can reestablish the ritual fires, starting afresh to correct the problem. Problems can also arise with sacrificial utensils: they occasionally fall apart, break, become ritually polluted, are lost during the course of the ritual, or are manipulated improperly. BŚS elaborates, In any case where a ladle or a bundle of grass or Prastara or an enclosing stick or sacrificial grass or a separating blade or a strainer or the Veda or a fire-stirring stick or a faggot or any other offering material is broken or burnt or damaged or lost or destroyed, he should prepare it correctly, put it down suitably and offer two spoonfuls with the verses, ‘You are quick, O Agni. Being quick, you are placed in the mind. Being quick, you carry the oblation [as a messenger to the gods]. Being quick, grant us medicine. O Prajāpati, no one other than you has encompassed all beings. May that for which we make offering to you belong to us. May we be lords of wealth. (BŚS 27.1) Problems also develop when the materials necessary to construct a ritual item are unavailable. For example, It may so happen that the available piece of khadira wood is too small for binding the sacrificial animal. If the sacrificer uses it, though prescribed for making a yūpa [sacrificial stake], the purpose will not be served. The paribhāṣā [ritual guidelines] decides that it has to be rejected and a substitute (e.g. kadara) sufficient for binding the sacrificial animal should be adopted.24 Chakrabarti comments, “If a material of an archetype [that is, the preferred offering substance] is replaced, by virtue of an instruction, by another material in an ectype [the broad category of suitable offerings, of which the “archetype” is the primary, preferred offering], the new material imitates the features and embellishments of the normal material. For example, śara grass imitates the features of barhis, śyāmāka grains those of vrīhi, a vessel (sthālī), those of a potsherd, and a caru those of a puroḍāśa. The normal Mantras are suitably modified in such cases.”25 Similar problems can develop with the offering substances themselves. An offering may be prepared incorrectly. For example, an offering may be “burnt”—that is, prepared without clarified butter: “Indeed,
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he who without first pouring clarified butter offers the portions and does not pour clarified butter afterwards, burns them [the offerings]. Neither the gods nor the sacrificer become[s]gratified by the burnt portions. [However], he who beforehand pours clarified butter, then offers the portions and then pours clarified butter over them, satiates them” (BŚS 27.12). Improperly prepared offerings do not generate the results a sacrificer wants. The most common problem sacrificers face is the unavailability of an offering substance, and the Vedic system anticipates this problem by offering an elaborate—but limited—system of substitution. Chakrabarti explains, If a material originally prescribed for a sacrifice is not available or is spoilt in the course of the sacrifice, a similar material should be adopted as the substitute. A substitute can normally be adopted in an obligatory sacrifice. An optional sacrifice should not be commenced in want of the prescribed materials; but if a material becomes spoilt after the commencement of such a sacrifice, a substitute has to be adopted for completing the performance. If the available quantity of a prescribed material is sufficient for its main purpose, one should perform as much as can be done with the available quantity. A substitute, even if sufficient for all the purposes, primary and secondary, should not be adopted in such cases, because it is not considered reasonable to reject the prescribed material for the sake of its secondary purposes.26 The possibility of substitution opens up many options for ritual participants to continue a sacrifice when seemingly essential materials are unavailable. However, substitutes are clearly stand-ins for the preferred offerings. Instructions concerning their manipulation reinforce their replacement status and prevent “forgetting” that the substitute is, indeed, a substitute for a preferred offering: A substitute is considered identical with the original material and the features of the original material are made applicable to its substitute. . . . Hence the name of the original material in Mantras is not replaced by that of its substitute in a sacrifice. . . . If a substitute too becomes spoilt, another material similar to the originally prescribed material (and not similar to the substitute that has been
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spoilt) should be adopted for the purpose; there can be no substitute for a substitute.27 Clearly, the mechanisms designed to incorporate substitutes are also designed to remind the participants that they are substitutes: verbal references to and manipulation of the substitute always point back to the preferred offering. A replacement substance is viewed as a last resort and should only be used when the preferred offering is not available.28 A later text states this clearly: That twice-born who performs his sacred duties (dharma) according to the regulations for an emergency (āpat), when there is no emergency, does not obtain the fruit of that (action) in the next world; thus discern (the sages). The substitution (pratinidhi) was created to serve the injunction (vidhi) by the Viśvedevas, by the Sādhyas, and by the great Brāhmaṇa ṛṣis who were afraid of perishing in times of emergency. He who is capable (of carrying out) the primary rule (kalpa) (but) lives by the secondary rule (anukalpena) is evil minded (and) does not obtain the fruit of that (action) after death.29 One way the primacy of the preferred offering is preserved is by retaining the name of the preferred offering in the ritual even when a substitute is being used. Perhaps the best example of this is the soma rite. Vedic śrauta sacrifices center on three primary offerings: grain, animal, and a plant known as soma. The soma rites, which are at the top of the ritual sacrifice hierarchy, require the pounding of the soma plant, whose juice is then consumed by ritual participants. The problem is that no such plant exists anymore. Since recorded time, a substitute has been used for the soma plant, often pūtīkā.30 Yet despite centuries of substitution, the priests still chant mantras during the ritual that refer to the substitute as “soma.” This serves as a constant reminder that the preferred offering is the soma plant, and whatever is being used is only a backup. Substitution makes the continued execution of a ritual possible, but by continuing to use the name of the preferred substance in the mantras, the tradition also establishes some boundaries against further change. Speaking the name of the preferred substance is like holding up a verbal picture of the preferred offering alongside the substitute—it invites comparison. While asserting similarity between two substances, referring to the proper substance also
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circumscribes the range of acceptable substitutes by consistently pointing back to the prescribed offering (and the qualities that make it the archetype). Even when preferred sacrificial offerings are available, they can cause ritual dangers when they become defiled. The Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra goes on at great length to explain: An oblation becomes defiled if it is vitiated by the touch of insects such as blue bee, Āśātikā, a bug, a louse occurring in a garment or in the head, or an insect causing a boil except a tiny insect or a fly or an ant, or if it is vitiated by the excrement of a dog or a cat or an ichneumon or a cock or a monkey or a crow or a rat, or vitiated by mud-sprinklings from the feet or by hair, or by pared out nails or by deceased nails or by pus or by sweat or by blood or by fat or by tears or by mucus from cough or by an oozing wound, or vitiated by the touch of any other thing; or if it is touched by a woman in menses or if is looked at by an impure person or by an embryo-killer, or if it is placed in an improper vessel or if it is placed on a spot which is unworthy of sacrifice.31 A defiled offering is dangerous because it brings pollution into the ritual arena and thus makes the sacrifice ineffective. Finally, mistakes can occur related to the various ritual participants. For example, occasionally priests are unavailable to perform specific rituals. BŚS 27.6 describes one possible scenario: There are four priests required for the full-and new-moon sacrifices. If one is absent, three should function, or [if two are absent,] two [should function]. If only one priest is available, prior to the prayāja offerings he should offer the edādhvaryava prāyaścitta offerings by dipping the spoon into the vessel of clarified butter [while pronouncing] the accompanying verses: “May I be agreeable to speech and agreeable to the Lord of Speech. O Divine Speech, move me to what is sweet of speech, to Sarasvatī—svāhā.” Thus, adjustments can be made to accommodate a severe shortage of qualified priests. Occasionally, the ritual participants become defiled themselves, therefore polluting the ritual as a whole. As in many sacrificial traditions, bodily
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fluids are considered contaminating. For example, rituals are considered polluted if the sacrificer or priests emit semen while sleeping. As we saw earlier, a sacrifice can become polluted if the patnī (sacrificer’s wife) begins her menses.32 Perhaps less expected, expiation is also required “for the sacrificer who has vomited Soma, who has purged Soma, whose partaking of Soma is passed over, or who is deprived of partaking” (BŚS 27.5). The concern in these situations is that ritually impure participants will pollute the sacrificial offering substances, utensils, or the ritual arena itself. Inappropriate or polluted personnel contaminate the ritual as a whole, so the ritual as a whole must be purified. This fully developed concern with the purity of ritual participants is balanced with a certain lack of concern about the specific individuals who take on designated roles in the ritual arena. For example, certain texts indicate that, occasionally, ritual sponsors have died after making the initial commitment to perform a ritual but before the ritual’s conclusion (KŚS 1.6.11). The rituals have proceeded with appropriate substitutes installed on behalf of the deceased ritual sponsor. As long as the person who steps in for the original patron fulfills the role correctly, the ritual proceeds and the benefits accrue to the original sponsor (or his family, as appropriate). Thus, while proper procedures are indispensable, apparently specific ritual participants are not. In general, mistakes in Vedic ritual generate at least two types of problems. First, they create impurity that must be removed. More precisely, errors pollute ritual implements or the ritual arena itself, and the ritual object or space must be purged before the sacrifice can have its intended effect. Frederick Smith summarizes, “Prāyaścitta may either prepare a secondary object for ritual use, or it may rectify error or re-establish the purity of the sacrifice after it has been broken.”33 In addition, ritual mistakes may generate a negative result that must be averted somehow. This is generally done by asking the appropriate deity to avert any impending danger. Vedic sacrifice involves the invocation and presumed action of countless gods, each of whom has his or her recognized role within the ritual, linked to his or her role in the cosmos. Note that the gods are never asked to overlook a mistake. Instead, they are asked to avert the ill fortune that will naturally result from a mistake. For example, “In all instances of pronunciation of the divinity if one pronounces the name of the divinity other than the correct one, should offer a spoonful with the verse, ‘O Maruts, the excess involving the offence towards gods which I have perpetrated with regard to you through speech, which seeks to harm us who are poor, do you place it
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away from us.’ ”34 Thus, the gods are not asked to ignore the rules governing the sacrifice—indeed, they are not in a position to do so, since they are subject to the laws that govern sacrificial activity. Instead, they are asked to address the consequences of the ritual error. (We will return to a discussion of the gods’ subordination to sacrificial rules later.) Fortunately, the Vedic system provides a remedy for almost every ritual error. This is crucial to the survival of actual Vedic practices over thousands of years, but just as importantly to the authoritative weight Vedic sacrifice continues to have as a religious metaphor within the broader Hindu traditions. In the following section I will outline the common elements of expiatory activity and examine some specific examples.
Ritual Repair Given the complexity of Vedic ritual and the countless opportunities for errors, it becomes increasingly apparent that the only way Vedic ritual could survive as a viable religious system is through the possibility of ritual repair. There are no blanket remedies for ritual mistakes; as indicated previously, each specific error has its own specific correction. While we cannot hope to review all of these corrections, we can discern some general principles from our brief overview of the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra prāyaścitta material. First, the key figure responsible for identifying and correcting ritual errors is the brahman priest. For every sacred act, therefore, every sacrifice too is, according to the Indian view, exposed to a certain amount of danger; if an act is not performed exactly in accordance with the ritualistic prescription, if a spell or a prayer formula is not spoken correctly, or if a melody is sung incorrectly, then the sacred act may bring destruction upon the originator of the sacrifice. Therefore the Brahman sits in the south of the place of sacrifice, in order to protect the sacrifice: the south being the haunt of the god of death, and the haunt from which the demons hostile to the sacrifice, threaten people. He follows the course of the whole sacrifice mentally, as soon as he notices the least mistake in a sacrificial act, in a recitation or in a chant, he must, by pronouncing sacred words, make good the harm. Therefore the Brahman is called in an old text “the best physician among the sacrificial priests.”35
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The brahman priest heals the living sacrifice so that it may continue its dynamic activity on behalf of the sacrificer and function in harmony with the cosmos. The ability to repair ritual—negotiating the ritual journey from “what should have been” through “what was” to “what can be”— gives the brahman great authority within Vedic society. This authority derives not simply from his ability to correct errors, but more important from his ability to identify them in the first place. After all, the first step toward correcting a mistake is to notice it in the first place, and this is no mean feat in the complicated Vedic rituals, especially when mistakes can be as small as pouring clarified butter from the wrong side of a ladle. In identifying and then rectifying ritual mistakes, the brahman mediates between the actions performed within the context of a specific ritual event and the paradigmatic architecture of the cosmos, manipulating unseen forces so that an imperfect ritual can proceed effectively. The BŚS material indicates that the foundational remedial activity is the recitation of a mantra. BŚS 27.4 generalizes, “whatever is deficient or superfluous in a mantra or what is wrongly offered—they (the Vyāhṛtis) [the syllables bhuh, bhuvah, svaha] drive away the blemish. Therefore they are known as the Vyāhṛtis.”36 Praśna 27 begins with a general rule: “In all cases, if an object placed to the accompaniment of a formula falls down, one should restore it to its proper place with the verse, ‘The divine knowledge is the stability of mind, of speech, of sacrifice, of the oblations, of clarified butter. Compensating the rites which may be in excess or may be wanting, the sacrificer goes on furnishing the parts of sacrifice. May the Svāhā-utterance reach the gods.’ ”37 The spoken words themselves repair the sacrifice. Expiatory mantras, however, rarely stand on their own. They are usually coupled with ritual behavior of some kind. The most basic expiatory action is the recitation of a mantra accompanied by an offering of a spoonful—or multiple spoonfuls—of clarified butter. For example, “In all cases of invocations of divinities, if he invokes a divinity other than the correct one, he should offer a spoonful along with this very verse” (BŚS 27.1). Slight variations in the ritual action occur depending upon the exact nature of the error. Certain mistakes, however, require more complex correction. BŚS 27.3 describes problems that may arise with a grain-cake offering: If the potshards are not fully covered [by the grain-cake], he should offer spoonfuls on the āhavanīya with the vyāhṛtis bhūḥ bhuvaḥ and
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suvaḥ. The same expiation [should be undertaken] if the grain-cake is irregularly spread or overspread. Now regarding the expiation for the under-baking, flowing, burning, overflowing or flowing out of the oblations: if under-baked, he should offer a spoonful on the āhavanīya with “to Rudra svāhā.” If it becomes flowing [he should offer a spoonful on the āhavanīya with] “to Vāyu.” If it becomes burnt [he should offer a spoonful on the āhavanīya with] “to Nirṛti.” If it becomes partly burnt, he should offer only that portion which is baked. If it becomes totally burnt, he should dispose of it in water and offer two mindāhutis. He should pour out paddy for another oblation or offer clarified butter. This is the expiation. He should make an offering to each of the divinities governing the respective direction towards which the oblation would have overflowed. If towards the east, “to Agni.” If towards the south, “to Yama.” If towards the west, “to Varuṇa.” If towards the north, “to Soma.” If it overflows in all directions, he should make offerings to all these divinities.38 Note that for the most part, the ritual participant’s intention has nothing to do with the ritual mistake; a mistake is a mistake, which must be addressed whether or not it was intentional. In a few rare cases, however, intention becomes a factor. The BŚS itself discusses one such case: If someone intentionally offers the Agnihotra on mundane fire or if it is offered by an ignorant one or by a boy onto the fire spread out by the sacrificer’s wife, one should consign the fires into the kindling woods. He should move out, churn out fire, and spread out the fires. Pūrṇāhuti should be offered, and then a cake on eight potsherds [should be offered] to Tantumant Agni. [However], if someone unintentionally offers the Agnihotra on mundane fire or if it is offered by an ignorant one or by a boy onto the fire spread out by the sacrificer’s wife, one should spread out the fires with the Vyāhṛtis. Pūrṇāhuti should then be offered and then a cake on eight potsherds [should be offered] to Tantumant Agni.39 Passages such as this one, however, are rare in the śrautasūtras. Expiation, for the most part, is described in the context of unintentional errors. The most serious cases involving inappropriate ritual intention involve ritual sabotage. We turn to those cases now.
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Ritual Sabotage Up to this point we have been thinking of ritual disruptions as mistakes, unintentional errors (or omissions) in the performance of ritual activity. Ritual sabotage is a different animal altogether. Ritual sabotage occurs when someone deliberately misperforms a ritual in order to generate a result other than what the traditional ritual promises. The ritual agents usually are priests. They are considered ritual experts, trained and competent to perform rituals correctly and, as we have seen, competent to correct ritual performances when mistakes occur. For the most part, this ability sparks confidence in their efforts. However, if priests know how to correct ritual mistakes, then they also know how to cause them. Brian K. Smith comments, “One must have confidence (śraddhā) in them and the ritual they oversee, and as [Sylvain] Lévi has pointed out, śraddhā and satya, ritual exactitude, are regarded as synonyms in some texts: ‘Exactitude and confidence are so close that they are easily confounded.’ ”40 In most cases, the priest’s mastery of “ritual exactitude” inspires confidence. However, Lévi notes that a priest’s ritual expertise and skill “ ‘does not absolutely do away with these formidable risks, but attenuates them. The science of the priest is an assurance against involuntary mistakes. But there still remains a danger, and it is the most terrible of all. Couldn’t the priest who holds in his hands the welfare and life of the faithful be tempted to abuse it?’ ”41 In other words, Lévi points to the chink in the armor of the Vedic sacrificial system: the ritual patron’s dependence on the ritual specialists’ goodwill. If, in fact, a priest can redress ritual errors and avoid disastrous ritual consequences, then he potentially has the ability to cause problems through his ritual activity as well.42 Smith explains that priests can sabotage a ritual in various ways. First, they can substitute a desired sacrificial offering with an unsatisfactory substance. TS 6.3.11.5 states that a priest can deprive a ritual patron of all of his livestock simply by replacing the required portion of meat (with fat) with a different portion (one without fat).43 In addition, a priest may recite verses incorrectly, using the wrong words or simply reciting verses in the wrong order. Finally, priests may direct verses or offerings to the incorrect deities. Obviously, combinations of these activities can have disastrous consequences as well. Smith notes, “the Veda calls such techniques demonic (āsurya).”44 Smith also notes that small changes would almost certainly go unnoticed by the ritual patron. Thus, the ritual patron must acknowledge a measure of uncertainty even when he has complete
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confidence in priestly expertise. The uncertainty lies in motives, not ritual skill. On the flip side, priests live under the shadow of possible accusation every time a ritual patron suffers loss. Priests risked being accused with inefficacy if a ritual performed in order to produce sons seemed to fail. One explanation would be that the priest was incompetent. Another explanation (and one that the priests might have preferred) was that the priests intentionally sabotaged a ritual. If, as Brian K. Smith has suggested, Vedic sacrifice was actually incapable of generating wealth, progeny, military victory, or physical health, then how would the priestly class maintain their power? One explanation is that they explained ritual failure as ritual sabotage—a far more terrifying explanation than simple inadequacy. In effect, the threat of ritual sabotage (and its use to explain apparent ritual failure) provided a means by which priests could continue to claim ritual skill and power when specific ritual performances failed to produce the sponsor’s desired results. Finally, ritual patrons could use charges of ritual sabotage to exert power over a sacrificial priesthood that claimed to hold all earthly and heavenly goals within their power. If, indeed, ritual performances failed to produce results, a ritual patron could charge that individual priests were deliberately sabotaging him. If a kṣatria (warrior-king, and usual ritual patron) successfully accused priests of “ritual sabotage,” he could weaken their social standing and strengthen his own sociopolitical position. Thus, a ritual patron could use the priests’ claims to ritual expertise against them, leveling accusations of ritual misconduct in order to shift responsibility for his own failures onto a ritual specialist.45 Here, I believe, is where the real anxiety in Vedic ritual can be found: in the intimate relationship between priest and ritual patron. Anxiety does not arise from the need to repair innocent ritual mistakes. Nothing in the Vedic texts suggests that there is any angst associated with the fact that rituals can go wrong. Any potential anxiety that might be generated by the complexity and numerous demands of the Vedic ritual system is, for all intents and purposes, offset by the broad array of remedies provided by the system itself. Danger doesn’t lie in the possibility of mistakes. Rather, anxiety arises when those who depend on sacrificial efficacy lack confidence that the priest will make the necessary corrections. This lack of confidence can arise for several reasons. Ritual patrons can, of course, simply doubt a priest’s training or skill. One text states, “Just as outcasts, or thieves, or evil-doers, seizing a rich man in the wild, fling him into a
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pit and run away with his wealth, so too these priests [those who do not understand the sacrifice] throw the sacrificer into a pit and run away with his wealth.”46 On another level, anxiety arises when ritual patrons do not trust a skilled, knowledgeable priest to perform rituals correctly. In both of these cases, distrust can arise. From the priests’ perspective, anxiety can develop when priests fear that ritual sponsors will blame priests when various life calamities arise, charging the priests with incompetence or ritual sabotage The Vedic literature, therefore, presents a precarious ritual world, but not in ways that we might initially anticipate. The threat of ritual mistakes is, in fact, not particularly frightening as depicted in these texts. The Vedic ritual system acknowledges ritual error and addresses it. The general sense we get from the literature is that mistakes and other kinds of disruptions occur, but they pose no real threat and they generate no real concern. This lack of anxiety is borne out by the experiences of scholars who have observed Vedic ritual. However, this does not mean that Vedic ritual is without risk. The risk, it appears, depends on trust, specifically the trust between the ritual patrons and the ritual specialists. When that trust fails, ritual anxiety arises.
Vedic Ritual and Ritual Theory Our brief review of one example of Vedic prāyaścitta literature leads to several insights into the nature of Vedic ritual in general. Let’s take them one at a time.
The Fact That Ritual Can “Go Wrong” Indicates That Standards External to the Performed, Lived Ritual Determine When It “Goes Right” This may seem an obvious point, but there are important implications to the notion that a ritual can “go wrong.” The ability to identify ritual errors assumes that general standards for correct and incorrect ritual action exist, grounded in some authority beyond the realm of the ritual arena itself. Rituals are governed by rules, rules that transcend individual ritual performances. These rules, grounded in a broader framework, determine what can go right and what can go wrong in any ritual performance. Rituals themselves don’t do this—they are dependent on some logically prior system to establish right and wrong.
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Here we may have a possible response to Staal’s controversial notion of “meaninglessness.” In Rules Without Meaning, Staal argues that ritual is meaningless. By this he means that ritual activity is not primarily about reenacting or referencing elements in the mundane world outside the ritual itself. Instead, Staal argues that ritual is self-contained, governed by internal rules that have no referent outside of the ritual arena (e.g., myths). However, in making this argument, Staal assumes that meaning must be found in one of two places: either through reference to the mundane world or within the boundaries of the ritual arena. I would argue instead that prāyaścitta literature points to a realm of meta-rules, rooted in the cosmos itself, that establishes the framework for the ritual realm.47 Francis X. Clooney argues that the paribhāṣās, “meta-rules; Sūtras about Sūtras,” point to an awareness of an overarching logic that governs the sacrifice, grounded in a realm beyond the closed circle of the ritual arena.48 This meta-rule system, which remains relatively invisible when rituals proceed without disruption, is thrust out of the shadows and into the limelight when a specific correction or adjustment must be made. The meta-rule system, after all, determines that something has gone wrong, what has specifically gone wrong, and how to correct that wrong. In doing so, the meta-rules bring to consciousness the metaphysics of the cosmos. The paribhāṣā and prāyaścitta bodies of material, the fraternal twins of ritual error, coexist within and reveal the existence of this transcendent realm to which ritual always points. As mirror images of one another, they cooperate in carefully navigating ritual participants between what should occur in ritual and what actually does. In the Vedic tradition, explicit paribhāṣā literature probably developed relatively late in the composition of the various śrauta sūtras, but this literature builds on ideas that are assumed or implied throughout the śrauta sūtras.49 The prāyaścitta material functions in the same way, crafting each particular ritual correction out of a foundational, comprehensive framework. Together, ritual guidelines for prescribed action and expiatory activity draw attention to the meta-rules that underlie ritual activity in general. These ritual guidelines are distinct from any doctrinal or mythological systems, and they transcend the mundane realm and any specific ritual arena. Therefore, a ritual action derives its meaning by extending beyond the confines of the ritual arena—through reference to meta-rules that transcend the ritual arena—not by references to mythology, theology, or aspects of everyday life.
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Prāyaścitta Material Points to the Inherent “Elasticity” of Ritual While there are resonances between the paribhāṣā and the prāyaścitta material, there are also some important differences. While the paribhāṣās or meta-rules draw attention to the stability of ritual, the prāyaścittas hint at elasticity. Ritual expiation suggests that rules are negotiable, that the boundaries between correct and incorrect performances of sacrifice are somewhat fluid, permeable. Because ritual adjustments exist, rituals can accommodate themselves to a wide spectrum of circumstances, both foreseen and unforeseen. The mere fact of alternate possibilities, the constant deferral of an “ought” to a “can be,” suggests a dynamism and fluidity in Vedic ritual that has often been overlooked. Prāyaścittas appeal to the authority of a system of meta-rules beyond themselves, a system once- removed from each specific performance of a ritual. However, this system is elastic. It allows for the countless adjustments—and thus alternative procedures—by drawing on homologous relationships between various elements of ritual activity. Bandhus, invisible connections between ritual elements, twist and stretch to accommodate ritual error, allowing individual ritual events to bend without breaking. Frederick M. Smith makes a similar observation regarding the practice of substitution within the Vedic context: “Indeed, the system of substitution, embracing what Seidenberg calls ‘a tradition of ‘tricks of the trade’ (1983: 997), has imbued a practicable degree of flexibility into an otherwise rigid sacrificial cult. Substitution has, therefore, in no small measure contributed to the survival of the sacrifice itself.”50 I would simply extend Smith’s conclusion to all forms of expiatory activity.
Prāyaścitta Material and Ritual Performed Ritual as presented in the Vedic literature largely assumes rituals are performed. As Clooney notes in his discussion of later mīmāṃsā material, “The truth of Vedic language is not satya [being, existence], but kriyā [making, doing]; language is purposeful when it expresses kriyā.”51 Ritual is done. Expiatory or prāyaścitta material, at least on the surface, seems to reinforce this understanding, speaking to situations in which ritual is actualized, manifest either in directed thought or physical gesture. On the surface, it seems obvious: if ritual isn’t performed, there’s no need to be concerned with ritual error. Upon reflection, however, the situation is a
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bit more complicated. Scholars have long suspected that certain elaborate rituals presented in the Vedic literature were rarely (if ever) performed in their entirety, as described in the ritual texts. In these cases, why discuss ritual mistakes at all? What value is there in developing expiatory rites for mistakes that will never actually occur? First, as I have noted earlier, the priestly literature is not uniform; differences occur between different priestly schools, including different understandings of what constituted a ritual error and remedies for ritual errors. Jan Gonda, for example, refers to the formulaic structure of the dvaidhasūtra (“on variant or different opinions”) material in the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra: “ ‘this injunction is Śālīki’s; Baudhāyana however has expressed the view…’ ”52 The different priestly schools’ approaches to specific ritual mistakes reflect deeper differences between schools of thought. Conceptual differences are given form in debates concerning specific ritual moments, which is valuable even if the action is never taken. Second, the known transmission of detailed instructions regarding ritual repair reinforces the ritual priest’s key role in Vedic society, a role that the priests were presumably eager to safeguard. While wealthy warrior-kings gathered material wealth and worldly power to themselves, the Vedic system suggested that they didn’t accomplish this on their own. They depended on priests who claimed to control access to mundane and other-worldly benefits in their hands. Given the complexity of Vedic sacrifice, expiation of ritual mistakes was a key component of ritual mastery. In later chapters we will explore more fully the importance of ritual errors in contexts where the errors never actually occur. For now it is useful simply to note that the display of ritual expertise associated with knowledge of ritual repair (rather than performed ritual repair) is tied intimately to discussions about social status and power.
Expiatory Material Works Against the Routinization of Mistakes This assertion may seem counterintuitive. If prāyaścitta material provides for the continual correction of mistakes, doesn’t that encourage sloppy behavior and lax enforcement of ritual guidelines? Surprisingly, no. By providing a “release” for the pressure that builds from ritual demands for perfection, expiatory material prevents ritual participants from simply throwing up their hands and allowing any problem to go unnoticed or unaddressed. Corrections draw attention to error; they don’t condone it. In
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fact, certain passages anticipate how tempting it may be to use an expiatory procedure when it is unnecessary: “Whatever lesser options have been prescribed for various incidences, one should not adopt them by way of preference. One should resort to them only in emergency.”53 Corrections actually reinforce the idea that there is a preferred action. This point is worth lingering over for a moment because it challenges Jonathan Z. Smith’s characterization of ritual as the “ought” to reality’s “is.” The dichotomy that Smith proposes implies that only two scenarios involving mistakes are available, the strict prevention of errors or the gradual incorporation of errors that go unchecked. Expiation, however, offers a third possibility: acknowledging error, countering its negative effects, noting that error does not belong in ritual practice, and then returning to prescribed practice. In the example of the Athenian mule drivers presented by Smith and referenced in the Introduction to this book, one wonders, what would have been the result if the mule drivers had simply taken a drink without asking permission first? Presumably, the priestess Lysimache could have addressed this problem with an expiatory act. The possibility of expiatory options defuses the potential danger of mistakes and simultaneously maintains the boundaries of ritual activity by demarcating where acceptable behavior begins and ends. Expiatory acts function as a stopgap measure, forestalling change by drawing attention to it when it occurs. They say, “Look at this! This is unacceptable!” In so doing expiatory rites actually preclude (or at least slow down) the routinization of errors by providing a mechanism for dealing with mistakes. If ritual is a way of paying attention to space, time, matter, and people, then expiatory actions are a way of paying attention to ritual itself. Expiatory actions force participants to pay attention to ritual routine. Ritual correction reminds ritual stakeholders what should and should not occur in ritual. Expiations don’t sanction ritual change; they are signposts marking that a deviation from the preferred practice has occurred. They allow ritual to proceed when errors occur at the same time that they remind participants that another procedure is preferred. Conversely, I would hypothesize that as expiatory actions weaken or fall by the wayside, they suggest acceptance of deviation from standard practice or a lack of commitment to a ritual system overall. A relatively recent example will illustrate this point. A 2005 BBC News South Asia story describes what happened when a baby urinated inside an Indian temple in Kerala. Initially, temple priests asked the baby’s father to pay a 1,001 rupee fee to cover the costs of the purificatory ritual
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required to resanctify the temple. (According to this community’s tradition, priests maintain the general ritual traditions with their activity, but the costs are underwritten by the community as a whole. When a ritual is linked specifically to an individual, however, that person must subsidize the ritual activity.) Unfortunately, the father could not afford this fee, and ultimately state officials in Kerala set the financial charges aside completely. K. C. Venugopal, the Kerala state minister responsible for temple activity, offered a comment: “ ‘I respect the views of the temple priests. But this penalty business is very pre-historic… . If they want to conduct a cleansing ceremony, let the money be taken from the temple funds. It should not be taken from worshippers.’ ”54 It may be tempting to conclude from this that the state minister’s primary concern was not whether or not the purification should be performed, but the financial burden on the baby’s father. I believe, however, that Venugopal’s words indicate something far more troubling from a ritual perspective. His dismissive phrase “this penalty business” signals that he thought of the charge requested by the priests as an unreasonable fine, a punishment (“penalty”). He approached the charge as a financial penalty, levied against the family for allowing the baby to urinate in the temple. This, however, is not how the priests viewed it. They understood the charge as a charge for a constructive act, the cost of performing a reparatory ritual in response to the child’s act. The family’s financial contribution would subsidize a purification of the temple. The problem was that Venugopal did not approach the financial charge in that way. In fact, he was rather dismissive. His comments indicate that the priests could perform some “cleansing ceremony” if they wanted, but he draws a sharp dividing line between what the priests want and what is actually necessary. Venugopal’s statement suggests that he did not view a cleansing ceremony as important—and certainly the baby’s father should not be held responsible for providing a ritual solution to the contamination his baby caused. Venugopal’s words—and the fact that they stood unchallenged by the community at large—suggest that rules related to ritual repair were not widely viewed as significant by the community at large. Ritual repair is priestly business, not something the community at large needs to concern itself with. My suspicion is that by tracing whether or not expiation guidelines are enforced we can get a sense of the relative strength or weakness of a particular ritual tradition within a community. If support for a specific expiatory practice slips, this may reflect a lack of concern for the error expiation is
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meant to expunge. In the Kerala community, public concern over the possible ritual consequences of urinating in a temple has diminished. This is reflected not in direct challenges to the rule, but in more subtle ways, by weakening enforcement of the expiatory activity designed to counter the ritual pollution that results.
Expiatory Material Is Fundamentally Optimistic Ritual mistakes are only dangerous or threatening when they cannot be corrected. Expiatory activity is a hallmark of a vital ritual system, since expiatory actions “neutralize” mistakes, making them innocuous, and thus not something to be feared. If ritual offers an “ought” in contrast to what “is,” expiation offers a “can be” to complement what “should be.” Expiation suggests that if participants don’t get it right the first time, there is opportunity to try again. As a result, ritual systems that incorporate expiatory material are self-preserving. The investment of time, resources, and energy into ritual repair signals a robust, optimistic ritual worldview. This observation suggests a possible avenue for further study: it may, in fact, be helpful to examine which ritual systems do and do not accommodate errors effectively as an indicator of how healthy these ritual systems are. My suspicion is that vibrant ritual systems maintain a lively expiatory practice. By contrast, systems in decline tend not to apply their expiatory mechanisms as faithfully as vital systems do, because fewer community members are invested in maintaining the ritual system overall. Similarly, one sign that a ritual system may be failing is when it is unable to fix its own errors, when the indigenous “prāyaścitta” system is not adequate to address the mistakes that occur in ritual performances.
Concluding Thoughts In this initial examination of ritual disruption I have highlighted Vedic expiatory practices. We have seen that ritual errors and their companion strategies provide a unique lens for viewing the negotiations between ideal ritual paradigms and actual ritual practice, perhaps yielding new understandings of ritual itself. Fortunately, the significance of our findings is not limited to the Vedic ritual system. Virtually every religious and cultural tradition known involves ritual practice of some kind, and one would be hard-pressed to find a ritual system that does not include some recognition of and means for addressing ritual disruptions. The presence, nature,
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and application of expiatory measures reveal unique characteristics of specific systems and informative insights into the nature of ritual systems more generally. On one level, expiatory material reveals something of the specific nature of the “realm of meta-rules” that underlies each individual ritual system. Here we will find idiosyncratic characteristics in specific religious and cultural systems. For example, the Vedic śrauta system assumes a mechanistic universe in which ritual activities must generate certain results because of unseen bonds between the cosmic, divine, and natural realms. Ritual acts compel ritual results. Expiatory rites underscore this understanding of the universe, emphasizing correct procedure, behavior, and speech to obtain desired results. As we noted earlier, the gods, while present and active within this system, do not stand above it. They, like human ritual participants, are constrained by the ritual system’s rules. Expiatory actions do not involve personal appeals to the Vedic gods to forgive and forget—rather, they assume that the gods are governed by the same ritual playbook. This approach contrasts with other ritual systems (e.g., Christianity), in which a divine being is not only the object of ritual activity, but its designer. In these systems different rules apply. God is not a player on par with human participants in ritual; rather, ritual activity is subject to God. Expiatory systems bring to light distinctions between individual systems such as these. At another level, careful studies of ritual expiation can lead to broader insights into the nature of ritual in general. Studies of Vedic ritual correction have suggested the following common (if not universal) ritual characteristics: 1. The fact that ritual can “go wrong” indicates that external standards determine when it “goes right.” 2. Expiatory material points to the inherent “elasticity” of ritual. 3. Expiatory material suggests ritual made manifest. 4. Expiatory material works against the routinization of mistakes. 5. Expiatory material is fundamentally optimistic. All of these insights reflect the fact that rituals are grounded in day-to-day reality, subject to the same conflicts, foibles, and limitations as all other expressions of religious and cultural life. Expiatory activity challenges the notion that ritual is sharply distinct from mundane activity precisely because the ritual participants make constant ritual readjustments in direct response to lived reality.
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Don’t Cry over Spilled Blood Ritual Correction in the Mishnah
In Chapter 1, we examined the elaborate ritual system of the Vedas as presented in ancient priestly texts. In this chapter, we turn to the equally elaborate ritual system of the Jerusalem Temple priests. This time, however, we complicate matters a bit, by examining that system as presented not by the priests themselves, but by later Jewish interpreters, the rabbis of the Mishnah known as the tannaim.1 Unlike the Vedic śrautasūtras, the Mishnah is not a priestly text, so it does not provide the ritual experts’ prescriptions for ritual behavior. It is also not a historical record of priestly activity, so it does not provide a firsthand account of actual ritual errors and corrections. Instead, the Mishnah presents rabbinic teachings about accepted methods for and the overall reasoning behind specific ritual corrections. These teachings were produced by multiple generations of rabbis spanning over two hundred years and collated in the Mishnah. Because of the idiosyncratic nature of that document, some background information may be helpful.2 The Mishnah captures oral traditions circulating at the time of its compilation (c. 220 ce). The Mishnah organizes these traditions topically (rather than by biblical book), to provide a thematic overview of early rabbinic teaching. The Mishnah’s organization and structure are important because they provide the paradigm for later rabbinic texts (the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds have the same basic organizational structure). The Mishnah is divided into six orders (seder, plural sedarim), usually published as separate volumes. Each order is subdivided into tractates (masechet, plural masechtot), and texts are traditionally referenced by the name of the tractate in which they fall (e.g., M. Kodashim, M. Moed, etc.). Each tractate
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is divided into chapters (pereq, plural peraqim), and each chapter is divided into individual “thought units” (mishnah, plural mishnayot). For the most part, these sections lack introductory and explanatory material—they simply dive right into the presentation of a problem. In most cases, a conversational thread runs through each chapter or over the course of several chapters, but in many cases the discussion seems to wander over a wide range of issues, and there is no obvious “conclusion” at the end of most chapters, tractates, or volumes. Conversations often simply end. The text was never intended simply to be picked up and read; rather, the teachings collected in the Mishnah are intended to be conveyed in the context of a school. The conversational threads recorded in the Mishnah are primarily meant for students (initially men) trained in rabbinic academies, so they are difficult to understand for the uninitiated. For example, the rabbinic arguments often make connections between points that are not clear to the average layperson, and they often omit thoughts or phrases that an “insider” would know to include in his reading.3 In terms of ritual, much of the Mishnah is organized around pointed questions about specific ritual practices conducted under concrete, often problematic circumstances. For example, M. Ber. 2.3 states, “He whose dead [relative] lies before him is exempt from the reading of the Shema and from the Eighteen Benedictions and from Tephillin. Those who carry the coffin [of the dead person] … are exempt, but those who are not needed for the coffin are duty bound.” Similarly, M. Ber. 2.6 states, “[Rabban Gamaliel] washed on the first night after his wife died. His disciples said to him, ‘Teacher, you have taught us that a mourner is forbidden to wash.’ He answered them, ‘I am not as other men; I am in ill health.’ ” In both of these examples, the Mishnah describes a specific situation that prompts questions about following the traditional religious practice. The Mishnah’s discussions of ritual usually do not form a narrative; instead, the Mishnah provides a shorthand account of debates on countless issues, assembled for readers already familiar with the idiosyncratic nature of the conversation recorded in its pages. Alexander Samely explains, “Most of its discourse is dedicated to the casuistic treatment of religious obligation and permission, that is, halakhah. The document is regarded as consisting of small, semi-independent items of text or information taken from an earlier rabbinic tradition and arranged in a thematic sequence. Many of these units are presented in the name of a rabbi, but even the anonymous ones are considered to be quotations. In the Mishnah itself the treatment of halakhah largely proceeds in a case-by-case fashion,
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with hypothetical legal cases forming the smallest thematic units.”4 In discussions of ritual, these case studies focus on ritual errors of various types, classifying them and offering remedies. Occasionally (but less often than one might expect) the rabbis reference biblical texts to derive general principles of conduct. One of the most intriguing aspects of the Mishnah is that it records a wide range of rabbinic thought, including contradictory opinions and opinions that were ultimately rejected as unauthoritative. Several discussions in the Mishnah end by offering the opinion of one rabbi, followed immediately by an “overruling” of that opinion by the “Sages.” For example, M. Zev. 10.6 closes, “If there is a peace offering from the preceding day and a sin offering or a guilt offering from the same day, the peace offering from the preceding day [is consumed] first. This is the view of R. Meir. But the Sages declare, ‘The sin offering [is consumed] first, since it is one of the most holy sacrifices.” This is a fairly common structure, the juxtaposition of one or two rabbis’ opinions with the ruling that ultimately won out, placed in the mouths of “the Sages.” These rabbinic conversations are complicated, and they provide a challenge for those of us interested in ritual gone wrong. The Mishnah raises new questions, such as: What do we learn when we look at ritual mistakes not through the eyes of the ritual actors who could have made (and corrected) those mistakes, but through other eyes? What dynamics come into play when we examine a third party’s interpretation of ritual disruption and its remedies? The following pages will initiate this sweeping conversation by focusing on a small section of the Mishnah, tractate Zevachim (M. Zev.), the first tractate of seder Kodashim. M. Zevachim focuses on “slain offerings,” that is, animal offerings that were killed, dismembered, and then presented to the Israelite god YHWH via the altar in the Temple in Jerusalem. More specifically, we will focus on discussions of the blood manipulation that occurred during these Temple rites. While various animal parts were offered to YHWH in the context of sacrifice, blood manipulation was a key element in the work of sacrifice, as indicated in part by the fact that the handling of blood was restricted to the elite ritual specialists, the priests.5 Thus, it is appropriate to focus on blood manipulation when examining Temple sacrifice, since errors in its handling would have had a significant impact on the ritual overall. However, it should be emphasized that many different types of errors can occur in a sacrificial ritual, not simply errors in blood manipulation. At this point it is also important to note that we will not, in fact, be studying ritual; rather, we will be examining a rigorously constructed
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discourse about ritual behavior. As in Chapter 1, our data are literary data, not the ritual activity itself. In addition, these literary data are separated from actual ritual performance by several layers: they record one editor’s compilation of multiple generations of tannaitic oral teachings concerning the ritual practices of a third group, the priests who actually performed sacrifices. For our present purpose, the Mishnah’s representations of the discussions regarding how to handle mistakes in blood manipulation are useful because they shed light on the socioreligious system being developed by the rabbis in the generations leading up to the Mishnah’s codification. The Mishnah is traditionally said to have been crafted by Judah ha-Nasi not merely to present discrete pieces of information, but rather to present an entire system of organizing, transmitting, and evaluating distinct opinions and trains of thought. This compendium is the expression of the development of an authoritative process constructed to resolve disputes regarding the interpretation of Torah. As such, the Mishnah is not simply an objective anthology of rabbinic opinions. It is a heavily redacted document, organized to establish an authoritative framework for subsequent thought and debate. Finally, it is important to note that the Mishnah’s discussions of Temple sacrifice, including blood manipulation, are completely anachronistic. Temple sacrifice was not performed, for all intents and purposes, after 70 ce, when the Jerusalem Temple was razed by the Romans. At the beginning of the third century, when Judah ha-Nasi was editing the Mishnah, there was nothing to suggest that the Temple in Jerusalem would be rebuilt anytime soon. As a result, the debates recorded in the Mishnah regarding blood manipulation as part of Temple sacrifice had no practical application whatsoever. Given this situation, we must ask ourselves what the rabbinic debate concerning possible errors in blood manipulation is really about. In the following pages I will examine the tannaitic material discussing ritual error associated with the mishandling of sacrificial blood. As a result of that review, I will propose two conclusions regarding what ritual error signifies. First, the characterization of the nature of ritual error and the remedies offered for specific errors tell us something significant about the nature of the Jewish sacrificial ritual system as presented in the Mishnah. More specifically, by noting how the rabbis discussed what can go wrong in blood manipulation, we learn something about their relationship with a complex sacrificial system that was no longer practiced, but which still informed an active community. Ritual errors and the corrections prescribed to address ritual errors are thus instructive regarding
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the social and intellectual worlds of the tannaim. Thus, what emerges in the mishnaic discussion of sacrificial ritual is not primarily a guidebook as to what should occur in Temple sacrifice, but an elaborate discussion about the priests’ ability to identify and correct errors, and, more indirectly but just as significantly, a demonstration of the rabbis’ ritual expertise. Consequently, discussions that appear on the surface to be about specific do’s and don’t’s are really an overarching display of rabbinic superiority over an antiquated system seemingly dependent upon ritual perfection. Second, M. Zevachim raises a number of issues pertinent to the general study of ritual. As noted earlier, the tractate does not, strictly speaking, present ritual performance. Rather, it presents a complex discourse regarding ritual, involving extensive speculation. Consequently, much of our contemporary scholarship on ritual theory does not apply directly or should be used with great caution. Ritual theory discussions become more complicated when the object of study is not ritual per se, but discourse about ritual, particularly when that discourse focuses on ritual failing to proceed as it ought to proceed. In addition, in discussing Temple sacrifice, M. Zevachim focuses on ritual activity that no longer occurs without ever mentioning its absence. How do we apply ritual theory to discourse about ritual that is no longer performed? Finally, how do we approach ritual discourse by one group of religious elite (the rabbis) that purports to focus on another ritual elite (the priests) who no longer exist and therefore cannot speak for themselves? We will need to explore how ritual theory can help us understand discourse about ritual, discourse that, in and of itself, has been ritualized.
Blood Manipulation Let me begin with a general overview of blood manipulation within the Jewish sacrificial system. I will focus primarily on the discussions of blood manipulation in the Torah and their subsequent development in M. Zevachim, with a few brief references to M. Parah as well.6 Such a summary will require oversimplification, particularly regarding differences between the sacrificial systems of the Bible and the Mishnah, but it will be adequate for our present discussion. The Bible presents general guidelines regarding blood manipulation as part of sacrificial practice, and these guidelines explicitly prohibit blood consumption of any kind. Instead, priests are instructed to drain the blood
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of sacrificial animals from the body and apply the blood to the altar.7 The biblical material provides the bare outlines of the correct procedures for blood manipulation, although one should note that the biblical material makes many assumptions about the reader’s familiarity with sacrificial practice, and it should not be viewed as a comprehensive ritual manual.8 Scholars continue to enter into lively debates about the purpose of the blood manipulation today, specifically regarding whether it effected purification of the altar itself (e.g., as argued by Jacob Milgrom) or fulfilled some other purpose (e.g., as argued by Baruch Levine). In general, the application of blood seems to bring about ritual purification, although the relevant passages are by no means clear. For our purposes, the intended goal of the ritual is not crucial; rather, the guidelines for and parameters of ritual activity are key. The manipulation of an animal victim’s blood is a crucial element of animal sacrifice. In general, the sacrificial animal is slaughtered by having its throat cut. The blood is captured in basins as it pours out from the throat, and then it is applied by a priest in prescribed ways to the altar, an elevated structure about fifteen feet high, accessible by a ramp. Blood may be applied in four ways: (1) daubed (Hebr. ntn) on the horns of the altar; (2) tossed (Hebr. zrq) against the sides of the altar; (3) sprinkled (Hebr. nzh) on the priests during their ordination and toward the veil of the sanctuary; and (4) poured out (Hebr. špk) at the base of the altar. Each of the Hebrew verbs used indicates a distinct type of blood manipulation appropriate to the rite in which it is performed. The specific blood manipulation employed is determined by several factors. First, certain logistical concerns related to the nature of the offering govern its handling. Thus, in the ‘ōlâ (whole burnt offering) ritual, an unblemished animal is chosen (bull, sheep, or goat) and then killed by having its throat cut. Next, “Aaron’s sons, the priests, shall offer the blood, tossing the blood against the altar, round about” (Lev. 1:5).9 The priests take the basins containing the freshly collected blood and splash it against all four sides of the altar. As William Gilders notes, the process largely involves “a priestly circumambulation of the altar accompanied by the dashing of blood from a vessel one time on each side of the altar.”10 By contrast, if the ‘ōlâ offering is a bird, the priest pinches off the bird’s head, then drains its blood by pressing the bird’s throat immediately against the altar; its blood “shall be drained out against the side of the altar” (Lev. 1:15). Thus, bird blood is handled differently than other animal blood, presumably for logistical reasons.
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In addition, blood manipulation varies according to the type of sacrifice being performed. For example, in the first-fruits offering, the blood is tossed against the altar (Num. 18:17). Blood is also tossed against the altar in the ‘ōlâ, šĕlāmîm, and `āšām sacrifices.11 In the Yom Kippur sacrifice, by contrast, some blood is daubed on the “horns” of the altar and the rest of the blood is tossed against the altar seven times. Blood is sprinkled and daubed on the horns of the altar in certain ḥaṭṭā’t rites as well, and the blood that remains after these “sprinkling” and “daubing” activities is poured out at the base of the altar.12 Different rites, then, incorporate different blood manipulations. Conversely, the distinctive manipulation of blood is one of the identifying characteristics of each individual sacrificial rite. Thus blood manipulation can act as a “marker,” along with other elements (such as the type of animal offer and its gender), distinguishing one sacrifice from another. In addition, in certain contexts, blood is manipulated in multiple ways depending upon the intended result. In the ḥaṭṭā’t sacrifice, for example, the manipulation is somewhat complex: “The priest shall dip his finger in the blood and sprinkle (Hebr. nzh) the blood seven times before the Lord, in front of the veil of the sanctuary. The priest shall daub (Hebr. ntn) some of the blood on the horns of the altar of incense, which is in the Tent of Meeting, before YHWH, and the rest of the bull’s blood he shall pour out (Hebr. špk) at the base of the altar of the burnt offering, which is at the entrance to the tent of meeting” (Lev. 4:6–7). Note that priests manipulate the blood in this ritual in at least three distinct ways. In addition, blood is handled differently depending upon whose ritual contamination is being addressed. For example, the passage quoted earlier describes the ḥaṭṭā’t or purification ritual performed on behalf of an anointed priest. The Bible portrays priests as ritual agents acting on behalf of the community as a whole. Consequently, if a priest brings impurity into the sanctuary, he might bring “guilt on the people [of Israel]” (Lev. 4:3). The ḥaṭṭā’t ritual described earlier purges the sanctuary and allows the priest to continue to act effectively on behalf of the people.13 (The same procedure occurs when a ḥaṭṭā’t needs to be performed on behalf of the whole congregation to cleanse them of their ritual impurity.) A tribal leader, however, is viewed differently. A ḥaṭṭā’t performed on behalf of a tribal leader does not require that the blood be tossed “seven times before YHWH in front of the veil.” Neither is this required if the same ritual is performed for a common person. Thus, the procedural requirements of certain rituals reflect the sociocultic value of the individual ritual patron.
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It should be apparent from these few examples that the blood manipulation outlined in the biblical texts is extremely complex. The priests would have been responsible for performing the rituals correctly based on requirements driven by the nature of the offering itself, the type of ritual being performed, the intended purpose of the sacrifice, and the person benefiting from the ritual activity. From even this brief overview one can sense how easily a priest could make mistakes while performing these complicated tasks. Let us turn now to a discussion of these possible mistakes.
