Testing the Boundaries : Self, Faith, Interpretation and Changing Trends in Religious Studies [1 ed.] 9781443828277, 9781443826693

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Testing the Boundaries

Testing the Boundaries: Self, Faith, Interpretation and Changing Trends in Religious Studies

Edited by

Patricia ‘Iolana and Samuel Tongue

Testing the Boundaries: Self, Faith, Interpretation and Changing Trends in Religious Studies, Edited by Patricia ‘Iolana and Samuel Tongue This book first published 2011 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2011 by Patricia ‘Iolana and Samuel Tongue and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-2669-3, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-2669-3

To all those who test the boundaries, keep up the struggle to communicate and have the courage to tread in the liminal space, we dedicate this work.

Your current safe boundaries were once unknown frontiers. ~Unknown~

TABLE OF CONTENTS    List of Illustrations .................................................................................... ix Preface ....................................................................................................... xi Professor David Jasper Acknowledgements ................................................................................. xiii Introduction ............................................................................................... 1 Patricia ‘Iolana YPART I YSelf Image: Re-imaging the Self and the Divine Patricia ‘Iolana............................................................................................ 9 YRadical Images of the Feminine Divine: Women’s Spiritual Memoirs Reveal a Thealogical Shift Patricia ‘Iolana.......................................................................................... 13 YThe Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self) Rasa Lutyze .............................................................................................. 31 YPART II YFaith, Hope and Religious “Otherness” Samuel Tongue ......................................................................................... 51 Y Hope and Otherness: Christian Eschatology in an Interreligious Horizon Jakob Wirén.............................................................................................. 57 Y Citizenship in Muslim Communities of Europe: A Conceptual Investigation Erol Firtin ................................................................................................. 71

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YPART III YInterpretation: Struggles to Communicate Samuel Tongue ......................................................................................... 91 Y The Term Question in China: The Theological Factors behind the Translation of Shangti as the Term for “God” in the Chinese Bible in the Nineteenth Century Daniel Sungho Ahn .................................................................................. 95 Y Sacred River’s Pure Pollution: Clarifying Communication in the Debate Over the Status of the Ganges Wynter Miller ........................................................................................ 115 Y Dancing Between the Disciplines: The Mobile Bible Samuel Tongue ....................................................................................... 127 YPART IV YChanging Trends: Moving Beyond Traditional Boundaries Patricia ‘Iolana........................................................................................ 149 Y Spiritual Education: The Case of Student Nurses’ Experiences of Learning about Spirituality and Spiritual Care Dr. Beth Seymour ................................................................................... 153 Y Nomadic Theology: Crossing the Lines of Traditions in Theology Elizabeth Chloe Erdmann ....................................................................... 177 Y Inter-religious Dialogue: Changing How We Communicate Dr. Maureen Sier .................................................................................... 195 Endnote Dr. Maureen Sier .................................................................................... 207 List of Contributors ................................................................................ 209 Index....................................................................................................... 213

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures 1.1. A greeting poster in the entrance hall of the Jáki Kápolna Church in Budapest

Tables 4.1 Nominal Group Technique: Year 3 pre-registration students (38) 4.2 Nominal Group Technique: Year 4 undergraduates (6) 4.3 Nominal Group Technique: In-service students (5) 4.4 Themes identified from the analytical and interpretive processes 4.5 Extracts from the SEQ



PREFACE  The essays collected in this volume began as papers read at the 2009 annual conference of the Graduate School for Arts and Humanities in the University of Glasgow, Scotland. Diverse though they are in subject, together they develop a common theme which expresses the universal question of the future of spiritual consciousness and articulation at a time when old theological certainties and their guardian institutions in the West are almost all declining or even irrevocably past, and when we all live in multicultural societies which present us with broad perspectives and challenges, not least in questions of religious faith and commitment, that are entirely new in human experience. As never before we have come to realize that we are all members of one human family, and are thus called to be united in our humanity despite ancient cultural barriers and prejudices. In the biblical tradition theological articulation begins close to the dawn of human time within nomadic societies who were called to wander far from their homes and places of origin. One of the earliest creedal statements known to us begins with the admission that “a wandering Aramean was my father.” Perhaps only now, as Chloe Erdmann suggests, we are relearning that theology itself is not fixed and prescriptive but of its very nature nomadic and restless, complex in its affiliations with and freedoms from established traditions of faith and belief. Only when we have begun to absorb this lesson can we start again to take fully seriously the complexity of theology’s languages in exchange and translation, and thus to own it as both and at once particular and specific, and global and universal. Only then will we begin to appreciate the mystery of divine residence within language and the different yet ultimately familiar resonances of diverse linguistic families. As we grow closer in this realization we can begin to become more responsible towards the claims of different communities of faith that exist within our society, as well as dare to imagine the divine within diverse families of metaphors once separated by seemingly unbridgeable barriers of gender, race and creed. The new demands of interdisciplinarity invite us to inhabit the symbolic universe through fresh forms of discourse drawn from psychoanalysis, studies of myth and ritual, sociology – the list continues to grow - enabling us to re-imagine that which was once constrained by rigid systems of faith and order, making new connections and releasing for us different forms of

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spirituality and thus new pathways to the divine. Such acts of re-imagining, these essays suggest, can offer us new ways of perceiving and inhabiting the fragile world which is our home and for which we have the responsibility of care. We may also begin once again to appreciate the realm of the spiritual as central to the support given to us through the caring professions, not as peripheral and optional but utterly crucial to our understanding of health, integrity and human well-being. Samuel Tongue’s image of dancing between the disciplines is delightful and liberating, opening up spaces where before there has too often only been repression and the imposition of authority. Nowhere is this more the case for many of us than in the reception and reading of the Bible, a collection of ancient texts with enormous traditional authority, now waning, but which may yet offer genuine and freely humane ways forward, without the heavy hand of conclusion and definition, in the crises which beset our culture on every side. One common theme which runs through all these essays, overtly or covertly, is the promise of hope. We can share the hope that it is precisely in otherness and religious complexity that the human future may be celebrated without violence or suspicion. In such a hope we may rejoice that the other remains different from ourselves, but is not therefore excluded from our most profound concerns and affiliations. Indeed, quite to the contrary. We have much to learn from these essays, offered to the reader by a new generation of scholars of religious studies who are at once deeply committed to the spirituality and faith of the past, but embedded in a wholly realistic sense of the present, and daring to anticipate imaginatively a shared future for self and the other in our global societies. There words are on the boundaries and yet at the very heart of life lived humanely in the presence of the Divine. —Professor David Jasper

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Honoured by the task of editing an interdisciplinary anthology that tests the boundaries of traditional theological discourse and religious reflection, the editors would like to acknowledge our deepest gratitude for the generous assistance of a number of significant individuals. Their contributions were integral to the creation and subsequent publication of this work, and we are sincerely indebted to: Dr. Fiona Darroch and Professor David Jasper, both of the University of Glasgow, who were instrumental in every phase of the conference; the University of Glasgow Graduate School of Arts & Humanities for funding the three day event; Professor Jasper for generously writing the “Preface” to this text; the conference planning committee and our outstanding guest speakers Carol P. Christ, Dr. Maureen Sier and Dr. Julia Sallabank who graciously joined us in Glasgow and not only sparked but also engaged in provocative dialogues throughout the weekend; the international scholars and faculty in attendance of the 7th Annual Conference of the Graduate School of Arts and Humanities entitled “Communicating Change: Weaving the Web into the Future” for their participation, thought-provoking questions, and contributions which not only made the conference a great success but also provided the impetus for this text; our colleagues Rasa Lutyze, Jakob Wirén, Erol Firtin, Daniel Sungho Ahn, Wynter Miller, Dr. Beth Seymour, Elizabeth Chloe Erdmann, and Dr. Maureen Sier for their brilliant work, patience and diligence over the past eighteen months; Dr. Heather Walton, Professor Yvonne Sherwood, and Professor Werner Jeanrond (from Theology and Religious Studies) for providing us with a supportive academic environment in which to work; e-Sharp Editor Dorian Grieve and his peer review team who provided critical assistance during the initial phase of double-blind review, Laura Jeacock for her fabulous painting “Light Creates Shadow” the centre of which generously graces our cover, and, finally, Amanda Millar and Carol Koulikourdi of Cambridge Scholars Publishing for their advice, patience and the opportunity to publish this important collection of works. On a more personal note, I am eternally grateful to my co-editor Samuel Tongue not only for collaborating with me on this text, but also on the e-Sharp Special Edition Communicating Change: Representing Self and Community in a Technological World – the first product of this

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conference. He has been a joy to work with and has proved himself an admirable academic partner. These publications would not exist without him. —Patricia ‘Iolana University of Glasgow 11 August 2010

INTRODUCTION PATRICIA ‘IOLANA

It is change, continuing change, inevitable change that is the dominant factor in society today. No sensible decision can be made any longer without taking into account not only the world as it is, but the world as it will be. —Isaac Asimov

For millennia, human beings have been contemplating the cosmogony of the known world. Where did life come from? What is our place in this world? Do we have a purpose on this small blue planet? Is there a God? If so, what is our relationship with the Great Creator? Moreover, where is God? Is God transcendent and separate from humanity, or is God immanent and part of humanity and of the earth? Can God be both? These questions have been postulated philosophically, theologically, artistically and scientifically. Yet, despite a transitory Western culture that is witnessing the rise of secular societies and neo-atheist writers, a decrease in church attendance, and an increase in multi-religious identities we continue to ponder these age-old and deeply-personal questions which come from the very core of our being. We may struggle with belief especially in times that test our strength, and in some instances, we can lose our faith completely or, conversely, (re)discover it suddenly through an unexpected Divine experience. As humans we have a long, welldocumented history filled with Asimov’s “inevitable change”, and the various ways societies have imaged God or the Divine changes as well over time. The human process of learning and growing is, after all, grounded in the ability to test the boundaries which contain us. Moreover, the best way to challenge an idea, paradigm, belief, or understanding is to examine it with an open mind from a new perspective—an unconventional view through an alternate lens. As individuals, we use a variety of lenses in our daily life. These lenses (or paradigms) establish and control how we perceive and manage ideas, events, simple and complex groups, processes, etc. They are, in essence, the way we see the world, others, and ourselves.

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Introduction

It is important to remember that lenses have limitations although these limitations vary from lens to lens. They also vary from individual to individual. To further complicate matters, individuality manipulates and transforms those lenses with personal conceptions and borders. Lenses that are exclusive to other perspectives pose a particular threat to the potential of change in what Thomas Kuhn refers to as a paradigm shift or a radical amendment in the world view. Elizabeth Johnson applies Kuhn’s scientific model to theology when she calls for “…not simply the solution to one problem, but an entire shift of world view away from patterns of dominance toward mutually enhancing relationships.” (1993, 28) As such, our visions of the Divine, God, the Ultimate Reality, Allah, Goddess, the Creator, must shift and change as well. As individual members of various faith traditions within contemporary society we have the ability (although not always the opportunity) to create our own paradigmatic image of the Divine. As a society we can alter, transform, or even replace those paradigms. Progressive movements exist in nearly every faith tradition—moving towards the future of our world and our belief systems; these movements include both radical and reformist thinkers, and they are challenging the lenses that we employ to image, worship, connect with and understand the Divine. Growth and change are a necessity in the academy as well. Current events such as the Islamophobia and violence rampant in the States sparked by the plans to build Park51 (an Islamic Interfaith Centre near the site of the World Trade Centre attack); the tragedy and violence between Israeli and Palestinian over territory, resources and human rights; or the wars between religious factions in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Turkey indicate the need for alternate perspectives about the world and our Selves. Consequently, there is a need for the academy to embrace and pursue progressive lenses in our quest for knowledge and understanding. The ten scholars who contributed to this text all provide an alternate, innovative lens for examining pertinent individual or societal issues within their greater social paradigm. They explore the praxis of faith including our image of Self in relation to the Divine, our relation to the Other, our struggle for identity in new locales, the limitations and challenges of language and translations, our responsibility to nature, our nomadic and transitory tendencies, traditions in academy, and our interreligious relationships. These scholars are testing the boundaries of traditional theology and their interdisciplinary fields—many dancing in the liminal space where possibilities gather. They add an important dimension to the present conversations and provide rich alternatives to our contemporary paradigms.

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The task of editing a volume such as this includes, amongst the various other duties, sorting through contributions in search of common themes; fortunately this was not necessary with the essays in this text. Natural and significant themes appeared from the conference at which these ideas were first presented. The overall themes, or lenses, in which their focused ideas are presented allow the reader to explore various alternate paradigms as they examine the relationship between Self and the Divine. The text begins with the foundation of all these queries—the Self. In Part I, Self-Image: Reimaging the Self and the Divine, two thealogians invite the reader to consider the relationship between the Self and the Divine. This relationship is crucial as the foundation to belief and both authors echo Johnson’s “...loss of self-identity is also a loss of the experience of God.” (1993, 65) Moreover, both contemplate an alternate perspective on how that relationship is established, defined, and changed over time. By questioning the ways in which one’s relationship with the Divine helps one to define oneself and one’s Self-image provides the reader with an opportunity to examine her or his own relationship with the Divine and the Self. Both authors also ask what happens when women image God. What shift in Self-image occurs when the Divine is seen as not only feminine, but also immanent? These questions are explored in Part I, and the essays consider radical lenses with which to see the feminine Self and the Divine. Part II, Faith Hope and Religious “Otherness” explores another important series of questions about the Self. The authors, each from a different Abrahamic tradition – one Christian and one Muslim, examine the Self in relation to the “Religious Other”. These authors challenge the way we perceive, communicate and interact with the Religious Other in our communities. They ask vital questions about how one maintains a sense of religious Self when outside home communities or within a single, but divisive, faith tradition. Is it possible to live in today’s electronic, constantly changing, secular and multi-cultural society and still maintain a grounded faith or spirituality, sense of Self, and have a relationship with the Divine on one’s own terms? These may be questions that many of us have asked as of late; there is no one particular answer to these questions as faith and adhering to a faith tradition is a deeply individual and personal matter—one in which broad generalised statements cannot be made. They pose questions that offer the reader a chance to ponder these issues and decide for oneself about their paradigmatic validity and application to life – in essence an opportunity to shift or alter her or his view of Self, Other, and the greater society in which they both exist.

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Communicating one’s paradigm of Self or Other in relation to the Divine is often both complex and precarious, and in Part III, Interpretation: Struggles to Communicate three authors examine the various struggles we encounter when attempting to communicate the Divine to Other cultures and societies through Sacred texts, the Divine in Nature and our responsibility to care and protect it, and the struggle to preserve the Bible as a relative and authoritative text in today’s ever-changing society. They ask us to consider how we attempt to interpret a new ideology and language for a culture vastly different than our own. What difficulties arise and are lost in translation? How do we envision our responsibility to or our dominion over the earth? Fundamentally, we are asked in this part to consider the broader relationship between Self and Nature as well as our level of responsibility, contribution, and care. Or how do we give contemporary interpretation to sacred text? More particularly, can the Bible retain a sense of authority in our society? Are multiple readings possible? What happens if we examine these issues with an alternate lens? Imagine the possibilities if paradigms were shifted. What potentials await if we step out of our seemingly safe and traditional paradigms of Self, the Other, and of the Divine? Part IV, Changing Trends: Moving Beyond Traditional Boundaries attempts to engage in the potentials of change. Johnson once stated that …the goal is the flourishing of all beings in their uniqueness and interrelation—both sexes, all races and social groups, all creatures in the universe. This calls for a new model of relationship, neither a hierarchical one that requires an over-under structure, nor a univocal one that reduces all to a given norm. (1993, 32)

Three authors ask us to contemplate issues outside the traditional boundaries. Readers are encouraged, as is the academy, to seriously consider how the Self can work with the Other in relation to the spirit (or soul). Moreover, these essays propose alternate ways of identifying Self as Self and in relation to the Other. In today’s multi-religious, multicultural, yet increasingly secular society how do we function as Self in relation to the Divine and the Religious Other? What possibilities are there in new lenses and perhaps paradigms for those identities and relations? It is therefore important to employ as many various lenses as possible when examining the issues of Self, the Other and the Divine. With so many possible interpretations and paradigms competing for social acceptance and support, the choice must be made carefully and wisely bearing in mind the inevitability of change whilst remaining open to

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pluralities of thought and practice. This is especially important when it comes to the future of theology and religious studies—in particular to the relations between the various global faith traditions. Interfaith dialogue and relations are a significant way forward towards that potential – towards the potential that awaits in that liminal space outside traditional boundaries—towards Asimov’s “inevitable change”.

Reference Johnson, Elizabeth A. 1993. She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse. New York: Crossroad.



PART I  

Y  

SELF-IMAGE: RE-IMAGING THE SELF AND THE DIVINE  

YSELF-IMAGE: RE-IMAGING THE SELF AND THE DIVINE PATRICIA ‘IOLANA

One of the most intriguing things about the changing face of theology, thealogy, and religious studies can be found in the variety of ways in which scholars and practitioners image the Divine and define (or redefine) their relation to the Divine. In our ever-changing, highly technological world which seems to grow smaller with each passing day, we have the opportunity to learn about other faith traditions and to share our own with, quite literally, the entire world. Progressive movements are apparent in all of the major world religions, and we eagerly experiment and appraise the rigidity of existing boundaries by pushing, prodding, or leaping right over them. For some, these boundaries are scrutinised from within one’s own faith tradition (reformers), but for others, these boundaries are tested and stretched from outside an original faith tradition (radicals) and, in some cases, outside accepted ideas and norms which stretch existing boundaries to new limits and new heights. The following essays may test the reader’s own theological boundaries, and, perhaps provide the reader with alternate perspectives to traditional images of the Divine and the Self. In “Radical Images of the Feminine Divine: Women’s Spiritual Memoirs Disclose a Thealogical Shift” I seek to briefly examine an intriguing trend in contemporary literature (women’s spiritual memoirs). These texts individually chronicle the author’s path away from a faith or logic tradition she feels has on some level let her down spiritually or personally and toward one of the various forms of Goddess Spirituality that are gaining popularity and practitioners in the West. What is fascinating is that, collectively, these memoirs are espousing an innovative thealogical discourse, praxis, and spirituality based on the Feminine Divine. Changing the way women image God isn’t necessarily a novel idea; feminist theologians Carol P Christ, Rosemary Radford Reuther, Naomi R Goldenberg, and the late Mary Daly and Valerie Saiving (among others) have been challenging patriarchal and androcentric images of the Divine for decades now. What is truly captivating and innovative about

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these spiritual memoirs is that these women are documenting shared experiences, and communal thealogies, and their words and stories are reaching and affecting readers worldwide. These women are giving voice not only to how they image their selves and their personal relationship with the Divine and by extension their connection to nature and the web of life, but also espousing a way for others to seek their true self in what Carl Gustav Jung would called the path of Individuation. Through these works, authors and readers alike are creating new images of the Self and of the Divine. Consequently these works of literature are having a tremendous impact on theological reflection, belief, and praxis, and, the Goddess Spirituality movement (in all its various and multitudinous forms) is perhaps the fastest growing faith tradition in the West. Therefore I briefly ponder what impact these experiences with an immanent Feminine Divine might have on traditional theological enquiry and praxis. How do they disrupt the existing Western Abrahamic image of God the Father and therefore women’s image of Self within those faith traditions? Rasa Luzyte also challenges traditional images of the sacred when she examines alternate possibilities of Mary in her essay “The myth of Mary as a space for an individual connection to the divine (Self).” Also utilising the theories of Carl Jung, Rasa Luzyte challenges the patriarchal and Abrahamic vision of God echoing the complaint eloquently voiced by Mary Daly, “If God is male, then male is God.” In this article Rasa questions the theologically-static Catholic symbol of the Virgin Mary as pure, motherly, and sacred (although not necessarily Divine). She contemplates how this half image, half understanding of a lesser Mary skews women’s sense of self and personal connection to the Mother of God. In calling for imaging Mary as whole, with a shadow/dark side that mirrors the whole woman (and as seen in the Black Madonna as complementary to the White Madonna), she envisions a Divine that all women can connect to and relate with outside of the Christian tradition. She also takes her re-imaging a step further: for what if Mary’s holy child was a daughter and not a son? How would this new, radical image of the Mother of God alter religious traditions and our sense of self? What if the traditionally male trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit were replaced with Mother, Daughter, and Holy Spirit? By taking Mary out of the static role dependent and forced between the male God and the male Son, Mary becomes the Divinity herself that is liberated to bear forth divine in her own sex which ultimately leads to the question: how will these new images not only change a faith tradition but also how women view themselves and their relationship to the Divine?

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Both articles challenge the way one might image the Divine, and emphasise how testing those pre-existing, androcentric images of God might offer not only liberating possibilities of the Divine but also alternate images of women for both men and women to consider and emulate. Perhaps, more important, these essays speak about how this active, radical re-imaging can provide compelling personal myths and symbols through which women may re-image their Self, the Divine, and their relation to the God.



YRADICAL IMAGES OF THE FEMININE DIVINE: WOMEN’S SPIRITUAL MEMOIRS DISCLOSE A THEALOGICAL SHIFT PATRICIA ‘IOLANA

Mighty, majestic, and radiant You shine brilliantly in the evening, You brighten the day at dawn, You stand in the heavens like the sun and the moon, Your wonders are known both above and below, To the greatness of the holy priestess of heaven, To you, Inanna, I sing! (2000 BCE)1

In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word Documented Experience As the Ancient Sumerian stone tablets containing the myth cycle of Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth demonstrate, women and men have been writing about their experiences with and impressions of the Divine for millennia. These spiritual narratives are significant to the culture within which they were written as they contain the ability to define a culture; they can also delineate a group, or groups, within a culture. Therefore it is crucial to understand that these stories have enormous cultural and social power; they can confirm and maintain personal and cultural paradigms; they can shift and alter existing traditions, beliefs, schemas and paradigms. Moreover, as a genre within these divine narratives, spiritual memoirs have a theological significance because they possess the ability to offer readers a sense of spiritual community, shared faith, ritual and tradition by creating, sustaining or shifting theological and cosmogonical paradigms. These stories can also convey an important

 1

Wolkstein, Diane and Samuel Noah Kramer. 1983. The Holy Priestess of Heaven. In Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns from Sumer. New York: Harper & Row, Lines 10-16, 93.

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psychological means for both the author and the reader to understand her or his experiential sense of Self, her or his place in the world, and ultimately her or his personal relationship with a Divine Creatrix. Thus, this genre carries with it remarkable social, theological and psychological significance for the individuals and cultures from within which it was written. A considerable number of contemporary spiritual memoirs, however, are radically different from those of their peers or recent generations. There is some academic debate on whether this particular contemporary trend is autobiographical non-fiction or a derivative of fiction. Perhaps the most accurate description would, in fact, be fictive narrative; this term best describes the author’s selective use of events and experiences, perhaps with embellishment, to tell, traditionally, non-fictional stories of personal pilgrimage or Divine revelation. Furthermore, the individual, spiritual journey shared in these memoirs portray the author’s numinous or spiritual experience2 with the Divine which aligns the focus of this work on the experiences contained in these memoirs and the social, theological and psychological implications of this content. My research centres on the significant and remarkable fact that a considerable amount of Western women are writing their spiritual memoirs, documenting their personal encounters with the Divine and revealing collective experiential similarities. Interestingly, this specific genre also documents a trend of dissatisfaction with existing patriarchal or humanistic traditions and an attraction towards a Goddess-based religious tradition. What is perhaps far more vital to the theological significance of this genre is that these women are detailing experiences with an immanent Feminine Divine3 (an inherent God with a feminine face and voice) and documenting a thealogy thus creating a new and influential kind of contemporary women’s spiritual memoir. These memoirs are the centre of my enquiries. Upon close evaluation, these exemplary works reveal important experiential, thealogical and psychoanalytic similarities and define syncretistic religious traditions — espousing a thealogy for the future of humanity and our Mother Earth; they contain the potential for interreligious “correlational dialogue” (Knitter) and espouse the “reclamation” of a holistic spirituality that transcends contemporary monotheistic constructs. These works are

 2

By experience I am referring to the direct personal contact with, awareness of or knowledge of the Divine as recorded in the works in my case study.  3 The term Feminine Divine is interchangeable with Sacred Feminine, Goddess, Great Mother, or Creatrix. My use of this term is merely for consistency and does not imply a preference of one term over the other.

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theologically significant for four key reasons: 1) the similar journeys shared by the women/authors in experiencing the Goddess, 2) the Thealogy and the various Goddess personifications present in these works, 3) the disruption to traditional theological categories, and 4) the possibility for interfaith interaction and exchange inherent in the pluralistic and syncretistic nature of these religious traditions. In my current research, I am examining the similarities and differences in the experiences contained in the spiritual memoirs of five different women: Dr. Jean Shinoda Bolen, Phyllis Curott, Christine Downing, Sue Monk Kidd, and Margaret Starbird. For the purposes of brevity in this current context, however, I will limit my examination to two: Sue Monk Kidd’s Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman’s Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine (2002) and Phyllis Curott’s Book of Shadows: A Modern Woman’s Journey into the Wisdom of Witchcraft and the Magic of the Goddess (1998). This paper will focus on two important questions: How is the Feminine Divine imaged in each text? And in what ways does reimaging the Divine as Sacred Feminine disrupt traditional masculine, Abrahamic theological categories?

What is Thealogy? – A Brief Definition The origin of the term thealogy is open to debate. According to my research Thealogy or Thealogian was first used in publications by both Isaac Bonewits (“The Druid Chronicles – Evolved”) and Valerie Saiving (“Androcentrism in Religious Studies”) in 1976. Naomi Goldenberg continued this new thread by using the term in The Changing of the Gods (Goldenberg 1979b, 96). Since then, many have attempted to define “thealogy”. Carol Christ, a self-professed Thealogian, first used the term in her Laughter of Aphrodite in 1987, and years later succinctly defined it as “the reflection on the meaning of the Goddess” (2002, 79). Rita Nakashima Brock, in her 1989 article “On Mirrors, Mists, and Murmurs: Toward an Asian American Thealogy” specifies her understanding of the term thealogy: “I use the word thealogy to describe the work of women reflecting on their experiences of and beliefs about divine reality” (Brock 1989, 236). Strictly adhering to the definition, the word breaks down into two parts: Thea (Goddess) + logos (word, discourse, reason) although I doubt if this properly encapsulates the entire meaning of this term. Angela Hope, Founder of the Institute for Thealogy and Deasophy provides a much more provocative and elucidating definition of the term and field of

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thealogy (and by extension deasophy) and shall serve to set the context within which my research and theories are placed: Goddess thealogy and deasophy can be considered fields that are concerned with the past and contemporary Goddess community's beliefs, wisdom, embodied practices, questions, and values. Both thealogy and deasophy, or more accurately thealogies and deasophies, constitute newly burgeoning mediums of feminist praxis within the Goddess spirituality and feminist spirituality movements in recent decades. [...]Thealogy and deasophy should not be defined in reference or opposition to another discourse, but the aim of this Institute is to name thealogy and deasophy rooted in a priori experience and thought or to name them on their own terms. [...]Thealogy can be defined as follows: Within the context of various past and contemporary spiritual/religious traditions, thealogy concerns the inquiry into the meaning and nature of the Goddess(es) or Sacred Feminine; the meaning and nature of life forms and the universe in relation to the Divine/Divinities; and/or feminist understandings of the Divine that are post-kyriarchal. Thealogies encompass all orientations including polytheism, monotheism, metatheism, ditheism, pantheism and so on. Thealogy draws attention to various questions including but not limited to the following: What is the nature or essence of Goddess(es)? How do life-forms exist in relationship with the Goddess(es)? Who are we or who are we to become, and where are we going? What is the purpose of my life and how should I live my life? (Hope, 2010)

Differing Perspectives: Sue Monk Kidd and Phyllis Curott Before considering how the Feminine Divine is imaged in each text, (and I use the term imaged specifically to denote a mental or psychic image or symbol as opposed to an imaginary creation), it is important to understand the women who are imaging. Therefore, I shall begin with brief background information on each author. Sue Monk Kidd, by her own accounts, grew up deep within the Christian tradition. The wife of a Baptist minister and theologian at a Baptist college, Kidd led a Churchcentred family life with contemplation as the cornerstone of her world: I had always been very spiritual and very religious, too... I’d pursued a spiritual journey of depth and meaning...within the circle of Christian orthodoxy....I had been raised in the Southern Baptist Church, and I was still a rather exemplary member of one, but beginning in my early thirties I’d become immersed in a journey that was rooted in contemplative spirituality...I was influence by Meister Eckhart and Julian of Norwich. (Kidd 2002, 14)

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Kidd is also well-read in Christian contemplative literature having studied the writings of “Thomas Merton, John of the Cross, Augustine, Bernard, Bonaventure, Ignatius, Eckhart, Luther, Teilhard de Chardin, The Cloud of Unknowing, and others” (Kidd 2002, 15). Furthermore, she is an established “Christian writer,” contemplative author and a “prolific contributor to an inspirational magazine with millions of readers.” She “spoke at Christian conferences [and] in churches” (Kidd 2002, 17). She also quite often attended “Catholic mass or Eucharist at the Episcopal church, nourished by the symbol and power of this profound ritual” (Kidd 2002, 15). Phyllis Curott, quite to the contrary of her contemporary Sue Monk Kidd, was raised in a secular, intellectual household that chose not to speak of God. She writes, “As a young girl I remember asking my mother whether we believed in God. She replied that we believed in the “goodness of the human heart” (Curott 1998,7). In her formative years, science, reason, and humanism were embraced. Her life was completely devoid of any form of faith tradition. A lack of faith tradition, however, does not necessarily imply a lack of moral code, and Curott was taught to live by “the Golden Rule and the basic conviction that human beings were responsible for their own destinies” (Curott 1998, 7). Consequently, this lack of faith tradition during her formative years left Curott ill-prepared for the experiences that awaited her as she had “no frame of reference for understanding or cultivating what was happening to me” (Curott 1998, 8). Years later, and now a well-educated Manhattan attorney, Curott continued to carry the secular ideas and humanist values imprinted on her in those early years. As time passed, and her intellect didn’t provide the answers she sought to life’s profound questions, Curott began to seriously contemplate other avenues to assist her in finding what she refers to as her “lost soul” enabling her to “rediscover the sacred” (Curott 1998, xiii.) She longed for something that she could connect to with both her intellect and her “soul:” I could not accept the limitations of any religion that demands adherence to literal interpretations of its myths and metaphors to the exclusion of others. Nor was I satisfied with any that denied the feminine. I needed a spirituality that opened my mind, rather than one which sought to narrow it. (Curott 1998, 148)

In an interesting example of the symmetry that she seeks, it was “science [which] opened the doors of my perception to an astonishing reality” (Curott 1998, 9) and led her to something outside of her normal scientific perception with an understanding that can only be called wholly Divine.

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Despite vastly different backgrounds, family values, education and experiences, Kidd and Curott still manage to share three significant, fundamental similarities in the way they experience the Feminine Divine. Moreover, the commonalities these two women share are intriguing and represent all the women in my case study. First, Kidd and Curott’s initial encounter and image of the Feminine Divine occurred in their dreams. Second, after this dreamtime introduction and recognition, these women experience Goddess as a polyonymous deity (a singular divine being known by multiple images and/or names), and thirdly, the personal experiences these women have are with an immanent Divine.

Dreams: “The Voice of God” For every woman in my case study, dreams prompted and even guided her spiritual journey. This does not imply an essentialist trait and only applies to the five women in the case study. While these women share important commonalities in a broader sense, each woman has a personal and distinctive experience that is individual to her. For Sue Monk Kidd it was a singular, momentous dream that shook her personal and theological paradigm in what she refers to as a “turning point” in her life. Therefore, it is worth citing the dream, as Kidd described it, in its entirety: […] an old woman came to me in a dream. In the dream I was standing in front of my Baptist church when suddenly she appeared at my side. I did not know it then, but this same figure would come to me often in dreams and meditations throughout my journey as a personification of feminine wisdom. And whenever she appeared I learned to brace myself. Some grace and havoc were about to be set loose. [...] The old woman has shining white hair and a face that hangs in folds and furrows down to her shoulders. Her lips are apple red, and she carries a walking stick with a snake wound around it. I notice strange flashes in the air about her as if someone is shaking out gold glitter. She points to the church steeple. As she does, it changes from a steeple to a rocket ship aimed at the sky. The old woman shakes her head and says, “You think this will take you where you need to go. Think again.” Crazy dream, crazy old woman, I told myself when I woke. But there was no denying she was a numinous figure with enormous energy and power. She lingered in my thoughts for days. (Kidd 2002, 75-6)

Curott’s experience is vastly different from that of Kidd’s in both content and form. Most significant is that Curott experienced numerous dreams; several dreams were prophetic or repeating:

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In those dreams I found truths and precognitions I could not have logically foretold—the sudden death of a beloved aunt, the return of a long-lost friend, my father’s recovery from a coma. There was also a terrifying nightmare about an accident that appeared in the headlines the next morning. And several times I had the same mysterious dream in which I felt more awake than asleep. Each time it began, I was alone in a great hall. Music like rippling water filled the rooms, and a woman sat before me. Her face was pensive and serene; a book lay open in her lap. A shining light crowned her head and a necklace with a six-pointed star hung at her throat. The power that radiated from her crown and her throat became so bright I was momentarily blinded. I blinked and she was gone. (Curott 1998, 6)

Like Kidd, Curott understood the importance of these dreams and their inherent connection to her own spiritual journey. She felt that in her “dark cave of sleep…the portal opens into a mysterious realm of power” (Curott 1998, 6). For each woman, her dreams served as an initial point of exploration or encounter with a Divine who reveals Herself as an old woman. The old woman, crone, or Great Mother is a significant image or archetype of the Goddess with a rich history which more often than not depicts her as the carrier of sacred knowledge, the wise one who imparts her secrets to Her young initiates.4 All of the women I am examining in this case study have attributed the beginning of their journeys to their dreams. This makes dreams a fundamental experience and a significant part of both their spiritual memoirs and personal journeys. This leads to some questions: how are these dreams functioning for these women? Are these women having dreams that are allowing them to access their own internal self? Are they tapping into what Carl Jung would call the “collective unconscious” through these dreams? Or are they experiencing a Divine revelation? A number of Jung’s analytical models from his Collected Works including the significance of dreams, archetypes and the collective unconscious are prominently referenced, cited or discussed in these women’s spiritual memoirs. While Jung’s theories on the psyche are an integral component of my case study, brevity restrains me from expounding upon them in this context. What is significant for the examination at hand is that many of Jung’s theories on the psyche are used by these authors as tools of understanding. Evidently, these women find a correlation between Jung’s theories, definitions and their own experiences.

 4

The psychological and thealogical significance of the Crone Goddess (or Great Mother archetype) while significant cannot, unfortunately, be elaborated on within this context and shall be addressed more fully in my current case study.

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The majority of the women use Jungian terms to identify or analyse their experiences, and this is particularly true in how they interpret their dreams: In dreams the wise old woman often symbolizes the Feminine Self or the voice of the feminine soul, and her coming can mark a turning point for women. This dream was my turning point. (Kidd 2002, 76)

Considering the similarities in their descriptions of the Feminine Divine as experienced in their dreams, one could also argue from a Jungian perspective that these women are tapping into the collective unconscious and dreaming of a Great Mother archetype. However, these dreams may also be functioning as revelatory experiences which initiate action. Are these dreams, then, a source of Divine intervention? I suggest that there is a combination of functions happening here: it appears that these dreams are functioning as the impetus leading each woman on a journey to their internal self. This journey leads them to the Goddess within (the Divine Feminine as immanent) and eventually to a paradigm-shifting connection with the Goddess in one of Her many forms. In her 1979 article “Dreams and Fantasies as Sources of Revelation: Feminist Appropriation of Jung”, Naomi Goldenberg discusses the important psychoanalytic connection between dreams and their inherent significance for the religious: Jung “[...] viewed dreams as the ‘Voice of God’ […] a means of attuning a patient to her or his own religious processes” (Goldenberg 1979a, 223). Accordingly, the appropriation of Jung’s theories and terminology found within faith traditions that centre on a Sacred Feminine is an area of enormous concern for feminist theo/thealogians. Melissa Raphael discusses the significance of Jung’s psychoanalytic theories from a feminist perspective. In her text Thealogy and Embodiment she states: Like Jungian feminists themselves, I distrust Jung’s views on the stereotypically gendered, archetypally unchanging, complementary anima and animus aspects of the unconscious or soul. His respect for “the feminine” does not make him a feminist. His prescriptive view of women inhibits successful excursion into the “masculine” realm of rational Logos, even though the “feminine” qualities—Eros, connection, relationship and intuitive thought—are fundamental values for all religious feminists. But much of the material in spiritual feminist texts is more loosely Jungian in the sense that imagination, dreams, and visions, rather than creeds or texts, are revelatory and produce an open, therapeutic self-directed religious experience. […] Psychotherapy has strongly influenced the feminist spirituality movement and visionary material is properly included in its

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academic texts—both radical and reformist. (Raphael 1996, 12, emphasis is mine)

Raphael limits her critical discourse to a lengthy footnote in the Preface rather than incorporating it wholly in the body of her text; I find this choice intriguing. Perhaps she does this in an act of acknowledgement of the critical controversy that surrounds the utilisation of Jung’s models by feminist or post-feminist thinkers, while limiting her contribution to the discourse to a more suitable level affording the topic no more than a cursory mention whilst focussing on the positive aspects of Jung’s work. Goldenberg also recognises the controversy and benefits of Jung’s work. She writes, “Jung’s position on the religious nature of fantasy and dream is more important for feminists than his views on ‘the feminine’” (Goldenberg 1979a, 224). While Jung’s theories on the feminine, the anima, and the Mother archetype may have serious flaws for feminist theo/thealogians, adherents within Goddess-based spiritualities or faith traditions many of whom consider themselves “feminists” are utilising Jung’s theories and terminology. Are they using this language as a means of understanding and expressing their experiences? Do they find something in Jung’s theories that validates their own experiences? Or is it that they have no other terminology to refer to when describing these experiences? Cynthia Eller observed the feminist spirituality movement in America for 10 years. In her text Living in the Lap of the Goddess (a work she later recanted in The Myth of Matriarchal Prehistory) Eller classified “Jungianism” as another “resource” that “emerged early in the history of the movement...Through the theory of archetypes and the collective unconscious, women could conceive of Goddess images as something more than merely modern inventions” (Eller 1995, 66). This could explain why Jung’s work has such an integral role in the spiritual memoirs and the individual interpretations of these women’s experiences.

Divine Images: The One or the Many Once their dreams have instigated their spiritual journey, how, then, do these women image the Feminine Divine? Sue Monk Kidd portrays the Divine Feminine through a variety of stories, myths, and identities. She describes the descent and resurrection of Inanna the Sumerian Queen of Heaven (Kidd 2002, 97). Kidd goes on to explain the magnetic pull that da Vinci’s “Cartoon of St. Anne” held for her and the vision of the Great Mother she understood St Anne to be; she states, “for the woman in the picture seemed to birth, contain, and encompass everything, even the male

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saviour” (Kidd 2002, 99). Kidd speaks of Ariadne who was also known as the Lady of the Labyrinth and served as a sacred guide through dark and difficult passages (Kidd 2002, 109) as provocatively as she illustrates the powerful Minoan Snake Goddess of Crete (Kidd 2002, 134) and the Gnostic and controversial Sophia (Kidd 2002, 151) or Wisdom as found in the Hebrew Scriptures. Through her extensive studies Kidd came to understand a Goddess-centred cosmogony and became a proponent of Her polyonymous nature: [...] she was known as the creator and sustainer of the universe who ruled over the rhythms and forces of nature. That she was all-wise, all-knowing, all-powerful, bringing both birth and death, light and dark. […and that] She certainly had lots of forms and names. (Kidd 2002, 134)

This polyonymous image of the Divine Feminine is echoed by Phyllis Curott. She discovers a number of the Goddess’ various aspects and names through conversations with the members of the coven which she eventually joined. During the first ritual she attended, they began reciting what is best-known as the Wiccan Goddess Chant: “Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.” The coven refers to the Divine Feminine as the “Goddess of a thousand names” (Curott 1998, 41) and provides Curott with the teachers and guides for her spiritual journey. They are three very different women: the young Maia, the matronly Bellona and Nonna the elder who together represent the trinity aspect of the Great Goddess as Maiden, Maid and Crone. During one of her visits with these three women, Curott becomes acquainted with a number of Goddesses displayed on the altar: She is introduced to “Sekmet, the Egyptian goddess of destruction and rebirth” and her sister Maat “the goddess of truth”; then to Kuan Yin, an ancient Chinese goddess/god of compassion; Shakti (or Parvati) “beloved of the god Shiva”; the Japanese goddess of the sun, Amaterasu; the Celtic goddess Brigid – muse of the poets; and the African goddess Yemanja “the ocean mother, giver of wealth” (Curott 1998, 40). Later, Curott has a solitary experience with the Goddess in a cave in the Delaware Water Gap. While descending into the cavern, she drops and loses her torch, leaving her blind in the treacherous and unknown territory. In this utter darkness, she loses her footing and slips, knocking herself unconscious. When she wakes, Curott distinctly hears an “odd, faraway voice” call out the name “Prosperina” three times (Curott 1998, 271). After this encounter Curott discovered that “Prosperina” was another name for the Goddess Persephone, Queen of the Underworld and comes to understand that the Goddess is “one and from whom come the

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many” (Curott 1998, 41). Based on their own experiences, both Kidd and Curott learn that all Goddesses are representations or facets of the one Great Goddess. The polyonymous nature of the Feminine Divine is the subject of a fierce debate among some academics and contemporary theologians. A number of scholars interpret a polyonymous deity as a polytheistic faith tradition with each new face and name a new and separate deity; while others argue a polyonymous pantheon of deities expresses a multifaceted monotheistic approach to the Divine who may be called by many names and still remain the One. Merlin Stone argued three decades ago for the polyonymous nature of the Goddess: Ashtoreth, the despised “pagan” deity of the Old Testament was […] actually Astarte – The Great Goddess, as She was known in Cannan, the Near Eastern Queen of Heaven. Those heathen idol worshippers of the Bible had been praying to a woman God-elsewhere known as Innin, Inanna, Nana, Nut, Anat, Anahita, Istar, Isis, Au Set, Ishara, Asherah, Ashtart, Attoret, Attar, and Hathor – the many-named Divine Ancestress. Yet each name denoted, in the various languages and dialects of those who revered Her, the Great Goddess. (Stone 1979, 124)

Cynthia Eller observes a similar trend. She writes, “this is not an inveterate polytheism, [but a] pattern of an ultimate monotheism coupled with an intermediate or functional polytheism” similar to those found in Buddhist and Hindu traditions (Eller 1995, 134-5). Asphodel Long agrees that there is a growing interpretation of the Divine Feminine as polyonymous within a monotheistic tradition, but believes this is a reactionary trend; Long attributes this to “a response to the challenges to it that are coming from academics, particularly those directed towards the work of the Lithuanian-American archaeologist Marija Gimbutas” (Long 1997, 14). Carol Christ would argue that “neither monotheism nor polytheism is an adequate description of contemporary Goddess religion” and that, perhaps, process philosophy’s panentheism is a more appropriate description (Christ 1997, 112); 5 whereas, historian Ronald Hutton cites John Peter

 5

For further study on the Goddess and Panentheism see Carol P. Christ She Who Changes: Re-Imagining the Divine in the World (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), which is based on the work of American philosopher and panentheist Charles Hartshorne. See also Clack, Beverly. 1995. The Denial of Dualism: Thealogical Reflections on the Sexual and the Spiritual. In Feminist Theology: The Journal of the Britain and Ireland School of Feminist Theology No. 10, September 1995 eds. Lisa Isherwood, et al, 102-15. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press; and Frankenberry, Nancy 2004 [1998]. Philosophy of Religion in Different Voices. In

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Kennedy and his model of “pagan monotheism,” but then argues for a “duotheistic” system “recognising a pairing of a goddess and a god who between them represent the cosmos” (Hutton 2003, 87). Considering the variety of interpretations about the nature of the Feminine Divine, this debate will continue. Suffice to say, what is significant for this work is that both writers have experienced the Divine Feminine as polyonymous and, through their experiences inclusively monotheistic.

Divine Immanence: The One Within The last important and shared image of the Divine Feminine found within this new genre is the renewed emphasis upon Her deep immanence. I am unable to address questions of Her transcendent nature in this condensed context; however, it is worthy to note that transcendence is a part of their experience with the Goddess although significant emphasis and reflection is placed on Her immanence. While the immanent nature of the Divine Feminine will be discussed in greater detail when I contemplate the disruption of traditional theological categories, at this point it is imperative to understand how these women are experiencing the Sacred Feminine. Kidd explains that, for her the Goddess was “immanent, compassionate, ever-nourishing, associated with earth, fertility, and sexuality, but also a transcendent being who bestowed order, justice and truth” (Kidd 2002, 134). However, it is the immanent nature of the Goddess that is the most significant threshold each woman must cross on their spiritual journey. “To embrace Goddess is simply to discover the Divine in yourself as powerfully and vividly feminine” (Kidd 2002, 141). This spiritual journey is based on experience, and it is in experiencing the Sacred Feminine that these women come to understand Her immanent nature: Little by little, I began to contact a feminine source within ... a deep, ancient-feeling place inside me, a place I hadn’t known existed. This surprised me because it made me realize that what I sought was not outside myself. It was within me, already there, waiting. Awakening was really the act of remembering myself, remembering this deep Feminine Source. (Kidd 2002, 75)

 Feminist Philosophy of Religion: Critical Readings, eds. Pamela Sue Anderson and Beverley Clack, 3-27. London: Routledge. Frankenberry bases her work on the British philosopher, and proponent of panentheism, Alfred Whitehead. This is by no means an all-inclusive study list, and stands merely as an introduction to the ideas and provides resources for further study.