Ritual Errors The ritual system laid out in the Bible is meant to address the impurity generated by actions that occur largely in everyday life.14 Numerous studies have been published that address these issues, and I shall not repeat those arguments here. One key point to emphasize is that most actions that generate impurity are not wrongful acts or moral transgressions. They include natural bodily functions (nocturnal emissions, menstruation, childbirth) as well as normal social activities (such as caring for a dead body) that are not morally wrong. These activities, however, create ritual problems by generating impurity, many of which are addressed by additional ritual activity. The sacrificial system laid out in the Torah addresses the problems of impurity and sin, but in so doing the ritual system itself opens the doors for a second order of problems: sacrificial errors. As a largely halakhic or legal document, the Mishnah is focused on correct and incorrect behavior. As a result, much of the document outlines what may and may not occur in ritual behavior, and what to do when mistakes occur. Compared with the Bible, the Mishnah contains relatively little narrative material. Thus, the Mishnah comes across as a pragmatic document, grounded in the “real world,” where mistakes occur on a daily basis. In terms of blood manipulation, the biblical material lays out general guidelines but spends almost no time discussing the errors that can occur while handling the blood. M. Zevachim, by contrast, provides extensive detail regarding blood handling, concentrating almost entirely on sacrificial mistakes. A careful review indicates that blood manipulation errors tend to fall into one of the following categories. First, errors occur when blood for one specific offering is offered accidentally as if it were a different type of offering. The Hebrew literally describes this as a sacrifice being
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offered “not under its own name” (M. Zev. 1.3; Hebrew here: šelo’ lišmô). For example, if “a Passover offering or a sin offering were slaughtered not under its own name, or if the blood were received, conveyed, or sprinkled not under its own name, or under its own name and subsequently under a different name, or under a different name and then subsequently under its own name, the sacrifice is invalid” (M. Zev. 1.4; see also M. Parah 4.1). If an offering is presented “under its own name and subsequently under a different name,” then the initial procedures are performed as if the offering were one type of sacrifice (fulfilling one ritual purpose), but somewhere along the line the offering is performed as if it were another type of sacrifice (thus fulfilling a different ritual purpose). Thus, the error occurs in that an offering that was originally intended to fulfill one ritual purpose became confused with another type of offering. In such a situation, the offering is invalid. It is important to understand the meaning of a “valid” versus an “invalid” sacrifice, since the Mishnah frequently designates ritual offerings as one or the other. In general, a valid (Hebr. kšr) offering meets broad qualifying standards (e.g., is of the right substance, does not contain any impurities, etc.). A valid offering, however, may sometimes not fulfill the specific requirements of a specific ritual—it is acceptable as an offering, but not necessarily effective in the desired way. When introduced into a ritual performance, a valid offering does not contaminate or pollute the ritual space or any ritual participants, but it may be ineffective at accomplishing the intended purpose of the ritual. An invalid (Hebr. psl) offering, by contrast, violates the basic requirements of a sacrificial offering in some way; it is experienced negatively in the ritual arena. As we shall see, the presentation of an invalid offering can be polluting, and its presence often requires some kind of compensatory action. In addition to errors that arise when rituals are offered under the wrong designation, ritual errors can occur related to the priest, the ritual specialist who manipulates the blood. While the Mishnah allows lay members of the community to slaughter sacrificial animals in some instances (see M. Zev. 3.1), only a priest may manipulate the blood.15 M. Zevachim explains that a sacrifice can be invalidated if blood is received by a nonpriest, if the priest who acts is ritually ineligible to perform the ritual (e.g., he is uncircumcised, unclean), or if the priest is sitting when he receives the blood (2.1). For example, M. Parah 4.1 declares a red heifer invalid if the heifer were slaughtered by a priest with unwashed feet and hands or if the priest were not dressed in his required white garments. In another
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example, M. Parah 4.4 states that the rite of the red heifer is invalidated if the priests perform any other work during the ritual. Thus, the blood can be invalidated by priestly misconduct or ineligibility. In addition, an error occurs if the blood is mishandled. For example, M. Zevachim declares an offering invalid if it is received incorrectly by the designated priest (e.g., in his left hand; M. Zev. 2.1), if the blood is spilled on the ramp leading to the top of the altar (M. Zev. 3.2), or if it is sprinkled in the wrong location (M. Zev. 8:9–10). The blood also becomes invalid if it is carried outside the Temple Court (M. Zev. 8:12). In addition, there are various ways in which “valid” blood can become mingled with “invalid” blood. In most cases, the dominant view is that all of the blood must be disposed of when this occurs, suggesting that the invalid offering substance contaminates the valid offering substance (M. Zev. 8:7–8). Finally, intention also plays a role in blood manipulation. On this issue the Mishnah distinguishes itself from the biblical material. The Bible never discusses priestly intention; the Mishnah, by contrast, is very concerned with a priest’s intentions while performing ritual activity. According to the Mishnah, a ritual is invalidated when the priest intends to perform a ritual action “outside its proper time or place.” That is, certain ritual activities must be performed within a limited period of time following the slaughter of a sacrificial victim and within a designated place. Usually discussions regarding intention focus on when and where a priest may eat his allotted portion of a sacrifice. For example, M. Zev. 2:2–3 explains that a sacrifice becomes “abomination” (Hebr. pgl) if the priest plans to eat sacrificial meat after the two days following slaughter (the period designated for consumption) have passed. Similarly, the tractate discusses priests who intend to leave the blood to be manipulated on a later day (e.g., M. Zev. 3.6). Belated blood manipulation is an abomination; it is invalid and may incur severe penalties. Ritual errors, no matter what their form, can have four consequences. First, they may simply be corrected, with no harmful result. For example, M. Zev. 3:2 lists a series of mistakes that may be corrected “on the spot” and the blood manipulation remains valid (kšr).16 Second, ritual errors may render an offering invalid (Hebr. psl), meaning that its performance has no expiatory effect, but no ritual penalty is required for the ritual mistake. A quick review of the tractate reveals that this is the most common result when ritual error occurs. For example, M. Zev. 4:2 explains that if a priest fails to perform all of the prescribed acts of blood sprinkling (Hebr. nzh), the ritual is invalid, but no additional penalty is necessary. M. Parah 4.2
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states, “If [the priest] tossed [the blood] not in the direction of the entrance of the shrine, [the offering] is invalid,” but again, no penalty is incurred. Third, a blood manipulation error may require that an individual present an additional offering, even if his original, flawed offering is deemed valid. For example, M. Zev. 1.1 argues that all sacrifices that have not been slaughtered under their correct name or designation are valid (i.e., acceptable), but they do not fulfill the offering party’s ritual obligation. In other words, sacrifices offered under the wrong “label” are acceptable as sacrifices. They don’t create any ritual problems, but they do not fulfill the ritual aim of the specific, originally intended offering. Similarly, M. Zev. 6:7 states that the ‘ōlâ of a bird not offered under its own name (i.e., the correct sacrificial designation) “remains valid, but is not credited to its owner.” The owner must present another offering to fulfill his sacrificial obligation. Note that the texts convey no anxiety regarding this—the ritual must simply be performed again, correctly, to fulfill the ritual requirement.17 Finally, however, some errors are more serious, and here is where we find ritual “anxiety” in the Mishnah. Rituals involving serious errors are indicated with an extreme punishment, kārēt, which is usually translated as “cutting off” or “extirpation.” Great debates surround this term, which has been understood in at least four different ways: (1) the offending individual dies prematurely (at YHWH’s hand, not the community’s); (2) the individual will not be “gathered with his forefathers” after his death; (3) the individual is cut off from social and cultic contact with the community; or (4) the individual will not have children, effectively cutting him off in the long run from any share with the rest of the Israelites in YHWH’s blessings on His people.18 M. Zev. 2:2 describes a situation involving blood manipulation that warrants kārēt: [If the priest intended] to sprinkle its blood the next day, or [if he intended to sprinkle] some of its blood the next day, or [if he intended] to burn its sacrificial portions the next day or some of its sacrificial portions the next day or [if he intended] to eat some of its flesh the next day or an olive’s bulk of its flesh the next day or an olive’s bulk of the skin of the fat-tail the next day, [the sacrifice] becomes abomination, and kārēt [is warranted] thereby. (M. Zev. 2:2) The Mishnah takes pains to clarify which penalty applies in specific cases. In general, when someone unintentionally commits an error, the sacrifice
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is generally deemed valid or invalid as an offering, but no further penalty is applied. By contrast, the punishment of “cutting off” is generally reserved for those who intentionally act against YHWH’s commands. Specifically, the Mishnah applies this penalty to priests who intend to eat a substantial sacrificial offering portion at an inappropriate time. Similarly, certain passages penalize the manipulation of blood at an inappropriate time with kārēt. For example, the first half of M. Zev. 2:2 describes someone slaughtering an animal offering “intending to sprinkle its blood outside [the Temple Court] or [intending to sprinkle] some of its blood outside, or [with the intention of ] burning its sacrificial portions outside, …” providing a long list of variations on sprinkling blood, offering portions on the altar, and eating portions of the offering in an inappropriate place.19 In these cases, the Mishnah concludes that the sacrifice is invalid, but note that the more severe punishment of kārēt is not required. By contrast, the second half of M. Zevachim describes someone intending to sprinkle blood, to offer portions on the altar, or to consume portions at the wrong time—these acts render the sacrifice invalid, and they also incur the serious penalty of kārēt. The following statement or mishnah (2:3) lays out the general rule clearly: the intention to consume an offering outside of its proper place renders an offering simply invalid, but a wrongful intention to consume an offering outside of its proper time renders an offering invalid and warrants the penalty of kārēt.20 The Mishnah’s concern with intention regarding timing is interesting for two reasons. First, it differs from the Bible on this point. In the biblical material only one action involving blood warrants kārēt: the consumption of blood (Lev. 7:27; 17:10; 14). The Torah consistently forbids anyone from this action (see Gen. 9:4, Deut. 12:16, 23–25, Lev. 3:17, 7:26–27 17:10– 12, 14). In the Mishnah, however, we find a different response. M. Parah 4.3 states, “If he [the priest] slaughtered [the red heifer] intending to eat from its flesh or to drink from its blood, it is valid.”21 Thus, the intention to consume blood does not invalidate the offering, let alone warrant kārēt. Instead, the Mishnah applies kārēt in response to very different circumstances. As indicated in the earlier example, if a priest intends to sprinkle an animal’s blood the day after he is supposed to sprinkle it, the sacrifice “becomes abomination, and kārēt [is warranted] thereby” (M. Zev. 2:2). The extreme punishment is required because the priest knowingly intends to perform the ritual outside its proper, designated time. Thus, the intention to consume blood in and of itself does not warrant kārēt (as
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it did in the Torah), but the intention to consume the flesh of an offering in an inappropriate place or, more frequently, at an inappropriate time, does. In addition to blood manipulation, M. Zevachim makes different judgments between consuming a designated offering portion outside of the proper time as opposed to consuming it outside the proper place. As we might expect, kārēt is applied as a penalty when a priest intends to eat outside the designated time, not outside the designated place. For example, M. Zev. 6.7 notes that if a priest intends to eat a bird sin offering “outside its appointed place, it is invalid, but the penalty of excision is not required,” but if the priest intended to eat “outside its proper time, it becomes refuse, and punishment by kārēt is required thereby.” Thus, the ritual system’s most serious penalty is invoked largely in situations involving inappropriate intentions regarding time. There may be a straightforward reason for this. The Mishnah was redacted long after there was any access to the Temple site. However, time periods attached to the now-defunct Temple sacrifice routine continued to be pertinent. Specific moments in the day, the week, the month, and the year (originally derived from the cultic calendar) persisted as a prototype for the developing liturgical calendar. Carl Perkins notes that the opening passage of the Mishnah (M. Ber. 1:1f ) establishes a link between the appropriate times to recite the shema and ancient Temple ritual. Thus, from its very opening the Mishnah associates specific contemporary time-bound liturgical activities with Temple sacrifice. “Hence the recitation of the shema becomes like a (lay, rather than priestly) Temple offering which must be offered (or completed) b’zmanah (in its required time).”22 One could imagine that, in the late second/early third centuries, it would be in the Jewish community’s interest to emphasize penalties that reinforced the importance of sacred time more than penalties regarding location that, quite frankly, no longer applied in any real sense. Thus, the differing penalties related to inappropriate blood manipulation protect the ritual calendar—if not for sacrifice, then for its replacement, prayer, and Torah reading. Broadly speaking, the ritual penalties outlined in the Mishnah protect sacred time more seriously than sacred space for pragmatic reasons. The ritual rules laid down in the Mishnah are consistent with what we see developing liturgically in Judaism in the tannaitic period, providing us with a general thread to follow throughout additional complex treatments of sacrifice in other tractates.
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Errors in Blood Manipulation and the Jewish Sacrificial System We have seen that the most serious offenses in sacrificial blood manipulation are related to priestly intentions regarding time and place. At the most superficial level, this seems an obvious nod to the historic centrality of Temple ritual and an attempt to link developing liturgical practices to the authoritative sacrificial system. On a deeper level, however, I suspect that M. Zevachim’s discussions regarding ritual error are part of a much broader tannaitic enterprise. As noted earlier, the Mishnah is generally attributed to R. Judah ha-Nasi (referred to as simply “Rabbi” in the pages of the Mishnah itself). Within the Jewish tradition, the Mishnah’s authority arises simultaneously with its inception, based on its organization, clarity, and precision. However, it is clear that the compilation of the Mishnah was a long-term, complicated activity, and Judah ha-Nasi drew on frameworks developed previously by R. Akiva and R. Meir as he organized material that had been generated over hundreds of years.23 More important, while it is easy to treat the Mishnah as a written literary document, one with a fixed form and recognized authority since its inception, current research cautions against this approach. I tend to agree with Elizabeth Shanks Alexander, who makes a strong case for understanding the Mishnah primarily as an oral tradition and, hence, as a fluid tradition. The conclusions summarized in the Mishnah are condensed opinions arrived at after complicated debate involving sages and students in the context of the rabbinic academy. As Alexander states, the oral traditions of the rabbis, including the Mishnah, “unfolded in an ongoing manner through debate, dialogue, and argumentation.”24 As such, the written document we have now is simply a snapshot of a constantly evolving tradition. Alexander is primarily concerned with demonstrating that “these traditions and formulations were not always uniquely privileged within the rabbinic corpus… . in the earliest phases of composition and transmission, notions of textual continuity existed that did not depend on fixed linear sequences of words. In such circumstances, it is difficult to imagine that any single formulation or arrangement of tradition stood out definitively among the others as original, authentic, or privileged.”25 What is more accurate, she argues, is that the mishnaic authors were more concerned with “an appreciation of the multiplicity of fluidity of textual forms. Rather than seeing texts as fixed and stable and labeling variants as deviants from an original, the oral view recognizes the inherent fluidity of texts in oral settings.”26
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How does this relate to our discussion of blood manipulation? Most significantly, it should draw our attention away from the details of ritual error correction (which apparently were not fixed for a period of time) to the implied system underlying those details, the developing rabbinic system of argumentation. What were the tannaim concerned with as they engaged in these debates concerning blood manipulation? Along with Alexander, I would argue that the transmission of the Mishnah was primarily concerned with “the crafting of their [rabbinic] authority and the cultivation of intellectual habits through which to analyze and interpret them.”27 The key point here is that the Mishnah is more than a commentary on the Torah or an explication of the implications of the Torah’s instruction. Nor is it simply an extended appendix to the Torah’s ritual texts. Rather, the Mishnah establishes a new intellectual system, one that replaces priestly authority and ritual practice with rabbinic authority and ritual argument. Through the shift from instruction regarding priestly ritual practice to debates concerning the correction of priestly error via rabbinic discourse, the axis of Jewish ritual life shifts, reorienting the community to new agents and structures of authority. As a reminder, the Mishnah does not present actual ritual sacrifice but rather a discursive—and purely speculative—representation of a ritual world. In this complicated fabrication of ritual reality, I wish to draw attention to one point in particular. In the ritual world constructed in the Mishnah, the rabbis chose not to minimize the discussion of error, thus presenting some idealistic representation of past priestly action. In fact, we find quite the opposite: the Mishnah highlights ritual error. In these texts we have a portrayal of ritual activity constantly on the verge of failing. Why? I would argue that the extended discussions of ritual complexity and ritual error occur (at least in part) because the real religious “masters” on display here are not the priests, but the rabbis themselves, demonstrating their command of the technical knowledge involved in Temple sacrifice. Where priestly activity repeatedly falls short of perfection, the rabbis demonstrate complete control. The rabbinic conversation is most impressive precisely because it demonstrates knowledge of intricate details, both in terms of what can go wrong and in terms of how to identify and then correct what has gone wrong. The rabbis master a discursive realm that, in actual performance, could never be mastered. In so doing they actually surpass the priests, and the rabbinic tradition is established as superior to the cultic one.
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I noted earlier that the Mishnah seems to ignore seismic events in Jewish history in the period immediately prior to its redaction (the First Jewish Revolt, the destruction of the Temple, and the Bar Kochba Revolt, for example). Given the social, political, and theological magnitude of these events, the Mishnah’s silence is almost unfathomable. As Jacob Neusner comments, “it is unthinkable that anything done in the aftermath of the destruction of the Temple in 70 C.E. and the failed revolt of 135 C.E. should ignore these events. So in our [scholarly] interpretation of the Mishnah as a whole, as a system in itself, we have to invoke these events. On the other hand, when we turn to the system of Mishnah and examine as best we can its history in detail, the picture is quite different… . Mishnah is a profoundly anti-historical, anti-contextual document.”28 In terms of the content of the Mishnah, this is certainly the case. However, Neusner concludes from this that the rabbis were simply trying to protect their peers from shifting to a different religio-cultic tradition: “They [the rabbis] repeat and augment the Scriptural laws and apply their logic. They also make certain that, for the time being, there will be no other cult and sacrificial system.”29 The Mishnaic authors, Neusner seems to imply, take the ongoing continuity of the past tradition to heart: “Mishnah’s system is a transitional one. It preserves interests and themes important to the priests, doing so through the methods and literary and cultural preferences of the scribes.”30 I take a somewhat more cynical view of the Mishnah’s complete silence regarding the destruction of the Temple. As Robert Alter notes, “ ‘The not saying of something (or the pretending not to say it) is an ancient rhetorical device… . Often enough the reticence is intended to increase the impact of what it purports to conceal while making it inevitable that a properly informed reader will at once, and with the added emotion attendant on discovery, recognize what is really meant.’ Irony persuades by misdirecting in a complex way.”31 It has frequently been noted that the Bible includes ironic material, particularly in its narrative (and even in its prophetic) material. But can we not find irony in legal material as well? It seems to me quite ironic that significant attention in the Mishnah is directed toward ritual activities that had been virtually impossible to perform for over a hundred years. The “properly informed readers” to whom the Mishnah was addressed were largely the sages themselves and their students. The absent Temple would be the elephant in the rabbinic academy classroom, particularly during discourses focused on Temple practices. Carolyn Sharp, in her discussion of irony in the Hebrew Bible, references Linda Hutcheon and notes:
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[I]rony functions in a relational and additive way much as metaphor does, with an important distinction: where metaphor signifies and establishes connection chiefly through the construction of similarity, irony signifies and establishes connection chiefly through the construction of difference. The dialectical relationship between the said and the unsaid creates a “third” meaning; it is this third meaning, which is not simply the implied opposite of the false literal meaning, that is properly understood as the ironic meaning.32 The unspoken absence of the Temple actually creates the possibility of a discourse that seems, on the surface, to establish continuity while, in actuality, it draws attention to a new reality based inexorably on distinction. To sum up, the detailed discussions of penalties attending errant blood manipulation, at the surface or conscious level, signal that a new form of Judaism has superseded the old one. These discussions link prayer to Temple sacrifice, particularly in prioritizing ritual time over ritual place. At a more fundamental (but less obvious) level, the discussions of ritual error reinforce an axial shift from a priestly-cultic matrix to a rabbinic-textual matrix. In this new system, ritual errors are simultaneously addressed and nullified by a master rabbinic class. While appearing to look backward, the tannaim are actually shaping how the community will move forward. The Mishnah trains its readers to think like rabbis rather than like priests, thus to imagine the world in a discursive rather than a cultic way. As Alexander notes in the concluding words of her book, “those who transmitted Mishnah played an active role in shaping not only the vagaries of its concrete formulation but also, and equally importantly, the intellectual environs within which it was received.”33
Errors in Blood Manipulation and Ritual Theory M. Zevachim’s discussions of blood manipulation also have something to contribute to broader theorizing about ritual in general. Specifically, the data presented in the Mishnah’s treatment of “blood manipulation gone wrong” draw our attention to layers of ritual discourse and, in so doing, complicate any theoretical approach that fails to distinguish between ritual practice and ritual discourses. While we could apply this distinction to any one of a number of theoretical approaches, let me play this out with
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respect to some of Jonathan Z. Smith’s well-known statements concerning ritual. First, Smith has tended to privilege space, focusing on “the role of place as a fundamental component of ritual: place directs attention.”34 But we have seen that both time and space are organized in the construction of ritual in the rabbinic presentation of the Temple ritual world. In fact, the ritual correction and penalty system presented in the Mishnah suggests that time replaced space as the more significant ritual mode in the tannaitic period. In addition, the Mishnah complicates the characterization of ritual as the “ought” to reality’s “is.” As discussed in the Introduction, Smith rejects the classic myth/ritual divide (myth has content, but ritual is “empty,” devoid of content), characterizing ritual instead as “a mode of paying attention.”35 In a passage I have already referenced in this volume, Smith states, “Ritual is a means of performing the way things ought to be in conscious tension to the way things are.”36 Such a characterization suggests a dualism between that which is left as mundane and that which is designated as sacred via ritual activity. But the Mishnah complicates this, presenting a constant deferral of “making sacred” by the necessary interpolation of ritual correctives whenever mistakes occur. The ritual world of sacrifice as portrayed in the Mishnah is not a clean shift from “is” to “ought,” but rather the constant striving after “optimal,” including an endless dance of action, error, correction, and action again. Ritual as presented in the Mishnah, rather than clearly distinguishing the ordinary from the sacred, involves the constant jockeying between the sacred and the mundane, between the “preferred” and the “possible” as mistakes and their corrections open up sacrificial practice to more and more options. As a result, the rabbis describe a constant recalibration of what actually constitutes appropriate and efficacious rituals in the face of infelicitous circumstances and basic mistakes. The ritual world they describe is vibrant, elastic, ever- changing, and intimately bound up with the day-to-day, and it suggests that other ritual worlds may act similarly. At another level, the Mishnah, through its presentation of ritual, reveals a more contentious social world than might appear at first blush. The field of ritual studies has tended to note how ritual activity marks “us” (the community) as distinct from “them” (those outside the community). In addition, ritual activity tends to distinguish between ritual elite and laity. In discussing the biblical sacrificial world, Gilders notes, “the manipulation of blood marks, defines, enacts, and reinforces relationships and status within the context of the cult as it is represented in the textual corpus.”37
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Priests are separated from laity. The Mishnah takes this one step further: the discourse regarding blood constructs a new “us” relative to a new “them”—the rabbinic, textual world, referring to but distinguished from the priestly, cultic world—through conversations about sacrifice. Just as the “burnt offering blood manipulation functions as an index of relationships in the cultic sphere,”38 the rabbinic debates concerning the repair of errant blood manipulations function as an index of relationships in the discursive, postcultic sphere, subordinating the priestly community even while validating their historic role. While much of the Mishnah focuses on priests as the primary ritual agents, it becomes clear that the rabbis are really the key religious figures in the text. Priestly activity is a topic of conversation, but rabbis control the conversation. Over the course of the extended rabbinic debates in the Mishnah, the text unseats the priest as the central religious agent of the Jewish community (by focusing on his errors and omitting his voice from the conversation) and replaces him with the rabbi. In the Mishnah’s world, the priest repeatedly fails to fulfill his role as ritual agent by failing to manipulate the blood successfully. He disauthorizes himself by his failures and limitations. Ultimately, this ritual discourse reorients the reader. While engaged with the Mishnaic material, the reader is repositioned within a tannaitic system rather than a cultic one, where rabbi replaces priest and the sacred of the Temple is replaced with the sacred of the rabbinic academy. At a general level, this dynamic should draw our attention to the implicit dynamics at work in ritual texts that involve one religious group discussing the ritual activity of another religious group.
Concluding Thoughts What does the Mishnah bring to our broader, comparative conversation about ritual gone wrong? First, it is clear that no interpretation of tannaitic discussions regarding sacrifice makes sense if one ignores ritual errors. Innocent mistakes and intentional misperformances are absolutely central to the Mishnah, and they should prompt us to review other ritual traditions to look for extended discussions of ritual error and their correction. Second, as the rabbis discuss ritual errors, they lift discussions of ritual activity out of their original context (the Bible) and situate these discussions in the newly established (and differently organized) system of the Mishnah. In doing this, the rabbis make two moves that assert their own
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authority over biblical material. First, the rabbis excise brief passages from the biblical text. “The hermeneutic license to cut the text into small units which can be interpreted as if they stood alone creates a wide hermeneutic choice.”39 This act, in and of itself, conveys a position of authority in relationship to scripture. Second, the rabbis resituate these small units into a new discursive context. In doing this, the rabbis create an entirely new approach to each unit: “the Mishnah, in surrounding the segment with different co-text, can thus appoint a fresh topic, reference, or meaning for the biblical words.”40 This is an astonishing move—to recontextualize biblical passages into new conversations is to play with scripture itself, to impose a distinctive organizational and analytic approach to this material, largely replacing a narrative (historic) approach with a thematic (ahistoric) one. Samely asserts, “The fact that in the Mishnah the explication of Scripture is embedded in a thematically arranged discourse (not in a discourse whose topic is the text of Scripture) is of profound importance in reconstructing the hermeneutic choices. It imparts a thematic orientation on nearly all Scripture use, and this directly accounts for a number of features often considered typical of rabbinic hermeneutics in general. In positioning a biblical quotation within the Mishnaic discourse, the author- editors of the Mishnah have to decide on the topic to which it is relevant— which is often, as we shall see, the fundamental hermeneutic decision to take.”41 The rabbis, in effect, cut and paste the Bible, rearranging biblical material in accordance with their own priorities. Ritual studies theory can benefit generally from noting when discussions of ritual activity are integrated into other discourses, and analyzing this integration as part of a broader sociopolitical strategy. In addition, we see that the specific tannaitic discussions of errors in blood manipulation challenge the notion of ritual as the construction of an “ought” in contradistinction to an “is.” They present a ritual world constantly at play. The idealized, Platonic form of ritual is a figure in the scholar’s imagination; ritual communities themselves view ritual much more fluidly. Ritual textual traditions suggest that optimal rituals are held much more tentatively than scholars often think. The optimal ritual template provides a starting point, but ritual participants constantly adjust their ritual behavior as necessary, largely without anxiety about the efficacy of ritual activity. Ritual changes reveal a dynamic interplay between what the ritual player initially aims to do, what obstacles and errors limit and redirect his activity, and the range of appropriate and effective adjustments available. There is no sharp divide between an ideal and an actual
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ritual performance. Rather, ritual actors constantly act, reflect, adjust, and recalibrate. What emerges from the Mishnah’s authoritative discussion of ritual, then, is not a one-dimensional description of what should occur in a ritual performance, but an imaginative expression of the fact that ritual rarely occurs as it “should”—and there’s no problem with that. On the surface level, the Mishnah offers an elaborate articulation of the ritual system’s ability to identify and correct error, to accommodate mistakes and inappropriate intentions, and thus to remain effectual. Less obviously but just as significantly, the intricate conversations about ritual error and correction constitute a flamboyant display of the rabbis’ own ritual expertise. To be able to explain a phenomenon is to imply that one stands outside of it. The tannaitic discourse encompasses the cultic system with its own discursive system. By deliberating about priestly activity and rendering authoritative opinions on the basis of that deliberation, the rabbis assert their comprehension of (and therefore superiority to) the cultic system. Consequently, discussions that appear on the surface to be about what the priests do are really displays of rabbinic ritual knowledge. Discussions of ritual remedy in general decenter the apparent intended recipient of the ritual (YHWH) and the ritual technicians (the priests), instead highlighting the new ritual elite’s ability to contend with ritual error. The implications of this for ritual theory are significant. Scholars of ritual have tended to focus on ritual gone wrong predominately as failure in the efficacy of ritual performance. But in the Mishnah we see that discussions of ritual error are at the heart of establishing a new ritual order. Discourse about ritual can be a rhetorical tool used by one subset of a community to position itself in relation to another subset of the same community. Chronicling one group’s ritual errors in a seemingly objective way actually draws attention to that group’s limitations, suggesting its potential ineffectuality. It is worth searching out similar dynamics in other ritual communities to determine how discussions of ritual gone wrong might be deployed as part of an effort to assert one system of authority over another.
3
Blood Libel Ritual Misrepresentation They [Jews] have a certain day on which they mix the blood of non-Jews into their bread and eat it. It happened that two years ago, while I was in Paris on a visit, that the police discovered five murdered children. Their blood had been drained, and it turned out that some Jews had murdered them in order to take their blood and mix it with the bread that they eat on this day. This shows you what is the extent of their hatred and malice toward non-Jewish peoples.1
This chapter will examine the phenomenon of the blood libel—the false accusation that Jews murder non-Jews (usually Christians) in order to obtain their blood for use in ritual ceremonies—along with ritual murder and Host desecration (defilement of the communion wafer) as distinctive forms of ritual disruption. All three of these charges, which were leveled against Jews beginning in the early Middle Ages, constitute a distinctive kind of ritual disruption. In these instances, the ritual activities of one community (Jews) were mischaracterized by another community (usually Christians) as part of a broader campaign to maintain Jews’ marginalized status and, in some cases, to justify the expulsion and murder of Jews. This mischaracterization extended geographically into Eastern Europe, Russia, and the United States as well as into certain Arab countries. In addition, cases of ritual murder and blood libel have persisted over centuries: the earliest cases were documented in the twelfth century (see Appendix 1), and they have been identified as recently as 2005. The temporal and geographic scope of these misrepresentations of Jewish ritual suggests that they warrant careful study. Two features of the blood libels are of particular interest for an examination of ritual disruption. First, they
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involve a dynamic between two ritual communities. One community (usually Christians in this case) mischaracterizes the ritual activity of a second community (Jews). This misrepresentation reflects and entrenches an unequal power relationship, forcing the community charged with ritual murder into a reactive posture where it is forced to defend itself. Second, the heart of blood libels is discourse about ritual, not ritual activity itself. The purported ritual activity functions as a rhetorical device, wielded as a weapon by one community against another. The charges of ritual murder and blood libel were so potent that they forced continued discourse by forcing defensive responses by Jews. While the charges might have also prompted behavioral changes, at the heart of the blood libel is a disruption rooted in discourse about ritual, not actual ritual. We begin with some historical background. Beginning in the twelfth century, Jews were accused of murdering non- Jews— usually child victims—in order to obtain their blood for use in ritual ceremonies. The specific charges varied over time; Jews were charged with ritual murder, ritual blood use (called “blood libels” by those who refute the charges), and Host desecration. Alan Dundes defines “ritual murder” as “any sacrificial killing—of either animal or human victim for some designated reason… . The blood libel is a subcategory of Jewish ritual murder. Not only is a Christian killed—usually a small child, typically male—but the child’s blood is supposedly utilized in some ritual context, e.g., to mix with the unleavened bread eaten at Passover.”2 Christopher Ocker makes sharp distinctions between “ritual murder” (“the belief that Jews kill Christians for ritual purposes”) and “blood libel” (“the allegation that, in so doing, Jews extract blood for their rites or for magic”).3 A third accusation, “Host desecration,” he defines as “the belief that Jews ritually abused consecrated hosts, usually in trials testing its supernatural identity.”4 Other scholars are not as disciplined in their use of these terms, and “ritual murder” and “blood libel” are often used virtually interchangeably.5 Blood libels and related false accusations involve one community misrepresenting another community’s ritual activity and using that misrepresentation to justify a wide range of persecution. Records indicate that in some instances accusers knew that the charges they were leveling were false—evidence suggests that these accusers often had something specific to gain from blaming Jews for murder and ritual blood manipulation. Sometimes the accusers were ultimately found to be the murderers themselves. In other instances, however, accusers and the wider community
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seem to have believed the lies they were spreading. Charges of ritual blood use resonated with stereotypes that were already prevalent about Jews, so non-Jews (usually Christians, but sometimes others) found it relatively easy to accept the idea that Jews would torture and murder innocent victims. In either case, the ritual practices of Jews were misrepresented, often leading to the abuse of individuals and entire communities. The overall result was to engender fear of Jews, fear that was translated into violence. Those accused of ritual murder and ritual blood manipulation experienced social isolation, economic deprivation, property damage, expulsion, torture, and execution, often under the watchful eye of religious and government officials. In the following pages I review the history of ritual murder and blood libel charges, and I argue that there is a complex ritual dynamic at work here. For the first time in this study, we look across ritual communities. Longstanding conflicts between these communities were played out in part in the form of ritual misrepresentation. One community exerted its power over a minority community (Jews) in order to justify continuing patterns of domination. The nature and elements of the misrepresentation reveal how Jews were “othered” as part of continuing efforts to marginalize them. Less obviously, the mischaracterization of Jewish ritual also reveals a great deal about anxieties Christians faced over the centuries as they grappled with evolving understandings of their own theology and ritual practices. More generally, I argue that ritual disruption in the form of ritual misrepresentation has continued well into the modern period in dynamics between various communities, and it functions as an effective tool of oppression by one group against another.
Examples of Ritual Murder Charges and Blood Libels Accusations of ritual murder and blood libels originated in England but then spread around the globe, and they have been documented well into the modern period. In order to understand the nature of the disruption that blood libels cause, it will be helpful to examine a few cases in some detail. A complete historical review is impossible; I offer here descriptions of several of the most well-known ritual murder accusations and blood libels in order to understand their nature and scope. (See the Appendix 1 for a list of many documented blood libels.)
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1144, William of Norwich The first documented case of an accusation of ritual murder occurred in the twelfth century in Norwich, England. A twelve-year-old boy, William, was killed, and his body was hidden in Thorpe Wood, a local forest, where it was discovered during Easter week in March 1144. Initially William’s death was blamed on local Jews, but no ritual element was identified. A few years after the murder, however, a monk known as Thomas of Monmouth became interested in William’s story. Thomas was not in Norwich at the time of William’s murder, but when he arrived about five years later he took up William’s cause and fabricated an account of the boy’s death that turned the young man into a martyr. About ten years after William’s murder Thomas began to publish a series of books entitled Vita et passio Sancti Willemi martyris Norwicensis (c. 1155). Gavin I. Langmuir argues that Thomas’s account “is important above all for the general history of Jews, and of relations between Christians and Jews, for it is our most direct evidence for the first medieval accusation that Jews were guilty of ritual murder.”6 Thomas’s narrative (which is without factual support) claims that William was brought to the home of Eleazar, a leader in the Norwich Jewish community. There William observed a Jewish Sabbath celebration, after which he was taken captive and crucified as part of an effort by local Jews to mock Christ’s Passion. As William’s notoriety grew, his body was exhumed from its makeshift grave in the woods and brought to rest in the monks’ cemetery. Thomas, drawing on supposed testimony by a converted Jew named Theobald, claimed that Jews were required to sacrifice a Christian each year. John M. McCulloh notes that according to Thomas, “In 1144 the lot had fallen on Norwich, and all the Jewish communities in the kingdom had consented to the act.”7 Thus, in Thomas’s account William’s death was not merely the act of a handful of local Jews; it was part of a nationwide Jewish conspiracy. Over the centuries numerous hypotheses have been put forward to explain William’s death, including charges that local Jews killed him; that local Christians killed him as part of a failed reenactment of Jesus’s crucifixion; or that William’s uncle, Godwin Sturt, killed him and blamed local Jews to divert suspicion. Scholar Cecil Roth, drawing on M. R. James’s wild theory, famously suggested that William died “in a cataleptic fit and was buried alive by his relatives, who endeavored to shield themselves by putting the blame on the Jews.”8 M. D. Anderson posited that local Jews stabbed William, burying him while he was still alive. According to
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Anderson, the boy died only when he was uncovered by his relatives three days later.9 No one is quite sure what specifically prompted Thomas’s account of William’s death apart from Thomas’s deep personal investment in portraying William as a martyr. For our purposes, what matters is that Thomas of Monmouth’s account of William’s death, which cast local Jews as ritual murderers and William as a martyr, took hold and became the basis for similar accusations. Denise L. Despres argues that Thomas’s account became the prototypical narrative for alleged ritual murders, establishing key narrative elements: “the ritual crucifixion of a child bought by Jews as part of a wider anti-Christian conspiracy; the miraculous discovery of the defiled body and the community witness of the translation to sacred space; the reportage of a Christian convert from Judaism as verifying malicious intent; the pathos of a grieving mother in imitation of Mary; the immutability of the body and its signs of sanctification through miraculous healing, the odor of sanctity, thaumaturgical power; and the ritual entombment of the precious relics and the cremation of new sacred space to purge sacrilege and sanctify the ritual map of the community.”10 After Thomas of Monmouth, any description of an innocent child’s death that included these elements was clearly intended (1) to be viewed as Christian martyrdom and (2) to be understood as the result of murder by Jews.11 The accusations in Norwich seem to have prompted widespread rumors of Jewish bloodlust. Jews were accused of similar activities in Gloucester (1168), at Bury St. Edmunds (1181), and in Winchester (1192). In all of these cases, the earliest accusations were simply of “cruel murder”; it is only in later accounts that Jews are accused of crucifying the victim and performing ritual murder and blood manipulation.12 While no Jews seem to have been put on trial or harmed in response as a result of these rumors, they established the basis for martyr status for William and contributed to wide- ranging negative views of Jews. As Gavin I. Langmuir notes, “The series of accusations of ritual murder that Jews had to face from the twelfth to the twentieth century began with a historiographic fantasy.”13
1475, Simon of Trent One of the earliest and most famous blood libels occurred in Trent, England. In 1475, Simon of Trent (two years old) was found dead on Easter Sunday in the cellar of the home of Samuel, a leader in the Jewish community. According to scholar Paul Kristeller, the entire Jewish population was
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declared guilty of murder.14 After being tortured, several (6–17 according to various accounts) Jews confessed to the crime and were executed, while the rest of the Jews in the community were expelled. Jews were excluded from Trent until the eighteenth century, and Simon was beatified as a martyr in 1582. (The Catholic Church did not acknowledge this error until 1965, when Simon’s name was finally deleted from the Calendar of Saints.) The explanation provided for Simon’s murder was that Jews needed blood for their “Jubilee year celebration of Pesach,” specifically to bake blood into the matza, and Simon was killed to fulfill that need.15 However, there are several problems with this reasoning. First, the Jews did not celebrate a “Jubilee year Pesach”—1475 was a Jubilee year in the Catholic Church calendar. Also, Simon did not disappear before Thursday, and Pesach had begun on the previous Wednesday evening (March 22, 1475). Eventually, an inquiry cleared the Trent Jews of Simon’s murder. Hermann Strack records that in 1478, in response to the extreme and unwarranted sufferings of Jews in the course of this case, the Pope “ordered the bishop to take heed, that no Christian should venture, on account of the Trent episode, or for any other reason, to kill any Jew without permission of the authorities, or to mutilate or to wound or unjustifiably to extort money from them, or to hinder them from continuing to observe their rites which were allowed by law.”16 Despite the fact that the Jews of Trent were eventually cleared of Simon’s murder, the blood libel charges had long-lasting effects. Centuries later (1609) city officials refused to remove a painting of Simon of Trent as a martyr that appeared at the entrance of the Brückenturm Gate.17 The painting was actually restored in 1678, and only removed a century later. Kieval notes that the narrative concocted concerning Simon’s murder included several elements that characterized the Jews as posing an ongoing threat, specifically in the bloodlust surrounding their celebration of Passover. As Kieval notes, in the Simon of Trent narrative, “the Jews of Trent not only reenacted the crucifixion of Christ, not only added to their scandalous treatment of the Eucharist and the Virgin Mary, but were also issuing a warning as to what Christians might expect if the Jews were ever allowed to exercise power in their midst.”18 As a result, Jews well beyond the borders of Trent suffered from rumors of ritual murder, often suffering severe persecution whenever a mysterious death occurred or someone went missing. Eli Barnavi comments on the ripple effects of this case, claiming, “It is undoubtedly the blood-libel case which exercised the greatest influence on Western collective memory, both Jewish and Christian.”19
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1840, The Damascus Affair While it is tempting to think that ritual murder and blood libel accusations were limited to the distant medieval past, they have actually persisted into the modern period. Scholar Jonathan Frankel notes two of the more infamous cases: “Apart from the Beilis case that took place in Kieve during 1911–13 … the Damascus affair of 1840 is probably the best known example of a ‘blood libel’ or Jewish ‘ritual murder’ affair in modern times.”20 In February 1840 a Capuchin monk living in Damascus, Padre Tommaso, disappeared along with his servant. Because he had visited the Jewish quarter on the day he disappeared, suspicion immediately fell on local Jews. Accusations came largely from local Catholics and the French consul, Ratti-Menton. Several Jews were arrested and severely tortured; one Jew was beaten so severely that he died. Executions of several Jews were anticipated. Various European governments became involved (especially France and Austria), and the incident rapidly attracted international attention.21 In response, Jews around the world rallied. Jewish organizations and individuals wrote letters and lobbied national governments on behalf of the men accused of Tommaso’s death. Leaders of the Jewish community in Damascus wrote a letter to the Jewish community in Constantinople, a letter translated into English and published in The Times of London on June 23, 1840. The letter states that a barber was tortured into saying, “inasmuch as, the Passover holy days approaching, they [the Jews] required blood for their cakes.”22 He later recanted this “confession,” along with others accused, “appealing to the sacred writings, which strictly prohibit Jews feeding upon blood.”23 Paul Mendes-Flohr and Jehuda Reinharz, in their comments on this letter, note, “the very fact that the local representative of France, the cradle of the Enlightenment, supported—and actually supervised jointly with the governor-general of Syria—the investigation of the Jews accused of the crime aroused the concern of world Jewry.”24 Ultimately, prominent Jewish men in France and Great Britain secured the release of the accused men by appealing to Muhammad Ali, then ruler of Syria. They also convinced the Sultan in Constantinople to issue an edict prohibiting the prosecution of Jews on the basis of blood libel charges. However, their efforts on the world stage and the broader international conversation generated by the Damascus Affair had lingering negative effects for European Jews. The incident prompted broader criticisms of Jews in Europe, especially in France. As Julie Kalman explains, a so-called “Rothschild-Jew figure emerged,” a “scheming, untrustworthy
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character” who used his power to help other Jews.25 “With the news of the blood libel accusations, prominent Jews in France sought to come to the aid of their coreligionists in Damascus, undertaking a prominent letter-writing campaign in the press and lobbying those in power. These actions made them targets of criticism… . The identification by French Jews with other Jews in a foreign country was seen to be a public statement of affiliation: France’s Jews were choosing publicly to be Jews before they were Frenchmen.”26 In France, the Damascus Affair “allowed artists and commentators to reflect depictions of Oriental Jews back onto Jews in their own society.”27 This, according to Kalman, “led to freer (and more aggressive) criticism of Jews in French society… . In the wake of the Damascus Affair, reports on displays of Jewish wealth and power became commonplace.”28 Kalman’s final comment is striking—while the individual Jews accused of Padre Tommaso’s murder were acquitted of that particular crime, the international efforts failed to dispel the general notion that Jews engaged in ritual murder. Frankel quotes a US vice-consul as saying, “A most barbarous secret for a long time suspected in the Jewish nation … at last came to light in the city of Damascus, that of serving themselves of Christian blood in their unleavened bread … a secret which these 1840 years must have made many unfortunate victims.”29 The French press repeatedly reinforced the idea that Jews were not only capable of such action, but that they engaged in ritual murder on a regular basis. One letter to the editor published in England stated, “ ‘I—and I firmly believe nine-tenths of my fellow countrymen—share the perception of the enormous guilt of the Jews of Damascus.’ ”30 Notes from the Damascus Affair were compiled in volumes, which were then published in multiple editions and translated into various languages. Thus, while ultimately leading to the release of the Jews charged with Padre Tommaso’s murder, the sheer volume of information gathered about the monk’s death suggested that it was reasonable to consider the idea that Jews engaged in ritual murder. As Frankel notes, “For those who supported the ritual-murder charge, the Damascus affair, far from demonstrating its intrinsic absurdity, had in fact provided all but irrefutable proof of its terrible truth… . It became not just a medieval but no less a modern phenomenon.”31 Thus, the Damascus Affair brought long-sleeping prejudices and stereotypes onto the international stage. The fact that Jews could be charged with ritual murder and tortured severely in a lengthy investigation authorized by a “modern” government highlighted the divisions that still existed
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between Jews and Christians. In addition, it raised questions in Western Europe about the loyalties of Jews as national citizens.
1911, Beilis Trial Accusations of ritual murder and blood use continued into the twentieth century, most famously in a case set in Russia. In 1911 Mendel Beilis was arrested in Kiev for the ritual murder of a twelve-year-old boy, Andre Yustschchinsky. The police investigation indicated that the boy had, in fact, been killed by a group of criminals he knew; however, Beilis was still arrested and charged with ritual murder. His trial, which began in September 1913, drew international attention, including strong anti-Jewish sentiment in England and in France. Some presses used the trial to perpetuate the notion that Jews used Christian blood in their ritual activities. Szajkowski notes, for example, “that a news item stating that the German Kaiser believed in blood accusations, which had appeared in the Russian press, was reprinted without comment in many German newspapers.”32 Even when Beilis was acquitted, anti-Jewish sentiment drove criticisms of Jews in Russia, as well as immigrant Jews in England, specifically targeting Jewish labor organizations.33 One element of the international response warrants note. On October 7, 1913, Lord Rothschild wrote to the Vatican, asking the Pope to authenticate an earlier statement by Cardinal Ganganelli that blood accusations were utterly baseless. On October 18, the Secretary for Foreign Affairs for the Vatican replied, upholding the authenticity of that statement—in effect, stating that the Vatican’s official position was that Jews did not use blood in their rituals. However, there were limits to the impact of the Beilis acquittal. While the official statement from the Vatican certainly helped clear Beilis, it did little to set aside popular beliefs about Jews’ need for blood for ritual activity. Szajkowski notes, “The verdict declared Beilis not guilty and this set him free, but the verdict also stated that a ritual murder was involved in this case and so left open for discussion the question of blood accusations in general. The anti-Semitic press triumphed. The mood of the Jewish leaders was somber.”34 Szajkowski quotes Jewish leader Lucien Wolf: “ ‘I am afraid we cannot congratulate ourselves very enthusiastically on the result of the Kiev trial. There can be little doubt that the verdict was engineered by the authorities with the idea of throwing dust into the eyes of foreigners while at the same time reserving the Blood Accusation and
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even giving it a measure of countenance.’ ”35 As the Juedische Rundschau reported, “Beilis was set free, the Jewish people was condemned.”36
Evolution of the Blood Libel in History These four cases bring to light general trends in the ritual accusations that have been leveled against Jews. Specifically, over the centuries, charges of ritual murder and blood manipulation expanded in two key ways: in their nature and in geographic scope. First, it is important to note that the nature of the specific charges brought against Jews changed over time. Prior to the twelfth century, Jews experienced persecution by Christians throughout Europe. Initially, this persecution took the forms of local attacks or pogroms. The earliest charges involved accusing Jews of abducting and murdering non-Jews (usually Christian children), but there was no reference to related ritual activity. Jewish communities only became the target of blood accusations linked to ritual practice in the twelfth century. 37 In the thirteenth century the ritual murder charges became increasingly varied. In 1235 Jews were accused of killing five young children in the town of Fulda on Christmas Day. In this instance, Jews were accused not merely of ritual murder, but of using the blood for ritual or medicinal purposes. Thus, the true “blood libel” originated. Under torture, accused Jews are said to have confessed that they needed “to obtain blood for the purpose of healing.”38 In addition, they were accused of mixing Christian children’s blood with the matzah and wine in their own Passover celebration. Records indicate that thirty-four Jews were executed for this crime. As time passed, purported magical use of blood became conflated with Jewish ritual: “The Jews used wine—red wine—for their Paschal meal; they baked preposterous unleavened bread for their Passover fare. Assuredly the blood must be used for the one or the other! So the popular mentality argued.”39 In addition, Jews were accused of desecrating the Host (the wafer used in the Eucharist): “Throughout the 13th century accusations of the desecration of the Host by Jews are included in the exampla literature of the preachers.”40 Jews were said to “torture” the Host (as a manifestation of Christ’s body) by trampling it or humiliating it in some way.41 By the fourteenth century, Jews were accused of mixing the Host with children’s blood and piercing it as if it were Jesus’s flesh to render it unfit for the celebration of the Mass. Abraham Gross notes a variation on these charges that developed later: “In the second half of the 15th century we hear of a new libel: Jews
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need Christian blood to heal the wound of circumcision. The accusations appear in the forced confessions of Jews under torture. In Endingen, in 1470, during an investigation concerning a Christian family that had been murdered eight years earlier, Jews ‘admitted’ that they needed blood for use as holy oil (crisam) in the circumcision ritual.”42 By the eighteenth century, a wide range of motives was given for the Jewish need for Christian blood: “they allegedly used Christian blood in preparing matzo, for anointing rabbis, for circumcision, in curing eye ailments, in stopping menstrual and other bleedings, in preventing epileptic seizures, removing bodily odors, and to ward off the evil eye, to make amulets, love potions, and powder, and to paint the bodies of the dead.”43 Thus, over five centuries, Jews were increasingly accused of requiring innocent Christian blood for use in their religious ritual lives. In addition, over the centuries the geographic scope of blood libels expanded around the globe. With the expulsion of the Jews from France and England in the late fifteenth century, accusations shifted from Western Europe to the East. As Hsia notes, “While vigorous imperial intervention in the later sixteenth century contributed to the suppression of ritual murder trials in the central lands of the Holy Roman Empire—a process accompanied by the gradual disintegration of the ritual murder discourse as articulated in the two generations before the Reformation—the blood libel began to plague the Jewish communities in the eastern periphery of the empire during the last quarter of the sixteenth century, from whence the charge of blood magic would spread eastward into the Slavic lands.”44 Records indicate that eventually blood accusations spread into Eastern Europe, Eurasia, Russia, and eventually to Arab countries. For example, blood libels became particularly common in Poland in the mid-1700s. Ben-Sasson notes, “So many charges were leveled that the Council of the Four Lands sent an emissary to the Pope, asking him to curb the efforts of zealous priests to spread lies. “One of the cardinals, Ganganelli, wrote a refutation of the blood libels, which was approved in 1760 by Pope Clement XIII. The intervention of the Pope halted the wave of blood libels, but did not put an end to the anti-Jewish activities of the clergy.”45 Libels continued in the region until the end of the Poland-Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1795, despite Cardinal Ganganelli’s strong statement in 1759, denouncing the veracity of the blood libel and urging the Church to protect Jews in Eastern Europe, particularly those in Poland and Lithuania: “I […] hope that the Holy See will take some measure to protect the Jews of Poland as Saint
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Bernard, Gregory IX, and Innocent IV did for the Jews of Germany and France.”46 Hillel J. Kieval states that charges of ritual murder also became “commonplace in the Czech lands” in the 1890s.47 When rumors of ritual murder were refuted by evidence, much of the media (largely newspapers) simply rejected that evidence, choosing instead to spread rumors of a Jewish desire to commit violence, particularly in connection with the Passover celebration. As in Western Europe, questions were raised as to whether Jews were able to be both Jews and Czech citizens. Such rumors were spread in newspaper accounts but also in popular songs that circulated widely. Kieval quotes from a Czech newspaper article written in response to the 1893 Kolin ritual murder charges: the simple fact that, as a result of a rumor—perhaps unfounded— agitation started among the people against the Jews, and quickly grew wider, is proof that there simmers among our people anger and hatred against the Jews, whose bubbling over simply took the form of a rumor that the girl in question had been murdered by Jews. Our people has plenty of cause to be dissatisfied with the behavior of the Jews from a political, national, and economic point of view, and this is where one must look for the main causes and explanations of the recent and national endeavors, and where they do nonetheless identify with us, one cannot depend on them.48 Charges of a ritual murder spread into the Mediterranean, most notably on the Greek island of Corfu in 1891. Although these specific charges were almost immediately demonstrated to be false, riots broke out on the island, and seem to have sparked ritual murder accusations in other locations.49 False charges spread as far east as Russia. Ian Reader notes, “Ever since the time of Ivan the Terrible in the sixteenth century, Russian tsars had outlawed the residence of Jews.”50 Numerous pogroms were conducted against Jews in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Under Nicholas II, “The government began to finance the publication of anti- Jewish newspapers, and attempts were made to organize pogroms and blood libels.”51 This led to a major pogrom in April 1903 in Kishinev. Rioting included rape and murder as well as destruction of property. “According to an official report, more than fifty people were killed and over 500 injured,
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while hundreds of shops were plundered and destroyed.”52 In 1903 a pogrom was sparked in Kishinev when Jews were accused of murdering Mikhai Rybachenko, a Christian boy. The Jews were accused of desiring to use his blood to make matzah. As a result of this accusation, dozens of Jews were killed and hundreds wounded, and there was extensive property damage. Reader notes that Russian Jews were particularly vulnerable during Holy Week: “Tensions between Jews and Russians ran high during the week of Easter, when the crucifixion of Christ was on the minds of every Christian and accusations of ritual murder on the part of Jews circulated. Given the fact that Jewish Passover usually occurred around the same time as Orthodox Easter, Jewish communities braced themselves for confrontations with Orthodox Christians who believed that Jews killed Christian youths for use in Judaic rituals and the baking of matzo.”53 Blood libels persisted in Russia into the twenty-first century. Most recently, in 2005 members of the Russian State Duma leveled a charge of ritual blood use against Russian Jews, and they demanded that the Prosecutor General’s office ban all Jewish organizations. Blood libels continue virtually into the present. A team of researchers in Poland argued that as recently as 2008 “these beliefs persist among Catholic and Orthodox Christians of all social classes.”54 Thus, blood libels were leveled by Christians against Jews over the course of ten centuries. In addition, Muslims have leveled charges of ritual murder and blood use against Jews. In 1910 Jews were falsely accused of murdering a Muslim girl in Shiraz, Iran. Twelve Jews were killed and about fifty injured. In 1960 Golda Meir decried ritual murder charges publicized in a Daghestan newspaper, specifically accusing Jews “of using the blood of Moslem children for ritual purposes—Moslems being the predominant group in Daghestan.”55 During his reign (1964–1975), King Faisal of Saudi Arabia accused Parisian Jews of ritual blood use. In an interview published in al-Musawwar magazine (August 1972), King Faisal made the statement quoted at the beginning of this chapter.56 In 1985, the Defense Minister and Deputy Prime Minister of Syria published The Matza of Zion, an Arabic book validating the Damascus Case.57 In 2007, Raed Salah, leader of a Muslim movement in Israel, gave a speech charging Jews with using children’s blood to make bread: “We have never allowed ourselves to knead [the dough for] the bread that breaks the fast in the holy month of Ramadan with children’s blood… . Whoever wants a more thorough explanation, let him ask what used to happen to some children in Europe, whose blood was mixed in with the dough of the [Jewish] holy bread.”58
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In discussing blood libels in the Arab world, Norman Stillman notes that despite repeated evidence that Judaism forbids shedding non-Jewish blood, stories of blood libels (along with the circulation of the fraudulent Protocols of the Elders of Zion) persisted well into the late twentieth century, with some arguing that “it is well known that people often do what their religious teachings forbid, either out of ignorance or malice.”59 Stillman concludes that “a whole new generation is being exposed to at least some aspects of the new anti-Semitism.”60 Charges of ritual murder have appeared even in the United States. In 1913 a household servant, Anna Hansel, told neighbors that she was afraid her Jewish employers were planning to offer her as a sacrifice because she saw her mistress sharpening a carving knife. Abraham G. Duker describes other incidents in Chicago; New York; Fall River, Massachusetts; and Pittsfield, Massachusetts. The most well-known case occurred in 1928 in Massena, New York. Jews in that community were falsely accused of kidnapping and killing a Christian girl, Barbara Griffiths, when she went missing.61 Even after the four-year-old was found safe, wandering lost in the local woods, Jews remained suspect. The American Jewish Committee and the American Jewish Congress became involved when local officials refused flatly to deny the possibility that Jews had plotted to kill the girl and use her blood in upcoming Yom Kippur holiday rituals. In addition, for decades American Jews were often caught up in charges brought against friends and families in their homelands, leading to criticism that they were supporting Communism abroad. As might be expected, the Nazis referenced ritual blood use as part of their campaign to defame Jewish character just prior to the Holocaust.62 Frankel comments, “With the rise of modern anti-Semitic movements in the late 1870s, the traditional blood accusation merged easily with the new scientific racial arguments, serving as a lowest common denominator to unite its secular (and often anti-Christian), Catholic, and Protestant members. And at a later stage, the Nazi Der Stürmer periodically brought out special issues devoted to Jewish ritual murder. Hitler himself gave orders to have a film made about the Damascus case.”63 Eugen Duehring, a former Socialist who worked in Germany to foster anti-Semitism, “not only attacked the various characteristics of the Jewish race, but also attempted to offer a ‘scientific’ explanation for the blood libels: they supposedly originated in the human sacrifices offered up by the ancient Hebrews and endured because of the desire of Jewish leaders to bind each individual to the Jewish community by
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making him an accomplice to a crime.”64 Hellmut Schramm published a tome cataloging hundreds of blood libel legends in 1943 (Der jüdische Ritualmord).
Falsity of Ritual Murder and Blood Libel Accusations Given the number of times Jews have been accused of ritual murder and blood manipulation, it is important to state explicitly that no factual basis exists for these charges. Over the centuries Jewish leaders and scholars have all argued strongly and consistently that their tradition not only does not need human blood—it specifically prohibits the consumption of any blood. The biblical texts that form the foundation of Jewish ritual required that animal or bird blood (and never human blood) be used in sacrificial practices only. Leviticus 7:26–27 states, “And you must not consume any blood, either of bird or of animal, in any of your settlements. Anyone who eats blood shall be cut off from his kin.”65 A later passage in Leviticus goes further: And if anyone of the house of Israel or of the strangers who reside among them partakes of any blood, I will set My face against the person who partakes of the blood, and I will cut him off from among his kin. For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have assigned it to you for making expiation for your lives upon the altar; it is the blood, as life, that effects expiation. Therefore I say to the Israelite people: No person among you shall partake of blood, nor shall the stranger who resides among you partake of blood. And if any Israelite or any stranger who resides among them hunts down an animal or a bird that may be eaten, he shall pour out its blood and cover it with earth. For the life of all flesh—its blood is its life. Therefore I say to the Israelite people: You shall not partake of the blood of any flesh, for the life of all flesh is its blood. Anyone who partakes of it shall be cut off. (Lev. 17:10–14) Johann Christoph Wagenseil, a Lutheran professor in Altdorf, cited Jewish leaders asserting, “To this blood libel they responded, ‘that there is no people for whom murder is so strongly prohibited as it is for us, and we are warned even against the murder of gentiles… . Likewise we have more prohibitions against blood than any people, for even meat that has been
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ritually slaughtered is in addition salted by us and drained off, and we take great pains to remove all blood.’ ”66 Biale quotes a thirteenth-century source that states, “The heretics anger us by charging that we murder their children and consume blood. Answer by telling them that no nation was as thoroughly warned against murder as we and this includes the murder of Gentiles.”67 In addition, leading Christians have refuted the blood libel charges leveled against Jews.68 In 1236 Emperor Frederick II of Hohenstaufen published an imperial bill refuting the charges against the Jews in Fulda, writing, “For these reasons we have decided, with the general consent of the governing princes, to exonerate the Jews of the district from the grave crime with which they have been charged, and to declare the remainder of the Jews in Germany free from all suspicion.”69 In response to the Valréas (Vaucluse) case of 1247, Pope Innocent IV not only condemned the accusations but also declared, “certain spiritual and temporal princes, in order unjustly to appropriate their belongings, are meditating godless attacks on them… . [we] do not tolerate that the Jews should be further unduly molested.”70 He also reissued an order of protection for Jews, forbidding similar accusations of ritual cannibalism and threatening false accusers with punishment. In 1272 Pope Gregory VIII criticized Christians for claiming that Jews kidnapped or murdered children, noting that the Jewish tradition bans them from consuming blood.71 Centuries later Johannes Pfefferkorn, a fervent Christian, declared, “I should here like to refute a wide-spread, but worthless piece of gossip against the Jews, in order that we Christians may not in consequence become ridiculous.”72 Cardinal Ganganelli (the future Pope Clement XIV) presented the most well-known Church denunciation of ritual murder accusations in 1759. He declared all the charges of ritual murder to be false except for the murders of Andrew of Rinn and Simon of Trent. Cardinal Ganganelli’s statement, as we have already seen, was invoked centuries later in the context of a modern blood libel. In 1840 the Sultan Abdul Medjid pronounced, “We forbid that the Jewish nation, whose innocence has been acknowledged, should be disturbed or tortured on account of a baseless accusation of the kind.”73 Numerous world leaders and Church authorities have attempted to discourage false accusations by threatening stiff punishments for accusers. For example, the Statute of Kalisz (dated 1264, the oldest grant of privileges to Jews of Poland) states, “It is absolutely forbidden to accuse Jews of drinking human blood. If, nevertheless, a Jew is accused of the murder
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of a Christian child, such accusation must be proved by the testimony of three Christians and three Jews before the Jew can be condemned. If, however, the said witnesses and the innocence of the accused reveal the falsity of the charge, the accuser shall suffer the punishment that would have awaited the Jews.”74 In response to papal declarations, Ottokar II of Bohemia (1254) wrote, “in the name of our Holy Father, we most strictly prohibit that Jews dwelling in our dominions should further be accused of using human blood, since, according to the prescription of their law, all Jews must absolutely refrain from any blood whatever.”75 Ottokar II threatened severe punishment for anyone who falsely accused. Jews, promising that “the punishment shall deservedly be meted out to the Christian which the Jew would have had to suffer.”76 With proclamations such as these, religious and secular leaders attempted to build protections into the legal systems to prevent Jews from facing false charges. However, official pronouncements seem to have had relatively little effect. Despite official statements such as these, Church and civic leaders often did nothing on a practical level to stop attacks on Jews in local communities. Eli Barnavi notes, “despite papal doubts concerning blood libels, the Church did not restrain the local clergy from spreading such accusations which resulted in the killing of many Jews.”77 In all this time, not a single blood libel has ever been substantiated. Not a shred of evidence supports the charge that Jews have ever murdered someone in order to use human blood in Jewish ritual. Given the lack of evidence to support blood libels and ritual murder accusations, the question for scholars is, how did this particular misrepresentation of Jewish ritual practice—outrageous as it is—arise in the first place and why has it persisted for over a millennium? Answering these questions will help us to understand the nature and scope of this type of ritual disruption.
Origins of the Blood Libel Accusation How and why did these charges originate? How and why did they persist, despite repeated attempts (often by prominent Christian leaders) to dispel these accusations? Most directly, theological rationales for ritual murders and blood libels were provided explicitly by Christians over the ages. Some Christians repeatedly argued that Jews did, in fact, use blood in their rites. Richard Gottheil, Hermann L. Strack, and Joseph Jacobs note that the first written reference to blood libel occurs in “Bonum Universale
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de Apibus” by Thomas of Cantimpré (1201–1272): “It is quite certain that the Jews of every province annually decide by lot which congregation or city is to send Christian blood to the other congregations.”78 Martin Luther (1483–1546) referenced, “ ‘the blood of the children they have slain (which still shines forth from their eyes and their skin).’ ”79 Often Jewish converts to Christianity were invoked as experts, testifying that Jews used Christian blood in their ceremonies. We have already seen that Thomas of Monmouth depended upon the testimony of Theobald, a converted Jew, to buttress his narrative concerning William of Norwich. Many years later (1759), Jacob Frank, who had originally claimed to be a successor to Shabbetai Zvi, converted to Catholicism. At this point he charged Jews with murdering Christians and drinking their blood. In addition, religious/theological factors contribute to the persistence of false accusations of murder against Jews. Some scholars have traced blood libels back to the false Christian teaching that Jews were responsible for Jesus’s crucifixion. The charge that Jews kill Christian children does not seem entirely far-fetched if one begins by accepting the premise that Jews killed the Christ himself. The “Christ killers” were often portrayed as mocking Jesus’s death in the execution of an innocent Christian child. This “Christ mocking” was particularly prevalent at specific moments in the Christian liturgical calendar. Occasionally, Jews were accused of ritual activity near Christmas (as in the Fulda affair). More commonly, Jews were charged with ritual blood use during Holy Week. This was so common that certain Jews limited their contact with Christians during the week prior to Easter for fear of being accused of some blood crime. Scholars have also pointed to the fact that the Israelite sacrificial system outlined in the Hebrew Bible asserts that “life is in the blood” and requires ritual activity including blood. It seems to have been a small step to take to assume that later Jewish ritual systems also required blood. 80 The most well-developed blood libels included specific allegations concerning Jews collecting blood for ritual use. For example, the blood libel centered in Fulda charged Jews with collecting blood in waxed linen sacks, to be transported for later ritual use. In addition to the impact of misinformation about Jewish history and ritual practices, certain Christian theological developments contributed to the spread of blood libels as well. Many see these as rooted in the Crusades. The initial blood libels were instigated virtually contemporaneously with the First Crusade; the First Crusade was inaugurated by Pope Urban II in 1095, and the first acknowledged massacre of Jews in Europe
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occurred in 1096. McCulloh notes, “the months between December 1095 and July 1096, the period of preparation for the First Crusade, marked a turning point in Christian-Jewish relations: the gathering of forces in preparation for war against the enemies of Christ in the East brought with it the first large-scale pogroms against the presumed enemies of Christ at home.”81 Langmuir asserts that Jews were attacked not by the “official crusading armies but by bands, consisting primarily of peasants… . To them, it seemed ridiculous to go and kill distant Moslems before dealing first with God’s worst enemies close at hand, the Jews who had killed their Christ.”82 Magdalene Schultz attributes similar thoughts to the Crusaders themselves, quoting a report that states, “ ‘we learn of the Crusaders’ reasoning for killing the Jews: to them it was incomprehensible why the Muslims should be fought and the Jews in France and Germany whom they regarded as God-murderers and much worse enemies of Christendom be spared.’ ”83 Alfred J. Eppens states directly that the Crusades were the cradle for medieval European antisemitism in general: “The historical base for widespread anti-Jewish violence is located in medieval Europe, in the late eleventh century, at the start of that dramatic and far-reaching phenomenon that we call the Crusades.”84 These sentiments carried over to the Second Crusade, inaugurated in the twelfth century. There were, of course, also socioeconomic motivations for persecuting Jews. Eppens notes that one reason “for the widespread persecution of Jews was avarice. The despoiling of the Jewish communities provided some of the resources for the purchase of food and supplies for the Crusade journeys. The urban Jewish communities had much to yield to the attacking Crusaders.”85 Sholom A. Singer, focusing on the Jews’ expulsion from England, argues, “Broadly speaking, the Jews performed an economic function in medieval England which, in great measure, justified their presence. However, with a change in their financial fortunes, Jews were no longer welcome.”86 Specifically, as Jews improved their own financial situation in England, non-Jews often became indebted to them. In addition, the crown benefitted when Jews were forced to forfeit their property or income when convicted for various offenses. Thus, Jews often came to present an economic threat (or opportunity) to local communities. Both of these developments became motives for charging Jews with crimes in order to confiscate their resources or to alter their access to future socioeconomic opportunities. Local socioeconomic dynamics also prompted false accusations. Hsia describes the torture and killing of Leopold of Prague, a Jew who was
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officially charged as a “fornicator who slept with Christian women, a murderer, thief, traitor, and magician.”87 Coincidentally, Leopold was also the local tax collector, and his death may be better explained as a reprisal for his day-to-day financial work rather than for any moral or spiritual wrongdoing. Many Jews were charged falsely by individuals who would benefit economically from their death. In other settings, by contrast, Jews lived apart from the dominant Christian community. In these situations, their geographic isolation reinforced their social distinctiveness. “The Jews lived away from the center of urban life, in their own quarters, and had established a clearly defined alien identity. They were an outside group, an ethnic and religious minority, and lack of contact with Christian townspeople fostered distrust and, ultimately, fear.”88 Langmuir has argued that Jews gradually grew apart from their Christian neighbors in Europe, so Jews in the thirteenth century were more isolated than they had been in previous centuries. This social status led to an increasingly dark characterization of Jewish nature: “Jews [in the thirteenth century] now seemed even more inferior than they had in the fourth or eleventh century. Jews were not inferior simply because they had disbelieved and killed the Christ; rather, their disbelief and killing of Christ was only one, if the most important, manifestation of a much deeper essential inferiority that was evident also in such apparently unconnected conduct as usury, bribery, and military incapacity. It was now much easier to think of Jews as less than fully human and to treat them accordingly.”89 Thus, Medieval Christians generated a new picture of Jewish identity and read this back into history. They justified their own characterization of Jews as social threats by expanding the import of the Jews’ historical rejection of Jesus as the Messiah, labeling that rejection as an indicator of essential depravity. Jews of the Middle Ages thus became more vulnerable to outrageous charges than their ancestors had been. Israel Jacob Yuval notes the role of history as well, suggesting that charges specifically related to the death of innocent children had roots in Jewish history. He points to the “eschatological theology” of Ashkenazic Jewry, arguing that this theology emphasizes Jewish martyrdom as an essential precursor to the coming of the Messiah. Specifically, the blood of the martyrs would have “provoked him magically to avenge his slaughtered children.”90 During the Crusades, many Jews killed their families and themselves rather than convert. As David Biale summarizes, “Yuval suggests that the Christians knew about the Jews’ suicidal acts [in the face of forced conversions] and were particularly shocked at
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the way they killed their children. From this idea he speculates that the blood libel may well have had its origins in the belief that the Jews were willing to kill children—Jewish or Christian—in order to bring about their redemption.”91 The nature of the charges leveled against Jews was also shaped by trends in popular thinking. Specifically, evidence suggests that there was a medieval preoccupation with corporality in general and blood in particular. Magical or curative properties were attributed to blood (along with other substances). Biale notes that medieval medicine and folklore “contained many prescriptions for the curative power of various types of blood. These claims were based on the magical belief in the poisoning properties of unlike substances and, conversely, the curative properties of like substances.”92 Thus, charges that Jews needed blood for ritual or medicinal purposes reflected a widespread cultural belief in blood’s power. Ocker notes that charges of killing a boy in Munich brought against Jews in 1286 were explained by the Jews’ desire to incorporate his blood “in medicinal recipes.”93 General interest in blood may also have been rooted in an emphasis in medieval Christian thinking on Christ’s body. Biale argues, “The corporality in these popular beliefs was an expression of a more general tendency in late medieval Christianity among theologians and artists toward thinking of Jesus in human terms, such as representations and imitations of his physical sufferings.”94 Biale also notes that in the late fourteenth century, Christian mystics emphasized the importance of Christ’s blood. More generally, Bildhauer notes that blood is a powerful symbolic element, and Christians used it to stigmatize Jews and other marginal groups in Medieval Western Europe.95 This was linked to a longstanding struggle in which blood was an “index of power”—a struggle that Christians had won: “In the Christian Middle Ages, this last struggle for power had long been resolved, and the Jews were a minority—often a tiny minority—in Christendom.”96 Thus, blood was a substance of considerable interest in the Middle Ages, a bodily substance associated with tremendous symbolic and magical power, whether it came from a human body or from Christ. This context proved ripe for accusations of inappropriate blood manipulation. Given the medieval preoccupation with blood, both in Christian theology and in the popular imagination, it is no surprise that defamation of Jews included charges that they obtained and used blood inappropriately. As Richard Gottheil, Hermann L. Strack, and Joseph Jacobs state, “[T]he Jews
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in Christian lands frequently became the subjects of superstitious misconceptions on the part of the Christian population.”97 A more subtle theological dynamic may have also been at work in the medieval blood libels. Church debates regarding the nature of the Eucharist—concerning whether or not the elements were substantially transformed into Christ’s body and blood—can be traced back to the ninth century, and these debates were amplified in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. In 1215 the Fourth Lateran Council put forward the doctrine of transubstantiation, the Church’s assertion that the bread and wine in the Eucharist, while maintaining the same form, became the body and blood of Christ in substance in the course of the Mass. Thus, Jesus was said to be fully present in the elements of the Mass. “These theological developments helped in turn to give rise to new mythical structures into which traditional Christian anti-Judaism could be channeled: ritual crucifixion (the notion that contemporary Jews crucified and killed innocent Christian boys, just as their ancestors had killed the innocent Christ); ritual cannibalism (the notion that Jews murdered Christians and consumed their blood for magical or ritual purposes); and host desecration.”98 Robert C. Stacey argues that twelfth-and thirteenth-century Christian theological debates concerning the transformation of the elements of the Eucharist also changed the nature of characterizations of Jews as “deicides.” David Biale provides a spin on this reasoning; he notes that blood libels arose from the populace (not the ecclesiastical leadership), and he asserts, “the blood libel emerged as a negative by-product of the very increase in popular Eucharistic piety… . By profaning the Host and causing it to bleed and by extracting blood from Christian children for ritual purposes, they were literally ‘substantiating’ Christian belief in transubstantiation and in the spiritual efficacy of blood.”99 More recently, some scholars have argued that there was a psychological dimension to this dynamic. Christopher Ocker comments, “some scholars have offered psychological explanations for the religious prejudice that these narratives portray: Christians projecting onto Jews guilt for the abandonment of children, guilt for the cannibalism implied by eating the eucharist, guilt for collecting interest, or guilt over doubts about the truth of transubstantiation.”100 Dundes offers a specific psychological explanation. He offers the phrase “projective inversion” to describe a dynamic in which “Christians blame Jews for something which the Christians needed to have happen, a thing which the Jews never did… . Let us be absolutely clear about this. I am saying that it is Christians, not Jews, who would
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like to commit the blood libel and in a way they do.”101 Dundes points to the fact that Christians themselves had been accused of cannibalism early in their own history: “Pliny the Younger writing the Emperor Trajan circa A.D. 110 commented that he had interrogated Christian prisoners who adamantly denied that they had murdered children and drunk the blood.”102 According to Dundes, these charges persist in the collective Christian memory. He continues, “it [the Eucharist] is an act of patent cannibalism. To incorporate the blood and body of one’s savior is at the very least symbolic cannibalism. The doctrine of transubstantiation as found in Roman Catholicism and the Orthodox Eastern churches would seemingly entail literal rather than figurative cannibalism.”103 In Dundes’s thinking, medieval Christians, feeling guilty about the aura of cannibalism and blood consumption that attended the Eucharist, dealt with that guilt by projecting it onto another group. Other psychological approaches have been argued as well. Some have gone so far as to suggest a psychosexual dynamic at work. Kieval suggests that in the medieval Christian imagination “Jews were not only ‘stranglers’ of the nations but also sexual predators and ‘murderers’ in a literal sense; they bled the bodies of their female victims just as they ‘bled’ the nation dry; they were enemies, not only of the cause, but of the very communities in which they lived.”104 In this psychosexual drama, Jewish ritual behavior was emblematic of inherent desires to dominate sexually, socially, and politically. Biale has argued that Jewish and Christian communities contributed to each other’s thinking about blood: “what medieval Jews and Christians believed separately about blood was shaped in part by what they knew of each other… . Jewish and Christian beliefs about blood have a symbiotic relationship.”105 Blood libels grew out of this symbiotic relationship. On the Christian side, since the blood of God is to be found in the bodies of Christians who have taken communion, Jews might want to steal such blood for themselves: the blood libel was the product of a Christian theology of blood projected outward. But for Jews, too, a tight connection emerged between God’s blood and the blood of the Jews themselves, especially the blood of circumcision and the blood of the martyrs. This association had an implicit implication for the blood accusation: because Jews had various forms of blood that connected them to God, they had had no inherent need for the blood of Christians.
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In the fraught relations between medieval Jews and Christians, the blood of the adherents of each religion had an additional function, though: when it was spilled in violent defense of the faith, it might bring about the final redemption.106 In sum, the real factors contributing to the inauguration and persistence of blood libels extend far beyond the charges themselves; rather, accusations were prompted and fueled by a host of other issues, complex and intertwined with one another. In fact, it would be hard to see blood libels surviving for so many centuries without these other factors at work. It may be, in fact, that the complex and subtle nature of Christians’ relationships with Judaism, modernity, and Christianity itself made it all the more difficult to root out charges against Jews as they arose.
Consequences of Blood Libels Ritual murder accusations and blood libels resulted in a wide variety of consequences, some easy to identify and anticipate, but others less so. In many cases individual Jews were charged with crimes, arrested, and convicted, or they were simply snatched from their homes, tortured, expelled, or executed without benefit of a trial. Not surprisingly, in many cases the local Jewish community suffered as a whole. As we have seen, entire communities were rounded up, tortured, exiled, or murdered. In addition, Jewish communities suffered long-term social, political, and economic consequences, having their homes, businesses, and property confiscated with no hope of redress, and their civil rights curtailed or eliminated altogether. More disturbingly, we have seen that local, regional, and even international communities suffered even when specific charges were proved false. For example, the Damascus Affair led to increased sociopolitical isolation of European Jews, especially in France. Their national loyalties were questioned because they came to the defense of Jews in Syria. Similarly, Hillel J. Kieval notes a similar dynamic that had occurred previously in Bohemia and Moravia: discourse on Jewish ritual murder also functioned as an indirect commentary on the national conflict between Czechs and Germans. The largely indeterminate position of Jews in the nationality controversy—the fact that they were neither obviously German
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nor obviously Czech—helped to produce the commonly-held suspicion that Jews were “unreliable partners” in the struggle. This judgment soon merged with “new information” concerning the Jews and ritual killings—the result of a conflation of discrete blocks of social knowledge—to produce a mixture in which one set of symbolic associations tended to confirm the “truth” of the other.107 Thus, Jews’ national loyalties— which were suspect to begin with in many countries—came under further scrutiny when they came to the defense of Jews charged with ritual murder and blood use in other countries. Some Jews, in response to this scrutiny, refused to come to the defense of Jews in other communities. Telushkin notes, “In 1840, Abraham Geiger, soon to be Germany’s leading Reform rabbi, opposed efforts to help the Damascus Jews falsely accused in a blood libel … on the grounds that ‘for me it is more important that Jews be able to work in Prussia as pharmacists or lawyers than that the entire Jewish population of Asia and Africa be saved, although as a human being I sympathize with them.’ ”108 Geiger’s reaction, while sobering, is understandable, given the suspicions Jews faced, but it is sad that unfounded charges prompted such ruptures between Jewish communities. In addition to affecting Jewish worldwide relations, blood libels also had a concrete impact on Jewish ritual practice. Some have argued that the practice of opening the door for Elijah to enter during the Passover seder originated in the Middle Ages out of a desire to reassure Christian neighbors that Jews had nothing to hide in this ritual meal. Similarly, Abraham Gross notes that in the seventeenth century Jews stopped buying red wine for use in the Seder evening celebration “for fear of blood libel at that critical time of year.”109 (Jews feared that the red wine would be mistaken for blood.) Gross notes a simultaneous decline in the practice of the “blood- cloth custom [displaying the circumcision cloth on the door-frame of the synagogue] associated with the covenantal circumcision,” presumably for the same reason: “If red wine could be cause for fear of association with Christian blood, how much more so the blood of circumcision.”110 Thus, the perverted representation of one ritual caused real, practical changes in the actual practice of that and other rituals. The most challenging consequence of specific blood libels was the stories that continued to circulate even after specific charges were refuted. Rumors hung in the air perpetuating false, villainous perceptions of Jews.
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At the popular level, stories about murder and ritual blood manipulation spread through song, folktale, artwork, and folk medicine.111 Ocker notes that “charges of blood libel and host desecration had become common motifs of religious folklore” throughout the course of the thirteenth century.112 For example, Ocker describes a story that circulated “of a miraculous icon of Christ that was allegedly crucified by Jews”: “Gregory of Tours told of a Jew who decided to steal a picture of Christ from a church. He took it, pierced it, and the blood gushed out, drenching him. The next day, when the Christians came to church and found their painting missing, they simply followed the trail of blood to the Jew’s house, where they stoned him.”113 These popular literary forms circulated easily, quickly, and widely, fostering an antisemitic culture ripe for further accusations.114 In addition, blood libels were perpetuated in higher forms of art. Kristeller notes that the Trent case prompted “literary and bibliographical repercussions in the form of poems and invectives.”115 Raphael Langham notes that William of Norwich’s so-called martyrdom was celebrated in an oratorio by Karen Wimhurst in 1994 written for a festival to celebrate the city’s charter. While this oratorio was quashed, two years later a play about William’s purported murder was written to celebrate the opening of the Norwich Playhouse.116 Stories of ritual murder and blood manipulation were reinforced in church windows, tapestries, paintings, pictures, and other longstanding displays that perpetuated the myths of ritual murders for years, even centuries.117 Thus, even when officials of the Church or government decried false allegations against individual Jews or Jewish communities, their denunciations were often ineffective. Popular sentiment and rumor played a strong role in validating and spreading rumors of ritual blood use. Hsia argues that ritual murder “passed from the realm of the functional— where beliefs and actual accusations could lead to inquests, trials, sentencing, or dismissal—into that nebulous region of myth—where fragments of past events and contemporary imagination flowed in and out of a unifying structure of cohesive signs and meanings—thus creating a knowledge to be transmitted under the guise of history.”118 The rumors took on a veneer of historicity that made it virtually impossible to stem charges against Jews even in the face of clear exculpatory evidence. Anthony Bale goes further to assert that ritual murder narratives constituted “a specific subgenre of ‘Christian historiography’ in a ‘narrative plot, a set of events that could be organized, interpreted, moralized and interpolated according to their resonance to the present day author’ in the
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‘construction of Identity—be it personal, local, corporate or religious.’ ”119 Thus, stories that circulated established a paradigm for accusations that communities in various locations could use as a template, inserting their own specific data to fit a recognizable scheme that pitted Jews against Christians. For example, Despres notes that Thomas’s Vita about William of Norwich “underscores the perils of Jews and Christians sharing civic space, religious time, servants, and identities.”120 These “perils” were identified time and time again throughout various communities via ritual murder stories, stories that emphasized Jewish duplicity and bloodlust in sharp contrast with Christian integrity and innocence. Of course, these “consequences” of blood libel and ritual murder accusations prepared the way for further accusations—they were, in fact, self- perpetuating. Christians became increasingly receptive to accusations precisely because accusations kept being leveled. Fears that Jews would commit villainous acts could be justified (and preemptive measures taken) when previous examples of Jewish threats could be cited. As Kieval puts it, “each set of knowledge contributed to the establishment of a structure of plausibility (one might say irresistibility) for the other.”121 In this way blood libels were part of a vicious circle, fed by and seemingly validated by the accusations themselves.
The Blood Libel Disruption: Its Nature and Significance I have argued that blood libels are a distinctive form of ritual disruption in which an outside community misrepresented Jewish tradition and, more fundamentally, Jewish individuals and communities. Now, we turn to an examination of the nature of the accusations brought against Jews in order to determine the significance of this kind of ritual disruption for ritual theorizing. The specific misrepresentation of Jewish ritual practice, which was generated by non-Jews, contributed to a distinctive caricature of Jewish identity. This caricature was situated in a particularly polarized dynamic between Christians and Jews: Jews embodied the “other.” Christians were human while Jews were nonhuman. Christians were also morally superior, while Jews were morally corrupt and dangerous. These characterizations reinforced an already unequal relationship between the socially, politically, and economically dominant Christian community and the minority Jewish community. The resulting dynamic had repercussions
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beyond the ritual and religious spheres. Ritual murder accusations and blood libels were invoked to justify subtle and severe retaliation, including socioeconomic and political disenfranchisement, persecution and torture, and even expulsion. Over time, the blood libels led to changes in Jewish ritual practice, and they affected how Jewish communities related to one another in addition to their non-Jewish neighbors. They also entrenched divisions between Jews and non-Jews around the world. Let’s unpack this process.
Imaginal Ritual Blood libels constitute a new form of ritual disruption in our discussion of “ritual gone wrong” because they involve two distinct ritual communities engaged with one another over an imagined activity. One group— what I call the “imagining community”—chooses to represent the ritual of another group—the “imaginal community”—in a pointedly antagonistic manner.122 I take the term “imaginal” from Henri Corbin, using it in a very different context. Corbin described the “imaginal world” as “a world as ontologically real as the world of the senses and the world of the intellect, a world that requires a faculty of perception to it, a faculty that is a cognitive function, a noetic value, as fully real as the faculties of sensory perception, or intellectual intuition.”123 The imaginal differs from the imaginary in that it is not fantasy; rather, it offers a distinct reality, prompting very real consequences. Corbin asks provocatively, “is it not precisely this postulate of the objectivity of the imaginal world that is suggested to us, or imposed on us, by certain forms or certain symbolic emblems (hermetic, kabbalistic; or mandalas) that have the quality of effecting a magic display of mental images, such that they assume an objective reality?”124 In other words, the imaginal world of the blood libel assumes an objective reality for both Christians and Jews. For the purposes of our discussion, I understand the characterization of Jewish ritual activity that required the murder of innocent Christian victims and the ritual use of their blood in an imaginal world. For both Christians and Jews, this imaginal world assumed an objective reality, with concrete consequences. In the social dynamic that developed out of this imaginal world, Christians were the principal actors, functioning as the “imagining community,” while Jews, specifically in their ritual system, constituted the imaginal community. Popular Jewish identity was constituted by the imaginal world discourse, and consequently Jews themselves
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were forced into a reactive, self-defensive posture. This dynamic is predicated on a social dynamic in which the imagining community is dominant and thus in a position to deploy false, damaging rhetoric about the imaginal community with relative impunity. In the case of the blood libels, Jews were, for the most part, powerless to dispel the general narrative even when they could refute specific allegations. In this context, blood libels and ritual murder accusations serve as expressions of and occasions for the negotiation of unequal power relationships between Christians and Jews. It is crucial to remember that discursive representations of ritual are at the center of these conflicts, not actual ritual practice. The purported ritual actions are entirely imagined—no actual ritual murder or blood use occurs. Thus, we are examining discourse about ritual, not ritual per se. This does not make the ritual misrepresentation any less significant. The ways in which ritual is described and interpreted and the ways in which ritual is situated in larger ideological and cultural systems have long-term impacts on religious and cultural communities beyond the ritual acts themselves. Ritual misrepresentation not only disrupts its “home” ritual system; it disrupts the representation of a community to those outside the community, it establishes an agenda for conversations about and within that community, and it forces a mode of self-characterization driven by explanation and self-justification. This prompts interactions between communities that are shaky at best, dangerous at worst.125
Jewish Identity: “Monsters” Blood libel discourse is as powerful as performed ritual disruption because it does far more than depict a ritual inaccurately. It aims at maligning core Jewish identity, presenting the Jew as essentially nonhuman. Gavin Langmuir characterizes the shift in thinking that occurred in the thirteenth century as a movement toward generating “chimerical stereotypes” that yielded “imaginary monsters, for they ascribed to Jews horrendous deeds imagined by Christians that Christians had never observed Jews committing.”126 Bettina Bildhauer has argued that Jews were represented as “less than fully human” in distinctly medieval European ways; Jews, like other marginalized figures, were “othered” as monsters. Bildhauer argues that medieval monsters exhibit specific physiological and social characteristics. They “always live on the fringes of the known world, outside human society and yet part of it, alien and yet somehow familiar.”127 This spatial metaphor reflects Jews’ social
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position relative to the dominant culture, but in some contexts it also refers to an actual geographic marginalization of Jewish communities. In either case, Jews were positioned on the edges of human civilization. Marginal location was easily linked to marginal behavior and even marginal human status. The Jew, figured as a “monster,” could be easily associated with dangerous cultic behavior. Thus, the Jew, specifically the Jew as ritual murderer, ends up figuring prominently as a monster in the medieval imagination. Bildhauer and Robert Mills go one step further. They argue that in looking at the Middle Ages, “what, on the surface, appears to be marginal may in certain contexts turn out to be symbolically, and ideologically, central.”128 In other words, elements of medieval society and culture that exist on the margins of sociopolitical power and that do not receive thoughtful and concentrated social attention or economic investment may, in fact, reveal fundamental concerns and values of that culture. In addition, Bildhauer and Robert Mills have suggested that Jews and blood share a common marginalized status in the Middle Ages. Bildhauer suggests that the medieval imagination places both blood and the Jews on the margins.129 Blood has a dual nature: it is contained within the body, but it can flow out of the body as well. It is both internal and external, part of the body and yet distinct from it. In addition, blood takes on both negative and positive connotations in Christian theology. Blood was shed at the first murder recorded in the Bible, and the consumption of blood (both animal and human) is consistently forbidden in the Old Testament.130 However, Christ’s shed blood is essential to the redemption story, so his bleeding wounds figure prominently in Christian imagery. In addition, Christ specifically commands Christians to drink his blood in the New Testament: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you; he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life… . He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me and I in him” (John 6:53–56). Thus, blood defies easy categorization and, following Mary Douglas, Bildhauer suggests that this makes it a problematic substance. Blood simultaneously fascinates and horrifies. As a result, it plays a central role in medieval imagery, often streaming from severed limbs or from wounds inflicted by a knife prominently displayed. Like blood, medieval Jews were difficult to categorize. They were simultaneously linked with yet distinct from Christians both historically and theologically. Christianity traced its roots to God’s historical covenant
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with the Jews, so it was impossible to divorce Christianity entirely from Judaism. However, Christians presented themselves as part of a new covenant, one that nullified (or at least altered) the unique relationship Jews had with God. Because of the historical relationship Christians claimed to have with Judaism, Jews could not be completely rejected or accepted. In recognition of this complicated relationship, Bildhauer argues, “Jews and Christians are not entirely distinct categories, and that there is hybridity in both.”131 Medieval society expressed anxiety regarding its complicated relationship with Jews by characterizing Jews as monsters—human-like but not actually human—either explicitly or implicitly. Jews’ contradictory nature was reinforced by their association with the complex bodily substance of blood. Because of their shared status, it became easy to link the two, with the blood libel as the preeminent example. The blood libel caricatured Jews as monsters specifically in ways that involved bloodletting, conflating two anxiety-producing elements of medieval society in such a way as to exacerbate the disquiet associated with both. Finally, the Jew as “monster” involved a moral dimension. These “misfits” were not simply different—they were, at their very core, oriented against God’s righteousness. According to the Christian narrative, Jews had enjoyed a unique relationship with God, but, at the crucial moment, they had turned their backs on Him, rejecting the Messiah. Charges of ritual murder and blood manipulation and consumption were consistent with a characterization of Jews as the collective embodiment of evil. Once Jews were branded as immoral, punitive action could be taken against them in the name of God. Those who harmed Jews could claim that they acted on God’s behalf, punishing evil and protecting the innocent. Thus, the term “monster” captures multiple dimensions of Jewish social and theological existence in the Middle Ages. The image captures Jews’ contradictory status as distinct from yet related to Christians; it encompasses both the fascination with and fear of Jews, which parallels the fascination with and fear of human blood; and it conveys the moral category that Jews inhabited, as the embodiment of evil threatening Christians in their everyday lives.132
What Ritual Misrepresentation Says About Christians It is also significant to note that the ritual misrepresentation involved in blood libels reveals more about the community generating the mischaracterization than the community being maligned. Understanding the nature
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of the Jew as monster is only a first step—we need to determine what this particular monster tells us about the monster’s creator, the Christians who generated and perpetuated charges against Jews in their local communities. What kind of imagination creates the Jew as ritual bloodletter? As noted earlier, fascination with ritual blood was fueled in part by medieval interest in blood as an element of human anatomy and as a powerful substance in the natural world. However, a number of scholars have argued that ritual murder and bloodletting charges also grew directly out of issues at stake in medieval Christian identity. Charges of cannibalism had been leveled against Christians in the formative years of the church, and anxieties surrounding these charges resurfaced in the context of eleventh-and twelfth-century debates about the nature of the Eucharist. Specifically, blood libels emerged as the Church was working through its understanding of the nature of the Mass and the doctrine of transubstantiation. Scholars have suggested that Jews were increasingly characterized as bloodthirsty in part because Christians feared that their own activity in the Mass, which involved the consumption of (transubstantiated) human flesh and blood, made them cannibals. Jews were set up as a foil: Jesus’s flesh and blood (understood to be present in the Eucharist) were provided willingly, while Jews were charged with the violent murder and dismemberment of unwilling, innocent victims. By presenting Jews as the “real” murderers and blood consumers, the Mass was set apart, sanctioned by God and therefore socially acceptable. In addition, ritual misrepresentation that casts Jews as “monsters” also required a simultaneous elevation of other individuals and institutions. As Bildhauer and Mills note, “monstrosity in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance had the potential to be simultaneously productive of, and subversive of, hegemonic institutions and ideologies.”133 In order to characterize Jews as monsters, some authority needed to identify what was properly human and what was monstrous. The Church and governments (both local and national) played these authorizing roles. Blood libel incidents gave the Church and governing authorities opportunities to display and entrench their authority by determining normal (and thus abnormal) behavior. As Bildhauer notes, “it is often not its own misshapen hybrid body that makes the monster, but its relation to other bodies, social or individual.”134 The consumption of blood, in and of itself, could not be condemned absolutely given the doctrine of transubstantiation. Condemnation of imagined “misshapen” Jewish ritual blood consumption helped to establish parameters for the prescribed consumption at the Mass. Naming what was
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unacceptable was integral to naming the acceptable and establishing an authoritative body to determine what was and was not acceptable Some scholars have also offered a psychological perspective on Christians’ interest in perpetuating blood libels. Langmuir argues, “The ‘Jews’ were used as a symbol to express repressed fantasies about crucifixion and cannibalism, repressed doubts about the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and unbearable doubts and fears about God’s goodness and the bubonic bacillus that imperceptibly invaded people’s bodies.”135 From this perspective, the Jew as monster is really a projection of Christians’ angst about their own preoccupation with the body and blood of the Savior and their uncertainty about God’s ultimate goodness. Charges of horrific ritual activity performed by others hint at latent anxieties Christians had about their own activity. Jews became a scapegoat, taking upon themselves responsibility for Christian anxiety over their evolving ritual tradition and their experience of natural catastrophes. Thus, the Jew as monster is a projection of medieval Christians’ deepest theological anxieties. The details of the alleged monstrous behavior also resonated with important threads in the Church’s self- constructed historical narrative: “In accusing Jews of child murders, and in extracting confessions from the suspects, the magistrates and the people thus created repetitions and variations on the theme of Christian sacrifice.”136 This theme involved the elements of betrayal, bloodlust, the violent death of an innocent victim, and elevation of that victim’s status before God. The condemnation of other communities’ activities reflected the accusing community’s desire (or need?) to establish parameters for correct and incorrect behavior within a well-rehearsed sacrificial storyline that cast Christians in a positive light. The storyline that developed was predicated on a sharp contrast: historically, the Jews rejected Jesus, while Christians embraced him. In the current situation, Christians continued to contrast themselves with Jews, justifying their own behavior largely by contrasting it with alleged Jewish behavior. The distinctions between “our” blood manipulation and consumption (and our maltreatment of non-Christians) differ from “theirs”—this establishes essentialist boundaries between “us” and “others.” The established distinctions allow the dominant community to explain, to judge, and ultimately to take control over the minority community’s actions. In developing the contrast, Christians touched on familiar sacrificial themes in leveling charges of ritual murder against Jews, ultimately justifying not only their own ritual behavior but also their ideological and socioeconomic superior status.
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Ritual Misrepresentation and Violence It is not surprising that the tense dynamic described earlier bred violence. Violence occurred on multiple levels and took on many forms, some more obvious than others. Let’s take a moment to identify these forms. First, we should underscore the fact that the starting point for our discussion is actual physical violence. In most cases an individual was, in fact, killed, and in some cases the victim was maimed or tortured. The difficulty arises in the disjuncture between the actual documented violence (verified by reliable doctors, police, and other authorities) and the imagined violence alleged by accusers. The imagined violence didn’t match the verified violence, and it was never supported by medical evidence or factual accounts of events surrounding the victim’s death or disappearance. Thus, the imagined violence—ritual murder and bloodletting—never actually occurred, but stories about it persisted because they were crucial to the larger narrative in which they were situated. Specific types of imagined violence were essential elements of the misrepresentation of the Jews because they illustrated the caricature of the Jew perpetuated by the medieval Christian meta-narrative. Jews had been charged with violent acts since the dawn of Christianity (see the Book of Acts in the New Testament, for example). What emerged in the Middle Ages were new charges of theologically sanctioned and genetically determined ritualized violence. Jews were not simply accused of murder; they were accused of “scripted” murders, involving formalized bodily wounds required by their own ritual system and/or their inherent psychological makeup. In addition, they were accused not simply of bloodletting, but of bloodletting in order to capture and use human blood in socially proscribed ways. This particular kind of imagined ritual activity prompted a different type of physical violence—retributive violence—which was publicly justified by the imagined violence. Imagined past and future ritual violence, based on a perverted misrepresentation of the Jewish ritual system, provoked retaliation and/or preemptive action against Jewish communities. The retributive responses were conducted by the dominant social community, universally recognized as the arbiters of social norms and the custodians of society’s safety. By charging Jews with monstrous behavior, Christians and various governmental bodies constructed a narrative in which their own violence against Jewish communities was warranted, even necessary. Individual Jews were held captive, humiliated, tortured in unspeakable ways, and executed on the basis of
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ritual murder charges. Entire communities were sometimes punished with expulsion and death as well. In some cases preemptive violence was justified on this basis. Charges of ritual violence also contributed to the construction of new narratives and visual imagery depicting purported historical violence. Charges of ritual murder and blood libels emerged in the context of medieval Christian preoccupation with the violent death of Jesus and its representation in the Mass. Jews were charged with Jesus’s murder, and alleged ritual murders of innocent victims (usually children) were characterized as repeat performances of Christ’s death. The stories of Jews’ violence against Christ reinforced the possibility of contemporary ritual violence against Christians, and vice versa. Thus, in the Christian community, historical charges of deicide and contemporary charges of ritual murder reinforced one another. At the same time, Jews themselves turned to their own experiences of historical violence to make sense of their current situation. Specifically, they made sense of the blood libels by referencing past violence, particularly stories of the Hebrew slaves’ suffering in Egypt prior to the Exodus: In the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Haggadot [Jewish liturgical texts retelling the Exodus story] suddenly began to feature the story in various forms, often with gory scenes of slaughtered babies. Malkiel argues that these illustrations bring together several motifs: the shared Jewish-Christian belief in the medicinal use of blood to cure leprosy, a Jewish response to the wave of ritual- murder accusations from the late fifteenth-century, and the memory of Jewish martyrdom from the Crusades and the Black Death. These Haggadot distract from the accusation that Jews ritually slaughtered Christian children by drawing attention to the legend that Jewish children were similarly treated by persecutors of the Jews, from Pharaoh on. And these Jewish children, like the Christ Child of this common discourse, were martyrs to the true faith.137 Thus, Jews constructed a discourse in which they made sense of their current experiences in light of their past experiences. Current blood libels were simply a new twist on an old story. Blood libels in the early centuries also resonated with conversations about martyrdom—self-sacrificial violence—in both Jewish and Christian communities. Christians were called to shed blood for Christ, and Jews
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were called to martyr themselves and their families rather than submit to conversion. Biale has argued that these became mutually reinforcing martyrdom narratives, shot through with blood imagery: The shared language of martyrdom was a language of bloody violence. So, too, the ritual-murder accusation had violence at its core, for it was a claim that the Jews, besotted with blood lust, visited uncontrollable violence on Christians. . . . Violence against the Jews became a necessary component of Eucharistic piety. And Jewish martyrdom, like the Passover iconography of infanticide, was itself a sanctification of violence in response. I should like to conclude this examination of blood in medieval Jewish-Christian relations by considering the violent language with which Christians and Jews described their interactions. Bloodshed was considered essential to the coming apocalypse, in which a resurrected Christ would defeat his enemies. Penitential movements that sought the eschaton by self-flagellation held that “just as Christ had changed water into wine, so they had replaced baptism with water by baptism with blood. God had kept the best wine for last— the blood of flagellants.”138 Finally, apart from the physical and material consequences that Jews suffered in response to blood libels, Jews lost control of their own ritual narrative, so much so that in some communities Jews changed their ritual practices out of fear of misinterpretation and reprisal. Jews opened their doors to invite observation during the Passover meal. They omitted and changed elements of the bris and other domestic ceremonies to stave off accusations of bloodletting and blood consumption. They lost the ability to narrate their own ritual story, and they were forced into a defensive posture regarding their own cultural practices. This dynamic, in and of itself, is a form of nonphysical violence, which I term cultural violence. By cultural violence, I mean blows to a community’s ability to represent its own identity and to engage in its own practices. The complex interactions described earlier took place in a dynamic cultural marketplace. Georg Elwert characterizes the “arenas of long- term violent interaction, unrestrained by overarching power structures and mitigating norms, where several rational actors employ violence as a strategy to bargain for power and material benefits” as “markets of violence.”139 Cultural violence deployed in this “market” focuses on cultural
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discreditation, which reifies existing ideological, social, and political marginalization. Misrepresentation of a religious community by means of a misrepresentation of its rituals can lead easily to specific targeted acts of retributive or even preemptive violence. But more powerful is the long-term cultural impact that ritual misrepresentation can have on the community as a whole. This is where the performative aspect of ritual misrepresentation is critical. As Schmidt and Schröder state, “Violence without an audience will still leave people dead, but is socially meaningless. Violent acts are efficient because of their staging of power and legitimacy.”140 Ritual misrepresentation is meaningless without an audience to receive the misrepresentation. Christians needed an audience, someone to whom they would misrepresent the Jews. In some cases, the perpetrators were their own audience, reinforcing already-existing prejudices. In other cases, those who misrepresented Jewish ritual were interested in expanding antagonism against Jews to a wider Christian audience. Jews themselves were another audience of this cultural violence, reacting in various ways. In other cases, those who charged Jews with ritual murder and blood manipulation aimed at instilling fear in other Jews. For example, Ben-Sasson notes that the pogroms in Russia affected Jewish communities’ attitudes toward the government. “[T]he greatest transformation occurred in the mood of the Jews themselves: it was brought home to them cruelly and unequivocally that they could not rely on the authorities, even for simple physical protection.”141 In some cases (as in the Geiger example), Jews split, choosing self-preservation rather than international solidarity. By and large, however, blood libels brought Jews together. In the modern era, blood libels served as a caution to many Jews who might think they could assimilate successfully in the modern world. Finally, Ahad Ha- am asserted that the blood libels taught a valuable lesson: “It enabled Jews to resist internalizing the world’s negative portrayal of them. ‘Every Jew who has been brought up among Jews knows as an indisputable fact that throughout the length and breadth of Jewry there is not a single individual who drinks human blood for religious purposes… . ‘But,’ you ask, ‘is it possible that everybody can be wrong, and the Jews right?’ Yes, it is possible: the blood accusation proves it possible.’ ”142 Thus, the blood libels bring to light several forms of violence that can accompany ritual. There is, of course, the presence of actual, physical violence— this has been thoroughly examined by ritual theorists. But many more layers of violence develop around charges of imagined
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violence: ritualized violence; retributive violence; historical violence; self- sacrificial violence; and cultural violence. These expressions of violence generate long-standing difficult dynamics within and between Christian and Jewish communities. The example of blood libels is significant for ritual studies for several reasons. First, blood libels have been leveled in many countries across many centuries. In this discussion I have focused largely on ritual misrepresentation in the medieval period, with brief reference to other periods. As a result of this narrowed focus, it is tempting to associate blood libels solely with the Middle Ages, and thus to dismiss them as currently irrelevant. However, this dismissal reveals our own modern biases. As Bildhauer and Mills write, “if the Middle Ages is popularly imagined as a time full of monsters, then it can also be said to operate itself as a kind of historiographic monster, challenging ideas of modernity as radically different.”143 That is to say, in imagining the Middle Ages as monstrous in its treatment of Jews, we distance ourselves and imply that our own time is unique; in doing so, we set aside any possible implications for modernity. However, the evidence indicates that Jews have been characterized as monsters up until very recently, in seemingly enlightened contexts. Acknowledging ritual disruption as a form of misrepresentation that continues into the present moment is a healthy move, which involves admitting that we are not as far removed from the Middle Ages as we might like to believe. Second, the Jews are not the only community to be accused of performing ritual atrocities. Bettina E. Schmidt points out that Haitian dictator François Duvalier created a secret police force and named them “Tonton Macoutes,” referencing a Haitian folklore figure, an old man carrying a bag (“macoute”).144 The Tonton Macoutes were widely feared for ruthless techniques that we believe they actually employed, including torture, rape, and so on. However, Duvalier also spread rumors that the Tonton Macoutes could turn humans into zombies by engaging in Vodou ritual. Schmidt explains, “François Duvalier succeeded in connecting his regime with this aspect of Vodou, the manipulation of fate by Vodou priests, by recruiting some Vodou priests as informers and agents of the Tonton Macoutes… . The VNS then increased this fear through actions such as the theft of dead bodies from cemeteries.”145 Schmidt notes, “the Tonton Macoutes had managed to increase fear not only by brutal terror such as rape and murder but also by deliberately staging aspects of Vodou.”146 As a result of Duvalier’s efforts to link alleged Vodou ritual activity with his own secret police and their severe torture practices, Vodou ritual became
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widely misrepresented as “black magic.” As in the cases of the blood libels, imagined (not performed) ritual activity generated deep, widespread fear among the general population. The case of the Tonton Macoutes introduces another element into our study of ritual misrepresentation: in some cases misrepresentation can backfire. Schmidt points out that Duvalier was successful at associating the severe torture of his police force with Vodou. Consequently, when Jean-Claude Duvalier left the country, the local people retaliated. They destroyed Vodou temples and attacked religious leaders indiscriminately, whether or not there was any evidence of a link to the Duvalier regime. Vodou was so deeply feared and so intimately associated with Duvalier’s police “machine” that Vodou practitioners were indiscriminately persecuted when he left power. The blood libels, therefore, have relevance beyond themselves. In particular, they draw attention to distinctive ritual dynamics and elements that take come into play when rituals are disrupted. First, blood libels draw attention to disruption that occurs at a discursive level. Thus, ritual practice is not the focus; rather, discourse about ritual is. Misrepresentation does not primarily involve action but speech. Both the accusers and the accused are tied to rhetoric in various forms: personal testimony; written descriptions in legal, historical, and literary documents; oral traditions; and visual representations such as paintings or theater. As a result, power is exercised not in the ritual arena itself, but in these other arenas, in which ritual is the object of discussion. These discursive ritual forms can be repeated almost endlessly, with subsequent individual allegations fueling past allegations. While performed rituals are constrained by available space, time, and resources, represented rituals can be endlessly replicated. Second, the blood libels reveal how easy it is to circulate false discourse about ritual. As we have seen, the misrepresentation of a community’s ritual practice is a particularly insidious form of ritual disruption, and its nuance needs to be appreciated. Misrepresented ritual does not involve wholesale fabrication—which might more easily be refuted—but the perversion of an acknowledged ritual practice. Those accused of ritual murder and blood manipulation are placed in the untenable position of arguing that yes, the ritual occurs, but no, not in the alleged way. In addition, represented rituals can be easily manipulated, incorporating changes and variations almost effortlessly, including fundamental changes that gain credibility by sheer repetition. As Ben-Sasson notes, “By its very nature this phenomenon constituted a vicious circle: each false charge added
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to the terrifying image of the Jew, and the worsening of that image lent greater credence to constantly renewed accusations.”147 The most powerful result of the misrepresentation of Jewish ritual was the pervasive nature of the accusations. As Dundes notes, “Even in those instances where the accused was eventually found innocent, the very fact that a trial took place in which the basis of the accusation was essentially the existence of the legend demonstrates the undeniable tenacity of the story.”148 Third, the complex dynamics involved in a blood libel highlight the multiple forms of violence accompanying ritual that deserve analytic attention. We tend to think first about physical violence and, of course, that can be an important aspect of both sacrificial and nonsacrificial ritual. However, violence is multidimensional, and it can be helpful to look for different forms of violence at different levels of ritual (e.g., semantic, symbolic, structural, and political levels) to develop a full-bodied understanding of how violence and ritual relate to one another. As we have seen, blood libels involved physical, alleged, ritualized, retributive, historical, self-sacrificial, and cultural violence. These various forms of violence fed one another, generating a vicious cycle. Jewish communities experienced concrete physical, social, political, and economic consequences from blood libel charges. Schmidt argues, “religion can be used to create terror, not only in the minds of people, but with physical consequences.”149 The same can be said of ritual. Perhaps most important, ritual studies scholars have spent relatively little time examining the cultural violence that follows from ritual disruption. The fear generated by blood libels gave non-Jews the power to establish the parameters within which Jews could characterize themselves, often prompting Jews to impose changes upon themselves out of sheer self-protection. For example, blood libel charges prompted self-conscious changes in Jewish Passover and circumcision practices, which were altered specifically in response to ritual blood consumption accusations. Thus, Christians set the agenda for Jewish ritual practice and for Jews’ own discourses about themselves. Bettina E. Schmidt and Ingo W. Schröder argue that violence between two parties (1) “is never completely idiosyncratic. It always expresses some kind of relationship with another party”; (2) “is never completely sense-or meaningless to the actor… . As social action, it can never be completely dissociated from instrumental rationality”; and (3) “is never a totally isolated act. It is—however remotely—related to a competitive relationship and thus the product of a historical process that may extend far back in time.”150 The misrepresentation of one group’s ritual is a mode of cultural violence, because it provides a mechanism for
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one group to establish dominance over another. The successful misrepresentation of a community’s ritual tradition undermines that community’s self-determination. The dominant community establishes the practices and themes that the imaginal community uses to express its fundamental identity, values, and historical narrative. The misrepresented community is forced to take a self-defensive posture in constructing its public identity. Jews, even when they rejected the characterization thrust upon them, were forced to engage the grander narrative constructed by Christians. Langmuir has argued that the writing of history “is itself a historical event, sometimes of considerable consequence. This is peculiarly true in the case of accusations of ritual murder against Jews, for such accusations have been as much a phenomenon of historiography as of history.”151 Jews have been forced to write their own history in light of false accusations—a sobering consequence of ritual misrepresentation. Finally, the blood libels draw attention to the fact that the group imposing a misrepresentation on a minority community is also engaged in negotiating its own sense of identity. In the process of misrepresenting others, the dominant community lays bare its own values, desired historical narrative, sociopolitical ambitions, and anxieties through its characterization of a manufactured representation of an “other.” This may be why it was so important to Christians involved in blood libels to involve Jews in their attacks. Testimony by converted Jews strengthened not just the caricature of the Jew but also the desired self-construction by Christians. Similarly, when Jews refused to cooperate with the blood libels, it implied resistance not only to the misrepresentation of Jewish ritual but also to the desired Christian self-understanding. As Dundes notes, such resistance prompted deep-seated resentment: “When Jews resisted acting out their assigned part in this overt Christian fantasy, Christians became angry, very angry—just as whites become angry if blacks don’t conform to the white stereotype of blacks and just as men become angry if women don’t conform to the men’s stereotype of women.”152 Ritual misrepresentation constitutes a distinctive form of ritual disruption. Representations of rituals are rhetorically vivid, and thus potentially very powerful. As such, they are vulnerable to abuse by individuals and communities who desire to do harm. Ritual misrepresentation, therefore, can be a powerful weapon in cultural engagement. Consequently, a key task for ritual studies scholars is to draw attention to ritual as an object of discourse and to the multiple ways in which ritual in that form can be disrupted.