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Phyllis Curott also espouses the immanent nature of the Divine Feminine. As she studied the many faces of the Goddess, she came to learn there were... ...common threads in the Old Religion of Europe and the Middle and Near East and in the other earth-based religions B Taoism, Shintoism, Native American, and other indigenous and aboriginal spiritual practices. In all of these traditions the divine is known to be both immanent and transcendent. (Curott 1998, 59)

Yet, in a way significantly similar to Kidd and the other women in my case study, Curott’s experience with the Divine Feminine is the most lifealtering aspect of her spiritual journey; Curott sums up the significance of the Goddess’ immanent nature with the words that came to her “across the abyss of darkness and fear:” If that which you seek you find not within you, you will never find it without. For behold, I have been with you since the beginning, and I am that which is attained at the end of desire. (Curott 1998, 277, emphasis hers)

Disruption: Radical Views and Shifting Theological Paradigms In what ways, then, does reimaging the Divine as feminine disrupt traditional theological categories? The most salient feature of these works is an emerging thealogy that denies age-old patriarchal traditions and societal beliefs. In a Western Judeo-Christian society the male and the masculine are revered and seen as created in the image of the Father God; the female and the feminine are seen as subordinate, unclean, and responsible for the “fall” of humanity. Consequently, imaging a Divine as feminine is wholly disruptive to our existing Western social structure. Moreover, these exemplary texts espouse a thealogy that is based on a Divine imaged as female who is immanent and interconnected. To begin with, imaging the Divine as Feminine is not a new approach to theology. For over three decades, feminist theologians such as Carol Christ, Judith Plaskow, Rosemary Radford Reuther, and Elaine Pagels have been pondering the Divine as Feminine. In Diving Deep and Surfacing Christ discusses the potential disruption that this reimaging could cause: “To name God in oneself, or to speak the word ‘Goddess’ again after many centuries of silence is to reverse age-old patterns of thinking in

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which male power and female subordination are viewed as the norm” (Christ 1995, 128). Almost a decade later, Luce Irigaray echoes the potential for individual and cultural disruption: Talking about religion can be hurtful, to oneself and to others. Affect linked to religion is deeply rooted; in some obscure way, it holds together the totality of the self, of the community and culture. Trying to change it can unravel the social fabric, along with subjectivity and tradition. (Irigaray 2004, 171)

Contrary to these more “radical” ideas of the feminist theologians or thealogians who foresee an imminent and compulsory paradigmatic shift, Sallie McFague, a feminist theologian and Christian reformist, warns against the dangers of removing one narrow and oppressive tradition such as one of the patriarchal Abrahamic traditions and replacing it with another: “[...] we must avoid several possible pitfalls. […] the intention is not to turn the tables and establish a new hierarchal dualism with a matriarchal model of God” (McFague 1996, 325). McFague’s concerns are genuinely founded as some models of Goddess Spirituality do seem to replace a patriarchal Divine with a matriarchal one and even have the capacity to be misandrical. However, this is the exception rather than norm across the variety of faith traditions that have a Feminine Divine. Many forms of neo-paganism and Goddess spirituality do call for a union of Goddess and God (some hierarchical and some egalitarian), allowing for a balance of male and female divinities echoing the dualistic balance seen in the Eastern ideal of Yin-Yang. Luce Irigaray on the other hand, appeals for a liberation that leads towards human development: “While no tradition should want to carry out religious colonization, there should be an effort to liberate other traditions from closure, with an eye to a more fully human spiritual development” (Irigaray 2004, 172). As is evident by the various positions of these feminist theologians, the level of social, theological, and political disruption that can be caused by imaging the Divine as feminine continues to be evaluated and debated. Imaging a Divine that is deeply immanent is another disruptive factor found within these spiritual memoirs. On this point, I am not implying that the belief of God as immanent is not present within Christian and/or patriarchal theologies, rather it appears this belief is largely repressed within the tradition or essentially ignored within the transcendent Abrahamic traditions by those other than feminist reformers. For many adherents to a Feminist spirituality or a Goddess-based faith tradition, the experiential is rudimentary and, for them, the Feminine Divine is experienced in deeply immanent ways. As a result, the experiences these

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women have with the Divine as immanent moves their Divine authority from an external source (traditionally the Church) to an internal source. Kidd, herself a post-Christian, comments on this significant disruption: The ultimate authority in my life is not the Bible…It is not something written by men and frozen in time. It is not from a source outside myself. My ultimate authority is the divine voice in my own soul. Period. (Kidd 2002, 76, emphasis is hers)

Having an internal source of authority can lead to a number of criticisms and theological disruptions. How can such experiences and revelations be validated? How can we differentiate between true internal Divine revelation and pure imagination? How could divergent internal authorities be reconciled? Should they be reconciled? This issue of Divine Immanence raises far more questions than it answers. Much of the feminist spirituality or faith traditions that centre on a Feminine Divine are based on experience. According to Curott, “[…] the divine dwells within, in ever-changing outward form, its inner presence eternal. The journey is its discovery” (Curott 1998, 276). As a well-read and contemplative theological commentator Sue Monk Kidd fully understands the significance of this experiential paradigmatic shift: Restoring the feminine symbol of Deity means that divinity will no longer be only heavenly, other, out there, up there, beyond time and space, beyond body and death. It will also be right here, right now, in me, in the earth... Divinity will be in the body. (Kidd 2002, 160)

Thus, one consequence of Divine immanence is that instead of imaging women’s physical bodies as unclean and impure as some aspects of the patriarchal Abrahamic traditions would have us believe, women’s bodies would be imaged as divine and sacred drastically changing our perceptions of women and the way human beings treat themselves and others. Luce Irigaray believes this reimaging could lead to balance between the sexes. A spiritual relationship between the sexes would allow us to reunite human and divine elements that have been artificially separated by the domination of one sex over the other, by the dominance of the values of one sex over those of the other. (Irigaray 2004, 1974, emphasis is hers)

Finally, the last disruptive feature that I will consider is structural. By and large, traditional monotheistic theology has been based on a hierarchical system with God at the top and humans, animals, plant life, and the earth far down this multi-tiered stratification. Kidd and Curott

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both make it abundantly clear in their texts that their experiences of the Feminine Divine are based on a structure of interconnectedness versus a hierarchical stratification. Kidd calls it “a consciousness of mystical oneness and interconnection” (Kidd 2002, 154). Whereas Curott expresses the same sentiment from a personal perspective: “My soul, now joined to all that was, that is, and will be, had come home” (Curott 1998, 277). This perception of a “mystical connection” or web of interconnectivity seriously challenges and disrupts the hierarchical perception of humanity’s place in the universe. It forces our individual responsibilities away from ourselves and out towards that which we are connected to. It forces us away from a perspective that is individual-centred and toward a communal or even a global-centred view. Imaging the Divine as Feminine carries a number of disruptive features. These features challenge the current patriarchal social and theological status-quo by offering to replace them with a new paradigm based on an image of an empowering, self-affirming immanent Divine Feminine. This is precisely what makes the experiences contained in these spiritual memoirs so dangerous to traditional theology. Carol Christ saw the paradigmatic power of these texts three decades ago: The feminine perception of the ultimate in one woman’s story is fraught with the potentially revolutionary implications for the human perception of the ultimate. Telling our stories may possibly begin a great revolution, unleashing the power to turn the world’s great order around. (Christ 1979, 243)

In the End: Conclusions or Beginnings Based upon the radical ideas espoused in these texts and the thealogical, social and paradigmatic shift potentials elucidated here, two significant conclusions can be drawn in this context. First, there is a new trend in religious discourse encased within these contemporary women’s spiritual memoirs that is being overlooked by the academy and most religious scholars. These authors are offering experiences of a thealogy that is wholly situated around the doctrinal beliefs and praxis of an immanent Feminine Divine while subverting an androcentric theology that is based on a Masculine Divine. A radical image of the Divine outside of traditional Abrahamic images of God the Father serves to shift the paradigm of Western thought within which we contemplate the Divine. Second, this genre is worthy of the academy’s study and theological reflection and stands as an important indication of the current thealogical revolutions calling to women (and men) en masse. For what we see now

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as radical reform may well become the norm and provide a centre for future faith traditions. There is a significant shift in consciousness revealed in these works, and the spiritual memoirs in my case study stand as chronicles of a new thealogical paradigmatic shift within Western society. Considering these thealogical developments and alternate paradigms, several questions remain: Is this a temporary trend or a sign of significant paradigmatic shift? Can traditional theology find balance and coexistence with thealogy? And, if so, what exciting and transformative possibilities do our religious futures hold when we step beyond these traditional boundaries and into a new liminal, holistic and decidedly Sacred Feminine space?

References Brock, Rita Nakashima. 1989. On Mirrors, Mists, and Murmurs: Toward an Asian American Thealogy. In Weaving the Visions: New Patterns in Feminist Spirituality. Eds. Judith Plaskow and Carol P. Christ, 235243. New York: HarperSanFrancisco. Christ, Carol P. 1979. Spiritual Quest and Women’s Experience. In Womanspirit Rising: A Feminist Reader in Religion. Eds. Carol P. Christ and Judith Plaskow, 228-45. San Francisco: Harper and Row. —. 1995. Diving Deep and Surfacing: Women Writers on a Spiritual Quest. Third Edition. Boston: Beacon Press. —. 1997. Rebirth of the Goddess: Finding Meaning in Feminist Spirituality. New York: Routledge. —. 2002. Feminist theology as post-traditional thealogy. In The Cambridge Companion to Feminist Theology, Ed. Susan Frank Parsons, 79-96. (Cambridge: Cambridge UP) Curott, Phyllis. 1998. Book of Shadows: A Modern Woman=s Journey into the Wisdom of Witchcraft and the Magic of the Goddess. New York: Broadway Books. Eller, Cynthia. 1995. Living in the Lap of the Goddess: The Feminist Spirituality Movement in America. Boston: Beacon Press. Goldenberg, Naomi R. 1979a. Dreams and Fantasies as Sources of Revelation: Feminist Appropriation of Jung. In Womanspirit Rising: A Feminist Reader in Religion. Eds. Carol P. Christ and Judith Plaskow, 219-27. San Francisco: Harper and Row. —. 1979b. Changing of the gods: Feminism and the end of traditional religions. Boston:Beacon Press. Hope, Angela. 2010. What Is Goddess Thealogy & Deasophy? Toward a Definition from the Institute for Thealogy and Deasophy website.

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http://thealogyanddeasophy.org/defining.html. (Accessed 12 August 2010). Hutton, Ronald. 2003. Witches, Druids and King Arthur. London: Hambledon and London. Irigaray, Luce. 2004. Luce Irigaray: Key Writings. Ed. Luce Irigaray. London: Continuum. Kidd, Sue Monk. 2002. The Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman=s Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine. New York: Harper One. Long, Asphodel. 1997. The One or the Many: The Great Goddess Revisited. In Feminist Theology: The Journal of the Britain and Ireland School of Feminist Theology. No. 15, May 1997. eds Lisa Isherwood, et al, 13-29. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. McFague, Sallie. 1996. Mother God. In The Power of Naming: A Concilium Reader in Feminist Liberation Theology. ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, 324-9. Maryknoll: Orbis. Raphael, Melissa. 1996. Thealogy and Embodiment: The Post-Patriarchal Reconstruction of Female Sacrality. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Stone, Merlin. 1979. When God Was a Woman. In Womanspirit Rising: A Feminist Reader in Religion. eds. Carol P. Christ and Judith Plaskow, 120-30. San Francisco: Harper and Row. Wolkstein, Diane and Samuel Noah Kramer. 1983. Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns from Sumer. New York: Harper & Row, 93.



YTHE MYTH OF MARY AS A SPACE FOR AN INDIVIDUAL CONNECTION TO THE DIVINE (SELF) RASA LUZYTE

My research into the myth of Mary is informed and motivated by the feminist notion that patriarchal religions are the sustainers and perpetuators of the patriarchal structures of thought and belief in which the female divine symbolic is not recognised, very limited, split into binaries or too rigidly defined and stereotyped, and that the patriarchal religions are the sources of women’s devaluation and the place of distortion of women’s subjectivity. Splitting and rigidification of images cause the stiffening of religion to the point where it no longer connects to a person on an individual level. In Christianity, Eve is the personification of sin, and Mary is the embodiment of innocence – the two do not exist in one figure, and neither of them is recognised as divine. Despite the majority of a [once or post] Christian society regarding themselves as atheists, the symbolism of God as male is deeply acknowledged in their psyches since, as Grace M. Jantzen notices, “[…] God as Divine Father […] in his eternal disembodiment, omnipotence and omniscience is the epitome of value”, because “Indeed, the divine is that which guarantees meaning” (1998, 10). Therefore, a compensatory feminist response is to seek to establish or re-establish the female divine symbolism believing that it can significantly contribute to the deconstruction of the male-centred society, ascertain the authority of women, and offer a source for women’s subjectivity. Tony Wolff wrote from the point of Jungian psychoanalytic theory in 1941: The image of God is the supreme symbol of the highest human attributes and of the most far-reaching ideas of the human spirit. How then can woman find herself if her own psychological principle and all its complexities are not objectified in a symbol as in the case of man? The symbol takes effect in the human being gradually unfolding its meaning. The relationship with the Deity keeps man in continuous contact with all the conscious and unconscious contents which the Deity symbolically represents. (Wolff 1941, cited in Ulanov 1973, 16)

32 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self)

And Luce Irigaray echoes and develops further a similar insight four decades later: The (male) ideal other has been imposed upon women by men. Man is supposedly woman’s more perfect other, her model, her essence. The most human and the most divine goal woman can conceive is to become man. If she is to become woman, if she is to accomplish her female subjectivity, woman needs a god who is a figure for the perfection of her subjectivity…deprived of God, they are forced to comply with models that do not match them, that exile, double, mask them, cut them off from themselves and from one another, stripping away their ability to move forward into love, art, thought, toward their ideal and divine fulfilment. (Irigaray 1993, 64)

It is not only vital that women have a God in their own gender but, as Jungians advocated throughout years, it is essential that they encounter this divine source through a personal myth. The personal connection to the female Deity must be mythical and have a heart, have feeling; it cannot be satisfied by participating in philosophical discourses. To find herself, each woman needs to project the feeling of what she is–with everything that patriarchal culture imposed on her–onto a divine woman who holds subjectivities of all women in the past, present and future, and, therefore, those subjectivities become objectified, externalized, made impersonal in the female Deity. A woman has a task of creating her own personal relationship with this divine female, and through this – connect to her own divine self; of encountering the divine woman through a personal myth in order to “subjectify” her back. In the seventies, Naomi R. Goldenberg advocated the use C. G. Jung’s ideas for rethinking religion. She supported C. G. Jung’s belief that psychoanalysis is capable of replacing or at least revitalizing religion because it believes in the influence of transcendence in a person’s life, in the necessity of a myth to provide meaning for people, and it believes in and encourages an individual connection to the divine. Goldenberg drew my attention to the importance of the myth in religion so inspiring my own ideas about the necessity of the divine woman’s myth. Goldenberg wrote: Jung suggested that psychoanalysis sets itself up as a new sort of religion – that psychoanalysis teaches people how to live by “myth”. This was the only way […] that psychoanalysis could effectively combat 2,000 years of Christianity. (1979, 47)

Although many feminist thinkers, including Naomi Goldenberg herself, criticised Jungian and Freudian theories as flawed and misogynist, however,

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with the emergence of Luce Irigaray’s philosophy a psychoanalysis, whether Jungian or other, seems to become again the most instrumental tool for discussing religion because it speaks the language of the soul – which is the central concern for religions. My feeling is that if, according to Jung, psychoanalysis could combat thousands of years of Christianity by teaching how to live by myth, the re-narrated myth of Mary has a potential to recover women’s confidence lost during those 2,000 years of patriarchal dominance over women in Christianity. I believe that the symbol of Mary can provide women with a meaningful myth by which they can live. Although Mary is most important to me in rethinking the divine female, I am not employing the framework of the Christian theology and dogmas. Indeed, the Christian images and narratives are significant when I search for the older and newer archetypal layers in them: in the feeling of the sacred that they emanate, in the phenomenon of the cult of Mary all around the world, in the non-mainstream legends of Mary. The Christian material is also instrumental to me in that it provokes the compensatory need in me. The extent, the depth and the emotional implications of this need make the Christian images and narratives most informative in my thinking. Following the inner lead for the compensatory need, I arrived at the understanding that Mary and her myth can be the mediums for individual connection to the divine for women. Women’s personal lives, experiences, dreams, and compensatory fantasies are the tissue of the individual myth of Mary. The communion of a woman and the divine happens in Mary when the old narratives of Mary merge with the new ones, even if they are personal fantasies and feelings and not established myths. To discuss the value of connection between the past, present and future narratives, I am using Lucy Huskinson’s understanding of a myth: Myth is the story of our own life, which is itself rooted within a collective narrative of basic human behavioural patterns […] As an evolving account of human behaviour, myth narrates the past, present and future experiences of psychological development […] the present narrative is an interpretation of the past narrative, the future narrative is a potential redressing and compensation of the present narrative. The future narrative describes the movement away from old and defunct ways of understanding. (2008, 5)

The old narrative in this case is the rigid Christian myth of Mary. Adding the present narrative means adding my/woman’s own personal experiences, associations, narratives that speak to me (that come from fiction, fairy tales, conversations, myths of pre-Christian beliefs), images, the feeling of the sacred, the sources that give me the sacred feeling such

34 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self)

as a mountain, a sea, an image of Mary. The future narrative is my strongest compensatory yearning for the female Deity, that is, for the affirmation of myself in the world, in my everyday life, in my relationships. The future narrative of the female divine involves constantly keeping in touch with her so that I can exist. In this paper, I would like to illustrate my exploration of some seven years of the possibilities for a new, or rather individual, myth of Mary. A decade ago, the Christian Mary meant nothing to me despite my catholic background until I heard an influential feminist1 mentioning that it was a good practice to pray to Mary. It immediately echoed my deep longing for a spiritual feeling, and I soon was standing and looking at the painting of Mary in the catholic cathedral in Vilnius, in Lithuania. I knew very little of her Christian story, which allowed me to be free from any conscious associations with the Christian Mary. I perceived this large image of Mary, bigger than my size, as the embodiment of the female body in divine. She felt like a huge awe-inspiring woman. Mary suddenly acquired some hidden meaning, which, I felt, could potentially fulfil my feminist and spiritual anticipation if I could find how to relate to her. It was only a few years later that I realised that finding how to relate to the patriarchal Mary means finding how to relate to the patriarchal myself – to everything that patriarchy broke, repressed, deformed or idealized in women and myself. Importantly, this feminist and sacred expectation, which I projected onto Mary, immediately withdrew her from the Christian framework in my imagination, and allowed me to place my personal associations. I remember this moment of standing in front of Mary as returning to myself, as meeting myself, as the door to myself – this was where my individual connection to the divine female became central to my life, and I knew that our connection was a religion of its own – all Christian symbols became irrelevant. Further, everything I read, felt or experienced about the divine female, added to the individual myth of Mary. To better understand this divine woman and through her – myself, I drew the parallels between Mary and the narratives of the sacred body of the female by Marija Gimbutas, the archaeologist and mythologist born and raised, like myself, in Lithuania, who wrote about the Great Goddess and the matricentral civilization of the Old Europe. For example, in one of Gimbutas’ books, there is an image of the Birth Goddess figurine portrayed as a naked woman sitting with her legs widely open and bent, displaying her vulva, ready to give birth (Gimbutienơ 1996, 153). Knowing



1 Lilija Vasiliauskiene, the director of Women’s Crisis Centre in Vilnius, Lithuania. She was also one of the initiators of the Jungian Institute in Lithuania.

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that women’s genitals are popularly represented by red roses in art, it was clear that the images of Mary, where she holds a red rose in her hand, is indeed an unconscious or even deliberate attempt to convey the symbolism of the Goddess, the sacred female. (For example, the image of Mary With a Rose (Madonna z RóĪą) in the guide to the images of Mary in Poland Z Dawna Polski TyĞ Królową 1999, 265. Alternatively, see the images of Madonna z RóĪą, Bydgoszcz (Poland), widely available on the Internet). That way the Goddess speaks through Mary; they both are the birth goddesses. Similarly, the emphasised pubic triangle seen on many naked figures of the Goddess as old as 7000-5000 BCE and symbolising, according to Gimbutas, women’s regenerative powers, seems to be present on the dress of the Black Madonna of Loreto in Italy who is a popular pilgrim destination: her dress is adorned with seven lines of ornaments, of which the second is a red triangle (images of Madonna of Loreto are widely available on the Internet). Lithuanian culture and heritage also inform me as it informed Gimbutas, although perhaps not in exactly the same way as we are separated by a few generations. It is not only the figurines excavated by Gimbutas and their symbolic associations with Mary, which I spotted during the years that revealed Mary as the Goddess of Death and Rebirth. I also gradually realised this while attending quite a few funerals, including those of my own grandmothers. Lithuanians usually bury their dead unburned and mourn next to an open coffin for a couple of days. If a person is buried within the catholic tradition, which is often the case for the elderly or for those living in villages where the catholic traditions are still alive, the ritual performers, usually women, always place an image of Mary (facing the dead) in the hands of the dead which are tied together on the chest. Clearly, Mary is understood as the one who takes the dead into her care, and as the first and most powerful redeemer in the minds of people. Although the male priests officially pray for the dead to be raised through Jesus, the prayers to Mary and her rosary are the main ones at the funerals. The theme of Mary as a nurturing mother also came into my individual myth of Mary though my personal experiences. During my fieldwork in Hungary some two years ago, I found the embodiment of the Tree of Life legend, which, I was surprised to discover, was actually a living legend – many people believe it as they believe in the story of Christ. In the middle of the altar area in the church of Budapest-Máriaremete there stands a tree trunk, which has in its branches a small painting of the Black Madonna with the child. The legend says that for a long time, people prayed to this image in the tree at the road, and their prayers were heard; as the crowds

36 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self)

of pilgrims grew, it was decided to build a church around the tree. I found the view of the tree in the church to be very much unexpected in that it emanated an unusual freedom for the interpretation of an altar - the most sacred place in the church - thus making the respect and belief in the nurturing and responding female divine, Mary, central to the church, and symbolically to the Christian belief. I watched streams of pilgrims visiting the shrine – the tree and the painting are considered miraculous. The tree is understood as Mary, as the body of Mary. Although this tree-Mary does not have an obvious breast, it symbolically performs the suckling action by blessing and giving spiritual milk and love to her believers, her children. I witnessed the people touching the tree trunk for blessing before leaving after their prayer, or holding their newly bought candles or rosaries against the tree-trunk in order to bless them. Fairy tales also became the source of reimagining Mary for me. The one that focused my imagination on the body of Mary in particular, was a Malaysian folk tale called A Journey for a Bird. In this tale, two protagonists travel in search of a magical bird and suddenly see a mountain looking like a woman. Intrigued, they decide to come closer and speak to her. Here is this amusing paragraph which I have translated from the original Polish: They […] stood face to face with the strange woman. Not so much face to face though as their faces were opposite a toe of her foot. She sat with her legs crossed. Her colossal shapes were not much different from the rough rocks and were covered by hair similar to reddish moss […] “Who are you?” cried Lela Muda [a protagonist] fearlessly. She looked at them from above. It felt like the earth had lifted. Her eyes hung above them as two lakes fenced with black forests which were her eyelashes and eyebrows. “I am Sambaran Gunung, a woman who tosses mountains […]” She took them on the tip of her finger and sat them on her knee which she bent so steeply that they appeared at the level of her chest. Then they saw that on the other knee there sat the daughter of the giant woman and the mother was suckling her […] “Before I answer your questions”, whispered she deafeningly, “Refresh yourself with my milk together with my daughter […]” They did as they were told and they felt superhumanly empowered [by her milk]. (Skamieniały Statek 1988, 49-112)

Indeed, the association of the archetypal image of the nurturing mother immediately extends to Mary when reading this passage. By associating these two divine women, Mary acquires in my imagination the body of the mountain woman: the powerfulness, the gigantic constitution and the

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ancientness of this body. And in its own turn, I acquire this body too, through my connection to both of them. This paragraph is also important for its powerful image of the mother-daughter narrative to which I will return later. My understanding of Mary was also influenced by hundreds of Mary legends and apparition stories. The legends reveal Mary having an autonomous spiritual system and epistemology of her own in the heart of the Christianity myth - so autonomous in fact, that she escapes the Christian symbolic and turns the Christian logic upside down in some of the legends. For example, in a Lithuanian legend, an old man sees from a distance a young girl washing her face in a spring, which was not there before, and when he looks the second time, she is gone. Since then, the legend narrates, the spring was known in the surrounding areas as miraculously healing, and many cures were registered (Skrinskas 1999). The legend never mentions that the girl was called Mary, nor does it give any indication of other Christian symbols – it was a young nameless mysterious woman wandering freely through the village on her own, in whose healing powers the people, it seems, unquestionably believed; she is perceived as the essence of the depths of the earth, the female soul, the life-sustaining blood of the earth – the well. In yet another Lithuanian legend, Mary is seen sitting on the branch of a tree with the dead body of Christ on her knees during a hot summer day. A conversation occurs between Mary and a woman passing by, who asks what Mary is doing up there to which Mary replies that she wishes a church to be built in this place of the tree (Skrinskas 1999). The Christian story and symbols are distorted in this legend, the body of Christ positioned in irrelevant time and place: the hot summer day is inadequate as Christ died in spring; and how (and why) did Mary bring his heavy dead body into the tree? The legend shows that Mary lives a life of her own, here behaviour does not go in line with the Christian story, she has her own logic and her own needs. Mary is always in need of a church, and the legends where she commands the building of a church for her are among most powerful. Mary sits in a tree because she is a tree; it is not only divine but also human body that has always been paralleled to a tree. Thus, Mary is commanding us to build churches in ourselves. I cannot stop myself imagining that she is speaking to us, women. She urges us with an authority where there is no place for disobedience for our own sake: “Pray to me, and I will bless you”, “Build here a church [in the place of this tree, in yourself] for me, and I will radiate my love to the lands far around this church” (Skrinskas 1999). She is a soul and spirit of each woman individually but she is also a cosmological Deity - she is the one who

38 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self)

invites all the people to rely on her, and who else, if not a divine being, can take such a weight? Her system of truth and justification has no defined order as in the masculine hierarchical classification, but operates by the rules, which one is able to learn only if one has a personal connection to Mary. In legends, Mary helps a thief who mutters a prayer to her only once; or she takes the appearance of a nun, who eloped with her lover, and who, returning years later after leading a loose life, finds out that Mary has taken her place in the convent to save her from the shame (Herolt 1928, p.43). The legend about Mary taking the nun’s place is especially worthwhile because it opens a perspective of Mary’s loyalty to women which is so rare in Christian stories. The unpredictability, power and vibrant characteristics of Mary in these legends perceptibly compensate the stiffness of Christian dogmas and serve as the compensatory myth to the Christian myth of Mary. The fairy-tale passage about the mountain woman suckling her daughter and the above legend demonstrating the divine woman’s loyalty to the earthly women bring me to the theme of the divine mother and daughter connection, the female-female bond. The above narratives help to re-imagine, deconstruct and re-tell the Christian iconography, which is one of the essential tasks of a religious feminist. The following picture of Mary with a daughter, as I choose to see it, provides a framing for the new imaginative narrative on the divine woman-daughter bond. In this image, the child looks like a girl, which means to me – it is a girl. As a person seeking compensation for the female divine, I allow myself to see what I choose to see and not what I am told to see - that the child is male. I believe that such images disrupt the patriarchal myth of Mary whom Luce Irigaray describes as fixed between the two male Gods: There is no woman God, no female trinity: mother, daughter, spirit. This paralyses the infinite of becoming a woman since she is fixed in the role of mother through whom the son of God is made flesh. (Irigaray 1993, 63)

Symbolically then, the images of the divine mother and daughter transform Mary from the fixed passive place between the two male Gods into an active continuity of the female divine genealogy. By imagining the child as a girl, Mary is no longer just a female body required to reproduce the male God; she is no longer fixed between the Father and the Son. The divine child-female is a mirror of the divine female parent – so the male God stops existing in this picture and in this divine system of the two women because there is no son to reflect him. Perpetuity of the male divine genealogy is disrupted. The future belongs to the divine Daughter now

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Figure 1.1 A greeting poster in the entrance hall of the Jáki Kápolna Church in Budapest.

– understood, indeed, as the internal feeling of a woman, as permission for each woman to exist in the world and in every day by existing in the divine plan for the future, a child being a symbol of a future. Such new reading of an old image/religious system is required to make the myth of Mary meaningful for an individual, and to empower the impoverished images of the female divine. We need images and myths as they speak the language of women’s psyches. Susan Rowland draws attention to the role of both image and narrative in Jungian thought: A myth […] is not just any narrative, but one capable of “framing”, making collectively meaningful individual archetypal images, just as picture frame defines and encodes as artistically meaningful the elements within the work of art. Powerful collective narratives frame images and so the psychic work of the two together constitutes a myth, to Jung. These myths structure social as well as psychological meaning: the two are not separable; they are discourses. If there is no narrative frame then the archetypal images may remain unrealised. (Rowland 2008, 73)

40 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self)

With the discussion of the mother-daughter image and its reading, or myth, I arrive closer to the future narrative of the myth of Mary. Although the divine mother’s image in Mary is vital for women, Mary’s real potential, I believe, is in recovering the woman’s subjectivity. If Mary is to be a soul of a woman, her myth must include the journey of individuation of a woman, which starts with the separation with the mother. The emphasis on Mary as the mother placed its shadow effects on women by ultimately stripping them of their womanly self, autonomy, subjectivity. I would like to argue that as a representative of the instinctual archetypes, Mary is an expression of many different instincts, not only that of the mother. To quote Carl G. Jung: “[archetypes are] instinctual forms of mental functioning […] they are not inherited ideas, but mentally expressed instincts, forms and not contents.” (Jung 1959, cited in Walker 2002, 5 emphasis in the original) For example, Mary can be an instinct to become a mother for some women, and an instinct to avoid becoming a mother for other women – if one feels that becoming a mother could break one’s instinctual defence system from the patriarchal society where mothers are not valued. Mary can be an instinct for women to become homosexual if that is their instinct – Mary is the place where women affirm themselves, where all the instincts are robust because they are instincts. If we understand Mary as being able to mirror our instincts, she becomes freed from the identification with the mother archetype alone, and so we win our souls back. De-identification with the role of the mother constructs Mary as a model of individual projection and a signifier of the instincts for each woman individually. To understand how Mary can represent instincts in women and their mental functioning, and how she can be a medium for an individual connection to the divine (Self), I need to discuss the question of Mary’s shadow. On the collective level, I understand Mary’s shadow as the wound that women suffer as a result of the idealized and powerless image of Mary in Christianity. The Christian Mary is the place and a mirror of women’s patriarchal injury. On a personal level, Mary’s shadow is an individual psychological scar – shame, pain or grief – that a woman suffers; I base my understanding of women’s scars on the reading of Jungians, and in particular on Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ chapter “Battle Scars: Membership in the Scar Clan” in her book Women Who Run With the Wolves (1992, 374-387). First, I would like to illustrate the collective shadow of Mary. I will do so by comparing the litanies of Mary with the swearing of the male protagonist to his wife in a novella of the Lithuanian writer Žemaitơ. The novella is called The child did not have a good mother (Žemaitơ 1995, 61-

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68). Against the background of the dying of their infant, the husband curses his wife in such a rhythmic manner that it reminded me of the rhythm of the litanies of Mary, therefore, I compared them: Lazy bitch! Useless bitch! – starts the husband his litany of violence Holy Mary, Holy Virgin of virgins! – begins almost every catholic litany of Mary You blasted witch! Woman transformed, Woman clothed with the sun! Seat of wisdom! You slut, you carrion! O Regeneration of life! O Beauty of the world! Mother undefiled! You are so lucky you have a good husband! Queen of Patriarchs! Chosen daughter of the Father! Any other husband would have killed you by now! Woman graced by a husband's love! I’ll whack you one in the snout so hard that you’ll drop dead on the spot! Virgin most powerful! You belong in a pigsty! Pride of the human race! Daughter of Sion! Tower of David! O NoblestBorn of the Christian flock! When I whack you one, at least you’ll be crying from pain! Woman of perfect freedom! Mother inviolate! I swear I’ll beat the last breath out of you! O Queen of Life! Queen of our destiny! My little one never had a good mother! Glorious Son-bearer! What do you earn? House of gold! Queen of all the earth! Queen of heaven! Queen of the universe! If that boy dies because of you, I’ll exterminate you like a toad! Mother most admirable! Mother most worthy! The devil can come and get you and your kids! Queen assumed into heaven!

42 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self) You always do something to infuriate me! Mother of good counsel! Queen of peace! A hundred curses on you! O Blessed and most blessed! Honour of the sky!2

One can see in this man’s litany of violence that the shadow side of Mary has been projected on women – they have been seen at fault where Mary shone in the ideal aura. As many feminist authors noticed, women cannot be as ideal as the normative image of the Christian Mary, therefore this idealisation devalues and exhausts women. At the same time, the ideal Mary cannot reflect the shadow side of an individual – she is too sterile, she has no shadow side of her own in the myth. Her shadow becomes Eve and we, women. However, the realization, incorporation and redemption of one’s shadow side are profoundly important in order to become a more conscious and harmonious person. The divine woman should be able to reflect this so that looking at her we could realise our shadow too. Therefore, looking for the shadow side of Mary on a personal level is one of the most important tasks when creating a personalised version of the myth of Mary. It means trying to get a glimpse of the parts of one’s personal shadow too. Mary’s shadow is to be found in such narrative texts as fairy tales and Mary legends, which very often compensate the idealized and stiffened myth of Mary in Christianity. I would like to illustrate how an interpretation of a fairy-tale can help to re-imagine the traditional iconography of Mary and bring the lost shadow side of Mary back into the myth while at the same time offering a means for an individual connection to the person’s shadow and to the divine. I was able to catch a glimpse of the shadow side of Mary through the similarities in the Czech fairy tale, the title of which could be translated either as The Sorrow Bird or The Bird of Grief3, and the painting of the Black Madonna of CzĊstochowa in Poland, which is regarded as miraculous and attracts millions of pilgrims (the image is widely available on the Internet)



2 Žemaite‘s text is translated into English by Gintautas Kaminskas. The sources of litanies are listed in the references. 3 The fairy tale is written by VoitƟch Martínek in 1971. It is not detailed whether he re-interpreted an old Czech fairy tale or other story. I translated this fairy tale from the Lithuanian version and significantly shortened and simplified it for the purposes of this presentation, therefore it does not convey the beauty of the language of the original tale.

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Madonna of CzĊstochowa in this painting has two deep cuts4 on the right side of her face, and an expression of pain and determination shown by her narrowed eyes, skewed lips and the long nose in her dark face. The Sorrow Bird in the fairy tale is all black except for two blood-red stripes on each of its wings. The two bloody stripes become a symbol linking them. Both the Black Madonna of CzĊstochowa image and The Sorrow Bird fairy tale have a soul-stirring and consciousness rising quality: The Sorrow Bird Once upon a time in a kingdom there lived a princess who was very wicked and cruel. She forbade unhappy and poor people to walk by her windows. But despite her orders, one day three unhappy women appeared in the street wearing black clothes and crying. The women said they were crying because they had a great sorrow. “What is sorrow?” mocked the princess, “I have never seen sorrow. What does it look like?” And she gave her servant a coin and ordered her to buy some sorrow. In a market, the servant wandered unhappy thinking how is she going to buy such a thing – sorrow. Then, she saw a strange black-eyed man from far lands who held a cage with a beautiful bird. The bird was all black and had two red stripes on each of its wings. The man said its name was Sorrow. The servant rejoiced and bought it feeling relieved to have easily accomplished such a difficult task. The princess liked the bird very much and carried it in a cage wherever she went. But one day, when walking in a garden, she let the bird out of the cage, and suddenly the bird started growing and growing, then seized the princess with its talons and took off. It flew until it approached high mountains and dark woods, and laid the frightened princess on the top of a mountain. “Have you never seen sorrow?” asked the bird. “From now on, you will have more grief and sorrow than you will know what to do with.” Then it took off and vanished. The princess wandered in the woods for a few days, crying, scared and hungry, until one day she saw a shepherd’s hut. The shepherd took her for a servant. One day when the princess was scraping wooden dishes there, it suddenly became dark and the bird with the bloody stripes on its wings appeared in a window. The princess’ heart stopped beating in her breast. The bird flew in, started growing and growing until it stretched its wings so wide that it smashed the hut into pieces. Then shouted, “Did you want to know sorrow?”, and flew away. The shepherd chased her away – he was sure that it was the princess who destroyed the hut. Similarly, she was taken for a servant by a villager

 4

Although the cuts appear today as dark brown or black, Robert Maniura who investigated technical aspects of the painting’s restoration history mentions that close examination of the incisions on the Madonna’s face reveal traces of red pigment, symbolising blood. Pilgrimage to Images in the Fifteenth Century, 43.

44 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self) and by a tailor, but the Sorrow Bird destroyed every house in which she served. Angry villagers threw stones at her and chased her in to the woods. Then a prince found her in the forest, and fell in love with her. Alas, on their wedding day the Sorrow Bird flew in and destroyed her beautiful wedding dress, tables and all the food…Everyone thought that she was a witch who had done all this, and tried to convince the prince to take her back to the woods, but the prince still married her. She gave birth to three children in three years but each year the Sorrow Bird with the bloody stripes on its wings would fly in through a window and take the newborn child away from her, shouting, “Do you know now how sorrow feels?” After she lost three children, the prince believed she was a witch, took her back to the woods, and left her there for the wild animals to tear to pieces. She lay on the grass in despair but fearless when the Sorrow Bird appeared above her and spoke: “Do not be afraid, your trials have finished. All your grief will turn into joy because you have not betrayed me despite your tortures.” The princess replied that she is not afraid of it anymore because it took away everything that was precious to her, she has nothing more to lose. Then the bird said, “I will reward you with the seven joys for the seven sorrows that I caused you”. The bird ordered her to follow it, and it brought her to a new castle in the woods with a beautiful garden full of wealth and chests full of money – those were the four joys. There she also found her three lost children, and these were her fifth, sixth and seventh joys. After this, the Sorrow Bird flew away and never returned. The grieving prince eventually found the castle while hunting and reunited with the princess. With the seven joys, the fairy tale only starts, but it ends for us. Can you hear the little bell ringing – it tells us that the story came to an end… (Martínek 2008)

In Jungian psychology, the shadow is our dark side - everything repressed, denied and undeveloped in us. If unrecognised consciously, the shadow destroys relationships and people’s achievements as happens to the princess in the fairy tale. However, being conscious about one’s dark side and taking responsibility for it allows one to redeem it. The princess is a model of the wise ego5, she takes responsibility for her shadow – for the idea to buy sorrow, and therefore for everything the Sorrow Bird destroys. The Sorrow Bird rewards her because she has not betrayed it, which means she is rewarded for recognising that the destroyer was in her, not a bird/another person that came in from outside. This conscious attitude redeems her shadow, which is underlined by the sentence that the Sorrow Bird flies away and never returns.

 5

The understanding of the heroine as the wise ego is explained by Marie Louise von Franz in her book The Feminine in Fairy Tales, 22.

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The black Madonna of CzĊstochowa with the bloody cuts on her face is the black Sorrow Bird with the bloody stripes on its wings. This is the dark side of Mary. The scars of Mary are the scars of inferiority and violence towards women, the feelings of helplessness and nothingness6. Through this fairy tale, the scarred Mary points to her Christian shadow conditioned by the inferiority of being a (divine) woman in patriarchy. Symbolically, the princess is also Mary herself who strives to redeem her ideal persona - as we remember, in the beginning of the fairy tale she would not allow unhappy people to pass by her windows - she did not want to see her shadow, her shame, her pain. Mary/the princess/you/me engages with her deepest patriarchal wound expressed here as the violent Sorrow Bird, which is the pain, the shame, the grief of Mary/the princess/you/me, in order to redeem men’s litany of curses in both Mary and a woman. Through this, the scarred Mary becomes an indicator for our personal shadow because each woman can relate the attacks of the Sorrow Bird to the denied grief, pain or guilt of one or another kind in themselves. Standing before the image of the scarred Madonna of CzĊstochowa and contemplating the Sorrow Bird of her own, a woman can connect her darkest side with her brightest side in the light of her own consciousness and that of Mary’s, to enlighten a part of her own shadow. It is only in this Mary that a woman can feel at home, where, Irigaray suggests, she should remain to be able to take part in her spiritual becoming: Our tradition tells us that the woman lover in the Song of Songs leaves her home to search for her beloved. This is also the case for feminine mystics – and for almost all women – who run risk of so losing their breath, their soul. In traditions where breathing is cultivated, rather it is a man who seeks to approach woman as a source of life, natural and spiritual. Then solitude and silence get endowed with a very positive meaning: a return of a woman to herself, in herself for a meeting again with her own breath, her own soul. Woman takes thus an active part in her spiritual becoming. (Irigaray 2004, 147)

But how can a woman return to her own home if she had to flee it, if her only safety is to be away from home, from her soul? Women who have no home, whose breath and soul were beaten out of their bodies, who lost their souls while fleeing homes, while running away, who rejected their frightened breathing because they were choking on it? Those women do

 6

The term nothingness was especially meaningful to feminists such as Mary Daly, Carol Christ and others in the early eighties. This feeling manifests for each woman differently but it always describes woman’s self-perception when living in patriarchy.

46 Myth of Mary as a Space for an Individual Connection to the Divine (Self)

not have souls and do not have breath because they do not have a home, symbolically as well as in reality. All that the majority of women can afford is to have a home in cooperation with a well earning male, just like Mary. Mary is homeless when being a symbol of a house; she is churchless when being a symbol of the Church. But we can be the home for Mary, and Mary will be the home for us. Mary is the door that can take one home. To connect to Mary is to be at home, to look at Mary is to see oneself. In Mary, a woman is able to return to her soul because Mary is her soul, and in her presence she is able to breathe. A woman knows that her bond with Mary is not about being a Christian, a Catholic. Their bond is about both of them being wounded, and speaking about their wounds; being homeless and finding a home in each other. To conclude, through applying the personal associations and creating a personalised myth, Mary can be released from her rigid Christian images, purposes and symbols. This way Mary becomes an “eye position”7, a place of insight, the healing of instincts, a sacred place for women's selfreflection, and the source of better knowledge of one’s inner processes. Mary is a woman’s soul and spirit; she is a supervisory status of woman’s soul and spirit; a mirror of woman’s past, present and the future spiritual life and sacred imagination; a process of woman’s feeling and thinking. This approach releases Mary from the “petrified”8 Christian outlook on women and offers a new meaningful myth of Mary, a future narrative of it. The narratives and images of the Goddess of the Old Europe, fairy tales and imaginative interpretations re-create Mary’s body and centralise the female power, but in her own turn, Mary opens the gate to the divine self of a woman through her knowledge of the pain of living in patriarchy. The myth of Mary, gathered image by image and narrative by narrative from different life experiences, allows the creation of a new individual myth of the divine woman, offering a meaningful divine space for self-reflection for women. 

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My own term. Marie-Louise von Franz in her book Individuation in Fairy Tales, 66-70, speaks about the religious “petrification” when analysing The White Parrot fairy tale. She explains that the speaking parrot stands (among other things) for the automatic repetition of the stiffened religious truths. In the fairy tale, the parrot petrifies careless people by turning them into stone. One of the meanings of this is that stiff and automatic religious attitudes petrify people making the further development of a person impossible.

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Image sources Figure 1-1: The Virgin Mary with a child. The image is from the Jáki Kápolna Church in Budapest, Hungary. The photo of this image was taken by the author with the kind permission of the church attendants.

References The Augustine Club of Columbia University. Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary. 1996. http://www.columbia.edu/cu/augustine/arch/bvm/loretto .html. (accessed 17 July 2008). Baring, Anne and Jules Cashford. 1993. The Myth of The Goddess: Evolution of an image. London: Penguin Books Ltd. Dunduliene, Pranơ. 2008. Gyvybơs medis lietuviǐ mene ir tautosakoje. Vilnius: Mokslo ir enciklopedijǐ leidybos institutas. Estés, Clarissa Pinkola. 1992.Women Who Run With the Wolves. London, Sydney, Auckland, Johannesburg: Rider Franz, Marie-Louise von. 1990. Individuation in Fairy Tales. Boston & New York: Shambhala, Franz, Marie-Louise von. 1993. Individuation in Fairy Tales. Boston & New York: Shambhala, The Gaelic Litany of Mary. In Catholic Tradition webpage. http://www.catholictradition.org/Mary/litany42.htm (accessed 17 July 2009). Gimbutas, Marija. 2007. The Goddesses and Gods of Old Europe: Myths and cult images. California: University of California Press. —. 1996. Senoji Europa. Vilnius: Mokslo ir Enciklopedijǐ leidykla, Goldenberg, Naomi R. 1979. Changing of the Gods: Feminism and the end of traditional religions. Boston: Beacon Press. The Great Mary Litany. In The Celtic Catholic Church webpage. 2006, http://www.celtic-catholic-church.org/library/prayer/Great_Mary_Litany. html (17 July 2009). Gyvaþiǐ Karaliaus Dovana: ýekǐ pasakos. 1985. Vilnius: Vyturys. Herolt, Johannes called Discipulus (1435 – 1440). 1928. Miracles of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Trans. C.C. Swinton Bland. London: George Routledge & Sons. Huskinson, Lucy. 2008. Introduction: Ordinarily Mythical. In Dreaming the Myth Onwards: New directions in Jungian therapy and thought, ed. Lucy Huskinson, 1-18. London and New York: Routledge. Irigaray, Luce. 1993. Sexes and Genealogies. Trans. Gillian C. Gill. New York: Columbia University Press.