4
Of Fists and Feathers The Modern Olympic Games
In the 1968 Olympic Games in Mexico City, two black US athletes, Tommie Smith and John Carlos, made history when they accepted the gold and bronze medals for the 200 meter race. One observer described the dramatic awards ceremony: [When] they came out for the victory ceremony we could see that both of them had rolled their tracksuit trousers up to show the black socks. In one hand they wore a black leather glove, and in the other hand they carried a black Puma shoe. As they stood on the victory rostrum they raised the gloved hand in the clenched fist salute of the Black Power Movement—and in the other hand they held the Puma shoe aloft. In one hand idealism and the other hand commercialism. When the National Anthem was played they turned towards the flag, bowed their heads and raised their black-gloved, clenched fists. At the press conference afterwards they said that they had demonstrated to show that black people are united. “We are black, and proud to be black, and white America will only give us credit for being Olympic champions. But black Americans will understand.”1 The image of Smith and Carlos on the podium, fists raised and heads bowed, is one of the most well-known images in Olympic history (Fig 4.1). That
Figure 4.1 Smith and Carlos raising their fists. © John Dominis/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images
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image captures one of the most controversial moments of the modern Olympic Games. Smith and Carlos’s actions polarized fans, fans who either chastised or celebrated the two men’s actions on the podium. All agree that Smith and Carlos transformed one of the best-known modern international rituals—originally designed to unify spectators from around the world to celebrate athletic achievement—into a platform that expressed personal political views in a deeply divisive way. To understand Smith and Carlos’s actions, we need to appreciate the original intent behind the athletes’ medal ceremonies. Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the modern Olympic Games, did not focus solely on the athletic competitions. He felt that the ceremonies that punctuated the Games communicated the spirit of the modern Olympic athletic competition. He intentionally included three ceremonies in the Games: the opening, victory (or awards), and closing ceremonies.2 Each of these ritual events was explicitly designed to reinforce the ideals of the Games, ideals often referred to collectively as “Olympism.” These ideals and the ceremonies meant to embody them are laid out explicitly in the Olympic Charter as well as in subsequent documents. Over the years, minor changes have been made, but for the most part today’s Olympic rituals are performed very much according to Coubertin’s original vision— except, of course, when they are not. In the following pages, I will discuss several historic Olympic ceremonies that have “gone wrong” in specific ways. I will touch on some minor, unintentional ritual mistakes, but for the most part in this chapter I will focus on deliberately altered ritual performances. These performances, by challenging the prescribed or anticipated ritual behavior, actually draw attention to latent expectations of ritual actors and the ritual itself. In examining these disrupted Olympic rituals, we will learn something of the nature of the Olympic Games ceremonies, as well as something of the nature of ritual itself. Specifically we will note ritual’s vulnerability to its own ritual actors. We will also see how various ritual stakeholders occasionally engage in contests for control of specific ritual events’ messages. Finally, we will note the role of the audience, which is transformed into an active witness to ritual ceremonies, authorizing specific ritual performances and, by extension, the ideals underlying those performances. When rituals are unintentionally disrupted or intentionally subverted, the audience members are forced into uncomfortable positions, often bearing witness to a message with which they do not agree.
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The Olympic Games The modern Olympic Games were inaugurated in 1896. One man, Pierre de Coubertin, is considered the “grandfather” of these games. Coubertin, a French aristocrat with training in physical education, first proposed a revival of the Olympics in 1892. In a speech presented to the Union des Sports Athlétiques on November 25, 1892, Coubertin proposed: Let us export our oarsmen, our runners, our fencers into other lands. That is the true Free Trade of the future; and the day it is introduced into Europe the cause of Peace will have received a new and strong ally. . . . I shall ask that the help you have given me hitherto you will extend again, so that together we may attempt to realise [sic], upon a basis suitable to the conditions of our modern life, the splendid and beneficent task of reviving the Olympic Games.3 Two years later, the precursor to the International Olympic Committee (IOC) was formed, and eventually the first modern Games were scheduled for Athens in 1896. The goal of the Olympic movement, as stated on the official Olympic website, is “to contribute to building a peaceful and better world by educating youth through sport practiced without discrimination of any kind, in a spirit of friendship, solidarity and fair play.”4 In the self-contained world created by the Olympics, the Games are meant to replace armed conflict with athletic competition. The men propounding this view of the Games (and sport in general) remembered the wars of the nineteenth century, and they sought to offer a replacement in athletic competition. Specifically, the modern Olympics offered civilized competition, which includes a spirit of fair play. Jeffrey Segrave and Donald Chu note that the nineteenth-century European romantic roots of the Games are reflected in their conflation of sport with “authentic human existence.”5 They write, “The ontological, distinctly human possibilities inherent in this conception of sport account for the various individual and universal imperatives commonly derived from Olympism, including the pursuit of physical and moral excellence, international cooperation and goodwill through athletic competition, the link between sport and aesthetics and ‘perfect disinterestedness and the sentiment of honor.’ ”6 The term “Olympism” was not actually defined until 1991, when the 1991 Olympic
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Charter spelled out the philosophy intended by the term: “Olympism is a philosophy of life, exalting and combining in a balanced whole the qualities of body, will and mind. Blending sport with culture and education, Olympism seeks to create a way of life based on the joy found in effort, the educational value of good example and respect for universal fundamental ethical principles. The goal of Olympism is to place everywhere sport at the service of the harmonious development of man, with a view to encouraging human dignity.”7 R. G. Ousterhoudt rhapsodizes, “Olympism holds that sport is worthy of human attention only insofar as it recognizes and cultivates these connections [between sport and other aspect of human experience]. For it is only by virtue of such recognition and cultivation that sport gets linked with the mainstream of human life, and thereby contributes to the living of an authentically human existence. Only in this way is sport (or human life ‘in’ sport) enhanced by what is most fundamentally human, and is humanity itself enriched by its sporting inclinations.”8 The importance of “Olympism” as an ideal is noted by Avery Brundage, former president of the American Olympic Committee (essentially from 1928–1952) and the IOC (1952– 1972): “ ‘many think the Olympic Movement is concerned only with a few champions in each country. They forget that for one who makes an Olympic team, thousands [sic] try, and in so doing not only gain the physical benefits of participation but also learn the Olympic principles of fair play and good sportsmanship.’ ”9 The values propounded by the Olympic Games and embodied in the Olympic athletes are, by extension, embraced by “thousands,” including at the very least all those who tried to participate as competitors, and possibly more broadly by fans of the Olympic Games.10 Various elements of the Olympic Games were developed to instill “Olympism,” not the least of which were the various ceremonies. The Olympic bylaws include guidelines for the opening ceremonies, the athletes’ awards ceremonies, and the closing ceremonies. Over time, the opening and awards ceremonies in particular became the sites for unintentional mistakes and deliberate challenges to expected Olympic behavior, ranging from the humorous to the somber. This has occurred despite (or perhaps in response to) the officially stated aims of the games: “mutual understanding with a spirit of friendship, solidarity and fair play.”11 Usually the three main ceremonies collaborate with other elements of the Games to promote fair competition in the spirit of international cooperation (in fact, the ceremonies are explicitly intended to do just this). Occasionally,
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however, the Game ceremonies have become strategic venues for public protest. As we shall see, in these instances the ceremonies have challenged (rather than supported) the overarching goals of the Olympics and highlighted differing, possibly conflicting expectations of different ritual actors. This chapter will begin with a close examination of several different “misperformances” of Olympic ritual: one change in the opening ritual prompted by an accident in the 1988 Seoul ceremonies; a mistake in the opening ceremonies of the 2014 Sochi games; the US team boycott of the Olympic men’s basketball awards ceremony in 1972 (Munich); and the actions of Tommie Smith and John Carlos, two black US runners, at the 1968 (Mexico) 200 meter race awards ceremony. In all of these examples, changes were made to the ceremonies in response to specific circumstances, what I call “provocations,” although the provocations for and the nature of the changes varied. Some of these provocations came from within the Games themselves; at other times, the provocations came from outside.
Feathers From the earliest years of the Olympic Games, Coubertin designed the opening ceremonies to include certain specific elements; one of these was a flight of doves. These birds were meant to symbolize peace, and they represented Coubertin’s stated desire that the athletic competition in the Games foster a spirit of cooperation between nations that extended beyond the Olympics. Specifically, he hoped that regular international athletic competition would result in less international military conflict. Originally, the number of doves in the opening ceremonies corresponded to the number of nations competing in the Games in any given year. Over time, the number of doves was increased (mostly because larger numbers looked more impressive), and audiences came to expect that the opening ceremonies of every Olympic Game would include the release of live doves. As Miguel de Moragas, John MacAloon, and Montserat Llinés write, “In the original concept, Coubertin suggested that pigeons were to be flown, their number corresponding to the number of nations. Later, many more pigeons were flown as it looked nice.”12 Eventually the Opening Ceremonies also came to include a burning flame in a cauldron as another standard element. In the 1936 Berlin Games, a torch was kindled in Greece and then carried
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overland to Germany by runners and used to ignite the cauldron.13 One modern writer rhapsodized about the combination of the doves and the flame, declaring, “Nowhere, either in Helsinki, Rome, Tokyo or Munich, have I seen the Olympic doves afraid of the flame. White, blue, black or coffee-coloured—they have floated peacefully above the stadium and, when the sacred flame has been lit in the ritual bowl, they have even alighted on its edge, with no fear of the flame burning their wings.”14 Then, in the 1988 Seoul Games, several birds perching on the Olympic cauldron were burned alive when the flame was lit. One writer attempted to downplay the event—“a few pigeons got roasted here and there”—but animal rights groups complained, and it became clear that including live doves would no longer be acceptable.15 However, by this point the release of the doves had become an established element of the opening ceremony ritual. Everyone agreed that “it would be impossible to abolish this symbol of peace represented by the doves,” so event organizers had to adapt.16 The 1996 Atlanta Games organizers (ACOG) chose to reinterpret the symbol: “ACOG President Billy Payne has announced that the traditional release of pigeons at the opening ceremonies will not take place in Atlanta in 1996, because of the fear of endangering live birds because of the proximity of the Olympic Flame. Payne noted, ‘We elected not to put at risk any of these animals. We also thought that the best way to do it was a little more theatrically and a little more stylistically.’ Payne gave no details of the ceremonial release but said no one will miss it. ‘It will be obvious in at least one place that we have symbolically released doves. It will be very apparent and very obvious and you won’t need to look for it.’ ”17 The Atlanta Games opening ceremonies included an oversized representation of a dove on the field, comprised of hundreds of children in white costumes. The children moved in unison to simulate a dove in flight. In addition, the AOC incorporated one hundred white dove “kites” held aloft by runners in the stadium. As Liselotte Diem noted, “the Charter now calls for a ‘symbolic release’ of pigeons. This can signify either the launching of one pigeon—who looks very lonely and frightened—or the flying of artificial pigeons, which is a new creative aspect of the ceremony. We are very happy with these artificial pigeons, because the mail [ from animal activists] has been abundantly reduced on this issue. Ceremonies have to be adjusted.”18 Replacing live birds with artificial, symbolic ones may seem like an insignificant move, but it actually reflects a sophisticated understanding of ritual and a complex reconfiguration of ritual elements. The blueprint for the opening ceremony had developed over decades, gradually
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incorporating two distinct elements that ultimately came into conflict (the doves and the flame). Over the years the doves became a significant enough ritual element that they could not simply be eliminated without doing violence to the opening ceremony as a whole. Ceremony rule makers (the ritual “priests”) adjusted the ritual to respond to modern public sensibilities while simultaneously satisfying traditional desires to keep the flame and the doves in the ritual. An unfortunate accident prompted a ritual innovation that worked. This innovation was so successful that subsequent Olympic opening ceremonies have continued the new tradition of including symbolic (rather than live) doves. This change is quite a ritual feat. A similarly sophisticated ritual move occurred in the 2014 Sochi Winter Games. During the months leading up to the Olympics, there was serious doubt as to whether or not the city of Sochi and, more important, the Russian President Vladimir Putin, would be prepared to host the Games when they opened. As one article put it, “anger, fear and suspicion … marred the buildup to these most expensive Olympics ever.”19 During the opening ceremony, there was a “glaring mistake in the ceremony” when one of five snowflakes failed to transform into an Olympic ring, leaving the audience (and some television viewers) with an unforgettable image of four Olympic rings followed, seemingly, by an asterisk.20 In addition, fireworks that were supposed to explode high over the heads of the audience never went off. In Russia, this was a significant enough glitch that local broadcasters broadcast footage from a rehearsal in which all five rings opened flawlessly and the fireworks exploded as anticipated. As one report noted, “Russian state television aired footage Friday of five floating snowflakes turning into the Olympic rings and bursting into pyrotechnics at the Sochi Games opening ceremony. Problem is, that didn’t happen.”21 The Russian network Rossiya 1 cut to footage shot during the ceremony rehearsal, with producers “saying it was important to preserve the imagery of the Olympic symbols.”22 Outside of Russia, however, other broadcast systems chose to air the ceremony as it actually occurred, so the world witnessed a clear technical failure. One headline read, “Olympic rings fail spectacularly,” noting, “the top-right ring failed to expand alongside the others, leaving four circles beside what looked almost like an asterisk.”23 One ABC commentator referred to the malfunction as “a resounding ‘oops’ seen round the world.”24 The unfortunate nature of the malfunction was exacerbated by the fact that the Sochi Games opened amid a host of controversy concerning human rights violations in Russia as well as a lack
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of confidence that Sochi was ready to host the Games at a purely logistical level. As one journalist put it, “Sochi has been fraught with problems in the days leading up to the Olympics, but no one issue has been quite so telling of Russia’s hosting struggles as a malfunction at its opening ceremony.”25 The malfunction was perceived to be so potentially problematic that rumors spread like wildfire that the “man responsible for the 2014 Winter Olympic ring failing to open” was killed.26 The closing ceremonies turned this around. In the closing ceremonies, Konstantin Ernst, creative director for the Sochi Games, made fun of the snowflake glitch by deliberately choreographing dancers so that when the majority of them fanned into four interlocking rings, a small group remained in a tight cluster—highlighted with a spotlight—before definitively transforming into the fifth Olympic ring.27 The crowd in the stadium laughed and applauded, viewers around the world chuckled, and one announcer laughed and commented, “that’s a very, very nice touch.”28 This unexpected self-deprecating move earned praise from around the globe. One subsequent headline read, “Who says Russia doesn’t have a sense of humour?”29 This seemingly light-hearted gag, however, was actually a complicated ritual moment. First, the intentional “mistake” in the closing ceremonies only made sense to those who had seen the opening ceremonies— it was an inside joke that required an informed ritual community. In addition, the second mistake could only be experienced as humorous if the viewer knew it was intentional; a second genuine “misfire” of the Olympic Rings could have been disastrous. Third, the closing ceremony joke only worked in the broader context of Games that had proceeded relatively problem-free. Yes, there were well-publicized protests concerning gay rights violations by the Russian government and much more limited complaints about some residential quarters, but the 2014 Sochi Games occurred without the eruption of any international-scale logistical, political, or social crises, which many people had feared. The Russians could get away with self-deprecating humor in the closing ceremonies, pointing back to a glitch in the opening ceremonies, because the rest of the Games, by and large, had been held without incident. This larger context created the space to make fun of a relatively mild mistake. Finally, the closing ceremonies joke took many outsiders off-guard because of caricatures of Russian seriousness. At the risk of overgeneralizing, few outsiders expected the Russians to display a sense of humor. The apparently simple closing ceremony joke worked because all the ritual participants
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understood, if only at an intuitive level, the complicated context in which the joke was made. I open with these minor examples of ritual adjustments and ritual humor as a gesture toward a larger point regarding the Olympic Games ceremonies that this chapter will explore in the contexts of more serious events. Simply put, rituals change, and they often change deliberately in response to factors external to the ritual itself. When changes are incorporated smoothly and without objection, an outside observer might be unaware of the ritual change or even the “provocation” that prompted the change. Most important, the observer will not feel any discomfort, because the original spirit has been maintained despite alterations to specific ritual elements. But when the ritual is altered in an obvious or dramatic way, it may be impossible to maintain the original spirit of the event. The complex negotiations that are always at work between ritual tradition, ritual rule makers, ritual participants, and ritual observers come to light. In some cases these negotiations fail, and the original spirit eludes the ritual participants. In the two Olympic rituals that I will review next, ritual changes occurred that were not the result of unintentional accidents. Rather, they involved deliberate “misperformances” by athletes themselves. These misperformances called attention to political dynamics at work beyond the Olympic Games themselves, but they reminded viewers that the Games occur in and are affected by specific social, historical, and political factors. Despite numerous official declarations that the Games are beyond the reach of political forces, it is clear that the Games have always been extremely responsive to politics in the outside world. In some cases, organizing officials have changed elements of the rituals in response, but more frequently individual athletes have taken ritual moments into their own hands, using the ceremonies to serve their own specific agendas. The Olympic Games ceremonies, then, offer international public sites of contestation between ritual actors. By deliberately misperforming an Olympic ceremony, ritual actors can challenge the stated premises of the Games themselves on an international stage, and infuse personal or political concerns into any particular Olympic Game. Any athlete who refuses to perform the awards ceremony “correctly” fails to fulfill his or her role as a good Olympic citizen by refusing to uphold foundational elements of the mythology of the Games: universal and apolitical goodwill. Ritual misperformances thus put a spotlight on long-cherished results of the Olympic Games while simultaneously sabotaging those results.
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Final Shots: Munich, 1972 In 1972 the United States men’s basketball team—previously undefeated in any international contest—lost to the Soviet Union team in one of the most controversial Olympic basketball finals ever played. Olympic historians James Cook and John Goodbody describe the dramatic conclusion to the game: [W]ith three seconds to play the United States led 50-49 with two final shots by Doug Collins to be taken. . . . As Collins was shooting for the second time, a horn sounded, signaling time-out for the Russians. The umpire still started the game, however, and two seconds later, apparently with one second to go, halted it. The Americans, thinking victory was theirs, danced all over the court, hugging each other as the fans rushed on to the court. Inevitably protests and counter protests followed from both sides and the jury deliberated until 4.30 in the morning . . . it was decided that the Soviet Union would be allowed to play out the final three seconds as there had been so much confusion, a decision heatedly opposed by the United States team manager . . . A long pass was thrown by Modestas Paulaskas from under the Russian basket to the other end of the court where the battle was won by 6ft 7in Alexander Belov. He knocked the American, Gene Forbes, to the ground, made the lay-up without opposition . . . and that was the end of the three seconds.30 Obviously, athletes have disagreed with official decisions throughout Olympic history—there’s nothing new about that. In most cases, however, these athletes have either shrugged it off or followed established procedures to lodge a protest. Some have been successful in appealing judges’ decisions and others have not.31 In most cases, whether or not the athletes have agreed with the judges’ final decision, the competitors have not disrupted the awards ceremonies, subordinating themselves to the authority of the recognized Olympic officials and implicitly communicating respect for the authoritative structure of the Olympic Games overall. However, the 1972 United States basketball team members chose unanimously not to accept the silver medal in protest, and they refused to attend the awards ceremony. In fact, the US team members vowed never to accept the silver medal. Team captain Kenny Davis declared, “ ‘I have placed it in my will
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that my wife and my children can never, ever receive that medal from the ‘72 Olympic games.’ ”32 The US team members’ boycott of the awards ceremony was a deliberate misperformance of the Olympic awards ritual. The boycott was designed to broadcast the team’s strong feeling that the officials’ decision was unfair. The US athletes’ concerns reached the global Olympic audience specifically through the athletes’ absence at the awards ceremony. By refusing to participate in the ceremony, the US team members silently (but effectively) charged officials with basic unfairness, striking at the heart of fundamental Olympic ideals. In effect, the US team members said, “If you won’t live up to the Olympic standards of fairness that we expect, then we won’t be the Olympic athletes that you expect us to be.” And they communicated all of this without saying a word—simply by their absence from the ritual.
Fists: Mexico, 1968 Four years earlier, in 1968, the twenty-ninth Olympics had been held in Mexico City. Tensions were already high heading into the Games; ten days before the opening ceremonies, hundreds of student protesters were massacred by Mexican police in Tlateloco Plaza.33 In the United States, black athletes had spent months considering whether or not to stage a boycott of the entire Olympic Games as part of the national civil rights movement. The American black athletes’ goal was to make a high-profile, international statement about racism in their home country. Ultimately, however, the athletes decided to participate in the Games, choosing instead to use the awards ceremonies to express their views on an international platform. Several black athletes made protests during awards ceremonies, and as Smith and Carlos’s event approached, rumors spread: “There had been many rumours that Smith and Carlos would make some sort of demonstration, and indeed they had worn calf-length black socks in both the heats and finals.”34 James Carter describes the ceremony as Smith and Carlos came to receive the gold and silver medals for the 200 meter race: “And then came that famous ceremony. The athletes marched out to the centre carrying one shoe in either hand, and wearing one black glove on different hands, with Human Rights badges pinned to their track suits ([Peter] Normal also displayed the badge), and, when it came to the playing of
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the Star Spangled Banner, they held their fists in a clenched salute and stood with their heads bowed.” The reaction from Olympic officials was fast and decisive. As punishment for their actions, Carlos and Smith were immediately suspended from the US team and banned from the Olympic Village.35 The image of Smith and Carlos with their heads bowed and fists raised in the air has achieved iconic status.36 Yet it requires quite a bit of unpacking to understand exactly what is occurring in that protest. Specifically, it requires knowledge of the Olympics, of the American civil rights movement, and of the expectations of athletes at Olympic awards ceremonies, expectations that were directly flouted in that moment. To appreciate what Smith and Carlos did, we have to understand how their actions were intended and understood, which involved relatively sophisticated senses of symbolism, display, and ritual. Let’s analyze this dynamic.
Barthes’s Mythologies How can we make sense of Smith and Carlos’s ritual subversions, as well as other Olympic ritual disruptions? I find it helpful to draw on Roland Barthes’s notion of myth, specifically the notion of the signifier’s relationship to myth. As a semiotician, Barthes argued that myth is a type of speech, one constrained by form, but not by substance. The student of myth studies mythology, that is, “ideas-in-form.”37 Myth, broadly speaking, may be communicated in a variety of forms, not just language. Barthes identifies three components of myth: the signifier, the signified, and the sign. The signifier is a concrete form that expresses the signified, which is usually an abstract concept. When the signifier and signified come together, their joint association is the sign. For example, Barthes explains that a rose (a signifier) may be used to represent passionate love (the signified); their coming together constitutes a sign. The signifier (in this case, the rose) is “empty” in that it brings nothing of its own individual history or distinctive identity to the signification process. Rather, it completely takes upon itself the abstract concept (passionate love). The signifier empties itself of anything that does not contribute to its successful deployment of that which is signified. For example, concerns about the rose’s specific genus, its various parts, the garden in which it was grown, and so on are irrelevant. The rose empties itself of its own particular identity to take upon itself that which it is intended to signify.
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Figure 4.2 Paris-Match cover. © IZIS/Paris Match Archive/Getty Images
Barthes then offers a more complex example, the image of a young Sudanese boy displayed on the cover of Paris-Match magazine (Fig 4.2). Barthes explains, “On the cover, a young Negro in a French uniform is saluting, with his eyes uplifted, probably fixed on a fold of the tricolour. All this is the meaning of the picture… . I see very well what it signifies to me: that France is a great Empire, that all her sons, without any
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colour discrimination, faithfully serve under her flag, and that there is no better answer to the detractors of an alleged colonialism than the zeal shown by this Negro in serving his so-called oppressors. I am therefore again faced with a greater semiological system: there is a signifier, itself already formed with a previous system (a black soldier is giving the French salute); there is a signified (it is here a purposeful mixture of Frenchness and militariness); finally there is a presence of the signified through the signifier.”38 Key to this process for Barthes is the “emptying,” the “impoverishing” of the signifier. The signifier is “emptied” of any personal, distinctive identity in order to take on the role of signifying something greater than itself. This process of impoverishment leaves history, politics, and specific identity behind. As a result, the resulting signifier is ahistorical, apolitical, deployed seemingly without contingency. Similarly, the myth the signifier serves is also ahistorical and apolitical. Because is it stripped of any specific context, myth, according to Barthes, presents concepts as sui generis, natural (and therefore eternal and universal), rather than as historical or political constructions. Returning to our present study, the elements of the Olympic ceremonies are designed to contribute to the underlying Olympic myth. Each element of the ceremonies (doves, athletes, national flags) acts as a signifier. The individual elements differ from and yet relate to one another as signifiers within the grand Olympic myth. The victorious athlete is meant to be a universal emblem of the best of humanity. As such, when she is recognized, her behavior in being recognized must express the generic excellence of humanity as well, stripped of any personal, idiosyncratic elements. When a ritual is misperformed, however, the signification process fails, and the historical and political location of these elements comes to light. Let me illustrate with a discussion of the Olympics Opening Ceremony doves. While the specific forms of the doves used in the opening ceremonies had to be altered in response to a specific provocation (i.e., the accidental burning of several live doves), we find that the “artificial” doves successfully retained their original role as signifiers, serving the overarching myth in a manner consistent with the earlier live doves. Even with alterations to their physical forms, the doves as signifiers continued to uphold the traditional Olympic commitment to universal peace. While live doves were replaced with simulated doves, the message conveyed by the doves in the opening ceremony overall did not change; thus, no challenge
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was raised against the grand myth of Olympism. As a result, I call the doves “compliant signifiers.” They were malleable, able to be altered in response to an outside provocation while still remaining “empty,” ahistorical and apolitical. As such, they were still able to be used successfully to perpetuate the greater Olympic myth. The 1972 US men’s basketball team behaved very differently. These athletes refused to fulfill their designated roles in the awards ceremony. Instead, they absented themselves entirely from the ritual. They refused to act as signifiers for the myth that they were supposed to signify as Olympic silver medal winners (recognition for Olympic authority). By removing themselves from the ritual victory ceremony, they removed one of the key signifiers in the ceremony overall. Consequently, I designate these athletes “absent signifiers.” They refused to fulfill their role in the ritual, and thus they weakened the perpetuation of the Olympic myth. Tommie Smith and John Carlos were even more problematic in their ritual roles. We know from historical documents that Tommie Smith and John Carlos, as well as other black American athletes on the 1968 US team, seriously considered boycotting the Olympic Games. Olympic historian Frank Murphy states, “One important decision was made in Los Angeles. There would be no boycott. America’s black athletes would be in Mexico City if they made the Olympic team. Lee Evans made the announcement on July 31, 1968. He said that a unanimous decision had been made to compete, although ‘the vote was also almost 100 percent that we make some kind of protest.’ The form of protest was unstated.”39 The decision not to boycott, but to protest, was a sophisticated ritual move. The athletes did exactly what Barthes says one should do to undermine the power of a myth: “the best weapon against myth is perhaps to mythify it in its turn … The power of the second myth is that it gives the first its basis as a naivety which is looked at.”40 Specifically, by invoking the black power salute in the awards ceremony and refusing to raise their eyes to their national flag, the athletes shattered the illusion of ahistorical, apolitical Olympic Games. Instead, the athletes deliberately drew attention to a specific political situation in their home country, and they brought that political problem to the international Olympic stage. Smith, Carlos, and others refused to empty themselves of their historically located identities; in so doing, they became what I call “resistant signifiers.” It is commonly accepted that the US basketball team members, Tommie Smith, and John Carlos used the public victory ceremonies to challenge the Olympic Games—but how exactly did they accomplish this?
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What exactly were they challenging? How do their misperformances in ritual contexts help us to understand the nature of Olympic ritual generally? The answers to these questions lie in the stated goals of the ceremonies. Françoise Zweifel, former Secretary General of the IOC, once commented, “Ceremonies, it has been said, take on the form of ancient ritual celebration.”41 That is, the Olympic ceremonies are intended to take the ritual observers and participants outside of time, away from a particular historical moment to an all-encompassing moment of universality. At the moment of the awards ceremony, the individual athlete should be erased; she is simply the current signifier for all victorious athletes, and she stands, silent, playing her role in a carefully scripted ritual moment. In that moment she epitomizes the Olympic athlete who embodies the perfect balance of national identity and supranational physical prowess. The victory ceremony, while acknowledging the medal winner’s name and national identity (and, by extension, what she has accomplished for and on behalf of her country), also claims that she has accomplished this achievement within parameters designed to enhance international cooperation. Athletes even offer scripted responses to easily anticipated questions about how they feel as victors. The “best” athlete signifier fulfills all of these expectations. Using Barthes’s language, she fills “the form of the myth without ambiguity,” generating a simple system.42 The IOC itself has described the Olympic ceremonies in this way. Organizers are charged with providing “an impeccable observance of predefined forms, preferably identifiable forms which are recognized by those who attend and view a ceremony. Such impeccable observance is the basic requirement for the success of any ceremony… . The contents of the message must be simple. If possible, it should be of such a nature that it is neither to be discussed nor challenged during the ceremony … . The general principle should be that ceremonies should never convey messages of doubt or interrogation but messages of conviction.”43 Both the US basketball team and the black American track athletes introduced messages of doubt and interrogation, and they did it via their refusal to play out ritualized roles. None of the verbal statements they made carried the weight of their ritual actions. By deliberately misperforming the ritual, they drew attention to the historicity and fallibility of the Games themselves, challenging that which is supposed to be held sacred within the Olympics. In both cases the deliberate ritual misperformances immediately debunked the ahistorical, transcendent image of the Games and highlighted instead the Olympics’ political and contingent
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nature. As one writer put it, it was “as if the two young sprinters had desecrated the American flag. Few people noted that the emotional reaction was proof that Olympics had been political long before Lee Evans and Tommie Smith came along. If the Games had not been used in the past to hoist the flag, they could not be used to lower it now.”44 The athletes’ physical proximity to the flag—originally intended to reinforce the subordination of the athlete to his or her national identity (note that the athletes and audience members need to look up to see the displayed flag during medal ceremonies)—presented the opportunity for the athletes, as representatives of their country, to challenge that country. The Olympic Charter states, “Olympism is a philosophy of life, exalting and combining in a balanced whole the qualities of body, will and mind. Blending sport with culture and education, Olympism seeks to create a way of life based on the joy found in effort, the educational value of good example and respect for universal fundamental ethical principles.” The US basketball team members charged that fundamental ethical principles had been ignored. ESPN sports journalist Frank Saraceno notes that the 1972 US team felt it had been “cheated” and “wronged.” Specifically, team members felt that Cold War politics were influencing the judging: “ ‘Everything pressed according to strictly Cold War politics,’ said Sports Illustrated writer Gary Smith. ‘There were three Communist Bloc judges. It’s a three to two vote. America loses. The Soviet Union wins the gold medal, and at that point the American players are facing a stark reality. Do they accept the silver medal?’ ‘We felt like they just did something to us that was illegal and we didn’t know any other way to protest than to say that you’re not about to get us to show up to take that silver medal,’ said team captain Kenny Davis.”45 Clearly, on some level, the US team members understood the validation that an awards ceremony brings to an event. According to Diem, the ceremonies of the Games lend authority to the athletic competitions: “Ceremony gives form to an event, it sets the emphasis, it builds up climaxes, it carries the audience along in sympathy, reflection, repose and final harmony. Only in this way can the separate acts of the Olympic event combine to form celebration… . Ceremonial acts draw attention to an event, only in this way do the forms and laws of a contest achieve dignity and solemnity. The ceremony attests to the importance of the event; it invests it with spirit and soul.”46 By absenting themselves from the victory ceremony, the US team members challenged the ultimate authority of the decisions of the event judges.
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Tommie Smith and John Carlos went much further with their ritual challenge. By intentionally misperforming the ritual and appropriating the ceremony to make a statement that contradicted the authorized Olympic myth, the athletes challenged the ahistorical underpinnings of the Olympic myth. MacAloon, the foremost scholar of the Olympics, notes that the Olympic Games are intended to transport participants and audiences “away from their routine, daily lives; through a special time and space; and then returned.”47 In fact, in order to be successful, the Games must remove us from the day-to-day conflicts we are caught up in, placing us in an imagined world of pure sport. Note how this resonates with Barthes’s assertion, “myth is constituted by the loss of the historical quality of things.”48 By referencing the specific historical context in which they lived, Smith and Carlos rejected the mythic dimension of the Olympic Games, politicizing that which was supposed to be depoliticized. This is why athletes who misperform at their awards ceremonies are punished, often by being banned from the Olympics (the equivalent of excommunication). Their athletic performance qualifies them to receive their awards, but the victory ceremony is about more than athletic performance. Olympic athletes must fulfill their role as signifiers of Olympism by acting appropriately in the ritual dimensions of the Olympic Games. The most beloved Olympic athletes not only succeed in competition; they embody the fullest expression of Olympism in all aspects of their lives. Athletes such as the US 1972 men’s basketball team and Tommie Smith and John Carlos failed, not as athletes, but as ritual actors in the Games ceremonies. Thus, they failed to signify Olympism successfully.49 The Olympic officials understood this. Brundage, then president of the IOC, challenged Smith and Carlos’s behavior, not because it was un- American, but because it was un-Olympic. “In the context between the principals, and the views they espoused, the remarkable Mr. Brundage appeared always to claim for himself a moral high ground. Tommie and Lee were the aggressors; they were the transgressors. They were the ones who attempted to blight the Olympic ideal.”50 Note the importance of the athlete’s body in the act of protest. Just as the athletic competition focuses on physical achievement within carefully prescribed parameters, the victory ceremony depends on bodily comportment that follows specific guidelines. The athlete holds her body still and erect, eyes on the flag, and voice occasionally uplifted in patriotic song. The athletes maintain a solemn expression throughout the distribution of the medals, the raising of the flag, and the playing of the gold medal
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winner’s national anthem. This careful attention to the body’s activity is essential to mark the athlete as a cooperative participant in the overall Olympic Games (not just in his or her specific athletic event). This behavior is necessary for filling the role of a “signifier.” The Olympic medalist is, in that medal moment, an incarnation of Olympism, carrying all the weight that the term “incarnation” implies. In a Western world infused widely with incarnational theology, the act of choosing not to incarnate successfully is felt deeply by others who have bought into an incarnational worldview. In refusing to deploy one’s body appropriately in the Olympic victory ceremony, one has, in effect, rejected Olympism. Note, too, how the concern with “fairness” or “unfairness” in competition shift to discussions of correct/incorrect or appropriate/inappropriate behavior when ritual disruptions occur. While criticisms of disruptive athletes are framed in terms of moral right and wrong, in reality the athletes have simply violated an artificially constructed code of behavior. In challenging this constructed code in the context of the medal ceremonies, the athletes draw attention to the fact that the standards of “fairness” that undergird the athletic competitions themselves are also artificially constructed. Barthes comments on this in his own discussion of wrestling: One must realize, let it be repeated, that “fairness” here is a role or a genre, as in the theatre: the rules do not at all constitute a real constraint; they are the conventional appearance of fairness. So that in actual fact a fair fight is nothing but an exaggeratedly polite one: the contestants confront each other with zeal, not rage; they can remain in control of their passions, they do not punish their beaten opponent relentlessly, they stop fighting as soon as they are ordered to do so, and congratulate each other at the end of a particularly arduous episode, during which, however, they have not ceased to be fair. One must of course understand here that all these polite actions are brought to the notice of the public by the most conventional gestures of fairness: shaking hands, raising the arms, ostensibly avoiding a fruitless hold which would detract from the perfection of the contest. Conversely, foul play exists only in its excessive signs: administering a big kick to one’s beaten opponent, taking refuge behind the ropes while ostensibly invoking a purely formal right, refusing to shake hands with one’s opponent before or after the fight, taking advantage of the end of the round to rush treacherously at the
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adversary from behind, fouling him while the referee is not looking (a move which obviously only has any value or function because in fact half the audience can see it and get indignant about it). . . . Sometimes he rejects the formal boundaries of the ring and goes on hitting an adversary legally protected by the ropes [protection not physical, but by social contract], sometimes he re-establishes these boundaries and claims the protection of what he did not respect a few minutes earlier. This inconsistency, far more than treachery or cruelty, sends the audience beside itself with rage: offended not in its morality but in its logic, it considers the contradiction of arguments as the basest of crimes. . . . what is condemned by the audience is not at all the transgression of insipid official rules, it is the lack of revenge, the absence of punishment.51 Similarly, observers expect punishment when an athlete refuses to follow the rules established to recognize victory. When an athlete fails to shake an opponent’s hand at the end of a match, he is accused of being a poor sport; how much more so is the athlete who repudiates the awards ceremonies? In challenging the medal ceremony, an athlete is challenging the Olympic myth that underlies the ceremony. In so doing, the athlete draws attention to the fact that the Olympic myth is a constructed myth, not an idealistic system rooted in the natural order of things. At a more fundamental level, challenges to any particular myth raise challenges to the nature of myth itself. In reminding onlookers of the constructed nature of Olympism, the athlete raises the possibility that other myths understood to be universal may, in fact, be human constructions. As Barthes argues, “We reach here the very principle of myth: it transforms history into nature.”52 Challenges to myth raise ontological questions by highlighting the historicity, the contingent nature of human existence.
Spectator Versus Witness Up until this point I have focused on the obvious active participants in the Olympic Games: the athletes and the IOC officials. Often the viewing public is characterized as a mere passive spectator. However, this approach to the Olympic audience contradicts the original vision of the Games. Segrave and Chu write, “the Olympics were devised by Coubertin as an educational model whereby all individuals through athletic participation
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and competition ‘may be led to understand their chief and proper concern, knowledge of themselves and the right way to live.’ … The trend toward spectatorship as depicted by Loy may rightly be viewed with alarm.”53 If Olympism means anything, it means inspiring the event spectators to live a full human existence, not simply to admire victorious athletes from afar. In the Olympic Games, even viewers have a designated role to fulfill. The Olympics asks viewers not only to be inspired beyond the Olympic arena, but to participate in the Olympics themselves, not as mere passive spectators but as witnesses. Ritual participants act when they bear witness to impressive human physical achievement. They authorize its recognition by their presence at the various ceremonies. Simply imagine the opening, victory, and closing ceremonies with only the athletes and Olympic officials participating. Olympism requires that nonathletes (preferably millions of them) represent worldwide humanity in acknowledging and honoring individual athletes’ accomplishments. In fact, during the victory ceremony, the honored athlete is supposed to be passive, virtually immobile. Her job in that moment is to be seen and to accept being seen within a specific frame. Because of this, when the Olympics go wrong, not only the athletes but also the witnesses feel violated. Their roles as witnesses have been challenged, ignored, or abused when an athlete acts disrespectfully, when a political group terrorizes athletes, or when nations use the Games as a forum for political posturing. While an athlete participates in the Olympic Games, she is not alone. She is, and she must be witnessed for her achievement to count, for it to be incorporated into the Olympic mythology. And she must allow her witnesses to acknowledge her achievement in the prescribed manner for the mythic narrative to be complete. In effect, the Olympics victory ceremony is a kind of consecration. David Freedberg states, “[w]hen we survey the history of images, we survey the history of consecration.”54 He goes on to characterize consecration: “Consecration is never an empty ceremony. It involves at least one process— like washing, anointing, crowning, or blessing— that brings about an intended change in the sacred status of an image. By its very nature consecration is a ritual act, and not merely a ceremonial one, even when it seems to be the simplest of performances. It is usually explicitly physical, but it can also be entirely verbal. The verbal and liturgical elements are never wholly absent, and they are often operative.”55 We tend to think of the consecration of inanimate objects (e.g., idols), but living beings, including humans, are consecrated as well. In these contexts, consecration marks, as Freedberg mentions, the move to a new “sacred
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status.” The Olympic athlete, once “medalled,” holds new status in Olympic mythology. In the act of consecration, the athletes and the audience members switch ritual roles. Those who have been in the audience, viewing the athlete as the ritual performer, become the ritual actors, investing the athlete (who is now largely passive) with her new role. The audience members alter the athlete through their act of witnessing. When an athlete refuses to participate in a ritual, or acts inappropriately, she robs the witnesses of their key ritual activity, the act of consecration. It is a jarring act of rejection, much like a beloved rejecting a prospective suitor’s advances after suggesting that they would be welcomed. The visceral negative reaction to an athlete who steps outside of her prescribed ceremonial role arises precisely because the world’s witnesses are being rejected, ignored, or dismissed. We see, then, that a complex dynamic is at work in any Olympic awards ceremony. Multiple players—the athletes, the officials, and the spectators—flesh out established roles, contributing to the continuation of the Olympic myth. When all the players fill their roles as expected, an ahistorical, universalizing myth is perpetuated that carves out space, time, and an idealized human. The Olympics play out largely in a vacuum. However, when any participant steps outside his ordained role, the contemporary world comes crashing in, and the Olympics are reduced to the stature of any other sports event, contaminated by political, social, commercial, and personal factors. For this reason, athletes who intentionally misperform their roles are castigated, occasionally stripped of their medals and banned from the Olympics for life.
Olympics Gone Wrong To this point, I have discussed discrete ritual events within individual Olympic Games, focusing on the officially recognized ritual ceremonies. However, one could argue that each Olympic Game constitutes an extended ritual. These extended rituals have been disrupted in serious ways themselves, largely in response to external provocations. For the remainder of this chapter, I will turn my attention to disrupted Games. In 1936 the Games were held in Berlin, under the flag of the Third Reich. Hitler had not yet come to power when the IOC awarded these Games to Berlin in the summer of 1932. As the Games neared, significant international pressure was brought to bear on the IOC to relocate
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the Games to another city. Once the IOC announced that the Games would still be held in Berlin, individual countries, including the United States, had to decide whether or not to participate. Olympic historians John Kiernan, Arthur Daley, and Pat Jordan write, “Where there were Jewish populations of any size in other countries there was a natural protest against the anti-Jewish campaign in Germany.”56 This posed a real challenge in the United States. Significant numbers of Americans called for a boycott. George Messersmith, the US Consul General posted in Berlin, challenged the AOC’s assertion that sport is nonpolitical. He encouraged a boycott, claiming, “ ‘it would be one of the most serious blows which Nationalist Socialist prestige could suffer within an awakening Germany and one of the most effective ways which the outside world has of showing to the youth of Germany its opinion of National Socialist doctrine.’ ”57 By contrast, Brundage, the AOC President at the time, worked to keep the Games in Berlin, stating “that organized amateur sport ‘cannot, with good grace or propriety, interfere in the internal political, religious or racial affairs of any country or group.’ ”58 Some have charged that this was due to Brundage’s own antisemitic leanings, but it is also a statement in line with the officially stated preference of the Olympics to be apolitical. Several groups in the United States at the time argued that the Games should not be boycotted. Some believed (or at least claimed to believe) that Germany was not antisemitic. Others noted hypocrisy: accusations of antisemitism in Germany rang hollow given the second-class status of blacks in the United States.59 Jesse Owens’s daughter noted that the infamous runner said, “ ‘I was glad I had put down the master race. But I was coming back to a country that didn’t treat blacks as they should, either.’ ”60 In the United States, America’s black athletes could not stay at the same hotels as their white teammates, and when they did, they were often required to use the service entrance. Some argued that the athletes deserved a chance to compete and should not be robbed of that chance by politics. In the United States, not only were there substantial numbers of Jewish athletes, but Jews had contributed substantial time and financial support to the Olympic effort. The Olympics provided an opportunity to demonstrate on a world stage what Jews were capable of. Some (like Brundage) argued that the Games should not be used for political purposes. Eventually, the AOC claimed to have been convinced that Hitler was not promoting antisemitism in Germany and that Hitler would conduct Olympic Games that were not racist. Negotiations were conducted with Hitler, ostensibly to
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assure equal treatment for all players. The AOC claimed that American athletes would compete “not under the Nazi regime, but under the five- ringed Olympic flag that stood for sport and sport alone, clear of political complications and without regard to race, creed or color.”61 Once the Games came to Berlin, they presented a ritual challenge to Hitler. The opening ceremonies included the “Parade of Nations,” which officially includes an acknowledgment of the host country’s political leaders by the athletes as they enter the stadium. Some nations chose to acknowledge Hitler with the “Heil Hitler” salute and/or by dipping their flag as they processed by the platform party. The US team, who appeared next to last in the parade, did neither. The American flag was held high, and athletes placed their hands on their hearts as they passed the viewing platform. Some interpreted this as customary Yankee independence; others viewed the athletes’ behavior as a direct insult to Hitler. More problematically, Hitler had to determine how to recognize the winning athletes in the summer events. As part of the negotiations that brought the United States and other countries to the Games, Hitler had agreed to treat all athletes equally. It became clear early on that black athletes were going to win a substantial number of medals in the Games. Publicly, Hitler could not recognize the white athletes while snubbing the black athletes, but observers charged that he found ways to avoid being in the stadium when black athletes were recognized for their victories. He met with and congratulated many white athletes privately, while ignoring the black and Jewish athletes. Hitler managed to avoid formally receiving and congratulating the black medal winners, most notably the American track-and-field athlete Jesse Owens, who won four gold medals and set multiple new world records. There is some debate as to what Hitler actually did in response to Owens’s victory and the victories of other black athletes.62 At the time, Nazi spokesmen denied that Hitler intentionally avoided congratulating Cornelius Johnson, David Albritton, and Jesse Owens on the first day of the Berlin Games.63 Owens himself denied that Hitler had deliberately snubbed him, and other witnesses agree. It is clear that Hitler never received Owens—or any other black athlete for that matter—the way he received white medalists. If we accept the notion that the victory ceremony involves not just the athlete but also the audience as witnesses, and that the victory ceremony involves some consecration of the victorious athlete by members of the audience, then one can understand more clearly why Hitler and others like him would have difficulty publicly recognizing athletes from perceived
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“inferior” races or ethnicities. To participate in an Olympic victory ceremony involves more than merely acknowledging the fact of a singular physical accomplishment. Rather, the official witness to a victory ceremony actively participates in that individual’s consecration. As Freedberg, a scholar of images, writes, “People do not garland, wash, or crown images just out of habit; they do so because all such acts are symptoms of a relationship between image and respondent that is clearly predicated on the attribution of powers which transcend the purely material aspect of the object. These are acts that bespeak the transition from human product to sacredly endowed object.”64 Thus, for Hitler to have recognized a black or Jewish athlete as victorious in the Olympic Games would have meant that he acknowledged a black or Jewish athlete as a signifier for all notable human athletic achievement. This recognition involves establishing a relationship between all Olympic participants, a relationship between the athlete who achieves and the witness who acknowledges and consecrates that achievement. Hitler could not acknowledge the individual athletic achievement without engaging the athletes themselves—and this he would not do.