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—. ed. 2004. Luce Irigaray: Key writings. Continuum International Publishing Group. Jantzen, Grace M. 1998. Becoming Divine: Towards a feminist philosophy of religion. UK: Manchester University Press Klostermaier, Klaus. 1990, ĝakti: Hindu Images and Concepts of the Goddess. In Goddesses in Religions and Modern Debate, ed. Larry W. Hurtado, 143-164. Atlanta, Georgia, University of Manitoba: Scholars Press. Litany of Loreto. In the EWTN Global Catholic Network webpage, 1996, http://www.ewtn.com/faith/Teachings/ maryd6f.htm, (accessed 17 July 2009). Maniura, Robert. 2004. Pilgrimage to Images in the Fifteenth Century: The origins of the cult of Our Lady of CzĊstochowa. Wooldbridge, UK: Boydell Press. Martínek, VoitƟch. 2008. Gyvaþiǐ Karaliaus Dovana. Vilnius, Lithuania: Alma Litera. Skamieniały Statek: BaĞnie malajskie. 1988. Warszawa: Nasza KsiĊgarnia. Skrinskas, Robertas G. 1999. Piligrimo Vadovas po Stebuklingas Marijos Vietas. Kaunas: Judex. Susan Rowland. 2008, Jung as a Writer of Myth and Discourse. In Dreaming the Myth Onwards: New directions in Jungian therapy and thought, Ed. Luce Huskinson. London and New York: Routledge, 6980. Tierney, C. 2009. A Marianist Litany to Mary. Litany of Mary of Nazareth. Dayton, Ohio: The Marian Library/International Marian Research Institute. http://campus.udayton.edu/mary//prayers/litpray02.html (17 July 2009). Ulanov,Ann Belford. 1971. The feminine in Jungian Psychology and in Christian Theology. USA: Northwestern University Press. Z dawna Polski TyĞ Królową: Przewodnik po sanktuariach Maryjnych. 1990. Szymanow: Siostry Niepokalanki. Žemaitơ. Raštai. 1 vol. 1995. Vilnius: Žara.

PART II  

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FAITH, HOPE AND RELIGIOUS “OTHERNESS”  

YFAITH, HOPE AND RELIGIOUS “OTHERNESS” SAMUEL TONGUE

The two essays that make up this section contend with the complex and variegated sharing of space. This might be the eschatological (non)space of the “last things”; salvation, the individual’s destiny in a heavenly community; or the different, yet closely linked organisation of communal spaces that make up the modern nation-state and its negotiated borders and boundaries. Jakob Wirén’s essay “Us and Them in Christian Eschatology—Recent Perspectives” outlines three versions of Christian thinking that “regard religious otherness as a problem” and how these thinkers try to approach the difficulties of delineating how Christian salvation might operate in an increasingly pluralistic milieu. This is difficult territory; do we follow Jürgen Moltmann’s mode of thought that posits a universalistic salvation based on a Christian hope that struggles with the realities of the present time but does not seem to engage with other, extra-Christian, manifestations of hope? Or do we side with Joseph Ratzinger’s (now, of course, Pope Benedict XVI) strong sense that salvation is mediated through the individual’s active relationship with the ‘Body of Christ’, the Roman Catholic Church, perhaps prepared for by other religions but consummated in Christ? Or, as another option, are John Hick’s views on a global or human theology, based on a common ground of the Real around which all religions weave their different yet interrelated narratives, the best way of accounting for both the now and the not yet? These differences are not simply academic or the sole preserve of the religious; eschatological perspectives have a profound influence on how religious “otherness” is negotiated in present interrelationships. Of course, one of the major problems with thinking “otherness”, are the epistemological paradigms that are deployed. When laying out a brief synopsis of the three thinkers above, I gave the sense of a collective “we” choosing between three separate competing decisions. To whom is this “we” addressed and which party or parties does it denote? Varieties of postmodernism have taught us that the individual and the collective are caught up in narratives of organisational power that include and exclude in order to fashion and

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perform identities. This “we” is already a construct and the notion of an agency that can choose and act from an autonomous self-will is critiqued in Erol Firtin’s paper as exactly that political move that excludes the “other”. In Wirén’s analysis, the tightrope that the three theologians are attempting to traverse stretches between a universalism that, in attempting to provide space for the religious “other”, actually reduces the “otherness of the other” to a conceptual sameness (Moltmann and Hick) and a particularism that seems to simply avoid an address to the “other as other”, their role, at best, being to serve as a preparation for true Christian faith. One of the major factors in the epistemology of these problems is the genealogy of our thinking on “religion” as a modernist anthropological category. If Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment thought constructed a discourse on religion as a separate category that could be observed and analysed across cultures, locating universals as if from an objective disinterested standpoint, eliding the fact that these perspectives are constituted by the traditions in which one stands, then we seem to be stuck with the idea that comparative religions are simply variations on a theme. A significant question in a globalising world, as theologian Hans Küng explores, is how far is there a possibility for a “global ethic”, where religions (and their doctrinal or conceptual attributes) could agree on a shared common ground, a communal space. However, as Gavin D’Costa argues in an essay that appreciates Küng’s intentions but critiques their modernist starting point, “the attempt to isolate universals in this fashion, even if they are allegedly produced from within these traditions, is a highly abstract form of deontological ethics” (2005, 137). Even such seeming universal values and “uplifting words such as ‘peace’, ‘freedom’ and ‘human dignity’ have very little meaning outside the context of communal narratives and practices that inform and contextualize these terms” (2005, 137). With an awareness of these questions, Wirén suggests that difference and plurality might be the starting point for studying an eschaton that, in Christian tradition at least, is envisioned (if that were possible) as radically “other”, as beyond the conceptualising of the present organisation of communal space and identity. As he highlights in his article, “the difference and the plurality defended by both [Paul] Ricœur and [David] Tracy are not only present between human beings and between different religions. It is also a plurality within the religious traditions and even within myself. The otherness of other people is not a threat but something which constitutes my existence, because the self becomes self in and through the other…”. “Otherness” thus, paradoxically, becomes the key to a constitution of selves that are always in relation to

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those “others”; the “otherness of the other” is always an incoming, an eschaton, an event, l’évent de l’autre as Jacques Derrida would have it. Erol Firtin’s essay traverses similar difficulties in his search for a space of citizenship in an earthly kingdom, namely, the modern European nation-state. The laws and “political imaginary” that serve to create modern notions of the citizen are what is at stake here. During a period of large-scale economic immigration, how are we to understand the rights and roles of those individuals and groups that cross the borders into an “imagined” country, particularly, for Firtin, Muslim communities that attempt to make space for themselves within different “political imaginaries”? The complexities arise in the difference between economic and political integration; many immigrants are integrated into a European state’s labour force but are still denied full citizenship rights. However, the postwar era has witnessed a reconstruction of (national) citizenship rights as human rights that have become increasingly detached from national context and legitimated at the transnational level. This discourse of transnational human rights has its resemblances with Wirén’s questions of how to isolate universals (salvations?) from their discursive context. In this case, “universal human rights”, which arguably have their roots in a Eurocentric political imaginary, have been reconstituted as a way of finding a space within the often strictly patrolled borders of European nation-states. Firtin demonstrates how immigration is forcing changes in the way in which we imagine the citizen; “postnationals” can engage with and utilise supranational constitutional bodies such as the European Union and the European Court of Justice that can override an individual member-state’s legal structures. However, in his turn to a specific and traumatic case of a courtroom murder of a Muslim woman, Marwa el-Sherbini, it is once again possible to see how problematic a liberal political democracy finds religious “otherness”. The tradition of a “sociology of religion” that is able to label wearing a hijab as simply a symbol alongside other symbols (such as a crucifix or yarmulke), is also able to separate these symbols from the narrative traditions in which they are formed. Engaging with the religious “otherness of the other” is sidestepped by forming a critical “scientific” discourse that is able to function as an objective perspective on different social and religious practices. This is useful for the organising principles of a nation-state as it allows a national narrative of tolerance and human rights to be maintained towards those who would be economic and cultural “denizens” but not full political citizens. That this is an emotive and charged issue was seen in the widespread media hysteria that followed Archbishop Rowan William’s lecture “Civil and Religious Law in England:

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A Religious Perspective” given as a foundation lecture at the Royal Courts of Justice in 2008. Williams aimed “to tease out some of the broader issues around the rights of religious groups within a secular state, with a few thoughts about what might be entailed in crafting a just and constructive relationship between Islamic law and the statutory law of the United Kingdom” (2008); his attempt at exploring a space “for the other as other” was condemned as an attack on Britishness, embodied in a legal and political imaginary. As Williams noted and as Firtin goes on to comment, a coherent anthropology of Islam should start from the concept of a discursive tradition that connects itself to the founding texts of the Quran and Hadith. This has profound implications for an understanding of a “citizen”; if, for the European nation-state, the concept of “citizen” is historically and epistemologically bound up with the idea of a “modern responsible agent”, how might an Islamic notion of selfhood question this construction? And what would be the implications of such a questioning? For Firtin, as long as moral responsibility and “free will” are elevated to the status of a benchmark for political membership, Islamic communities will be ‘othered’ by the centralised and essentialised ideas of what type of subject might participate in a liberal political system. In comparison to modern responsible agency, Islamic discursive tradition approaches human selfhood as merely a ‘conscious strand from the thick rope of the human being, a fine thread from the raiment of the essence of humanity’ (Said Nursi 1996 [1928], 559-560; quoted in Firtin’s article). So here, human selfhood is just a part of a broader human being. The implications of these different understandings of human selfhood are crucial to illustrate the reconfigurations of rights and the emergence of ‘postnational citizenship’ phenomena. These essays do not shy away from the huge complexities of imagining the religious and political “otherness of the other” and they further problematise one another’s conceptual systems. How does a “modern” theology, which is both built upon and builds notions of the “modern responsible agent” who can exercise “free will”, imagine the human subject differently, and thus perhaps, imagine an eschaton differently? One’s sense of human subjectivity is also bound to one’s notions of judgement and justice in both the theological and the socio-political senses. And, for an Islamic discursive tradition that is attempting to find a social, political, and religious space (as if these could be separated) in different European nation-states, how do they negotiate the “otherness” of the Jewish, but more predominantly, Christian epistemological foundations of subjecthood and citizenship? “We” are each other’s “other”. As Emmanuel Levinas has argued, himself troubled by our constant claims

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for totality, in the face-to-face encounter “resides the rational character of the ethical relation and of language. No fear, no trembling could alter the straightforwardness of this relationship, which preserves the discontinuity of relationship, resists fusion” (1969, 202-3). Perhaps the vocation of hope, however this is imagined, is to go on resisting this fusion, to allow, however difficult, “the otherness of the other”.

References D'Costa, Gavin. 2005. "Postmodernity and Religious Plurality: Is a Common Global Ethic Possible or Desirable?" In The Blackwell Companion to Postmodern Theology, edited by Graham Ward, 131-43. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Levinas, Emmanuel. 1969. Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority. Translated by Alphonso Lingis. Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press. Williams, Rowan. 2008. "Civil and Religious Law in England: A Religious Perspective." The Archbishop of Canterbury. http//www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/1575. Accessed 3/8/10.

YHOPE AND OTHERNESS: CHRISTIAN ESCHATOLOGY IN AN INTERRELIGIOUS HORIZON JAKOB WIRÉN

Introduction No more than two generations ago, the religious other to Northern Europeans was the other Christian belonging to another denomination, for whom no salvation was possible.1 Perspectives have since changed dramatically and the religious horizon is different. From a Christian viewpoint the religious other is no longer the fellow Christian, rather the Muslim or the Buddhist. The question of otherness and hope, raised in the encounter with the religious other, remains however a theological challenge. In this paper, I will examine how religious otherness is handled in three contemporary and influential western Christian eschatologies, those of Jürgen Moltmann, Joseph Ratzinger and John Hick. Our two questions at issue are: what place is given the religious other and his or her otherness and what is the eschatological starting point of each respective eschatology? By religious other we mean a person belonging to a faith other than Christian, distinguished but not separable from his or her religious community. First, the three eschatologies will be analysed from the perspective of religious otherness (part 2-4). Second, I will argue that all three of these, despite the vast differences among them, regard religious otherness as a problem (part 5). Third, some perspectives on how otherness could be reassessed will be presented (part 6).

 1

A shorter version of this paper was presented to the conference Communicating Change at Glasgow University in June 2009. I am most grateful for helpful questions and stimulating conversations.

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Religious Otherness in the Eschatology of Jürgen Moltmann The German protestant Jürgen Moltmann (b. 1926), Professor of Systematic Theology at the University of Tübingen, has contributed to the reappraisal of eschatology and it is hardly possible to deal with contemporary Christian eschatology without taking his work into consideration.

Hope Any credible eschatology, according to Moltmann, must give a realistic description of this world and at the same time inspire to a significant hope of change for this world (Moltmann 2001a, 77). There are too many examples in the history of Christian eschatologies that consider the world evil and, consequently, do not engage in its destiny. Moltmann seeks to develop an eschatology which admits evilness in the world and seeks to change it. According to Moltmann, Christian faith is eschatological per se and characterised by a hope directed forwards. Through this looking forward, it seeks to change the present. Hope is intimately linked to faith since hope expects that which faith asserts. In this sense, it is possible to speak of a Christian hope (Moltmann 2002, 26). However, Christian eschatological hope cannot be separated from other “smaller” hopes. Directed towards the new creation, the Christian hope rather includes and relativises the minor hopes and changes their direction (2002, 18-9). Moltmann is here discussing the relationship between Christian hope and other minor human hopes. Unfortunately, he does not address the question of other religious hopes and their relationship to the Christian hope. Based on Moltmann’s statements on Christianity and other religions referred to below, it should not be too brave a speculation that the eschatological hope of the religious other also is included, changed and given a new direction by the Christian hope. This attitude towards other religious hopes is inclusive but not very sensitive towards the otherness of such hopes. Are these other hopes allowed to be different? However, this is not completely true with regard to Judaism; in this particular case, as we shall see, Moltmann leaves room for parallel hopes.

Judgment The idea of a coming judgment is important in Moltmann’s eschatology. It should be seen as something to hope for, something which makes life

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worth living. In the early Church, the judgment was mainly seen as the hope of the victims: the hope that evil will not triumph forever. The unfortunate change can be traced back to the time of Constantine, Moltmann argues. The judgment then became a prototype of imperial judicial power and to a large extent focused on the perpetrators (1996, 235). God must not be turned into a neutral judge, confronting the creatures and judging them according to their lives. Rather, he sees God as the one who follows human beings in life, death and resurrection. Moltmann strongly rejects the idea of judgment as an eternal selection and he finds the argument of free choice “quite modern”, reducing God to someone who merely executes human being’s judgment on themselves. Christian freedom is not about having a large number of options; it is rather about being able to do good. The judgment’s uttermost purpose is not to separate human beings from each other, but to establish heavenly justice. “Hell” and “rejection” are then perceived as something which exists on earth and will not last eternally. There are all too many people who already—through no fault of their own—have experienced hell and rejection (2001b, 44). There is no soul separated from the body, no person separated from humanity and no humanity separated from nature. Therefore, Moltmann argues, if there is any salvation at all, it must include the entire cosmos. Since Moltmann’s eschatology is universal, it obviously includes salvation of all—including the religious other. It is however interesting to note that the issue of people of other faiths, believing in and longing for something else but Moltmann’s heaven is not dealt with at all. What room for differences and otherness is there in Moltmann’s eschatology? In an interesting passage in The Coming of God he claims that, “This universalism embraces ‘Jews and Gentiles’ without abolishing the differences between them, or reducing it to uniformity [...]” (1996, 241). Thus, building on Romans 11, he expresses an eternal hope for the Jew as Jew, but how can this be expressed in regard to the Buddhist or the Muslim? Moltmann totally omits this question and leaves us without an answer. Is there an explicit hope for the Muslim as Muslim or is she expected to be Christianised in order to be saved? If so, how does this happen? Are Christians and Jews saved as Christians respectively or are Jews and the Hindu and the Buddhist saved “merely” as human beings? Even more bluntly expressed: will there be “Jews”, “Christians” and “other human beings” in Moltmann’s heaven? Theology of Hope is clearly describing a Christian salvation. Even though everyone will be saved, it does not mean that every religious tradition provides equally valid descriptions of the eschatological reality or that Christian truth claims could be replaced:

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Hope and Otherness For indeed the believer does not understand himself as the adherent of a religion which is one possibility among others, but as being on the way to true humanity, to that which is appointed for all men. This is why he cannot present his truth to others as “his” truth, but only as “the truth.” (Moltmann 2002, 271)

This view of the early Moltmann is maintained throughout the years. In his autobiography In a Broad Place, originally published in 2006, he speaks appreciatively about a distinction made by the Dutch Reformed Church where the apostolic task is divided in three: conversation with the Jews, mission towards other people and continuous work of reformation within the Christian Church. Moltmann argues accordingly that interreligious dialogue should be reserved for the Christian relationship with the Jews and that the attitude towards other religions should be mission (2007, 2667). It seems therefore reasonable to conclude that the omission of other religions but Judaism is a conscious and deliberate decision.

Messianism As we have seen in Moltmann’s thinking, Judaism is distinguished from other religions in its relation to Christianity. It is therefore interesting to further investigate the Jew as religious other and we will now turn to the question of Messianism in Moltmann’s eschatology. There is, no doubt, a specific hope for Israel in Moltmann’s theology, and he develops his eschatology using the idea of Messianism as a common ground for Jews and Christians. This might sound promising, but surprisingly he states that God’s promises for Israel are fulfilled through Jesus of Nazareth. Although Moltmann acknowledges a specific hope for the Jews, it is expressed in terms not very familiar to them: fulfilled messianic hope. The religious other in Moltmann’s theology seems to be restricted to the Jew. He stresses that there is a call to salvation for the Jews, parallel with the Church of the pagans, and that the universal hope of salvation embraces the Jew as Jew and the Christian as Christian, without having their differences reduced. The non-Jewish religious other, however, is to be evangelised and the Christian hope is that she or he will walk the one path towards true humanity, which is Christianity. Thus, the other needs to be altered prior to the eschatological process when God will be all in all. As I’ve stated in the introduction, this is not a simple task since the religious other is not easily detached from her or his community. The religious tradition is a part of that person’s otherness. Despite the belief in

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universal salvation, Moltmann’s eschatology is not very open towards the otherness of the religious other.

Religious Otherness in the Eschatology of Joseph Ratzinger Joseph Ratzinger (b. 1927) has served as a Professor of Dogmatic Theology at several universities. Before becoming Pope Benedict XVI he was the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith between 1981 and 2005.

Judgment The final judgment will, according to Ratzinger, reveal the truth about each and every human being. It concerns the consequences of a person’s actions and decisions and takes place in the person’s encounter with God, who is Truth. The body of Christ is constituted by the Church, and the judgment has a christological dimension. In a sense, the Church will judge the world and a person’s destiny is dependent on his or her relation to Christ’s body, the Church. Imbedded in the idea of judgment is also the idea of damnation. This is however nothing caused by God, it is rather the human being who sets the limits of salvation and who judges herself (Ratzinger 2007, 207). Thus, we find in Ratzinger’s eschatology a strong link between the Church and salvation. It is christological in the sense that Jesus Christ is the norm of the judgment and in the sense that damnation is caused by a person’s final rejection of Christ. It is ecclesiological in the sense that salvation is dependent on one’s relation to the Church.

Hell Ratzinger finds clear scriptural support for the belief in eternal punishment and eternal damnation. The idea of apocatastasis suggested by some of the early Church Fathers is to be thought of as no more than a thought experiment and is something which has never been accepted as a part of Christian teaching. Ratzinger connects the Christian teaching of hell to the belief in the freedom of the human being and her possibility to reject God. Because of the freedom of each human being, the idea of hell must be affirmed. He argues that a characteristic of Christianity is its conviction of the seriousness of human life derived from the cross of Christ. Based on this conviction, Ratzinger explains hell in a twofold way:

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first, it is the self-willed exclusion from Christ. Second, it is a person’s experience of deep suffering in communion with the suffering of Christ. Thus, in the second meaning of hell, Ratzinger seeks to develop a concept of hell which is not a threat towards other persons, but a challenge towards oneself, that is, the opportunity to suffer with Christ (2007, 216-8). He explains that the significant dividing line between life and death lies not in biological death, but in the distinction between being with God and isolation from God (2007, 207). Christian eschatology is universal and aims at the salvation of all. However, even though salvation is offered to everyone, it needs to be actively received (2007, 65). The nature or criteria for such a reception is not clear and Ratzinger’s reluctance to deal with other religious traditions in terms of salvation leads to even further confusion; elsewhere in Eschatology Ratzinger states that being with Christ is what the believer (des Gläubigen) can expect after death (2007, 166). Again, it is not obvious what is meant by “the believer”. Nonetheless, turning to Ratzinger’s book on theology of religion, Truth and Tolerance, it is stated that Christianity “[…] sees in Christ the only real salvation of man and, thus, his final salvation” (2004, 19). According to Ratzinger, the existence of hell, in the sense of eternal exclusion from God, is the necessary consequence of human freedom. Ratzinger does not want to address the religious other in terms of hell and exclusion from God, but nevertheless, he states that Christ and the Church are necessary for salvation.

Heaven In Ratzinger’s theology, heaven, like purgatory, is to be determined christologically. It signifies communion with Christ, rather than a place outside history. In one sense, he argues, heaven is individual, since it is personally and differently perceived by everyone. It is first and foremost the communion with God where God’s self-giving love and the human response interact in what is known as the beatific vision. Heaven is ultimately constituted by the relationship between God and the individual person, where the love of God pervades the human being. Derived from this is also the being-with all who together constitutes the body of Christ. In this sense, heaven is a communion which is the fulfilment of all human relationships.2 Even though Ratzinger sometimes uses spatial terms when

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The English translation unfortunately translates “Gemeinschaft” with “society”. Ratzinger does not claim that heaven is a society, which would suggest that it was created by human beings. See the German text: (Ratzinger 1977, 191) and the English translation: (Ratzinger 2007, 234-5).

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speaking of heaven, it is clear that these are not to be understood ontologically. Heaven is beyond and above in a qualitative sense, not in a spatial sense (2007, 234-7). Heaven is, like judgment, realised in two steps: The first is individual salvation, which cannot be complete until the second step, the salvation of the elect and of the cosmos is complete. Thus, this means that not only will some human beings be saved, but salvation regards the completion of the entire cosmos: a new heaven and a new earth. Furthermore, salvation cannot be complete until all of the body of Christ is filled. Heaven will only be complete when all the members of the Lord’s body are gathered in. [...] Let us say it once more before we end: the individual’s salvation is whole and entire only when the salvation of the cosmos and all the elect has come to full fruition. For the redeemed are not simply adjacent to each other in heaven. Rather, in their being together as the one Christ, they are heaven. (Ratzinger 2007, 237-8)

Again, it is clear that Ratzinger does not emphasise the question of the not elected. He also does not address those not proclaiming their loyalty to the Son. This is symptomatic for his Eschatology. He refers to the Body of Christ as all human beings in one organism and to Christ as the true ruler over the entire cosmos (2007, 190, 202).

Truth, Salvation and the Theology of Religions Ratzinger acknowledges non-Christian religions as provisional and preparatory to Christianity. He appeals to Christian mission to deeper understand and acknowledge other religions and their value, but at the same time he requests from other religions that they must understand their own role as preliminary and as preparing for belief in Christ (2004, 78-9). In sum, Ratzinger’s eschatology is, at best, ambiguous with regard to non-Christian religions. On the one hand, he denies the relevance of religious belonging to salvation and his eschatology is neglecting the religious other. On the other hand, he clearly affirms the necessity of Christ and the Church for salvation. Religious otherness seems to be a non-solved problem in Ratzinger’s eschatology.

Religious Otherness in the Eschatology of John Hick John Hick (b 1922) is a philosopher of religion, and a British Presbyterian who has served as professor at the University of Birmingham and at the Claremont Graduate University in California. He is well known

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for his contributions to the field of theology of religions where he has developed a pluralistic position. This position holds that all religions are genuine but limited responses to the one reality called Ultimate Reality or the Real. Hick’s major contribution to eschatology, Death and Eternal Life, originally published in 1976, was reprinted with a new preface in 1994.

Hick’s method and perspective The method and the perspectives of Hick’s eschatology are somewhat different from those of the theologians studied above. Although claiming to make a Christian contribution, Hick balances between the particular perspective and the meta-perspective. On the one hand, he claims to talk from a Christian standpoint. On the other hand, he seeks to create (a contribution to) a global or human theology rather than a Christian theology (1994, 27). In a recent article, he claims to address the question of the relationship between all the religions, trying to explain the fact that there is a plurality of religions (2006, 207-8). In yet another article, he thinks of his pluralism as a meta-theory about the relationships between the world religions (1997, 163). His intention is not to create a new, global religion, but a global theology constituted by a number of assertions, or hypotheses, about Ultimate Reality, which ought to be the common ground for all the religions of the world (1994, 27-30). Hick admits that it is not possible to entirely transcend one’s own culture, philosophy or religion and therefore, he finds a persistent value in particular religious traditions; worship is to take place within these concrete institutions. The belief in a common ground is indeed one of the cornerstones of Hick’s pluralistic paradigm. In Hick’s view, this is a move from a theology centred on one religion to a theology centred on reality itself. It is a Copernican revolution, leaving the Ptolemaic view behind. As is well known, the Ptolemaic astronomy was geocentric, considering earth the centre of the universe. The religious equivalence, as Hick sees it, is the conviction that one’s own religion is the centre of the religious universe and in possession of the full truth. Nicolaus Copernicus revised this and presented a heliocentric view, where the earth is one among many other planets moving around the sun. The religious equivalence is Hick’s pluralistic paradigm where the religions are different and overlapping responses to Ultimate Reality, or as he later prefers to denote it, the Real (1994, 30-1; 1997, 163-4). The Copernican revolution has consequences for various aspects of all religions, and in Death and Eternal Life Hick outlines these consequences for eschatology.

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As we have seen, Hick steers between being a Christian thinker and a global, interreligious theologian. He confesses the western Christian tradition as his “Sitz im Leben”, but his task is not to evaluate Christian theology in the light of other religious traditions, rather to put forth a hypothesis about the interrelationship between all religious traditions, giving account of their weaknesses, strengths and actual ends.

Pareschatology Hick thinks that one of the reasons why the eschatologies of various religious traditions seem so different is a failure to distinguish between the intermediate state after death and the final state. The eastern belief in rebirth or reincarnation is not to be compared with the Christian belief in heaven, rather with purgatory. Hence, Hick distinguishes between eschatology (the last things) and pareschatology (next to the last). He develops his pareschatology in conversation with both eastern and western beliefs and presents a new alternative based on insights drawn from both. As a synthesis and yet a third option, Hick suggests a series of rebirths in multiple worlds. Hereby he claims to overcome some of the difficulties with reincarnation and identity. The fact that the next life takes place in another world brings the western belief in resurrection closer to the eastern notion of rebirth (1994, 279-85, 456). One of Hick’s fundamental ideas is that the purpose of human life, according to all religious traditions, is to develop and eventually fulfil human personhood. This involves letting go of the self-centred ego in favour of a more generous and reality-centred I. As stated above, no such development can be discerned in the average human life, which means that there must be a continuation of a person’s existence. What is likely to happen in death, according to Hick, is that the human being enters a dreamlike state which allows for a plurality of experiences according to a person’s view of life on earth. The beliefs in purgatory, karma, Day of Judgment, and death as ultimate end are all echoed here. The conservative Christian might encounter the Lamb of God sitting on a throne, whereas an atheist might not even notice that she is dead. Hick describes this post-mortem state as conscious, dreamlike and solipsistic. We can note that many eschatological assertions of different religious, and non-religious, traditions become true in this state between death and rebirth, albeit under subjective and dreamlike conditions. In the end, Hick admits, this state is nothing but an illusion. This dreamlike experience is followed by a new embodiment. The pareschatological scheme is repeated over and over again, but not as a desolating repetition of the same, rather

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as a gradual process towards human perfection. It is however not entirely clear why every new life necessarily means spiritual progression. Would it not be a plausible scenario that spiritual regression occurs, which would make possible a future of endless repetition, not unlike that of Sisyphus? Hick does not treat such questions, but stays firm in his conviction that this process eventually will reach an end. When a person is ready, after one life or thousands, Ultimate Reality awaits.

Eschatology As we have seen, Hick thinks of the Christian belief in heaven and hell as a dreamlike illusion. However, he also affirms an eternal life as the ultimate human destiny. He strongly rejects any separation of humanity in regard to this final state. Hick finds the idea of a place or state of eternal punishment or judgment outrageous. The salvation is a salvation of all human beings from this unsatisfactory world. Hick admits that the pareschatology that he develops is a third option beside the two main options of eastern and western religions. When it comes to the eschaton, however, Hick finds greater agreement among the religious traditions. The best way to talk about the final state is to acknowledge that we cannot conceive of it. Hick argues that the Christian concept of the beatific vision converges with eastern views of the final state. The beatific vision, like nirvana and moksha, is a state where God is no longer outside us, but within us. This means that Hick refers the more anthropocentric of the Christian eschatological visions, such as the kingdom of God, the ideal community and the heavenly banquet, pictures involving a continued personal identity, to the pareschaton, and the more theocentric visions, where personal identity does not necessarily persist, to the eschaton. Christian, Hindu and Buddhist eschatologies are all pointing towards something beyond what is known: What Christians call the Mystical Body of Christ within the life of God, and Hindus the universal Atman which we all are, and Mahayana Buddhists the self-transcending unity in the Dharma Body of the Buddha, consists of the wholeness of ultimately perfected humanity beyond the existence of separate egos. (1994, 464)

The position from which Hick observes and speaks is not entirely consistent throughout the work. He claims to speak as a Christian philosopher and consequently talks from a Christian perspective. While this is true for some parts of the work, as for instance when he argues against the existence of hell and advocates universalism, this perspective is

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sometimes altered and Hick holds a meta-perspective surveying all religious traditions from above. In order to conclude the analysis of Hick’s eschatology, two issues will be raised. The first has to do with the inconsistency in terms of perspective. Obviously, the Copernican revolution was not the last one in the history of astronomy. The Copernican paradigm thought that there was a neutral standpoint from which interdependent observations could be made. With Einstein and others we now know that there is no such thing as a neutral standpoint from which everything can be observed. Rather, any description or assertion depends on from where and by whom it is made. It is equally true to say that the earth orbits the sun as it is to say that the sun orbits the earth; it is only a matter of perspective and starting point (although it takes us more advanced mathematics to describe the universe according to the latter perspective). Is there perhaps a similar problem with Hick’s eschatology as with the Copernican paradigm? From where does he make his observations? For whom does he create the global theology? Is it really possible to explore the relationship between all religions from a meta-perspective? These questions of perspective are also related to the question of hope and otherness. In one sense, the other and his or her hope are not taken seriously enough; they are not allowed to be other. A second thing to note about Hick’s eschatology is its content and structure. It is a philosophical prediction about death and life after death based on a careful and systematic reading of religious texts, theological works from some of the great religious traditions and para-psychological testimonies about life after death. Hick’s assertions about the hereafter are the result of his attempt to find a consensus among these voices. He does not claim that they all say the same thing, but he suggests that they are all referring to their experiences of the same reality. This method, as well as the unavoidable general language of global theology creates an eschatology only loosely related to the theological categories faith, hope, and love. That in Hick’s proposal which is most difficult to reconcile with a Christian theological framework is not necessarily the belief in many lives in many worlds, but the obscure role of faith, hope and love. Hick’s proposal is not in opposition to these categories, and they are not entirely absent but the eschatology is also not dependent on or built of these three categories. Hick’s hypothesis is brave and it accounts for the beliefs of many religious traditions. It takes these positions serious and relates them to each other. In the end, however, these different positions are illusions or seemingly different but yet converging ideas. Thus, although oriented

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towards all religious traditions in an astonishing attempt to speak for them all, Hick too, seems uneasy with religious otherness, seeking to avoid it.

The Otherness of the Religious Other Three highly influential contemporary eschatologies have been examined. They represent vastly different Christian traditions and they provide different views of religious otherness, yet all of them seem to approach otherness as a problem. Jürgen Moltmann is not referring to the religious other as other and, although advocating Christian universalism, he is only acknowledging hope for the Jew as Jew. By silencing the issue of otherness, he runs the risk of treating non-Christian human beings as means, making possible the Christian’s universalistic dreams, rather than as ends in themselves. Joseph Ratzinger is not addressing the question of religious otherness in his eschatology. Hence, the religious other is absent and the idea that the faith of non-Christians should have anything significant to contribute to a person’s eschatological destiny is ruled out. Thus, for Ratzinger religious otherness is a problem to which he has no solution. John Hick has, more than most theologians, dealt with religious otherness. His pluralistic position is taking into account a great number of different eschatological expectations. The solution he puts forth is however that most of these differences are merely imaginary and that one and the same reality lies beyond them all. The religious otherness is to a large extent not a real otherness. The conclusion is that all of the eschatologies examined here somehow seek to avoid eschatological otherness.

The Starting Point of Eschatology The second question was concerned with the starting point of the eschatological reflection. Christian eschatology is obviously always connected to other doctrines, but how and in what way? Is eschatology for instance developed in an already settled dogmatic system as a consequence of christology, ecclesiology or anthropology? It is argued that the choice of starting point affects the kind eschatology one ends up with, and that this is particularly relevant with regard to the question of otherness and eschatology. Moltmann’s eschatology begins, and ends, in christological reflection. The eschatological hope is based in Jesus Christ, his coming, his death on the cross and resurrection from the dead. This makes the otherness of the

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religious other superfluous. Moltmann expects the rule of Christ both in history and in eschaton. Eventually, the lordship of Christ will not be disputed. Joseph Ratzinger’s eschatology is intimately linked to the body of Christ. The judgment is carried out by Christ and his body, the Church. Thus, the judgment with its two distinct outcomes is both christologically and ecclesiologically determined. The same is true of heaven; it is communion with Christ, through the beatific vision. Thus, the point of departure in Ratzinger’s eschatology is Christ with the Church through which the beatific vision and the relationship with God are made possible. Hick’s eschatology starts with the plurality of responses to the Real and the ambition to unite them and to find a common denominator. Thus, it is primarily a philosophical prediction about the future, based on a reading of the major religious traditions.

Reassessing Otherness It is argued that these eschatologies to a large extent seek to avoid otherness. Is it possible to approach otherness differently? The French philosopher Paul Ricœur warns against any universalizing project where the otherness of the other is not acknowledged. The risk, on the ethical level, is that the other is treated as a means on the way towards a greater goal rather than an end in itself. To treat the other as a means is a violation of the other, Ricœur argues (1992, 264-6). The American theologian David Tracy also defends otherness against the threat of being reduced to more of the same. He is alarmed at the possibility of a new monism erasing plurality and otherness. We should not be afraid of otherness, Tracy argues. In fact: the most radical otherness is within. Unless we acknowledge that, it will be impossible for us to responsibly participate in, or meaningfully belong to, our history. The return of the same can now be understood as what it always was: a return to policies of exclusion and repression. (Tracy 1988, 78)

Thus, we find in both Ricœur and Tracy a reappraisal of otherness and a warning against any quick search for similarities. The difference and the plurality defended by both Ricœur and Tracy are not only present between human beings and between different religions. It is also a plurality within the religious traditions and even within myself. The otherness of other people is not a threat but something which constitutes my existence, because the self becomes self in and through the other, Ricœur argues. In

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Christian tradition, the eschaton is conceived of as radically other. The theologians that I have examined tend to make eschatology dependent on other doctrines: the Church or the Christian belief in Jesus Christ is the entrance to the eschatological thinking. The unfortunate consequence is that the respective eschatologies tend to hide the otherness of the eschaton. If Christian eschatology secures and protects the otherness of the eschaton, is it really necessary to approach religious otherness as a problem? It is certainly beyond what can be known. Rather than excluding, assimilating or denying otherness, the argument is that otherness should be reassessed and that it could be the point of departure rather than the problem.

References Hick, John. 1994. Death and Eternal Life. Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster/John Knox Press. —. 1997. The Possibility of Religious Pluralism: A Reply to Gavin D'costa. Religious Studies 33.2:161-6. —. 2006. Exclusivism versus Pluralism in Religion: A Response to Kevin Meeker. Religious Studies 42.2: 207-12. Moltmann, Jürgen. 1996. The Coming of God: Christian Eschatology. Trans. Margaret Kohl. London: SCM Press. —. 2001a. Hope and Reality: Contradiction and Correspondence. In God Will Be All in All: The Eschatology of Jürgen Moltmann, Ed. Richard Bauckham, 77-86. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. —. 2001b. The Logic of Hell. In God Will Be All in All: The Eschatology of Jürgen Moltmann, Ed. Richard Bauckham, 44-7. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. —. 2002. Theology of Hope: On the Ground and the Implications of a Christian Eschatology. Trans James W. Leitch. London: SCM Press. —. 2007. A Broad Place: An Autobiography. Trans. Margaret Kohl. London: SCM Press. Ratzinger, Joseph. 1977. Eschatologie: Tod und Ewiges Leben. Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet. —. 2004. Truth and Tolerance: Christian Belief and World Religions. Trans. Henry Taylor. San Francisco: Ignatius Press. —. 2007. Eschatology, Death, and Eternal Life (2nd ed). Trans. Michael Waldstein. Washington: Catholic University of America Press. Ricœur, Paul. 1992. Oneself as Another. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Tracy, David. 1988. Plurality and Ambiguity: Hermeneutics, Religion, Hope. London: SCM Press.

YCITIZENSHIP IN MUSLIM COMMUNITIES OF EUROPE: A CONCEPTUAL INVESTIGATION EROL FIRTIN

Citizenship and Immigration: Changing Parameters How does immigration influence the traditional notions of citizenship in a contemporary liberal democracy? In what ways do immigrants shape (and are shaped by) the realm of citizenship? Heavily determined by nation-state boundaries, democratic political agency in Europe is gaining new impetus from migrant communities to transform the conventional acts of citizenship, which forces us to rethink politics dependent on nation-state boundaries. In this section, I will deal with the questions that migration in general and Muslim communities in particular, pose regarding the limits and contents of a liberal democratic citizenship. Postcolonial and labour immigration to European countries after the Second World War has been subject to numerous studies that compare the relative success that immigrants have displayed in the host countries’ economic life along with the failure of political and social “integration” which are still issues of contention. Especially if we consider the ethnicgenealogical citizenship traditions that confine the political space to particular historical formations of culture and the nation-state, the existence of failure makes sense. Brubaker (1990) has shown, in a comparative study of how the historical development of the country shapes citizenship law in the case of France and Germany, and that the French conception of nationhood has been universalist, rationalist, assimilationist and statecentred, while the German conception of nationhood has been particularist, organic, differentialist and Volk-centred. This is because the latter’s idea of national feeling developed before it became a nation-state, making ethnocultural unity the base of the state, unlike the former’s assimilationist citizen formation processes which come from early nation-state formation. Brubaker concludes that different historical traditions also made the two countries’ citizenship admission processes different; a substantial portion

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of post-war immigrants in France became French citizens while the naturalization rate in Germany is much lower (1990, 398). This shouldn’t be seen as a success story of one tradition in contrast to another. For example, in France’s case, gaining full citizenship rights does not give one full political membership rights, as I will argue later. Traditional forms of citizenship are challenged by the migratory movements and they are leading towards new directions despite the persistence of the historical formations that Brubaker describes. In an article which explores the implications of transnationalisation for citizenship and culture, Thomas Faist identifies three concepts of immigrant adaptation with their distinct equivalents of citizenships: assimilation to a unitary political culture in a single nation-state, ethnic pluralism as the recognition of distinct cultures to multicultural citizenship, and border-crossing expansion of social space as enhancing individual and collective identities to dual citizenship and dual nationality. He asserts that these three forms of formal citizenship are more or less related to the nation-states’ unitary assumption that (forcefully) connects one people to one territory and one cultural space (Faist 2000, 204). This paper will consider the “border-crossing expansion of social space” as not directly related with dual citizenship and nationality but pertaining to cultural concepts that are embedded in different societies. Throughout the paper, this connection will allow me to combine the three “immigrant adaptations” that Faist mentions. Perhaps one of the most important studies that examines immigration and its influence on citizenship in post-war Europe is Yasemin Soysal’s post national model of membership that focuses on the processes that blur the “nation states’ congruity assumption”1 (Soysal 1995). While deprived of formal citizenship, “the guest workers” have acquired full civil and social rights (such as family unification, freedom of assembly and association, freedom of movement, retirement benefits, health insurance, unemployment compensation) through the thrust of a transnational human rights regime and its related discourses. So it is not the national cultural space that provides a repository for belonging now, but the universal human rights discourses that sustain the membership for immigrants in nation states. Soysal argues that in the nation-state mode of political community, national belonging creates the source of rights and duties of individuals, and citizenship is marked by national collectivity. The post-

 1

Benhabib reads this“congruity assumption” in a Weberian ideal typical model: “Following Max Weber, we may say that this unity of residency, administrative subjection, democratic participation and cultural membership constitutes the ‘ideal typical’ model of citizenship in the modern nation-state of the West.” (Benhabib 2002, 454)

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war era, however, has witnessed a flourishing reconstruction of (national) citizenship rights as human rights. Rights that were once linked with belonging in a national community have become increasingly detached from national context and legitimated at the transnational level (Soysal 2000, 5; Joppke 1999, 630). One of the possible consequences of this process is the disaggregation of citizenship rights into collective identity, privileges of political membership and social rights and benefits. One can have one set of rights and claims without the other: one can have political rights without being a national, as is the case of the EU. Frequently, however, one has social rights and benefits (health insurance, unemployment compensation etc.) for being a foreign worker without being involved in the same collective identity or holding the privileges of political membership. Disaggregation of rights leads to the emergence of “permanent alienage”, namely the creation of a group in society that shares property rights and participates in civil society without having access to political rights (Benhabib 2002, 454-55). Perhaps the most important distinction in terms of political membership in the EU is the distinction between third country nationals (nationals who are not a citizen of a European Union country) and citizens of the member states of the Union. EU citizens can vote, run for and hold offices in both local and Union-wide elections, while this is not possible for third country nationals although permanent legal residents (second generations and afterwards) who are born and have lived their entire life in the host country. However, there are exceptions to this distinction: third country nationals in Finland, Denmark, Holland and Sweden have a right to attend in local and regional elections; in Ireland, it is only local elections but not regional; in the UK, commonwealth citizens can vote in national elections (Benhabib 2002, 460). This distinction between EU citizens and third country nationals has concentrated on the restrictive regulations in political decision making processes. Social rights (like retirement pensions), civil and cultural rights (like the right to establish associations and speak native languages) are perceived as inviolable individual rights that must be granted. Political rights, on the other hand, are exclusively for the nationals of the respective states. Naturally, one wonders about the roots of “post national membership”. Why are social and civil rights given while political rights (formal citizenship, voting rights) are difficult to access? In articulating this question, one can recognize the asymmetrical power relations between the parties: immigrants, permanent resident aliens (or denizens), and asylum seekers are given rights as “passive subjects” which have to be “incorporated” into the national community. Benhabib notes the “hiatus” between the

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self-understanding of liberal democracy and its restrictive practices that regulate the entry into and exit from political space (Benhabib 1999, 727). The diagnosis that the liberal democratic citizenship is “disaggregated” into different rights regimes for different groups does not explain why political citizenship is made difficult for immigrants. Could this difficulty be attributed to the same compromise that T. H. Marshall argued for in the 20th century’s expansion of social rights that were crucial to the working class’s progressive integration in British society? It was claimed that the development of welfare policies aimed at mitigating the impact of unemployment, sickness and distress was elementary to political and social stability (Leydet 2009). So could we claim that the “decoupling” of social rights from political rights implies achieving political stability at the cost of an exclusionary citizenship regime? The answer is partly in the self-understanding of liberal democracy which is shaped by the Westphalian political imaginary. As an event, Westphalia refers to the peace settlement formed at the end of the Thirty Years Wars (1618-1648; initially started within the Holy Roman Empire, all major European powers became involved) which also served as a structural frame for world order that has existed until now (the birth of the modern system of territorial sovereign state and raison d’état are taken as the legacy of Treaty of Westphalia). As an idea, Westphalia points to the state-centric character of a world order based on full participatory membership being conferred solely to territorially based sovereign states (Falk 2002, 312). In this system of orders, territorial sovereignty determines the boundaries of political membership. As a political imaginary, Westphalia not only shaped the institutional state system but also political mobilization in the nation state. It is claimed that this political imaginary informed the post-war framing of debates about justice in Europe, even as the beginnings of a post-Westphalian human-rights regime appeared (Fraser 2005, 70). However, as is stated at the outset, I am trying to answer the question of how immigration is changing the conventional practice of citizenship. Juxtaposition of a post-Westphalian human rights regime which is upheld by international law and nation state with its unilateral power claims creates tensions that characterize the transformation process of citizenship practices; to the extent which citizens are able to influence and change political decision processes, they are both authors of the law and are subject to it. A “Westphalian political imaginary” is challenged by post nationalization processes of increasing density of global migration and emergence of supranational entities (such as the EU and direct effect rule of the European Court of Justice in the first pillar that overrides member state

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law) and the increasing influence of human rights discourse. When we talk about immigrants in the European Union countries, national citizenship or formal nationality is no longer a crucial construction in terms of how citizenship is transformed into rights and privileges. Although it is not possible to claim the waning of formal citizenship, the post national condition has begun to effect the reconfiguration of rights. Claims-making and participation are not unquestionably accompanying the national order of things (Soysal 2004). New forms of mobilizing and enhancing claims beyond the umbrella of national citizenship are witnessed among the migrant communities of Europe. This largely happens due to the post nationalization processes that shake national citizenship as the sole signifier of political membership. By national citizenship, I mean the status of a member of a society in terms of playing a role in decision making or self governance processes. Soysal (2004) claims that collective groups increasingly mobilize around claims for particularistic identities, they connect their claims to transnational institutionalized discourses and agendas of human rights. I will analyse the argument through a recent case.