Threats to Other Olympic Games Other Olympic Games have also been threatened by external political factors. In 1972 a violent international conflict imposed itself onto the Games. On the eleventh day of the Games in Munich (September 5, 1972), Arab terrorists invaded the Israeli compound in the Olympic Village, killing two Israeli athletes and taking nine others hostage. At 3:45 p.m. IOC President Brundage cancelled the Games for that afternoon, the first time that had ever happened.65 A failed rescue attempt culminated in the death of all nine remaining hostages as well as several others, including one West German police officer and five terrorists. The organizers were faced with the unwelcome decision of whether or not to continue the Games. Goodbody explains, “Later that afternoon the Games were resumed after the International Olympics Committee Executive Board had met at breakfast to decide whether it was appropriate. But as David Hernery, the 1918 Olympic 400m hurdles champion, said: ‘If something that is basically awful stops what is basically good that makes two wrongs. And two wrongs do not make a right.’ ”66 The Executive board adopted the following resolution as they announced that the Games would continue after a day of mourning: “ ‘The Olympics Games are proceeding for the sake of the spirit
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and sport only. All official receptions are cancelled. All ceremonies will be kept as simple as possible.’ ” The Israeli athletes accompanied the coffins of their murdered teammates back to Israel. The Olympic and national flags were flown at half-mast for the duration of the Games.67 There are debates as to how successfully the Olympic Games were able to move past the massacre. James Cook and John Goodbody comment, “The International Olympic Committee ordered a service of mourning for 7th September in which chairs for the eleven dead Israelis were left empty. It was not a well-documented ceremony. Brundage chose the moment to make an ill-timed reference to ‘losing the Rhodesian battle against naked political blackmail.’ Only Tunisia of the Arab countries attended.”68 Ultimately the Olympics continued after the day of mourning, but the subsequent victory and closing ceremonies were abbreviated and subdued. The remaining Israeli athletes left the Games to return to Israel with the bodies of their fallen teammates. Forty years later there were criticisms that the 2012 London Games did not properly acknowledge the fortieth anniversary of the Munich Massacre.69 National governments have also acknowledged that the Olympics offer a platform for political declarations. Over the years, Olympic participation has been used as a tool of political diplomacy. In 1968 (Mexico City) South Africa was barred from participation in the Games because of its policy of apartheid.70 In addition, various countries have threatened to boycott the Olympic Games at different moments in history for political reasons. We have already seen that the 1936 Games in Berlin were threatened. In 1980 the United States participated in a multinational boycott of the Olympics after Soviets moved their troops into Afghanistan, successfully recruiting West Germany, Japan, and other nations to boycott as well.71 The Soviet Union suffered substantial economic losses as a result of the reduced Western media coverage, and in 1984 the Soviet Union retaliated by refusing to participate in the Los Angeles Games. In 1988 North Korea, Cuba, Ethiopia, and Nicaragua boycotted the Games because North Korea was still officially at war with South Korea. Boycotts (or threats of boycotts) implicitly acknowledge the fact that the world of the Games is not completely separate from the world of politics. In addition, boycotts are implicit acknowledgments that the Olympics are exercised on a political stage, and that international messages can be sent by one’s absence from this stage. Martin Barry Vinokur, commenting on the US boycott in 1980, wrote, “Although the Olympic boycott was only one of the economic and political sanctions taken by the United States, it provided the public
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relations value that the other actions could not.”72 The boycott was effective precisely because the Olympics constituted a site of political negotiation. A quick review of Olympic literature reveals deep concern that the problems in 1972, 1980, and 1984 were indicative of a systematic problem: the Olympics had clearly become inextricably entwined in aspects of international politics, despite efforts by its officials to keep the Games separate. (Vinokur notes, for example, that in 1980, “The U.S. Olympic Committee tried to insist that politics not interfere with sport, arguing that the best method to fight Soviet aggression was to beat them in the Olympic events.”)73 The Games had reached a crisis moment, and former athletes, scholars, IOC officials, and lay people all over the world offered suggestions on ways in which the Olympic Games had “gone wrong” and needed to be reformed (or abandoned altogether). In these conversations, several factors were repeatedly identified as contributing to the crisis with the Games. As early as 1972, television coverage of the Olympics catapulted the Games to a new level, possibly prompting the attack on the Israeli athletes, since the Olympics offered an international stage. John Kieran, Arthur Daley, and Pat Jordan comment, “Through television coverage this most magnificent of international spectacles had become visible to millions on a scale that was at once intimate and larger than life. When the Arab terrorists perpetrated their monstrosity they intruded—by design—on a stage the entire world was watching. And the disputes that had plagued the Olympics in recent years, though by contrast unmomentous, mushroomed on the same gigantic stage.”74 In response to the Munich massacre, Brundage remarked, “ ‘The greater and more important the Olympic Games become,’ he said, ‘the more they are open to commercial, political and now criminal presence.’ ”75 Thus, the event that had been born out of a desire to foster international cooperation became, with its success, a strategic site to play out international conflicts. Over the years, the issue of nationalism has prompted the most conflicts.76 While explicit acts of physical violence occurred relatively rarely, many other problems rooted in national identity have occurred more frequently. John Powell notes several occasions in which issues involving national flags have led to tension.77 Flags are ubiquitous at the Games, featured prominently in virtually every venue. They are displayed as teams enter the stadium in the opening ceremonies, and they are raised as part of every victory ceremony. Unofficially, flags are waved enthusiastically by spectators, and in some sports competitors literally wrap themselves in their national flags when they win a medal. Given the prominence of
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national flags, it is no surprise that they offer opportunities for conflict as well. In 1908 (London) American and Swedish athletes were angered when their national flags were forgotten by the organizing committee, and Irish athletes became angry when they were told to parade behind a Union Jack. It is worth noting that the closing ceremonies of the Games—which do not organize athletes behind their own national flags—were designed to be less nationalistic than the opening and medal ceremonies. Jean Leiper notes, “Medal ceremonies exhibit the most overt national elements of the Games. The winner’s name and country are announced; the national flags of the three medalists are raised, and the national anthem of the winner’s country is played. The closing ceremony does not in any way promote nationalism; athletes since 1956 have marched as one team, regardless of their country.”78 The website for the London 2012 Games provides more detail: “The flagbearers of the participating delegations enter the Stadium in single file, closely followed by the athletes. At the Closing Ceremony, athletes march together, not by nationality. This is a tradition that began at the Melbourne 1956 Olympic Games and is a way of bringing the athletes of the world together as ‘one nation.’ ”79 It is perhaps telling that no remarkable act of ritual disruption has occurred in the closing ceremonies. In response to the disruptions rooted in nationalism, some suggested reducing the nationalism present in the ceremonies, most often recommending a severely reduced display of national symbols (e.g., flags, national anthems) and focusing instead on the international community of athletes and the athlete as human (rather than as national figure). It is clear that a natural tension exists between the stated Olympic ideal of celebrating the triumphant athlete as a universal “human,” while other elements consistently emphasize the athletes’ national status. The official position is that the Olympic ideal of international goodwill should trump nationalist loyalties or political goals. Certain figures have gone so far as to threaten to eliminate awards ceremonies in response to political disruptions. It is said, for example, that when Carlos and Smith protested during the 1968 Games, the Marquis of Exeter, “lost his cool, so angered by the impropriety of the demonstration that he obviously was not going to let the matter drop. ‘I will not countenance such action,’ he said. ‘If anything resembling such a demonstration is repeated, I’ll put a halt to all victory celebrations.’ ”80 This gut-level intolerance for protest is shared by many. In addition to problems generated by nationally driven concerns, the Games have been affected by commercialism. Certain rules govern the compensation that athletes can receive while competing, but it is well
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known that the economic rewards that are made available to a gold medal winner are staggering. The promise of these rewards has led to cheating scandals. In addition, the Olympic Games offer huge potential benefits to sponsors. In 2012, for example, McDonald’s secured sponsorship as the exclusive fast food vendor for the 2012 Olympics. Sponsorship is not inexpensive—in 2012, corporate sponsors paid “upwards of $100 million USD” to become an official sponsor.81 Similarly, in 2014, major corporate sponsors, including Samsung, Panasonic, General Electric, Dow Chemical, and Procter & Gamble, spent about $100 million apiece as sponsors.82 PR Watch states, “According to Dave Zirin, sportswriter and columnist for The Nation, the payoff [ for expensive sponsorship] comes through ‘corporate sin-washing. More than any other enterprise, if a company associates themselves with an Olympics, it really creates a positive feeling in the mind of the consumer.’ ”83 This close affiliation with the Olympics can backfire, of course; in 2014, major sponsors suffered criticism for their financial backing of the Olympics Games by LGBT supporters, who charged these corporations with implicitly supporting Russian anti-gay policies by contributing to the Games. In addition, certain sponsors have been challenged as unfit to participate in the corporate “sin-washing” the Olympics might offer. Just prior to the 2012 Olympic Games, doubts were raised about the propriety of having McDonald’s as a sponsor: “Olympics chiefs have questioned whether it is right for McDonald’s to continue sponsoring the games because of concerns about worldwide obesity levels and eating habits. The admission was made by the International Olympic Committee (IoC) president Jacques Rogge who said the growing financial demands of the event made it difficult for it to hold on to its values.”84 Some ask, how much has corporate greed shaped the Games themselves? Jeffrey Segrave and Donald Chu, editors of a 1981 volume focused on reforming (and thereby rescuing) the Olympics, note, “a universal condemnation of increasing nationalism and commercialism is emerging… . Consensus is also reached concerning a curtailment of Olympic parades, flag ceremonies, and national anthem playing.”85 The Games themselves have the potential to generate huge revenues for the host country and city, for corporate sponsors, and for media outlets that broadcast Olympic events. All of these potential beneficiaries are affected in boycott situations, so past boycotts have not only acted as powerful political statements; they have created economic penalties on many Olympic stakeholders. Because of this, a decision to boycott Games is not
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to be made lightly. Segrave and Chu state, “The implications of the 1980 boycott dilemma in the U.S., for example, not only divided athletes and upset the international Olympic Movement, but also aggravated a huge public, worried businessmen who had a stake in the Moscow Games, and threatened to isolate the U.S. from many of its allies.”86 Nationalism and commercialism are only two of many problems that observers have noted with the modern Olympic Games. It is also easy to find charges of racism, elitism, and sexism leveled against the Games. In addition, there have always been questions about the role of professional athletes in the Olympic competitions (see, for example, the controversy that surrounded the US men’s basketball “dream team” of 1992). Given all the potential problems with the Games—nationalism, too much commercialism, and so on—it becomes clear that the Olympics can be understood to have gone wrong at their core, in fundamental ways. Some scholars have argued that the Games’ only hope of survival in any meaningful way is through radical reform. Segrave and Chu conclude their book by arguing, “both the Olympic Games and the Olympic philosophy have been seriously compromised by the new realities of commercialism, political events, and science. These corruptions of the Olympic ideal are in no small part due to differences between the time of Coubertin and the present era. The advent of socialism and the continued development of capitalism, the emergence of the third world, medical and communications breakthroughs, questions of women’s participation, the black revolution, and concerns of the Palestinians are all problems of the modern era which have directly affected progress toward the realization of the original ideal of Olympism. The termination of problems resulting from present realities appears now an essential prerequisite to preserving the entire Movement.”87 What is most striking about this statement is the hierarchy of concerns. The authors seem to suggest that we must resolve problems of international economies, the third world, gender and race issues, and the Palestinian question in order to realize the Olympic ideal!
Concluding Thoughts We have seen that if participants and observers in the Olympic Games play their roles, stakeholders can view ritualized events as somehow “normal,” and thus beyond the reach of time, politics, and criticism. When the Games unfold so as to conform to a traditional paradigm, participants
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and observers alike can focus on the issues that officially stand at the center of the Olympics: athletic ability, international cooperation, and fair play. When Olympic rituals are disrupted, however, the inextricability of the Games from international politics, race relations, nationalist identities, and other historical factors becomes clear. The “mythic” nature of the Games becomes apparent. Barthes argues, “myth is constituted by the loss of the historical quality of things; in it, things lose the memory that they once were made … In passing from history to nature, myth acts economically: it abolishes the complexity of human acts, it gives them the simplicity of essences … it organizes a world which is without contradictions because it is without depth, a world wide open and wallowing in the evident, it establishes a blissful clarity: things appear to mean something by themselves.”88 We have seen, however, that when ritual goes wrong, the purported timelessness and otherworldliness of the ritual activity falls away. Attention is drawn to the historical, contingent, contradictory, and complicated nature of ritual. As the individual athlete acts as signifier within ritual events such as the Olympic Games, so, too, do individual rituals act as signifiers for a community at large. When a ritual proceeds smoothly, functioning cooperatively with other cultural elements, the constructed aspect of cultural life goes largely unremarked. But when ritual events are disrupted, they draw attention to the constructed, imagined nature of community identity. Benedict Anderson notes, “all communities … are imagined. Communities are to be distinguished, not by their falsity/ genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined.”89 Rituals help to flesh out that “style,” and ritual disruptions erode confidence in the inherent “rightness” of any particular style. In many ways, the Olympic rituals (and other highly valued sporting events) function like religious rituals in playing this cultural role. Segrave and Chu have commented, “Aside from religion, world sport represents the most comprehensive organization in social spheres.”90 Like religion, sport claims to offer a mechanism for the establishment of cooperation and peace. Yet we have seen that sport (also like religion) has also historically provided countless occasions for deep conflict. At the closing ceremonies of the 1948 Games, Sigfrid Edstrom, former president of the IOC, remarked, “ ‘The Olympic Games are not able to force peace, a supreme gift to which all aspire, but in the youth of the entire world being brought together is the opportunity to find that all men of the earth are brothers.’ ” While supporters tend to emphasize the athletic competitions themselves as
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the place that provides “the opportunity to find that all men of the earth are brothers,” I would argue that the opening and medal ceremonies were designed to offer that opportunity as well. These ceremonies were crafted to place the victorious athletes and their audience/witnesses in relationship to one another in such a way as to incarnate the Olympic ideals. Disruptions to these Olympic ritual events challenge this incarnation, and it is precisely at points of disruption that we as scholars come face-to-face with the deadly serious nature of the games human beings play.
5
When Ritual Systems Collide The Execution of Saddam Hussein They messed it up, and I think Saddam in the eyes of many people will now be seen as another martyr.1 In this final chapter we shift our attention to ritual disruption in the international political arena, turning our focus from disruptions within ritual systems to disruptions between ritual systems. As we have already seen, ritual events can command worldwide attention, but they are rarely interpreted in light of ritual theory when they take political form on a global stage. In this chapter we will see that a lingering sense of dissatisfaction with a global event may lead to insights regarding the varying ritual systems at play in complex international political events. Widespread dissatisfaction can be explained in terms of unstated and unfulfilled expectations, and in terms of questions concerning which ritual systems govern ritual expressions of political, social, and moral values. An interpretive approach that takes ritual systems and expectations seriously can help shed light on conflicts that arise concerning the meaning and impact of these world events. I take for our case study the execution of Saddam Hussein. On December 30, 2006, before dawn on a cool Saturday morning in a suburb of Baghdad, Saddam Hussein, president of Iraq, was executed. He was hanged almost two months after he was convicted by the Iraqi High Tribunal for the 1982 murders of 148 Shiite Muslims in Dujail. Minutes after the dictator’s death, news of his execution circulated around the globe, prompting a firestorm of criticism that reflected deep dissatisfaction with various aspects of Saddam’s trial, sentencing, and execution. Throughout the previous chapters, I have argued that ritual disruptions reveal much about the ritual systems they inhabit. In particular, they spotlight the multiple parties who are stakeholders in any given ritual
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scenario. Stakeholders whose views would have been marginalized if the ritual had proceeded smoothly often find opportunities in ritual disruption to assert their presence and to reinterpret a specific ritual event in light of their own priorities and perspectives. In addition, ritual disruptions often draw attention to the conflicting (and often competing) expectations various parties bring to a ritual moment. Finally, ritual disruptions reveal the relative health of a ritual system as evidenced by its ability to deal with disruption. Most disruptions, as we have seen, do not topple a ritual system or render a specific event ineffective. Rather, healthy ritual systems are able to adapt to (or nullify) specific mistakes, misperformances, and efforts at sabotage. Saddam Hussein’s execution brings our discussion of “ritual gone wrong” into the contemporary international world, demonstrating that rituals often appear in unexpected settings, outside the bounds of traditional religious communities or festival celebrations. The events culminating in Saddam’s execution offer a distinctive example of ritual that differs from our previous case studies in various ways.2 First, Saddam’s execution draws attention to the ritualized nature of many political and judicial proceedings (e.g., trials and executions). These events follow closely the characterization of ritual offered in the Introduction to this work: judicial proceedings involve normative participant roles, specified materials, prescribed times and locations, preferred gestures and language, and shared understandings of the short-and long-term results for individuals and communities. Saddam’s trial, conviction, and execution include these elements. In addition, Saddam’s execution includes an explicitly religious element—both he and his followers invoked religious concepts and images as part of their interpretation of events. The case of Saddam’s execution demonstrates that political or civil rituals can also include religious dimensions that deserve scholarly attention. Finally, in Saddam’s trial and execution we see a new kind of ritual disruption: the collision of entire ritual systems. As a result, this ritual event, more than any other ritual we have examined, raises a fundamental question: Are some rituals incapable of “going right?”
Background After his capture and arrest in December 2003, Saddam was formally said to be in Iraq’s custody, but he was actually placed under an American guard at a military prison. Saddam was tried by a Special Iraqi Tribunal for the 1982
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genocide of 148 Shiite Muslim civilians from Dujail, a center for the Dawa Party in Iraq. This party was known for opposing Saddam’s military campaign against Iran. In March of 1982 Saddam had visited Dujail, and an assassination attempt was made on his life. While no one in Saddam’s party was injured, Saddam and his half-brother initiated interrogations, separated men from their families, and destroyed over 5,000 acres of local farmland. Many viewed these acts, purportedly punishment for the assassination attempt, as retribution for the Dawa Party’s lack of support during the war against Iran. Under the Iraqi penal code (and in line with long-standing Iraqi legal tradition), Saddam’s conviction for these crimes warranted the death penalty.3 Throughout the trial, however, Saddam challenged the authority of the court trying him, stating, “I do not respond to this so-called court, with all due respect… . I’m the president of the republic of Iraq. I did not say deposed.”4 At the conclusion of the internationally televised trial, the Iraqi court found him guilty of crimes against humanity, and then imposed the death penalty on November 5, 2006. Saddam appealed this conviction, but the highest Iraqi court rejected his appeal on December 26. Saddam’s lawyers petitioned a US judge, asking the US government to refuse to hand Saddam over to Iraqi officials for the execution, but the judge refused this request.5 From the moment of this decision on, every step in the execution process was officially directed by Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, Iraqi cabinet officials, and other Iraqi national politicians. On the day of the execution, Saddam was transported by a Black Hawk helicopter from his cell at Camp Cropper to Khadimiya, the suburb of Baghdad where the execution occurred. Some sources reported that Saddam was given a red card before he went to the gallows, a reminder of the red cards given to those he had condemned to death when in power. At the gallows, Saddam was offered a hood, which he declined to wear. On December 30, fifty-six days after sentencing and four days after his last appeal was denied, Saddam was hanged at approximately 6 a.m. local time. He wore a traditional jump suit and carried a copy of the Qur’an. A doctor was present. Afterwards, Saddam’s body was transported to and buried in the main cemetery in Ouja, where his two sons are buried. “Muaffak al-Rubbaie, the Iraqi national security adviser who witnessed the event, told CNN … [that] he was ‘proud’ of the way the Iraqi government conducted the execution, saying it conformed with international, Iraqi, and Islamic standards.”6 Saddam’s execution prompted criticisms from lay people and key political players in Iraq and around the world regarding several issues, including capital punishment, the timing of Saddam’s execution, the
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manner of his death, and the unauthorized broadcast of his hanging. His death drew international attention for obvious political reasons, but also, I would argue, because of several unanticipated elements of the execution, the culmination of a formalized ritual procedure that includes a trial, sentencing, appeals process, and execution. While most published analyses have focused on the political dimensions of Saddam’s death, in this chapter I will suggest that an additional useful approach would be to examine Saddam Hussein’s death from a ritual studies perspective. More specifically, I argue that one of the major reasons Saddam’s execution evoked such strong negative responses—even from decidedly anti-Saddam factions—was that it was the culmination of a “ritual gone wrong” on several levels. Saddam’s trial and execution were ritual procedures, publicly structured to follow specific conventions. Most observers’ assessment, however, was that actual events failed to meet these conventions. As a result, Saddam’s death failed to achieve its express goal as a ritual event, the public establishment of justice. Recognition of this ritual failure will help in understanding the widespread negative reactions in the West and in the Middle East. In the following pages I will summarize the various responses Saddam’s trial and execution provoked, and I will attempt to articulate why this event was fraught with so many problems, ultimately yielding a deeply dissatisfying conclusion for many. By approaching the trial, conviction, and execution process as an extended ritual (rather than simply a judicial or political event), and then noting how the ritual failed in several significant ways, we can identify the various and competing expectations surrounding the execution. Ultimately we will see that specific elements of the ritualized trial and execution procedures went wrong, which opened the door for worldwide criticism. More important, Saddam’s trial involved the intersection of multiple ritual systems, grounded in Iraqi traditional politics, international war crimes trials, and contemporary American capital punishment practices. These three systems failed to coalesce harmoniously, resulting in a global ritual collision with international consequences.
The Trial I begin by identifying discrete elements of Saddam’s trial, sentencing, and conviction that went wrong. Even prior to Saddam’s execution, his trial was the target of numerous criticisms. Saddam was arrested in December 2003 and held by US forces in Baghdad. His first trial began in October
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2005, when he was brought before the Iraqi Special Tribunal for crimes against humanity and “joint criminal enterprise,” specifically with regard to attacks on members of the Islamic Dawa Party in Dujail in 1982.7 Scholar Phebe Marr writes, “On 11 July 1982 a serious and well-organized assassination attempt took place in al-Dujayl, a mixed shī’ī-sunnī village about forty miles northeast of Baghdad, apparently led by shī’ī opposition forces. The presidential party was reportedly pinned down for several hours and had to be rescued by the army. A number of Sāddām’s bodyguards were killed, as were the assassins. The villagers were subsequently deported and their houses razed.”8 Numerous scholars describe Saddam’s actions as broadly retaliatory against innocent village residents. The court concluded that Saddam targeted Shiite Muslim civilians, in effect committing genocide under the guise of punishment for the assassination attempt. As punishment for the actions in Dujail, Saddam was sentenced to death for executing 148 Shi’a civilians. According to the Iraqi penal code, the death sentence was to be carried out by hanging. Iraqi law required that the execution be carried out within thirty days of the final appeals court decision, and Saddam was executed by hanging on December 30, 2006. It is well known (and not particularly surprising) that Saddam questioned the legitimacy of the tribunal convened to judge him. Similarly, those who felt that the US-led war against Iraq was illegal often opposed Saddam’s capture, trial, sentencing, and execution. What is more surprising to some Americans is the fact that many other groups around the world challenged Saddam Hussein’s trial as well. In fact, many people who largely agreed that Saddam should be punished for crimes perpetrated against the Iraqi people simultaneously charged that his trial was problematic on a number of levels. Most fundamentally, observers felt the court was biased: “its [the court’s] credibility as a neutral and impartial judicial body had been debated from the time of its announcement.”9 A New York Times article quoted Jihad al-Khazen, columnist and former editor of the pan-Arab newspapers Al Hayat and Asharq al Awsat, saying, “ ‘Saddam Hussein was guilty a thousand times over, but still the Americans and the Iraqi government managed to run a shabby trial… . If they organized a fair trial with international observers[,]that could have served as a model for other countries. Instead they messed it up, and I think Saddam in the eyes of many people will now be seen as another martyr.’ ”10 Note al-Khazen’s criticisms here, which focus on process rather than outcome. “They” messed something up; that is, the Americans and the newly installed Iraqi government performed the ritualized legal activity of a trial incorrectly.
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Criticisms such as al-Khazen’s suggest that there were standards for fair trials against which Saddam’s trial was being compared, standards that the authorizing community may never have intended to adhere to, but which nonetheless informed outside observer responses to the actual trial. Specifically, many observers felt that the Iraqi court was unduly influenced by the American government. The international organization Human Rights Watch criticized Saddam’s death sentence, “saying it was imposed after a ‘deeply flawed trial’ with political interference.”11 Some even suggested that the trial should have been delayed a bit until the Iraqi government was viewed as less dependent on the United States. Muhammad Abdul Bari, the Secretary General of the Muslim Council of Britain, commented, “ ‘No one can deny that Saddam should have faced justice for his crimes against the people of Iraq and also his invasion of Iran and Kuwait … . [However] the fact that his trial took place while Iraq is still under occupation by foreign forces may mean that his execution, on the blessed day of Id al-Adha, will be regarded as an insensitive and provocative act by the U.S.-backed Iraqi government and that far from contributing to a so-called healing process, it may serve to further intensify the sectarian divisions in Iraq.’ ”12 Because of these concerns (and many others), Saddam’s trial was viewed by many as a judicial sham, little more than political theater, thus nullifying its validity as an objective, judicial procedure. It failed to live up to its appropriate ritual form; as a result, the ritual results were doomed to failure as well. Despite official US protests to the contrary, once the trial got underway there was widespread belief, particularly in the Middle East, that the United States influenced the trial from behind the scenes and was also influential in efforts to speed up Saddam’s execution.13 Qatar’s newspaper Al-Rayah stated, “The execution of Saddam in this quick manner indicates that Washington is the one who planned and directed matters, that the Iraqi government is merely an executer … of orders, and that the goal of the Americans in the execution was to end the government of Saddam.”14 As a result of general dissatisfaction with the trial itself, Saddam’s conviction and sentencing were not universally recognized as legitimate, even by those who were generally unsympathetic to him. Thus, the trial itself as a judicial ritual was flawed. Even had things proceeded smoothly from this point forward, there would have been criticisms. But, as we shall see, other ritual elements went wrong as well, beginning with the sentencing phase and continuing through the execution itself. First, death penalty opponents around the world used Saddam’s
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hanging as an opportunity to challenge capital punishment in general as inhumane. Second, numerous Muslim respondents criticized the execution’s timing, on the eve of the Sunni celebration of Eid al-Adha, an important annual Muslim holiday. Third, Saddam was executed before he could be tried on charges of another genocide he allegedly committed against Kurds in Iraq. Finally, cell phone coverage of the execution presented a brutal spectacle that undercut the official characterizations of Saddam as tyrannical and the West and new Iraqi government as dispassionately just. The combination of these factors prompted a wide variety of reactions. We will examine each of these ritual failures in turn next.
The Death Sentence: Reactions in the West Predictably, Western international reactions to a state-sponsored ritual execution varied widely. Within Europe, only Poland expressed “unequivocal support for the execution. ‘Justice has been meted out to a criminal who murdered thousands of people in Iraq,’ President Lech Kaczynski’s spokesman said, according to news agencies. ‘This should serve as a warning to all those who would like to follow in Saddam Hussein’s footsteps.’ ”15 In most of Europe, however, responses reflected (1) one’s views of the death penalty in general and (2) one’s stance vis-à-vis the US-led invasion of Iraq. European responses to the execution were largely negative, in line with widespread international opposition to capital punishment. In The Times of London, columnist Tim Hames noted, “ ‘Even those of us who supported the invasion [of Iraq] in 2003, and continue to do so today,’ he wrote, ‘will harbor within their ranks, like me, those who find the notion of this crime [i.e., Hussein’s hanging] offensive… . Mainstream middle class sentiment in Europe now regards the death penalty as being as ethically tainted as the crimes that produced the sentence.’ ”16 The Los Angeles Times noted strong anti–capital punishment views in some European countries, even among those who condemned Saddam. “The death penalty is anathema across Europe, and opposition to the execution of Saddam Hussein was nearly unanimous among its leaders Saturday… . The execution ‘is tragic news … that risks feeding the spirit of revenge and sowing new violence,’ said Pope Benedict XVI’s spokesman, Father Federico Lombardi. ‘Even though this is a person guilty of grave crimes,’ Lombardi told Vatican Radio on Saturday morning, the execution ‘is a motive for sadness.’ ”17 The Vatican called Saddam’s execution “tragic,” as an expression of their opposition to capital punishment in general. Italian Prime Minister Romano Prodi
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commented, “ ‘We’ve already seen in the first hours the consequences, with a predictable increase in tension and violence.’ ”18 Thus, many European responses to the hanging were inextricably tied to sentiment regarding the death penalty in general. In other cases, reaction to Saddam’s execution was more closely tied to opinions about the US invasion of Iraq. In some instances, the execution prompted another round of criticism of the invasion. The New York Times reported, “The execution also revived the ideological divide between supporters and opponents of the 2003 invasion. Sir Menzies Campbell, leader of the opposition Liberal Democrats, which opposed the war, said: ‘Saddam Hussein’s death does not vindicate in any way the ill-conceived and disastrous decision to invade Iraq. His execution does not make an illegal war legal any more than it will put an end to the violence and destruction.’ ”19 In other cases, strong antagonism against Saddam led to tempered comments regarding the execution. For example, Germany’s response was somewhat reserved: “ ‘We respect the decision [to execute Saddam], but it is known that the German government is opposed to capital punishment,’ German Chancellor Angela Merkel said, ‘but on a day like this my thoughts are mostly on the many innocent victims of Saddam Hussein.’ ”20 At an international level, Louise Arbour, the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, submitted a formal request to President Talabani, asking him to stay Saddam’s execution. UN Secretary General Ban Ki Moon endorsed this request, but once Saddam had been executed, Moon did not publicly criticize the act. His silence was seen as controversial because of the United Nation’s traditional public opposition to capital punishment. Many saw Moon’s lack of response as being influenced by his own country’s use of capital punishment (South Korea) but also out of concern for not offending the United States.21 The US government claimed to have been put in a delicate position concerning Saddam’s execution. According to American news sources, the United States had asked that the execution be postponed, but the Iraqi government decided to proceed. Major General William Caldwell, IV, a US military spokesman in Iraq, stated that the United States “would have done things differently” if it had been in charge.22 Weeks later, probably emboldened by international complaints about the execution, official US language became stronger: “President Bush said Tuesday [1/16/07] that Iraq had ‘fumbled’ the executions of Saddam Hussein and two of his deputies, and that the government of Prime Minister Nuri Kamal al-Maliki ‘has
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still got some maturation to do.’ … ‘when it came to execute him, it looked like it was kind of a revenge killing.’ ”23 These public statements reflected private conversations that the American leadership claimed to have had with Iraqi leaders in the weeks preceding Saddam’s execution. “[I]t was the Americans who counseled caution in the way the Iraqis carried out the hanging. The issues uppermost in the Americans’ minds, these officials said, were a provision in Iraq’s new Constitution that required the three-man presidency council to approve hangings, and a stipulation in a longstanding Iraqi law that no executions can be carried out during the Id al-Adha holiday, which began for Iraqi Sunnis on Saturday and Shiites on Sunday… . the Iraqis said, ‘This is our problem and we will handle the consequences. If there is any damage done, it is we who will be damaged not you [the Americans].’ ”24 Despite these public statements, many believed that the US government played a key role in Saddam’s quick execution. Some viewed this involvement positively—one Iraqi Shi’ite in America thanked President Bush personally: “ ‘I want to thank President Bush,’ said Haytham Almawla, 35. ‘He said he would take Saddam out and he did it.’ ”25 Other international players also believed in extensive US involvement but saw Saddam’s execution as a failure for the United States: “ ‘If you compare the results to the objectives the U.S. claimed to realize, whether it was democracy or control of the region, their policies have evidently failed,’ said Nawaf Kabbara, a professor of political science at Balamand University in Beirut. ‘They were not able to spread democracy, control anything or make any serious breakthrough. It is a failure on all levels.’ ”26 Thus, European and international voices did not express unified support for Saddam’s execution. Each ritual element—the trial and the sentencing—failed to move the Saddam problem along in a generally satisfactory way. Rather, the sentencing only exacerbated tensions and conflicts circulating since the trial. This undercut the authority of the government that eventually authorized and carried out the hanging. It also reflected widespread assumptions that the United States was intimately involved in Saddam’s execution despite public protests to the contrary. Most important, international conversations linked the execution to an international political dynamic just as problematic as the crime for which Saddam was ostensibly being punished. Public statements that contextualized the hanging in this way thus challenged the official version of events, the claim that Saddam’s execution was exclusively an Iraqi legal affair, concerned solely with the administration of justice.
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Reactions in the Middle East: Political Views and Eid al-Adha Broadly speaking, reactions to specific ritual elements of Saddam’s execution were different in the Middle East and throughout the Arab world than they were in the West. In the Arab press there was almost no opposition to the death penalty in general.27 Criticisms of Saddam’s hanging were not grounded in general opposition to the death penalty or even to hanging as a means of execution, both of which prompted strong criticism in the West. Rather, Middle Eastern communities’ responses to Saddam’s execution reflected various concerns related to this particular execution rather than general feelings about the death penalty. First, reactions to the hanging tended to reflect long-held international political views and alliances. For example, both Iran and Israel supported Saddam’s execution. Iran’s Deputy Foreign Minister, Hamid Reza Asefi, stated, “With regard to Saddam’s execution, the Iraqi people are the victorious ones, as they were victorious when Saddam fell.” Similarly, Shimon Peres, deputy prime minister in Israel at the time, said, “Saddam Hussein brought about his own demise. This was a man who caused a great deal of harm to his people and who was a major threat to Israel.”28 By contrast, AlJazeera.net noted that Arab communities more sympathetic to Saddam voiced strong negative reactions: “the ruling Palestinian movement, Hamas, described the execution as a ‘political assassination’ which ‘violates all international laws.’ … Libya declared three days of national mourning and described Saddam as a ‘prisoner of war.’ Saudi Arabia also expressed its ‘surprise and dismay’ at the execution.”29 In addition to predictable divisions along international political lines, among Muslims in the Middle East there was a strong response to the timing of Saddam’s execution. Saddam was hanged at the beginning of the Muslim celebration of Eid al-Adha, which commemorates Ibrahim’s willingness to sacrifice his son to God. According to Muslim tradition, God stopped Ibrahim before he actually sacrificed the young man, acknowledging Ibrahim’s unwavering faithfulness and providing a goat to be sacrificed instead.30 Traditionally many Muslims slaughter goats or sheep during the annual celebration, which falls at the end of the Hajj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. In Iraq, this celebration is somewhat complicated by the fact that Sunni celebrations of Eid al-Adha begin one day earlier than Shiite celebrations. This reflects broader sectarian divisions within the country.
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Saddam was hanged on the first day of the Iraqi Sunni community’s celebration by a Shiite-led government, which opened the door to accusations of sectarian partisanship. To complicate matters further, in Iraq it had historically been customary not to execute criminals during Eid al-Adha, a symbolic recognition of God’s provision of a sacrificial animal. “Rizgar Mohammed Amin, the Kurdish judge who first presided over Hussein’s trial, told reporters that the execution at the beginning of Eid was illegal under Iraqi law, as well as a violation of Islamic custom. Amin said that under Iraqi law ‘no verdict should be implemented during the official holidays or religious festivals.’ ”31 The New York Times commented on the potential consequences of the timing: “Many Arab rulers, including Hussein, usually pardon prisoners on the eve of Eid and delay any execution until well after the holiday… . Sunnis are likely to reject new overtures by al-Maliki because of the way he handled Hussein’s execution.”32 Consequently, Saddam’s execution on this particular holiday prompted anger both within and outside of Iraq because of its sectarian undertones and general lack of sensitivity to tradition. AlJazeera.net reported, “Many Muslims, especially Sunnis, making the hajj pilgrimage to Mecca were outraged by the symbolism of hanging Saddam on the holiest day of the year at the start of Eid al-Adha.”33 Many Arab newspapers commented on the timing of Saddam’s execution relative to the holiday, forecasting sectarian conflict as a result. For example, “Qatari Arabic dailies Al-Watan and Al-Sharq said the ‘unwise and undue’ timing of Saddam’s execution could further deepen the fractional fracture which all concerned parties were keen to avert.”34 What is of interest for our purposes is how the timing of Saddam’s execution influenced how various Middle Eastern communities made sense of his death.35 Mouwafak al-Rubaie, the Iraqi National Security Adviser, stated, “We wanted him to be executed on a special day,” suggesting that the Iraqi government’s timing was not accidental.36 There is some suggestion that the timing of the execution was intended as a slap in the face to Saddam’s Sunni heritage and to the Sunnis of Iraq by the ruling Shiite population.37 In this interpretation, the dominant community deliberately chose a date that was religiously important to a minority group, in effect negating the importance of that group’s sacred calendar.38 By executing Saddam at the beginning of Eid al-Adha, Shiite leaders seemed to consciously (and publicly) denigrate Sunni observance of the holiday and, by extension, the Sunni community as a whole.39 Ultimately, the timing of the execution highlighted sectarian divisions within the country instead
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of framing the Iraqi government as leadership committed to all Iraqis’ interests. Beyond Iraq’s borders, many Muslims were less attuned to the sectarian motivations of the Iraqi regime’s choice of execution date. They viewed the timing of the execution as a slight against Islam broadly. Such an interpretation assumed that the Shiite government was, in fact, being controlled by Americans. Hamas spokesman Fawzi Barhum, speaking to Agence France-Presse in Gaza, “called the trial ‘unjust’ and said the timing of the execution, a half-day before the start of the Muslim feast of Id al-Adha, was insulting and rooted in American anti-Arab sentiment. ‘The hanging took place on the day of the Id and this is a message to the Arab street—the Americans have launched threats to all the Arabs.’ ”40 AlJazeera.net reported, “Muslims at the Hajj, shocked at the death of the former Iraqi leader, have said the timing of his execution was an insult to Muslims… . [Pilgrims said,] ‘There will be more violence and more Arab anger towards the West.’ … ‘Saddam Hussein is the most honourable of all of them. He is the most honourable Arab. They will go to hell, he will go to heaven.’ ”41 In these views, responsibility for the timing was placed with Westerners generally or Americans specifically, and the execution was seen as an insult to all Muslims. The most obvious potential negative consequence of Saddam’s execution on this holiday was the heightening of sectarian rifts within the Iraqi population. Shi’a supportive of Saddam’s execution chose to read his death through the religious lens offered by the holiday, calling his death “a suitable gift from God.”42 Sayed Hassan Moussawi, an Iraqi Shi’a cleric, said, “Today we were stoning the Devil [referring to a Hajj ritual tradition], but we were also stoning Saddam.”43 Violence erupted quickly after news of the hanging, with car bombs exploding in various locations around Iraq, particularly in areas dominated by Shiite populations. AlJazeera.net blamed “suspected insurgents from Saddam’s once-dominant Sunni minority,” acting against Shi’a who had come “in the ascendant.”44 Newsday stated bluntly, “By executing Hussein at the start of Eid Al-Adha, the holiest of Muslim holidays, the Shia-dominated Iraqi government made a strategic blunder… . ‘Holding the execution at the start of Eid is only going to make relations worse between Sunnis and Shias,’ said Nazem Jassour, an Iraqi political analyst. ‘There was no good reason why the execution could not be delayed until after Eid… . It’s going to be perceived by Iraqi Sunnis as one more example of how the Shia government is trying to humiliate them.’ ”45
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It is not clear whether the Iraqi national leaders realized the extent to which the timing of Saddam’s execution would generate negative political fallout. Presumably the government leaders, particularly Nouri al-Maliki, understood that the chosen execution date would not go unnoticed. Al- Maliki’s political power among Shiite groups may have been reinforced by Saddam’s execution, but it is not clear how much it hurt him among Sunnis and Kurds.
Timing: The Other Genocide There was an additional timing problem related to the execution. Saddam Hussein was executed while in the midst of another trial. He had been charged with genocide in a series of coordinated attacks between 1987 and 1988. Saddam was charged with killing up to 180,000 Kurds in northern Iraq, in some cases using poison gas. (This is often referred to as the “al- Anfal campaign.”) The trial for this crime began on August 21, 2006, but it was never concluded. Saddam’s role in that act, therefore, will never be determined officially. As a result, some Iraqis, especially Kurds, opposed the timing of his execution. “Now, Mr. Hussein will not testify in other important genocide cases, especially the trial over the Anfal military campaign against the Kurds, in which he is accused of unleashing mass killings and chemical attacks that killed tens of thousands of villagers. ‘The truth of what happened in al-Anfal has been buried,’ said Abdul Rahman, a 38-year-old Kurdish taxi driver. ‘What happened in al-Anfal? Who took part in it?’ ”46 Some viewed the timing of Saddam’s execution as evidence that his attacks against Kurds were not taken as seriously by the Shiite government as his attacks in Dujail. “For those Arabs who celebrated America’s embrace of the rule of law the quick execution, coming before the conclusion of other trials against Mr. Hussein for crimes against humanity, left a bitter taste of stolen justice. Even Mr. Hussein’s staunchest enemies expressed a sense of bitterness at the end. ‘It is evident that they were not after justice,’ said Hilal Khashan, a political science professor at the American University of Beirut. ‘It was a political decision, because as soon as they got a sentence on him they executed him. What mattered was his death rather than finding justice.’ ”47 The fact that Saddam can never be formally convicted of crimes against Kurds strengthened perceptions that some population groups within the country were more important than
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others in the new Iraq, thereby undermining confidence that the new national government would rise above longstanding sectarian divisions. Tension surrounded Saddam’s execution, then, for several reasons: varying opinions regarding the death penalty; the timing of the execution; and concern about what the execution signaled about the relationship between the new Iraqi government and the US government. All of these issues would have generated significant tension surrounding the execution, but an additional complication developed when an unofficial video of the hanging began to circulate.
The Cell Phone Video More than any other factor, the unofficial cell phone video of Saddam’s execution generated mixed or negative reactions to his death that reverberated around the globe. The video of Saddam’s execution raised two distinct but related issues in the United States. First, concern arose regarding the seemingly inappropriate tone and conduct surrounding the hanging, which failed to fulfill the (perhaps illusory) image that many Americans have of appropriate behavior at an execution. (Shortly after the execution, President Bush commented that he wished the hanging had “been done in a more dignified way.”48) Second, concern arose regarding whether or not it was appropriate to broadcast any of the secret footage of the execution, either in part or in its entirety. Because both of these problems originate in the unauthorized cell phone broadcast of the hanging, I will review each of the two videos that were eventually made public. The Iraqi government filmed Saddam’s hanging with one camera and then released this as the sole authorized record of the event.49 This video “showed an apparently calm Hussein being led to the gallows surrounded by hooded men (and another, without a hood, whose face was pixilated). One of the hooded men spoke to Hussein, who responded—there was no audio in this version—and then the noose was put around his neck and tightened. That brief footage—and a still shot of Hussein’s lifeless body wrapped in white after his hanging—was all that the networks had received in time for the early Saturday news shows.”50 Many viewers in the Arab world responded negatively to the official network broadcasts, noting that their children saw the footage while eating breakfast: “This year’s Eid was one of nausea, loss of appetite and loss of joy. Children who were fed a
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meal of death on the morning of their feast will always preserve that image in their minds.”51 However, the official recording was overshadowed when it became known that Hussein’s execution had also been secretly recorded on a hand-held cell phone (purportedly by a guard present at the hanging). The unauthorized recording painted a very different picture of the event than the authorized footage released by the government. The secret cell phone footage includes audio content as well as additional video material. “The grainy, shaky cell phone clip doesn’t show the rope coming taut, or the deposed Iraqi dictator’s neck snapping. It shows him being led up to the gallows, the rope being put around his neck and his executioners taunting him with slogans. As the camera drifts and wanders, it fixes on the condemned, who suddenly drops out of the picture. The video goes black for a moment, then focuses on the dead man’s head and shoulders, showing him suspended from the noose.”52 In addition to showing more graphic footage of the hanging itself, the secret cell phone footage suggested that Saddam acted in a more dignified manner than his executioners and witnesses, who taunted him. AlJazeera. net described the scene: “Someone among the witnesses can be heard praising Muhammad Bakr al-Sadr, the founder of the Shia Dawa party and an uncle of Muqtada al-Sadr, who was executed in 1980 by Saddam. ‘God damn you,’ a guard said. ‘God damn you,’ replied Saddam. Saddam appeared to smile at those taunting him from below the gallows. He said they were not showing manhood. Then Saddam began reciting the Shahada, a Muslim prayer that says there is no God but god and Muhammad is his messenger, according to an unabridged copy of the video clip, which was posted on a website. Saddam made it to midway through his second recitation of the verses. His last word was Muhammad. Then the floor dropped out of the gallows.”53 The New York Times elaborated, “The cacophony from those gathered before the gallows [as witnesses to the execution] included a shout of ‘Go to hell!’ as the former ruler stood with the noose around his neck in the final moments, and his riposte, barely audible above the bedlam, which included the words ‘gallows of shame.’ It continued despite appeals from an official-sounding voice, possibly Munir Haddad, the judge who presided at the hanging, saying, ‘Please no! The man is about to die.’ ”54 The same article described the execution as “a sectarian free-for-all that had the effect, on the video recordings, of making Mr. Hussein, a mass murderer, appear dignified and restrained, and his executioners, representing
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Shiites who were his principal victims, seem like bullying street thugs.” Roula Haddad of Lebanon was said to have commented, “ ‘all our hatred for [Saddam] suddenly turned into sympathy, sympathy with someone who was treated unjustly by an occupation force and its collaborators.’ ”55 AlJazeera.net reported, “a number of commentators have said the footage makes the execution look like a ‘sectarian lynching’ rather than an act of law.”56 The video of the hanging was broadcast around the world on several websites, and it is still available on YouTube as of this writing.57 “According to press reports, the video first appeared on a Web site, and then on an Arab news channel. It later was uploaded to the Associated Press’ video service, where networks could access it. By then, the question of whether networks would post it on their sites was almost academic because it had already spread virally across the Net.”58 When the footage hit the Internet, worldwide news organizations were suddenly pressed to consider how they would incorporate the video in their coverage of the event. In the United States, the release of the unauthorized recording came so quickly on the heels of the authorized photos that it is difficult to distinguish reactions to one broadcast from reactions to the other. While some American viewers were comfortable with the idea of Saddam being executed, more were uncomfortable with the circulation of a recording of the execution. Some simply opposed the death penalty in general, but even those who endorsed capital punishment found the broadcast of Saddam’s execution disturbing. Anticipating negative reactions, news channels made editorial decisions regarding when to broadcast the video and how much of the video to show. For example, on Saturday afternoon Fox News Channel became the first US media outlet to run a clip. Viewers were shown the grainy, shaky video, which includes another angle of the hanging and also audio of sometimes testy exchanges between Hussein, his executioners and witnesses as the former dictator was led to the gallows. . . . Fox News Channel wasn’t willing to carry anything further than where it had stopped with the government-provided videotape, with the noose being fitted around Hussein’s neck. The cell phone video continues with Hussein’s body falling through the trap door, but no U.S. network ran it on the air. CNN showed the video up to the noose, not necessarily because of any camera angle but too, like others, because of the audio. CNN’s Web site
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showed only up to the point just before Hussein fell; Fox News’ site showed what appeared to be the same video, including Hussein’s lifeless body on the ground with his neck broken. Both sites warned viewers about the graphic nature of the footage. . . . Even though Hussein has been dead since Friday night U.S. time, the spectre of even more video could lead to another round of soul-searching by the U.S. networks.59 It is possible that part of the difficulty with Saddam’s execution was the fact that he was hanged, “lynched” in the terminology of some. The term “lynching,” of course, triggers images of race-based torture and dehumanization in the United States, and Saddam’s hanging raised the issue that white Americans were, in their military efforts in the Arab world, attempting to dominate non-whites. Scholar Susan L. Mizruchi has argued that historically the lynching of black Americans was justified as necessary to national (= white) achievement. She quotes Orlando Patterson, who characterizes lynching as a kind of nationalistic cultural sacrifice.60 She notes the comments of William Benjamin Smith, who “declares no sacrifice too costly for the preservation of the ‘Caucasian Race.’ ”61 Language characterizing Saddam’s death as a “lynching,” therefore, not only references the sectarianism present in contemporary Iraq but also evokes one of the most uncomfortable elements of American culture, racism. More broadly, the term “lynching” highlights the element of racism as a factor in the West’s intervention in Iraqi affairs. In addition, the video of Saddam’s hanging was disturbing to many Westerners because of Saddam’s own behavior. Many viewers concluded that Saddam had behaved with a surprising measure of self-control while his executioners bullied him. The International Herald Tribune commented, “Saddam, for all his brutal crimes, had behaved with far more dignity in his final minutes than his seemingly thuggish executioners.”62 CNN noted that the footage “tarnished the execution of Saddam Hussein and allowed it to go down in history as being an act of Shia revenge… . this [the release of the cell phone footage] is possibly one of the worst possible outcomes that could have taken place following the execution… . this act that was meant to unite Iraqis, allow them to move forward as the Iraqi government was hoping, bring an end to an era, bring this chapter of Saddam Hussein to a close—in fact, the Iraqi government was hoping that this execution would decrease the violence. What we are seeing as an outcome, just specifically, especially because of this cell phone footage, is
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just the opposite.”63 The contrast between Saddam’s behavior and that of his executioners undercut the authority of the state-sponsored execution. In addition to the content of the video, the method of the broadcast recording along with the mere fact of the broadcast (apart from the execution itself) raised questions about the legitimacy of Saddam’s execution. Let’s take these in turn. First, there was clear discomfort with the method of the recording. George F. Will noted, “the hanging of Saddam Hussein— not the fact of it, but the manner of it, communicated to the world by video from someone’s phone camera—may have been a tipping point.”64 Not only were viewers invited to watch the execution; they were put in the position of being voyeurs, virtual “peeping Toms” when they watched the raw, poor-quality cell phone footage. The networks themselves seemed aware of the potential problem with this, engaging in serious reflection as they decided whether or not to show the footage. One report notes, “when the pictures arrived, there was no getting around the raw barbarity of the moment. On New York’s ABC “Eyewitness News,” the morning anchor, Michelle Charlesworth, turned to Jim Dolan and said, ‘Remind us of what kind of monster this man was,’ ” suggesting that the only way to rationalize the brutality of the treatment being observed was to view Saddam as a monster.65 Viewers (not to mention television executives who made the broadcast decisions), felt discomfort with the footage, even as they chose to view it. I would also argue that the mere fact of the broadcast of Saddam’s execution contradicted Western sensibilities concerning what should be public and what should be private in criminal prosecution and punishment. In his classic work Discipline and Punish, Michel Foucault traces the transition in the West from public punishments (including horrific bodily torture) to private disciplining of criminals. The West has largely moved in a direction of open prosecution followed by nonpublic execution. Modern Western capital punishment routinely includes some witnesses, but only those who have a stake in the crime or who are acting as official witnesses for the state. Westerners generally do not expect public access to executions—nor do they seem to desire this. The broadcast of Saddam’s execution (whether authorized or unauthorized) thus violated tacit Western understandings of appropriate capital punishment procedure. In addition, the spectacle of execution challenges citizens in a community to mitigate their desire for justice and security with the recognition of the humanity of the individual being punished. Susan Mizruchi describes
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the work of Darwinist thinker Max Scheler (c. 1900), who asserted that there is a tension between the need for security and the basic sympathy for another human being that arises out of “essential kinship.”66 Nathaniel Shaler argues, “Intratribal sympathy suits an age of sacrifice.”67 One might argue that the reverse is true as well—sacrifice is well suited to societies in which loyalty to a subset of the national community is encouraged. Some of the discomfort with Saddam’s public sacrifice may have arisen from the fact that the cell phone footage suggested that sectarian loyalties were alive and well in post-Saddam Iraq. Iraq was still a state based on sectarian membership, not national citizenship. Thus, in several ways the broadcast of Saddam’s execution ritual was wrong according to unspoken Western standards. The fact that the execution was broadcast at all violated Western norms in which capital punishment is conducted behind closed doors. The method by which the unauthorized broadcast occurred violated unspoken standards for proper behavior at an execution. Finally, the content displayed official participants not conducting themselves as Westerners expected them to, instead taunting the prisoner. Michael A. Newton and Michael P. Scharf comment, “The grainy and illicit images of the execution captured on a smuggled cell phone were flashed around the world, and the perceptions completely overwhelmed the official photographic record. The images of Saddam’s death lent an eery air of dignity to the end of one of the cruelest tyrants of the twentieth century.”68 A few moments of smuggled cell phone footage undercut the one-dimensional view of Saddam as a monster and of his prosecutors as righteous dispensers of justice. As a result, the execution was deeply unsatisfying to many.