El-Sherbini Case: Not for Hijab but for Human Rights The case developed in this way: An Egyptian pharmacist, 32, Marwa el-Sherbini who had been living in Germany since 2003, stood in a Dresden courtroom on 2 July 2009, testifying against a man charged with racially insulting her. Then the defendant went across the courtroom, and stabbed her with a knife, 18 times. As her husband, Eliv Ali Okaz, ran to her aid, he was shot by police who mistook him for the attacker (Collins n.d.). The assailant was a “Russlanddeutschen”, an immigrant who came to Germany to work, for the same reason that El-Sherbini came. He was “more” German than El-Sherbini and her husband in the eyes of the police. This is a typical ethnic-genealogical citizenship practice that excludes the immigrant (a non-member of dominant ethnic group) not just from formal citizenship but also from equal treatment. Reactions to the murder case are diverse, but I will cite two examples which show how “collective claims-making processes” which are connected to transnationallyformed discourses and identities become particularistic and expressive. The first one surveys the reception of the case in Egypt and other Muslim countries and asks why Muslims are silent regarding “Hijab martyrs” within Muslim majority countries by arguing that El-Sherbini had won on her “hate crime claim” and had been awarded damages because she had been called a “terrorist” while cases like the second

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example are mostly ignored by the judicial system (T. Uddin). The example is in a more direct connection with the human rights discourse that does not want to recognize the case in religious terms. Rather it considers the case as a matter of violent Islamophobia and racism and urges readers to think of the case not as one of religious conflict by saying that Marwa died because she was wearing a hijab, but that she died because a racist murderer killed her (Muslimah Media Watch). What we see is a clear human rights discourse rather than a plea for a religious freedom, as Soysal would argue. However, the second part of Soysal’s argument that identities become “particularistic and expressive” is problematic because of the way Islamic practices are handled by the sociology of religion as a discipline with a particular historical formation process. An important reason that makes Soysal’s argument problematic to apply to the “hijab” issue is that it would reduce the hijab to a substantial symbol which is part of the sociological view of religion as essentially consisting of functional meanings. According to this view, which is inherited from French sociological and anthropological theory to European social theory at large (Tarot 1999, cited in Salvatore 2007), social processes have symbolic dimensions without which our social sentiments cannot live.2 We frequently hear the secular argument that the hijab is a symbol for political Islam and it creates pressure on “non-veiled” Muslim girls; therefore there is no place for religion in the public sphere, and this justifies the ban on headscarves in public schools in France and Turkey. In the first part of the article, I cited Brubaker’s claim of a high naturalization rate in France and said it doesn’t imply the expansion of rights of the migrants. Now the ban on headscarves and the success in granting political membership does imply the expansion of state’s authority over the migrants. It was the fear of the loss of authority in the classroom that triggered the ban process. The legacy of French sociology (e.g. Durkheim and Mauss) on contemporary discussions of secularity and religious practice in liberal secular democracies ignores the question of who are the interpreters and his/her interaction with the head-scarf wearing woman. “Whether an object has a symbolic meaning and what this meaning is depends not only on the context but also on the positioning of the interpreter and on the inherited power relations among the actors” (Salvatore 2007, 148). Association of the headscarf with political Islam and “expressive identity” (and with the terrorism in the El-Sherbini case by the assailant) but not with Muslim faith by the anti-hijab countries



2 “[...] without symbols, social sentiments could have only a precarious existence” (Durkheim 1912, 231).

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manifests strong will to restore state authority in public schools. So it is the positioning of the state as pro-ban that foregrounds the view of the headscarf as a symbol. The fundamental ways through which the sociology of religion have connected religious traditions to the public sphere emanate from the traumatic experience of religious conflict and religious wars in early modern Europe and the subsequent nationalist wars from the eighteenth century through to the Second World War (Salvatore 2004, 1020). Hence, the proposition that the headscarf is a symbol, very much similar to “expressive identity” narration, has its own historical formations and is not necessarily related with Islamic tradition. Yet, the particular formations are mostly ignored in dealing with Islamic practices in European contexts. To reiterate the arguments so far, the works of Soysal and Benhabib show that immigration and the development of political globalization (universal human rights, increasing discourse of cosmo-political justice) have challenged the conventional forms of citizenship. We have observed that the phenomena of the disaggregation of citizenship (collective identity, privileges of political membership, social rights and benefits) contends that the entitlement to rights is no longer dependent upon the status of citizenship to the extent that legal resident aliens have been incorporated into human rights regimes, as well as being protected by supra- and sub-national legislations (Benhabib 2002, 459). While they are incorporated into the human rights regime, the immigrants are denied or encounter extreme difficulty in accessing political membership. Several questions arise as we are forced to think about the place of politics in the Muslim communities that reside in Europe permanently, and yet in a politically “ineffective” way; legal permanent residents who do not have political rights; so-called “denizens”. For instance, a recent study by the German Federal Office for Migration and Refugees shows that only 45 percent of the Muslim population in Germany has German citizenship3 (the total number of Muslims in Germany is estimated at between 3.8 and 4.3 million). One way to approach this problem is to look at different understandings of selfhood to show the social philosophy behind the concept of citizenship and the agency or the lack thereof among the Muslim communities. To do this, first, I will take Talal Asad’s proposal on how to deal with Islam as an object of scholarly investigation to situate the migrant communities in their own socio-cultural context and “meaning making processes” and then consider the concept of “modern responsible

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A summary of the study is available at: http://www.bamf.de/cln_092/nn_434132 /SharedDocs/Anlagen/EN/Migration/ Publikationen/ Sonstige/muslimisches-lebenkurzfassung-englisch.html

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agency” from the perspective of citizenship in relation to the idea of selfhood in Islam.

“Islam as a Discursive Tradition” In a seminal essay written in 1986, Asad criticized previous anthropological studies on Islam on the grounds that they establish their foundations on the notion of a determinate social blueprint or on an idea of an integrated social totality in which social structure and religious ideology interact (Asad 1986, 14). Clifford Geertz, as one of the early anthropologists of Islam, has approached religion as essentially different from science and common sense, having the function of producing a distinctive set of dispositions and worldview among followers. Accordingly, Geertz asserted that religion should be studied in two stages; first the analysis of the meanings which are embodied in symbols, and in the second stage these analyses should be linked to social structures and psychological processes. Asad, on the other hand, sees these stages as essentially one: religious symbols acquire their meaning and efficacy in real life through social and political means and processes in which power, in the form of coercion, discipline, institutions, and knowledge, is intricately involved. Geertz’s approach was also criticised for its close links with the liberal demand that religion be separate from realms of real power and reason such as politics, law and science (Anjum 2007, 659-60). According to Asad, a coherent anthropology of Islam should start from the concept of a discursive tradition that connects itself to the founding texts of the Quran and Hadith. An Islamic discursive tradition is a tradition of Muslim discourse that addresses itself to the conceptions of the Islamic past and future. It is identified by its own rationality or styles of reasoning, expressed in its texts, history, and institutions. This is not to say that there is some rationality, logic, or philosophy essentially Islamic and thus incomprehensible to outsiders, but that certain theoretical considerations and premises originating from the content and form of the foundational discourse come to designate the tradition, and so anyone willing to argue within the Islamic tradition, ought to start with them, even if only to argue against them (Anjum 2007, 662). The importance of the idea of Islam as a discursive tradition for this paper is that it requires the researcher “to be in a narrative relation” with the Islamic tradition, “a relation that will vary according to whether one supports or opposes the tradition, or regards it as morally neutral” (Asad 1986, 17). Hence, I find it relevant to ask what it means to be (or not to be) a citizen for a Muslim immigrant in Europe. I will narrow the question

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down to the issue of understanding of selfhood in Islam. I don’t see the phenomena of citizenship as only formal political membership in a state. It is more about how “individuals” are connected or embedded into social institutions. For instance, paying taxes, voting, developing a career, attending schools, gaining professional training etc., these are the “normal” practices for almost anybody in any part of the world. By incorporation into the social institutions, I mean the processes, the reasoning, and the techniques that link us to these institutions. Promotion, or favouring and construction of a particular understanding of selfhood (in modern statehood, it is the “modern responsible agent” which also gives the fundamental thrust for the concept of citizenship) is maybe the most important link in these processes. It is through this link that authority and power are kept in a modern state. Citizenship as a whole entails all these processes. I claim that the Islamic ethic of selfhood potentially keeps Muslims outside the modern formation of “responsible agency.” So the link between institutions of the modern state and individual is mostly transformed, if not interrupted, by the Islamic notion of selfhood. Now I will substantiate this argument.

Modern Responsible Agency and Islamic Notion of Selfhood Although these are two different concepts, it is not as much a comparison to be followed here but more an attempt to read them together to have a closer view of how and why the Muslim immigrants in especially Western European countries do not have citizenship of their “host” countries and how this situation should be approached if we want to understand the place of politics in Muslim migrant communities. To facilitate the discussion, I will benefit from the works of two figures to analyze these two broad concepts. One is Jürgen Habermas’ discussion of “free will” as representative of the idea of “modern responsible agency”, though he does not claim as such. His discussion of free will is important to show how the moral responsibility of modern agency is related to social institutions. The other’s, Said Nursi’s (1877-1960), a Kurdish Islamic scholar of the late Ottoman and early Republican Turkey era, treatise on the self, an interpretation of verses in the Quran (33:72) will be the basis here to discuss the content and the location of selfhood in Islam. Contemporary social science offers the concept of agency as a modern manifestation of free will. A modern citizen is understood as having free will as it is necessary for attributing the “responsibility” that agents “bear” (Habermas 2007, 15). Islamic concept of selfhood, on the other hand, is

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based on an indicative meaning, by having no meaning in itself; the “I” in Islamic theology is a “hypothetical line, a thread, an insubstantial Alif”4 (Said Nursi 1996 [1928], 560). It is given “an imagined dominicality” to make it compare the “limitless dominicality” of God. Maybe we can call it merely an instrument of comparison to situate the position of human self in the world. It should be noted that moral responsibility in Islam is not dependent on the self as an autonomous being while the modern self is responsible for his/her actions for the very reason that s/he has a free will. I don’t mean that there is not free will in Islam; the point is that “human free will” is not connected to the self as tight as it is in modern selfhood. A general proposal about modern responsible agency is that “individuals” are “morally responsible” for their actions since they have “free will.” Philosophically speaking, “free will” is a term for a particular kind of capacity of rational agents to select a course of action from among diverse alternatives; most philosophers assume that the concept of free will is firmly related to the concept of moral responsibility (O’Connor 2008). Habermas articulates free will “as the mode of how one binds one’s own will on the basis of convincing reasons.” Freedom of will constitutes “a mode of being” in which agents exist within the space of reasons and are responsive to “culturally transmitted and socially institutionalized reasons” (Habermas 2007, 19). The axis of the self to become free is based on its responsiveness to convincing reasons which are socially institutionalized. Binding one’s own will through convincing reasons (or the issue of moral responsibility) is bound by the cultural and social context since the convincing reasons are produced within these contexts.5 By social and cultural context, I understand the formation of the modern secular state in general and “nation-state” in particular that aims to create “loyalty” among its members. The power of the modern state relies upon its ability to create commitments or belongings towards itself among



4 “Alif” is the first letter of Arabic alphabet; “΍.” There is no clear definition of the letter. The form of the letter invokes meanings that selfhood carries in Islam; “a hypothetical line.” 5 The etymology of the word “binding” has interesting connections; the German word “binden” (tying, committing oneself to someone) and Persian “benden” comes from same root, as both German and Persian were in the same language family (Indo-European) before they separated approximately five thousand years ago. Kurdish “bend” means slavery, captivity; Armenian “band” has a meaning of “prison” and “shackles.” Turkish “bendeniz” also means “your slave or your subject.” Semantic proximity among different languages may imply different understanding of selfhood. (Nisanyan, Sevan. “Bendeniz.” 7 July 2009. Taraf. Daily News http://www.taraf.com.tr/makale/6447.htm)

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citizens. Therefore, political membership (or formal citizenship) is closely related with the search of “evidence” for “loyalty” in the context of Muslim immigrants such as political obligation (military service etc.) in time of war in the host country. It is interesting to note that the discussions of “free will” that have taken place in the history of philosophy for more than two thousand years are replaced by discussions on “agency” in the social sciences, beginning in 1960s. On the usage of the concept “agency”, Asad argues that; […] “agency” is now employed in the social sciences to attack many things—the use of statistical reasoning, the idea of historical forces, the force of habit, traditional oppressions—and to celebrate self-empowerment history-making, and individualism. An ethnographic or historical account that lacks evidence of a people’s “agency” is held to be a faulty account. What underlie such judgements are the perceived opportunities and limitations of modernity. This notion of “agency”, I argue, presupposes a teleological history and an essentialised human subject (Asad 2000, 29).

Is “modern responsible agency” an essentialised understanding of human subjectivity? It is, I argue, an essentialised subjectivity as long as both moral responsibility and “free will” are elevated to the status of a benchmark for political membership. It is essentialised subjectivity because it disregards the weaknesses that humans carry and totalises particular aspects of selfhood. In comparison to modern responsible agency, Islamic discursive tradition approaches human selfhood as merely a “conscious strand from the thick rope of the human being, a fine thread from the raiment of the essence of humanity”6 (Said Nursi 1996 [1928], 559-560). So here, human selfhood is just a part of human being unlike the modern autonomous responsible personhood which forms the kernel of human being. The implications of these two different understanding of human selfhood are crucial to illustrate the reconfigurations of rights and the emergence of “post national citizenship” phenomena. We can claim that the most important question that Islam poses regarding the content of liberal democratic citizenship is the idea of a modern responsible agency that is at odds with the concept of a normative Muslim selfhood. In the former, close connections between agency and state institutions support authority of the state to garner the legitimacy that state needs, while in the latter, there is an ontological positioning of the

 6

Demek ene, âyine-misal ve vahid-i kıyasî ve âlet-i inkiúaf ve mânâ-yı harfî gibi, mânâsı kendinde olmayan ve baúkasının mânâsını gösteren, vücud-u insaniyetin kalın ipinden úuurlu bir tel ve mahiyet-i beúeriyenin hullesinden ince bir ip ve úahsiyet-i Âdemiyetin kitabından bir elif’tir ki […] (Said Nursi 1996 [1928], 537)

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human self in the form of distancing oneself from an authority other than God. I should remind the reader that this highly simplified view of agency and normative Muslim selfhood operates within the confines of everyday life practices. One cannot necessarily infer from the agency discussion that a modern citizen is a mere subject of the state and that modern citizenry is under the full control of the state (and market regulations). Likewise, one cannot conclude that Muslims are free of political subjection and/or authority of the state. Perhaps the most practical outcome of these two different selfunderstandings is the treatment of the modern idea of the statehood with suspicion by the Muslim traditions. A good example that reflects this suspicion is the conflicting relations of the founders of Islamic jurisprudence with the rulers of their time. It could be claimed that suspicion regarding state affairs (I mean whether they are legitimate in terms of Islamic jurisprudence) is a crucial part of the legal reasoning. Maybe the most prominent case in this respect is the Abnj ‫ـ‬anƯfah (the founder of the Hanafiyya school of religious law) who was jailed due to his refusal of the government offer as Justice Minister to remain independent from governmental intervention in juridical processes. Armando Salvatore analyses the “reconstruction of Muslim traditions” which were observed in the 19th century of the Egypt, India and Ottoman Empire and argues that the project of reform which was designed by public intellectuals and governors re-examined the traditional forms of Islamic reasoning to promote education, collective welfare, economic development, and public morality (Salvatore 2004, 1016). The contention is that reconfiguration of Islamic reasoning/Muslim traditions via press, public discussions, sermons, coffee house circles did not turn the traditional norms of self, community and authority into modern models of personal responsibility and loyalty to the nation state. Islamic reform kept a high level of indeterminacy and distrust towards the secular modern state (Asad 2003, 205-56, cited in Salvatore 2004). Keeping in mind that reform processes, most of the time, were held under colonial occupation, I wonder whether we can transpose the “indeterminacy and distrust” that Asad and Salvatore mention to contemporary Europe where a majority of Muslims are reluctant towards participating in political institutions of secular states and obtaining citizenship. Throughout this paper, I have mentioned two different dimensions of difficulty in obtaining citizenship; one is institutional difficulties that are mainly a result of ethnic-genealogical citizenship tradition and the Westphalian political imaginary; the other dimension is

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what I am focusing on now: the lack of confidence in modern secular states. For the moment, I do not have a satisfactory answer for the plausibility of the connections between these two phenomena; however, if we look at the resurgent interest by political liberalism in an Islamic affirmation of citizenship (or “jurisprudence of Muslim minorities” discourse in general) within non-Muslim majority societies and clarify the role of “jurisprudence of Muslim minorities”7 discourse in dispelling the distrust, we may find some continuities. The idea of political liberalism, first of all, rests upon an assumption that the majority of European citizens (regardless of their religious, political or sexual affiliations) are political liberals that are neutral towards other “comprehensive doctrines.” It is purely a doctrine of social and political cooperation that seeks to devise the most reasonable public conception of justice and citizenship for free and equal persons given the existence of disagreement on the ultimate meaning of life and the epistemological foundation for exploring it (March 2007a, 4018). In an article that aims to investigate the Islamic foundations for a social contract in non-Muslim liberal democracies, March argues that from a political liberalism perspective which claims the free-standing values (e.g. liberty and democracy) are powerful in their own right and liberal terms of social cooperation may be the subject of an overlapping consensus; the Islamic affirmation of citizenship compatible with political liberalism through the latter’s potential to garner support from other comprehensive doctrines (March 2007b, 235). The full justification to collect such support has been attributed to political liberalism’s abstinence from any claims of truth for its political values (March 2007b, 236). Following the same line of thinking, March investigates the works of contemporary Islamic literature on the “jurisprudence of Muslim minorities” that attempt to provide an Islamic foundation for a relatively compact and multidimensional relationship of moral obligation and solidarity with non-Muslims. He considers this attempt as a form of a comprehensive qualitative perspective to ethics which goes beyond classical juridical reasoning that puts Muslims in a limited doctrine of “loyal resident alienage” (March 2009, 92). March’s discussion of the encounter between Islamic and liberal ethics is enlightening to see the limits of both former and latter in terms of their “political” imaginings. What strikes me most is, however, his indifference

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“Fiqh al- aqalliyyat” which deals with Muslim loyalty, citizenship and residence in non- Muslim majority countries. 8 Italics in the discussion of March’s arguments are author’s own.

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to the historicity of the values that form the political and social boundaries of political liberalism. Maybe the most important limit is the state-centric model of nations on which the Rawlsian theory of liberal democratic justice is based and a lack of consideration on the conditions of entry and exit into the political community (Benhabib 2002, 444-45). Another problem in reconciling political liberalism with the jurisprudence of Muslim minorities is the reduction of the issue of “moral obligation” to the state into a predominantly secular character by which I mean the conflict between two different understandings of human subjectivities.

Conclusion I have tried to show how immigration changes the modern concept of citizenship by focusing on first the disconnection of traditional notions of rights that were aggregated by the Westphalian political imaginary and then, with the help of an anthropological approach to Islam developed by Asad, I have compared the notion of modern responsible agency on which modern citizenship has been established and the notion of selfhood in Islam as understood by Said Nursi. I argued that these different notions of subjectivity are highly influential in determining the individual’s appropriation of citizenship practices and delineating the boundaries of political membership in the modern secular state. One possible effect of this Muslim understanding of selfhood is distrust towards the modern secular state due to the particular nature of restructuring Muslim traditions during the19th century. I view the attempts of political liberal interest in jurisprudence of Muslim minorities as an important component of a strategy of turning this distrust into confidence. The problem of “legal resident alienage” needs to be solved immediately not just for a fair condition of political membership in “national” contexts but also for a fair formation of a European political space which already implies a further institutional attempt from Westphalian political imaginary. However, different understandings of selfhood which imply more than mere “cognitive dissonances” exist, and they need to be considered too. This consideration, I think, involves first of all thinking about the limits of political membership in a particular country. The question to be asked here is whether the country is willing to accept immigrants (“acceptance” not necessarily in the sense of immigrants’ economic value). Acceptance of “a democratic state of multiple minorities” naturally brings pluralisation and contestation of value issues (Asad 2003). In the context of Muslim migrants, shifting value judgments are likely to occur in the so called dichotomous public/private field.

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The second issue that needs to be considered for the problem of “legal resident alienage” is to ask whether the concept of citizenship is an appropriate tool to attenuate the deficits of political membership in a liberal democratic society. Sociological reality shows that a post national membership is far behind in meeting the justice demands of the immigrants. Different understandings of selfhood and the persistence of Westphalian political imaginary which feeds a state-centric view of political mobilization reveals that citizenship may not be a sufficient instrument to “incorporate” Muslim migrants into political processes and to make them feel that they are also part of the country. An emerging Euro-Islamic public sphere, in that sense, has many opportunities due to its relative immunity from state authority and its unregulated, polycentric character. It is here, in an emerging Euro-Islamic public sphere, that we observe a breaking away from the Westphalian type of citizenship which does not provide equal opportunities for the “members” of the societies. A proactive socio-political criticism within migrant communities, whose actors are mainly women and youth, against the possible exclusionary practices of the modern secular state, might be approached as a harbinger of a new Europe whose boundaries are not constrained by territoriality, ethnicity, and religion.

References Anjum, Ovamir. 2007. Islam as a discursive tradition: Talal Asad and his interlocutors. Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, 27.3: 656-672. Asad, Talal. 1986. The idea of an anthropology of Islam. In Occasional Paper Series, Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, 1-23. Washington: Georgetown University. Available at: http://ccas.georgetown.edu/research-papers.cfm?id=442 [Accessed July 14, 2009]. —. 2000. Agency and pain: An exploration. Culture and Religion, 1.1: 2960. —. 2003. Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Benhabib, Seyla. 1999. Citizens, residents, and aliens in a changing world: Political membership in the global era. Social Research, 66.3: 709-744. —. 2002. Transformations of citizenship: The case of contemporary Europe. Government & Opposition, 37.4: 439-465.

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Brubaker, W. Rogers. 1990. Immigration, citizenship, and the nation-state in France and Germany: A comparative historical analysis. International Sociology, 5.4: 379-407. Collins, Ruth. Marwa el-Sherbini: Egypt’s ‘headscarf martyr’ | News | The First Post. The First Post. Available at: http://www.thefirstpost.co.uk/50410,news,marwa-el-sherbini-egyptheadscarf-martyr-germany-burka-okaz-racism-sarkozy [Accessed July 26, 2009]. Durkheim, Émile. 1976. The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life. London: Routledge. Fraser, Nancy. 2005. Reframing justice in a globalizing world. New Left Review 35: 69-88. Faist, Thomas. 2000. Transnationalization in international migration: Implications for the study of citizenship and culture. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 23.2: 189-222. Falk, Richard. 2002. Revisiting Westphalia, discovering post-Westphalia. The Journal of Ethics, 6.4: 311-352. Habermas, Jurgen. 2007. The language game of responsible agency and the problem of free will: How can epistemic dualism be reconciled with ontological monism? Philosophical Explorations: An International Journal for the Philosophy of Mind and Action, 10.1: 13-50. Joppke, Christian. 1999. How immigration is changing citizenship: a comparative view. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 22.4: 629-652. Leydet, Dominique. 2009. Citizenship. Available at: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/citizenship/ [Accessed July 13, 2009]. March, Andrew. F. 2007a. Reading Tariq Ramadan: Political liberalism, Islam, and ‘overlapping consensus’. Ethics & International Affairs, 21.4: 399-413. —. 2007b Islamic Foundations for a Social Contract in Non-Muslim Liberal Democracies. American Political Science Review, Vol. 101, No. 2, pp. 235-252 —. 2009. Sources of moral obligation to non-Muslims in the “Jurisprudence of Muslim Minorities” (Fiqh al-aqalliyyat) discourse. Islamic Law and Society, 16.1: 34-94. Muslimah MediaWatch. Marwa El Sherbini Did Not Die For Her Hijab, So Please Stop Saying That he Did. Available at: http://muslimahmediawatch.org/2009/07/23/marwa-el-sherbini-didnot-die-for-her-hijab-so-please-stop-saying-that-she-did/ [Accessed July 26, 2009]. Nursi, Said Bediuzzaman. 1996. The Words. Trans. Sukran Vahide. Istanbul: Sozler Publications.

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O’Connor, T. Free Will. Available at: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/freewill/ [Accessed July 30, 2009]. Salvatore, Armando. 2004. Making public space: Opportunities and limits of collective action among Muslims in Europe. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies. 30.5: 1013-1031. —. 2007. Authority in question: Secularity, republicanism and communitarianism in the emerging Euro-Islamic public sphere. Theory, Culture & Society, 24.2: 135-160. Soysal, Yasemin. 1995. Limits of Citizenship: Migrants and Postnational Membership in Europe. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. —. 2004. Postnational Citizenship: Reconfiguring the Familiar Terrain. The Blackwell Companion to Political Sociology: Blackwell Reference Online [Accessed July 21, 2009]. —. 2000. Citizenship and Identity: Living in Diasporas in Post-War Europe? Ethnic and Racial Studies, 23.1: 1-15. Uddin, Asma. T. altmuslim – Germany’s Marwa el-Sherbini: The “hijab martyrs” among us. Available at: http://www.altmuslim.com/a/a/a/3183/ [Accessed July 26, 2009]. 

PART III  

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INTERPRETATION: STRUGGLES TO COMMUNICATE 

YINTERPRETATION: STRUGGLES TO COMMUNICATE SAMUEL TONGUE

The previous section was much concerned with how to imagine and integrate (or not) the “other as other” into different regimes of signification and social groupings. This section comprises of three essays that are concerned with tracing conceptual movements across different geographical, spiritual, and academic borders and how a sense of accommodation between seemingly opposite parties might be found. My own essay charts the constant movement of types of Bible across different disciplines and amongst different readers to attempt an account of why there is so much conflict and disagreement in biblical studies. In Daniel Sungho Ahn’s work, the difficulties of translating such a major linguistic signifier as the term ‘God’ from American and British cultural and theological settings into Chinese bibles foregrounds the London Missionary Society’s sense of theological accommodation and difference. Wynter Miller’s essay treads carefully, working through the detail of the complex terms and practices that devotees of Ga١gƗ MƗ use in their relationship to the river Ganges, underlining the importance of a conversational and practical respect between different groups wishing to clean up a river system that is in an increasingly disastrous ecological state. Hermeneutics, or the art of interpretation, is a key concept in all of these essays and, of course, much scholarly ink has been spilt (or printer cartridges emptied) by attempting definitions for the processes and the products of the hermeneutic enterprise. In this section, the hermeneutical bias tends towards border crossing; how does one reading community communicate with another community, especially one whose conceptual formations might be similar but deployed differently, or that might not have the same formations at all? Nineteenth century theologian Friedrich Schleiermacher is often seen as “the father of modern hermeneutics, and the development of hermeneutics as a science” (Jasper 2004, 86). However, as Terry Eagleton notes, in a characteristically polemical flourish;

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Interpretation: Struggles to Communicate What is not so widely known is that Schleiermacher’s interest in the art of interpretation was provoked when he was invited to translate a book entitled An Account of the English Colony in New South Wales, which records the author’s encounter with the Australian Aboriginal peoples. Schleiermacher was concerned about how we could understand the beliefs of this people even though they seemed desperately alien to us. It was from a colonial encounter that the art of interpretation was born. (2003, 23)

An aggressive “colonial encounter” is the danger of any border crossing where one group perceives itself to be in a more powerful position than the other in the struggle to communicate (or to silence). All of these essays are aware of this, both in the content which they study and analyse, and in the discursive space which they provide for further conversation. My essay “Dancing Between the Disciplines: The Mobile Bible” demonstrates that different forms of Bible are created within different disciplinary rules of reading and communication. For example, the “Enlightenment Bible” (which is not a bible in itself but a conglomeration of conceptual paradigms such as scientific method or historical verisimilitude, demanding response from eighteenth and nineteenth century defenders of the Bible), begins to have an influence on how the Bible may be read and used. As Mieke Bal asserts “[c]oncepts are never simply descriptive; they are also programmatic and normative. Hence, their use has specific effects. Nor are they stable; they are related to a tradition” (2002, 28). Charting the traditions of Bible and biblical interpretation, I argue that “Bible” becomes an ideal type or concept, both a word to describe a material object, something one can hold and open and read, and a specific concept tied up with certain inter-cultural values such as text-as- Word; revelation as textual; the ‘”book” as sacred, tied to traditional interpretation yet transportable, translatable; and textuality as a fixing of a message even though the interpretive process is seen as necessarily mobile, able to make meaning in many different contexts. This mobility enhances the Bible’s survival as a cultural text but also makes for conflict between disciplinary reading techniques; the arguments made for (or against) biblical authority are interrelated and move swiftly from treating the Bible as theological revelation, the Word of God, to fragmentary, historical documents, to a piece of great World Literature and back again. My contention is that these different ideals of Bible affect what is seen as a legitimate use of bibles. If disciplines or schools offer actantial rules of communication then they also limit what can or cannot be said about certain objects within their domains. When placed into an interdisciplinary dialogue, these conversations can become diffuse and

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difficult, but an awareness of the “otherness” of each ideal Bible can lead to a “propogative’” model of interdisciplinary conversation (Cf. Bal 2002, 33). Daniel Sungho Ahn’s essay then becomes a case-study in such a mobile Bible. His analysis of the theological implications for American and British Missionary Societies in fixing the Chinese term for “God” demonstrates attempts to overcome “otherness” in the quest for communication. Postcolonial theorists and writers have often critiqued missionary endeavours as thinly veiled methods of expansion and conquest, and Eagleton’s warning that the art of interpretation (and translation) are borne from colonial encounters rings true here. However, as with any dialogue or encounter, the situation is always more complex than a simplistic observation might conclude. Ahn explores the traditions from which James Legge, the nineteenth century Scottish missionary, construed his relationship to the otherness and similarities of the Chinese conception of God. Legge translated the Confucian Classics, not seeing them as an obstacle to Christian missions but respecting them as the preparatio evangelica for Christianity. Whilst this is still problematic for many in our postcolonial age, this was coupled with Legge’s appreciation of sixteenth century Jesuit Matteo Ricci’s “accommodation theology” as a way of presenting Christian thinking in a Confucian context. The hermeneutic of translating the term “God” (shangti) here is one where the target language and culture is positioned as a dialogue partner with the source culture; there is, at the very least, an emphasis on the seemingly concomitant values of the “other”. The dialogue may still be haunted by “the colonial encounter” but perhaps these tensions, and their negotiation, are the mark of any serious interaction? Wynter Miller explores the nuances of conceptual difference in her work. She highlights that many of the conceptual divisions between the roles that Ganges fulfills are the result of a particular Western tradition of separating science and religion; the devotees of the goddess Ga١gƗ MƗ do not seem to deploy such binaries. However, what is shared is the acknowledgement of the terrible ecological state of the river; how can different groups come together and communicate the complexities of such a problem? As Mieke Bal argues, “concepts are never simple. Their various aspects can be unpacked; the ramifications, traditions, and histories conflated in their current usage can be separated out and evaluated piece by piece” (2002, 29). Miller unpacks such concepts as “pollution” and “purity” and highlights how these move between translated words and condensed theories. A scientist might say that the river Ganges is polluted

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and filled with rubbish. But a practicing Hindu would baulk at describing Ga١gƗ MƗ as “polluted” with its connotations of ritual impurity and sin; the water as natural resource is dirty but the goddess can only be pure. Miller also notes that there is the further ambiguity of “ritual time” and “normal time”, periods in which the river is worshipped as goddess or when it is used as resource; these are not always tidy divisions. In certain senses, there are only ambiguities when entering this encounter from what is often called a “western” mindset, a tradition that is best examined during the Enlightenments but has its roots in how knowledge and language, logic and experience, have been understood and deployed throughout the philosophical tradition. Acknowledging that these ambiguities shape the encounters between different parties interested in the ecological state of the Ganges is an important starting point in the conversation. Of course, ambiguities in translating Sanskrit and Pali terms into English are also bound up with conceptual difficulties. Are there accommodations, compromises, living spaces that can be provided in such a dialogue? Can we imagine and live as both host and guest at one and the same time? The struggle to communicate is at the core of relationship and these academic articles communicate the difficulties of such a struggle. But they also show that academic borders are only ever temporary—they are all concerned with how these ideas are communicated and practiced in wider communities. Communication comes through encounter and in the widening borders of interdisciplinary work “such a land can only unify through travel, through learning foreign languages, through encountering others” (Bal 2002, 8). The necessary, inescapable, enriching struggle continues.

References Bal, Mieke. 2002. Travelling Concepts in the Humanities: A Rough Guide. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Eagleton, Terry. 2003. After Theory. London: Allen Lane. Jasper, David. 2004. A Short Introduction to Hermeneutics. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press.

YTHE TERM QUESTION IN CHINA: THE THEOLOGICAL FACTORS BEHIND THE TRANSLATION OF SHANGTI AS THE TERM FOR “GOD” IN THE CHINESE BIBLE IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY DANIEL SUNGHO AHN

Introduction It would not be an exaggeration to say that the name of God is the core component of the Bible, since the Bible is about God. In this sense, no other issue might have been more controversial in the history of Christian missions in China than translating the name of God into vernacular Bible translation, known as the Term Question, in the Chinese polytheistic and pantheistic context. This Term Question was crucial for the Christian missions in China in the sense that the success of mission essentially depended on how the Christian God was accurately perceived by the Chinese people. The Term Question emerged among the Protestant missionaries in the mid-19th century when the New Testament Translation Committee of the Delegates’ Version of the Chinese Bible Translation (hereafter CBT) translated the name of God into Chinese. In this committee, they debated which one would be the most suitable Chinese term for the name of God. Whereas the London Missionary Society (hereafter LMS) missionaries argued in favour of Shangti (ₙガ), the Supreme Lord of Chinese Confucianism, the American missionaries preferred Shen (䯭), a generic term for god or spirit. This Term Question provoked the division among the Western missionaries into the Shangti party (most likely British missionaries) and Shen party (most likely American missionaries). Despite their endeavours to produce the unified name of God in the Shanghai Protestant Missionary Conferences in 1877, 1890, and 1907, the Term Question was not resolved. As a result, they produced two versions of the

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CBT—the Shangti edition published by the British and Foreign Bible Society and the Shen edition by the American Bible Society. Many sinologists have researched on this Term Question, since it was one of the most significant issues in the history of China mission in dealing with how much the Western Christian missionaries should accommodate to “make the acceptance of the gospel easier” for the Chinese people (Neil 1970, 3-4). However relatively little research has been carried out on what theological factors were behind the Term Question. Thus this essay sets out some research questions in regard to the LMS missionaries’ translation of Shangti as the term for God. Where did Shangti, the term the LMS used, originate from? What were the theological factors behind the LMS missionaries’ translation of Shangti as term for God? How did the LMS missionaries assert that Shangti was an analogous theological term to the Christian “God”? In order to respond those questions, this essay will first undertake an historical survey of the Term Question among the Protestant missionaries in the mid-19th century. Based on the survey, this essay will argue that; (1) the accommodation theology of Matteo Ricci, underlying the term Shangti, led the LMS missionaries, specifically James Legge as the spokesman of Shangti, to translate the name of God into Shangti due to the monotheistic analogical attributes of Shangti, manifested in the ancient Confucian Classics, to those of the Christian God; and that (2) Scottish Common Sense Philosophy oriented the LMS missionaries to perceive that the Chinese people had been given knowledge of monotheism behind Shangti, which was assimilated to the Christian monotheism.

Part I. The Term Question among the Protestant Missions in the mid-19th century In Part I, this essay will explore how the Term Question among the Protestant missionaries proceeded, and the primary reason for the Term Question between the Shangti and Shen parties.

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The Emergence of the Term Question in the Protestant Chinese Bible Translation in 1847 It was Robert Morrison (1782-1843; LMS)1 who was the first Protestant missionary to China, arriving at Kwang Jou on 7th September 1807. After the Nanjing Treaty in 1842, a massive influx of Protestant missionaries into China commenced.2 As they preferentially translated Christian literature including the Bible into Chinese, they used a vast variety of the names of God, which caused Chinese Christians much confusion in understanding Christianity (Medhurst 1847, 158-59). As a result, the missionaries organised the first Protestant missionary Conference in Hong Kong in 1843, in which they reached an agreement to produce the unified CBT and decide on the name of God. They formed the committee of Bible translation and selected their delegates to whom they committed the translation of the Delegates’ Version (hereafter DV) (Latourette 1966, 261). When the New Testament of the DV committee (1847) translated șİȠȢ (God) in the Gospel of Matthew 1:22, they debated how they should translate it into Chinese (Zetzsche 1999, 81-2). Whilst the LMS missionaries, such as Walter H. Medhurst, John Stronach, and W. C. Milne claimed in favor of Shangti (ₙガ: the Supreme Lord of Ancient Confucianism), Americans, such as William J. Boone (American Episcopal Church Missions; hereafter AECM) and Elijah C. Bridgman (American Board of Commission for Foreign Mission), preferred Shen (䯭: a generic term for god). This controversy, so called as the Term Question, was expanded to the whole missionary community, causing the division among the Western missionaries into the Shangti party (British) and Shen party (American) over the next hundred years (Zetzsche 1999, 81-2).

The Progression of the Term Question; Shangti or Shen? The Term Question led both LMS and American missionaries of the committee to undertake intensive research into a vast variety of the Confucian Classics and religious books in an effort to figure out the most

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Morrison translated the first entire Chinese Bible with the help of Milne, known as the Morrison-Milne edition 1823, published by the British and Foreign Bible Society. 2 Due to the Nanjing Treaty between China and Britain, China was forced to deliver Hong Kong to Britain and open the five port-cities to the Western countries.

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suitable Chinese term for God. The spokesman of the Shangti party was James Legge (LMS), and that of the Shen party was Boone (AECM), since they produced a large number of treaties on the Term Question (Zetzsche 1999, 81-2). Thus this essay will focus on the arguments of these two spokesmen.3 (1) The Shen Party Boone, on behalf of the Shen party, argued that the new concept of the Christian God should be introduced to Chinese through Shen, because Chinese people did not have Christian monotheism in their polytheistic and pantheistic context: The Chinese have been polytheists from the highest ages to which their history extends: the great enemy to be here beaten down is polytheism: the great truth, with respect to the Divinity, to be taught them is, the Unity of Godhead; In China, our first great warfare must from the necessity of the case, be against polytheism. (Boone 1848, 2, 4)

Boone argued that the original Old Testament translators rendered the name of God as the Hebrew Elohim, which was a generic term for god in the polytheistic context of the Ancient Near East. Likewise, the original New Testament translators rendered it as the Greek șİȠȢ (or the Latin Deus), which was also a generic term for god in the Greco-Roman polytheistic context, rather than the specific name for god, such as Zeus or Jupiter. In this regard, Boone argued that as the polytheistic context of the Ancient Near East and Greco-Roman empire was assimilated to that of the China, the name of God could be translated into Shen as a generic term for god: Elohim, in the Old Testament, is not a proper name of the true God, but a generic term, applied to heathen Deities as well as to Jehovah. It must, therefore, be rendered by a generic term and not by a proper name. […] The Greek and Romans were polytheists: the inspired writers of the New Testament, and the Apostles…were precisely in the same circumstances in which we are now seeking for a general rule to guide us in our inquiries…the Septuagint translators used șİȠȢ not Zeus to render Elohim into Greek, and that the Apostles used the same term in the New

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Although the first spokesman of the Shangti party was Medhurst (LMS) during the initial phase of the Term Question in 1843-47, it became Legge later on. Legge was one of the greatest sinologists, who translated the Confucian Classics and a large number of Chinese documents into English, and became the Professor of the Chinese Studies at Oxford University from 1876 onwards.

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Testament.[…] If then a translator, engaged in rendering the Sacred Scripture into the language of a polytheistic people, desires to follow example of inspired men, he must employ the generic name for God used by them, and not the name of the chief deity. (Boone 1848, 3-4)

On the contrary, Boone asserted that Shangti could lead the Chinese believers into idolatry, since Shangti could be alternatively regarded by them as the specific name of Chinese god or the Chinese Emperor, Huangti (䤖ガ) (Boone 1848, 2, 4). (2) The Shangti Party Legge, on behalf of the Shangti party, argued that Shangti can be identified with the Christian God in the sense that the attributes of Shangti, described in the Confucian Classics and other religious sacred books, were remarkably similar to those of the Christian God: I rejoice to acknowledge in the Shang Te [Shangti] of the Chinese classics, and the Shang Te [Shangti] of the Chinese people, Him who is God over all, without great witness among the many millions and many generations of the inhabitants of this great Empire. (1850, 7)

Legge produced his monumental English-translated edition of the Chinese Classics (the eight-volume first edition published in Hong Kong in 18611872 and the five-volume second and partially revised edition published in Oxford in 1893-1895) and his treatises of the Sacred Books of Confucianism and Daoism (in six volumes published between 1879 and 1891) as part of the Frederic Max Müller’s Sacred Books of the East series, which was published in fifty volumes between 1879 and 1902 (Girardot 2002, 11). In these translations, Legge did not hesitate to identify the Christian God with Shangti in the Confucian Classics: More than twenty-five years ago I came to the conclusion that Ti ガ [Emperor] was the term corresponding in Chinese to our “God” and that Shang Ti was the same[…] In this view I have never wavered, and I have rendered both the names by God in all the volumes of Chinese Classics thus far translated and published. (1879, 23-25) I came to conclusions that Ti, on its first employment by the Chinese fathers, was intended to express the same concept which our fathers expressed by God…when I render Ti by God and Shang Ti by the Supreme God. (1882, 19-20)

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In 1877, Legge wrote the paper, Confucianism in Relation to Christianity, to be read at the Protestant Missionary Conference in Shanghai. Although this paper prompted another phase of the Term Question between Legge himself and the twenty three missionaries who opposed Legge’s use of Shangti, Legge consistently asserted that the Christian God can be assimilated to Shangti (1877, 1). Legge also argued that as Confucianism might be “a schoolmaster” to lead the Chinese people to Christianity, a missionary should respect Confucianism by regarding it not as an obstacle to Christian missions but as the preparatio evangelica: We may regard Confucius himself as a man sent of God, I do not doubt that there will be an agreement in the [1877 Shanghai] Conference, as to missionaries making the best use they can of what is good and true in the Confucian system, to give to the Chinese the knowledge of Christianity. The judgment of Paul about the law contained in the Old Testament was, that “it was a schoolmaster to lead us to Christ,” and I think that much in Confucianism may be made to serve a similar purpose with the Chinese. (1877, 11)

When Legge visited the Altar of Heaven in Peking on 21st April 1873, together with two other LMS missionaries, he regarded the altar as the most significant evidence of China’s primitive monotheistic faith (Giradot 2002, 87). Contemplating that altar, Legge realised that the worship of the Monotheistic God as Shangti had been “wonderfully” maintained in China for 4,000 years. As a result, Legge together with his colleagues took off his shoes and sang “the doxology” at the altar: It is indeed a wonderful fact to think of, that a worship of the one God has been maintained in the vicinity of their capitals by the sovereigns of China almost continuously for more than four thousand years. I felt this fact profoundly when I stood early one morning [on April 21, 1873] by the Altar of Heaven, in the southern suburb of Peking. It was without my shoes that I went up to the top of it; and there around the central slab of the marble with which it was paved, free of flaw as the cerulean vault above, hand in hand with the friends [Dudgeon and Mr. and Mrs. Meech] who accompanied me, I joined in singing the doxology, beginning – “Praise God from whom all blessing flow. (1880, 251)

James Legge thus claimed that the foreign missionaries could help the Chinese people to “reactivate” their potential ability to be able to know the Christian God by the use of existing indigenous resources (Giradot 2002, 87).

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Yet, Legge opposed the use of Shen in the sense that it could lead the Chinese Christians to perceive the Christian God as the devil spirit since Shen, together with Kwei (淋: devil), conventionally referred to “evil spirit” in the Chinese religious documents (Medhurst 1847, 273). Therefore, central to the Term Question in China among the Protestant missionaries was a question of “whether the name of Chinese Confucian Supreme Lord, viz. Shangti, can be adopted as the term for the God of the Bible”. That is to say, the primary divergent reason for the Term Question between the Shangti and Shen parties was on whether Christian monotheism had existed among the Chinese people (Legge of the Shangti party) or not (Shen party).

Part II. The Theological Factors behind Legge’s translation of Shangti as the term for God As seen above, Legge translated the term for God into Shangti in his English edition of the Confucian Classics and other treatises, advocating that the attributes of Shangti, manifested in the classics, were remarkably similar with those of the Christian God. Thus this essay raises some important questions. How did James Legge assimilate Shangti to the Christian God? What were the theological factors behind Legge’s translation of Shangti? In response to these questions, this paper will argue two factors; (1) the influence of accommodation theology of the Jesuit Matteo Ricci, underlining Shangti as used in his book the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven, led Legge to the translation of Shangti; and that (2) Scottish Common Sense Philosophy led Legge to admit that the Chinese people had been providentially given common sense to have a monotheistic knowledge of the Christian God, and the knowledge had been preserved in Shangti in the Confucian Classics. Thus, in Part II, this essay will explore how Ricci translated “God” into Shangti in his book, the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven, how Legge followed Ricci’s theological position over the translation of Shangti, and how he applied Scottish Common Sense Philosophy to the translation.

The Influence of Accommodation Theology of the Jesuit Matteo Ricci underlying Shangti in the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven (⮸ ⮸⃊⹵券) upon James Legge (1) The Jesuit Mission in China The Work of Matteo Ricci in China

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The Jesuit missionaries, including Matteo Ricci (1552-1610), set out on their mission in China from 1552 onwards, accommodating Chinese Confucianism and culture in a move known as accommodation theology, to communicate Christianity to the Chinese Confucian literati in a way that they could understand. Based on accommodation theology, Ricci and other Jesuits used Shangti as the term for God, and permitted Chinese Christians to practice the ancestral rite because the Jesuits regarded the rite not as religious worship but as civil practice to pay their honour to ancestors (Moffett 2005, 108). Due to accommodation theology along with their attractive scientific technology, Matteo Ricci successfully won a number of Chinese converts from the Confucius literati and high political group, including the Three Pillars (ₘ㪀䪂).4 Furthermore, the Jesuit followers of Ricci finally gained the imperial permission of their Christian mission in China from the Chinese emperor Kangxi of Qing Dynasty in 1692 (Moffett 2005, 125). (2) The Chinese Rites Controversy As previously seen, the Chinese mission was initially monopolized by the Jesuits. However, as the Dominicans and Franciscans began to arrive in China from 1633 onwards, they were surprised to find that the Jesuits used Shangti as the term for God and allowed Chinese Christians to practice ancestral rites. The Dominicans and Franciscans then reported the Jesuits to the Vatican for idolatry. This was the beginning of the Chinese Rites Controversy. Lasting for two centuries, the Chinese Rites Controversy was finally ended by the papal decrees issued by Pope Clement XI from the Vatican in 1704, 1710, 1715 (the bull Ex illa die) and by Pope Benedict XIV in1742 (the bull Ex quo singulari).5 These papal decrees were in favour of the Dominicans and Franciscans, prohibiting the use of Shangti and the Chinese believers’ practice of ancestral rites. Instead, the papal decrees ordered all Roman Catholics to use T’ienzhu (⮸⃊: the Lord of Heaven) as the term for God.



4 Xu Guangqi (㈟⏘ྵ), Li Zhizao (㧝⃚墊) and Yang Tingyun (䰕அ䷯); All three came from upper-class Confucian literati backgrounds, and were converted to Roman Catholicism by Jesuits. They played an important role in establishing Chinese Catholicism and introducing China to Western science and philosophy. 5 It was intended to terminate the history of the controversy by reaffirming papal authority on the controversy, reinforcing the 1704, 1710, and 1715 decrees and Tournon’s edict, and annulling the eight permissions of Mezzabarba and the two pastoral letters of the Bishop of Peking.

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However, these papal decrees caused much fury amongst the Chinese emperors of the Q’ing dynasty—Kang-xi (ㅆ䐨: 1661-1722), Yung-cheng (楜㷲: 1722-1735) and Ch’ien-lung (ℍ椕: 1735-1796). In reaction to the papal decrees, the Chinese emperors then issued mandates to prohibit the Roman Catholic mission without the imperial special permission. These decrees were followed by the imperial persecution against Christianity in the mid-18th century (Latourette 1966, 250-51). Furthermore, Pope Clement XIV ordered all the Jesuits to leave China in 1774 (Moffett 2005, 132-33). As a result, the door of the Christian mission in China was shut until 1807 when Robert Morrison set his feet in Canton as the first Protestant missionary. (3) Matteo Ricci’s Translation of Shangti in the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven (⮸⃊⹵券) Although a number of Jesuit missionaries contributed to the Christian mission in China, it was Matteo Ricci who initiated the Jesuit mission work in China, ultimately introducing Western science, mathematics, astronomy, and visual arts to the imperial court, and carrying on significant inter-cultural and philosophical dialogue with Chinese Confucian literati (Moffet 2005, 106). It is important to note that Ricci was one of the most remarkable advocators of accommodation theology among the China missionaries: Accommodation is the technical term used, especially in Roman Catholic missionary history, to describe attempts to adapt or assimilate the gospel to local situations, and by omission or suppression of certain Christian customs which might be regarded as offensive to non-Christians, to make the acceptance of the gospel easier for them. The two most famous instances of accommodation are the work of Matthew [Matteo] Ricci in China…. (Neil 1970, 3-4)

Ricci produced a number of Christian doctrine books from the Chinese Confucian literati’s viewpoint, such as the Chiao-yu lun (ℳ♚嵥: On Friendship) in 1595, The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven in 1603, Ershih wu-yan (ℛ◐℣岏: Twenty-five Sayings) in 1605, and a set of essays describing his debates with Chinese literati, the Ch’i-jen Shih-p’ien (䠇ⅉ◐乖: the Ten Discourses by an Extraordinary Man), in 1608 (Brockey 2007, 51-2). In addition to those books, in order for Ricci to introduce Western mathematics to the Confucian literati, he translated the first six books of Clavius’ commentary of Euclid’s Elements of Geometry

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into Chinese, namely Chi-ho yuan-pen (ㄍ⇤☮㦻), in 1591, with the aid of Xu Gwang-ch’i (Brockey 2007, 52). Among Ricci’s various treatises, the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven was regarded as one of the most influential Christian books (Lancashire and Hu 1985, 10). Thus, this essay will explore how Ricci translated the term for God as Shangti in the book. The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven This book was the first apologetic attempt for Christianity, written by a Western Roman Catholic, from a Chinese Confucian literati’s perspective (Lancashire and Hu 1985, 47). The writing style of this book was based on the conversation of questions and answers between a Chinese Confucian scholar (Chung-shih ₼⭺) and a Western Christianity scholar (His-shih 導⭺), following the “conventional Confucian writing style of fictional conversation” or analects (Kim 2004, 162). This book played an important role in building the bridge between Christianity and ancient Confucianism (different from neo-Confucianism, advocated by Zhu-xi, in the twentieth century of Song dynasty) (Moffett 2005, 114). Ricci’s translation of Shangti in the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven In the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven, Ricci used Shangti, corresponding to the Christian God. In particular, in chapter one (a discussion on the creation of heaven, earth, and all things by the Lord of Heaven, and on the way he exercises authority and sustains them: 䶻1乖; ᖡ⮸⃊ⱚⓅ⮸⦿嚻䓸, 力⃊⸿⸘殙⃚) and two (An explanation of mistaken views concerning the Lord of Heaven current among men: 䶻2乖; 屲摚₥ⅉ斾崜⮸⃊), Ricci identified T’ienzhu with the Christian God, and T’ienzhu with Shangti, in order to demonstrate that Shangti is an analogical term for the Christian God: The Western scholar says: You, Sir, wish first to inquire about the One who is said to have created heaven, earth, and all things and to exercise constant authority over them. I assert, then, that there is nothing under heaven which is more evident than the truth of His existence…Now this Someone is none other than the Lord of Heaven [T’ienzhu] whom our Western nations term Deus (Lancashire and Hu 1985, 106-7). The Western scholars says: He who is called the Lord of Heaven [T’ienzhu] in my humble country is He who is called God [Shangti] in Chinese (Lancashire and Hu 1985, 123).

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In Chapter 2, in order that Ricci might demonstrate the remarkable analogical monotheistic attributes of Shangti to those of Christian God, he made eleven quotations of Shangti from the Confucian Classics (the Five Classics ℣倢6 and Four Books ⥪㦇7). This essay shows two examples: Quoting Confucius [ⷣ⷟], the Doctrine of the Mean [₼ㅇ] says, “The ceremonies of sacrifices to Heaven and Earth are meant for the service of the Sovereign on High [Shangti ].” ₼ㅇㆤⷣ⷟㥿 “捙䯍⃚ᘖⅴℚₙガⅥ” (Lancashire and Hu 1985, 122-5). One of the hymns to the Zhou sovereigns [⛷檛] in the [Book of Odes 峸倢] runs as follows… “Greatly illustrious were Ch’eng and K’ang, Kinged by the Sovereign on High [Shangti].” ⛷咓㥿᧶“㣬⏱㷵䘚᧨㡯⏱位䍗ᇭₜ䯲㒟ㅆ᧨ₙガ㢾䤖” (Huang 2006, 289).

Ricci therefore concluded that the characteristics of Shangti were remarkably assimilated to those of the Christian God only excepting their names: Having leafed through a great number of ancient books, it is quite clear to me that the Sovereign on High [Shangti] and the Lord of Heaven [T’ienzhu] are different only in name (Lancashire and Hu 1985, 124-5).

Therefore, it may be accurate to argue that Ricci’s translation of Shangti as the term for God in the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven was attributed to the analogical monotheistic attributes of Shangti to those of the Christian God.8

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Although it is controversial among sinologists, the Five Sacred Books (Wujing℣倢) refers to a canon of books established during the Western Han dynasty (ca. 206 B.C. - A.D. 8), consisting of Book of History (Shu-jing 㦇倢), Book of Songs/Poetry (Shi-jing 峸倢), Spring and Autumn Annals (Chun-qiu 㢴䱚), Book of Changes (Yi-jing 㢢倢), and Book of Rites (Li-ji ᘖ岧). All of these books were written during the Zhou 怨Dynasty (1027-256 B.C.). 7 Though it is also controversial, the Four Books (Sishu ⥪㦇) refers to the canon of Confucian Classics, finally established under the philosopher Zhu Xi 㧀䑈(1130-1200), consisting of Great Learning (Da-xue ⮶⸇), Doctrine of Mean (Zhong-yong ₼ㅇ), Analects (Lun-yu ᖡ崭), and the Book of Mencius (Mengzi ⷮ⷟). 8 As a result of his intensive understanding of the ancient Confucian Classics, Ricci argued that as ancient Confucianism had been mixed with atheistic Buddhism,

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(4) The Influence of the Accommodation Theology of Ricci underlying Shangti upon James Legge It is noteworthy that Legge himself was well aware of the Chinese Rite Controversy between the Jesuits, on the one hand, and the Dominicans and Franciscans, on the other hand. In his article, The Nestorian Movement (1888), and his sermon, The Land of Sinim (1859), Legge dealt with the general history of the Roman Catholic missions in China. Specifically, Legge stated that he accorded with Ricci’s position over the translation of God as Shangti and the Chinese ancestor rites: Did the Chinese really mean “God” when they spoke of T’ien ⮸ (Heaven) and Shangti ₙガ? And might the converts be permitted still to use those terms? Was it really religious worship which they paid to Confucius ⷣ⷟ and to their parents and ancestors in their mourning rites, or merely the expression of their grateful homage to the Sage, and of their filial piety? And might the converts still be allowed to pay it? Ricci had replied to these questions in the affirmative. About the terms [T’ien and Shangti] I entirely agree with his [Matteo Ricci’s] opinion, nor do I altogether differ from him about the ritual practices. (1888, 58).

As previously noted, the use of Shangti by the Jesuits was forbidden by a decree of Pope Clement XI in 1704 in favour of the use of the Tien Zhu (Lord of Heaven) of the Dominican and Franciscan orders. However, Legge argued that the papal decree that regarded Shangti as the Chinese “supreme emperor” was mistaken for lacking historical research into the term Shangti, since Ti of Shangti had been used to denote “God” since the Khin dynasty in 221 B.C. (1881, 50). Furthermore, Legge asserted that if Pope Clement XI had clearly apprehended the true meaning of Shangti, the Roman Catholic mission would have been successful in China by using Shangti as the most proper term for God rather than Tien Zhu: If they had clearly apprehended its true meaning, as I have so often and so strongly insisted on it in this letter, I believe they would have been saved



pantheistic Taoism, and Neo-Confucianism in Song ⸚ (AD 960-1279) and Ming 㢝 Dynasties (AD 1368-1644), the monotheism preserved in the ancient Confucianism became degraded into the humanistic principle; Tien-li ⮸䚕 (Heavenly Principle or Natural Law) in the Han Dynasty, Li 䚕 (Principle or Objective Principle), Xing ㊶ (Human Nature or Subjective Nature), Tao 拢 (Way) or T’ai-chi ⮹㰄 (the Great Ultimate) in the Song and Ming Dynasty (Huang 2006, 91).

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from the controversy about terms [Rites Controversy], which embittered their relations among themselves, embroiled them with the emperors of China, operated disastrously to check the progress of their missions, and entailed the discarding views which now keep the Protestant missionaries in different camps. (1888, 58)

Legge highly exalted Ricci’s accommodation method in his article Nestorian Monument (1888), showing his homage to “the ability, perseverance, and devotion” of many Jesuit missionaries and “to the wisdom of their [accommodation] methods” (1888, 59). Because of their accommodation method, Legge stated, Ricci and other Jesuits “deserved success” to gain a large number of Chinese converts including the Three Pillars (1888, 59). Thus it may be accurate to argue that Legge followed Ricci’s accommodation method in perceiving Shangti as the analogical monotheistic term with the Christian God. In the same article, Legge also demonstrated his debt to Ricci’s mission in China: We must come down to the close of the sixteenth century to find the commencement of the great Roman Catholic missions in China […] Ricci especially was a man amongst men. […] He was a man of great scientific acquirements, of invincible perseverance, of various resources, and of winning manners, maintaining with all these gifts a single eye to the conversion of the Chinese, the bringing the people of all ranks to the faith of Christianity (1888, 55).

As previously seen, when Legge visited the imperial Altar and Temple of Heaven in Peking in his journey to the north-west of China during 1873-1874, he paid his respects at the old Portuguese cemetery in Peking where the tombs of the famous Jesuit missionaries, such as, Ricci, Schaal, Lombard, Verbiest, and others, were found (Girardot 2002, 88-9). Legge therefore translated Shangti as “God” in his first volume of the Chinese Classics, specifically the Great Learning ⮶⸇ and the Doctrine of the Mean ₼ㅇ, following Ricci’s theological position over Shangti: By the ceremonies of the sacrifice to Heaven and Earth they served God [Shangti], and by the ceremonies of the ancestral temple they sacrificed ceremonies to their ancestors. [Legge’s commentary]: The two concluding sentences are important, as the Jesuits mainly based on them the defence of their practice in permitting their converts to continue the sacrifices to their ancestors (1861, 5).

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Therefore, it is highly probable to argue that Ricci’s accommodation theology led Legge to translate the term for God as Shangti based on the monotheistic analogy of Shangti in the Confucian Classics to the Christian God.

The Influence of Scottish Common Sense Philosophy on James Legge (1) Scottish Common Sense Philosophy The Emergence of Scottish Common Sense Philosophy It is generally known that Scottish Common Sense Philosophy (hereafter SCSP) emerged principally in Scotland in the 18th century under the leadership of Thomas Reid (1710-96)9 in reaction to David Hume’s scepticism, though its root was traced to a vast variety of influences such as John Locke (1632-1704), Francis Bacon (1561-1626), Bishop Joseph Butler (1692-1752), David Hume (1711-76), Francis Hutcheson (16941746), and David Stewart (1753-1828) (Ahlstrom 1955, 257-272). Reid’s major publications were An Inquiry into the Human Mind, on the Principles of Common Sense (1764), Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man (1785), and Essays on the Active Power of Man (1788). In these books, Reid’s philosophy attacked the theory of ideas of Locke, Bishop Berkeley and Hume, who sceptically argued that what the human mind knows is dependent on his or her own “ideas” which cannot enable humans to perceive the external reality. In other words, Hume argues that humans can perceive the external world through intermediary “ideas” or “strong impressions”, and was sceptical about the extent to which these ideas can correspond to what actually exists (Marsden 2006, 15). In reaction to Hume’s sceptical philosophy of “ideas”, Reid claimed that the human mind was providentially constructed so as to perceive the divine being as well as the real world directly through his or her realistic common sense (Fergusson 2007, 70). George Marsden explains this as the ability for everyone to perceive such truths by a common sense that is “as natural as the ability to breathe air” (Marsden 2006, 15). The Evangelicals and Scottish Common Sense Philosophy

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Born at Strachan in the north east of Scotland, Reid studied arts and divinity at Marischal College, became a parish minister of New Machar where he served for fourteen years (1737-1751), and was appointed as regent at King’s College, Old Aberdeen (1751-64). In 1764, Reid was appointed to succeed Adam Smith in the Chair of Moral Philosophy in the University of Glasgow (1764-96), and was a founder member of the Aberdeen Philosophical Society.

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One of the remarkable advantages the SCSP had was that it was combined with theology by the evangelical Christians in the Scottish Presbyterian Churches as well as the foreign missions in the non-Christian world including China (Wright 1993, 759-60). Based upon the SCSP, the evangelicals asserted that as God is the origin of common sense principles and has already built it up within human mind, everyone is able to know the divine truth by his or her own perception (Fergusson 2007, 70). Another advantage of the SCSP was that it gave a foundation to moral theory (Wright 1993, 760). In his writing Essays on the Active Power of Man in 1788, in reaction to Hume who asserted that “philosophical religion” may lead human beings to positive morals based upon Unitarianism, Reid contested that common sense led human beings who believe in “the existence, the perfections, and the providence of God” to an inherent moral value of self-evident religious duty to the supreme being, arguing that common sense equipped human beings with ethical knowledge and motivation (Wright 1993, 760). In other words, Reid asserted in his writing that common sense led human beings who have gone through a certain kind of monotheistic religious experience to moral duties to “the Creator” (Pfister 2004, 80). Thus, SCSP was remarkably harmonised with contemporary evangelical thought whereas Hume’s scepticism was incompatible with it. In this regard, SCSP contributed to the evangelical foreign missionaries, leading them to perceive that every human has been providentially given the natural ability to know the divine truth beyond any culture, people and location. (2) James Legge’s Education in Scottish Common Sense Philosophy We explore how SCSP had been influential upon James Legge’s translation of the Christian God as Shangti. We first look at the curriculum of the theological institutions where Legge was educated. Legge was born at Aberdeen in 1815, educated at King’s College at Aberdeen University, and then at the Congregational seminary, Highbury College (or Hoxton Academy since the mid-1820s) in London before he went to China as a LMS missionary in 1839 (Sibree 1923, 46). At King’s College, Legge studied the Scottish School of Moral Philosophy under Dr. Hercules Scott, who was a follower of Reid, and Dugald Stewart, an advocator of common sense philosophy. Legge took Dr. Scott’s classes during his fourth year, also spending his time reading some of the published works of Stewart and his popular successor at Edinburgh, Dr. Thomas Brown (1778-1820). In doing so, Legge was “willingly immersing himself into a Scottish stream of intellectual

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argument and creative thinking” (Pfister 2004 I, 73-5). Therefore, it is probable that Legge had been influenced by SCSP when he was a student of King’s College. Lauren Pfister argues that the basic intellectual frame work of Hoxton College, in which the LMS missionaries were educated, was SCSP (Pfister 2004 I, 71-2). Thus, the LMS missionaries, including Morrison and Legge, had been influenced by SCSP as their foundational thought: That the analysis of the “common sense” of a people was considered a critically important method for a missionary approach to the Qing Empire is underscored when the author of the article just mentioned is determined to be Robert Morrison…This kind of approach came readily to Morrison’s mind not primarily because of his long experience as a translator for the East India Company in Canton, but because of this training in the Congregational seminary, Hoxton Academy…was the seminary attended by both George and James Legge. (Pfister 2004, 72)

Therefore, it is highly probable to argue that SCSP had been influential upon Legge during his theological educations at King’s College and Hoxton College. (3) James Legge’s Application of Scottish Common Sense Philosophy to his translation of the name of God as Shangti in China Now we explore how Legge applied SCSP to his mission work in China. In his article, The Notions of the Chinese concerning God and Spirits (1852), Legge made citations from The Method of the Divine Government, written by James M’Cosh, one of the most distinctive key persons of the SCSP School, to argue that the idea of God’s existence has been “pressed” upon the human mind: Though God is invisible to the bodily eye—though he is, as it were, behind a veil—yet the idea of his existence is pressed on the mind from a variety of quarters…Such seem to be the four natural sources from which the human mind derives its ideas of the Divine Being…. (Legge 1852, 96)

Based upon such a premise drawn from SCSP, Legge stated that the Chinese people themselves could reach the divine being, because they had been already given the knowledge of the monotheism preserved in Shangti: I have thus gone over the different sources of our idea of God, and exhibited how the same facts in nature and providence have led the Chinese to the idea of Shang-Te…Shang-Te is the Designer and Producer,

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the Ruler and Governor. He is a spirit, a personal intelligence, and the Lord of the conscience (Legge 1852, 109). My thesis is – that the Chinese possesses knowledge of the true God, and that the highest Being whom they worship is indeed the same whom we worship… but I am satisfied that in it there is the knowledge and worship of the true God (Legge 1852, 23).

Thus it would be safe to argue that SCSP became Legge’s lens, by which he could perceive that the Chinese people had been providentially given a true monotheistic knowledge of God without having any special revelation of the nature of Jehovah. Thus, Legge translated the name of God as Shangti to reawaken such potential monotheistic knowledge of the Chinese people to enable them to know the God of Christianity. Therefore, it would be probable to argue that SCSP was one of the primary theological influences upon Legge’s translation of the name of God as Shangti.

Conclusion This essay has shown that James Legge’s translation of the name of God as Shangti was attributed to two theological factors. First, the accommodation theology of Matteo Ricci of the Jesuits, underlying Shangti used in the True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven, had been influential upon James Legge’s translation of the name of God as Shangti in the English translation of the Confucian Classics based on the monotheistic analogical attributes of Shangti, manifested in the Confucian Classics, to those of the Christian God. Second, Scottish Common Sense Philosophy led Legge to understand that the Chinese people had been providentially given the potential monotheistic knowledge of God, known as “common sense”. Thus, it would be probable to argue that Scottish Common Sense Philosophy oriented Legge to translate the name of God as Shangti, by which such potential monotheistic knowledge among the Chinese people could be reawakened toward the God of Christianity.

References Ahlstrom, Sydney E. 1955. The Scottish Philosophy and American Theology. Church History Vol. 24, No. 3. Boone, William Jones. 1848. An Essay on the Proper Rendering of the Words Elohim and Theos into the Chinese Language. Chinese Repository.

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Brockey, Liam Matthew. 2007. Journey to the East; the Jesuit Mission to China 1579-1724. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Broomhall, Marshall. 1977. The Bible in China. San Francisco: Chinese Material Center. Dunne, George. 1962. Generation of Giants. Norte Dame: University of Norte Dame Press. Fergusson, David (ed.). 2007. Scottish Philosophical Theology. Exeter: Imprint Press. Girardot, Norman J. 2002. The Victorian Translation of China: James Legge’s Oriental Pilgrimage. London: University of California Press. Huang, Paulos. 2006. Confronting Confucian Understandings of the Christian Doctrine of Salvation. Academic Diss. in the Department of Systematic Theology. University of Helsinki. Kim, Sangeun. 2004. Strange Names of God. New York: Peter Lang. Latourette, Kenneth Scott. 1966. A History of Christian Missions in China. Taipei: Cheng-Wen Publishing Company. Lau, Tze-yui. 1994. James Legge (1815-1897) and Chinese Culture: A Missiological Study in Scholarship, Translation and Evangelization. Ph.D. diss., University of Edinburgh. Legge, Helen Edith. 1905. James Legge, missionary and scholar. London: The Religious tract society. Legge, James. 1852. The notions of the Chinese concerning God and spirits: with an examination of the defense of an essay, on the proper rendering of the words Elohim and Theos, into the Chinese language, by William J. Boone. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Register office. —. 1861. The Chinese Classics. Hong Kong & London: Trubner. —. 1877. Confucianism in relation to Christianity: A Paper read before the Missionary Conference in Shanghai on May 11th 1877. Shanghai: Kelly & Walsh. —. 1879. The Sacred Books of the East, Vol. III, The Sacred Books of China: the Texts of Confucianism, Part I, the Shu King, the Religious Portions of the Shih King, the Hsiao King —. 1880. The Religions of China: Confucianism and Taoism described and compared with Christianity. London: Hodder and Stoughton. —. 1881. A letter to Professor F. Max Müller (Chinese Recorder and Missionary Journey, Vol. 12, Jan-Feb 1881) —. 1882, The Sacred Books of the East, 50 vols. London: Oxford University Press. —. 1888. The Nestorian Monument. London: Tru‫ޠ‬bner & Co. Marsden, George M. 2006. Fundamentalism and American Culture. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Medhurst, Walter H. 1847. A Dissertation on the Theology of the Chinese with a view to the Elucidation of the Most Appropriate Term for Expressing the Deity, in the Chinese Language. Shanghae: Mission Press. —. 1848. An Inquiry into the Proper Mode of Rendering the Word God in Translating the Sacred Scriptures into the Chinese Language. Shanghae: Mission Press. Moffett, Samuel Hugh. 2005. A History of Christianity in Asia. 2 vols. Maryknoll: Orbis Books. Neil, Stephen. 1970. Concise Dictionary of the Christian World Mission. London: United Society for Christian Literature. Pfister, Lauren F. 2004. Striving for the Whole Duty of Man; James Legge and the Scottish Protestant Encounter with China. 2 vols. Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Ricci, Matteo. 1603. The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven. Trans. Douglas Lancashire and Peter Hu. St. Louis: The Institute of Jesuit Resources. Sibree, James. 1923. A Register of Missionaries Deputations. London: London Missionary Society. Wright, David F., Cameron, Nigel M. De S., and Lachman, David C. 1993. Dictionary of Scottish Church History and Theology. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Zetzsche, Jost Oliver. 1999. The Bible in China. Sankt Augustin: Monumenta Serica Monograph Series XLV. 



YSACRED RIVER’S PURE POLLUTION: CLARIFYING COMMUNICATION IN THE DEBATE OVER THE STATUS OF THE GANGES WYNTER MILLER

Introduction In this article, I will discuss the dual interpretations of the Ganges River in India. The river is both a vital natural resource for the half a billion people living within its basin as well as an important goddess for Hindu devotees living throughout the world. The concepts of pƗramƗrthika and laukika will be introduced as a means of philosophically separating the two uses of the river along with the ethnographic works of Vijaya Nagarajan, Kelly Alley and C.J. Fuller. The works of these three authors will be used as a basis for examining the conceptual divisions that devotees make when participating in ritual worship of deities. Following this, I will investigate the language used in reference to the river. In doing this, I will highlight the ambiguity that exists between the categories of ritual purity vs. physical cleanliness as they correspond to the dual uses of the river. Ultimately, I will show that although devotees living in the Ganges basin do hold conceptual and philosophical divisions, language fails to succinctly maintain those boundaries. My work will offer a typology for approaching this distinction. The aim of this article is to encourage familiarity of language and culture between groups involved in the debate, including devotees, scientists and politicians, as well as to increase the degree of care taken to ensure clearer communication between these groups, which will allow them to effectively work together to clean the river.

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Duality of Natural Resource and Goddess The Ganges is an essential lifeline for those living within its reach. It provides food and drink, fuels industry, and removes waste, amongst other things. Unfortunately, the burden of supporting an immense population has taken its toll on Ganges. Pollution in its many forms is the most threatening ecological issue facing the river, but it is far from the only one. The river is stripped of its own natural resources such as sand, water, plants and animals that are integral for a healthy ecosystem. Water is diverted and moved in unnatural patterns resulting in both droughts and floods in various places (Alley 2002, 5 & 51). In all there are dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of individual issues that threaten the ecological health of Ganges, which in turn, threatens the lives of all who depend upon the river. Though the importance of Ganges as a natural resource cannot be disputed, it is its role as goddess that sets the river apart from others in the hearts of her devotees around the world. The river is considered to be a manifestation of one of the more important goddesses of the Hindu pantheon. Myths about the river goddess are found in some of the earliest and most sacred Sanskrit texts such as the Puranas (Trojanow 2003, 6). Additionally, the river is used for a number of ritual purposes. Though these myths and rituals are varied, they tend to fit within the themes of fertility, purification or liberation, all of which appeal to her body as an important river. It seems intuitive that a goddess manifested as a river would be linked with fertility as rivers are responsible globally for nourishing the land and all of its variety of plant and animal life. Without fresh water, there are no crops to form the base of the food chain, and therefore no life on land at all. It is only through the life-giving force of fresh water that existence as we know it is sustained. The idea of fertility is strongly embedded in the ways that devotees speak about the river as goddess. They refer to her as Ga١gƗ MƗ coming from the Sanskrit word mƗt‫ٷ‬, meaning mother. In this vein, they report that the river takes care of them and cleans up after them (Alley 1994, 129 and Alley 1998, 312). This association with fertility of lands, animals and people bears a very strong presence in the myths and rituals of devotees. Both Ga١gƗ as goddess and Ganges as natural resource are responsible for sustaining life on earth and thus intimately linked to fertility. Purification, like fertility seems another obvious association for a river goddess, but again this use of the river goes far beyond the hygienic or natural association. While it is true that water is a primary agent in most

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cleaning, both liberation and purification when concerning the Ganges can refer to goals beyond the realm of everyday life. Every morning in Banaras, thousands of pilgrims wade into the water of the Ganges and bathe themselves. This activity continues throughout the day. Every night fires can be seen glowing along the banks where bodies are cremated after death. These sights correspond to the Ga١gƗ's ability to purify her children in life and to liberate them in death. These devotees are not primarily concerned with the physical state of their bodies, but also with spiritual matters of purity. Though the exact details of what this liberation entails vary according to devotees, it is generally agreed that Ga١gƗ is able to usher the individual out of samsara.

Devotees’ Conceptual Divisions The distinction between the roles that Ganges fulfils is based within a Western understanding of a separation between science and religion, and does not seem apparent to devotees themselves. Ethnographer Kelly Alley and Vijaya Nagarajan show this not to be true. Alley informs her readers that citizens along the DaĞƗĞvamedha ghƗ‫ ډ‬openly delineate between the municipal uses of the water and ritual uses (Alley 2005, 11). Nagarajan, working in Tamil Nadu, India, also analyses a similar distinction (Nagarajan 1998, 278). In order to understand divisions that exist in the minds of devotees and to analyse the work of these two anthropologists, I will first offer a description of the Sanskrit terms, laukika and pƗramƗrthika that will help to critically address and analyse the division of various interpretations toward the Ganges. The terms laukika and pƗramƗrthika divide existence into two categories for many devotees. The first term laukika refers to the physical world. All actions are taken within the realm of laukika. This realm is to be contrasted with pƗramƗrthika, which refers to that which is most precious for devotees. The attainment of mokĞa or liberation is within the realm of pƗramƗrthika. These realms, though distinct from one another are intricately connected. It is only by going through the realm of laukika that one is able to enter pƗramƗrthika (S.N. Balagangadhara, personal communication, June 26, 2009). Not all actions within laukika, however, aim for pƗramƗrthika. There are some actions, I would argue, which primarily serve the goal of surviving within laukika. It is here that we see a helpful distinction regarding actions performed by devotees. All actions performed by devotees take place within laukika, but of those some actions are aimed specifically toward moving into the realm of

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pƗramƗrthika. I argue that it is this distinction between motivations that divide the two uses of Ganges. When asking one of her female informants about the sacrality of BhnjdevƯ (Earth Goddess) and about the treatment of the Earth during and after a ritual in her honour, Nagarajan received the following answer: Oh, what we believe does not have to rule at all times and at all places. Just because one place is made sacred at one particular time does not necessarily mean that it remains special throughout the day. You have misunderstood. How could we live on this earth otherwise? We could not do anything, now, could we? There are so many rules and rituals that we have to follow. It is understood that we are human and that we need to live too. So, there is no expectation that we need to care for everything that is sacred all the time. We could not do it. We could not live. We have human needs and we must fulfil them. (Female informant interviewed by Nagarajan 1998, 278)

In this passage the informant suggests that there is a difference of focus in ritual time versus during the rest of the day. I would however like to look more closely at what is communicated by the informant. The first sentence of the quotation suggests that there is more than one set of standards that apply for devotees. First, there are rules associated with the informants’ beliefs. Second, there are unspecified rules, which are implied to be unaffiliated with their beliefs. Note, however, that the informant does not suggest that the beliefs ever become obsolete. Rather, she simply points out that they are not of primary concern during certain times. In her second statement, the translation becomes particularly interesting. She refers first to places of ritual as sacred, but in the second half of the sentence she refers to the place as not special. This would seem to imply that there is some distinction in the mind of the speaker between sacred and special, and that sacredness does not necessarily imply specialness. Nagarajan repeatedly warns against conflating sacred associations with ecological protection (Nagarajan 1998). In the next several sentences of her statement, the woman suggests that it would be impractical for them to treat BhnjdevƯ as special all day long and that doing so would be unnecessary. She also reassures her listeners of the sacredness of BhnjdevƯ. She closes her statement by again affirming the importance of the profane elements of the natural world. This passage is a good example of how the uses of a natural resource can be embedded within a sacred worldview without necessarily causing dissonance. I would suggest that the two sets of standards that the informant implies correspond to the categories of laukika and pƗramƗrthika. Devotees’

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beliefs guide the rituals performed under the presumption that this form of devotion to BhnjdevƯ will in some way bring the informant closer to reaching mokĞa or the realm of pƗramƗrthika. The other rules of governance seem to be based very strongly on the practicality of survival in this world. These, I would argue, are rules concerned primarily with the realm of laukika. Therefore, the ritual acts are considered sacred because they are directly aiming for pƗramƗrthika, whereas the non-ritual acts serve to meet aims based within laukika. Nagarajan is clearly able to show us is that there is a distinction in her informant’s mind between times when the sacred aspects of the earth are of utmost importance versus when the profane uses of mundane life are emphasised. C. J. Fuller (1992, 67), in his writing on puja rituals, also gives us evidence of this conceptual division. He outlines 16 steps that are performed within an ideal puja ritual. These steps are not always performed exactly, but they are commonly understood as an ideal model toward which devotees should strive. The first step he lists is invoking the deity. This may seem to imply that the deity is not previously present, but it is perhaps more fitting with ethnographic data to suggest that this invocation is a symbolic invitation for the deity to be worshipped by the devotees and for the devotees to bring their attention to the sacred aspects of the deity. Fuller lists the final step as, “Dismissal or taking leave of the deity (1992, 67).” These two steps designate a clear point during which the sacredness of the deity is the pinnacle of focus. Throughout the rest of the day, the deity remains sacred, but the profane elements of the earth are emphasised out of a necessity to survive. Though Diana Eck tells us in her writings on the river that such invocations are not generally made to Ga١gƗ MƗ (1996, 151), this model helps us understand the general, conceptual barriers that exist among traditional devotees. Both Nagarajan and Fuller are able to help us understand more clearly what Alley's informants are suggesting when they claim to distinguish between the ritual and municipal uses of Ganges water.

The Ambiguity of Language In discussing the pollution of the Ganges, language itself becomes a problem. It is often the case that groups involved in the debate over Ganges pollution will use different jargon and even different languages to discuss the river. This naturally diminishes the effectiveness of their communication. For the sake of the river and for all parties involved in the dialogue, it is necessary that the problem of language be addressed as

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everyone has a vested interest in cleaning the river, and no group is able to accomplish this feat alone. In order to demonstrate the ambiguity that language presents in this debate, I will look closely at the etymology and translations of some of the most common words that have been used in association with the river. I will attempt to break down the specific meaning of each word to determine whether it clearly implies an association with the river as a natural resource or Ga١gƗ as a goddess. This analysis will show that though there is an inherent conceptual division in the minds of devotees, language often fails to succinctly delineate between the two categories in which Ganges is located. This leaves those with an agenda of cleaning or worshipping the river often linguistically at odds with one another. Without proceeding with exceptionally careful and clarified discourse, overcoming this obstacle seems unachievable. Kelly Alley has pursued extensive ethnographic research with devotees living along the Ganges. She compiled the terms that I will analyse as being the most commonly used by devotees along DaĞƗĞvamedha ghƗ‫ډ‬, where she conducted her research. The region is primarily Hindi speaking but I will be investigating the Sanskrit roots of many words in order to trace a more thorough etymology. Though these terms are specific to the region in which she worked, the Sanskrit roots form the basis for many Indian languages. Banaras, where DaĞƗĞvamedha ghƗ‫ ډ‬is located, is a particularly interesting point along the river from which to research the language of pollution. This city is widely thought to be the most holy city along the river, and often in all of India. It certainly carries the largest percentage of pilgrims performing rituals to Ga١gƗ MƗ. Largely due to this popularity it is also one of the most polluting cities along the river. The factors of heightened religious significance and intense pollution create in Banaras an interesting juxtaposition of the Ganges as it is used as a natural resource and revered as a goddess. The first term I would like to discuss in reference to pollution in the Ganges is pradusan. According to Kelly Alley, this term is the closest equivalent to the English word pollution, referring to biological contaminants, but this translation is far from adequate (Alley 2002, 22). This is a Hindi word that has been derived from Sanskrit roots. Within the word pradusan we find the Sanskrit root dush. The definition of dush includes becoming bad, ruined, corrupted, defiled or impure as well as to perish, sin, commit a fault, be wrong or spoil (Monier-Williams 1899, under dush). From this pared down definition, it is unclear whether the root dush refers to the realm of natural resources or if it refers to the sacred potential of things. From the very

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root, it is ambiguous whether or not the term pradusan can be said to refer to physical or sacred characteristics. Referring to the river as pradushit could imply that the river is biologically dirty—spoiled, ruined, perished— or that the goddess is ritually impure. Many of the terms used in the definition such as sin, fault and wrong, carry strong moral implications. This definition makes it unclear whether dush and likewise pradusan refer to ritual purity or physical cleanliness. Even if it is the word most frequently used to refer to biological pollution, the term remains inherently ambiguous. The next term I wish to investigate is gandagi. This term is a Hindi word used to refer to the physically polluting matter in the river. Its closest English translation would be trash, but the term gandagi has implications not generally associated with this translation. It is important to note that gandagi is used to refer to things found in the river; it is kept separate from the river water itself. For Alley's informants, gandagi and the water are co-mingled with one another, but essentially distinct (Alley 1994, 130). Although gandagi refers to physically polluting matter, it is not understood from a scientific standpoint. Devotees are not concerned with the chemical changes taking place when substances like faeces or corpses decompose in the water and can no longer be distinguished as separate entities. In using the term gandagi, devotees are referring to elements of the physical world that are physically unclean, but what is considered gandagi and the power that gandagi has to pollute is governed by rules other than those of science. The term gandagi is applied only to certain items that are thrown into the water. Items like trash, human waste, dead animals and corpses, which are supposed to be cremated before entering the river, are all considered gandagi. Sacramental items such as statues, jewellery, food offerings, flower garlands, ashes and oil lamps, on the other hand, are offered to the goddess as gifts. These items are not considered gandagi (Alley 1994, 129). While these sacramental items make up only a small percentage of the biological pollution in the river, the devotees placing them in a separate category from other pollutants alienates their discourse from that of scientists who are primarily concerned with the biological state of the river. For scientists rotting flowers and food are only better than uncremated corpses in degree; both are pollution. Next I will look at antithetical adjective sets that devotees use to describe Ganges’ condition. It is often difficult to decipher whether these adjectives refer to physical cleanliness or ritual pollution. The Hindi terms svaccha and asvaccha come from a Sanskrit root. The definition of

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svaccha includes “very transparent or clear, pellucid; pure; healthy, convalescent” (Monier-Williams 1899, under svaccha). The “a-“ prefix denotes a negation of such. This definition very strongly alludes to biological issues of pollution. It refers to both the physical appearance of the river as clear, which is lost as biological pollution increases, and to the health of the river, which also declines with pollution. In both cases the river clearly becomes more asvaccha as the amount of biological pollution increases in the river. Nonetheless, even in this nice succinct dichotomy the waters are metaphorically muddied when the problematic term of “pure” is added to the definition (1899, under svaccha). While it is true that the English term pure is used to refer to that which is clean, this word also carries a sacred connotation. Kelly Alley purports that the terms svaccha and asvaccha can only be used to refer to physical cleanliness (Alley 2005, 88), but many Hindi speakers and Sanskrit scholars agree that this is an over-exaggeration of what is not so black and white in reality (J. Brockington, personal communication, May 2009 and J. Openshaw, personal communication, June 2009). Svaccha and asvaccha are adjectives that refer most often to the physical state of the river as a natural resource, but unfortunately still leave room for misconception. Similarly, the terms pavitra and apavitra are used to refer to the purity and cleanliness of the river. These terms again come from a Sanskrit root. Monier-Williams lists pavita simply as “purified, cleansed (1899, under pavita).” This signals ambiguity to come. Listed under the definition for pavítra are examples of the items that are considered pavítra including a filter and a straining cloth alongside a Mantra. The definition continues with even more spiritually-loaded terms such as evil, holy, sacred and sinless (Monier-Williams 1899, under pavitra). By and large the majority of the terms and references used in the definition refer to the sacred realm, or in the case of the Ganges, the goddess realm. It seems quite unlikely, however, that a strainer is classified as pavítra because of its sacrality, but for its ability to eliminate irregularities. The terms pavítra and apavítra cannot be said to inherently imply either physical cleanliness or ritual pollution. Kelly Alley offers a similar analysis from her field work claiming that her informants use the terms pavitra and apavitra primarily when referring to ritual purity, but that there is no problem with using this term to refer to the physical cleanliness of the river (Alley 2005, 88). Interestingly it seems that a devotee would be able to refer to Ganges as remaining pavitra, but being apavitra without contradiction.

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Synthesizing Language with Conceptual Divisions Based on the above evidence, one might be led to think that there is not, in fact, any distinction between physical cleanliness and ritual pollution as far as devotees are concerned. While it is true that the linguistic boundary between these binaries is often quite blurred, such a line of thinking would be an overstatement. After all, Alley tells us that her informants are repeatedly angered by the physical state of the river as dirty, but still insist on the purity of the goddess (Alley 1994, 129). It seems that language alone fails to accurately record their divisions. If we assume that the terms referring to ritual purity and to physical cleanliness are synonymous, then we must explain how it is possible for Ga١gƗ as goddess to maintain purity, as she does according to devotee informants, while they admit that the water of Ganges is unclean. This can be achieved if the two entities, the goddess and the water, are reasoned to be separate. According to this logic, the river can be viewed as a symbol for the goddess and not as the goddess herself. It then becomes possible to critique the physical state of the river without risking blasphemy against Ga١gƗ as goddess. The true goddess remains pure, but the water, which is simply a representation, becomes contaminated. Another option, which seems to better fit the available ethnographic data, is to separate the categories of ritual purity and physical cleanliness while allowing the river and the goddess to remain one entity. That is to say that the water flowing in the river is actually the goddess as opposed to a symbol of such. According to this line of logic, the two entities, goddess and water, cannot be separated as they are one and the same. Given this and given the claims that Ga١gƗ is inevitably pure alongside confessions that the water is dirty, we must assume that there are two standards being applied for each of these descriptions. One standard refers to ritual purity and the other to physical cleanliness. Further, it must be understood that the state of anything according to one of these sets of standards makes no implication whatsoever regarding its state according to the other standard. In other words, purity and cleanliness are separate states and do not imply one another. According to this logic there are four different categories into which items can fall: Pure/Clean, Pure/Unclean, Impure/Clean and Impure/Unclean. Items in the first category are easy to sort out. This would include anything that is ritually pure, a Brahmin, gold or water, so long as it is also biologically and hygienically clean. Likewise the antithetical category of Impure/Unclean is also quite intuitive. This category would include matter such as faeces and corpses. The third and fourth categories on the other hand are a bit

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more difficult. They occur where the distinction between the sacred and the profane realms are separated from one another. The third category, Impure/Clean, includes items or people that are in an impeccable biological and hygienic state of cleanliness, but in a ritually impure state. This could include lower caste or impure individuals who are otherwise healthy and clean, menstruating women or those who have recently given birth. The final category is that of Pure/Unclean. This is arguably the most difficult category to find examples for and the most complex to understand. It could include a priest’s robes that have not been recently laundered. A Brahmin who has not bathed may be unclean, but in relation to lower caste individuals he is still considered pure. It is in to this category that the Ganges falls. It is clear from this model of thinking that the categories of impure and clean are not mutually exclusive and that the same applies for pure and unclean. Rather there are two separate sets of logic determining the cleanliness verses the purity of objects and people. By analysing what the various terms employed by devotees are capable of implying alongside what they are meant to imply, we begin to notice that there is much potential confusion based on the ambiguity of language. The conceptual categories in devotees’ minds do not seem to be limited to two groups as language seems to be but, as I have listed here, can be divided into four. It becomes the job of the scholar to further probe these conceptual categories and investigate their limits. It is only through such investigation that we are able to clearly understand how to communicate within these categories regarding the biological state of the river to encourage its improvement. This understanding of the distinction that devotees themselves inherently make is crucial for connecting dialogue between the devotees and other groups involved in the debate, namely scientists. If we understand conceptually where the division exists that separates sacred from profane in the mind of devotees, then we understand the point at which scientists are most able to present their argument. In the quote by Nagarajan's informant, we hear from a woman that is devoted to her goddess, but is also quite concerned with her own survival and the survival of those around her. It is this need for survival that she uses to justify throwing her trash on BhnjdevƯ. She must dispose of the trash and simply throwing it on the ground may seem a very practical option. Her concern here is survival in the everyday through use of a natural resource. Such issues remain primarily within concerns of laukika. It is through ritual devotion to the goddess that she aims for pƗramƗrthika. Scientists are concerned with maximizing the health of natural resources and the benefits that this brings; they posses knowledge on how

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to best use the earth in order to maximize long-term sustainability, all of which is necessary for human survival. It is through this concern for survival in laukika shown by devotees that the scientists find their entry point for dialoguing. Without understanding the conceptual division, the scientists are apt to make claims that are misunderstood by devotees when taken out of context. This problem can be even further exaggerated in matters of legislation where English terms are used. As I have shown, there is a problem with the language being used in the debate. This makes it crucial that the various groups involved approach the dialogue carefully and with as much knowledge as possible. Scientists need to be able to show that they are addressing very specific concerns while avoiding others. In order to accomplish this, they need to understand the conceptual division that separates these concerns. For these reasons it is of utmost importance that the scientists be at least marginally familiar with the devotees’ ideas concerning the river.