Saddam’s Execution as Ritual The multiple problems associated with Saddam’s execution prompted observers to acknowledge the complexities underlying what appeared to be a straightforward state execution. One way to begin to explore these complexities is to approach the execution as a ritual event. Ritual events situate people, space, time, and objects in relationship with one another in specific ways. Ritual participants are divided into social categories, invested with specific roles, and directed to behave in prescribed ways. Space is configured, often in ways that claim to recall (but often construct) preferred cosmologies or polities. Time is measured so as to reinforce a
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desired social order, and material and natural objects are put to specific uses and assigned symbolic meanings that reinforce the intended meaning or purpose of the ritual activity. Finally, the interpretation or collective public memory of an event is constructed and transmitted. Ritual events reflect and instantiate models for social dynamics, power relations, symbol systems, and interpretive frameworks within specific cultural settings. That is, rituals not only reflect what is going on in the society around them; in some instances, they also generate specific mythologies and images that establish social dynamics and power structures, and they create interpretive frameworks for future events as well. When a ritual proceeds smoothly, all of this happens at an unconscious level for many observers and participants, evoking a sense that what actually occurred is what should have occurred in some absolute sense. When rituals go wrong, by contrast, conflicting understandings of the purposes for the ritual activity become apparent. First, an observer notices that there is a difference between what was expected and what actually occurred. Latent ritual expectations begin to rise to the level of consciousness. Previously unspoken expectations regarding people, space, time, and objects are voiced. As multiple stakeholders begin to articulate their understandings of what went wrong, they begin to realize that their understandings differ from and even conflict with one another. It becomes clear that various audiences were paying attention to the same ritual event, but expecting fundamentally different (sometimes mutually incompatible) outcomes. When expectations are not met and disappointments are expressed, distinct interpretive communities begin to realize that they were using fundamentally different standards for evaluating (and therefore accepting or rejecting) the ritual. Approaching Saddam’s execution as a ritual that went wrong in a number of discrete ways (such as the leaked cell phone footage) explains some of the dissatisfaction that was expressed. However, these individual disruptions do not, on their own, account for the deep, sustained global dissatisfaction with Saddam’s trial and execution. At a more fundamental level, I argue that various stakeholders in Saddam’s execution framed his trial and execution with at least three distinct—and at times contradictory— ritual paradigms. As a result, the trial and execution were subjected to at least three different standards of evaluation. Throughout most of the trial and the execution, these three paradigms were consistently at odds with one another, inevitably generating discontent. Specifically, Saddam’s execution was interpreted in terms of (1) the traditional national Iraqi political
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system, (2) an international system of justice inaugurated at Nuremberg, and (3) a distinctive religious worldview. Ultimately, these ritual systems collided. In order to understand this collision, it is necessary to understand the three major ritual systems used to frame Saddam’s execution and to note where conflicts arose within and between these systems. First, Saddam’s trial and execution were framed as events governed by the Iraqi judicial system. Even if this had been the only ritual frame offered for Saddam’s execution, criticisms would have arisen since the trial and execution failed to meet many observers’ standards for a fair Iraqi judicial proceeding.69 The new government, however, never succeeded in establishing this view as definitive. Rather, a significant number of observers were dissatisfied with the characterization of Saddam’s trial as a domestic Iraqi judicial event. To some extent, this grew out of the fact that Saddam’s trial and execution included intentional departures from past Iraqi experience. For example, scholars note that there was no precedent in Iraq’s history for a deliberative trial of a former leader. British scholar and defense analyst John Laughland explains, “All political change in Iraq in the twentieth century [prior to Saddam’s arrest] had been violent … and it had invariably been accompanied by the elimination of enemies, often by means of trials.”70 Laughland provides colorful (if disquieting) examples of the various deaths to which various former leaders were subjected: “the corpse of the regent, Abdul Ilah, was dragged through the streets of Baghdad and his remains were dismembered and hung outside the ministry of defence. Other political figures such as the prime minister were also torn apart limb from limb.”71 Historically, the transfer of power in Iraq had involved the violent death of the unseated political leader, and his body was often displayed in order (1) to demonstrate the power of the new governing authority, and (2) to demonstrate definitively that the old leader was, in fact, gone. The post-Saddam Iraqi judicial system claimed to diverge from past tradition in its treatment of Saddam, claiming to be grounded in national tradition but shaped by modern Iraqi values. Coauthors Michael A. Newton and Michael P. Scharf, official US participants in Saddam’s trial, offer a slightly different frame for understanding certain onlookers’ dissatisfaction with Saddam’s trial.72 Their book, Enemy of the State: The Trial and Execution of Saddam Hussein, claims to offer an insider’s view of events surrounding Saddam Husssein’s capture, trial, and conviction. Newton and Scharf argue that Saddam’s trial was of a distinctly different character than previous Iraqi trials. The opening page
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of their book calls the trial a “historic first,” a “domestic trial, incorporating international law and aspects of international procedures.”73 The rest of the book argues forcefully that Saddam’s trial should be viewed as a modern national (not international) trial, emphasizing the leading role that Iraqis played, supplemented only minimally by the limited, advisory role of US personnel. Throughout the book it is clear that the authors have crafted their argument as a response to widespread criticism of the trial as a judicial sham in which the Iraqi judiciary, driven by sectarian partisanship, acted as a puppet for the US government. Newton and Scharf frequently use the phrase, “The Iraqis chose …,” in an attempt to underscore Iraqi government initiative. Differences from past proceedings assumed to be the result of U.S. involvement, but Newton and Scharf reject this explanation.74 They comment, “Judge Dara [the Iraqi judge who drafted the initial statute creating the tribunal to prosecute those who had committed crimes against the Iraqi people] did not see himself as working for American interests, or European interests, or even the interests of humanity: he was an Iraqi serving Iraq.”75 Their argument is clearly constructed to refute the charge that “the Dujail trial was a politically motivated fiasco from the beginning,” asserting instead that the Iraqi judges were in no way directed by the United States or by “the politically dominant Dawa party.”76 At the same time that Newton and Scharf deny inappropriate US involvement in the Iraqi process, they also assert that Saddam was not the subject of an international trial.77 Rather, they argue, “The formulation of a tribunal, its staffing and training, the complex preparations for trial, and the public and transparent demonstration of the process of justice were all essential steps toward a revitalized Iraq dedicated to the rule of law. The Dujail trial represented the televised spectacle of Iraqis struggling to redefine the soul of their nation.”78 They do acknowledge the influence of international law on the proceedings, noting, “the Iraqi judges succeeded in using domestic law to implement the substantive norms drawn from international law to hold Baath Party officials accountable for crimes committed against their own citizens.”79 But Newton and Scharf consistently assert that Saddam’s trial was, at its core, a domestic affair. In making the argument that Saddam’s trial was a domestic trial, Newton and Scharf also argue that it failed as a domestic trial. However, they state that the proceedings suffered not because they were directed by the United States or because they constituted a failed attempt at an international war crimes trial, but because the new Iraqi judicial ritual
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system itself was changing, self-consciously incorporating elements of international trial standards. Fundamentally, then, Newton and Scharf argue that Saddam’s trial, conviction, and execution should be interpreted within the framework of Iraqi law, an immature, evolving legal system that drew from international law but fundamentally a domestic entity. The result was a new breed of Iraqi judicial action that failed to live up to many participants’ and observers’ expectations. Saddam Hussein refused to acknowledge the authority of the tribunal as an Iraqi court, appealing to the Iraqi constitution and arguing that he, as president, was immune from prosecution.80 Local observers saw the trial as a failure as well. Newton and Scharf spoke with one Iraqi who felt Saddam’s trial differed too much from Iraqi tradition: “One middle- aged Iraqi engineer from Basra told one of the authors over lunch once day that he believed it was a mistake to televise the trial because, he felt, it signified a distinctly different set of procedures than a ‘normal Iraqi trial.’ ”81 Other observers—who also viewed the trial as a domestic Iraqi judicial event—were discontented with Saddam’s trial for different reasons. They criticized the trial because it did not differ enough from traditional Iraqi practice. Specifically, they felt that the post-Saddam trial process did not purge violence and humiliation from the judicial system. They make comparisons between Saddam’s behavior and the al-Maliki government’s behavior. For example, British scholar and defense analyst John Laughland notes, “After the second (and decisive) Ba’athist coup in 1968, Saddam Hussein (by then Bakr’s deputy, but an all-powerful one), ‘discovered’ a CIA-Zionist plot against the new regime and staged a show trial of conspirators in December: Saddam was in charge of the propaganda and the media was saturated with coverage of the trial. Fourteen of the alleged conspirators, nine of them Jews, were sentenced to death in January 1969, and their bodies were left to hang in Liberation Square for a day. Baghdad urged people to come and see ‘what happens to enemies of the revolution,’ and hundreds of thousands did.”82 Critics of Saddam’s trial point to the public broadcast of Saddam’s capture and his hanging (along with the deaths of his two sons, potential heirs to his leadership), arguing that these spectacles resonated a little too closely with traditional patterns of regime change. What is significant for our purposes is the fact that all of these stakeholders evaluated Saddam’s execution by the same standards: they assumed that Saddam’s execution should be evaluated as a domestic Iraqi
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judicial event. Whether they thought the trial and execution differed too much or too little from the traditional Iraqi system, they agreed that the ritual frame used as a standard for evaluation should be the Iraqi national judicial system. However, a different group of observers rejected the idea that the trial and execution should be analyzed as domestic Iraqi judicial events. These observers situated Saddam’s trial in a second, distinct ritual system, the modern international war crimes judicial system that traces its roots to the Nuremberg trials. This system was developed specifically to deal with internationally recognized crimes against humanity. But situating Saddam’s trial and execution within this system presents its own set of challenges, and many who evaluated Saddam’s trial according to the standards of international war crimes law still classified it as a failure. For example, Laughland evaluates Saddam’s capture, trial, and execution in light of international war crimes regulations. Laughland writes from a distinctly anti-American perspective, charging that Saddam’s capture, trial, and execution were illegal by international war crimes standards. In his book A History of Political Trials, Laughland opens his chapter on Saddam’s trial (the final chapter) by asserting, “The question of the legality of the war cannot be dissociated from the question of the legality of the subsequent trial and execution of the Iraqi president, Saddam Hussein.”83 He then argues unrelentingly that the invasion and Saddam’s capture, trial, sentencing, and execution were illegal under international law. He charges that the United States and England deliberately planned regime change in Iraq (specifically disallowed by international law), and they specifically sought to use an international trial to accomplish this. Laughland claims, “The process started when the Occupation Authority led by Paul Bremer abrogated the 1971 constitution of Iraq, but radical political change in Iraq had in fact been the goal of the invasion in the first place… . [T]he idea of promoting regime change in Iraq by means (inter alia) of a criminal trial of Saddam and his colleagues dated as far back as 1998.”84 In arguing for the illegality of Saddam’s capture and trial, Laughland draws not on Iraqi domestic trial law, but on the rules that govern international diplomacy and military action. He argues that the United States and England systematically and self-consciously violated those rules. For example, Laughland charges that the United States and England stated two reasons for invading Iraq (its illegal stockpiling of weapons of mass destruction and its refusal to allow international observers to check for them), but actually conducted the war for two other reasons: to depose
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Saddam Hussein and to establish a new governing regime.85 As a result, Laughland argues, every act from the invasion forward— including Saddam’s trial and execution—was illegal. Laughland is not alone in making this argument. Even Newton and Scharf—who disagree with Laughland on both the legality of the invasion and the ritual “framework” for the trial—acknowledge that general opposition to the invasion of Iraq created problems in establishing the tribunal and conducting the trial: “The bitter international division over the legality of invading Iraq continued to spawn poisonous international debate over each step taken by those charged with administering the chaotic situation on the ground.”86 Once Saddam was captured, Laughland claims that the makeup of the court was controlled by the United States. According to him, Order No. 15, “Establishment of the Judicial Review Committee [issued by Paul Bremer] … announced the immediate and general suspension of the existing Iraqi laws on the judiciary, and the creation of a judicial committee composed of three Iraqis and three ‘international’ members to review all judicial appointments in Iraq. It would be difficult to imagine a more flagrant violation of the Article 54 of the Fourth Geneva Convention forbidding the sacking of judges.”87 Clearly, Laughland situates the invasion and Saddam’s trial in an international arena. He asserts that Saddam’s treatment should be evaluated according to modern international justice scenarios (in the lineage of Nuremberg). He then argues that the invasion of Iraq (let alone Saddam’s capture, trial, and execution) failed to fulfill the standards of this ritual system. As a result, he concludes that Saddam’s trial and execution went wrong.88 Saddam’s execution was thus situated by many stakeholders within these two distinct judicial systems: Iraqi modern political law and international law regarding war crimes. Neither fish nor fowl, Saddam’s trial and execution failed to satisfy the requirements of either system. Ritual systems collided. What were the results of this collision? Most significantly, the Iraqi government was not universally recognized as the actual or legitimate authority behind Saddam’s execution. Second, refutation of the government’s authority to execute Saddam made manifest the multiple audiences for Saddam’s execution, many of whom were in direct conflict with one another. Third, the Iraqi government never established its right to provide a single, authoritative interpretation of Saddam’s death. As a result, the door was opened for another stakeholder to offer a third interpretation: that provided by Saddam himself.
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The Third Ritual Paradigm: Execution as Religious Sacrifice Ironically, Saddam himself offered a third paradigm by which to interpret his own capture, arrest, conviction, and execution. In his final public letter, Saddam describes his political enemies as “oppressors” and himself as a sacrificial martyr. Interpreting his experience as a religio-political sacrifice allowed Saddam to reject the authority of those who captured him, the legitimacy of the court that tried him, and the government that hanged him. Identifying with his followers at large, Saddam wrote, “Oh beloved, this harsh situation, which we and our great Iraq are facing, is a new lesson and a new trial for the people by which to be judged, each depending on their intention, so that it becomes an identifier before God and the people in the present and after our current situation becomes a glorious history.”89 In the worldview governing this letter, Saddam, along with the Iraqi people and God, are pitted against “unjust nations,” “enemies of your country,” and “the strangers.” Throughout the letter Saddam is careful to insist that God—and God alone—controls whether or not he will live or die. He often refers to himself in the third person and characterizes “Saddam” as a willing servant: “In spite of all the difficulties and the storms which we and Iraq had to face, before and after the revolution, God the Almighty did not want death for Saddam Hussein. But if He wants it this time, it (Saddam’s life) is His creation. He created it and He protected it until now.”90 Characterizing himself as a faithful servant, Saddam states, “ ‘Here, I offer myself to God as a sacrifice, and if He wants, He will send it to heaven with the martyrs… . Thus by its martyrdom, He will be bringing glory to a faithful soul, for there were souls that were younger than Saddam Hussein that had departed and had taken this path before him. If he wants it martyred, we thank Him and offer Him gratitude, before and after.”91 By invoking sacrificial language, Saddam took responsibility for his death away from the national government, placing it instead in God’s hands.92 As a result, for some audiences, Saddam (or, ultimately, God) provided the authentic interpretation of the execution, rather than the human agents of his death. In so doing, the ritual execution was wrested from the hands of civilian authorities and read, by some, not primarily as a judicial or political event, but rather as a cosmic or religious event in which Saddam was, at least in part, able to exert some agency in his own death. In addition, by characterizing his execution as a sacrifice, Saddam undid the finality of his death. Execution is final; sacrifice is not. Execution is the
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end of an atrocity, providing “closure” for victims and the public. Sacrificial victims live on, if not in some manifestation of Paradise, then in their followers and in the ultimate triumph of the cause for which they died. The interpretation of Saddam’s death as sacrifice was eagerly picked up by those sympathetic to the former dictator. For example, the pro-Saddam paper Al-Moharer adopted Saddam’s language when describing his hanging: “The calmness and firmness of the president underscores for everybody the victory of the ‘victim’ over the executioner… The neck which had a rope coiled around it wasn’t alone—Iraq was assassinated.”93 A Newsday report stated, “Hussein’s supporters were quick to declare him a martyr, and some vowed revenge against Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, who signed the death warrant. ‘The president, the leader, Saddam Hussein is a martyr and God will place him in paradise along with other martyrs,’ Sheik Yahya al-Attawi said at a prayer service in a Sunni mosque built by Hussein in his home region of Tikrit, 80 miles north of Baghdad. ‘Do not grieve or complain because he has died the death of a holy warrior.’ ”94 Saddam’s behavior in court reinforced a religious framing of the trial events. When asked to state his name for the record at the opening of the trial, Saddam recited a verse from the Qur’an. He repeatedly requested prayer breaks throughout the trial. These actions were interpreted by his enemies as attempts to cultivate an image of himself as a devout Muslim that did not square with reality. Saddam’s supporters, by contrast, saw in Saddam’s actions and his words a martyr for Islam. The timing of Saddam’s death also reinforced an interpretation of Saddam’s execution as a sacrifice. Because his execution coincided with Eid al-Adha, Saddam was easily compared with the sacrificial animal offered by God during Ibrahim’s sacrifice and remembered during this annual celebration. Sabriyah Salih, a Baghdad resident stated, “He [Saddam] died at the holiest moments of the year, with pilgrims just finishing their pilgrimage ceremonies hailing ‘Allahu Akbar’ (‘God is greatest’) as if God meant to give him that glory.”95 Iraqi Sunnis, taking a cue from the coincidence of the execution with Eid al-Adha, compared Saddam with the animal sacrifice that God had provided centuries previously. “As the blood of slaughtered sheep stained the streets of many Arab cities on Saturday [the day after Saddam’s execution] … many found it hard to ignore the analogy of Mr. Hussein himself as a sacrificial lamb.”96 Saddam was recast as a sacrificial victim or martyr, representing Iraq or, in some cases, the entire Muslim world. Abdullah ibn Ibrahim al-Jarifani, writing in Saudi Arabia’s Al-Riyadh, characterized
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Saddam as “the sacrificial [animal] offered by the American forces as a sacrifice on the altar of democracy.”97 Even Shiites who favored the execution recognized the potential problem with its timing and voiced criticism. One woman said, “They spoiled my pleasure of his execution by killing him like that … . Now he will be called a martyr because of the bad timing.”98 Abd al-Rahman al-Rashid commented, “That timing [of the execution] represents a mistake that will stoke the rage of the public and weaken the position of the government at a point in which it had declared its goal to demonstrate the strength of its new authority.”99 Interpreting Saddam’s political execution as a religious sacrifice provided a way for Saddam supporters to incorporate his death into a broader, coherent worldview. They no longer had to juggle conflicting views of Saddam as a national hero and as a state prisoner. Instead, understanding Saddam as a sacrificial victim served a comprehensive narrative in which both Saddam’s successes on their behalf and his punishment by members of the national and international communities could be reconciled with one another. In this context, Saddam’s death, to use Mark Juergensmeyer’s language, became “ennobling,” at least to a subset of the population.100 In addition, characterizing Saddam’s execution as a sacrifice helped reconcile disparate elements of Saddam’s trial, sentencing, and execution. Framing the death as a sacrifice generated a satisfying interpretation for those who viewed the trial as unfair, as driven by anti-Arab, anti-Muslim Americans. It gave meaning to the religious timing of the event, as well as the general sectarian cast of Saddam’s treatment by the Iraqi national government. It also explained Saddam’s apparently dignified behavior in the face of humiliation at the gallows. Finally, it reframed Saddam’s death as martyrdom on behalf of the Iraqi people and, in some cases, Islam in general.101
Ritual and Authority As we have seen, specific elements of Saddam’s trial and execution failed. More fundamentally, observers and stakeholders failed to agree on a ritual system in which to locate Saddam’s trial, alternatively characterizing it as a failed domestic trial, a failed international war crimes trial, or a spectacle of religious martyrdom. The depth of the conflict surrounding Saddam’s
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trial and execution can thus be explained, at least in part, as the conflict arising between competing systems of interpretation, a conflict that was never resolved. What was the significance of this failure? Ultimately, the execution of Saddam (like that of many other political leaders) was intended simultaneously to demonstrate and reinforce the authority of the new political regime. Laughland makes the general observation, “the conviction of the former sovereign is an indispensable source of legitimacy for the new regime, which seeks by organizing the trial not only to destroy its enemy but also, much more importantly, to affirm its status as the new sovereign.”102 One of Laughland’s chief criticisms of Saddam’s trial was that it was conducted, at least in part, to establish the authority of the new regime. He charges that this was inappropriate, but it is a common (and understandable) ritual goal. There is an authorizing dimension to all public rituals. Scholar Bruce Lincoln comments, “I take the effect [of authority] to be the result of the conjuncture of the right speaker, the right speech and delivery, the right staging and props, the right time and place, and an audience whose historically and culturally conditioned expectations establish the parameters of what is judged ‘right’ in all these instances. When these crucial givens of the discursive situation combine in such a way as to produce attitudes of trust, respect, docility, acceptance, even reverence, in the audience … ‘authority’ is the result.”103 Public ritual, like public discourse, involves the “right” speakers, speeches, staging, props, time, location, and audience. More important, effective ritual creates the sense that all of these elements are “right.” Ritual, when it unfolds smoothly and without challenge, reinforces the notion that there is some reasonable explanation for and authority behind the ritual event itself. When ritual goes wrong, observers are, in effect, invited to question whether that authority actually exists. Judicial rituals (e.g., trial, sentencing, state- sanctioned execution), when accepted, retrospectively provide the reasoning for the overthrow of former leaders. The widespread dissatisfaction with Saddam’s trial and execution indicates a failure to offer satisfactory reasoning in this particular case, drawing attention instead to the shaky ground on which the authorizing party, the Iraqi government, stood at the time of Saddam’s death. The combination of discrete problems and competing interpretive paradigms associated with Saddam’s trial and execution both revealed and reinforced a sense that the political and social authority behind Saddam’s execution was weak.
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In addition, when Saddam’s execution went wrong, it became clear that his execution was being observed by several distinct audiences, and in most cases the audiences had various concerns at stake in Saddam’s death, some of which were mutually incompatible. When the West (particularly Europe) did not express unanimous support for Saddam’s execution, it was a reflection of general opinions regarding the death penalty and the war in Iraq, issues with broader implications than Saddam’s execution. Thus, responses to the execution exposed the lack of political unity among Western countries with a stake in Saddam’s death. In the Middle East and the Arab world, the criticisms of the execution were different, revealing, at one level, different concerns and priorities than those of most Westerners. The legitimacy of Saddam’s trial came under attack, in part because the legal proceedings were perceived as being driven by internal and international politics, specifically by the political pressure that the United States was perceived to have brought to bear. Tariq al-Hamid noted in an op-ed in the Saudi-based paper Asharq al-Awsat, “There are those who talk about legal proceedings, yet all of us know that Saddam’s trial and execution was a political matter, and not merely judicial.”104 Sources attuned to this concern paid careful attention to US involvement in the establishment of the new Iraqi government, the trial proceedings, Saddam’s imprisonment, and the execution itself. In addition, reaction to Saddam’s execution reflected sectarian divides within Iraq itself. Shi’a and Kurdish communities tended to celebrate the execution. One Kurdish news agency wrote, “the 30th of December 2006 will be an immortal day in the history of the Iraqi people, and as well in the history of all mankind. The beginning of this year 2007 saw a victory of the oppressed people over their oppressor with the execution of the tyrant Saddam Hussein.”105 By contrast, communities sympathetic to Saddam interpreted the ritual differently. Op-ed pieces in various Arabic newspapers pointed to a “darker sectarian message” in Saddam’s trial, execution, and the date chosen for the hanging. Peter C. Valenti states, “In his Jan. 2 op-ed in Asharq al-Awsat, Dia Rishwan cited ‘narrow sectarian sentiments and a deep desire to take vengeance by Saddam’s opponents among the Iraqis in the government and outside it’ as determining ‘the choice of the timing of the execution on the morning of Eid al-Adha.’ ”106 Thus, even the audience for Saddam’s trial and execution were fractured. Once it became clear that there were multiple interpretive audiences for Saddam’s execution, many of whom disagreed with one another, it also became clear that there was no definitive voice to adjudicate between
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these audiences. No single community established the authority to provide a dominant interpretation, so no community’s interpretation was acknowledged as the valid interpretation. The absence of an authoritative voice signals a deeper “wrong” associated with Saddam’s execution than a simple failure of individual elements. The ease with which various observers could identify countless specific mistakes or unauthorized actions points to this fundamental problem. Saddam’s execution as a whole was framed by at least three different incompatible ritual systems. Observers interpreted the execution through these distinct ritual system “lenses.” Depending on the lens used, different observers came to different conclusions about the meaning, impact, and validity of the execution. No single interpretive frame succeeded in establishing itself as definitive, leaving the entire trial and execution without a firm foundation and thus open to challenge.
Conclusion: Colliding Ritual Systems and Ritual Theory I am not interested in arguing that any particular ritual system is the appropriate one to apply to Saddam’s trial execution. What matters for our current discussion is the fact that multiple audiences evaluated the trial using different ritual frameworks, and at least two problems emerged. First, Saddam’s trial and execution prompted international feelings of dissatisfaction rather than resolution. Anticipated effects of the ritual failed to materialize for many audiences. In some cases, the anticipated effects had been implied or unconscious, and they only rose to the level of consciousness because the ritual failed. However, once criticisms of the execution began to circulate, it became clear that a wide range of social, cultural, religious, and political expectations—some of which were mutually contradictory—were at play with one another. Second, different ritual systems collided with one another in their attempts to interpret Saddam’s trial and execution, and no single ritual system triumphed, thus exposing an authority “vacuum.” Given these problems, we are left with the ultimate question: Is there any way this particular ritual event could have gone right? My strong suspicion is that the answer to that question is “no.” In Saddam Hussein’s trial and execution we find an example of the most fundamental form of ritual disruption. The various ritual systems in which Saddam’s execution were situated competed with one another, and they
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contradicted each other at their core. There was no way the specific ritual of Saddam’s hanging could have gone “right,” because there was no universally recognized authority to declare it “right.” We remember Lincoln’s words, “I take the effect [of authority] to be the result of the conjuncture of the right speaker, the right speech and delivery, the right staging and props, the right time and place, and an audience whose historically and culturally conditioned expectations establish the parameters of what is judged ‘right’ in all these instances.”107 In Saddam’s trial, there was no universally recognized “right” speaker, speech, staging, time, or place, and so no universally recognized authority emerged. Perhaps most important, there were no mutually accepted “historically and culturally conditioned expectations” to establish the parameters for right and wrong. The deep dissatisfaction with Saddam’s execution was merely a symptom of a much more serious problem: the lack of widely accepted authority to legitimate the execution. What are the implications of understanding Saddam’s execution this way? For ritual studies theory, it is useful to note that ritual systems are not authoritative because of their content, but because they generate effective frameworks for orienting people, places, time, and objects in relationship with one another. That is, ritual systems establish paradigms that determine how participants and observers integrate discrete elements of events into a coherent whole and how they evaluate those elements. Therefore, individuals or institutions who can successfully control which paradigms ritual participants and observers invoke ultimately establish their own authority. They establish the right and ability to control how community stakeholders make sense of and evaluate their own experiences. By contrast, when multiple interpretations of ritual events challenge one another, with no interpretation ultimately triumphing, this signals that no single individual or institution has established the authority to frame how participants organize and assess their own experiences. When stated explicitly, this point seems obvious, almost intuitive. But this fundamental aspect of the relationship between ritual systems and specific ritual events has been virtually unexplored by ritual studies scholars. In addition to ritual studies scholars, those who study political and legal systems might find it useful to consider examining ritual systems when analyzing conflict. An established, stable political or legal system is capable of dealing with disruptions and errors in its ritualized activities as discrete anomalies, because the overall system is secure. By contrast, disruptions to ritual events that generate deep-seated and long-lasting
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discomfort may be indicators of more fundamental trouble. The sustained dissatisfaction surrounding Saddam’s execution exposes the fact that no single authorizing system was securely in control. In such a context, a ritual event as emotionally “loaded” as Saddam Hussein’s execution was doomed from the start. Finally, the absence of a widely accepted interpretive system opens the door for a particularly distinctive ritual move to occur. I would argue that religious sacrifice as an interpretive framework for civil and political events is more readily accepted when civil and political interpretive frames are on shaky ground. That is, social and political leaders are more likely to be able to invoke sacrificial language and imagery successfully to characterize specific political, judicial, and military actions when other interpretive frameworks have not been universally accepted. Why is this the case? First, it is harder to sell the idea that a cosmic or divine force is the authority behind an event when a clear, widely accepted mundane authority has successfully been designated as such. Conversely, appealing to a transcendent authority is an easier shift to make if a particular activity (e.g, an execution, genocide) lacks a widely recognized authorizing body behind it. The transcendent authority’s other-worldly nature works with— rather than against—lack of certainty. In addition, there are certain advantages to framing a political, military, or civil event as sacrifice. Designating an act as “sacrifice” situates that action on a cosmic plane and makes it awkward to challenge. For example, I have noted elsewhere that George W. Bush invoked the language of sacrifice when he announced military strikes against Al Qaeda terrorist training camps in 2001. I recently received a touching letter that says a lot about the state of America in these difficult times—a letter from a 4th grade girl, with a father in the military. ‘As much as I don’t want my Dad to fight,’ she wrote, ‘I’m willing to give him to you.’ This is a precious gift, the greatest gift she could give. This young girl knows what America is all about. Since September 11, an entire generation of young Americans has gained new understanding of the value of freedom, and its cost in duty and in sacrifice.108 In characterizing this young girl’s activity as sacrifice, Bush made it difficult for other Americans to argue with the cause for which she was
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willing to “give up” her father. Behavior characterized as sacrifice is difficult to challenge because it connotes selflessness and because it invokes an other-worldly justification that places the action beyond reproach. Finally, by framing events as sacrifice, one can turn violence on its ear, transforming its significance radically. Sacrifice renders seemingly indiscriminate or punitive suffering meaningful on a cosmic level, lending it an air of gravitas. Successfully framing a political, military, or judicial event as a sacrifice is no easy task. Precisely because the term carries moral weight and transcendent authority, many oppose invoking it lightly. Characterizing an event as sacrifice involves constructing an entirely new frame for that event and successfully situating someone’s death into that frame. Mizruchi has argued, “sacrifice is about storytelling,” suggesting that an event becomes a sacrifice only in the context of an encompassing narrative.109 There is greater opportunity for such a “frame narrative” to be accepted when other frames fail to gain traction because they lack persuasive power or because they are in contest with other narrative frames. In Saddam’s case, the multiple mistakes that occurred undercut the authority of the official interpretive narratives and provided this opening. The disruptions, misfires, and errors attending Saddam’s execution raised questions regarding the legitimacy and efficacy of the new government and the nature of the ritual execution. When this happened, it became possible to offer additional interpretations of Saddam’s trial, including one in which Saddam was a sacrificial victim. In the most extreme narrative, Saddam was transformed into a martyr. Broadly speaking, in examining the collision of ritual systems, it becomes clear that ritual collisions create opportunities for various stakeholders. Individuals or institutions who are able to provide a widely embraced interpretation of the ritual disruption can ultimately establish themselves as a community authority. Their interpretation will determine who is viewed as good or bad, winner or loser, victor or victim. By contrast, those who are unable to control the interpretation of ritual activity reveal their lack of authority. They risk drawing attention to an authority “vacuum,” which opens the door not only to multiple interpretations of a specific ritual event, but to the renegotiation of authority overall in the community.
Conclusion Rituals express, by themselves, the ritual theory embedded in them.1 The case studies provided in the previous chapters merely scratch the surface—we could continue reviewing examples of ritual gone wrong indefinitely. But even this handful of examples provides the basis for a broader conversation about ritual disruption. In these concluding pages we will reflect on the fundamental questions that face us: What is the nature of “ritual gone wrong?” What are the implications of ritual disruption for ritual theory in general? And where do we go from here?
Issues of Definition First and foremost, our case studies challenge how ritual disruption has been addressed in academic study up to the present. As indicated earlier, only a handful of scholars have examined ritual disruption in any sustained way. As a result, we are still left with definitional problems. A quick survey of the existing literature reveals that ritual gone wrong has largely been understood as ritual failure in the context of actual, performed ritual events. The only other book-length treatment of ritual gone wrong, When Rituals Go Wrong (edited by Ute Hüsken), opens its preface by establishing the parameters of its discussion: “The present volume is entirely dedicated to investigating the implications and effects of breaking ritual rules, of failed performances and of the extinction of ritual systems.”2 The discussion that follows makes it clear that until very recently, the limited study of ritual mistakes that has occurred to date has focused on performed ritual. The most well-developed approach to ritual disruption to date is that offered by Ronald Grimes. Grimes examines “performative shortcomings,” drawing on the linguist J. L. Austin’s notion of “infelicitous performance.”3 As Edward L. Schieffelin notes, Grimes “works out a set of nine
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‘categories’ or ‘types of performative shortcomings’ relevant to ritual failure. The strength of this approach is that it derives largely from a coherent body of pre-existing theory. The weakness is that it imports an approach to ritual studies derived from linguistics which may or may not be appropriate to ritual materials which involve considerably more than spoken language. … . ‘Their worth’, he [Grimes] says, ‘consists of their ability to point to troublesome dynamics [within rituals] and to provide a vocabulary for recognitions, debate and discussion.’ ”4 Grimes offers a sophisticated approach to the study of ritual failure, but he limits his focus to disruptions of specific elements in a ritual performance. Our review of the case studies provided in this volume, I would argue, points to a broader understanding of ritual gone wrong, one that includes but is not limited to the misexecution of ritually prescribed behavior. The case study of the blood libel, for example, demonstrates that ritual disruption may involve the deliberate misrepresentation of an entire ritual complex as part of a more comprehensive social marginalization strategy. The controversy surrounding Saddam Hussein’s execution demonstrates that ritual disruption may involve the collision of multiple ritual systems and the failure of any single ritual agent to control ritual interpretation. The athletes’ subversion of the Olympics awards ceremony demonstrates that ritual may be made to “go wrong” intentionally as an act of protest before desirable audience-witnesses. My characterization of the Mishnah as a venue for rabbis to demonstrate their ritual expertise assumes that the Mishnah has little to do with actual performance. The rabbis’ extended discussions of ritual correction are best understood as rhetorical strategies, which are not primarily concerned with actual performance mastery. Even the Vedic material, which explicitly discusses correcting performance- based errors, also serves a broader purpose, the maintenance of a ritual system that, without the possibility of correction, would collapse under its own weight. The ability to correct ritual errors is about far more than discrete ritual events and outcomes; rather, ritual correction is the lifeblood of a robust ritual system. Without the ability—and the will—to correct ritual mistakes, ritual systems expire or, at the very least, diminish in their influence. Thus, we need to expand our understanding of ritual gone wrong greatly beyond notions of isolated mistakes in individual rites, irrelevant to the overall structure and integrity of a holistic ritual system. Rather, it’s more accurate to recognize that ritual can be disrupted frequently and on multiple levels, extending far beyond the boundaries
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of actual performed events. Ritual disruptions (and the corrections or adjustments that occur in response) are like weather vanes in ritual systems, signaling which way the ritual system winds are blowing, for good or for ill.
Prevalence In addition to understanding the nature of ritual disruption, our case studies have helped us to understand its prevalence. Ritual mistakes, sabotage, misrepresentation, and misappropriation occur regularly, even frequently. At the most basic level, rituals are disrupted at the level of discrete elements. Accidents occur frequently, prompting almost immediate changes (often dismissed as “adjustments”) in procedures or ritual components, usually with little to no impact. Less frequently, ritual actors introduce changes into specific rituals intentionally, sometimes simply out of necessity (when required elements, participants, or locations become unavailable, for example). At other times changes occur out of a desire to alter the ritual’s outcome or its perceived place in a community’s life. Changes such as these occur at the level of individual ritual elements with surprising frequency and with relatively little fanfare. Ritual disruption at the systemic level also occurs far more frequently than most of us imagine, and alterations at this level often signal “behind the scenes” shifts or tensions in social or political systems at the structural level. As ritual theorists have shown, ritual activities are integral to social, cultural, religious, and political systems. They can be effective at reinforcing community cohesion and norms, at deploying symbolic language and imagery, and at establishing social norms in a perceived moral universe. At the same time, rituals provide opportunities for challenges in all of these arenas. Ritual disruption can occur within ritual systems as a means for undermining sociocultural values and norms or for reworking well-known symbols. At another level, entire ritual systems themselves can be disrupted, when participants challenge the nature and significance of ritual systems within a culture. Or, alternatively, marginalized or oppositional groups may assert alternative characterizations of ritual systems as part of a larger effort to undermine the social, cosmic, or moral worldview that the ritual system itself seems to support. Ritual disruption at this level has been largely overlooked. We have tended to minimize both the frequency with which this kind of ritual disruption occurs and its significance.
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Implications for Ritual Theory The lack of attention paid to ritual disruption reveals a deeper problem. At the very heart of our discussion is a foundational mischaracterization of the nature of ritual itself, a misunderstanding that is laid bare when we study ritual gone wrong. It is tempting to approach ritual as a polarized Jekyll and Hyde entity. That is, we analyze ritual as if it has two distinct expressions that are doomed to coexist but never to interact with one another. On the one hand there is ritual “as it should be,” the ritual purportedly laid out in authoritative texts or oral traditions. This ritual is “perfect,” imagined without any mistakes in its basic elements, and therefore presumed to be correct, which means it is successful at obtaining its intended effect. On the other hand, there is performed ritual, which seemingly goes “right” most—but not all—of the time. Scholars acknowledge that performed ritual goes “wrong” occasionally, but analyses of performed rituals suggest that ritual errors occur very rarely, certainly not frequently enough to be theorized seriously. When this occurs, a specific ritual event is seemingly threatened unless a ritual expert can supply a corrective act to set the ritual back on track. In these contexts, scholars have tended to approach ritual disruption as simply misexecuted action, isolated incidents without much interpretive value. This approach, of course, dismisses and marginalizes the ritual disruption. It presumes that the important thing is to set the ritual performance back on a course toward perfection (i.e., ritual as described in the authoritative texts), a course that will secure the originally desired outcome. The problem, as we have seen, is that ritual is far more complicated than this, in both its imagined and performed expressions. Rituals involve multiple stakeholders engaged in ritual systems, stakeholders who often disagree about how ritual should proceed, what results it should bring about, and who should evaluate its efficacy. Ritual participants are constantly situating prescribed ritual action into imperfect contexts, forcing the ritual agents to adapt ritual elements and procedures to specific circumstances. Finally, ritual is often deployed as a means for one group to establish its dominance over other groups. In these scenarios, rituals often become the site for power struggles, exposing fractures between stakeholder communities. When you add this messy understanding of ritual to the fact that ritual can go wrong, not just in terms of misexecution, but in many other ways (as discussed in the previous chapters), it becomes clear
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that ritual itself is a complex phenomenon, with far more attached to it than formulaic outcomes. Similarly, it has been common to distinguish ritual sharply from mundane, day-to-day activity as if ritual is qualitatively unique. Ritual mistakes and other forms of disruption, however, remind us that ritual practice and daily activity are very much entwined. One engages in ritual practice in the broader context of mundane reality, moving constantly from ritual activity to “normal” activity and back again, at times engaged with both realms at once. Ritual is elastic, pliable, subject to the vagaries of mundane reality. Surprisingly, rituals rarely stop dead in their tracks in response to a disruption. When ritual disruptions occur in various forms, ritual actors often depend on the everyday world to support a “Plan B.” More often than not, the ritual continues, absorbing adaptations as they present themselves, and moving forward relatively smoothly, often without missing a beat.
Understandings of “Perfect” One of the most intriguing consequences of our study is noticing how ritual disruption challenges our notion of “perfect.” It is tempting to think of ritual perfection as ritual performed according to an authoritative script, without deviation. Ritual imperfection, then, arises in its execution. However, there are several problems with this understanding. First, there often is no singular, uncontested “script.” Most of the world’s most elaborate ritual systems include multiple “schools” or streams of tradition that offer competing, often mutually contradictory instructions for the same ritual. The Vedic tradition, for example, is often characterized as a perfect system; Schieffelin comments, “Vedic rituals are thought to be products of the Gods and hence they are perfect. Imperfections derive from their performance by men.”5 However, the Vedic “system” actually includes multiple systems, several distinct priestly schools. Each priestly tradition establishes its own guidelines for ritual activity. Each tradition differs from other traditions on basic ritual elements, ranging from the components used to detailed procedures performed during the course of a ritual. For example, priestly schools disagree over procedures regarding the side from which one should pour out a libation from a ritual spoon—the left or the right. It is simply not possible to follow one priestly tradition’s ritual “script” without outright rejecting another. Recognizing this issue raises another problem with the notion of a perfect ritual: Who is to say what is perfect? No ritual system goes unchallenged
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or unquestioned. The challenge may come from a nonorthodox source, but the fact remains that perfection is in the eye of the beholder, and whenever ritual is described or performed there are multiple beholders. Grimes refers to this in his own discussions of “the problem of point of view: who, participant or observer, is to decide whether procedures fail.”6 Finally, the elaborate texts that describe ritual corrective actions never seem to suggest that a corrected ritual is somehow less “perfect” than a ritual that did not require corrective measures. The fact that corrections were made is not automatically problematic and does not automatically generate a second-class ritual in many cases. Ritual performances that include corrective actions, for the most part, seem to be viewed as qualitatively equal to rituals that did not require substitutions or corrections. These observations raise the question, What is the “perfect” ritual? From what we have seen, it has little to do with the presence or absence of corrective measures and everything to do with perspective. The perfect ritual does not exist in any objective sense; it is entirely a matter of interpretation. A clear understanding of this point is important because it is tempting to assume that a great deal of anxiety accompanies elaborate performances precisely because they often require lots of corrective action. But this is only the case if a lot of weight is attached to an error-free performance. The most elaborate ritual systems, however, clearly anticipate ritual errors and provide a wealth of remedies, alleviating most of the potential anxiety. As Schieffelin notes regarding the Vedic system, Any mistakes, or failure to follow the prescribed procedures to the letter, are thought to “break the ritual” bringing harmful consequences to the world and to the ritualist and his family. These are very high standards, extremely rigid and difficult to keep. Vedic priests were aware of this, and possessed a body of texts which outlined an array of remedies and atonements for ritual errors and provided alternative ways to perform ritual details and ritual segments—as well as admonitions not to take the prescribed rigidities too seriously. . . . Thus, even the integrity of the most formal, repetitive, and stereotyped rites could be actually full of adjustments and changes, and for all their fuss and detail even a messy performance did not necessarily invalidate or “break” a ritual.7 Schieffelin’s comments regarding the Vedic system pertain broadly, across all ritual systems.
Conclusion
179
Something at Stake My study of ritual gone wrong leads me to conclude that ritual is much less about what gets accomplished by ritual action and much more about what is at stake in the ritual arena. I return to the “pie” metaphor laid out in the Introduction: ritual arises in the moments when eating a pie is not just about eating a pie. When pie is “just” dessert, there is no ritual, but when pie establishes a relationship with other elements (e.g., turkey, stuffing, and cranberry jelly), prepared by a designated ritual specialist (e.g., Mom), and played out in a specific location (e.g., the family homestead) on a specific date (e.g., Thanksgiving), in a predetermined sequence (e.g., after the Macy’s Day Parade, but before the football game), then we have ritual. To omit the pie in this elaborate combination of elements, personnel, and activity would be to disrupt a ritual. Ritual disruption draws attention to whatever is at stake, elements that are often left implicit when ritual proceeds as anticipated. For example, the family takes Mom’s apple pie for granted every year—until the year a new daughter-in-law dares to host Thanksgiving at her house, replacing Mom’s pie with her own pumpkin soufflé. That small shift in the ritual, no matter how innocent, draws attention to previously unstated values and established relationships. Schieffelin notes, “rituals themselves are widely used as means for transacting empowerment: for negotiating transitions between statuses, group memberships, or life stages, conferring or exercising authority, making peace or war; ratifying judgements, aligning individual and society with earthly or spiritual forces etc. To this extent they are deeply implicated in the competition over, and exercise of, social status and political power. The stakes in ritual are often high and ritual outcomes consequential.”8
Ritual and Change Ritual disruption is, by definition, ritual change. The very word “disruption” implies that something that should have happened didn’t, or something that shouldn’t have happened did. In both cases, some kind of change occurs. In many cases, this change is a one-time event, with no long- lasting repercussions. Such a change is often exceptional—it may deserve comment, but it rarely rates sustained analysis, because it is unlikely to occur again and/or it has minimal impact. In some cases, however, ritual disruption is linked to long-lasting or systematic change. Most obviously, this change may occur in discrete elements of the ritual performance.
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However, other types of “change” may emerge as well: change in the representation of the ritual to oneself or to others; change in the relative importance of the ritual in a broader religious or cultural system; or changes in the sociopolitical relationships that are reflected in the ritual. The observed ritual disruption may be a result of these deeper changes, or it may be the instigating event. In either case, the ritual disruption can offer a portal for the scholar into systemic change beyond the ritual arena itself. Ritual disruptions are often constructive in nature. Scholars have long noted that rituals create opportunities for inclusivity that creedal and ideological systems do not; individuals who disagree ideologically may stand shoulder-to-shoulder with one another in shared ritual activity. Ritual disruptions can work against this inclusivity by drawing attention to differing values, points of view, or loyalties. Alternatively, they might generate new affiliations and alliances between various groups. Ritual disruption, as we have seen, also draws attention to the dark underbelly of ritual itself. Ritual establishes and reinforces power relationships, with certain individuals and groups exerting power over others. Ritual disruption lays bare the participants, motivations, and dynamics at play in social and political settings, and ritual disruption brings these power dynamics to light and may create opportunities to alter these power dynamics. Finally, ritual often becomes routine. As Susan Mizruchi muses, “That is what ritual is from a certain perspective, the things we do in our sleep. By this I mean that ritual, while usually a matter of consent and deliberation, may at times, and even gradually over time, lose its consensual and deliberative character.”9 When ritual becomes routine, participants no longer give it their full attention. Ritual disruption can shake this up—at the very least it draws attention to ritual routines that have entrenched not only patterns of behavior but also patterns of thought, social dynamics, and power relationships. Ritual disruption brings all of these elements to the level of consciousness and simultaneously suggests that routines can be changed. Mizruchi has coined a phrase for certain literary texts, “border texts.” She uses this term to refer to bodies of literature that “are popular precisely because they expose areas of cultural controversy and grievance,” and she warns, “[w]e ignore them at our peril.”10 Rituals gone wrong can function in a similar way, exposing permeability and vulnerabilities in existing ritual systems, and highlighting arenas in which controversy and grievance are worked out in the preservation, adaptation, or neglect of ritual systems.
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Looking Forward Where do we go from here? It strikes me that several opportunities are available to students of ritual moving forward, based on what we can learn from “ritual gone wrong.” First, we must actively resist the polarized characterization of ritual (idealized and perfect vs. actual and imperfect) that underlies most ritual theory today. In addition, we must handle our source material differently. Ritual studies scholars have tended to fall into two camps. One camp lumps anthropological, ethnographic, and liturgical sources together, using them to document and interpret lived ritual practice. Ritual theorizing has tended to separate this work from scholarship conducted in the second camp, scholarship drawn from prescriptive sources, such as priestly manuals, which are used primarily to study ritual systems and to develop idealized models of ritual. Lived ritual experience has been isolated from prescribed ritual tradition, which has largely been the basis for ritual theorizing. This isolation has led to two problems. First, our ritual theorizing has largely ignored huge bodies of ritual texts—those that discuss ritual errors and their possible corrections. These texts have fallen between the cracks because they challenge our impulse to keep imagined and lived ritual separate from one another. But their very existence challenges us to acknowledge ritual as a fluid, adept phenomenon that alters in response to specific circumstances. Second, the two sources of data (and the scholars who work with them) have rarely been encouraged to “talk” to one another in any deep, sustained way. Anthropological and ethnographic examples are occasionally brought out as living examples of described ritual. Descriptions of ritual have been studied largely as fixed texts, frozen in time and unresponsive to changing realities. Little thought has been put into the possible organic relationship between imagined ritual and lived ritual. And yet a moment’s reflection makes it obvious that ritual systems are responsive and supple, changing organically over time. Finally, our study has highlighted the fact that ritual is about much more than “efficacy” or results. It’s also about more than feeling good or generating warm fuzzy feelings about an imagined community or one’s personal well-being. I would argue that ritual is about putting something at stake. Eating Mom’s apple pie at the end of a meal becomes ritualized when it matters that Mom is unable to bake that pie one year or when a daughter-in-law replaces Mom’s pie with her own at the Thanksgiving table. The meal has been ritualized when the absence of Mom’s apple pie is experienced as a loss, or when the daughter-in-law’s pumpkin soufflé
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feels like an uncomfortable “extra,” an unsatisfactory substitute, or a direct challenge. Ultimately, the ritual “goes wrong” if the participants can’t successfully accommodate the change. We encounter and engage in ritual almost daily. I suspect that the ritual systems in which we participate continue to be vibrant and valuable precisely when they are able to encompass the inevitable challenge of ritual disruption. Ritual systems flex their muscles when they adapt to the changing circumstances inherent in individual lives and cultural systems. Rituals thrive or crumble as they absorb the impact of subversion, misrepresentation, competition from other ritual systems, and innocent mistakes. Their reaction to ritual disruption acts as a “tell,” revealing the ritual system’s relative health or inner decay to the careful observer. As such, ritual gone wrong can be a scholar’s most highly valued informant.
Appendix
Examples of Blood Libel Cases
This table is not comprehensive; rather, it is meant to suggest the large number of blood libels leveled over the centuries and their breadth in both space and time.1 Date
Location
Name (usually named for the victim or the accused)
1144
Norwich, England Pontoise, France Central England Fulda, Germany
William of Norwich, victim
1179 1180 1235
1247
1255
1261 1270
Richard of Pontoise, victim Herbert of Huntingdon, victim * In response to the Fulda charges, Frederick II of Hohenstaufen declared that all the Jews should be killed if the accusation against them was true, but that they should be exonerated publicly if false. Valréas, France Two-year-old child victim. The 1248 decision of the Council of Valence to forbid all relations between Christians and Jews, and the 1253 expulsion of Jews from Vienna are often seen as consequences of this blood libel. Lincoln, England Hugh of Lincoln, victim. Henry III authorized the first state-sponsored execution of Jews for ritual murder. Pforzheim Seven-year-old girl victim. Thomas Cantipratanus recounts this story. Weissenburg Heinrich Menger, victim (continued)
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Appendix
Date
Location
Name (usually named for the victim or the accused)
1283 1285
Mainz Munich
Child victim An old woman caught kidnapping accused Jews of forcing her to do the crime. In response, a mob burned down the local synagogue, killing ~180 Jews inside. “The good Werner” of Oberwesel, fourteen-year-old boy victim Boy victim, purportedly “sent” to the Jews in Krems
1286/7 Oberwesel (Rhineland) 1293 Krems (lower Austria) 1294 Bern 1303 Weisensee, Germany 1305 Prague 1329 Savoy
1332
Ueberlingen (Baden)
1429
1474
Ravensburg, Germany Tyrol, near Innsbruck Regensburg
1475
Trent
1476
Regensburg
1490 1494
Castille, Spain Tyrnau
1504
Frankfurt
1529
Bazin, Hungary
1764
Orcuta, Hungary
1462
Rudolph, victim Conrad, victim Victim said to have been crucified at Easter time Jaquet (a Christian) claimed that he had sold multiple children whom he kidnapped to Jews. This led to the confiscation of many Jews’ property. Boy victim was found dead in a well. Over 300 Jews are said to have been rounded up and then burned alive in a house. Louis (or Ludwig) of Ravensburg, victim Andreas Oxner of Rinn, victim, said to have been sold by his godfather to Jews. Seven-year-old boy victim said to have been sold to a leader in the Jewish community. Simon of Trent, two-and-a-half-year-old victim. This is one of the most significant blood libel cases, with wide-ranging impact. Prompted by coerced “confessions” at Trent; Jews were tried for murders alleged to have occurred in 1468. “Holy Child of La Guardia,” victim Jewish men and women were accused of strangling a Christian young man. Heinrich Bry murdered his own stepson, but charged that he had been forced to do it and to give the young man’s blood to a local Jew to whom he owed money. Later Bry admitted that he had lied. The child victim alleged to have been killed for bloodletting by local Jews was later found alive. Ten-year old boy, the son of J. Balla, was found murdered
Appendix Date
Location
1791
Tasnad, Transylvania 1834 Neuenhoven, Dusseldorf 1840 Damascus, Syria 1844 Gtobikowka, Galicia 1860/ Enniger 70 1878 Kutais (in Transcaucasia) 1881
Lutscha (Galicia)
1882
Tisza-Eszlàr (Hungary) Corfu Nagy-Szokol, Hungary
1891 1891
1891
Xanten, Prussia
1892
Eisleben
1892
Vienne, France
1892
Bacau, Romania
1893 1893
Kolin, Bohemia Holleschau
1893
Prague
1893
Vienna
185
Name (usually named for the victim or the accused) 13-year-old Andreas Takal, victim Six-year-old boy victim Capuchin monk Father Thomas J. G., eight-year-old orphan boy (victim) Young girl victim. Despite the absence of any legal proof, the local Jews were driven out of Enniger. Dani’il Avraaamovich Khvol’son, a convert from Judaism to Eastern Orthodoxy, successfully defended Jews accused of ritual murders.2 Franciska Mnich, victim. Moses Ritter and his wife were charged as her murderers. Esther Solymosi, a servant girl, was the victim. Upon investigation, the Jews were exonerated of the crime. Eight-year-old girl, victim Esther Fejes said to have been murdered. Months later she was seen in another town; she said she ran away from home. Five-and-a-half-year-old boy victim, Johann Hegmann. The accused was exonerated based on medical evidence. Adult man accused local Jews of requiring a blood “test” to permit him to attend their ceremonies. Young boy victim, killed by his mother and then mutilated. Jews were initially accused, but the mother eventually was charged and confessed. Eisik Suler was charged with the murder of his servant girl, Floria, a gypsy. Floria’s parents had forced her to disappear in order to charge Suler with her murder and demand financial compensation. Their plan was uncovered and Suler was exonerated. Marie Havlinovà, a servant girl, victim David Tandler accused of planning ritual slaughter of his two servant girls. The two young women were punished for the accusation. Hermann Lowy charged with obtaining blood for rituals. Paulus Meyer collaborated with Father Josef Deckert to trump up charges of blood rituals. (continued)
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Appendix
Date
Location
1896
Mährisch-Trübau Moriz Moller charged with extracting blood from his servant, Philomena Walaclawek, by pricking her with needles while she slept. Polna, Bohemia Agnes Hruza, victim. Leopold Hilsner, a twenty-two- year-old Jewish cobbler’s apprentice, was charged with her murder. Konitz (West Ernest Winter, eighteen-year-old victim Prussia) Kishinev Boy victim, Mikhail Rybachenko. The murder prompted a series of attacks against local Jews fueled by newspaper articles in the antisemitic newspaper Bessarabetz. Shiraz, Iran Muslim girl victim. Jews falsely accused were murdered, and 6,000 Jews had their property taken from them in retaliation for the alleged crime. Kiev Andrei Yushchinsky, victim. Menahem Mendel Beilis, a manager at the factory where Yshchinsky worked, was accused of the crime, and it became one of the most famous blood libels in history. It is commonly known as the Beilis Blood Libel. Massena, Four-year-old Barbara Griffiths went missing for New York two days, and local Jews were questioned about the possibility that she was the victim of a ritual murder. Griffiths turned up, unharmed, stating that she had been lost in the local woods, but rumors about Jewish ritual murder continued to circulate. Kielce (Kelts), A nine-year-old, non-Jewish boy, Henryk Blaszczyk, Poland told his parents and the police that he had been kidnapped and hidden in the basement of the local Jewish Committee building, when in actuality he had simply left home without asking permission. His story prompted mob violence, which led to a massacre of local Jews. This incident is said by many to have prompted a mass exodus of Jews from Poland. Saudia Arabia King Faisal levels general accusation of ritual blood use against Parisian Jews.