Concluding Remarks It is indisputable that the current state of the Ganges is ecologically dire. Increasing amounts of sewage, chemicals and bodies pollute an everdeclining flow of water. Equally obvious to visitors along her banks is the devotion that locals express toward Ga١gƗ. The ecological condition of the Ganges is indisputably unhealthy according to any scientist surveying the situation, and the sacred status of the river undisputable for any devotee. These two factors contribute to a highly-charged emotional debate over the status of the river. Politicians inherit the responsibility of mediating the situation, but their own individual interests often blind them. The problem between all three is further perpetuated by linguistic ambiguity. This work has attempted to outline some of the key issues on which this debate is centred. It is the devotees in the end who will need to adjust their own practices to benefit the ecological cause. They are also the ones required to rally the support to solve larger issues facing the river such as industrial pollution. For this reason their motivation is essential. Many examples have been given to support the argument that the devotees recognize dual uses of the river. While there may be a higher correlation between these uses than it is generally found in a Western context, the dual nature of the river can still be elucidated indigenously. This has been outlined through explanation of the realms of laukika and pƗramƗrthika and from a close look at the ethnographic works of Kelly Alley, Vijaya Nagarajan and C.J. Fuller. Despite this conceptual division, I have shown that language often used in

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the debate fails to separate ritual purity from physical cleanliness. There is no problem convincing any particular group that the river as a natural resource is threatened, as most agree on this point. Rather, the problem arises from the application of language to the categories that exist. This means scientists who wish to clean the river must carefully clarify their intentions to devotees in a language that they can understand for progress to be made. To do this effectively, scientists must have some familiarity of the devotees’ culture. They must bridge the gap between the language referring to the river and the conceptual categories that devotees seem to harbour. When all groups make an attempt to understand the role of the river for others and the dialogue with which it is associated it will be possible for them to work together to clean the river.

References Alley, Kelly D. 2002. On the Banks of the Ganga: When Wastewater Meets a Sacred River. New York: University of Michigan Press. —. 1998. Idioms of Degeneracy: Assessing Ganga's Purity and Pollution. In Purifying the Earthly Body of God: Religion and Ecology in Hindu India, Ed. Lance E. Nelson, 297-330. New York: State University of New York Press. —. 1994. Ganga and Gandagi: Interpretations of Pollution and Waste in Benaras. Ethnology 33:2: 127-145. Balagangadhara, S.N. Personal communication with author, June 26th, 2009. Brockington, John. Personal interview with author, May 2009. Eck, Diana L. 1996. The Goddess Ganges in Hindu Sacred Geography. In Devi: Goddesses of India, Ed. John Stratton Hawley and Donna Marie Wulff, 137-153. Berkeley: University of California Press. Fuller, C.J. 1992. The Camphor Flame. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Monier-Williams, M. 1899. Sanskrit English Dictionary: Etymologically and Philologically Arranged with Special Reference to Cognate IndoEuropean Languages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nagarajan, Vijaya R. 1998. The Earth as Goddess Bhu Devi: Toward a Theory of “Embedded Ecologies” in Folk Hinduism. In Purifying the Earthly Body of God: Religion and Ecology in Hindu India, Ed. Lance E. Nelson, 269-298. New York: State University of New York Press. Openshaw, Jeanne. Phone interview with author, June 2009 Trojanow, Ilija. 2003. Along the Ganges. London: Haus Publishing.

YDANCING BETWEEN THE DISCIPLINES: THE MOBILE BIBLE SAMUEL TONGUE

This article argues that, apart from certain theological and ideological manoeuvres, a concept of “The Bible” (with a definite article and a capital “B”) is problematic, especially when trying to articulate the many different responses to Bible1 or bibles that can be seen in contemporary interdisciplinary biblical, literary, and historical studies. Any shorthand term necessarily elides the complexities of that to which it refers. Using the term “The Bible” does not admit to the fact that there is no final agreed form of this collection of texts. For example, every major confession within Christianity has its own Bible, often with similar contents but in different orders, or with different weight placed on (extra-) canonical books. There is also the question of how these collections came into being, which manuscripts were used in translating, and the editorial choices that are a necessary part of making any translation “work” within the terms of what is understood as reasonable sense.2 Philip R. Davies argues that there are not even “versions” of the bible because there is no “original” from which they can diverge. As he outlines, “‘the Bible’ of theology is not a

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Throughout this article, “Bible” signifies the networks of theological, critical, creative and political (etc.) usages that have surrounded and continue to enmesh our conceptions and ideals of bibles, both as material objects (scrolls, codices, books, that might be shelved or defaced), and as imaginative concepts (what they “do”, how they exert influence and what kind of impact they have on “cultures”). “Bible” operates as an archetypal term for the nexus of relations that are exerted on bibles and which haunt the backdrop to the discussions on different bibles. In dialogue with Bible are the specific bibles that are produced at certain times and which contribute to ideas of Bible. 2 Philip R. Davies highlights the example of 1 Sam. 13.1. In the Masoretic text, it can be read “Saul’s age was one when he became king and reigned two years over Israel.” The New International Version makes a guess and translates this line as “Saul was [thirty] years old when he became king, and he reigned over Israel [forty-] two years.” Cf. Philip R. Davies, Whose Bible Is It Anyway? Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 1995, 67.

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real bible that anyone can touch, read or give the meaning of; it is some kind of Platonic ideal. As I understand the discipline, biblical studies is about real bibles, not ideal ones” (1995, 68). This article emphasises that the “ideal” Bible and real bibles are much more closely linked than perhaps Davies would like, particularly as I go on to trace the roots and outworkings of some of the approaches that are now being utilised to read biblical texts within different disciplinary fields. I will demonstrate that these readers operate with (sometimes unexamined) assumptions arising from paradigms and practices that resulted in new ways of imagining biblical authority during the late 17th and 18th centuries, a collation of ideas that Jonathan Sheehan (2005) has termed “The Enlightenment Bible”. The first section traces the gradual split between understanding Bible as predominately theological texts and the emergence of variant forms of biblical authority that were formulated in response to new epistemological paradigms, in particular an increasing focus on rational, scientific and historical worldviews. The second section builds upon these impulses and shows the ideal types of Bible that are now being used within the increasingly broad terms of biblical studies. In order to practice a type of response to Bible (be it biblical exegesis, creative revisioning, homiletics, etc.), one must engage with a particular ideal type of Bible. Understanding something of the mobility and imaginative construction of these sometimes contradictory archetypes of Bible illuminates that it is these presuppositions that separate different usages of Bible. In this way, Bible can be seen as a project of meaning-making rather than an object, a continual process rather than a product, often reflecting the needs and interpretational tools that are turned upon it.

Part One: The Ideals of the Enlightenment Bible An entire historical survey of all the translations that are produced during what has been termed the “classical” age of biblical translation3 is beyond the scope of this article. In this instance, I am reading through the lens of the present relationships of literary theory and biblical studies to

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A period seen as emanating from the humanistic scholarship of the Renaissance through to the politico-theological issues of the Reformation. Cf. Ilona N. Rashkow, The Renaissance. The Blackwell Companion to the Bible and Culture. ed. John F. A. Sawyer Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 2006, 54.

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see whether the archetypes of Bible that arose during the post-Reformation and Enlightenment periods remain in operation. This section offers an overview of some of the multiple impulses that led to the Bible having to mutate and change under the pressures of Enlightenment paradigms. The ongoing influence of the earlier Reformation and its religious and scholarly outworkings, the rise of a critical scientific method, an ideal of rational educated man (and it is almost always men) coupled with ideas of European nationhood and history, demonstrated ´the new intellectual dispensation of choice and self-reliance […] one of ‘cheerful optimism’” (Sundberg and Harrisville 1995, 29). This article focuses in particular upon the cross-cultural exchanges of the German and English “Enlightenments” as scholars and thinkers translate and share influential ideas. Although it is problematic to simply collapse the particularities of each European country’s experience under the catch-all term “Western Enlightenment”, these broadly defined developments offer a selective path through some of the passions and predilections of the “Enlightenment Bible” as different bibles are produced which gradually move toward a sense of authority not bound within necessarily theological frameworks.

Partings on the Way After the fixing of Luther’s translation in 1545, any radical revisionary work on vernacular translation stopped in Germany and, ironically, the very Bible that had been used to call for theological reform and change became accepted as a stable bedrock. In this mode, theology still had the deciding vote as to what a particular passage might mean; interpretation in Lutheran Germany understood that “biblical passages were ultimately explicable only with the reference to a priori dogmatic principles—textual problems demanded not historical but doctrinal solutions” (Sheehan 2005, 21). However, as the eighteenth century dawned, things became decidedly more turbulent. Whereas the rise of the historical and natural sciences in the seventeenth century had been seen as operating in harmony with a theological worldview, the eighteenth century brought with it a gradual divorcing of these disciplines. This would have important consequences for a Bible that was now being forced to answer to new intellectual paradigms that “depended on such momentous developments as the rise of sovereign nation states […] on the vast increase in the availability of ideas and knowledge brought about by the proliferation of printed books; on deep and subtle changes in how it felt to be a human being in relation to

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nature, time and God” (Drury 1989, 7). Under the influence of these ideas, Bible was increasingly being seen as an awkward and unfamiliar collection of texts, not modern or mobile enough to keep up with the best of what was being discussed by contemporary thinkers and scholars. As John Rogerson understands it, the main characteristic of “modernity” is “the growing apart, and the increasing specialization, of the onceconnected spheres of science (empirical knowledge), ethics (the moral realm) and aesthetics (the artistic realm in the broad sense)” (Rogerson 2006, 104), separations which will be seen as significant in the second part of this article. The question at this stage was whether Bible could be defended and perhaps rejuvenated once again as an authority that could answer to the wide ranging scepticisms of this age. It is in these defences of Bible that we see the key splits that lead to what Sheehan calls the “Enlightenment Bible” as biblical scholars mount defences that, paradoxically, force Bible to move into hitherto untrodden critical territories. At these points of conflict, the biblical texts and “Bible” as a theological and cultural concept come to be understood differently.

New Inventions of Authority; the Rise and Rise of the Enlightenment Bible Jonathan Sheehan provides an analysis that underlines how the maintaining of biblical authority becomes a plural and sometimes contradictory project. He identifies four types of Bible that will remain compelling and useful to think with throughout the rest of this article: In the (textual) philological Bible, the Bible was made into a document whose study would perfect the practice of criticism. In the poetic Bible, it was given authority insofar as it participated in man’s literary heritage […]. In the pedagogical Bible, it became significant for its moral content. And the historical Bible was designed to make it significant as an archive, as an infinitely variegated library of human customs and origins. And in this historical Bible, the ideal of a familiar text was abandoned for one perpetually in translation. (Sheehan 2005, 217 My emphasis)

The elements I wish to emphasise here, and which will eventually take us into a discussion about the ideal types of Bible that contemporary biblical scholars, literary critics, and cultural theorists are working on are the textual-philological (aligned with the historical) and poetic imaginings of Bible. These different imaginings of the authority of Bible provoke the different responses that we see between the disciplines and are what give

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Bible such a continuous mobility across the academy and in the wider contexts in which it is approached.

Preservation: Grounding the Bible in History The English writer Anthony Collins (1676-1729) stands as an example of the type of scepticism to which biblical defenders would have to provide answers. An avid book collector and critical reader who supplied books to his friend, philosopher John Locke (cf. Drury 1989, 21), his book Discourse of the Grounds and Reason of the Christian Religion (1724) was a blending of literary criticism and historical awareness that questioned the theological particularity and authority of Christianity. He argued that; [t]his method of introducing christianity [sic] into the world by building and grounding it on the Old Testament, is agreeable to the common method of introducing new revelations (whether real or pretended) or any changes in religion, and also to the nature of things. For if we consider the various revelations, and changes in religion, whereof we have any tolerable history, in their beginning, we shall find them for the most part to be grafted onto some old stock, or founded on some preceding revelations, which they were either to supply, or fulfil, or retrieve from corrupt glosses, innovations, and traditions, with which by time they were incumber’d […]. (Collins 1989, 24)

Collins highlights that, if one is to use an empirical manner of reading, following the “common rules of grammar and logick”, one would easily conclude that Christianity, and its theological and doctrinal structures, are grafted onto the “Old Testament religion” that preceded it. A key point here, and one that continues to be one of the main driving forces for what is broadly known as “historical criticism” in biblical scholarship, is Collins’ understanding that religions and texts change through the processes of historical development; new revelations might come about by a process of retrieval from “corrupt glosses, innovations and traditions, with which by time they were incumber’d”. While Collins argued that this essentially levels out the particularity of different religions, demonstrating what he conceives of as a universal process, for the Bible’s defenders this type of thinking provided the tools of a salvage operation; without these accretions, for example, right-thinking people would see that the Jesus of history was a surprisingly modern and enlightened thinker, who supplied clearly applicable and rational teachings. As Jonathan Sheehan notes, this meant that scholars “studiously declined to translate the Bible precisely because their interests were not in religious renovation, but in religious

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preservation, not in redefining their religious patrimony, but in protecting it” (2005, 53). This protection would come from an academic endeavour that would attempt to bolster “reasonable” theological readings of the Bible; historical-philological research on the biblical manuscripts would now provide a thick web of demanding and authoritative scholarship. It is at this point of crisis that we see the rise of the biblical scholar and critic who specialises in philology and “microscopic textual analysis” (Sheehan 2005, 47) in order to trace the developments of the composite meanings within and between the texts, and, perhaps ultimately, obtain a sense of what these texts meant in their original context. The manuscripts that underlay both the vernacular and the scholarly translations for the Bible now became documents, fragments that had histories of their own and, if pieced together successfully, might map out lost worlds. For many of these scholars, “errors were evidence, evidence for the various histories of manuscripts whose reconstruction paved the road to an uncorrupted Scripture” (Sheehan 2005, 105). The acknowledgment of errors and the gradual “cleaning-up” of the text was part of the process of arguing for scriptural stability, allowing readers (but more likely, scholars) to argue against the “false” accusations of those who would see the biblical texts crumble under the weight of critical logic. However, the type of Bible that these critics were helping to create was caught in a trap of their own devising. A separation between theology and biblical criticism led to the idea that; [o]n the one side, theology and human salvation were inoculated to the findings of textual critics. The corruption of the biblical texts could not enfeeble the truths of Christianity. On the other side, though, this very inoculation meant that textual critics were free to dismiss theologians anxious to preserve intact the essential Christian truths. No longer did theology have any bearing on the enterprise of philology. Philology was, in essence, free. (Sheehan 2005, 115)

This idea of Bible had an authority built, not upon theology or Church doctrine, but on textual scholarship. Historical-philological scholarship as a way of guarding against pre-critical or overly tendentious readings (whether sceptical or “faithful”) will be a continuing theme that defines modern scholarship on Bible and we shall return to it in part two of this article through John Collin’s and John Rogerson’s sense of what constitutes biblical study. At this point however, it is important to note that Bible is being re-imagined as a collection of fragmentary documents that are littered with errors; it has become a book of problems, rather than solutions, and is now perpetually on the move.

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What is interesting at this stage is to compare this admission of fallibility in the biblical texts to a German movement that would attempt to reassert biblical authority by enrobing bibles not with modernist scepticism but with extensive annotation and theological interpretation, albeit with an eye on the rational fruits of this modernist scholarship.

Adding Notes in the Margin: Pietism In the provinces of the Holy Roman Empire of Germany, the particular contingencies of its provincial make-up allowed a flowering of heterodox opinion and publication. The Westphalian Peace accords (1648) banned public expression that ran contrary to the three sanctioned churches, Roman Catholic, Lutheran and Calvinist or Reformed. However, radical Pietists who resisted such orthodoxies were often able to obtain sponsorship and protection from noble patrons and authorities within the jurisdiction of their own territories (cf. Spalding 1996). As Pietism advocated a focus on the individual and their responsibility before God, a “religion of the heart”, coupled with the desire to free religion from the theology of Roman Catholic, Lutheran and Calvinist orthodoxies, the centrality of Scripture was once again pivotal. Although as George Becker notes, “[a]ccustomed to viewing all endeavour with an eye to salvation, Pietism was predictably antagonistic to the secularism characteristic of the 18th-century spirit of Enlightenment” (1991, 145), devotion would have to be uneasily married with scholarship if any new bibles were to help provoke a hoped-for second reformation. The key notion of biblical authority here was to show that, rather than riddled with textual error and the contingencies of their formations as English critics had chosen to emphasise, the biblical texts slotted comfortably into the rationalist sciences, histories and philosophies of the period. Two brief examples will suffice at this point. Overseen by Pietist scholar Johann Freidrich Haug (with the patronage of Count Casimir of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg), the Berleburger Bible, published between 1726-1742 and extending over numerous volumes, can be seen as a mammoth example of how this ideal was attempted. Each page of this bible demonstrates the multiple impulses the Enlightenment exerted upon it. The biblical text itself sits atop vast columns of information, facts, figures, obscure etymology and commentary. Here the marginal notes, garnered from other disciplinary sources, and passed through Pietist interpretative strategies, were intended to prove the universal truths of the biblical narratives. The Pietist impulse was to once again try and free their bible from preceding theologies as scholarship and wide-ranging study would buttress the non-denominational theological

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truths of the text. However, this would come at a cost; as Sheehan highlights, “[b]y moving the Bible beyond the hegemony of theology, Pietists opened it up to the dispersive media of the Enlightenment” (2005, 85). In attempting a legitimate defence of the Bible against its sceptical interlocutors, the collators of the Berleburger Bible had been caught in an ongoing paradox of this period (and continuing into contemporary rewritings of Bible as we shall see); as one characterises and defends Bible’s authority using Enlightenment paradigms, underlining its relevance and force, it is through these very paradigms that formulations of authority can be shown to be suspect. Another bible deserves a mention in this context. The controversial Wertheim Bible, published by Johann Lorenz Schmidt anonymously in 1735, consisted of the first five books of the Bible, again with extensive annotations and commentaries that bore little resemblance to the authorised religious interpretations. Schmidt had not treated the texts as sacred but, in trying to answer the English Deist movement, had applied to them the rationalist, deductive modes that had been made applicable to other contemporary literature. He had tried to show that the Mosaic books had a context in themselves, without reference to the New Testament. However, what many theologians saw in this vernacular translation was the undermining of Christian theological understanding by a Deism that no longer allowed for an interventionist God. As Paul Spalding explains, the story of God’s ongoing activity in the first and second chapters of Genesis became a scientific description of natural processes, which Schmidt believed to operate according to God’s original, unchangeable place. For example, Schmidt suggested that the flaming sword of the cherubim (Genesis 3:24) was a lightening storm, and he attributed Moses’ conversion of the Nile’s waters into blood (Exodus 4:9) to an admixture of some natural material that caused the water to redden (1996, 379).

In an effort to render the content of the Bible as congruent with the best of contemporary scientific discovery and rationalism, Schmidt had emphasised scholarship over doctrinal interpretation, yet still within a model that saw reason and revelation as intrinsically compatible. What is important here, however, and will be seen as this paper moves into an analysis of our own contemporary studies of Bible, is that these new types had again recast the very idea of Bible, freeing it from the defences of theology and religious structures. These were bibles that would now have to move in the same circles as the popular new dictionaries and encyclopaedias that were being compiled as secular collections of human knowledge.

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The Poetic Bible Somewhat in tension with the emphasis on historical-critical scholarship that maintained a focus on the biblical text as in need of retrieval or rational explanation is what Sheehan terms the “poetic” or “aesthetic” Bible. Where the former seemed to make the Bible a fragmentary foreign document very much removed from contemporary “modern” worldviews, the influences that go to make up the poetic Bible emphasise similarity and shared subjectivity between contemporary reader and ancient writer, linking the artistry of the biblical writers with contemporary views of literature and poetics as the “incomprehensible—the awful distance that separates us not just from the ancient Hebrews but also from God himself—is overcome by human art and human reason” (Sheehan 2007, 219). The philological study of the Bible had fragmented it into manuscripts and disparate texts, creating an idea of the Bible-asDocument. But, some readers asked, surely the Bible also had an aesthetic quality, an authority that exerted an influence over artists and writers, and not just textual critics? Was not the Bible also an example of the greatest “literature” as opposed to mere history? In England, Bishop Robert Lowth’s influential4 Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews (1753) emphasised that poetry was: […] on account of the exact and vivid delineation of the objects which it described, to be excellently adapted to the exciting of every internal emotion, and making a more forcible impression upon the mind than abstract reasoning could possibly effect […] It became the peculiar province of poetry to depict the great, the beautiful, the becoming, the virtuous; to embellish and recommend the precepts of religion and virtue, to transmit to posterity excellent and sublime actions and sayings; to celebrate the works of the Deity, his beneficence, his wisdom; to record the memorials of the past, and the predictions of the future. (Lowth 1989, 72)

In terms of the bias of the historical-critical approach, Lowth recognised that the different “habits of life” of the Hebrews would mean that biblical figurative styles of speech “will appear to [the reader] mean and obscure, harsh and unnatural; and this will be the case more or less, in

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Being rapidly translated into German, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Johann Gottfried Herder (On the Spirit of Hebrew Poetry, 1782) came under Lowth’s influence. In English, William Blake, Christopher Smart, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Matthew Arnold all reflect on Lowth’s work. Many modern Bibles (NEB, NRSV, Jersualem etc.) also break the poetic and some sections of the wisdom books into verse, following Lowth’s practice of the same.

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proportion as they differ or are more remote from each other in time, situation, customs sacred or profane, in fine, in all the forms of public and private life” (Lowth 1989, 77). However, this did not have to result in the scepticism towards the foundations of Christianity we have seen in the work of Anthony Collins; an understanding of Hebrew poetry could transport the reader back through time, “to feel them as a Hebrew, hearing or delivering the same words, at the same time, and in the same country” (Lowth 1989, 78). The sections of bibles that could be assigned to the work of inspired poets were authoritative and true because of the sublime and artful writing by which the message was conveyed; “to keep the ancient alive, the later Enlightenment discovered, demanded a shift away from normative aesthetics toward one grounded in the effects of the poetry on both the readers and their world” (Sheehan 2007, 219). In Germany, Johann Andreas Cramer’s Poetic Translations of the Psalms, published in 1755, demonstrated a “desire to overcome archaism” (Sheehan 2005, 150) and “set the modern soul aflame with the passions of the Hebrews” (Sheehan 2005, 155). For Cramer, “religion itself had very little to do with thought or reasoned analysis…[r]ather literature, or more precisely, poetry was injected into the very veins of religion. The Bible was poetic because, in essence, religion was poetic” (Sheehan 2005, 157). This injection of poetry resuscitated biblical authority once again, but in a way that was different and contradictory to the method which focused on historical documents and philology. In Germany, the Lutheran Bible had remained almost untouched by the machinery of Enlightenment scholarship, all other bibles being seen as mere variations subordinated to this great vernacular cornerstone. The emphasis of the “poetic” Bible on Luther’s high literary style ensured that this bible could now become the foundation of a new sense of German national literature, a Book that demonstrated the sublime poetics of the German language. In a similar way to the King James Version in England, these “folk-Bibles” began to be seen as national property. However, Sheehan underlines the fact that the interest in Hebrew poetry in Germany did nothing to recuperate the Jews as legitimate citizens within the new German states. In fact, the Old Testament became a German book, a cornerstone of a national literature that was also of great benefit in unifying a sense of shared national identity (see Sheehan 2005, 171). Aligned with this sentiment, the King James Version can be seen to become an English book; as David Jasper notes, “[t]he books of the Bible, from Genesis to Revelation, are undoubtedly the single greatest influence on the development of English literature” (Jasper 2001, 278) because, firstly, they deploy a unique authority in both Jewish and Christian

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traditions, sustained in doctrine and culture and, second, have bequeathed a “wealth of phrase and image which persist in our common culture to this day” (Jasper 2001, 278). It is in these understandings that we see the fulfilment of the project of the Enlightenment Bible: “The philologians, pedagogues, poets, and historians had invented a distributed, ramified, diverse Bible, but one independent of theology, one that could survive embedded within the matrix of ‘culture’” (Sheehan 2005, 220). Bible’s authority could now be understood as something central to European heritage, not least because of the huge intellectual endeavours that had taken place to try and ensure that it remained relevant and mobile through such radical ideological changes. Bible could now be mobilised by a number of different authorities.

Part Two: Literary Studies, Historical-Criticism and the Authority of Bible (In Theory) This second section builds on the outline above, with a specific focus on how these different ideals of biblical authority—Bible-as-Document (philological-historical) and Bible-as-Literature (poetic)—can be seen to influence the different approaches that are reflected in the contemporary multi-faceted biblical studies scene. I argue that even though the “Enlightenment Bible” demonstrates a process of defamiliarization and separation between biblical texts, readers and specialized disciplines (and sometimes attempts to overcome these splits), the practices situated under the broad umbrella of literary theory, enable us to focus on reading as a practice that brings certain ideals of Bible to the fore; “The Bible” does not exist per se, but readings of Bible do and it is these readings that sustain the cultural afterlives of biblical texts. Stephen D. Moore and Yvonne Sherwood outline some of the outworkings of Sheehan’s ideas when they highlight that if the original project of the Enlightenment Bible consolidated under four fundamental headings – philology, history, aesthetics, and morality – biblical scholarship soon abandoned the aesthetic and the ethical. Theory has revived the aesthetic, in the form of literary criticism, and also, most importantly, the moral, in the form of feminist biblical criticism, ideological criticism, and other approaches that directly engage the ethics or ideologies of biblical texts. (Moore and Sherwood 2009, 214-215)

Having given a broad overview of how Bible became a diffused interpretive project, I now want to outline what this has meant for biblical studies by jumping into present conflicts, debates, and interrelationships

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between biblical criticism and literary theory. What is at stake here is how these interrelated disciplines imagine Bible and how they conceive of their own practices that result in sustaining Bible for the age even if, paradoxically, this is a process of deconstruction. As Jo Carruthers highlights, it could be argued that Bible has “been subsumed by the very intellectual traditions and cultural categories that it gave rise to. In short, the Bible has shifted from being the archetypal book—the greatest sourcebook of language, imagery and narrative—to simply being a text like any other” (2006, 253-254). This shift to text means that questions over meaning, authority, and relevance cause Bible to continue dancing across the disciplines, never static, always on the move. As Moore and Sherwood demonstrate, literary theory has provided a major catalyst for this movement.

The Bible-as-Literature: Alter and Kermode vs. The Bible and Culture Collective An illuminating view on these questions is given by comparing the introductions to two quite different approaches to the post-theological Bible. In their Literary Guide to the Bible, Robert Alter and Frank Kermode offer a new view of the Bible as a work of great literary force and authority, a work of which it is entirely credible that it should have shaped the minds and lives of intelligent men and women for two millennia or more.” (1990, 2)

There are a whole host of presuppositions at work here that are all the more telling in the light of Sheehan’s work on the way in which the Enlightenment Bible is repositioned as the “cultural” Bible. Literary “force” is immediately linked with authority in a similar sense to Robert Lowth’s and Johann Andreas Cramer’s understanding that it would be an aesthetic response to Bible in which religious “truth” would be found. In terms of biblical criticism itself, Alter and Kermode argue that the historical-critical mode has diverted attention from the Bible’s literary qualities–its narrative, poetry, and prophecy; as they highlight, “what has happened now is that the interpretation of the texts as they actually exist has been revalidated” (1990, 4). Of course, this can also be brought into question—do they mean the texts as they “actually exist” in their original languages, the Hebrew and the Greek, and the myriad translations and fragments, or is it more likely that they have in mind the “final form” folkBibles such as we have seen in the Lutheran or King James versions? The

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type of Bible at work here is one in which it is positioned as the godfather of the Western literary canon, although, in truth, only a significant part of this canon. In order for this terminology to work, one must have a sense of the type of literature Bible might be. Terry Eagleton argues that if “it will not do to see literature as an ‘objective’, descriptive category, neither will it do to say that literature is just what people whimsically choose to call literature” (1996, 14); therefore, if both “Bible” and “literature” are fluid terms, a value-judgement of “literature” is needed in order to understand the ramifications of the paradigm “Bible-as-Literature”. As this paradigm is deployed to demonstrate the authority of Bible as literature, there is, in fact, a subtle power-play in operation. If the literary canon “emerges as the secular equivalent of the biblical canon, a body of texts endowed with unique authority and power, and worthy of the attention of generations of scholarly experts” (Carruthers 2006, 25), the literary quality of Bible stands alongside the measuring-stick of whatever a certain culture designates as “literature”. For Alter and Kermode, Bible may speak authoritatively, but only through using literary language. If we turn to the introduction to The Postmodern Bible by the Bible and Culture Collective, we can see that they explicitly distance their project from Alter and Kermode, although, interestingly, they share the same distrust of modernist historical-critical methods. As they outline, several of the reading strategies offered in The Postmodern Bible “differ explicitly from modern historical-critical approaches. These strategies focus critical attention on the power the Bible currently wields in culture and society and show that historical critics have in any case been implicated in these power relations, generally without recognising or acknowledging it” (Bible and Culture Collective 1995, 4). They also include Alter and Kermode within this accusation as they note that The Literary Guide to the Bible consciously excludes “feminist, ideological, psychoanalytical, deconstructive or Marxist” (1995, 7) questions and approaches to seemingly “underwrite a broader form of canonical literary criticism” (1995, 7). The Bible and Culture Collective identify that, alongside Bible as canonical text, and literatures that have become canonical, there are also canonical interpretive strategies to be used when approaching biblical texts. Once again, there are different Bibles present here. For Alter and Kermode, the Bible is part of culture as a literary cornerstone; its authority speaking through both its own poetics and aesthetics (and the critic’s appreciation of these facets), and also from its position as a key canonical influence over all other Western Literature (with Homer operating as a close ally). For the Bible and Culture Collective, Bible is part of culture but its authority lies in its positioning as a reading site where “modernity’s

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enabling assumptions about reference, representation, method, and subjectivity” (Bible and Culture Collective 1995, 13) can be foregrounded and critiqued. They question the “canonical” approaches of both historicalcritical and literary interpretations, attuned to the authority that these approaches have garnered in the practices of the Enlightenment Bible. However, the Collective is forced into building an alternative canon, one that understands Bible as displaying a “postmodern unreadability” (Cunningham 2000, 75), a collection of texts that seems eminently suited to postmodern notions of “frictionality”, aporia, gaps, incomplete suggestiveness and the difficulties of reading texts that overflow the boundaries of the modern. As Valentine Cunningham suggests, it is the ur-modernism of the story of the Raising of Lazarus (famously he fails to speak of his experience), that makes him of central interest to Dostoevsky and T. S. Eliot and Julia Kristeva. And it is the equivocal nature of the opponent (angel? demon?) and of the struggle (blessing? curse?) in the story of Wrestling Jacob that makes his attraction for Freud and the sculptor Epstein and Roland Barthes and the deconstructionist Geoffrey Hartman, and all the others who have clustered with a kind of post-modern exuberance about the narrative. (2000, 74)

In keeping with our idea of a “mobile Bible”, it seems we must also admit an unavoidably “mobile hermeneutic” for reading these imagined Bibles. Where Alter and Kermode offer their version of literary criticism, in contrast, all those readerly possibilities coming out of the post-war, francophone, (post)modernist theory pot—are not just optional add-ons for modern readers of the Bible, but are inevitably present readings, ways, because they are simply there as part of the reading agenda of our time. (Cunningham 2000, 73)

Readerly possibilities towards texts becomes a key theoretical idea that is able to bridge the gap between literary theory and biblical studies. What is important to note in terms of an analysis of the types of Bible that are in operation here is that, if the “demand [to gap-filling] is, evidently, an invitation to fiction […]” (Cunningham 2000, 77), then postmodern engagements “with the Biblical story are generically the same. They are all in effect aestheticisations of the Biblical story” (Cunningham 2000, 78). And, again linked with Lowth and Cramer, these postmodern aestheticisations can be seen as a way of overcoming the “archaisms” of biblical texts that still haunt contemporary literature. Separations are overcome through certain types of reading. In using literary theory to revive the aesthetic and the moral (as Moore and Sherwood highlight

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above), we are still building upon the Enlightenment foundations of our “Poetic (Postmodern) Bible”. If the above analysis is linked with an understanding of the Bible-asLiterature (and Bible-in-Literature), arising from Sheehan’s outlining of the “poetic” Bible, what of biblical historical criticism itself? How does this type of reading respond to such paradigmatic shifts in both theory and literary criticism; or are the disciplines to be kept separate and selfcontained in their approaches to Bible?

The Bible-as-Literary Document: Contemporary Biblical Criticism Biblical scholar John Barton’s wide-ranging work is a salutary reminder that the very terms that are being used in these interrelated disciplines have a heritage of their own. In particular, the use of the idea of the “literary” juxtaposed against the “historical” is problematic. As Barton argues, when “historical” biblical criticism began, Biblical critics applied to biblical documents the kind of detailed analysis which anyone engaged in “literary” studies at the time would have been likely to engage in, asking questions about the origins and development of the text, the intention of its author or authors and its connection with other, similar texts. It is in the sophistication of their literary analysis that most so-called historical critics excelled. (1998, 14)

When reading texts there is no escape from their syntactical and allusive “literariness.” As we saw above in the Enlightenment elevation of textual scholarship over doctrinal concerns, and continuing in present academic work, historical critics focus on the way the texts themselves are constructed to offer clues as to their genealogy and likely authorship. This type of approach is evidenced in Anthony Collins’ free-thinking speculations on the evolution of Christianity. However, the model that is being worked with is the given literariness of the manuscripts, an enquiry shaped by reading from the rhetoric, the typologies and stylistics of the writing itself in order to discover “historical” clues and intentions. However, and this is a key point in this debate, this focus on the “literariness” of the historical documents is not the same as the parallel and contradictory shift to understanding the Bible-as-Literature that we see in Sheehan’s analysis; the latter is more concerned with particular aesthetic understandings of the literary. If, as Barton highlights, it is “common nowadays to contrast historical with literary criticism and to regard the former as markedly “unliterary” in character […] because

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“literary” criticism nowadays is notably unhistorical, with an enormous emphasis on “synchronic” reading of texts exactly as they lie before us” (1998, 14), this is because there are different ideas of Bible at work in defining these terms. Barton is attempting to argue against the idea (perhaps after reading The Postmodern Bible) that, from “a postmodern perspective, the historical-critical method is just a piece of self-deception, and biblical scholars would be advised to turn to more fruitful approaches” (1998, 14) by characterising historical-criticism as displaying a strongly literary (and thus presumably more legitimate?) impulse. If the “historical” is indeed as “literary” as Barton himself argues, then does the objective confirmation of the historical accuracy of the content of the texts have to come from other modern, rational disciplines such as anthropology or archaeology? For if historical criticism is always implicitly or explicitly based on and within texts, then it will always fall inside the “literary”. And it is from the “literary” that the spectre of creative invention appears. This acknowledgement prompts biblical scholar John J. Collins to state that what “historical criticism does is set limits to the conversation, by saying what a given text could or could not mean in the ancient context. A text may have more than one possible meaning, but it cannot mean just anything at all” (Collins 2005, 10). Once again, if we link this back to the idea of the Enlightenment Bible, the type of Bible that is being utilised here is one in which proper scholarly work, from a number of extra-textual sources, will provide limits to reading, curtailing any pre-critical or overly poetic interpretation. Biblical authority is again to be based on accurate and demanding scholarship. Although the Wertheim and Berleburger Bibles allowed for scholarship, this was still filtered through theological concerns; if, as Collins highlights, “a good deal of postmodernist commentary on the Bible seems to me to fall outside the range of what might reasonably be called exegesis or forgo concern for “plausible interaction” with the text…not every reaction triggered by a text can be regarded as a valid meaning or interpretation” (2005, 17)5, Collins

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There is an interesting blurring here that also underlines the complexities of this debate. Collins links the terms, “commentary”, “exegesis”, and “interpretation”. Arguably, many so-called “postmodern commentaries” do not actually pretend to operate as “exegesis”. Exegesis denotes a more scientific-critical approach to the texts, focussing on important concerns such as original language use and context; I would argue that “postmodern commentaries” are much more concerned with a hermeneutic encounter between reader, text and contemporary contexts, and that the notion of “plausible interaction” is a highly ideological value-judgement on certain interpretations. However, as we have seen throughout this paper, this notion

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and Barton would also level this accusation at the pietistic bibles; in a strange link between pietism and postmodernism, subjective reactions must be filtered through proper historical scholarship and the “literariness” of the texts must be circumscribed. There are significant tensions at work here. Even with the idea of the literariness of the biblical manuscripts as providing hints as to historicalcritical questions of authorship, intention, context, and so on, this type of Bible still seems to have its roots firmly in the idea of the Bible-asDocument. The “literariness” must not be allowed to spill over into too much invention and readerly creativity. By way of a contrast, the literary modes that Kermode and Alter, and, with extension, The Bible and Culture Collective utilise seem to achieve their persuasive resonance with the rise of the ideas of the Bible-as-Literature and the influence of Biblein-Literature. As literary as Barton may argue historical-criticism to be, it is still ideologically bound to the framing of Bible as document rather than as a piece of literature. Barton attempts to bridge the gap, questioning the unsympathetic stereotypes produced by historical-criticism’s opponents but, rather than this simply being the product of differing methods of approach, which can be overcome by emphasising methodological similarities, I would argue that it is the underlying presuppositions of what type of Bible is being read that ultimately separates the readers’ responses.

Inclusions/Exclusions/Conclusions As we have seen, the different paradigms that Bible had to answer to during the Enlightenment period resulted in the need to emphasise divergent and sometimes contradictory forms of biblical authority. This article has attempted a brief overview of some of these shifts in order to trace the roots of interdisciplinary conflict and consensus over “readerly possibilities” towards Bible and contends that it is the types of Bible emerging during the Enlightenment period that are the catalysts for different ideologies of reading. In a dialectical move, we are able to say that types of Bible are constituted by types of readerly and scholarly approach. In the same way, the idea of biblical authority is upheld by certain “authoritative” interpretive approaches. And just as Bible has influenced these readerly approaches, ways of reading can exert a gravitational pull that bring certain types of Bible into alignment, even if only for a short time.

 of “plausible interaction” is tied up with questions of authority and meaning and is constantly debated.

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These conclusions make it important for contemporary scholars to realise that, as a consequence of these paradigm shifts, they may be operating with unexamined presuppositions that shape their understanding of the texts on which they are working. Increasingly, with a widening sense of what may constitute biblical studies, it is important to examine how different but interrelated disciplines view and utilise similar reading and working practices. Definitions of “history”, “literature”, “bible”, “theory”, “literary criticism” and “biblical criticism” also shift as the pressures of different research questions are placed on each. In this way, literary theory as a relatively recent addition to the biblical studies conversation can provoke both biblical and literary criticism into an examination of their respective “ethics of reading” (cf. Exum and Clines 1993; Bible and Culture Collective 1995). The authority of the Bible is still both upheld and under question across many disciplines (often at the same time), not only because it has been such a mobile text, but also because we have multiple and mobile ways of reading it. Perhaps this continuing and circular fascination with notions of biblical authority can be linked with what Sheehan writes in the preface to The Enlightenment Bible, noting that, for “modern society, secularisation always is and always must be incomplete” (2005, ix). In order for a modern society to define itself as always-becoming secular, religion must remain constantly on the wane as a political and social force without ever being completely lost from view. Separations between sacred and secular are not as clean-cut as perhaps some would like. And Bible, whether operating as authoritative adversary (whose authority is on the wane), or as liberating, overflowing postmodern text, is also always mobile and incomplete. .

References Alter, Robert, and Frank Kermode, Eds. 1990. The Literary Guide to the Bible. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Barton, John. 1998. Historical-Critical Approaches. In The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation. 9-20. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Becker, George. 1991. A Pietism’s Confrontation with Enlightenment Rationalism: An Examination of the Relation between Ascetic Protestantism and Science. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 30, no. 2:139-58. Bible and Culture Collective. Eds. 1995. The Postmodern Bible. New Haven: Yale University Press.

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Carruthers, Jo. 2006. Literature. In The Blackwell Companion the Bible and Culture, Ed. John F. A. Sawyer. 253-67. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. Collins, Anthony. 1989. Discourse of the Grounds and Reasons of the Christian Religion (1724), Chapters I, Iv, V, Vii (Less Paragraph 4), Ix, X (Extracted), Xi. Critics of the Bible: 1724-1873, Ed. John Drury, 21-45. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Collins, John J. 2005. The Bible after Babel: Historical-Criticism in a Postmodern Age. Grand Rapids and Cambridge: Eerdmans. Cunningham, Valentine. 2000. The Best Stories in the Best Order? Canons, Apocryphas and (Post) Modern Reading. Literature and Theology 14, no. 1:69-80. Davies, Philip R. 1995. Whose Bible Is It Anyway? Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Drury, John, Ed. 1989. Critics of the Bible: 1724-1873. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 1989. Introductory Essay. Critics of the Bible: 1724-1873, Ed. John Drury. 1-20. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eagleton, Terry. 1996. Literary Theory: An Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Exum, Cheryl J., and David J.A.Clines. 1993. The New Literary Criticism. In The New Literary Criticism and the Hebrew Bible, Eds. Cheryl J. Exum and David J.A.Clines. 11-25. Sheffield: JSOT Press. Harrisville, Roy A., and Walter Sundberg. 1995. The Bible in Modern Culture: Theology and Historical-Critical Method from Spinoza to Käsemann. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Jasper, David. 2001. The Bible in Literature. In The Oxford Illustrated History of the Bible, Ed. John Rogerson. 278-91. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lowth, Robert. 1989. Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews (1753). Critics of the Bible: 1724-1873, Ed. John Drury, 69-102. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Moore, Stephen D., and Yvonne Sherwood. 2010. Biblical Studies 'after' Theory: Onwards Towards the Past; Part Three: Theory in the First and Second Waves. Biblical Interpretation 18, no. 3:191-225. Rashkow, Ilona N. 2006. The Renaissance. In The Blackwell Companion to the Bible and Culture, Ed. John F. A. Sawyer. 54-68. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. Rogerson, John W. 2006. The Modern World. In The Blackwell Companion to the Bible and Culture, Ed. John F. A. Sawyer. 10416.Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd.

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Sheehan, Jonathan. 2005. The Enlightenment Bible: Translation, Scholarship, Culture. Oxford and Princeton: Princeton University Press. —. 2007. The Poetics and Politics of Theodicy. Prooftexts, no. 27:211-32. Spalding, Paul. 1996. Noble Patrons and Religious Innovators in 18thCentury Germany: The Case of Johann Lorenz Schmidt. Church History 65, no. 3:376-88.

PART IV  

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CHANGING TRENDS: MOVING BEYOND TRADITIONAL BOUNDARIES 

YCHANGING TRENDS: MOVING BEYOND TRADITIONAL BOUNDARIES PATRICIA ‘IOLANA

There have been a number of wonderful additions to the fields of theology and religious studies over the years. Feminists, queer theorists and liberation theologians challenged scholars, leaders and practitioners to think anew of existing traditions by raising valid gender and cultural issues and asked us to open up to the possibilities they provided. Interdisciplinary programmes and studies both within the field of theology and outwith in programmes such as philosophy of religion, psychology of religion, media studies and religion, literature and theology, or the ever-growing field of thealogy, etc. have taught us that theological study and contemplation cannot exist in a vacuum and that as scholars and practitioners we must be able to understand the Divine as it relates to the rest of our life and our world. While some scholars may see these revisions and changes as damaging to the ideals of the field of theology, others embrace these challenges as providing fruitful grounds for dialogue, reflection, enquiry, and introspection while supporting the idea that we must always strive to test our own boundaries even in the field of theology. Yet, the curious thing about boundaries is that once a boundary is set, they become tested and challenged by someone bold enough to enter this liminal space. The essays that follow in this section will test and stretch the boundaries of traditional theological discourse, reflection, and enquiry by challenging us once again. Dr Beth Seymour is a health-care professional who is challenging the academy and the government to add spiritual care to the curriculum for all nursing programmes. In her essay, “Spiritual education: the case of student nurses’ experiences of learning about spirituality and spiritual care” she summarises her case study which evaluates the experiences and current knowledge of spiritual matters in nursing students. There has been a long-standing schism between science and spirit, and the argument Dr Seymour makes in favour of integrating these two areas of study in order to treat and care for the whole person within the healthcare setting is

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pushing the boundaries of government and institutional policies. Holistic medicine is still a somewhat new idea to Western practitioners and institutions although it has been common in Eastern traditions for millennia. Dr Seymour’s case study examines how much current nursing students know about spiritual matters and questions how such a programme could effectively be created taking devout, multi-religious, spiritual, and secular patients into consideration during short-term and long-term health care services. A challenge that poses no easy answers, the concerns she raises in this essay could, if implemented, change the way the healthcare system cares for its patients, the individual care each patient receives, and could positively affect patient’s physical, emotional and spiritual wellness – an advancement that moves beyond traditional boundaries towards a holistic future. The next essay that moves beyond traditional boundaries is Elizabeth Chloe Erdmann’s “Nomadic Theology: Crossing the Lines of Traditions in Theology.” In a world where comparative theology and multi-religious identities are more commonplace, and terms such as “a la carte” religion or theology summarise the current trend in taking what one likes from many faith traditions and incorporating it into an existing tradition, all of these scenarios imply one thing that Nomadic Theology disavows – namely a home tradition. We hear terms such as Buddhist-Christian, or Jewish-Buddhist, or meet people who have multiple religious identities, but they all share a home faith tradition. The Buddhist-Christian was either Christian or Buddhist first before adding the second tradition. The same can be said about the Jewish-Buddhist, or someone with multiple religious identities. They each had a starting point – a faith tradition that was first and foremost in their lives and that served as a platform in this jumping off towards other faith traditions. Nomadic Theology contemplates those individuals who lack a home tradition. How can a theological contemplative come to understand someone who considers themselves say Pagan, Muslim, Hindu, and Taoist if they came to all four faith traditions simultaneously? Without a home tradition these individuals have no basis for comparison from which to begin their spiritual quest; which also means they perhaps do not carry preconceived notions or prejudices either. In a global world where many of us are on the move and no longer stay in family towns, countries, or continents, Nomadic Theology offers a new path for exploration, discourse, and understanding. In the last essay, “Inter-religious Dialogue: Changing how we communicate”, Dr Maureen Sier examines how theological and religious discourse has moved from the boundaries of academic and personal contemplation to penetrate political and international boundaries as it

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becomes a welcome instrument for conflict resolution and a means for social harmony. Scotland, with organisations such as the Scottish Interfaith Council, is not the only government to take the issue of interfaith and interreligious dialogue seriously as a political element. In 2008, twelve of the world’s leaders attended a UN General Assembly meeting that focussed on beginning a global interfaith dialogue and included leaders from Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Israel, the United States, the United Kingdom, and New Zealand. The UN Secretary General Ban KiMoon called the meeting at the encouragement of Saudi Arabia's King Abduallah bin Abdulaziz and followed a conference on interfaith dialogue that King Abdullah bin Abdulaziz had sponsored earlier that year in Madrid. During this General Assembly King Abdullah II of Jordan spoke of finding a way of peace between people of different faiths, traditions, and cultures and emphasised the importance of inter-faith dialogue in accomplishing this task. What was once a fringe group of a few theologians who considered themselves religious pluralists and supported inter-faith and inter-religious dialogue a few decades ago (like Wilfred Cantwell-Smith, John Hick, Leo Swidler and Paul Knitter among others), has now grown to a global understanding and movement to use interfaith and interreligious dialogue as the cornerstone for conflict resolution and bring about social harmony in areas where conflict has long been the norm. With increasing global issues of Islamophobia, Anti-Palestinian, Anti-Semitism and other religious phobias, and continuing strife in the Middle East between Palestine and Israel over theologically significant and sacred ground, these talks are vital to our global peace. This is not to say that a magical solution has been found as there certainly are challenges facing these conversations, countries and faith traditions; however, moving the religious dialogue out of the boundaries of theology and into the boundaries of the world arena holds exciting promise for the future and exemplifies what can be achieved by testing safe boundaries and moving into unknown frontiers.

YSPIRITUAL EDUCATION: THE CASE OF STUDENT NURSES’ EXPERIENCES OF LEARNING ABOUT SPIRITUALITY AND SPIRITUAL CARE DR. BETH SEYMOUR

Background to spiritual education as an aspect of nursing education The rising interest in spirituality coupled with the expectation that health care professionals provide spiritual care stems from various sources — including public interest, policy makers and professional requirements. This interest represents a significant change to the value placed on spiritual care in health and well-being. For example, the Scottish Government Health Department (SGHD) policy documents for spiritual care in NHS Scotland state that spiritual care is integral to healthcare and that all Health Service staff are spiritual care providers (SEHD, HDL 2002, 76 and SGHD, CEL 2008, 49). The SGHD recognises the need for staff to be educated in spiritual care in order to improve their provision of spiritual care and underlines their responsibility to deliver spiritual care in its broadest sense, respecting the dignity, humanity, individuality and diversity of Scottish people (NES 2009). Within the nursing profession there is a similar requirement to equip nursing students to provide spiritual care when needed. The Nursing and Midwifery Council (NMC) states in its document, Standards of Proficiency for Pre-registration Nurses, that adult nurses should have skills to meet “the physical, psychological, spiritual and social needs of patients” (NMC 2004, 23). Furthermore, nurses should be able to “undertake and document a comprehensive, systematic and accurate nursing assessment of the physical, psychological, social and spiritual needs of patients, clients and communities (NMC 2004, 13). In addition newly qualified nurses should, “provide a rationale for the nursing care delivered which takes account of social, cultural, spiritual, legal, political and economic influences”

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(NMC 2004,17). I noted as a lecturer in nursing that despite the NMC educational requirements and SGHD practice expectations of spiritual care provision there was a lack of spiritual education in the curriculum. In this paper I will discuss a case study investigating this important component of nursing education. Spirituality has a complex ontology and can be considered meaningful from an immanent or transcendent metaphysical position or both. This feature of spirituality had a significant influence in my choice of research methodology as I considered the sense in which spirituality existed and how knowledge about spirituality might be gained.

Why should spiritual care be part of the nursing curriculum? First of all, there has been a rising interest in spirituality and spiritual care in modern nursing but few examples of spiritual education. On the one hand, this apparent neglect may be due to the tendency to equate spirituality with religiosity — a legitimate concern due to nursing’s historical link with the religious orders. It seems reasonable then, that in a culture which values diversity, coupled with reduced church attendance nationally, there is a professional desire to avoid any association with religion. On the other hand, perhaps the lack of spiritual education in the nursing curriculum is a reflection of the impoverished status of nursing as an art as, despite justifications for nursing curricula to include the arts as well as the sciences, there continues to be an imbalance in the types of knowledge within nursing programmes. Those forms of knowledge which articulate most closely with the art of nursing - the personal, ethical and aesthetic - remain overshadowed by the scientific and the technical. Therefore it is important to highlight those subject areas which are intrinsic to nursing and yet are in danger of being ignored and unexplored because they do not belong to the kind of knowledge that is most valued by present day health care professionals. The study detailed in this paper is a response to the shadowy existence of one such subject area, spirituality, in nursing curricula. One reason for including spiritual care as part of the nursing curriculum is the belief that spirituality is a universal attribute – part of the condition of being human – which directly influences the health of us all. Possibly this rising interest in spiritual matters in nursing is a recognition that human beings constitute something more than the mind and body and this “more than” is sometimes articulated as a sense of the spiritual. It may be that nowadays it is possible to conceive of spirituality (and spiritual care)

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as significant for all people because spirituality is no longer viewed as the sole province of the religious. It is difficult to investigate a concept like spirituality as it has many different meanings and the significance of any one interpretation of the concept can vary according to individual beliefs, values and circumstance but it invariably has something to do with personal truth and sense of self and identity - as Cicero states, “For that man whom your outward form reveals is not yourself; the spirit is the true self” (De Republica bk. 6, ch 26). This belief is not new. For example, correspondence may be found in Rudolf Otto’s (1950) theory of “The Idea of the Holy” in which he contends that the human predisposition for numinous experience is not just a characteristic of some individuals but of all people (Baldacchino and Draper 2001). With Hay and Hunt reporting in 2000 that 76% of their national sample claimed a personal awareness of a spiritual or religious experience it would seem that many believe that spirituality is part of being human and indeed that spirituality may be a universal attribute. Nurse educators who advocate that spirituality should be part of learning to nurse often justify their position by using similar notions about spirituality. Indeed McSherry and Draper (1998, 688) emphasise spirituality as central to holism, holism being a vital tenet of nursing philosophy. Spirituality they say is “a unifying force at the foundation of holistic philosophy” and they believe that unless nurses can provide spiritual care, they will be unable to engage in holistic care. Similarly Harrison and Burnard (1993) assert that if nurses are to provide holistic care that is sensitive to the spiritual dimension of patients then they must learn to attend to the spiritual needs of patients. Bradshaw (1997) and Wright (1997) share the view that spirituality is an integral part of being human and also that all aspects of life are inter-related. To neglect a patient's spiritual needs then could have a detrimental effect on other aspects of their lives such as their physical or emotional or social well-being. If a person’s spirituality has an influence on their physical or mental health then it seems appropriate for nurses to view spiritual care as part of their practice. And so we move onto the second part of this paper about the conduct of my investigation into nursing students’ experiences of spiritual education.

Research design With the clear expectation from the NMC (2004) that nurses ought to be able to assess patients’ spiritual needs and the rising interest in spiritual matters in the nursing literature as well as among the general UK population (Hay and Hunt 2000) it seemed important to investigate nurses’

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understandings of spirituality and experiences of a spiritual education intervention. There were four groups of students participating in the study amounting to 54 students in total. For three of the groups, teaching took place in classrooms within the university setting while a fourth group was taught in a seminar room in a local NHS trust hospital. Authorisation for the conduct of the study was sought and acquired from the university’s departmental research ethics committee. All data were collected during the course by way of teaching methods that were also used as a means for data collection. These included the nominal group technique (NGT), reflective group interviews (RGI), reflective journals (RJ) and student evaluation questionnaires. The purpose of this study was to describe and explore nursing students’ understanding of spirituality and spiritual care and to evaluate the impact of an educational intervention on their understanding of spirituality and spiritual care. To that end the aims of the study were to: 1. Design a short course in spirituality sensitive to the learning needs of nursing students at different stages of their educational and professional development (the course outline is included at the end of this article). 2. Explore the ways that students considered their understanding of spirituality and spiritual care had developed, if at all, as a result of participating in the short course. 3. Examine nursing students’ understanding of spirituality through their personal and professional accounts. 4. Explore the personal abilities that students thought they required in order to provide spiritual care. I hoped that this study would shed light on the effectiveness of learning about spirituality and spiritual care in the classroom. This was achieved through an examination of the ways in which students considered that they had developed their understanding of the subject by undertaking the course. In other words, as aims 1 and 2 indicate, what did students think they had learned about spirituality and spiritual care and how did the teaching methods help them to learn? Other intended outcomes of this study are embodied in aims 3 and 4. These were to develop an understanding of students’ views on spirituality and spiritual care including which personal abilities students considered enabled the provision of spiritual care. The intended outcomes of the study, the nature of the subject matter itself and the context of the study all influenced my decision to use a qualitative investigative methodology and case study was selected as the most suitable approach. Before I could embark on my investigation I had to ask two pertinent questions. First of all, in what sense does spirituality exist? Secondly, how can knowledge about spirituality be gained?

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Ontological stance: in what sense does spirituality exist? The increasing societal and professional interest in spiritual matters, particularly as they relate to health and well-being, suggests that many, though not all, people believe in the reality of the noumena. Further, the beliefs that people hold provide a stimulus for health care professionals and educators to explore how these ideas affect individuals when sick or well. It is helpful to draw on metaphysical constructs of reality here because they illustrate how spiritual reality might be perceived quite differently. Metaphysics may be described as the investigation of the world, or of what really exists, generally by means of rational argument. This reality may be either transcendent in that what really exists lay beyond the reach of ordinary experience (as in the picture of the world supplied by supernatural religion) or immanent, in that reality consists of the objects of experience. It was not the business of this study to judge whether spirituality exists in the transcendent metaphysical sense of a non-material entity or whether spirituality is confined to peoples’ personal, biological and social worlds. In this latter sense spirituality fits more with the immanent understanding of metaphysics. It is possible, however, to highlight that spirituality may be viewed quite differently by different people and this difference can be illustrated by considering how two contrasting philosophical positions, realism and idealism, signify the nature of the spiritual. From a realist standpoint, unobservable phenomena have an existence which can be used to explain the functioning of observable phenomena and so, for the realist, spirituality might exist as an external reality independent of beliefs and understanding (as in the miraculous stories some students told). On the other hand, the idealist would contend that spirituality is only knowable through the human mind and socially constructed meanings (for instance, we make God in our image). For the purposes of this study I wished to capture data that informed how students thought the spiritual dimension exists. As illustrated above, spirituality may be seen in a transcendent metaphysical sense akin to Platonic realism or it may be thought to reside solely in the sociallyconstructed world. The view that I took at the outset of this study was to keep an open mind as to how spirituality may be thought to exist. In being open to either or both of these interpretations from participants I could remain more faithful when representing the views of the participants.

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Epistemological Position: How can knowledge about spirituality be gained? As discussed above, descriptions of spirituality often include a holistic sense of the individual. If a holistic lens is applied to the nature of being human other sources of knowledge and truth become important such as personal beliefs, values and experience. Knowledge about spirituality fits mainly (though not exclusively) within the personal and aesthetic kinds of knowledge which cannot be captured within the parameters of wide generalisations evident in the positivist paradigm (Swinton 2001). Clearly an inquiry which seeks to explore the complexity of peoples’ beliefs about spirituality is unlikely to correspond with a positivist view of the world as access to those regions of peoples experience requires a research approach that seeks to view participants as subjects rather than objects of study. Also I began this study unsure if students held any ideas at all about the spiritual dimension regardless of whether they might have any commonality of understanding of the issues and so my intent was to explore and describe rather than control. Therefore in order to gain insight into participants’ understandings relating to the personal and experiential nature of learning about spirituality I turned to the interpretative research paradigm.

Case Study Woods and Catanzaro (1988, 553) convey the key characteristics when they describe case studies as: intensive, systematic investigations of a single individual, group, community, or some other unit, typically conducted under naturalistic conditions, in which the investigator examines in-depth data related to background, current status, environmental characteristics and interactions among individuals, groups, and communities.

There were good reasons for selecting case study as a strategy. Case study is an established comprehensive approach to research, particularly educational research, and I wished to evaluate an educational experience (MacDonald 1974; Simons 1987; Bassey 1999). Although Yin (1994) argues against attempting to locate case study within a particular paradigm, it is mostly, though not exclusively, associated with qualitative research (Guba and Lincoln 1989; Stake 1995). Jones and Lyons (2004) point out that case study permits a flexible response to the area under examination so that the researcher is not limited by early preconceptions but can adapt to

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the research experience. At the outset, I was very uncertain as to the nature of students’ experiences of spirituality as a personal phenomenon and spiritual care as a professional construct - the case study approach allowed me to continue to explore the area of study and remain with that uncertainty. As a heuristic endeavour, case study provided a lens to facilitate discovery of how students perceive and learn about the phenomenon of spirituality. Thus the case was an on-going concern and the boundary of the case was revealed as the study unfolded. The rationale for adopting a case study strategy was also guided by the following: 1. Case studies are a useful way to explore phenomena about which little is known or understood (Robson 1993; Jones and Lyons 2004). Little was known about teaching and learning within the specific context of spirituality and spiritual care in nurse education and this study enabled both exploratory and evaluative investigation of this phenomenon. 2. Case studies are particularly useful when studying a unique, singular situation in depth, and where a great deal can be learned from a few exemplars of the phenomenon in question (Simons 1987). Stake (1995) believes that case study is strongly associated with the uniqueness and wholeness of the individual. Spirituality is a personal dimension, unique to each individual, associated with holism and often hidden from examination. A deep investigative approach was required to tap into the hidden nature of spirituality and spiritual care. 3. Case study is a strategy which is characterised by the use of multiple sources of evidence to inform the phenomenon under investigation (Robson 1993; Yin 2003). One account from a class of students about their experiences of learning about spirituality and spiritual care would have been interesting but it would have fallen short of Stake’s (1995) essential purpose for case study - that is to maximise what can be learned. In this study data were collected in several different ways and participant accounts were drawn from all 4 participant groups. Maximising what could be learned was best achieved by collecting data from several groups of students undertaking the same course and using a variety of methods of data collection. So case study was chosen for its flexibility and because it allows for uncertainty and the use of multiple methods of data collection and analysis. Also it is used widely in educational research and is a useful way to explore phenomenon about which little is known or understood. Little was known about teaching and learning within the specific context of spirituality and spiritual care in nurse education.

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Data gathering and Analysis The students (54) engaged in learning methods throughout the course, some of which were used to provide research data. These research methods were the nominal group technique (NGT), reflective journals, reflective group interviews, and end of course student evaluation questionnaires (SEQ). The nominal group was conducted and analysed according to the technique outlined in Moore (1987); the rich qualitative data from the journals and interviews underwent constant comparative analysis; data from the evaluation questionnaires were collated.

Findings What were present day nursing students’ understandings of spirituality and spiritual care? First of all I will address the data arising from the NGT prior to moving onto presenting some key features from the qualitative data. It is interesting to include some of the students’ key communications about spiritual experiences.

Analysis of the Nominal Group Technique The NGT took place in the first teaching session and provided data which helped to address one of the aims of the study, that is, to examine nursing students’ understanding of spirituality and spiritual care. It was important to gather data which addressed this aim early on in the course as students’ understandings of spirituality were key to the learning and research process. Three groups took part in the NGT. A total of 49 students completed the NGT which included 38 undergraduate third year nursing students; six undergraduate fourth year nursing students and the five in-service students. The nominal group data were collected, analysed and guided by Moore’s (1987) procedure for the nominal group technique as illustrated below: 1. Silent generation of ideas in writing: The question “What are spiritual needs?” was read aloud and class members were asked to list their responses. 2. Round-robin recording of ideas: Each member of the class was asked for one idea and these were recorded on a flip-chart. Hitchhiking on other ideas was encouraged. Discussion, elaboration or justification were not encouraged.

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3. Serial discussion of the list of ideas: The class was invited to comment on each item on the flip-chart and discussion continued until all items were clarified. 4. Voting: Each student selected five items that were most important to her or him. They were then listed on a card and rank ordered. The votes were recorded on the flip chart in front of the group. The results from the NGT are illustrated below in Tables 4.1 through 4.3. Table 4.1: Nominal Group Technique: Year 3 pre-registration students (38) Question: What are spiritual needs? Prioritisation of needs Score 1. Respect for wishes and autonomy 2. Being understood 3. To love and be loved, feeling of belonging to someone 4. Feeling uplifted 5. Need for comfort and space 6. Communication 7. Expression of meaning and/or purpose 8. Holism 9. Spirituality common to all whether religious or not 10. Meditation and/or prayer 11. Understanding conscious/sub-conscious 12. Opportunity to see priest/minister 13. Dietary requirements or dietary observance 14. Expressing sexuality

84 73 69 58 51 42 29 26 24 22 14 13 10 8

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Table 4.2: Nominal Group Technique: Year 4 undergraduates (6) Question: What are spiritual needs? Prioritisation of needs 1 Love, family and friendship 2 Belief in god/ higher being 3 Inner peace 3. Self-awareness and worth 5. The touch of someone that you love, comfort 6. Hope when there seems to be none 6. Need to belong and to be accepted 8. Need to make sense of our lives 9. Someone to share your thoughts with 9. Respect 9. Music/theatre, places of worship/history

Score 23 16 11 11 8 5 5 3 1 1

Table 4.3: Nominal Group Technique: In-service students (5) Question: What are spiritual needs? Prioritisation of needs 1. Friendship and love 2. Faith – in God and in self 3. Peace of mind 4. Supportive relationships (includes HCP) 5. Prayer (communication and asking for help in suffering) 6. Reflection 7. Guidance 8. Religious observances

Score 27 21 13 8 6 5 4 0

The tables reveal that the NGT proved a useful means of finding out how students characterised spiritual needs early on in the study. As discussed in the literature review there are many definitions of spirituality and spiritual needs (McSherry and Draper, 1998) and some suggest that spirituality is so subjective in nature that it is indefinable (Martsolf and Mickley; 1998; Chuengsatiansup, 2002). As evidenced in the results from the NGT this variety of meanings was true for the participants. However on collating and analysing the results it became apparent that there was a degree of consistency between the three groups both in terms of their identification of spiritual needs as well as the

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order of priority. For example, although the groups sometimes used different words to express a particular spiritual need, the idea of the importance of loving personal relationships with others was variously expressed. Group 1 used phrases such as, “to love and be loved, feeling of belonging to someone” and “being understood”; Group 2 highlighted “love family and friendship” and the “need to belong and to be accepted”, while Group 3 concurred by signifying “friendship and love” and “supportive relationships” as key spiritual needs. Faith, hope, or belief in ones’ self and/or God were priorities for Groups 2 and 3 while Group 1 emphasised the importance of “feeling uplifted”. Affective qualities such as the need for comfort and peace were also identified across the groups. The ethical principle respect for persons was considered significant by Groups 1 and 2 as depicted by terms such as “self-awareness and worth”, “respect for wishes and autonomy” and “the expression of meaning and/or purpose”. The value placed on religious practices too was common to all groups with meditation, prayer, dietary observances and places of worship mentioned although it is interesting to note that, on the whole, religious practices came near the bottom of the list of priorities. The results from the NGT indicated that students were able to provide answers to the question “What are spiritual needs?” Further the groups demonstrated areas of similarity and common understandings of the value placed on certain aspects of the spiritual dimension. The literature on assessing spiritual needs also supports participants’ understanding of spiritual needs (Emblen and Halstead, 1993; Govier, 2000; Kellehear, 2000). So for example, Emblen and Halstead (1993), Govier (2000), and Kellehear (2000) all purport categories of spiritual needs which include relationships, affective qualities and religion as significant spiritual needs.. The NGT also revealed that some needs were clearly more significant than others. The NGT was a useful and quick way of encouraging each student to focus on the concept of spirituality and generated beliefs and meanings from individual students in a group response (Cohen et al, 2000). While it provided data of ideas about spirituality that each group of students found important these ideas required more in-depth exposition. This was undertaken through an analysis of the data arising from both the reflective group interviews and the reflective journals. This qualitative data underwent constant comparative analysis, a technique often associated with grounded theory. Analysis resulted in categories being grouped together to form major categories which I have referred to as themes.

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The thematic representation of students’ understanding of, and learning about spirituality and spiritual care is illustrated in the diagram, “Themes identified from the analytical and interpretive process” (Table 4.4) Table 4.4: Themes identified from the analytical and interpretive processes

A full account of the findings derived from analysing both the reflective interviews and reflective journals is portrayed in Seymour (2006). Some key findings from this constant comparative analysis are thematically illustrated below to provide a flavour of how Aims 3 and 4 were addressed in the case study.

1. Beliefs and values about spirituality and attitudes towards spiritual care Prominent ideas within this theme included the idea that the spiritual dimension is uncertain, hidden and lacking in answers. Students described spiritual situations occurring with others who were in deep emotional crisis. They frequently expressed feelings of inadequacy, being out of their depth, not knowing what to do or if they were doing the right thing for

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patients. By means of illustrating this aspect of analysis one participant described the following highly emotional situation as being of spiritual significance. As a very junior student she was asked to comfort an elderly man who had just been informed that his wife was terminally ill. I was nursing a lady who was diagnosed with cancer and it was her husband who was really upset and, because I was spare, staff nurse asked me if I would take him to the chapel. So I walked him down to the chapel and sat with him. But once we were there it was very, very difficult to know what to say to him. I don't think he was particularly religious. I think it was more a time out sort of place where he could sit that was very quiet and very, sort of appropriate once he had just found out that his wife was going to die. But I mean I just sort of sat there with him and he was crying and I didn't know really what to say sort of thing. And he was a wee old man as well so I was just holding his hand and things and being with him. And then I took him back up to the ward. But it was very difficult to know, I was only a first year as well at time.

“Not knowing” what to do was a common feature of the students spiritual experiences. One benefit of discussing these situations with students is that it provides the opportunity to share the uncertainty that they feel and highlights that “not knowing” is common to spiritual experiences. Another prominent idea within this first theme was that the emotions and the spiritual are often intrinsically linked. So a recurring theme in the interviews and journals was the belief that spiritual care was possible only if patients were thought of as individuals and this involved trying to understand the person and a preparedness to be physically and emotionally with them. Students found meaning in their professional work by connecting with the lives of their patients and expressing compassion in their actions. The following moving account illustrates that spiritual care requires the nurse to think of and know the patient as an individual and to be willing to be present for the person. It also demonstrates that spiritual experiences can enhance the satisfaction that nurses gain from their work. ...a lady that I was looking after that was terminally ill and she was also MRSA so she was isolated for her nursing care. And she was just in so much pain and she was being moved about all the time changing her sheets and she had a colostomy that just continually just leaked and leaked and we couldn't get it under control. And just one night just when we were moving her about - she was so sore and she said, you know, thanks so much for being there. She was squeezing my hand and that's just I thought it was what it was all about. Em don't know. You could say that was her spiritual needs, you know, how I responded. But certainly it made a difference to me I think.

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2. The language of spirituality and spiritual care Prominent ideas within this theme included the view that in order to provide spiritual care it was vital to be a confident and able communicator and that the purpose of spiritual conversations was to convey reassurance of worth. Students expressed a deep desire to be positive with patients and this presented problems for people who do/or would like to believe in a good God in the face of suffering. As illustrated below, a few participants stated that they tried to point out to patients the positive things in their lives and, similarly, others offered reassurance to patients that they had done the best they could. Em, I think I've tried to be positive, em, with them. Try and point out things, em, positive things to them. In the way if they've got some positive prognosis, things are going to get better. But sometimes they're not going to get better, em, but yes, positive things about their relationships maybe with other people. You know.

When there is no hope of recovery some participants described deliberately changing the emphasis from being positive about regaining physical health to being positive about other aspects of a person’s life eg relationships. Holding onto a faith that commends God’s love for each individual in the face of suffering is difficult: If you see someone suffering, or you see someone, I don’t know, sometimes I feel I just harden to it, to be honest with you. I just philosophise it away. I don’t really empathise. I don’t make any effort to empathise because otherwise it would just challenge my own beliefs too much. And I want to believe that there is a reason behind life and to believe that, you know, people are going to be all right. There are some challenges or can be.

The above student seemed to be suggesting that he held back from engaging emotionally when faced with patients’ suffering because he found that the suffering of others challenged his own beliefs too much, particularly the belief that there is a purpose or reason to life and that people are going to be all right. When someone is enduring great suffering it is obvious that they are not all right and they may well be facing the prospect of imminent death which is the ultimate in meaninglessness. The problem of pain and suffering has a long history within theological discourse but is seldom, if ever, given space in the nursing curriculum. This is a pity as nurses, more than in many other professions, are regularly faced with the suffering of others and struggle to understand why some people - and not others, including themselves - have to face this.

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3. Telling spiritual stories: Biographical and autobiographical accounts One of the criticisms directed at the constant comparative method of analysis (indeed qualitative analysis in general) is that if one compresses data too much, the very point of maintaining the integrity of narrative materials during the analysis phase becomes lost (Polit and Hungler 2006). In order to demonstrate the richness of each story one of the participants’ journal is reported intact below. The story illustrates how one participant shifted the focus of her care to the spiritual and emotional as she came to know the patient’s own story and the parallels in her own. She starts by explaining where she first came to learn of the poem, “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae, when on holiday in Belgium with her family. Sarah’s parents took a very reluctant 11 year old to a war museum and it was at that museum that Sarah first read the poem. Sarah came across the poem many times at school and then every year at remembrance services. Sarah picks up her story: After leaving school I didn’t really encounter the poem again until, in my last community placement, when I encountered an elderly male patient. He lived on his own and had no family. His living room was full to the brim of various antiques and bric-a-brac. I visited him regularly and each time I went he would tell me stories about his life. Towards the end of my placement I noticed various medals on the wall. When I asked him about them, he began to tell me of his times in the war, showing me a scar on his arm where he had been hit by shrapnel. He had an old scrap book of various cuttings and pictures to do with the great war, when we came across a handwritten version of the poem. I told him how much the poem had always moved me, and he became very tearful, saying how much it had always meant to him, and how lucky he felt to have been spared during the war. He said he had lost many of his friends, and he felt this poem helped him to deal with his feelings about them and his losses. After a good cup of tea and a blether, I left the house, feeling that I had helped him by sharing an interest with him and listening to his feelings. The next time I returned, he was happy to see me, and told me the day I left he had prayed to God and thanked him once again for sparing him so he could experience life.

The above illustrates how time seems to affirm what people consider to be spiritually significant to them. What is meaningful to a person can be nurtured through reflection, further experience and the willingness to express the sense of the spiritual to others. In the above story, both participant and patient held individual memories surrounding the poem “In

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Flanders Fields” but it was their willingness to share them that enriched their lives in the present through their relationship. The student was clearly interested in the patient as a person and sought ways to connect with him and she “struck gold” when she found their mutual interest in the poem. I found the data from the reflective journals least suited to constant comparative analysis largely due to the completeness of the stories told, the structure of which consisted of a beginning, middle and end and each part was integral to the others. My reluctance to “intrude” on such data by editing these stories through “cutting,” sequencing and so on (Cohen et al, 2000) was due to recognising that in editing the stories, some of the meaning could be lost - the sum of the whole story being greater than the parts. It seems likely that the use of narrative as a method of data collection and unit of analysis may prove to be valuable in future research.

4. Learning about spiritual care Prominent ideas within this theme included Students understanding of what they had learned during the course. A wider understanding of spirituality was perceived as a result of the course. This included the view that spirituality was not expressed solely through religion, that spiritual care was grounded in a connected nurse-patient relationship and that spiritual care was practiced through acts which helped patients feel uplifted. Another finding relating to this theme concerned Students opinions of how the teaching methods had enabled learning. Reflection was an effective method of learning. Students were not only able to reflect on their personal and professional experiences of spiritual situations and care, one student commented on how the course encouraged her to reflect further. Data from the Student Evaluation Questionnaire (SEQ) supported students’ views of their learning experience of the course. Comments from the SEQs were collated according to the criteria laid out in the student evaluation questionnaire, that is, each teaching session was evaluated by students for positive and negative learning experiences. Students were also given the opportunity to suggest improvements to the course. Extracts from the SEQ which are pertinent to the findings and discussion in this theme are included in Table 4.5.

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Table 4.5 Extracts from the SEQ Nominal Group Techniques • Able to bounce ideas off one another and felt that by discussing you would have a better understanding • Lots of different perspectives, ideas, thoughts which maybe differed from your own • Gave students knowledge and understanding of what spiritual needs are • Was able to learn from fellow class members. My knowledge was very limited and all the issues flagged up were all relevant and very significant issues. • The session was very thought-provoking and opened my mind to different aspects of spiritual needs. I think this was due to the “brain-storming” nature of it. • Unsure of what spirituality actually meant therefore unsure of what to say • Bit of a big group for people to go in depth about the spiritual needs they nominate • Some people didn’t feel comfortable sharing with the whole class The Audio tape • Very appropriate, inspiring • Allowed active listening, think about different ideas, perspectives – an ongoing reflection • I found it hard to concentrate on as it was a bit too long • We ran a bit short on time for discussion • Video-tape - easier to imagine the situation The Reflective Group Interview • Very beneficial to share and reflect on similar experiences with others • Good to hear different perspectives

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•

• • •

• •

Sharing experiences with my friends is very helpful. You can always learn something and perhaps be made to feel better about a weakness you find common. Confidential and private small groups Let you know you had learned something that you could use for yourself as well as patients and families This made me more aware of my practice concerning spirituality and I will be more aware of the spiritual needs of patients in the future Made me reflect on the way I care for patients Taping made me apprehensive about talking

The lecture • Gave good grounding of meaning and background to spirituality • This gave us a theoretical background to the issues which were raised in the morning The above extracts from the (SEQ) support the view that students learned about spirituality and spiritual care from one another and the teaching methods facilitated this. However the final thoughts from this study go to the student who commented on how spirituality and spiritual care provided a personal as well as a professional learning dimension: Whereas now I think I'll go home and I'll reflect upon the way I treat other people and the way that I would like to be treated by them in a spiritual sense. And I think my faith and my spirituality have been strengthened by today....I think on a personal level I’ve come away, especially after the “Spoonface Steinberg” tape. I come away and this might sound strange but just listening to it, you come away and you just think “It’s just like this little bit of hope” and it's the hardest thing to try and explain to you. But just, like, coming out of the room you just thought... Well I don't know, it's hard for me to explain it. But it was going to be, it was this feeling that it was going to be OK. And I can't explain it to you.

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Concluding comments The major findings from the study were that students held a variety of ideas about spirituality and spiritual needs; it is possible to learn about •pirituality and spiritual care in the classroom; ideas about spirituality and spiritual needs were evident in students’ thinking and experiences, and providing spirituality and spiritual care was challenging for students. The study demonstrates that students valued learning about the provision of spiritual care and that it is important for their personal and professional development. Furthermore the study realised the development of an appropriate course in spirituality and spiritual care which facilitated learning about these difficult areas in the curriculum. As such the evidence exists for those involved in nursing education to promote the significance of teaching spirituality and spiritual care across the health care curricula.

References Baldacchino, D. and Draper, P. 2001. Spiritual coping strategies: A review of the nursing literature. Journal of Advanced Nursing. 34 (6), 833841. Bassey, M. 1999. Case study research in educational settings. Buckingham: Open University Press. Bradshaw, A. 1997. Teaching spiritual care to nurses: An alternative approach. International Journal of Palliative Nursing. 3(1) 51-57. Chuengsatiansup, K. 2003. Spirituality and health: An initial proposal to incorporate spiritual health in health impact assessment. Environmental Impact Assessment Review. 23: 3-15. Cohen, L., Manion, L., and Morrison, K. 2000. Research methods in education (5th ed.). London: RoutledgeFalmer. Coyle, J. 2002. Spirituality and health: Towards a framework for exploring the relationship between spirituality and health. Journal of Advanced Nursing. 37(6), 589-597. Emblen, J. D. and Halstead, L. 1993. Spiritual needs and interventions: comparing the views of patients, nurses and chaplains. Clinical Nurse Specialist. 7:175-182. Glen, S. 1995. Developing critical thinking in higher education. Nurse Education Today. 15(3) 170-176. Govier, I. 2000. Spiritual Care in Nursing: A systematic approach. Nursing Standard. 14: 32-36. Grosvenor, D. 2006. Spiritual care by nurses? “I had the skills already” International Journal of Interdisciplinary Social Sciences. October.

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Guba, E. and Lincoln,Y. 1989. Fourth generation evaluation. London: Sage. Harrison, J. and Burnard, P. 1993. Spirituality and Nursing practice. Aldershot: Avebury. Hay, D. and Hunt, K. 2000. Understanding the spirituality of people who don’t go to church. Research report University of Nottingham. Jones, C., and Lyons, C. 2004. Case study: Design? method? or comprehensive strategy? Nurse Researcher. 11(3), 70-76. Kellehear, A. 2000. Spirituality and palliative care: A model of needs. Palliative Medicine. 14(2), 149-155. MacDonald, B. 1974. Evaluation and the control of education. In Safari 1: Innovation, evaluation, research and the problem of control. Ed. MacDonald, B. and Walker, R., 9-22. University of East Anglia: Centre for Applied Research in Education.. Martsolf, D. S. and Mickley, J. R. 1998. The Concept of Spirituality in Nursing Theories: Different World-Views and Extant Focus. Journal of Advanced Nursing 27, 294-303. McSherry, W. and Draper, P. 1998. The debates emerging from the literature surrounding the concept of spirituality as applied to nursing. Journal of Advanced Nursing. 27 (4), 683-691. Moore, C. M. 1987. Group techniques for idea building. Newbury Park CA: Sage. Murray, R. B.and Zentner, J. B. 1989. Nursing concepts for health promotion. London: Prentice Hall. NES. 2009. Spiritual Care Matters: An Introductory Resource for all NHSScotland Staff. NHS Education for Scotland. NMC. 2004. Standards of proficiency for pre-registration nursing education. London: Nursing and Midwifery Council. Otto, Rudolph. 1950. The Idea of the Holy: An inquiry into the nonrational factor in the idea of the divine and its relation to the rational. Oxford University Press. Polit, D. F., and Hungler, B. P. 2006. Nursing research: Principles and methods (6th ed.) Philadelphia: Lippincott. Robson, C. 1993. Real world research: A resource for social scientists and practitioner-researchers. Oxford, UK: Blackwell. Ross, L. 1997 The nurse’s role in assessing and responding to patients’ spiritual needs. International Journal of Palliative Nursing 3(1), 37-42. SEHD HDL. 2002. 76 Spiritual Care in NHSScotland Scottish Executive Health Department.

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Seymour, B. 2006. Teaching and learning about spirituality and spiritual care: A case study investigating nursing students’ experiences of spiritual care. Unpublished Ed.D University of Strathclyde. SGHD CEL. 2008. 49 Spiritual Care and Chaplaincy in NHSScotland www.sehd.scot.nhs.uk/mels/CEL2008_49.pdf. Scottish Government Department of Health and Wellbeing. Simons, H. 1987. Getting to know schools in a democracy: The politics and process of evaluation. Lewes: Falmer Press. Stake, R. E. 1995. The art of case study research. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications. Swinton, J. 2001. Spirituality and mental health care: Rediscovering a “forgotten” dimension. London: Jessica Kingsley. Woods, N. F., and Catanzaro, M. 1988. Nursing research: Theory and practice. St. Louis: Mosby. Wright, S. 1997. Freeing the spirit. Nursing Times 93(17) 28-29. Yin, R. K. 1994. Case study research: Design and methods (2nd. ed.). Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications. —. 2003. Case study research: Design and methods (3rd ed.) Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications.

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Course Outline Course Aims Throughout the theme students will be given the opportunity to: Aim 1: Identify and articulate their personal understanding of “the spiritual dimension”. Aim 2: Prioritise what they hope to learn in order to provide spiritual care. Session 1 Interactive learning “Spiritual needs and spiritual care” Content: Q1. Can you think of a time when a patient has expressed a spiritual need? Method: Question and answer. Discussion in small buzz groups, verbal feedback to whole class Content: Q2. What are spiritual needs? These may be identified either from your own experience or the experience of others. Method: Nominal Group Technique (i) Silent generation of ideas - individually (5 Mins) (ii) Round-robin recording (flip-chart) of ideas (15 Mins) (iii) Serial discussion of the list of ideas (15 Mins) (iv) Each student selects 5 items that are most important to her/him, lists them on a card and rank orders them. (5 Mins) (v) The votes are recorded on the flip chart (15 Mins) Session 2 Seminar “An illustration of a perspective on spirituality” This seminar will take the form of: a) Discussion of the themes/ideas of spirituality as revealed through the audio-tape, “Spoonface Steinberg” by Lee Hall b) An examination of the themes/ideas of spirituality generated previously by the class. Session 3 Lecture “Theoretical perspectives of spirituality”

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Session 4 Reflective Group Discussion “Reflecting on spiritually significant events” Students should come prepared to discuss either A) a reflective account of an event of spiritual significance concerning either themselves or a patient. And/or B) a reflective account of a poem/short story that has spiritual significance to personal or patient experience

YNOMADIC THEOLOGY: CROSSING THE LINES OF TRADITIONS IN THEOLOGY ELIZABETH CHLOE ERDMANN

The Root of the Promise No other discipline has the scope of theology, the rigorous grappling with the inner workings and meaning of the cosmos and in particular, the place of humans within it. It courageously leaps from the diving board of the analysed and understood and into the unknown and the unfathomable. No wonder it often finds its fragile theologies dashed open by all kinds of realities even harsh, bone-crushing ones like the abuse of knowledge, sexism, racism, solipsism, tragedy, death and even sheer wrong-headedness. Yet theologies can unlock the meanings of life and the universe for those who persist and pursue to reach a dawn streaked with the brightness of meaning. Theology, however infinite in scope, is always finite and limited in practice—it is in part a magical craft where the subject is attempting to connect to something immeasurably vast or even beyond reach. What theology does is give these attempts a voice—sometimes out of tune, yet aspiring to a song in accord with the significance of underlying realities. Our theologies need to involve and reflect people “on the street” as well as within the doors of academia. This does not imply that theology needs to become less specialised or lose its highly nuanced vocabulary reflecting many millennia of discourse. Theologians are not closer to that which they study; they are in a sense the linguistic midwives to the creative organising symbols, language and metaphors. Midwives, though vital are neither mother nor child, rather they are there to assist with understanding hands. Midwives need to know the current condition of the mother, so as to help with the safe delivery of the child. Considering the state of humanity’s current affairs we realise we are living in a crucial age concerning the dire need to get along; efficient sharing, conserving and organising of natural resources is necessary to ensure our human survival. The world population is increasing, the space

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depleting, and though we are overlapping at closer cultural proximity than ever before, we are often riddled with “mass miscommunication” and loaded with weapons and waste. Ethical considerations regarding our present technologies are critical to keep them as advancements rather than destroyers of our future environment. These physical entangling events often mirror how we view, listen and understand one another; therefore our ability to respect, share and integrate our expanding visions is vital. Many theologies fall under such titles such as Islamic, Jewish or Christian, Eastern (Hindu, Buddhist) to name some of the major categories, and very many subsets follow even within those—Feminist, Liberation, Protestant etc. Comparative theology is, in general, centred within a tradition to which it references others. In contrast, Nomadic Theology emphasises the assimilation and motion through various religious formats, without a “home” tradition. Such an on-going process is difficult to define because it does not claim and is not claimed by one set of religious symbols, doctrines or community but instead thrives on many. This focus on motion between ideas of divinity, combined with an understanding of a basic, but more flexible, understanding of theology is the conceptual landscape for Nomadic Theologies. Considering theology, at its most basic definition, as a discourse about the nature and existence of divinity and our human relationship to these perceptions, addresses a broader spectrum of religions—even those with multiple deities or even no deities. Theology from this perspective does not imply one particular faith system, canon or tradition. Theology comes from the Greek words theos (deity) and logos (discourse). Narrowly considered, Theology has to do only with the existence and nature of the divine. Broadly considered, it covers the entire range of issues concerning [hu]man’s relationship to God [Goddess, Goddesses, Gods].1 Neither consideration necessarily limits Theology to Christian Theology, although the terms are often used synonymously in the Western world. (Harvey 1997, under theology)

This broadening of horizons and definitions is not new; it reaches across many disciplines, and there are new schools of post-modern thought and critical theory that recognise the range of possible interpretations, as well as the diversities of sources and the complexity of our relationships to them. However without “Nomadic Theologies” being recognised as

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Within the [] brackets are insertions to avoid sidetracking the reader with sexism or any implication that polytheistic traditions are less valid for theological discourses than monotheistic ones.

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viable and accepted in the seminaries and theological schools, there is a risk of a relevant and living theological format being denied one of its natural means of expression and language.

Nomadic Theology’s Myth of Origins We live in a time in history that sees the world as growing smaller every day. Therefore, it would be a nearly impossible task to trace all the individual exposures to various discoveries, information and cultures. What is becoming more apparent is that: 1) Media coverage entangles the world “stories” 2) More people from different cultures and countries intermarry and move with less effort 3) Urban environments are increasingly more populated as opposed to rural areas due to industrialisation and the popular lure of the city. There are many arguably “good” and “bad” points to this merging of cultures but what is most important to note is, regardless of what one thinks about it—it is happening and is, for the most part, irreversible. Is it therefore not only possible but desirable to explore or experience some of the perspectives of the many cultures, and faith systems? Cultural and religious interaction can take place as a result of events beyond one’s control or as a conscious choice, or as some combination of them. To illustrate with a contrived example; consider an individual who had one Christian and one Muslim parent, was raised practicing both and finding value in each—is this person 50% of each tradition? What if the same person chooses to convert to Judaism upon marriage, but retains influences from and respect for select traditions of the prior two? Trying to assess “fractional loyalty” to each tradition might be nonsensical, but the interweaving of one’s personal theology is not. In fact many people no longer come from religious traditions in which they feel rooted or identify with completely. This can have varied causes; a Catholic disagreeing with exclusion of women or homosexuals from ordination to the disbelief of a Muslim that the Qur’an reflects the only words of Allah, at the expense of the Bhagavad-Gita. Others may perceive the positive elements in different religions, inducing them to question the plausibility of exclusive claims to interpreting meaning and identity. The world is awash with new themes, philosophies and principles to encounter more readily in each era and region. Today’s particular theological climate differs from other times in the extreme rate of global interaction; speed and simultaneous communication available to most if not all. Even the most isolated societies on the globe are influenced by

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factors very remote from themselves.2 Without doubt the globalisation and cross-cultural dimension of today’s world affects theology, religions, religious communities and all those interested in them. This does not mean everyone is more open to all others, in fact, it may be perceived by some individuals and communities as a threatening turn of events to be confronted with so many other cultures, theologies and religions. There are also individuals who embrace the exposure to many, select what resonates with them and reject the rest; such selection of ideas and beliefs takes place on both conscious and unconscious levels.3 Up until this point in the paper the state of the world has been the grounds for an adaptive approach to theology appearing in the world. However, such approaches are evident as far back as we have human cultures. It is well established that religions have often selectively taken from the ones before them, even adopting festivals and holy sites that were used previously. At extreme cases this involved harsh tactics—war, slavery, rape, oppression and even taxes—whereas in others it could be as natural a development as the changing leaves in autumn. Many spiritual leaders fulfilled the “old” religion they were in by synthesising it with the questions arising from the current religious climate. Buddha started as a Hindu, Jesus as a Jew—and it highly likely that is what they wished to remain and fulfil. To what extent Jesus and Buddha altered, incorporated or fulfilled, the old with new interpretations is less relevant here than the direct indication of how theology has always been fluid—reminding us that entering into a shape-shifting state of interactive religious identity that does not stand still for snapshots is nothing new. Last but not least in prompting one to a Nomadic Theological perspective might be from experiencing the supple nature of life deeply embedded in our realities. What is learned at what age, what was read, what was experienced, who one knows, where one lives, has lived, when, who one has loved or hated, whom has loved you or has not: where one stands and where one falls is as individual as drops of rain. Even fellow Nomads can be exposed to such different experiences, philosophies and religions as to make them almost incomparable. The human condition that concerns its members with love, death, loneliness, sex, food, shelter, wisdom and play is a very appropriate and wise place to platform dialogues—and always has been. Nomadic Theology recognises such



2 To do justice to all these factors and power relationships, unfortunately, is impossible in this article. 3 In keeping with the main theme of this paper those conscious of their resonance with many religions are the main focus. Unconscious influences though important and abundant will not be discussed here.