1899
1900 1903
1910
1914
1928
1946
1964
Name (usually named for the victim or the accused)
Notes
In t roduc t ion 1. “Obama Retakes Oath of Office After Stumble,” January 21, 2009, http:// www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/barackobama/4303211/Barack-Obama- inauguration-President-stumbles-over-oath.html. Accessed October 17, 2011. 2. “Roberts, Obama Jumble Presidential Oath of Office,” January 20, 2009, blogs. reuters.com/frontrow/2009/01/20/Roberts-obama-jumble-presidential-oath-of- office. Accessed October 17, 2011. 3. “Obama Retakes Oath of Office After Stumble,” January 21, 2009, www.google. com/ h ostednews/ a ftp/ a rticle/ A LeqM5it4CDiPY7ky9_ K p89CZZmjlgtNaQ. Accessed October 17, 2011. My emphasis. 4. Glen Levy, “Why Was Bin Laden Buried at Sea So Quickly?” TIME NewsFeed (May 2, 2011), http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/05/02/why-was-bin-laden-buried- at-sea-so-quickly/. Accessed February 28, 2012. 5. See, for example, “Sea Burial of Osama Bin Laden Breaks Sharia Law, Says Muslim Scholars,” Ian Black and Brian Whitaker, The Guardian (May 2, 2011), http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/may/02/sea-burial-osama-bin-laden. Accessed February 28, 2012. 6. Although Jonathan Z. Smith pioneered the notion of a polythetic approach to religion, it is important to note that the term “polythetic” and the idea of “family resemblances” do not originate with Smith, but with Wittgenstein and other earlier thinkers. 7. Kathryn McClymond, Beyond Sacred Violence: A Comparative Study of Sacrifice (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2008). 8. Ithamar Gruenwald, Rituals and Ritual Theory in Ancient Israel, The Brill Reference Library of Judaism, vol. 10 (Boston: Brill, 2003), vii. 9. Jonathan Z. Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 53.
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10. Smith, Imagining Religion, 54. 11. Smith, Imagining Religion, 63. 12. Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 110. 13. Frits Staal, Agni: The Vedic Ritual of the Fire Altar (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983). See the beginning of Chapter 1 for a fuller description of this event. 14. Frits Staal, Rules Without Meaning: Ritual, Mantras and the Human Sciences. Toronto Studies in Religion, vol. 4 (New York: Peter Lang, 1989), 131–132. 15. Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: BasicBooks, 1973). 16. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, 146. 17. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, 159. 18. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, 161. 19. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, 162. 20. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, 146. 21. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, 146–147. 22. Gretchen Schoch, personal communication, February 27, 2012.
c h a p t er 1 1. Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: BasicBooks, 1973), 157. 2. Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss, Sacrifice: Its Nature and Functions, trans. W. D. Halls (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1964 [Orig. 1898]). 3. Staal, Rules Without Meaning, 93. His discussion of this issue is just as brief in the two-volume chronicle of the agnicayana. For a detailed description of the 1975 agnicayana, see Frits Staal, Agni: The Vedic Ritual of the Fire Altar, vol. 1 (Berkeley, CA: Asian Humanities Press, 1983), 336. 4. Jan Gonda, Vedic Ritual: The Non-Solemn Rites (Leiden, the Netherlands: E.J. Brill, 1980); Jan C. Heesterman, The Broken World of Sacrifice: An Essay in Ancient Indian Ritual (Chicago: The University of Chicago, 1993); Nancy Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever: Sacrifice, Religion, and Paternity (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1992); Stephanie W. Jamison, Sacrificed Wife/Sacrificer’s Wife: Women, Ritual, and Hospitality in Ancient India (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996); Charles Malamoud, Cooking the World: Ritual and Thought in Ancient India (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996); Laurie Patton, ed. Authority, Anxiety, and Canon: Essays in Vedic Interpretation (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994); Brian K. Smith, Reflections on Resemblance, Ritual, and Religion (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). 5. All translations are my own unless otherwise indicated, although I acknowledge a heavy debt to C. G. Kashikar for his recent translation of the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra. C. G. Kashikar, The Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra, ed. and trans., 4 vols. (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2003).
Notes
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6. Staal argues, “Ritual is pure activity, without meaning or goal… . To say that ritual is for its own sake is to say that it is meaningless, without function, aim or goal, or also that it constitutes its own aim or goal.” Staal, 131–132. 7. Jan Gonda, The Ritual Sūtras, A History of Indian Literature, vol. 1.2 (Wiesbaden, Germany: Otto Harrassowitz, 1977), 489. 8. M. Winternitz, A History of Indian Literature vol. I, trans. Mrs. S. Ketkar (New York: Russell & Russell, 1927; reprint 1971), 272. 9. Winternitz, 276. 10. Samiran Chandra Chakrabarti, The Paribhasas in the Śrautasūtras (Calcutta: Shyamapada Bhattacharya, 1980), 1. 11. Note that this essay restricts discussion of prāyaścitta to the Vedic context, in which the focus is on ritual sacrifice. See Michael Aktor “Negotiating Karma: Penance in the Classical Indian Law Books” in Negotiating Rites, eds. Ute Hüsken and Frank Neubert (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), where he discusses prāyaścitta in the later Indian legal literature. While I would argue that Vedic prāyaścitta is largely about the nullification of the consequences of ritual activity, Aktor argues that prāyaścitta is about the penitence of the ritual actor in the legal literature. 12. There is considerable difference of opinion regarding the dating of the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra. R. N. Sharma offers a date between 400 and 300 CE, and Louis Renou roughly agrees. C.G. Kashikar suggests an earlier dating, between 800 and 650 BCE. Chakrabarti points to Baudhāyana’s use of the pravacana form—“a literary composition resembling the Brāhmanas … . [in which] the author shows little tendency towards succinctness which is evinced in the later sutra works”—as evidence of early dating (pp. 77, 78). Some scholars place the Vādhūla Śrauta Sūtra before or contemporaneous with the Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra. See Frederick M. Smith’s discussion in his The Vedic Sacrifice in Transition: A Translation and Study of the Trikāndamandana of Bhāskara Miśra (Poona, India: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1987), p. 19, n. 70. In general, scholars agree that BŚS is the earliest of the śrauta sūtras in the Taittirīya school. See R. N. Sharma, Culture and Civilization as Revealed in the Śrautasūtras (Delhi: Nag Publishers, 1977); C.G. Kashikar, ed. and trans., The Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra. 13. C. G. Kashikar, ed. and trans., The Baudhāyana Śrautasūtra, 4 vols. (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2003). 14. Kashikar, vol. 1, xiii. 15. Kashikar comments, “the Śrautasūtra itself covers Praśnas I-XXIX. Its broad divisions are: the main Sūtra I-XIX, Dvaidha XX-XXIII, Karmānta XXIV-XXVI, and Prāyaścitta XXVII-XXIX.” Kashikar, vol. 1, xiii. 16. Kashikar, vol. 1, xvii. 17. As always, there are exceptions to this, as we will see later.
190
Notes
18. Also, “Whatever might have been done unaware or in haste, is deemed to have been done correctly through the utterance of the Vyāhṛtis” (BŚS 27.4); “May Agni and goddess Śraddha release me from whatever evil the bewildered priests do knowingly or unknowingly, svāhā” (BŚS 27.6). 19. See, for example, Sylvain Lévi, La doctrine du sacrifice dans les Brahmaṇas (Paris: Leroux, 1898); Brian K. Smith, “Ritual Perfection and Ritual Sabotage in the Veda,” History of Religions, vol. 35, no. 4 (May 1996), 285–306. 20. Axel Michaels, “Perfection and Mishaps in Vedic Rituals” in When Rituals Go Wrong, 122. 21. Note that each fire within the sacrificial arena must be reestablished slightly differently. See BŚS 27.10. 22. Frederick M. Smith, 79. 23. Michaels, 122. 24. Chakrabarti, 176. 25. Chakrabarti, 134. 26. Chakrabarti, 175. 27. Chakrabarti, 175–176. 28. One counterexample to this general rule is the increasingly prevalent custom of using grain-cakes as substitutes for animal offerings in contemporary India. In the 1975 agnicayana that Staal chronicled, he notes that “cakes made of a paste of rice flour” were substituted for the goats. This change, however, was offset by the fact that “the mantras were recited in the prescribed manner and it was felt that the essence of the ritual was thereby preserved.” AGNI, vol. 1, 18. 29. Manu 11.28–30, trans. Frederick M. Smith, 77. 30. Several substitutes may replace soma, according to the priestly texts. Most commonly pūtīka is used, but Staal lists several other potential replacements, including ephedra and sarcostemma. The śrauta sūtras even describe a procedure for transforming milk ritually into soma by adding the bark of the parṇa tree (ĀpŚS 1.6.8). 31. BŚS 27.9, trans. Kashikar, 1733. Note how gazing is considered comparable to physical contact. See, for example, Stephanie Jamison for further discussion of the importance of the sacrificer’s wife gazing in Vedic sacrifice. 32. “[TKM] I. 84 states that an officiant must, as far as possible, substitute for the wife if she is in her menstrual period or has given birth. I. 140c–143 declare that only the Agnihotra, the new and full moon sacrifices, and the Piṇḍapitṛyagña may be performed while the wife is in either of these two conditions of impurity. On the other hand, ‘so passive is her role that the question of whether she need participate at all is raised.’ II.8 and III.96 note that she may be replaced by a fistful of kuśa grass or, like Sītā in Rāma’s Aśvamedha, by a golden image of her.” Frederick M. Smith, 89. 33. Frederick M. Smith, 65, n210. 34. BŚS 27.1; trans. Kashikar, 1717.
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35. M. Winternitz. A History of Indian Literature, trans. Mrs. S. Ketkar (New York: Russell & Russell, 1927 [Reprint 1971]), 161. 36. “[L] es trois ‘énoncés’ par excellence (bhūr, bhuvaḥ, svar) … généralement murmurés par l’adhvaryu ou (expiatoirement) par le brahman.” Louis Renou, Vocabulaire du Ritual Védique (Paris: Librairie C. Klincksieck, 1954), 144. 37. BŚS 27.1, quoting TBr 3.7.11.1–4; trans. Kashikar, 1717. 38. BŚS 27.3. 39. BŚS 27.11. 40. Brian K. Smith, “Ritual Perfection and Ritual Sabotage in the Veda,” History of Religions, vol. 35, no. 4 (May 1996), 294. 41. Sylvain Lévi quoted in Smith, “Ritual Perfection and Ritual Sabotage,” 294. 42. The tānūnaptra rite, which binds the priest to the ritual sponsor for the duration of the ritual, is supposed to forestall any evil behavior. The textual evidence, however, makes it clear that this was not enough to assure every sacrifice. 43. Smith, “Ritual Perfection and Ritual Sabotage in the Veda,” 295. 44. Smith, “Ritual Perfection and Ritual Sabotage in the Veda,” 296. 45. Smith, “Ritual Perfection and Ritual Sabotage in the Veda,” 285–306. 46. AitB 8.11, my emphasis. 47. Aktor makes a similar statement in his chapter: “Therefore ‘negotiation’ is not located in ritual but around it.” 48. Clooney, 81. 49. See Chakrabarti’s discussion of this, 47. 50. Frederick M. Smith, 64. 51. Clooney, 115. 52. Jan Gonda, The Ritual Sūtras. A History of Indian Literature vol. 1, fasc. 2 (Wiesbaden, Germany: Harassowitz, 1977), 516. 53. BŚS 27.11, trans. Kashikar. 54. “Peeing Baby Temple Fine Reversed.” BBC News South Asia. News.bbc.co.uk/2/ hi/south_asia/4614719.stm. Accessed October 30, 2015, my emphasis.
c h a p t er 2 1. Shaye J. D. Cohen defines the tannaim as “Literally ‘teachers’ (or ‘repeaters’), the rabbis of Palestine in the second century C.E. whose statements are contained primarily in the Mishnah but also in other rabbinic works.” Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah (Westminster, England: John Knox Press, 2006), 248. Lawrence H. Schiffman’s definition is a bit broader: “The teachers of the Mishnah, Tosefta and halakhic Midrashim who flourished ca. 50 B.C.E.– 200 C.E.” Lawrence Schiffman, From Text to Tradition: A History of Second Temple & Rabbinic Judaism (Hoboken, NJ: KTAV, 1991), 277. Most characterizations of the tannaim are in line with these definitions.
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2. For a more detailed introduction to the Mishnah, see Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah; Herbert Danby, The Mishnah: Translated from the Hebrew with Introduction and Brief Explanatory Notes (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2012); and Jacob Neusner, The Mishnah: An Introduction (New York: Jason Aronson, 1994). 3. Alexander Samely notes that rabbinic argumentation is often judged as illogical and therefore illegitimate from a modern academic point of view. He argues that this results from privileging the historical-critical approach to biblical analysis. He comments, “modern scholarship is committed, not neutral. So, when confronted with an approach to the same text which produces interpretations which are very often historically inappropriate, modern historical scholarship cannot classify them without noting that they are precisely that—inappropriate, unhistorical, anachronistic… . The modern historical understanding of the Bible is a rival to rabbinic reading.” Alexander Samely, Rabbinic Interpretation of Scripture in the Mishnah (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 3. 4. Samely, 17. 5. See my extended discussion of this point in Kathryn McClymond, Beyond Sacred Violence: A Comparative Study of Sacrifice (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2008). 6. M. Parah is the fourth tractate in the order Tohorot. This tractate discusses the sacrifice of the red heifer in response to the requirement laid down in Number 19:1–22. The ashes of a red heifer were used in ritual purification for those who had come into contact with a corpse. The Hebrew word parah means “heifer.” 7. If the blood cannot be applied to the altar, it is to be poured out on the ground. For the purposes of this essay, I will focus on the blood manipulation at the Temple, which is the focus of the tractate. 8. For details, see the work of Jacob Milgrom and Baruch Levine, who have both written extensively on this topic. See, for example, Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1- 16, Anchor Bible Series, vol. 3 (New York: Doubleday, 1991) and Baruch Levine, The JPS Torah Commentary: Leviticus (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989). I also recommend William Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004). 9. All translations are my own unless indicated otherwise. 10. Gilders, 67. See Gilders’s detailed discussion of various points of view on the application of animal blood throughout this book. I am indebted to William Gilders for this work and for many extended personal conversations regarding the Jewish sacrificial system that have contributed to my thinking over the years. 11. McClymond, 56–58. 12. Lev. 4:7, 18, 25, 30, 34. 13. Here I follow Jacob Milgrom’s understanding of the verb ḥaṭṭā’t. See “The Function of the Hatta’t Sacrifice,” Tarbiz 40 (1970): 1–8.
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14. Note that purity and holiness are distinct from one another. See Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). 15. M. Zev. 3.1 states in part, “a slaughtering is valid if it is performed by non-priests or by women or by [Canaanite] servants, or by those who are unclean,” and then it states that these same people are ineligible to receive sacrificial blood, while a priest is eligible. 16. The examples in M. Zev. 3.2 all involve the blood initially being received correctly (by an eligible priest; in the priest’s right hand; in a hallowed container) and then being transferred to an improper place (to an ineligible priest; into a priest’s left hand; into an unhallowed container). 17. See also M. Zev. 7:2. 18. Based on M. Meg. 1:5, Elizabeth Shanks Alexander notes that the rabbis understood kārēt to refer to “death at the hands of heaven.” Transmitting Mishnah: The Shaping Influence of Oral Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 153. While this essay focuses on blood manipulation that warrants kārēt, other actions do as well. For example, Jonathan Klawans notes that a man who has sexual relations with his wife while she is menstruating is liable for kārēt (M. Ker 1:1). In addition, M. Shab. 2:6 suggests that one possible explanation for a woman dying in childbirth is that she was not careful with regard to menstruation. See Klawans, 106. 19. Philip Blackman, translator and editor, Mishnayoth (Gateshead, England: Judaica Press, Ltd., 1990). 20. The rabbis discuss the relationship between intentions regarding time and place repeatedly in the tractate, and they offer differing opinions. For example, M. Zev. 2:5 records a debate in which R. Judah asserts that intentions regarding time are more significant than intentions regarding place. However, the Sages disagree, arguing, “In both cases [the sacrificial offering] becomes invalid, but punishment by kārēt is not incurred.” 21. M. Parah 4.3, my emphasis. 22. Carl M. Perkins, “The Evening Shema: A Study in Rabbinic Consolation,” Judaism, vol. 43, no. 1 (Winter 1994), 3. By contrast, Perkins argues that the Tosefta does not open the same way; the later rabbinic material moves gradually toward acknowledging the destruction of the Temple explicitly. 23. See B. BM 86a, which links Judah Ha-Nasi with the “end of mishnaic instruction.” 24. Alexander, 3. 25. Alexander, 77. 26. Alexander, 6. 27. Alexander, 8. 28. Jacob Neusner, “Halakhah and History,” Judaism, vol. 29, no. 1 (Winter 1980), 53. 29. Neusner, “Halakhah and History,” 55. 30. Neusner, “Halakhah and History,” 55–56.
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31. Robert Alter, quoted in Carolyn J. Sharp, Irony and Meaning in the Hebrew Bible, Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature, Herbert Marks, ed. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009), 1. 32. Sharp, 20. 33. Alexander, 223. 34. Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 103. 35. Smith 1987, 103. 36. Smith 1987, 109. 37. Gilders, 61. 38. Gilders, 79. 39. Samely, 31. 40. Samely, 31. 41. Samely, 19.
c h a p t er 3 1. King Faisal of Saudi Arabia quoted in the Arabic weekly al-Musawwar (August 4, 1972). Quoted in Jane S. Gerber, “Anti-Semitism and the Muslim World” in David Berger, History and Hate: The Dimensions of Anti-Semitism (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1997), 88. 2. Alan Dundes, The Blood Libel Legend: A Casebook in Anti- Semitic Folklore (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), vii. 3. Christopher Ocker, “Ritual Murder and the Subjectivity of Christ: A Choice in Medieval Christianity,” The Harvard Theological Review, vol. 91, no. 2 (April 1998), 154. 4. Ocker, 154. 5. See, for example, Alan Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend: A Study of Anti-Semitic Victimization Through Projective Inversion” in Alan Dundes, ed., The Blood Libel Legend: A Casebook in Anti-Semitic Folklore (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 337. 6. Gavin I. Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 210. 7. John M. McCulloh, “Jewish Ritual Murder: William of Norwich, Thomas of Monmouth, and the Early Dissemination of the Myth,” Speculum, vol. 72, no. 3 (July 1997), 703. 8. Quoted in Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism, 291. 9. M. D. Anderson, A Saint at Stake: The Strange Death of William of Norwich, 1144 (London: 1964), 107–108. 10. Denise L. Despres, “Adolescence and Sanctity: The Life and Passion of Saint William of Norwich,” The Journal of Religion, vol. 90, no. 1 (January 2010), 33.
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11. As Despres notes, “The bodily evidence of crucifixion and the odor of sanctity make the Jews suspect immediately.” Despres, 53. 12. Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism, 284. 13. Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism, 283. 14. Paul Oskar Kristeller, “The Alleged Ritual Murder of Simon of Trent (1475) and Its Literary Repercussions: A Bibliographical Study,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, vol. 59 (1993), 104. 15. Alternatively, some argued that Simon’s blood was used for medicinal purposes to heal circumcision wounds. 16. Hermann L. Strack, The Jew and Human Sacrifice: Human Blood and Jewish Ritual, an Historical and Sociological Inquiry (London: Cope and Fenwick, 1909), 200. Note that Strack (1848–1922) himself was subjected to libel charges. See Biale, Blood and Belief, 170–173. 17. R. Po-chia Hsia. The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988), 211. 18. Hillel J. Kieval “Death and the Nation: Ritual Murder as Political Discourse in the Czech Lands,” Jewish History, vol. 10, no. 1 (Spring 1996), 79. 19. Barnavi, 106. 20. Jonathan Frankel, “‘Ritual Murder’ in the Modern Era: The Damascus Affair of 1840,” Jewish Social Studies, vol. 3, no. 2 (Winter 1997), 1. 21. Frankel notes that “one of the prisoners was Isaac Picciotto and that since the 1780s the Austrian government had been selecting its consuls-general in Aleppo from the Picciotto family; Isaac’s uncle held that post in 1840.” Frankel, 8. 22. Letter by the Elders of the Jewish Community of Damascus to the Elders of the Jewish community of Constantinople. March 1840. Translated from the Hebrew in The Times (London) June 23, 1840, 3. Included in Paul Mendes-Flohr and Jehuda Reinharz, eds. The Jew in the Modern World: A Documentary History, 2nd edition (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 313. 23. Mendes-Flohr and Reinharz, 314. 24. Mendes-Flohr and Reinharz, 314, n1. 25. Julie Kalman, “Sensuality, Depravity, and Ritual Murder: The Damascus Blood Libel and Jews in France,” Jewish Social Studies, New Series, vol. 13, no. 3 (Spring- Summer, 2007), 49. 26. Kalman, “Sensuality, Depravity, and Ritual Murder: The Damascus Blood Libel and Jews in France,” 49. 27. Kalman, “Sensuality, Depravity, and Ritual Murder: The Damascus Blood Libel and Jews in France,” 52. 28. Kalman, “Sensuality, Depravity, and Ritual Murder: The Damascus Blood Libel and Jews in France,” 52. 29. Frankel, “Ritual Murder in the Modern Era,” 1–16. 30. Frankel, “Ritual Murder in the Modern Era,” 11.
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31. Frankel, “Ritual Murder in the Modern Era,” 13, 15. Biale notes that shortly before the Damascus Affair, Isaac Ber Levinsohn provided the first modern defense against blood libel charges, commenting that “To be a modern Jew required knowing how to respond to such accusations in a discourse recognizable to European scholarship.” Modernity, therefore, did not set aside blood libels— instead modernity recast them and demanded qualitatively distinct defenses against them. Biale, 166. 32. Zosa Szajkowski, “The Impact of the Beilis Case on Central and Western Europe,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, vol. 31 (1963), 197. 33. This incident is said to have inspired Bernard Malamud’s novel The Fixer. 34. Szajkowski, “The Impact of the Beilis Case on Central and Western Europe,” 215. 35. Szajkowski, “The Impact of the Beilis Case on Central and Western Europe,” 215. 36. Szajkowski, “The Impact of the Beilis Case on Central and Western Europe,” 216. 37. Cecil Roth argues that “the earliest antecedent for the medieval ritual murder accusation on record” is an “episode reported by the fifth-century Church historian, Socrates, as having taken place about the year 415.” The story charges that Jews crucified a Christian child. See his “The Feast of Purim and the Origins of the Blood Accusation” in Alan Dundes, ed., The Blood Libel Legend: A Casebook in Anti-Semitic Folklore (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 265. 38. Roth, “The Feast of Purim and the Origins of the Blood Accusation,” 268. 39. Roth, “The Feast of Purim and the Origins of the Blood Accusation,” 269. 40. Eli Barnavi, ed. A Historical Atlas of the Jewish People from the Time of the Patriarchs to the Present (New York: Schocken Books, 1992), 106. 41. H. H. Ben-Sasson, A History of the Jewish People (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976 [Orig. 1969]), 483. 42. Abraham Gross, “The Blood Libel and the Blood of Circumcision: An Ashkenazic Custom That Disappeared in the Middle Ages,” The Jewish Quarterly Review, vol. 86, no. 1–2 (July–October 1995), 172–173. 43. R. Po-Chia Hsia, The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988), 2. 44. Hsia, The Myth of Ritual Murder, 203. 45. Ben-Sasson, A History of the Jewish People, 752. 46. Cecil Roth, ed. Ritual Murder Libel and the Jew (London: The Woburn Press, 1935), 94. 47. Kieval, “Death and the Nation,” 77. 48. Kieval, “Death and the Nation,” 85. 49. Hermann L. Strack, an energetic scholar writing about ritual murder accusations, notes that the Corfu blood libel prompted him to address these unfounded accusations against Jews, commenting, “I am now compelled to publish the results of my fresh researches by the renewal of the controversy about ritual murder in consequence of the assassination of an eight year old girl in Corfu during the night of the 12th to 13th April this year.” Strack was also prompted to
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make his own public attack on scholars who misrepresented Judaism, going so far as to charge an Austrian professor, August Rohling, with “perjury and gross forgeries.” Strack, The Jew and Human Sacrifice: Human Blood and Jewish Ritual (New York: Benjamin Blom, Inc., 1971 [Orig. 1909]), vii, 155. 50. Ian Reader, “The Transformation of Failure and the Spiritualization of Violence” in Blackwell Companion to Religion and Violence, Andrew R. Murphy, ed. (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2011), 453. 51. Ben-Sasson, A History of the Jewish People, 886. 52. Ben-Sasson, A History of the Jewish People, 886. 53. Reader, “The Transformation of Failure and the Spiritualization of Violence,” 455. 54. “Leaving Tracks Uncovered,” an interview with Anna Zawadzka and Joanna Tokarska-Bakir, Academia: The Magazine of the Polish Academy of Sciences, http:// www.academia.pan.pl/dokonania.php?jezyk=en&id=487. Accessed May 15, 2012. 55. Alan Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 349. 56. Quoted in Norman A. Stillman, “New Attitudes Toward the Jew in the Arab World,” Jewish Social Studies, vol. 37, no. 3/4 (Summer-Autumn, 1975), 197–204. 57. Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 349–350. 58. “Islamic Movement head charged with incitement to racism, violence” in Haaretz, January 29, 2008. 59. Stillman, “New Attitudes Toward the Jew in the Arab World,” 202. 60. Stillman, “New Attitudes Toward the Jew in the Arab World,” 204. 61. For more information on blood libels in the United States, see Abraham G. Duker, “Twentieth-Century Blood Libels in the United States” in Alan Dundes, ed., The Blood Libel Legend: A Casebook in Anti-Semitic Folklore (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 233–260, and Saul S. Friedman, The Incident at Massena: The Blood Libel in America (New York: Stein and Day, 1978). 62. Joseph Telushkin notes that in the 1930s the Nazi newspaper Der Stuermer regularly included illustrations of rabbis drinking the blood of German children. Joseph Telushkin, Jewish Literacy: The Most Important Things to Know About the Jewish Religion, Its People, and Its History (New York: William Morrow and Company, 1991). 63. Frankel, 15. 64. Ben-Sasson, A History of the Jewish People, 875. 65. JPS Hebrew-English Tanakh (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1999). 66. J. Wagenseil, Tela Ignea Satanae, I, Nuremberg, 1681. Quoted in Haim Hillel Ben- Sasson, ed. A History of the Jewish People (Cambridge, MA: George Weidenfeld and Nicolson Ltd, 1976), 558. 67. Biale, Blood and Belief, 82. 68. Blood libels divided Christians who differed in their reactions to blood libels and similar charges against Jews. Ocker notes, “Pope Innocent IV’s excommunication of Friedrich II, who allowed Jews to keep the Passover in his castle” (Ocker, 185).
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69. Barnavi, 104. Langmuir argues that the bodies of the boys who were killed “were carried in early winter weather, presumably in a cart accompanied by a sizable number of people, at least 150 miles to the west across the Rhine to Hagenau and there laid before the emperor as evidence that, in Frederick’s word, Jews thirsted for human blood.” Langmuir, 279. 70. Quoted in Strack, 254. 71. Magdalene Schultz, “The Blood Libel: A Motif in the History of Childhood” in Alan Dundes, ed., The Blood Libel Legend: A Casebook in Anti-Semitic Folklore (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 282. 72. Quoted in Strack, 242. 73. Quoted in Strack, 267. 74. Barnavi, 119. 75. Quoted in Strack, 262. 76. Strack, 262. 77. Barnavi, 104. 78. Strack, “Blood Accusation,” 261. 79. Quoted in Biale, Blood and Belief, 114. 80. There are numerous problems with these assumptions. First, scholars have debated the translation and meaning of the famous verse, “the life is in the blood.” See, for example, William Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible: Meaning and Power (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004). Second, Jewish tradition explicitly prohibits the consumption of blood, the sacrifice of children, and engaging in witchcraft. 81. McCulloh, “Jewish Ritual Murder,” 729. 82. Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism, 304. 83. Schultz, “The Blood Libel,” 286. 84. Eppens Alfred J. “The Crusade Pogroms: Christian Holy War on the Home Front,” in J. Harold Ellens, ed., The Destructive Power of Religion: Violence in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, vol. 4: Contemporary Views on Spirituality and Violence (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2004), 19. 85. Eppens, 27. 86. Sholom A. Singer, “The Expulsion of the Jews from England in 1290,” The Jewish Quarterly Review, New Series, vol. 55, no. 2 (October 1964), 117. 87. Hsia, 209. 88. Eppens, 28. 89. Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism, 306. 90. David Biale, Blood and Belief: The Circulation of a Symbol Between Jews and Christians (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 82. 91. Biale, Blood and Belief, 82. 92. Biale, Blood and Belief, 100. 93. Ocker, 168. 94. Biale, 85.
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95. Biale concurs: “Jews were certainly not the only ones thought to consume blood for nefarious and benign purposes.” He cites a fifteenth-century text that associates the practice with “certain crones, called witches.” Biale, Blood and Belief, 101. 96. Biale, Blood and Belief, 84. 97. “Blood Accusation,” Jewish Encyclopedia.com. Accessed October 17, 2011. 98. Robert C. Stacey, “From Ritual Crucifixion to Host Desecration: Jews and the Body of Christ,” Jewish History, vol. 12, no. 1 (Spring 1998), 14. 99. Biale, Blood and Belief, 112. 100. Ocker, 158. 101. Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 352–353, 354. 102. Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 358. 103. Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 354. 104. Kieval, 88. 105. Biale, 83. 106. Biale, 83–84. 107. Hillel J. Kieval, “Death and the Nation: Ritual Murder as Political Discourse in the Czech Lands,” Jewish History, vol. 10, no. 1 (Spring 1996), 76. 108. Telushkin, 231. 109. Gross, 174. 110. Gross, 174. 111. See, for example, the visual representations of Jews on the Ebstorf map, discussed in Bettina Bildhauer, “Blood, Jews and Monsters in Medieval Culture,” in Bettina Bildhauer and Robert Bills, editors, The Monstrous Middle Ages (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003). 112. Christopher Ocker, “Ritual Murder and the Subjectivity of Christ: A Choice in Medieval Christianity,” The Harvard Theological Review, vol. 91, no. 2 (April 1998), 154. 113. Ocker, 177. 114. Note that Jewish folktales also emerged in response to blood libels. The best known is a modern adaptation (nineteenth century) of the legend of the Golem. The story claims that Rabbi Loew of Prague created the Golem to protect Jews in Prague against blood libels in the sixteenth century. See Biale, Blood and Belief, 173. 115. Kristeller, 105. 116. Raphael Langham, “William of Norwich,” The Jewish Historical Society of England, http://www.jhse.org. Accessed October 10, 2011. 117. Alan Dundes describes the city of Judenstein (Austria), which for two centuries perpetuated the myth that Andrew of Rinn had been ritually murdered by Jews, including producing tourist postcards and hosting school field trips that reinforced the story. Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 342.
200 118. 119. 120. 121. 122.
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Hsia, 208. Quoted in Despres, 35. Despres, 51. Kieval, 76. Many thanks to Molly Bassett for drawing my attention to Corbin’s notion of the mundus imaginalis. 123. Henri Corbin, Swedenborg and Esoteric Islam, trans. Leonard Fox. www.imaginal.net. 124. Henri Corbin, “The Imaginary and the Imaginal” (March 1964), http://hermetic.com/bey/mundus_imaginalis.htm. Accessed May 16, 2012. 125. Note that several government and ecclesiastical leaders recognized the power of such discourse, so much so that they threatened severe penalties for false accusations. One suspects that these threats were not altruistic; leaders recognized the social instability that such charges could bring. 126. Langmuir, 306. 127. Bildhauer, 76. 128. Bettina Bildhauer and Robert Mills, eds. The Monstrous Middle Ages (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003), 6. 129. See Bildhauer’s essay, “Blood, Jews and Monsters in Medieval Culture” in Bettina Bildhauer and Mills, eds. The Monstrous Middle Ages, 6. 130. We have not even touched on menstrual blood, which is heavily laden with negative connotations well past the medieval period. 131. Bildhauer, 85. 132. Ironically, one response to being characterized as a monster was to create a monster figure in return. In one mystical stream of Judaism (Kabbalah), the golem, a fearsome monster, could be created by a righteous tzaddik to save Jews facing persecution. In these stories, the monster is always characterized as “unformed” or “imperfect,” often described as a body without a soul. The Kabbalist Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel (1513–1609) is the figure associated most frequently in the golem legend, although evidence seems to suggest that originally Rabbi Elijah (1550–1583) of Chelm, Poland, was first credited with creating a golem using Kabbalist powers. See David Wisniewski, Golem (New York: Clarion Books, 1996) and Moshe Idel, Golem: Jewish Magical and Mystical Traditions on the Artificial Anthropoid (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990). 133. Bildhauer and Mills, eds. The Monstrous Middle Ages, 4. 134. Bettina Bildhauer, “Blood, Jews and Monsters in Medieval Culture” in The Monstrous Middle Ages, 75. 135. Langmuir, 306. 136. Hsia, 226. 137. Biale, 117. 138. Biale, 117–118.
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139. Bettina E. Schmidt and Ingo W. Schröder, eds. Anthropology of Violence and Conflict (New York: Routledge, 2001), 5. 140. Schmidt and Schröder, 5–6. 141. Ben-Sasson, 886. 142. Quoted in Ben-Sasson, 465. 143. Bildhauer and Mills, 3. 144. Bettina E. Schmidt, “Misuse of a Religion: Vodou as Political Power Rooted in ‘Magic’ and ‘Sorcery’.” Diskus, vol. 8 (2007), http://www.basr.ac.uk/diskus/ diskus8/schmidt.htm. 145. Schmidt, “Misuse of a Religion,” http://www.basr.ac.uk/diskus/diskus8/ schmidt.htm. Accessed July 25, 2012. 146. Schmidt, 66. 147. Ben-Sasson, 481. 148. Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 345. 149. Schmidt, 67. 150. Bettina E. Schmidt and Ingo W. Schröder, eds., Anthropology of Violence and Conflict (New York: Routledge, 2001), 3. 151. Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism, 282. 152. Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend,” 357.
c h a p t er 4 1. Christopher Brasher, Mexico, 1968: A Diary of the XIXth Olympics (London: Stanley Paul, 1968), 73. 2. Olympic charter section IV (Protocol) of chapter 5 describes the present Olympic ceremonies. See Rules 69 and 70: Rule 69: Opening and closing ceremonies: by-laws given details re protocol, elements, etc. Rule 70: “Victor, Medals and Diplomas Ceremony”: “Victory Ceremonies must be held in accordance with the protocol determined by the IOC. The medals and diplomas shall be provided by the OCOG for the distribution by the IOC, to which they belong.” Note that a separate by-law describes the medals in detail. 3. Quoted in Harold Maurice Abrahams and David C. Young, “Olympic Games,” Britannica.com, http://www.britannica.com/bcom/eb/article/2/0,5716,115022+1+ 108519,00.html. Accessed August 3, 2012. 4. The Organisation—Olympic.org, http://www.olympic.org/en/content/The- IOC/The-IOC-Institution1/?Tab=1. Accessed May 27, 2010. 5. Jeffrey Segrave and Donald Chu, Olympism (Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics: 1981), 369. 6. Segrave and Chu, Olympism, 369.
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7. Quoted in John T. Powell, Origins and Aspects of Olympism (Champaign, IL: Stipes, 1994), iv. 8. R. G. Osterhoudt, “The pantheon: Olympism,” Olympic Review, vol. 127 (1978), 294. 9. Avery Brundage, Public Remarks at the 48th Session of the IOC (April 17, 1953, Mexico), quoted in Powell, Origins and Aspects of Olympism, 131–132. 10. It should be noted that many people have challenged the idea that the Olympic Games effectively instill international cooperation. “Paul Gallico wrote ‘ … Brundage suffers from the dangerous illusion that public competition on the athletic field engenders good sportsmanship, makes nations love one another and is good for peace’. ‘ … It is nothing of the kind. It’s the finest stewpot for cooking up international hates between wars and keeping them alive, next to a round-table gathering of diplomats.’ ” Powell, Origins and Aspects of Olympism, 162. 11. Olympic Charter IV (Protocol) of chapter 5, cited in Olympic Ceremonies: Historical Continuity and Cultural Exchange. Miguel de Moragas, John MacAloon, and Montserat Llines, eds. Lausanne: International Olympic Committee, 1996, 26. 12. De Moragas, MacAloon and Llines, Olympic Ceremonies: Historical Continuity and Cultural Exchange, 27. 13. Jeremy Schaap argues that former Olympian and German Olympic Committee member Carl Diem came up with the idea for a runner to carry a lit torch “from ancient Olympia in Greece to the new Olympia in Berlin.” Schaap, Triumph, 137. 14. Vladimir Novoskolfsev, “The flame which leaves the doves unharmed” (Independent Views). Olympic Review, no. 162 (April 1981), 219. 15. De Moragas, MacAloon and Llines, Olympic Ceremonies: Historical Continuity and Cultural Exchange, 27. 16. “Decisions of the 96th Session,” Olympic Review, no. 277 (November 1990), 495. 17. “Olympic News from Various Sources” in Citius, Altius, Fortius (became Journal of Olympic History in 1997), vol. 4, no. 1 (Winter 1996), 40. 18. Quoted in De Moragas, MacAloon, and Llines, Olympic Ceremonies: Historical Continuity and Cultural Exchange, 27. See a video of the 1996 Atlanta Olympics opening ceremonies, including a video and explanation of the “kite” doves at “1996 Opening Ceremonies—Martin Luthor [sic]King/Olympic Heroes,” www. youtube.com/watch?v=kp-1zF0E8PQ. Accessed September 12, 2012. 19. “Technical Glitch at Olympic Opening Ceremony Leaves One Ring Unlit,” Fox News, www.foxnews.com/sports/2014/02/07/russian-music-dancing-kicks-off- olympics-opening-ceremony/, February 7, 2012. Accessed September 22, 2014. 20. “Olympic Rings Fail Spectacularly During Sochi Opening Ceremony,” The Verge, www.theverge.com/2014/2/7/5390152/olympic-ring-malfunction-sochi- opening-ceremony, February 7, 2014. Accessed September 20, 2014. 21. Nataliya Vasilyeva, “Nothing to See Here: Russian TV Alters Video After Olympic Ceremony Glitch.” The Washington Times. www.washingtontimes.com/news/
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2014/feb/7/olympic-ring-malfunction-mars-sochi-opening-ceremo/?page=all. February 7, 2014. Accessed October 16, 2014. 22. Vasilyeva, February 7, 2014. 23. Jacob Kastrenakes, “Olympic Rings Fail Spectacularly During Sochi Opening Ceremony.” The Verge, February 7, 2014. Accessed October 16, 2014. See this page for footage of the fifth ring failing to open. 24. “Olympic Ring Appears to Malfunction at Sochi,” ABC Digital. abcnews.go.com/ International/ v ideo/ O lympic- r ing- a ppears- m alfunction- s ochi- 2 2417781, February 7, 2014, 3:35 p.m. Accessed October 16, 2014. This site includes a still shot of the fifth ring failing to open. 25. Kastrenakes, “Olympic Rings Fail Spectacularly,” February 7, 2014. 26. “Man Killed for Winter Olympic Ring Malfunction at Sochi Opening Ceremony: Thousands on Social Media Spread Rumor of Dead Technician in Russia— But Is It True?” Christian Post, www.christianpost.com/ news/m an-k illed-f or-w inter-o lympic-r ing-m alfunction-a t-s ochi-o pening- ceremony-t housands-o n-s ocial-m edia-s pread-r umor-o f-d ead-t echnician-i n- russia-but-is-it-true-video-114321/, February 20, 2014. Accessed September 22, 2014. 27. Chris Greenberg, “Olympic Rings Fail Joke: Sochi Closing Ceremony Includes Nod to Lighting Flub (PHOTOS),” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/ 23/olympic-rings-closing-ceremony-joke_n_4842880.html, February 23, 2014. Accessed September 22, 2014. 28. Daniel Politi, “Russia Pokes Fun at Snowflake Malfunction During Sochi Closing Ceremonies,” http://www.slate.com/blogs/the_slatest/2014/02/23/snowflake_ malfunction_russia_makes_fun_of_itself_in_sochi_closing_ceremonies.html, February 23, 2014. Accessed September 22, 2014. 29. Chris Pleasance and Mia De Graaf, “Who Says Russia Doesn’t Have a Sense of Humour? Closing Ceremony Mocks Opening of Winter Olympics and the Ring That Failed to Open,” Mail Online, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article- 2566056/Who-says-Russia-doesnt-sense-humour-Closing-ceremony-mocks- opening-Winter-Olympics-ring-failed-open.html, February 23, 2014, 10:57 EST. Accessed October 16, 2014. 30. James Cook and John Goodbody, The Olympics 1972 (London: Robert Hale & Company, 1972), 105–106. 31. Most recently, the United States filed an inquiry into the original scoring of 2012 US gymnast Aly Raisman in the balance beam competition. The inquiry led to Raisman receiving a bronze medal, unseating Romanian Catalina Ponor. Earlier in the competition Raisman had lost her shot at a bronze medal in the women’s individual all-around event when a “tiebreak rule” was invoked. One commentator noted, “In the balance beam final, the 18-year-old Raisman was on the right side of the rulebook.” “Aly Raisman Wins Bronze on Balance Beam After Inquiry, Tiebreak, Gabby Douglas Fall,” Huffington Post, http://www.huffingtonpost.
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com/2012/08/07/aly-raisman-gabby-douglas-fall-balance-beam_n_1751183.html. Accessed August 7, 2012. 32. Frank Saraceno, “Classic 1972 USA vs. USSR Basketball Game,” ESPN Classic, August 6, 2004 (http://espn.go.com/classic/s/Classic_1972_usa_ussr_gold_ medal_hoop.html). Accessed May 27, 2010. 33. “[P]olice officers and military troops shot into a crowd of unarmed students. Thousands of demonstrators fled in panic as tanks bulldozed over Tlatelolco Plaza.” “Mexico’s 1968 Massacre: What Really Happened.” NPR, December 1, 2008. Accessed July 24, 2012. This event led some to consider cancelling the games altogether. 34. Christopher Brasher, Mexico 1968: A Diary of the XIXth Olympics (London: Stanley Paul, 1968), 73. 35. It is worth noting that four years later the sting from Smith and Carlos’s actions was still felt. In the 1972 games (already tense because of the massacre of the Munich athletes), Vincent Matthews and Wayne Collett (black American track & field athletes) acted “casually” when receiving gold and silver medals as the US national anthem played: “Matthews and Collett, also African-Americans, did not face the flag. They stood casually, hands on hips, their jackets unzipped. They chatted and fidgeted. When the anthem ended and they climbed off the stand, the crowd booed. Matthews twirled his medal and Collett gave a black power salute. The I.O.C. called it a ‘disgusting display.’ ” As punishment Matthews and Collett were banned from the Olympics for life. Frank Litsky, “Wayne Collett, Track Medalist Barred Because of a Protest, Dies at 60,” New York Times, March 18, 2010. Accessed July 24, 2012. 36. Note that Smith and Carlos were not the only medal winners to stage a protest. Frank Murphy claims that runner Lee Evans also raised his hand: “Lee Evans was not in the photograph, although contemporary reports said that he mirrored the two men on center stage by standing near his own seat, pulling on his own black gloves, and raising his own hand. Lee denies this. He stood, he says, as one among many in the stunned crowd in the Olympic stadium. He listened as the abuse began to rumble. He was angry and excited and agitated. Doubtless, he did give a black power salute. But he did not pose self-consciously to create companionship with the men in the glare of publicity.” Frank Murphy, The Last Protest: Lee Evans in Mexico City (Kansas City, MO: Windspirit Press, 2006), 2. Murphy and another author suggest that Evans joined with other runners to protest in a later medal ceremony: the winners of the 4 × 400 meter relay team [including Lee Evans] “made their own, more cheerful, type of protest” as well, but Smith and Carlos received the bulk of the attention. James Carter, “Olympic Report 1968: Mexico and Grenoble” (London: Robert Hale, 1968), 48. 37. Roland Barthes, Mythologies (New York: Hill and Wang, 1972 [Orig. 1957]), 112. 38. Barthes, 116. Emphasis in the original.
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39. Murphy, The Last Protest: Lee Evans in Mexico City, 225. 40. Barthes, Mythologies, 135–136. 41. De Moragas, MacAloon and Llinés, eds. Olympic Ceremonies: Historical Continuity and Cultural Exchange, 12. 42. Barthes, Mythologies, 128. 43. François Carrard, “The Olympic Message in Ceremonies: The Vision of the IOC” in De Moragas, MacAloon and Llinés, eds. Olympic Ceremonies: Historical Continuity and Cultural Exchange, 23–24. 44. Murphy, The Last Protest: Lee Evans in Mexico City, 130. 45. Saraceno, “Classic 1972 USA vs. USSR Basketball Game.” 46. Liselotte Diem quoted in De Moragas, The Ceremonies: A Contribution to the History of the Modern Olympic Games 1996, 24. Liselotte Diem was a recognized scholar of physical education in Germany and the wife of Carl Diem, a German Olympic athlete and the Third Reich’s Secretary General of the Organizing Committee for the Berlin Games in 1936. Liselotte Diem served on the Organizing Committee for the 1972 Munich Olympic Games. 47. De Moragas 1996, quoting MacAloon, 25. 48. Barthes, Mythologies, 142. 49. Male athletes are not the only athletes to refuse medals. In 1994 ice skater Surya Bonaly felt she deserved a gold medal in the 1994 World Figure Skating Championships, and she refused briefly to stand on the silver medal platform during the awards ceremony. She was booed by the crowd when she refused to wear the silver medal presented to her. Jo Ann Schneider Farris, “Surya Bonaly— Ice Skating Legend,” About.com Guide, http://figureskating.about. com/od/famousfemaleiceskater1/p/suryabonaly.htm. Accessed July 24, 2012. This same dynamic occurs in any sporting arena in which an athlete is expected to signify some abstract ideal or moral quality associated with the sport. For example, Tiger Woods disappointed many as a professional golfer, not because he failed on the green, but because he failed in his personal life to signify fully the sport of golf’s ideals. 50. Murphy, The Last Protest: Lee Evans in Mexico City, 134. Note that Brundage has, over the years, been accused of anti-Semitism as well as an “anti-Black personality,” so it is possible that his anger over Smith and Carlos’s protest was fueled by racial prejudices as well as a commitment to respectable behavior by all the Olympic athletes. Murphy quotes Harry Edwards’s comments on Brundage’s prejudices (141). 51. Barthes, Mythologies, 22–23, 24. 52. Barthes, Mythologies, 129. 53. Segrave and Chu, Olympism, 376. My emphasis. 54. David Freedberg, The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 83. 55. Freedberg, Power of Images, 83.
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56. John Kieran, Arthur Daley, and Pat Jordan, The Story of the Olympic Games 776 B.C. to 1976 (New York: J.B. Lippincott Company, 1977), 156. 57. Jeremy Schapp, Triumph: The Untold Story of Jesse Owens and Hitler’s Olympics (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2007), 71. 58. Schapp, Triumph, 72. 59. This was compounded for some by the last-minute decision to replace two Jewish runners with black athletes, leading to charges that Hitler’s anti- Semitism had influenced American coaches. Jeremy Schaap writes, “He [runner Marty Glickman] theorized that the coaches and Brundage were anti-Semites and dropped him and [Sam] Stoller so as not to embarrass their German hosts by sending two Jews to the top of their medal stand.” Schaap, Triumph, 224. 60. Gloria Owens Hemhill, “Humiliating Hitler,” Newsweek, vol. 134, no. 17 (October 25, 1999). 61. Kieran, Daley, and Jordan, The Story of the Olympic Games 776 B.C. to 1976, 156. 62. Hemhill notes, “[Dad] was aware that Hitler had disappeared from the stadium and was shunning him. But he didn’t care. He was thinking about the pure joy of winning.” Gloria Owens Hemhill, “Humiliating Hitler,” Newsweek, vol. 134, no 17 (October 25, 1999). 63. Schaap, Triumph, 180. 64. Freedberg, 91. 65. James Cook, “Basketball, Handball and Volleyball” in Cook and Goodbody, ed., The Olympics 1972 (London: Robert Hale & Company, 1972). 66. Cook and Goodbody, eds., The Olympics 1972, 4. 67. The International Olympic Committee— One Hundred Years: The Idea— The Presidents—The Achievements. Vol. II. (Lausanne: International Olympic Committee, 1995, 133. 68. Cook and Goodbody, eds., The Olympics 1972 (London: Robert Hale & Company, 1972), 4. 69. For example, the International Olympic Committee refused a request by widows of the fallen Israeli athletes for a minute’s silence at the London Games. See “London Olympics: Widows’ Remembrance Refused,” Euronews, July 26, 2012, http://www.euronews.com/2012/07/26/london-olympics-munich-widows- remembrance-refused/. Accessed August 3, 2012. 70. Kieran, Daley, and Jordan. The Story of the Olympic Games: 776 B.C. to 1976, 419. 71. The United States and more than sixty other countries skipped the Games, but Vinokur notes that “the defection of most West European Olympic Committees embarrassed the Carter Administration. National politics in 1980 determined Olympic participation.” Vinokur, More Than a Game: Sports and Politics, 118. Newsweek called this the largest Olympic boycott in history, and it created national and international problems for President Carter’s administration at the time. “Where Sports Meets Politics,” Newsweek, vol. 152, no. 5 (August 4, 2008). 72. Vinokur, More Than a Game: Sports and Politics, 116.
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73. Vinokur, More Than a Game: Sports and Politics, 117. 74. Kieran, Daley, and Jordan, The Story of the Olympic Games, 453. 75. Kieran, Daley, and Jordan, The Story of the Olympic Games, 453. 76. Intriguingly, several scholars insist on a distinction between “nationalism” (perceived as negative) and “patriotism” (perceived as good). 77. Powell, Origins and Aspects of Olympism, 144–145. 78. J. M. (Jean) Leiper, “Political Problems in the Olympic Games” in Segrave and Chu, eds., Olympism, 121. 79. “Closing Ceremony,” http://www.london2012.com/spectators/ceremonies/ closing-ceremony/. Accessed August 8, 2012. 80. Kieran, Daley, and Jordan, The Story of the Olympic Games: 776 B.C. to 1976, 431. 81. Will Dooling, “Corporate Sin- washing: Embracing the Olympic Brand Pays Off for Sponsors,” The Center for Media and Democracy’s PR Watch, August 8, 2012, http://www.prwatch.org/news/2012/08/11691/corporate-sin- washing-embracing-olympic-brand-pays-sponsors. 82. Virginia Harrison, “Olympic Sponsorship: Is It Worth It?” CNN Money, http:// money.cnn.com/2014/01/29/news/companies/sochi-sponsors-investment/, January 29, 2014. Accessed September 23, 2014. 83. Dooling, “Corporate Sin-washing,” August 8, 2012. 84. Anthony Bond, “Olympic Officials Question if McDonald’s Should Continue Sponsoring the Games due to Obesity Concerns,” Mail Online, July 9, 2012, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2170810/Olympics-officials-question- McDonalds-continue-sponsoring-Games-obesity-concerns.html. 85. Segrave and Chu, Olympism, 370, 371. 86. Segrave and Chu, Olympism, 377. 87. Segrave and Chu, Olympism, 378. 88. Barthes, Mythologies, 142, 143. 89. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (New York: Verso, 1991 [Orig. 1983]), 6. 90. Segrave and Chu, Olympism, 22.
c h a p t er 5 1. Jihad al-Khazen, quoted in Hassan M. Fattah, “For Arab Critics, Hussein’s Execution Symbolizes the Victory of Vengeance Over Justice,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 2. In many parts of the Arab world, a person’s first name is his or her given name and the second name is typically the father’s name. As a result, in many cases the individual is referred to by his or her first name; this is the case with Saddam, so I will refer to him as “Saddam” throughout this chapter. 3. This massacre is sometimes referred to as al-karitha (“the disaster”) by Dujailis or as the “Iraqi Holocaust” more broadly.
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4. “Saddam Hussein Defiant in Court,” CNN World. October 20, 2005. (http://articles.cnn.com/2005-10-19/world/saddam.trial_1_raed-juhi-khalil-dulaimi-iraqi- special-tribunal?_s=PM:WORLD). Accessed May 31, 2012. 5. “In Washington, a United States District Court rejected an emergency motion filed Friday afternoon by lawyers for Mr. Hussein seeking to halt the execution on the grounds that it would interfere with pending civil litigations against him. Judge Kathleen Kollar-Kotelly ruled shortly after 9 p.m. that her court did not have jurisdiction to intercede.” Marc Santora, James Glanz, and Sabrina Tavernise, “Dictator Who Ruled Iraq With Violence Is Hanged for Crimes Against Humanity,” New York Times, December 30, 2006. 6. Demetri Sevastopul, Steve Negus “Saddam Hussein Executed in Baghdad,” The Financial Times Ltd., December 30, 2006. 7. “ ‘Joint criminal enterprise’ allows convictions of persons of the worst crimes on the basis of inferred intent (inferred, for instance, from his position of authority), a far lower threshold of proof than that required by other theories of liability.” John Laughland, A History of Political Trials: From Charles I to Saddam Hussein (Oxfordshire, England: Peter Lang, 2008), 246. 8. Phebe Marr, The Modern History of Iraq (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1985), 303. 9. Michael A. Newton and Michael P. Scharf, Enemy of the State: The Trial and Execution of Saddam Hussein (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2008), 99. 10. Hassan M. Fattah, “For Arab Critics, Hussein’s Execution Symbolizes the Victory of Vengeance,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 11. “UN Chief in Death-Penalty Row,” AlJazeera.Net, January 3, 2007 (http://www. english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2007/01/2008525124851). 12. Alan Cowell, “Around the World, Unease and Criticism of Penalty,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 13. For example, Al Jazeera referred to Saddam’s trial and execution as a “US- sponsored process.” “Saddam’s body in Tikrit for burial,” AlJazeera.Net, December 31, 2009 (http://english/aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/ 200852513501). 14. Quoted in Peter C. Valenti, “The Execution of Saddam Hussain: An Act of Justice or Revenge?” Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, vol. 26, no. 2 (March 2007), 28. 15. Tracy Wilkinson and Kim Murphy, “The Conflict in Iraq: Hanging Condemned,” Los Angeles Times, December 31, 2006. 16. Alan Cowell, “Around the World, Unease and Criticism of Penalty,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 17. Tracy Wilkinson and Kim Murphy, “The Conflict in Iraq: Hanging Condemned,” Los Angeles Times, December 31, 2006. 18. Tracy Wilkinson and Kim Murphy, “The Conflict in Iraq: Hanging Condemned,” Los Angeles Times, December 31, 2006.
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19. Alan Cowell, “Around the World, Unease and Criticism of Penalty,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 20. Tracy Wilkinson and Kim Murphy, “The Conflict in Iraq: Hanging Condemned,” Los Angeles Times, December 31, 2006, 10. 21. Others have suggested that the Secretary General was simply comfortable with the fact that Saddam was dead. 22. Facts on File, Inc., January 4, 2007. 23. Jim Rutenberg, “Bush Widens Iraq Criticism over Handling of Executions,” New York Times, January 17, 2007. 24. John F. Burns and Marc Santora, “U.S. Questioned Iraq on the Rush to Hang Hussein,” New York Times, January 1, 2007. 25. “Violence Hits Iraq as Saddam Hangs,” AlJazeera.Net, December 30, 2006 (http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/200852512201). 26. Hassan M. Fattah, “For Arab Critics, Hussein’s Execution Symbolizes the Victory of Vengeance,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 27. One notable exception to this is Tariq Ramadan, a well-known Muslim intellectual who has called for a moratorium on capital punishment in Muslim countries. His argument, however, is not that capital punishment is indefensible (it has a strong basis in Islamic law), but that the current system applies capital punishment unfairly, and so it must be withheld. Roger Hardy, “Muslim Thinker Fights Death Penalty,” March 30, 2005 (http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/ fr/-/2/hi/middle_east/4394863.stm). 28. “Iran Welcomes Saddam Execution,” AlJazeera.Net, December 30, 2006 (http:// english/aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/200852514383). 29. “Iran Welcomes Saddam Execution,” AlJazeera.Net, December 30, 2006 (http:// english/aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/200852514383). 30. Q 37:100–113. 31. Dahr Jamail and Ali Al-Fadhily, “Iraq: ‘Illegal’ Execution Enrages Arab World,” Global Information Network (New York: January 2, 2007), 1. 32. Hassan M. Fattah, “For Arab Critics, Hussein’s Execution Symbolizes the Victory of Vengeance,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 33. “Saddam’s Body in Tikrit for Burial,” AlJazeera.Net, December 31, 2006 (http:// www.english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/200852513501). 34. “Arab Press Debates Saddam Execution,” AlJazeera.Net, January 1, 2007 (http:// www.english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2007/01/200852514628). 35. One news source stated that Saddam was executed so quickly after his sentencing because of the prime minister’s “fear that Saddam might be the subject of an insurgent attempt to free him if the procedural wrangling over the execution was protracted.” James Glanz, “Iraq Defends Saddam Execution,” International Herald Tribune, January 3, 2007 (http://www.iht.com/bin/print. php?id=4090187).
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36. NBC News and news services, “Saddam Hussein Executed, Ending Era in Iraq,” MSNBC, December 30, 2006. 37. One source asserted that the Iraqi government leadership “telephoned the officials of the marjaiya, the supreme religious body in Iraqi Shiism, composed of ayatollahs in the holy city of Najaf. The ayatollahs approved.” John F. Burns and Marc Santora, “U.S. Questioned Iraq on the Rush to Hang Hussein,” New York Times, January 1, 2007. 38. Mark Juergensmeyer comments on the phenomenon of dramatic timing: “There are, after all, centralities in time as well as in space. Anniversaries and birthdays mark such special days for individuals; public holidays demarcate hallowed dates for societies as a whole.” Mark Juergensmeyer, Terrorism in the Mind of God, 123. 39. One source reported that Prime Minister al-Maliki facilitated the execution out of “fear that Saddam might be the subject of an insurgent attempt to free him if the procedural wrangling over the execution was protracted,” but this was not confirmed in other sources. James Glanz, “Iraq Defends Saddam Execution,” International Herald Tribune, January 3, 2007 (http://www.iht.com/bin/print. php?id=4090187). 40. Alan Cowell, “Around the World, Unease and Criticism of Penalty,” New York Times, December 30, 2006. 41. “Saddam Execution Angers Pilgrims,” AlJazeera.Net, December 30, 2006 (http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/200852514103). 42. “Saddam’s Body in Tikrit for Burial,” AlJazeera.Net, December 30, 2006 (http:// www.english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/200852513501). 43. Kate Thomas, “Execution ‘Should Not Have Happened on Our Holy Day,’” The Independent, January 1, 2007. 44. “Saddam’s Body in Tikrit for Burial,” AlJazeera.Net, December 30, 2006 (http:// english/aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2006/12/200852513501). 45. Mohamad Bazzi, “Executing Saddam,” Newsday, December 30, 2006. 46. Sabrina Tavernise, “Dividing Iraq, Even in Death,” New York Times, December 30, 2006. 47. Hassan M. Fattah, “For Arab Critics, Hussein’s Execution Symbolizes the Victory of Vengeance,” New York Times, December 30, 2006. 48. Jeff Zeleny and Helene Cooper, “Lawmakers Criticize Video of Hussein’s Final Minutes, New York Times, January 5, 2007 (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/ 05/world/middleeast/05policy.html). 49. Saddam requested to face a firing squad (and at least one other official recommended this). This request was denied—some have argued that in hindsight it might have been preferable to the hanging. 50. Paul J. Gough, “News Coverage Shows Restraint with Limited Saddam Footage,” hollywoodreporter.com, December 30, 2006.
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51. Samah Jabr, “A Sad Eid in Palestine Following the Execution of Saddam Hussein,” Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, vol. 26, no. 2 (March 2007), 27. 52. John F. Burns and Marc Santora, “U.S. Questioned Iraq on the Rush to Hang Hussein,” New York Times, January 1, 2007. 53. “Video Shows Saddam Being Taunted,” AlJazeera.Net, January 1, 2007 (http:// english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast//2007/01/200852512142). 54. John F. Burns and Marc Santora, “U.S. Questioned Iraq on the Rush to Hang Hussein,” New York Times, January 1, 2007. 55. David Christie, “Re-Evaluating the Execution of Hussein,” Daily Princetonian, February 21, 2007. Haddad’s statement was quoted widely. 56. “Iraq to Investigate Execution Video,” AlJazeera.net, January 2, 2007 (http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2007/01/200852512160). 57. Note that most sites that show the execution require that viewers sign in. They often include a statement indicating that viewers must be eighteen or older and that the content may be “inappropriate” for some viewers. 58. Television Week, January 8, 2007, editorial: “Execution Footage a Dilemma for TV News,” vol. 16, no. 2, 9. 59. Paul J. Gough, “News Coverage Shows Restraint with Limited Saddam Footage,” hollywoodreporter.com, December 31, 2006. 60. Susan Mizruchi, The Science of Sacrifice: American Literature and Modern Social Theory (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998), 274. 61. Mizruchi, 334. 62. “UN trying to halt 2 executions in Iraq—Africa & Middle East—International Herald Tribune.” New York Times, January 4, 2007. 63. Arwa Damon, “Grainy Video Stirring Outrage and Investigation,” CNN Newsroom, January 3, 2007. 64. George F. Will, “MacArthur’s Two Words,” Newsweek, January 15, 2007, 72. 65. Alessandra Stanley, “An Overnight Death Watch, and Then Images of the Hangman’s Noose,” New York Times, December 31, 2006, 14. 66. Mizruchi, 323. 67. Mizruchi, 324. 68. Newton and Scharf, 5. 69. Newton and Scharf characterize it as a trial “of missteps, misconceptions, and misstatements.” Newton and Scharf, 63. 70. Laughland, 245. 71. Laughland, 245. 72. Enemy of the State: The Trial and Execution of Saddam Hussein (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2008). Newton, a retired lieutenant colonel, indirectly helped to shape the Iraqi High Tribunal, and he was responsible for training the Tribunal judges. Scharf helped to establish the Yugoslavia Tribunal and was nominated (in his capacity as founder and director of the Public International Law and
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Policy Group) for a Nobel Peace Prize for his work in prosecuting major war criminals. Both Newton and Scharf have extensive experience in national and international war crimes law. 73. Newton and Scharf, 1, my emphasis. 74. The Americans denied any control over the proceedings, arguing that if they had been in control, many elements of the trial would have been conducted differently. 75. Newton and Scharf, 53. 76. Newton and Scharf, 2. 77. At one point they write, “the United States and its lawyers on the ground were relegated to the role of assisting, advising, and supporting the Iraqis.” Newton and Scharf, 43. 78. Newton and Scharf, 6. 79. Newton and Scharf, 7. The authors then go on to compare these Iraqis with the signers of the American Declaration of Independence. 80. The authors make comparisons with the trial of Charles I, commonly recognized as the first trial of a head of state, who, like Saddam, also challenged the authority of the court convened to try him. 81. Newton and Scharf, 4. 82. Laughland, 245–246. 83. Laughland. 237. 84. Laughland, 240. 85. Newton and Scharf suggest that this is true: “The American forces felt that they came to Iraq with a clear mission—to liberate a country and evict a dictator.” Newton and Scharf, 5–6. 86. Newton and Scharf, 48. 87. Laughland, 241–242. 88. Interestingly, in expressing his great frustration, Laughland criticizes it for being “a hybrid between a national and an international court.” Laughland, 244. 89. “Saddam’s Final Words,” The Daily Telegraph, December 30, 2006 (http://www. news.com/au/dailytelegraph/). 90. “Saddam’s Final Words,” The Daily Telegraph, December 30, 2006 (http://www. news.com/au/dailytelegraph/). 91. “Saddam’s Final Words,” The Daily Telegraph, December 30, 2006 (http://www. news.com/au/dailytelegraph/). 92. In The Gift of Death Jacques Derrida discusses the importance of owning one’s own death, “assuming responsibility for one’s own death… . How does one give oneself death in that other sense in terms of which se donner la mort is also to interpret death, to give oneself a representation of it, a figure, a signification or destination for it?… What is the relation between se donner la mort and sacrifice?” Jacques Derrida, The Gift of Death, Trans. David Wills (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 10.
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93. Quoted in Peter C. Valenti, “The Execution of Saddam Hussain: An Act of Justice or Revenge?” Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, vol. 26, no. 2 (March 2007), 28. 94. Mohamad Bazzi, “Executing Saddam,” Newsday, December 31, 2006. 95. Dahr Jamail and Ali Al-Fadhily. “Iraq: ‘Illegal’ Execution Enrages Arab World,” Global Information Network (New York: January 2, 2007), 1. 96. Hassan M. Fattah, “For Arab Critics, Hussein’s Execution Symbolizes the Victory of Vengeance,” New York Times, December 31, 2006. 97. Peter C. Valenti, “The Execution of Saddam Hussain: An Act of Justice or Revenge?” Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, vol. 26, no. 2 (March 2007), 28. 98. Dahr Jamail and Ali Al-Fadhily. “‘Illegal’ Execution Enrages Arab World,” Global Research (New York: January 2, 2007), http://www.globalresearch.ca/illegal- execution-enrages-arabs/4298. Accessed October 30, 2014. 99. Quoted in Valenti, 28. 100. Juergensmeyer, Terrorism, 167. 101. Mizruchi comments, “Martyrdom and lynchdom are complementary.” Mizruchi, 338. 102. Laughland, 251. 103. Bruce Lincoln, Authority (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 11. 104. Quoted in Valenti, 28. 105. Quoted in Valenti, 28. 106. Quoted in Valenti, 28. 107. Lincoln, 11. 108. Lincoln, 101, my emphasis. 109. Mizruchi, 76. I would elaborate on her statement to argue that sacrifice requires a “foundation” narrative for the society that implements the ritual; an “incidental” narrative that explains the specific sacrificial event; a “judicial” narrative that justifies the sacrifice as socially acceptable; and a “cosmic” narrative that gives the sacrifice meaning beyond its legal and ritual contexts. When sacrifice goes wrong, various elements of these narratives are either challenged or exposed as fraudulent in the first place.
c onc lusion 1. Ithamar Gruenwald, Rituals and Ritual Theory in Ancient Israel. The Brill Reference Library of Judaism, vol. 10 (Boston: Brill, 2003), 2. 2. Ute Hüsken, ed. When Rituals go Wrong: Mistakes, Failure, and the Dynamics of Ritual (Boston: Leiden, 2007). 3. Ronald L. Grimes, Ritual Criticism: Case Studies in Its Practice, Essays in Its Theory (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1990).
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4. Edward L. Schieffelin, “Introduction” in Ute Hüsken, ed., When Rituals go Wrong, 2. 5. Schieffelin, “Introduction,” 5. 6. Grimes, Ritual Criticism, 207. 7. Schieffelin, “Introduction,” 5. 8. Schieffelin, “Introduction,” 13. 9. Susan Mizruchi, The Science of Sacrifice: American Literature and Modern Social Theory (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998), 367. 10. Mizruchi, 15.
A p p e ndi x 1. Many of these examples come from Strack, The Jew and Human Sacrifice and “Medieval Sourcebook: A Blood Libel Cult: Anderl von Rinn, d. 1462” in Paul Halsall, Internet Medieval Source Book at http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/ source/rinn.asp (January 1999). Accessed July 30, 2012. 2. Christoph Gassenshmidt, “Khvol’son, Daniil Avraamovicch,” The YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe, http://www.yivoencyclopedia.org/article. aspx/Khvolson_Daniil_Avraamovich. Accessed July 31, 2012.
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Index
Page numbers followed by t or f indicate tables or figures, respectively. Numbers followed n indicate notes. ABC, 113, 156 abomination, 52–53 Afghanistan, 132 Africa, 89. See also specific countries Agni: The Vedic Ritual of the Fire Altar (Staal), 8 agnicayana ceremony, 8, 17–18 Agnihotra (fire-sacrifice), 20, 190n32 Akiva, Rabbi, 57 Albritton, David, 130 Alexander, Elizabeth Shanks, 57, 60, 193n18 Al Jazeera, 148–150, 153, 208n13 Almawla, Haytham, 147 Alter, Robert, 59 American Jewish Committee, 78 American Jewish Congress, 78 Amin, Rizgar Mohammed, 149 Anderson, Benedict, 137 Anderson, M. D., 68–69 Andrew of Rinn, 80, 199n117 al-Anfal campaign, 151 animal offerings, 20, 46 blood manipulation in, 47, 48–51 ‘ōlâ (whole burnt offering) ritual, 49 substitutes for, 190n28
anti-Semitism, 73–74, 78–79, 129–130, 186t, 205n50, 206n59 anxiety, 35–36, 54 Āpastamba Śrauta Sūtra, 21 apauruṣeya, 20 Arab names, 207n2 Arabs blood libels, 78 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 148, 150, 152–153, 168 Arbour, Louise, 146 `āšām sacrifices, 50 Asefi, Hamid Reza, 148 Asharq al-Awsat, 168 Ashkenazic Jewry, 84 Asia, 89. See also specific countries Associated Press, 154 athletes, 127–128, 136–137, 205n49. See also Olympic Games al-Attawi, Yahya, 165 Austin, J. L., 173–174 Austria blood libel cases, 184t, 185t, 199n117 Munich Olympic Games (1972), 111, 116–117, 123, 131–133, 204n35 authority, 166–169, 177–178
228
Index
Baath Party, 160 Bale, Anthony, 90–91 Balla, J., 184t bandhus (unseen connections), 24, 38 Barhum, Fawzi, 150 Bari, Muhammad Abdul, 144 bar mitzvah, 4 Barnavi, Eli, 70, 81 Barthes, Roland: mythologies, 118–126, 137 Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra, 11, 19, 21–22, 189n12 dvaidhasūtra material, 39 expiatory material against routinization of mistakes, 39–42 prāyaścitta material, 16–43 ritual mistakes that can occur, 23–33 sacrificial practice, 19–20 BBC News South Asia, 40–41 Beilis, Menahem Mendel, 73–74, 186t Belov, Alexander, 116 Benedict XVI, 145 Bessarabetz, 186t Biale, David, 80, 84–86, 196n31 Bible, 59–60, 94 guidelines for blood manipulation, 48–49 New Testament, 98 Old Testament, 94 ritual system, 51 Bildhauer, Bettina, 93–95, 102 Bin Laden, Osama, 2–3 bird blood, 49 birds: doves at modern Olympic Games opening ceremonies, 111–115, 120–121 black magic, 102–103 Black Power Movement, 106–108, 107f, 121, 136, 204nn35–36 Blaszczyk, Henryk, 186t blood as index of power, 85 menstrual, 17–18, 30, 51, 190n32, 193n18, 200n130
blood-cloth custom, 89 blood libels, 13–14, 65–105, 174, 197n68 consequences of, 88–91 evolution of, 74–79 example cases, 67–79, 183t–186t falsity of accusations, 79–81 geographic scope, 75–76 in Haiti, 102–103 history of, 74–79 Der jüdische Ritualmord (Schramm), 79 modernity and, 196n31 nature and significance of, 74–75, 91–105 origins of accusations, 81–88 as ritual disruption, 91–105 blood manipulation with bird blood, 49 Christian vs Jewish, 97 in first-fruits offerings, 50 guidelines for, 48–49 in Jewish sacrificial system, 47, 48–51, 57–60 in Mishnah, 51–53 penalties for errors, 54–56 and ritual theory, 60–62 that warrants kārēt, 54–56, 193n18 bodily fluids, contaminant, 29–30 Bohemia: blood libels, 88–89, 185t, 186t Bonaly, Surya, 205n49 “Bonum Universale de Apibus” (Thomas of Cantimpré), 81–82 Book of Acts, 98 border texts, 180 boycotts: of Olympic Games, 128–133, 135–136, 206n71 brahman priests, 19, 31–32 Bremer, Paul, 162–163 Brundage, Avery, 110, 124, 129, 131–133, 202n10, 205n50 Bry, Heinrich, 184t Bush, George W., 146–147, 152, 171–172 butter, clarified, 25, 27, 32–33
Index Caldwell, William, IV, 146 Campbell, Menzies, 146 cannibalism, 86–87, 97 Cantipratanus, Thomas, 183t capitalism, 136 capital punishment, 209n27. See also executions appropriate procedures, 156 as inhumane, 144–145 reactions to Saddam Hussein’s death sentence, 145–155, 165–166, 168 caricatures, 91–92 Carlos, John, 106–108, 107f, 111, 117–118, 121, 124, 134, 204nn35–36 Carter, James, 117–118 caru, 26 case studies, 12 Catholicism, 82. See also Roman Catholic Church cell phone video coverage of Saddam Hussein’s execution, 145, 152–157 Chakrabarti, Samiran Chandra, 21, 189n12 change, 179–180. See also substitutions Charles I, 212n80 Charlesworth, Michelle, 156 childbirth, 51, 193n18 Christian historiography, 90–91 Christianity, 43 doctrine of transubstantiation, 86–87, 96 theological development of, 82–83, 86–88, 94 Christians false accusations against Jews, 13–14, 65–105, 183t–186t, 197n68 Jewish converts, 82 martyrs, 69–70, 90 ritual misrepresentations, 95–97, 105 Christ killers, 82 Christmas ritual, 7 Christ mocking, 82
229
Chu, Donald, 109, 135–137 circumcision ritual, 75, 89, 104, 195n15 clarified butter, 25, 27, 32–33 Clement XIII, 75 Clement XIV, 80 Clooney, Francis X., 37 CNN, 154–155 Cohen, Shaye J. D., 191n1 Cold War, 123 Collett, Wayne, 204n35 Collins, Doug, 116 colonialism, 119–120, 119f commercialism, 134–136 confidence (śraddhā), 34 Conrad, 184t Cook, James, 116, 132 Corbin, Henri, 92 Corfu: blood libel, 76, 185t, 196n49 Coubertin, Pierre de, 14, 108–109, 111, 126–127 crones, 199n95 crucifixion, 97 Crusaders, 83 Crusades, 82–85 Cuba: boycott of Olympic Games, 132 cultural violence, 100–102, 104–105 Czech lands: blood libels, 76, 184t, 185t, 199n114 Leopold of Prague, 83–84 Daley, Arthur, 129, 133 Damascus Affair, 71–73, 77–78, 88, 185t Davis, Kenny, 116–117, 123 Dawa Party, 141, 143, 153, 160 dead body: caring for, 51 death: ownership of, 212n92 death penalty, 145. See also capital punishment; executions deceased ritual sponsors, 30 Deckert, Josef, 185t Derrida, Jacques, 212n92 Der Stuermer, 78, 197n62
230
Index
Despres, Denise L., 69 Diem, Carl, 202n13, 205n46 Diem, Liselotte, 112, 205n46 discourse false, 103–104 public, 167 Dolan, Jim, 156 Douglas, Mary, 94 doves: at modern Olympic Games opening ceremonies, 111–115, 120–121 Dow Chemical, 135 dramatic timing, 210n38 Duehring, Eugen, 78 al-Dujayl, Iraq, 143, 207n3 Duker, Abraham G., 78 Dundes, Alan, 66, 87, 199n117 Duvalier, François, 102 Duvalier, Jean-Claude, 103 dvaidhasūtras, 39 eating, ritual, 4 Ebstorf map, 199n111 economic rewards, 134–135 Edstrom, Sigfrid, 137–138 Eid al-Adha (Id al-Adha): Saddam Hussein’s execution during, 144–145, 147–153, 165–166, 168 Elijah, Rabbi, 200n132 elitism, 136 Elwert, Georg, 100–101 England blood libels, 68–70, 80, 82, 90–91, 183t, 184t, 195n15 criticism of Jews, 73 expulsions of Jews, 83 invasion of Iraq, 162–163 London Olympic Games (1948), 137–138 London Olympic Games (2012), 132, 203n31, 206n69 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s death sentence, 146
Eppens, Alfred J., 83 Ernst, Konstantin, 114 eschatological theology, 84 essentialism, 3 Ethiopia: boycott of Olympic Games, 132 Eucharist, 86 Europe. See also specific countries reaction to Saddam Hussein’s death sentence, 145–146, 168 Evans, Lee, 121, 204n36 exactitude (satya), 34 executions of Saddam Hussein, 14, 139–172, 174, 208n13, 209n35, 210n39, 210n49 of Jews, 70–71, 74, 76–77, 98–99, 183t, 184t public broadcasts of, 145, 152–157, 211n57 as religious sacrifices, 164–166 state-sponsored, 155–156 Exeter: Marquis of, 134 expiation, 23–24 common characteristics, 43 as fundamentally optimistic, 42 against routinization of mistakes, 39–43 systems of, 43 fairness, 125 Faisal, 77, 186t false accusations against Jews (blood libel), 13–14, 65–105, 183t–186t, 197n68 false discourse, 103–104 Fejes, Esther, 185t financial penalties, 40–41 financial rewards, 134–135 fire at modern Olympic Games Opening Ceremonies, 111–112, 202n13 sacrificial fires, 20, 24–26 first-fruits offering, 50 flags, 133–134
Index Floria (gypsy girl), 185t folklore, 85, 199n114 folk medicine, 90 Forbes, Gene, 116 Foucault, Michel, 156 Fox News, 154–155 France blood libels, 88, 183t, 185t criticism of Jews in, 71–72 Frank, Jacob, 82 Frankel, Jonathan, 71–72, 78–79 Frederick II, 80, 183t Freedberg, David, 127–128 Fulda affair, 82 full moon sacrifice, 20, 190n32 functionalism, 10 funeral rites, Javanese, 9–10 future directions, 181–182 Galicia: blood libel cases, 185t Gallico, Paul, 202n10 Gamaliel, Rabban, 6 Ganganelli, Cardinal, 73, 75–76, 80 gazing, 190n31 Geertz, Clifford, 9–10 Geiger, Abraham, 89 General Electric, 135 genocide, 151–152 Germany Berlin Olympic Games (1936), 111–112, 128–132, 206n59 blood libels, 78–80, 89, 183t, 184t, 197n62 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s death sentence, 146 Gilders, William, 49, 61–62 Glickman, Marty, 206n59 golem, 200n132 Golem, 199n114 Gonda, Jan, 19–20, 39 Goodbody, John, 116, 132 “The good Werner” of Oberwesel, 184t
231
Gottheil, Richard, 81–82, 85–86 grain-cake offerings, 32–33, 190n28 grains, śyāmāka, 26 Gregory of Tours, 90 Gregory VIII, 80 Griffiths, Barbara, 78, 186t Grimes, Ronald, 173–174 Gross, Abraham, 74–75, 89 Gruendwald, Ithamar, 3–4 guilt, 86–87 gypsies, 185t Haddad, Munir, 153 Haddad, Roula, 154 Haiti: blood libels, 102–103 Hajj, 148 halakhah, 45–46 Hamas, 148 Hames, Tim, 145 al-Hamid, Tariq, 168 Hansel, Anna, 78 ḥaṭṭā’t rites, 50–51 Havlinovà, Marie, 185t Heesterman, Jan C., 19 Hegmann, Johann, 185t Henry III, 183t Herbert of Huntingdon, 183t Hernery, David, 131–132 Hilsner, Leopold, 186t Hindu traditions, 19 historical violence, 99, 102 historiography, Christian, 90–91 Hitler, Adolf, 78, 129–131 Holy Child of La Guardia, 184t host desecration, 66 Hruza, Agnes, 186t Hubert, Henri, 16 Hugh of Lincoln, 183t Human Rights Watch, 144 humour, 114–115 Hungary: blood libel cases, 184t, 185t Hüsken, Ute, 173–174
232
Index
Hussein, Saddam, See Saddam Hussein Hutcheon, Linda, 59–60 Id al-Adha (Eid al-Adha): Saddam Hussein’s execution during, 144–145, 147–153, 165–166, 168 Ilah, Abdul, 159 imagery. See also symbols Christian, 94 imaginal community, 92–93 imaginal ritual, 92–93 imaginal world, 92 imagination, popular, 2–3 imagined violence, 98, 101–102 imagining community, 92–93 Imagining Religion (Smith), 5 impurity, 51 incarnational theology, 125 India: substitutes for animal offerings, 190n28 Innocent IV, 80 International Herald Tribune, 155 International Olympic Committee (IOC), 109 Internet: coverage of Saddam Hussein’s execution, 154, 211n57 Iran blood libels, 77, 186t reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 148 Iraq al-Anfal campaign, 151 Constitution, 147 Eid al-Adha, 148–149 execution of Saddam Hussein, 14, 139–1 72, 209n35, 210n39, 210n49 judicial system, 159–162 national ritual events, 14 penal code, 141, 143, 147, 149 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 150–151, 168 regime change, 161–162, 167
trial of Saddam Hussein, 14, 139–149, 159–163, 168–172, 208n13, 212n77 Western invasion of, 162–163, 212n85 Iraqi Holocaust, 143, 207n3 irony, 59–60 Israel blood libels, 77 and Olympic Games, 131–133 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 148 Jacobs, Joseph, 81–82, 85–86 James, M. R., 68 Jamison, Stephanie, 19 Japan: boycott of Olympic Games, 132 Jaquet, 184t al-Jarifani, Abdullah ibn Ibrahim, 165–166 Javanese funeral rites, 9–10 Jay, Nancy, 19 Al Jazeera, 148–150, 153, 208n13 Jewish folktales, 199n114 Jewish rituals, 13–14, 67, 74, 82, 198n80 blood libels and, 89, 91–92 blood manipulation errors and, 57–60 circumcision ritual, 75, 89, 104, 195n15 misrepresentation of, 91–105 Passover practices, 89, 100, 104 rules for, 56 Jews Ashkenazic Jewry, 84 caricature of, 91–92 as Christ killers, 82 converts to Christianity, 82 criticism of, 71–73 as deicides, 86 executions of, 70–71, 74, 76–77, 98– 99, 183t, 184t expulsions of, 70, 83 false accusations against (blood libel), 13–14, 65–105, 183t–186t, 197n68 isolation of, 88–89 marginalization of, 94 massacres of, 82–83
Index mischaracterization of, 91–105 as monsters, 93–97, 200n132 persecution of, 74, 83 pogroms against, 76–77, 83 suicidal acts, 84–85 torture of, 71, 98–99 violence against, 100 Johnson, Cornelius, 130 Jordan, Pat, 129, 133 Judah, R., 193n20 Judah ha-Nasi, 47, 57 Judaism, 56, 60, 88 judicial rituals, 167 Der jüdische Ritualmord (Schramm), 79 Juedische Rundschau, 74 Juergensmeyer, Mark, 166, 210n38 Kabbalah, 200n132 Kabbara, Nawaf, 147 Kaczynski, Lech, 145 Kalman, Julie, 71–72 Kane, P.V., 25 kārēt, 54–56, 193n18 al-karitha (“the disaster”), 207n3 Kashikar, C. G., 21–22, 189n12 Kātyāyana Śrauta Sūtra, 30 Khashan, Hilal, 151 al-Khazen, Jihad, 143–144 Khvol’son, Dani’il Avraaamovich, 185t Kiernan, John, 129, 133 Kieval, Hillel J., 76, 87–89, 91 kinship, essential, 157 Klawans, Jonathan, 193n18 Kristeller, Paul, 69–70 Kurds genocide of, 151–152 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 151, 168 Langham, Raphael, 90 Langmuir, Gavin I., 68–69, 93, 97, 105 language Arab names, 207n2
233
of sacrifice, 171–172 Lateran Council, 86 Laughland, John, 159, 161–163, 167 Leiper, Jean, 134 Leopold of Prague, 83–84 lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) sponsors, 135 Lévi, Sylvain, 34 Levine, Baruch, 49, 192n8 Levinsohn, Isaac Ber, 196n31 Leviticus, 79 Libya: reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 148 life difficulties, 25–26 Lincoln, Bruce, 167 literature. See also specific texts border texts, 180 Lithuania: blood libels, 75 Llinés, Montserat, 111 Loew ben Bezalel, Judah, 199n114, 200n132 Lombardi, Federico, 145 The Los Angeles Times, 145 Louis (or Ludwig) of Ravensburg, 184t Lowy, Hermann, 185t Luther Martin, 82 lynchings, 153–157, 213n101 MacAloon, John, 111, 124 Malamoud, Charles, 19 al-Maliki, Nouri, 141, 146–147, 149, 151, 165, 210n39 mandalas, 92 mantras errors associated with, 23–24 expiatory, 32 markets of violence, 100–101 Marr, Phebe, 143 martyrdom, 213n101 Christian, 69–70, 90 narratives of, 68, 91, 100 sacrificial, 164–166, 171 of Saddam Hussein, 139, 164–166, 171 Matthews, Vincent, 204n35
234
Index
The Matza of Zion, 77 Mauss, Marcel, 16 McCulloh, John M., 68 McDonald’s, 135 meaning, 37 meaninglessness, 20, 37 media coverage of Olympic Games, 133 of Saddam Hussein’s execution, 145, 152–157, 211n57 medicine, medieval, 85 medieval ritual murder, 196n37 Medjid, Abdul, 80 Meir, Golda, 77 Meir, Rabbi, 57 Mendes-Flohr, Paul, 71 Menger, Heinrich, 183t menstrual blood, 17–18, 30, 51, 190n32, 193n18, 200n130 Merkel, Angela, 146 Messersmith, George, 129 meta-rules (paribhāṣās), 37–38, 43 Mexico City Olympic Games (1968), 106–108, 107f, 111, 117–118, 132, 204nn35–36 Meyer, Paulus, 185t Michaels, Axel, 23 Middle Ages, 85, 102, 196n37 Middle East. See also specific countries reaction to Saddam Hussein’s death sentence, 168 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 148–151 Milgrom, Jacob, 49, 192n8 Mills, Robert, 94, 102 mīmāṃsās, 38–39 Mishnah, 6, 11, 13, 44–46, 51–52, 58–59, 174 on blood manipulation errors, 55–58, 60–62 organizational structure, 44–45 on ritual correction, 44–64
on ritual errors, 51–58, 60–62 on ritual penalties, 56 ritual rules, 56 on valid vs invalid sacrifice, 52 Mishnah Berachoth, 45, 56 Mishnah Parah, 52–55, 192n6 Mishnah Shabbat, 11, 193n18 Mishnah Zevachim, 13, 46, 48, 193n20, 193nn15–16 on blood manipulation, 51–55, 60–62 on ritual errors, 51–55, 60–62 misperformances. See also ritual mistakes at Olympic Games, 113–117, 120–123 misrepresentation blood libels, 13–14, 65–105, 183t–186t false discourse, 103–104 of Jewish ritual, 91–105 prevalence of, 175 of Vodou ritual, 102–103 Mizruchi, Susan L., 155–157, 172, 180 Mnich, Franciska, 185t modernity blood libels, 196n31 Christians, 88 Olympic Games, 14, 106–138 Al-Moharer, 165 Moller, Moriz, 186t monsters, 96–97 Jews as, 93–95, 200n132 Saddam Hussein as, 156–157 Moon, Ban Ki, 146 moon sacrifices, 20, 190n32 Moragas, Miguel de, 111 Moravia: blood libels, 88–89 Moussawi, Sayed Hassasn, 150 Muhammad Ali, 71 murder, ritual. See also executions blood libel, 13–14, 65–105 blood libel cases, 67–79, 183t–186t consequences of blood libels, 88–91 definition of, 66
Index falsity of accusations of, 79–81 theological rationales for, 81–82 Murphy, Frank, 121, 204n36 al-Musawwar, 77 Muslims, 3, 13–14 blood libel cases against, 186t reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 149–150 mystics, Christian, 85 myths Barthes’s notion of, 118–126, 137 challenges to, 126 Olympic, 120, 124, 137 weapons against, 121 national flags, 133–134 nationalism, 133–134, 136 Nazis, 78–79, 197n62 Neusner, Jacob, 59 new moon sacrifice, 20, 190n32 Newsday, 150, 165 New Testament, 98 Newton, Michael A., 157, 159–161, 163, 211–212n72 The New York Times, 143–144, 146, 149, 153–154 Nicaragua: boycott of Olympic Games, 132 Nicholas II, 76–77 nocturnal emissions, 51 Normal, Peter, 117 North Korea: boycott of Olympic Games, 132 Norwich Playhouse, 90 oath of office, 1–2 Obama, Barack Hussein, 1–2 Ocker, Christopher, 66, 85–87, 90 offerings, 24, 26–27 animal, 20, 46–51, 190n28 defiled, 29
235
first-fruits, 50 grain-cake, 32–33, 190n28 ‘ōlâ (whole burnt offering) ritual, 49 slain, 46 substitutions, 27–28, 190n28 valid vs invalid, 52–53 ‘ōlâ (whole burnt offering) ritual, 49–50 Old Testament, 94 Olympic Charter, 109–110, 123 Olympic Games, 14, 106–138, 202n10 Athens (1896), 109 Atlanta (1996), 112 Award Ceremonies, 106–108, 107f, 110–111, 116–131, 174 Berlin (1936), 111–112, 128–132, 206n59 boycotts, 128–133, 135–136, 206n71 Closing Ceremonies, 108, 110–111, 134, 137–138 disrupted, 128–131 London (1908), 134, 206n69 London (1948), 137–138 London (2012), 132, 203n31 Los Angeles (1984), 132 Mexico City (1968), 106–108, 107f, 111, 117–118, 132, 204nn35–36 misperformances, 113–117, 120–123 Moscow (1980), 132–133, 136, 206n71 Munich (1972), 111, 116–117, 123, 131–133, 204n35 mythic nature of, 120, 124, 137 Opening Ceremonies, 108, 110–115, 120–121, 130 as rituals, 128–131 Seoul (1988), 111–112, 132 Sochi Winter Games (2014), 111, 113–115 spectators vs witnesses at, 126–128 sponsorship of, 134–135 television coverage of, 133 threats to, 131–136 Olympic Movement, 110 Olympism, 108–110, 120–121, 123, 127, 136
236
Index
optimism, 42 Orthodox Eastern Church, 87 Ottokar II, 81 Ousterhoudt, R. G., 110 Owens, Jesse, 129–130 ownership of death, 212n92 Oxner, Andreas, 184t Paidjan funeral rite, 9–10 Palestinians, 136 Panasonic, 135 Parade of Nations, 130 parah, 192n6 paribhāṣās (“meta-rules; Sūtras about Sūtras”), 37–38 Paris-Match, 119–120, 119f Passover, 89, 100, 104 Patterson, Orlando, 155 Patton, Laurie, 19 Paulaskas, Modestas, 116 penalties for blood manipulation errors, 54–56 death penalty, 145. See also capital punishment; executions financial, 40–41 for ritual mistakes, 40–41, 54–56 perfection, ritual, 177–178 performance infelicitous, 173–174 misperformances at Olympic Games, 113–117, 120–123 ritual as, 38–39, 173–174 Perkins, Carl, 56, 193n22 Permai, 9–10 Pfefferkorn, Johannes, 80 Picciotto, Isaac, 195n21 pie metaphor, 3, 179, 181–182 pigeons: at modern Olympic Games opening ceremonies, 111–115, 120–121 Piṇḍapitṛyagña, 190n32
Pliny the Younger, 87 Plutarch, 5 Poland blood libels, 75–77, 186t reaction to Saddam Hussein’s death sentence, 145–146 political views, 148–151 polytheism, 3 Ponor, Catalina, 203n31 popular imagination, 2–3 Powell, John, 133–134 Prague blood libels, 185t, 199n114 Leopold of Prague, 83–84 pravacana form, 189n12 prāyaścittas, 21, 189n11 Baudhāyana Śrauta Sūtra material, 16–43 expiatory material against routinization of mistakes, 39–42 prayer, 60 priests, 35 brahman, 19, 31–32 doubt in, 35–36 key role of, 39 qualified, 29 rabbinic argumentation, 192n3 ritual sabotage by, 34–35 Procter & Gamble, 135 Prodi, Romano, 145–146 projective inversion, 86–87 protests, 121, 204nn35–36 Protocols of the Elders of Zion, 78 provocations, 111 Prussia: blood libels, 89, 185t, 186t psychosexual drama, 87 public broadcasts of Olympic Games, 133 of Saddam Hussein’s execution, 145, 152–157, 211n57 public discourse, 167
237
Index public ritual, 167 public sacrifice, 157 purification, ritual, 40–41, 49 purity, 30, 51 pūtīkā, 28, 190n30 Putin, Vladimir, 113 Pyne, Billy, 112 Qatar: reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 149 qualified priests, 29 Qur’an, 141, 165 rabbinic argumentation, 192n3 racism, 136, 155, 205n50 Rahman, Abdul, 151 Raisman, Aly, 203n31 Ramadan, Tariq, 209n27 Al-Rayah, 144 Reader, Ian, 76–77 red cards, 141 regime change, 161 Reinharz, Jehuda, 71 religion. See also specific religions as terrorism, 104 religious sacrifice. See also sacrifice execution as, 164–166, 171 Renou, Louis, 189n12 research, 7–10, 181–182 retributive violence, 98–99, 102 Reuters News, 1 Rhineland: blood libel cases, 184t Rhodesia, 132 Richard of Pontoise, 183t Rishwan, Dia, 168 Ritter, Moses, 185t ritual(s), 2–3 adjustments, 8–9, 11–12, 17–18, 29, 175, 193n18 agnicayana, 8, 17–18 changes, 63–64
characterization of, 61 Christmas, 7 circumcision, 75, 89, 104, 195n15 cleansing ceremonies, 40–41 colliding systems, 139–172 common characteristics, 43 definition of, 3–7 description of, 2 eating as, 4 elasticity of, 38, 43 expiatory, 40–41, 43 expression of, 173 false discourse about, 103–104 family resemblances, 3 ḥaṭṭā’t rites, 50–51 imaginal, 92–93 Javanese funeral rites, 9–10 Jewish, 13–14, 56–60, 67, 74, 82, 91–105, 198n80 judicial, 167 meaninglessness of, 20, 37 in Mishnah, 61–62 Muslim, 3 ‘ōlâ (whole burnt offering), 49 Olympic Games, 128–131 as ought, 40, 61 as performance, 38–39, 173–174 Platonic form for, 63–64 power of, 5 public, 167 as pure activity, 189n6 purificatory, 40–41 purity of participants, 30 rabbinic knowledge of, 64 sacrificial, 47–48 Saddam’s execution as, 157–163 scholarship on, 7–10 as self-contained, 37 significance of, 179 soma rites, 20, 28, 190n30 as spectrum, 4
238 ritual(s) (Cont.) substitions, 27–29, 38, 112, 190n28, 190n30, 190n32 tānūnaptra rite, 191n42 Temple rites, 46 Vedic, 8, 17–19, 36–42, 177–178 violence that accompanies, 101–102, 104 Vodou ritual, 102–103 women’s participation, 8–9, 17–18, 136, 190n32, 193n18, 199n95 “Ritual and Social Change: A Javanese Example” (Geertz), 9–10 ritual disruption(s), 12 accommodation of, 181–182 blood libel, 91–105 case studies, 12 as constructive, 180 definition of, 173–175, 179–180 interpretation of, 172 at Olympic Games, 106–108, 107f, 110–111, 128–134, 137–138 prevalence of, 175 Saddam Hussein’s trial and execution, 169–172 significance of, 179, 181–182 between systems, 139–172 types of, 174 Vedic tradition and, 17–19 ritual gone wrong, 1–15. See also misperformances; ritual disruption(s); ritual mistakes rituality, 4 ritualized violence, 98, 102 ritual manuals: śrautasūtras, 20–21 ritual materials, 26 ritual mistakes, 1–3, 7–10, 177 absorption of, 11–12 correction of, 44–64, 174 expiatory material works against routinization of, 39–43 in mantras, 23–24
Index in Mishnah, 44–64 penalties for, 40–41, 54–56 in popular imagination, 2–3 prāyaścitta reparations for, 16–43 prevalence of, 175 reparation for, 23–24, 31–33 in ritual space, 24 in Vedic sacrifice, 23–33 ritual murder. See also executions blood libels, 13–14, 65–105, 183t–186t definition of, 66 medieval, 196n37 ritual perfection, 177–178 ritual purification, 49 ritual sabotage, 23, 34–36 ritual space, 24, 61 ritual speech, 24 ritual sponsors, deceased, 30 ritual studies, 7–10, 181–182 ritual theory, 36–42, 48, 173, 176–180 blood manipulation errors and, 60–62 colliding ritual systems and, 169–172 ritual violence, 98–99 Al-Riyadh, 165–166 Roberts, John, 1–2 Rogge, Jacques, 135 Roman Catholic Church, 3, 70, 73, 82 doctrine of transubstantiation, 86–87, 96 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 145–146 Romania: blood libel cases, 185t Rosen, Jeffrey, 1 Rossiya 1, 113 Roth, Cecil, 68, 196n37 Rothschild, Lord, 73 Rothschild-Jew figure, 71–72 routine, 180 routinization, 5 al-Rubaie, Mouwafak, 141, 149 Rudolph, 184t
Index rules, 36 for Jewish rituals, 56 meta-rules (paribhāṣās), 37–38, 43 Rules Without Meaning (Staal), 8–9, 37 Russia blood libels, 76–77 criticism of Jews, 73 Moscow Olympic Games (1980), 132–133, 136, 206n71 Sochi Winter Games (2014), 111, 113–115 Rybachenko, Mikhail, 77, 186t sabotage prevalence of, 175 ritual, 23, 34–36 sacrifice animal offerings, 20, 46–51, 190n28 `āšām sacrifices, 50 execution as, 171 Jewish system, 57–60 language of, 171–172 mistakes that can occur during, 23–31 ‘ōlâ (whole burnt offering) rituals, 49–50 public, 157 religious, 164–166, 171 šĕlāmîm sacrifices, 50 self-sacrificial violence, 99–100, 102 as storytelling, 172, 213n109 Temple, 47, 56 valid vs invalid, 52–53, 55 Vedic, 19–31 Yom Kippur, 50 sacrificial fires, 24–26 sacrificial martyrdom, 164–166, 171 sacrificial utensils, 26 Saddam Hussein, 161 arrest of, 142–143 capture of, 140, 162–163 charges against, 140–143, 151–152 as devout Muslim, 165
239
execution of, 14, 139–172, 174, 208n13, 209n35, 210n39, 210n49 imprisonment of, 168 as monster, 156–157 as prisoner of war, 148 as sacrificial martyr, 139, 164–166, 171 sentencing of, 14, 139–141, 144–147 trial of, 14, 139–149, 159–163, 168–172, 208n13, 212n77 al-Sadr, Muhammad Bakr, 153 al-Sadr, Muqtada, 153 Salah, Raed, 77 Samely, Alexander, 45, 192n3 Samsung, 135 Saraceno, Frank, 123 śara grass, 26 Śatapatha Brāhmaṇa, 20 satya (exactitude), 34 Saudi Arabia blood libels, 77, 186t reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 148 Schaap, Jeremy, 202n13, 206n59 Scharf, Michael P., 157, 159–161, 163, 211–212n72 Scheler, Max, 157 Schieffelin, Edward L., 173–174, 178 Schmidt, Bettina E., 102–105 scholarship on ritual, 7–10 Schramm, Hellmut, 79 Schröder, Ingo W., 104–105 Schultz, Magdalene, 83 sectarianism, 168 Segrave, Jeffrey, 109, 135–137 šĕlāmîm sacrifices, 50 self-sacrificial violence, 99–100, 102 semen, 30 sexism, 136 Shahada, 153 Shaler, Nathaniel, 157 Sharp, Carolyn, 59–60
240
Index
Al-Sharq, 149 Shema: recitation of, 6, 56 Shiite Muslims, 143, 148–151, 166, 168 Simon of Trent, 69–70, 80, 184t, 195n15 Singer, Sholoom A., 83 sin-washing, 135 slain offerings, 46 Smith, Brian K., 19, 34–35 Smith, Frederick M., 25, 30–31, 38 Smith, Gary, 123 Smith, Jonathan Z., 3–7, 10, 40, 60–61, 187n6 Smith, Tommie, 106–108, 107f, 111, 117–118, 121, 124, 134, 204nn35–36 Smith, William Benjamin, 155 socialism, 136 Socrates, 196n37 Solymosi, Esther, 185t soma rites, 20, 28, 190n30 South Africa, 132 South Korea: Seoul Olympic Games (1988), 111–112, 132 Spain: blood libel cases, 184t, 185t spectators, 126–128 sponsorship deceased ritual sponsors, 30 of Olympic Games, 134–135 state-sponsored executions, 155–156 sport, world, 137. See also Olympic Games śraddhā (confidence), 34 Śrautasūtra, 189n15 śrauta sūtras, 6, 11, 13, 20–21, 43, 189n12, 190n30 Staal, Frits, 10, 17–20 Agni: The Vedic Ritual of the Fire Altar (AGNI), 8 Rules Without Meaning, 8–9, 37 Stacey, Robert C., 86 Statute of Kalisz, 80–81 Stillman, Norman, 78 Stoller, Sam, 206n59
storytelling narratives of martyrdom, 68, 91, 100 sacrifice as, 172, 213n109 Strack, Hermann L., 81–82, 85–86, 196n49 Der Stürmer, 78, 197n62 Sturt, Godwin, 68 substitutions, 27–29, 38 for animal offerings, 190n28 at modern Olympic Games opening ceremonies, 112 for soma, 28, 190n30 for women, 190n32 Suler, Eisik, 185t Sunni Muslims, 148–149, 151, 165–166 superstition, 85–86 śyāmāka grains, 26 symbols, 92 absent signifiers, 121 compliant signifiers, 120–121 national, 134 resistant signifiers, 121 ritual elements, 112–113 Syria: Damascus Affair, 71–73, 77–78, 88, 185t Taittirīya school, 189n12 Takal, Andreas, 185t Talmud, 44–45 Tandler, David, 185t tannaim, 191n1 tānūnaptra rite, 191n42 television coverage of Olympic Games, 133 of Saddam Hussein’s execution, 152–153 Telushkin, Joseph, 197n62 Temple rites, 46 Temple sacrifice, 47, 56, 60 terrorism at Munich Olympic Games (1972), 131–133 religion as, 104
Index Thanksgiving, 179, 181–182 theology Christian, 82–83, 86–88, 94 eschatological, 84 incarnational, 125 rationales for ritual murder, 81–82 Thomas (Father), 185t Thomas of Cantimpré, 81–82 Thomas of Monmouth, 68–69, 82, 91 The Times, 71, 145 timing dramatic, 210n38 as fundamental component of ritual, 61 of Saddam Hussein’s execution, 144–145, 147–153, 165–166, 168 Tommaso (Padre), 71 Tonton Macoutes, 102 Torah, 55 torture of Jews, 71, 98–99 by Tonton Macoutes, 102–103 Tosefta, 193n22 Trajan, 87 Transcaucasia: blood libel cases, 185t transubstantiation, 86–87, 96 Transylvania: blood libel cases, 185t Tunisia, 132 Ukraine: blood libels, 73, 186t unfairness, 125 Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR): Moscow Olympic Games (1980), 132–133, 136, 206n71 United States 1972 basketball team, 116–117, 121, 123–124 1992 basketball team, 136 Atlanta Olympic Games (1996), 112 blood libels, 78, 186t boycott of Olympic Games, 132, 206n71 Carter Administration, 206n71
241
constitutional law, 1 and execution of Saddam Hussein, 146–147 invasion of Iraq, 162–163, 212n85 at London Olympic Games (1908), 134 Los Angeles Olympic Games (1984), 132 oath of office, 1–2 presidential inauguration, 1–2 reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution, 154–155 and trial of Saddam Hussein, 144, 212n77 United States Constitution, 1 unseen connections (bandhus), 24 Urban II, 82–83 utensils, sacrificial, 26 Vādhūla Śrauta Sūtra, 189n12 Valenti, Peter C., 168 Valréas (Vaucluse) case, 80 Vatican, 73, 145–146. See also Roman Catholic Church Vedas, 19–20 Vedic tradition, 17–19, 36–42, 177–178 expiatory practices, 39–43 as performed, 38–39 repairs, 31–33 sacrifice, 19–33 Venugopal, K. C., 41 vessels (sthālī), 26 victory ceremonies. See Olympic Games video coverage of Saddam Hussein’s execution, 145, 152–157 Vinokur, Martin Barry, 132–133 violence cultural, 100–102, 104–105 forms that accompany ritual, 101–102, 104 historical, 99, 102 imagined, 98, 101–102 against Jews, 100 markets of, 100–101
242 violence (Cont.) retributive, 98–99, 102 ritual, 98–99 ritualized, 98, 102 self-sacrificial, 99–100, 102 Vita et passio Sancti Willemi martyris Norwicensis (Thomas of Monmouth), 68, 91 Vodou ritual, 102–103 Vyāhṛtis, 32 Wagenseil, Johann Christoph, 79–80 Walaclawek, Philomena, 186t Al-Watan, 149 Weber, Max, 5 Werner of Oberwesel, 184t West Germany, 132 West Prussia: blood libel cases, 186t When Rituals Go Wrong (Hüsken, ed), 173–174 Will, George F., 156 William of Norwich, 68–69, 82, 90–91, 183t Wimhurst, Karen, 90
Index Winter, Ernest, 186t Winternitz, M., 20–21 witches, 199n95 witnesses, 126–128 Wolf, Lucien, 73–74 women’s participation, 136, 190n32 adjustments for, 8–9, 17–18, 193n18 witches, 199n95 Woods, Tiger, 205n49 World Figure Skating Championships, 205n49 wrestling, 125–126 Yom Kippur sacrifice, 50 YouTube, 154 Yushchinsk, Andrei, 186t Yustschchinsky, Andre, 73 Yuval, Israel Jacob, 84–85 Zirin, Dave, 135 zombies, 102–103 Zvi, Shabbetai, 82 Zweifel, Françoise, 122