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similarities and on that basis seeks truths or understanding wherever and from whomever they may be found.

“Not All Who Wander Are Lost” (Tolkien 1954) Looking at the Gods and Goddesses involves looking in the mirror. My own religious weavings began with a trauma at the tender age of thirteen, at the sudden death of my eldest brother, Uri Thor. This event propelled me to search for answers in rather ruthless theological formats without regard for regulations and traditions. Well-meaning people saying “your brother is safe in heaven” would be thrown fists of unanswerable theological questions they did not deserve. Many who have experienced the death of a loved one know the passionate fire I am depicting here. You want to know the bare-boned truths about the origins of life, death. Scientifically, existentially, spiritually, emotionally, theologically—all possibilities for immortality, after-life, resurrections, heavens, hells, rebirths even those involving rituals normally giggled at and philosophies that would leave you staring into an abyss—engage gazes of equal consideration. No religious boundaries, or non-religious boundaries mattered, I wanted to understand what was really going on and every source—human, animal, book, practice, earth, galaxy, religion—was as viable as another. I considered the search for the current, past and future condition of my departed beloved first and foremost. It is this event that perhaps most influenced my theology years later when I found this fire lingered; I could not return to one religious identity that I never felt I had. This is not the result every death has upon a person. Personally this experience motivated a boundary-crossing religious quest and one that, though no less passionate, has been tempered and broadened with appreciation of metaphors, symbols and ideas that do not speak immediately to matters of life and death. Judith Plaskow writes in her essay “The Coming of Lilith: Toward a Feminist Theology” in Womanspirit Rising how a distinctive characteristic of her emerging feminist theology “may well be its faithfulness to those experiences that engender it; content and process are inseparable” (Plaskow 1979, 198-199). Plaskow’s insightful description of this entanglement lends itself to broader considerations as well: experiences in general should not be forgotten when they have informed one’s theology as if only abstractions exist.

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Breaking Out the Theological Map Charting the maps of my own theological development continued while enrolled in a course on comparative theology in seminary. An assigned reading of Paul F. Knitter’s book Introducing Theologies of Religion (2002) involved choosing from the four comparative models the one that resonated most with one’s own viewpoints. Not resonating with the “Total Replacement,” “Partial Replacement” or “Fulfilment” models my non-exclusive and non-Christian theology was most suited with the “Mutuality Model”— as it is expressed in “Chapter Eight: The Mystical and the Prophetic Bridges” specifically in Raimon Panikkar’s ideas (Knitter 2002, 125-134). Though all the theological models were ultimately Christian the Religious-Mystical Bridge allowed for more flexibility to encompass my empathy with other traditions and affinity for Vodou.4 The multi-religious background of Raimon Panikkar provided an initiation for exploring comparative theologies with flexible boundaries: “I ‘left’ as a Christian, ‘found myself’ a Hindu, and ‘returned’ as a Buddhist, without having ceased to be a Christian” (Knitter 2002, 126). Intimately involved with many and able to drink and dialogue deeply from an individual “religious well” (Knitter 2002, 126) Panikkar seeks “the fundamental religious fact” which “does not lie in the realm of doctrine [but] may well be present everywhere and in every religion” (Panikkar 1978, cited in Knitter 2002, 125-127). Emphasised in mysticism is the “infinity of the Message that is sent” unlike the philosophers who “stress the finiteness of all religious radio receivers” (Knitter 2002, 125). Through mystical experience, one glimpses the unity that lies beneath all the separate spheres of “the Divine, the human and the world.” Additionally, they are “life-givingly related” and do not collapse into one another, but feed off each other like air and fire (Knitter 2002, 127).

A Deity Is In A Name Many religions have made certain divine names, or space for sacred names, a fundamental part of their worship. Panikkar takes the importance

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Experiences led me to familiarize myself with the power and beauty of Haitian Vodoun’s cosmic visions as well as attend the ceremonial festivities of my friend’s initiation as a Vodou priest in Port-Au-Prince. Though not a regular practitioner, I have found some of the beliefs and practices to provide considerable depth and insight to my own.

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of naming a step further with his fascinating assertion that naming divinity is a form of creating a divinity (Panikkar 1981, cited in Knitter 2002, 129). This addresses the controversial and crucial divide between what can be objectively attributed to God or Goddess, and our personal perception of Goddess or God. It also illuminates the sacredness entailed in naming, which is often a vital dimension to worship. It still begs the question as to whether learning many names for God could be perceived as an expansion of divine knowledge. It is not simply that there are different ways leading to the peak, but that the summit itself would collapse if all the paths disappeared. The peak is in a certain sense the result of the slopes leading to it…It is not that this reality [the Ultimate Mystery] has many names as if there were a reality outside the names. This reality is the many names and each name is a new aspect. (Panikkar 1981, cited in Knitter 2002, 129)

His analogy is a sweeping vision, validating that what we believe is foundational to reality. Another analysis of what this implies is that “God or the Divine is itself as diverse as are the religions!” (Knitter 2002, 129). What follows on the heels of this mystical vision is that the divinities could be as diverse as individuals themselves, naming often being intimate and unique. Knitter humbly quotes Panikkar’s warning to beware of “theologies of religion” possibly like his own book Introducing Theologies of Religions (2002) that tries to over systematise something so inherently wild and diverse (Knitter 2002, 129). Pluralism [that is the diversity of religions or of the Divine] does not allow for a universal system. A pluralistic system would be a contradiction in terms. The incommensurability of ultimate systems is unbridgeable. This incommensurability is not a less evil…but a revelation of the nature of reality. (Panikkar 1987, cited in Knitter 2002, 129)

This statement not only endorses diversity, but also is wary of systems that want to smooth out contradictions that are fundamental to the “nature of reality” as he perceives it. He not only accepts dynamic theologies, but also encourages such unsystematic approaches to divinity(ies). His visions helped to clarify the ontological, linguistic and epistemological entanglements underlying the process of theology itself and therein how deeply personal theology, and reality, can be and yet still be communal in the questing. The state of flux entailed is viewed not as a threatening instability, but as a deeply satisfying and all-encompassing actuality.

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The Vodou Challenge Vodou is a challenging test case for any comparative theology models and methods because it does not share either the dependence on the written word or a pivotal core belief that define many other religions’ identities (for example, most Muslims find Mohammed integral to their faith; Christians—Jesus etc.). Vodou does not have a sacred text; experience is what sustains Vodou. Panikkar reflects similar notions in his emphasis on mystical experiences and belief that the “the fundamental religious fact” is not housed in fixed doctrine (Panikkar 1978, cited in Knitter 2002, 127). Another important aspect of Vodou is the reverence for the body and care for the material environment. This aspect of the Vodou tradition is encapsulated by Houngan Pierre Andre: Believe in the terrestrial. Do not have any faith in the celestial. It is the terrestrial which judges man. Not the celestial. Do not exaggerate the celestial. Live well on the terrestrial. (Andre [n.d.] cited in Consentino 1995, 399)

It is the terrestrial that judges and not an “out there” ungrounded, celestial divinity. Therefore it is not practical to exaggerate the celestial by underplaying the sacredness of the terrestrial for they are understood as inseparable. Supporting this complex idea is the “cosmotheandric experience”: “the divine, the human, and the earthly—however we may prefer to call them—are the three irreducible dimensions which constitute the real, i.e., any reality inasmuch as it is real” (Panikkar 1993, cited in Knitter 2002, 127). Vodou continually crosses bridges between perceptions of self, deity and reality. Experiences that play with the boundaries between self and the Gods and Goddesses are often reached through movement, magic, possession, ritual dance and drumming. One of the aims of this complex process is to break down the boundaries of ordinary self-identity reaching what Panikkar would certainly call a mystical experience. In a Vodou initiation it is “in the imbricated progression from one divinity to the other lies the basis of creative mystery: the wellspring of introspection, the means of finding the self through other” (Cosentino 1995, 167). The “wellspring of introspection” that seeks “the self through other” (Cosentino 1995, 167) in this individual experience mirrors the religion on a larger scale as well since it is a religion formed through embracing other traditions. Examples of Vodou’s flexible, inclusive attitude towards other traditions are endless but perhaps the most prominent display is how the Haitian

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deities (loa) are creatively woven in with the Christ and Catholic saints interchangeably. Jesus, in some Vodou sects, is associated with the fierce loa Ogoun in his manifestation as a wounded, yet powerful, warrior spirit, supported by companions. This calls to mind the idea discussed in Francis X. Clooney’s Hindu God, Christian God (after a detailed comparison and analysis of Hindu and Christian symbols): “none of these symbols belongs solely to its original faith community any more, and no one will be easily able to disregard either the good theology or the underlying good faith of believers in other traditions who agree that God is embodied in the world” (Clooney 2001, 128). From this understanding such symbols (and archetypes), are not owned by one tradition, they are doorways for many. Jesus is then freed from one to the all—without underplaying his importance or other divine manifestations that are unique as well. For example, Jesus, I would argue, does not encompass the divine feminine, or sexuality as well as other manifestations. This is not a problem until one rules out all other manifestations claiming Jesus is the only God (or manifestation or son of) that is unique. With Raimon Panikkar, I see Jesus as “one of the names of the cosmotheandric principle, which has received practically as many names as there are authentic forms of religiousness” and yet maintains a “unique epiphany in Jesus of Nazareth” (Panikkar 1981, cited in Knitter 1992, 133).

Love And Let Love Many theologians view the “confessional language” used by early Christians as being spoke from the heart, not mind; they were not trying to be “conceptual” or “philosophical” in defining Jesus when they used “oneand-only” exclusive terminology (Knitter 2002, 133). Knitter notes that “confessional language” is often akin to personal “love language” attempting to express feelings towards the person who “has transformed one’s life and stands at its centre: You are my one-and-only. There is no other like you” (Knitter 2002, 133). Giving the example of how such language is meaningful within the personal relationship but not outside it (just like confessional language) he writes: When a man, for instance, says to his wife in moments of intimacy, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. There is no other woman in the world for me” he means it; it is, without doubt, true. But if we can imagine that for some reason this man would have to appear the next day in court, and the judge would ask him to put his hand on the Bible and swear that his wife is the most beautiful woman in the world and that there is no other woman that he could have married, he could not so swear. Why? Because

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The intent was to say something positive within a group not negative about someone else (Knitter 2002, 134). Within this analogy, however, the schism some theologians are placing in between languages is not entirely necessary if unpacked with other considerations in mind. The man could have truthfully responded that as he is today his wife is the only one for him and the most beautiful woman in the world because love has grasped his very being and thereby transformed his identity. With that understanding he would not be the same person he is today if he had loved another. Important to comparative theological heart-to-heart dialogues is not so much whether the husband is truthful or could love another but whether he could accept that others can, and do, feel the same way simultaneously and equally about another person (or the same person or persons). In other words it is not necessary to have a Christian give up Jesus as her or his “one-and-only” in another language. In fact it could be by seeing this complete love mirrored in another that a dialogue opens onto common ground. Like teenagers gushing over their first loves to each other— people of different traditions can exchange treasured doctrines, theologies and mystical experiences without breath or reserve. When the element of cosmic trust (Panikkar cited in Knitter 2002, 130) is missing, then theological proofs, or much worse, tribal warfare may decide whose God/Goddess/Goddesses/Gods are truly the one, or ones, for all.

Comparative Theology With No Return My enriching explorations of both Knitter’s models and Panikkar’s mystical visions allowed me to see that it was not so much an alternative model for comparative theology, or another religion that was necessary but a roaming theological process, a comparative theology with no return. Deeply resonating with Panikkar’s views, his accounts still assumed a person retained a starting religious tradition and boundaries. My theological homelessness conflicted with my religious experiences as well as with the increasingly entangled theologies of the world. Noticing the elephant that had been sitting in the corner for so long—in so many classes and books—I could no longer takes my eyes off just how huge and critical a mass was being overlooked. A neatening of divides

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that started most theological comparisons between “your faith and one that was not your own” or “a dialogue between many” assumed a centre faith. Those who identify themselves as Christian in some way see Jesus as critical to their theology, Buddhists the Buddha or a Buddha. These relationships differ deeply though—some drawing on the heights of modern philosophy to unpack plausible Christologies—others relying on more personal and experiential modes. Either way there is a tether that seeks to identify with these religious homes. Overlooking the reality and power of symbols being born through the tides of time in many religious communities is not the intention. Rather the point is the open flexibility to the entangling process of theological exploration, continuation and invention. Wine is better with age, water is better when fresh; both are good and necessary to appreciate the other.

Fellow Nomads Lend Me Your Ears So what happens when a theologian or a spiritually curious person does not feel harboured in one—or even two—religions? If one is a little bit of everything does that make one nothing? What happens when such a person practices comparative theology without returning to one? They may be blessed with theological vertigo and engage “Nomadic Theology”. To some such an unmooring from one traditional model seems radical, confusing or impossible. But it is not only possible—it is happening, almost everywhere. Many not comfortable in an established tradition, even atheistic or agnostic ones, understand that this approach well reflects their own perspective. Let us examine a young woman baptised and raised as a Roman Catholic but who with time and experience has recognised the great spectrum of her beliefs: From an early age I found many of the teachings of Jesus to be beautiful and true, and from the Gospels gained most of all guiding principles of compassion for others, forgiveness and redemption. However, I could not fit with the ideas of sin, hell, punishment, not to mention the restrictions on ordination for women of the church. Growing up in New York City meant close proximity to people of many different nationalities and faiths. Many of my friends were Jewish, and I attended Bar Mitzvahs and Seders. I came to see the feast of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement during which one dialogues directly with god for forgiveness more to my liking than a gobetween (a Catholic priest) for forgiveness during confession. With Chinese friends during the New Year festivities I learned of the rites of ancestor worship common in eastern faiths. I found solace in bringing a

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Nomadic Theology: Crossing the Lines of Traditions in Theology picture of my beloved, deceased grandmother to my friends. During a college Hindi class, I met a teaching assistant from India who would become my boyfriend. We travelled to India and I learned of Hinduism, incorporated yogic meditation into my spirituality. I saw the multitude of Hindu gods as somewhat akin to the Catholic saints I learned about in catholic school during my childhood. The Hindu God Shiva was particularly interesting as represented the destructive, dark side of the Divine that I had sensed but never grasped on a theological level. My interest led me to read the Bhagavad-Gita, which added to my worldview of sacred duty, and introduced me to the vastness of the universe(s), or universes that I continue to contemplate. The on-going middle east dilemma...Shiite and Sunni Muslims? In my quest to know more, I turned to the Koran, which contains many stories that are strikingly similar to biblical ones and yet have their own path. All of these different religions helped me to formulate my own spirituality that reflects how I see and interact with the world. (Anonymous Nomad [anon.], ca. 2009)

This case is typical for many people and can be encountered with varying levels of depth. Though the speaker is not a theologian in an academic environment she is highly sensitive to the differences and complexities she witnesses in a variety of religions. Despite the differences she is following her natural spiritual curiosity and allowing its discoveries to shape her religiously. It is not really appropriate to say she is an atheist or agnostic, yet she is not strictly Hindu, nor Catholic, nor Jew but rather her own synthesis that has grown out of all of them. A related example of a Nomadic seeker is often such an individual who has grown up with multi-religious exposures, due to family up-bringing or later life experiences. This approach to religions is happening in the world and it is also happening in seminaries and universities where theologians of myriad sects and denominations are learning and teaching. The boundary between how religions are practiced outside of academia and how theologians understand beliefs is notoriously blurred. 5 Ironically, it is perhaps more difficult in the academic theological environment to claim to be religiously homeless or without a preference to one religion more than all others. This could be for very practical reasons: What of financial and moral support? If one can help more people from within a tradition that already supports ethical causes, is it necessary to cut ties? How is authenticity possible if one is homeless? Or comparison for that matter? Does the difficulty outweigh the benefit? What would be the

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real difference if any from just increasing intra-faith dialogue? Such questions are not to be taken lightly and have very real consequences. Some may keep a tether to the religion with which they started, each time finding their way back stubbornly or profoundly—or both. And yet professors and students, it appears, are claiming multi-religious identities left and right. If one is both a Taoist and a Christian—does that not imply a Nomadic Theology seeking synthesis of more than one religious worldview? During the intense cross-religious exchange of ideas it is not far-fetched for one to get lost in the other religion—and then another religion—and another. Often times a sensitive theologian emerges not as before but with a new, synthesis of many theologies. Religious communities and individuals are thereby enriched and extended by each other.

Nomadic Theologians/Thealogians Within the academic sphere strains of feminist theology have evolved with exploratory impulses after having been forced to abandon more conventional theological patterns. Groups of feminist theologians, realising their original traditions lacks symbols and doctrines that allow them to connect fully, are forced to seek alternative sources through creative synthesis, with a feminist perspective as a guiding lens. A powerful prophetess of such movements, Mary Daly, writes in “After the Death of God the Father: Women’s Liberation and the Transformation of Christian Consciousness” in Womanspirit Rising (1979) how women’s liberation challenges and unmasks many of the authoritative and idolatrous structures concerning faith and revelation (1979, 60). Some of the insights resulting from this are: “a more general understanding of faith as a state of ultimate concern and commitment and a heightened sense of relativity concerning the symbols it uses to express this commitment” as well as a possible budding awareness “not merely in the minds of a theological elite, but in the general consciousness—that revelation is an ongoing experience” (Daly 1979, 61). Thealogian Carol P. Christ similarly points out how “Feminist Goddess spirituality is a syncretistic combination of elements of pre-Christian religion with contemporary ideas and experiences” (1987, 66). Both Daly and Christ express here how religious symbols and commitments are continually processed, reworked and reimagined. Carol P. Christ’s own accounts portray a struggle with Christianity that resulted in a break with the tradition she perceived as overtly sexist throughout the ages and suppressive of myths themed with “powerful

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female symbolism” (1987, 36). Christ writes in her seminal work Laughter of Aphrodite: For me, recognising the pathology in my relationship to the Father God and fathers combined with my awareness that there are religious traditions I can draw upon that do not contain the same patterns has meant that I no longer choose to define myself within the Christian symbol system. I believe it is important for women who have known dependence on the Father or fathers to name the great powers within and without as Goddess. (1987, 101)

She scoured the history of religions, mythology and Goddess worship and founded an embodied Feminist Thealogy that is not bound by one tradition. Christ warns her readers “the challenge facing those who have deeply experienced exclusion as part of their own history is to create new traditions that do not exclude others” (1987, 52). What is entailed in this non-canonical search is a combining of many sources with intuition as guide. Many whose contemporary experiences impel us “in search of Her,” as Christine Downing writes, know neither the prayers, rituals, places, nor stories as preserved in an ongoing community. Yet we can find some of the places and can piece together fragments of stories, rituals, and prayers, taking our clues from archaeological and historical records and from fragments of Goddess images, symbols, and rituals that have survived in Christianity and Judaism. We can trust our own intuitions and listen for the echoes of the still resounding voices of ancestors, and of the Goddesses. (Christ 1987, 183)

The point here is that Carol P. Christ crossed theological boundaries, weaving a path to an entirely new, yet ancient, religion of the Goddess. Though in one light this could be viewed as a new religion itself, it should not be overlooked that the originating force of this perspective was to not exclude or canonise traditions, or create a new orthodoxy, but view them through a lens and as a positive on-going process. Carol P. Christ’s theology, along with many other feminist thealogies, demonstrates the principles of movement and theology as a discourse about divinity that Nomadic Theology espouses.

Semi-Nomadic Approaches A more anchored but very real branch of Nomadic Theology may be termed “semi-Nomadic” Theologians, traversing many religious boundaries

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but seeing no harm in belonging to one in name if nothing more than to serve as a viable platform on which to pitch their identity tent. Exemplifying “semi-Nomadic” Theology is Raimon Panikkar, the mystic visionary who meditates, is a yoga practitioner, “practicing Catholic” and yet ordained as a priest (Knitter 2002, 127). Another shade of semiNomadic Theology are those with primarily dual theological identities, engaging several branches of theological traditions, where a hand is in each pot and foot on either side. Both of these processes work for some and allow for them to get on more readily than those who might otherwise have to create entirely new pathways.

“Those who hear the music not, think the dancers mad” (Unknown) If one were to accuse nomadic theology of pirating the sacred gold from religions—it would have to stand guilty as charged. Often we “steal” the sacred truths and leave what is perceived as empty dogmas—but it would only be fair to retort what right one has to “own” religious ideas in the first place? Of course there are many extremely valid and concerned criticisms of such boundary crossing approaches to theology. It could be criticised for lending itself to easy and unfounded understanding of deep religious lived-in truths. I would agree completely that this is possible; it is equally possible for those of one tradition to not explore their own religion’s depths and faith claims. Another could poignantly comment that even if a Nomadic Theologian is not wedding itself to religious doctrines and dogmas they perceive as extraneous they are still drinking bias, and influences from society. There is no way to really argue with that except along the same line as before—someone within a tradition is no more immune. Nomadic Theology could at first glance be criticised for not being “authentic,” “old” or “established”. Closer examination shows it to be not only as old but integral to the process underlying theology itself. Careful historical examination makes it clear that cultures, languages, religions and therein theologies have evolved, and merged, and reformulated continually since the dawn of civilisation. A selection process has yielded major groups that have survived in the present, and new ones are being synthesised from other or newly formulated. This process continues; our understanding of the past shapes the creation of our future. If the idea that what is most authentic theologically is oldest the natural conclusion is that most of the world’s most popular religions would fall to the sidelines and be replaced with more ancient religions such as those practiced in the

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Neolithic or Zoroastrianism. Perhaps a more meaningful way to compare theologies is to relate directly to the ideas, depth of understandings and practices themselves, so as to level the moral high ground.6 Any task as serious as theology needs to be done with depth, care and humanity. It is risky to step outside the traditional roles, models and intrareligious ways of theological discourse that have proved useful in the past. However, if we start by trying to tether ourselves to places we do not feel we entirely belong this would start off on the wrong foot and never lead to an authentic theological discourse.

Conclusion It has always been ironic and disturbing that so many religious practices included no tolerance or recognition of the value of others. This often led and still does to abuses of power over others, justified in the name of sacred religious fervour. Nomadic Theology is an approach, among others, that asserts that no single ideology or religion is the “be all” or “end all” for all and that other approaches can often complement each other rather than compete to reach the ultimate goal(s). Humans in general have shown notorious fear of miscegenation; mixing of races, nations, ages, politics, sexes and religions has always been a target for such neat divisions. Sometimes these divisions may be fruitful to one cause or another but all too often can be taken to excess, being both familiar and accepted. Our food, music, language, blood, DNA are combining—it only makes sense that some of our theologies should as well. When one comes to ideas on divinity—concepts so expansive—why would a theologian not traverse religious boundaries? Nomadic theologies involve journeys that do not find it necessary to return to one religious home, but are instead odysseys that keep going within the seekers (and finders). Where the journeying begins and what boundaries and maps are encountered along the way is as quintessentially diverse as are the exposures and experiences of the individual. Reflections of movement, change, shifting to better theoretical positions until one is comfortable their own stride, where they are, have been, are hoping to go and responsible for where they stand are the motivations for this type of theology. A Nomadic Theology does not have one way of being in the

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Some might argue that one ought to stick with “post” labels since one is automatically drinking from the water of historical influences. Considering that the proverbial West, East, North and South rivers run together, there should not be forced labels such as “Post-Christian” unless one finds them relevant to their vision of divinity and therein to align their identity with.

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world, nor does it adhere to any one set of shared principles: it is a way of moving in the world of ideas and theology in particular. The process of following our theological curiosities across boundaries, checking many boxes and leaving notes, colouring inside—and outside—the lines, crossing them, filling in gaps and ignoring posts that suggest we do not go where our theological appetites take us. Our current age heralds in a huge populace of people not drowning, but freely swimming, in the vast oceans of religions, ideas, symbols, experiences and theologies. Nomadic Theology acknowledges that this process is already underway in hopes of giving it a space for valued dialogue in the theological and religious studies realms. These Nomadic Theologies guarantee to enrich our world with unique contributions. They will draw us closer to the beginnings of a long, complicated, identity shaking conversation that promises many beautiful, powerful and unmasking insights into the divine and the human, which are enhanced when one crosses the lines of traditions in theology.

References Anonymous. ca. 2009. Anonymous Nomad. A condensed example relayed to me by a friend. Christ, Carol P. 1987. Laughter of Aphrodite: Reflections On A Journey To The Goddess. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Clooney, Francis X. 2001. Hindu God, Christian God. Oxford University Press. Cosentino, Donald J., ed. 1995. Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou Los Angeles: UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History. Daly, Mary. 1979. After the Death of God the Father: Women’s Liberation and the Transformation of Christian Consciousness. In Womanspirit Rising: A Feminist Reader in Religion 2nd Edn, ed. Carol P. Christ & Judith Plaskow, 53-62. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. 1992. Harvey, Van A. 1997. A Handbook of Theological Terms. New York: Simon & Schuster. Knitter, Paul F. 2002. Introducing Theologies Of Religions. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books. Tolkien, J.R.R. 1954. The Fellowship of the Ring, The Lord of the Rings. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Excerpt from poem in Chapter Ten. Plaskow, Judith. 1979. The Coming of Lilith: Toward a Feminist Theology. In Womanspirit Rising: A Feminist Reader in Religion, 2nd Edn., ed. Carol P. Christ & Judith Plaskow, 198-209. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. 1992.

YINTER-RELIGIOUS DIALOGUE: CHANGING HOW WE COMMUNICATE DR. MAUREEN SIER

Introduction In the last decade inter-religious dialogue in its many and varied forms has moved beyond the preserve of a faithful few activists and academic specialists and onto the agenda of governments and international peace keepers. This paper will examine this phenomenon and explore its implications for creating a more peaceful, inter-connected world locally, nationally and internationally. It will be divided into sections that inevitably overlap, looking first at evidence that inter-faith dialogue is being supported by governments and then examining the language being used, by arguably some of the most influential politicians on the planet, to communicate the change that is evolving. It will then explore how the skills developed by those engaged in inter-religious dialogue and encounter are being utilised to bring peace to some of the most debilitating conflicts on the planet and finally will discuss perceived barriers to religion being used as a tool for social harmony and conflict resolution.

Government and Interfaith Key political and religious figures across the globe are meeting to actively promote inter-faith dialogue. A high profile example of such a meeting was the UN General Assembly Meeting held in November 2008 which brought together sixty world leaders for a debate on inter-faith issues. These leaders included former U.S. President George W. Bush, British Prime Minister Gordon Brown, and Pakistani President Asif Ali Zardari. This gathering was a milestone in inter-faith relations because it brought together groups of people who have been historically separated by religious differences. For the first time, King Abdullah dined in the same room with Israeli President Shimon Peres at a private, pre-conference

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banquet hosted by UN Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon (Reef & Toro 2009). Below are examples of the language that political leaders have used to express their commitment to inter-religious dialogue. American President Barrack Obama made a speech at Cairo University in June 2009, to a largely Muslim audience, some of whom may have been sceptical of his motivation, given the religious slant to the Iraq and Afghanistan situations. A selection of the words he used indicates however a shift in the way America is communicating about faith. Around the world, we can turn dialogue into inter-faith service, so bridges between peoples lead to action [...] And I want to particularly say this to young people of every faith, in every country—you, more than anyone, have the ability to re-imagine the world, to remake this world. All of us share this world for but a brief moment in time. The question is whether we spend that time focused on what pushes us apart, or whether we commit ourselves to an effort—a sustained effort—to find common ground, to focus on the future we seek for our children, and to respect the dignity of all human beings. […] There's one rule that lies at the heart of every religion—that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. This truth transcends nations and peoples [...] and still beats in the hearts of billions around the world. (Obama 2009)

Helen Clark (former Prime Minister of New Zealand) stated in her speech to the Regional Inter-faith Dialogue Conference in Cebu, Philippines in 2006 that, The New Zealand government is pleased to be a co-sponsor of this regional inter-faith dialogue. We regard the building of greater understanding through dialogue as of the utmost importance […]. So often we see tension and conflict exacerbated in the name of religion, even to the extent of acts of terrorism. Most adherents of religions whose names are invoked to justify violence strongly deplore and condemn such acts. Nonetheless they can still be subjected to suspicion and backlash which is completely unjustified. That in itself gives rise to further tension. It is tension of that kind which I believe inter-faith dialogue can address very effectively [...]. In dialogue, we can empower each other, affirm our hopes, nurture our relationships, and achieve mutual respect for each other. We can also affirm our commitment to tolerance and our rejection of extremism and violence. There is an imperative for us all to act—in our respective capacities as governmental and faith leaders. (Clark 2006)

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King Abdullah II of Jordan stated, at the high level meeting of the United Nations General Assembly on Inter-faith Dialogue mentioned above, In our time, we are urgently called to the way of peace. Throughout the world, understanding and trust among peoples of different faiths and cultures have been eroded […]. To reverse the tide of resentment and fear, communication is vital. There must be a new and global dialogue among people of different faiths and civilizations. Such a dialogue is essential, to reveal the commonalities that unite humanity. But it does more. It teaches people to respect their differences. It opens eyes and hearts to the beauty of diversity. It helps disentangle fact from fiction. And it exposes the fraudulence of extremist teachings. In Jordan, we have made inter-faith dialogue and understanding a priority […] we seek to advance a global dialogue, one that can help redirect the course of our future, away from hostilities and towards peace. (King Abdullah II 2008)

It is worth looking at some of the language being used by political leaders to state the importance of dialogue. President Obama talks of interdependence, partnership, inter-faith, finding common ground, and respecting the dignity of all human beings. Helen Clark uses words and phrases such as; building greater understanding through dialogue; strengthening inter-faith ties; willingness to accept and respect difference; affirm our commitment to tolerance; and building better understanding between faiths, and King Abdullah II talks of inter-faith dialogue as a priority and a duty. The language of dialogue now being used by politicians is the language that has been used for decades by inter-faith activists and there is no doubt that governments are learning this language from those who have been actively involved in inter-faith dialogue. Governments are changing how they communicate and by doing so are extending the boundaries of political engagement with religion. An inter-faith activist’s motivation for promoting dialogue may be prompted by a genuine interest in religion whereas governments may well be using religion as a tool in international diplomacy. Both activists and governments however converge in their recognition that inter-faith dialogue can help to promote peace. In the UK, Government documents are being written and circulated about inter-faith engagement, for example Communities and Local Government in the UK wrote the document: Face to Face and Side by Side: A Framework for Partnership in our Multi Faith Society, in which it states, “[t]his document […] aims to create more local opportunities both for face to face dialogue which supports a greater understanding of shared values as well as an appreciation of distinctiveness; and for side by side collaborative

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social action where people come together and share their time, energy and skills to improve their local neighbourhood” (2008, 8). Former Prime Minister Tony Blair has created The Tony Blair Faith Foundation with a proposed remit “to promote respect and understanding about the world's major religions and show how faith is a powerful force for good in the modern world” (The Tony Blair Faith Foundation 2010). The creation of the Foundation, which seeks to promote inter-faith social action and inter-faith education, has not been without controversy. Some representatives of faith communities feel uncomfortable at the decisions made by Tony Blair while in office, particularly in relation to the war in Iraq, and UK secularists object to his promotion of faith-based schools. The significance however of having an inter-faith organization associated with Tony Blair can be seen in the millions the Foundation has received in charitable donations despite a recession. It remains to be seen if the Foundation will establish itself as a credible inter-faith organization by both inter-faith groups and governments. It is interesting to note that Tony Blair’s decision to become Catholic and his establishment of the ‘Faith Foundation’ both occurred after his days as a politician, perhaps an indication that to be an openly committed religious Prime Minister is still viewed as unacceptable by British voters. In Scotland the Scottish Government, from very shortly after its inception, took the step of financially supporting a national inter-faith organization (The Scottish Inter Faith Council) and has since then assisted many local and national inter-faith initiatives. Many Local Government Equality Officers in Scotland also support local inter-faith groups and initiatives. The First Minister Alex Salmond launched Scottish Inter-faith Week 2008 and was the keynote speaker at the 20th Anniversary of Edinburgh Inter-Faith Association where, among other things, he stated, [a]s well as marking the Association's 20th birthday, we are here tonight to celebrate the importance of faith in shaping Scottish culture and Scottish society….And to admire the full diversity of faiths and cultures - the threads in the tartan that are being woven together to create a powerful, positive image of the modern Scotland………Each of us here today is part of a coalition across Scotland that seeks to build respect and understanding for all our people and our faiths. (Salmond 2009)

There are a number of reasons why Governments are now taking an interest in inter-faith dialogue. Religious extremists have been responsible for outrageous acts of terrorism such as the September 11 attack in New York in 2001; the bombings in Bali in Asia-Pacific in October 2002, the bombings in London in July 2005; and the attempted bombing of Glasgow

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airport in June 2007. This lack of peace at an international level and government counter-terrorism strategies would encourage support of interfaith dialogue, particularly in government efforts to “de-radicalise” extremist elements in the Muslim community. Current UK human rights laws (which allow freedom of thought, belief and religion), UK equality legislation (which protects people from discrimination and harassment on account of their religion or belief) and the government social cohesion agenda (which aims to help create diverse and dynamic communities), all encourage governments to be supportive of 1 inter-faith dialogue . There is also a growing recognition that, properly harnessed, religion can be a powerful force for social good, but left in the hands of extremists, religion can be a destructive force. Whatever their motivation governments are beginning to change how they communicate about religion and about the need for dialogue at the local, national and international level. An important question needs to be asked then. Is there any evidence that interfaith cooperation is helping to bring about peace and community harmony? The Brookings Institute (Washington) conducted a survey to investigate a range of dialogue initiatives that have evolved since 9/11 and in a research paper by Hady Amr (2009) the effectiveness of dialogue in bridging the United States and Muslim-majority state divide was identified. It was concluded that “policies and the language used by leaders clearly effect relationships between U.S. and various parts of the Muslim world…” (Amr 2009, 9). Although this paper was only focusing on dialogue with the Muslim world there is further evidence internationally that inter-religious dialogue and cooperation is effective in peace building.

Inter-Religious Tools for peace and conflict resolution I first experienced the role of inter-religious dialogue in resolving serious conflict in 2004. In the summer of 2004, I read a book by Daniel Bergner called Soldiers of Light about the shocking civil war in Sierra Leone. It left me deeply disturbed and wondering how such a terrible conflict would be resolved. Within weeks of reading the book I was preparing an inter-faith youth conference and was looking for a story teller for one of the planned workshops. The Storytelling Centre in Edinburgh organized for me to interview someone they thought might be suitable and it turned out he was from Sierra Leone. Amadu was able to share with me



1 See Equality and Human Rights Commission website www.equalityhumanrights.com for further information.

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how the Muslim and Christian leaders and the Inter-religious Council of Sierra Leone had managed to negotiate a lasting peace in his country. Details of how inter-faith dialogue and cooperation was used in over thirteen national conflicts are graphically described in the book Peacemakers in Action: Profiles of Religion in Conflict Resolution (Little 2007). The book describes how inter-faith negotiators manage to use religion as both a source of motivation in their work and as a practical tool for conflict resolution. Outlined in chapter one are a number of the specifically religious tools used including; the use of religious texts; the power of the pulpit; using religious and cultural rituals and traditions; the use of religion in debate; finding common ground; creating zones of peace; and inter-faith mobilization. Inter-religious Councils have been highly commended in their peace work. For example the Inter-religious Council of Sierra Leone was noticed by journalists such as Turay (Accord) who stated that, [a]mong the numerous players involved in shaping the Lome Peace Agreement, the Inter-religious Council of Sierra Leone stands out as the most highly visible and effective non-governmental bridge builder between the warring factions and a population devastated and divided by more than eight years of violence. (Little 2007, 294)

One of the interesting insights shared by Koroma of the Inter-religious Council of Sierra Leone was the need for neutrality in negotiating peace (Little 2007, 288). The non-partisan nature of the inter-religious council, the visionary and courageous actions of key individuals, the use of some of the religious tools and techniques mentioned above and the hope of maintaining peace through restorative justice and reconciliation were all important factors in the peacemaking process. It may be that the current political support for inter-faith engagement will only be truly effective as long as the support does not become partisan and as long as there is a clear perception of governmental neutrality in religious issues. In short Inter-faith councils and organizations may require to be seen as independent of government. In 2007, I was privileged to work closely with inter-faith peacemakers from around the world, including areas suffering conflict such as Indonesia, Israel, Iraq, Pakistan and Nigeria and to work with young people from diverse conflict zones on an inter-faith program in the US. It became clear to me that an inter-religious component to peacemaking was essential. In 2010, I was invited to write an article for World Religions for Peace on “Women of Faith as Agents of Peace and Security” and in doing this was led to discover how women from my own faith tradition (Baha’i)

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worked collaboratively with others to help bring peace to Northern Ireland. In short the past five years have demonstrated to me on a deeply personal level the power of inter-religious cooperation and activity to have a positive impact on resolving serious conflict. The above might give the impression that inter-religious dialogue only comes into play when there is serious conflict. However through interfaith engagement in Scotland I have come to understand that inter-religious work is also about conflict prevention, building cohesive communities and celebrating diversity. It is vital work that helps prevent conflict from erupting.

Barriers to dialogue and conflict resolution So far this article has presumed that inter-faith dialogue is going to be fairly straightforward and that religion is a useful tool for creating social harmony and resolving conflict. History would tell us that this is of course not always the case. So what are the barriers to religion and inter-religious dialogue being used for the social good? In my inter-faith work I am often asked a serious question by religious people. It goes something like this; How can I hold on to what I consider to be the truth of my religion and still reach out in friendship to other religions without challenging the falsity of their truth claims? In theory there is no problem about having a belief that your religion is “true” and that someone else’s religion or belief is false. In fact to be human is to question, discern, challenge and decide. It is not possible to hold all views as equally right, valid and true because quite often they conflict with one another. The problem seems not to be about what a person believes or does not believe is the “truth”. The problem lies in how the “right to believe” or “not to believe” is protected or violated by individuals, the law and the state. Most often, I suspect that violations of human rights take place when one individual or group believes they have privileged access to the “truth” and that this privilege also gives them privileged access to power; “History has shown us, for example, that imposing truth claims on others is dangerous. If we look historically at human rights violations in the name of religion it is a disturbing picture. Religious crusades and wars, colonial suppression of minorities, oppression of women, the suppression of scientific thinking, torture—in fact a formidable list of atrocities” (Sier 2007, 238). Human rights violations by states and individuals whose members claim to be of a particular religion have not just occurred in the

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far reaches of history. The Holocaust, slavery, discrimination and terrorism have all been part of recent religious history. There are also many examples of anti-religious, atheistic and pseudoscientific systems violently forcing their non-religious or scientific views on others in the name of truth. Some twentieth century examples would be the millions killed under Stalin whose state sanctioned politics actively suppressed religious freedom; the suppression of religion under atheist Albanian leader, Hoxha in the 1960’s where over two thousand churches, mosques, monasteries, and other religious institutions were closed and clerics of all faiths were imprisoned. Atheist China has also suppressed or controlled organized religious groups. Public observances of religion essentially halted during the decade of Cultural Revolution. The importance of International Human Rights laws become critical then in allowing a diversity of religions and beliefs to flourish, promoting what is perceived to be universal human values rather than “religious truths”. Unfortunately it is not just the “truth” claims of religious or atheist thinkers that have led to human rights violations. Scientific “truth claims” have also done so. The Eugenics movement of the early 1900’s is an example of such a claim that ultimately coercively sterilized some 60,000 Americans, barred the marriage of thousands, forcibly segregated thousands more into colonies and persecuted untold numbers in ways we are just learning. Only after eugenics and race biology became entrenched as an American ideal was its ideology transplanted to Germany, where it came to Hitler’s attention. Hitler sought to legitimize his innate race hatred and anti-Semitism by medicalising it. He was able to attract many reasonable Germans by claiming that scientific “truth” was on his side. It is therefore fair to say that some religious, political and scientific theories are simply historical paradigms hiding under the guise of “truth”. Many eventually get disproved as new paradigms evolve. So how can we ensure that as human beings we are educated to quest for a truer understanding of reality without using our limited understanding to discriminate against others? How do we learn to use religion as a tool to engage compassionately with others?

Extending the Boundaries In a recent publication (Sier 2007, 238), I suggest three things initially need to be looked at, explored and challenged to extend the boundaries and to allow the potential life enhancing values of religion to demonstrate their efficacy; these are: challenging exclusivity in religion; encouraging religious

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leaders to lead in the direction of tolerance and understanding; and to encourage the equal participation of women in society. Exclusivity, or the belief that one’s particular religion has privileged access to truth, is beginning to be challenged as more religionists enter into meaningful dialogue with other traditions, to learn from them, to grow in spirituality and to avoid discrimination and spiritual arrogance. This new mode of operation expresses itself most distinctly in the inter-faith movement operating at local, national and international levels. The role of religious leaders is also critical in challenging bigotry and discrimination. In many faith traditions the religious leaders still hold the reigns of power or at the very least are still greatly respected. These religious leaders can encourage their communities to be open to dialogue and tolerant of difference or they can be inciters of religious prejudice and hatred. And finally the importance of the role of women as religious peacemakers needs to be looked at. Historically, men, rather than women, have accessed and controlled religious knowledge […]. Men have gained from the narratives and institutions of religion. Male religious agents have created and interpreted religious narratives about the role of women, the worth of women and women’s place in the world to suit their own particular androcentric purposes. The structures created to channel the religious impulse, thus, usually express male values and needs and this has to be challenged. We will only have the possibility of peace in the world when women fully participate as equals—in the family, in our religious communities and in the arena of government (Sier 2007, 239).

Conclusion Inter-faith dialogue, religious leaders as peace advocates and the full participation of women are all important aspects of a peaceful society. Over the past seven years while working for the Scottish Inter Faith Council and the Scottish Government I have become convinced that human rights and equality legislation, although critically important, are not enough to tackle the divisions separating humanity. There is also a need for genuine face to face engagement and for comprehensive peace education programmes that include a clear inter-faith component. Engagement needs to take place between the religious and the non-religious and peace education programmes need to be delivered from primary through to adult level. If, however, education programmes are confined to book learning, it may still be possible to set apart, demonize, or mentally discriminate against whole segments of society, but once genuine, regular and constructive

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dialogue is undertaken then it becomes possible to develop an understanding of different belief systems and ways of life, to engage with the human being and to explore the possibility of shared values. While working on an educational inter-faith documentary (Sier 2009), the young people interviewed repeatedly spoke about the importance of inter-faith education and face to face engagement for enhancing their sense of identity and confidence and for giving them tools to reach out to others in friendship. In Scotland, the Scottish Inter Faith Council, local inter faith groups, diverse faith communities, The Scottish Government, Parliament and the religious leaders of Scotland have worked closely to ensure that engagement with faith communities and inter-faith dialogue takes place on a regular basis. This has allowed for the reduction of tensions in Scotland when there is a global crisis and for the building of more peaceful communities. Human rights laws and equality legislation are vitally important but they do not necessarily develop human relationships— dialogue does. For the boundaries to be expanded we need law, legislation, education and dialogue. In the past decade thousands of national, regional and local inter faith groups have developed globally. This development demonstrates a growing awareness of the efficacy of engagement and communities and individuals are seeking ways to do so in what is after all an age old way of communicating—face to face in a spirit of genuinely wanting to expand the boundaries of faith in a decision for peace.

References Amr, Hady. 2009. Brookings Doha Center analysis paper, number 1: The opportunity of the Obama era; Can civil society help bridge divides between the United States and a diverse Muslim world? Washington: The Brookings Institution. Bergner, Daniel. 2004. Soldiers of Light. London: Penguin. Clark, Helen. 2006. Speech to the Regional Interfaith Dialogue Forum. New Zealand Herald 15th March http://www.nzherald.co.nz/multiculturalism/news/article.cfm (Accessed 10th October, 2009). Communities and Local Government. Face to Face and Side by Side: A framework for partnership in our multi faith society. www.communities.gov.uk/publications/communities/facetofaceframe work (Accessed November 4th, 2009).

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His Majesty King Abdullah II. Remarks by His Majesty King Abdullah II, United Nations General Assembly on Inter-faith Dialogue. Washington DC: Embassy of Jordan. http://www.jordanembassyus.org/new/pr/pr11122008.shtml (Accessed November 4th, 2009). Little, David, ed. 2007. Peacemakers in Action: Profiles of Religion in Conflict Resolution. New York: Cambridge University Press. Obama, Barack. 2009. Remarks by the President on a new beginning. The White House, Office of the Press Secretary. www.whitehouse.gov/the_press_office/Remarks-by-the-President-atCairo-University-6-04-09/ (Accessed November 4th, 2009). Reef, Sara and Vargas Toro. 2009. The importance and purpose of interfaith dialogue in global affairs. The Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue. (June) http://irdialogue.org/articles/the-importance-andpurpose-of-interfaith-dialogue-in-global-affairs-by-sara-reef-and-ceduardo-vargas-toro/ (Accessed November 12th, 2009). Salmond, Alex. 2009. Edinburgh Interfaith Association Lecture. The Scottish Government. http://www.scotland.gov.uk/News/This-Week/ Spee ches/First-Minister/ (Accessed 4th November, 2009). Sier, Maureen. 2007. Indigenous religious challenges to concepts of good governance and peace. In Pacific Indigenous Dialogue eds Tui Atua Tupua Tamasese Efe, Tamasailau Suaalii-Sauni, Betsan Martin, Manuka Henare, Jenny Plane Te Paa and Taimalieutu Kiwi Tamasese, 237-241 Fiji: University of the South Pacific. —. Women of faith as agents of peace and security. World Religions for Peace (forthcoming publication). —. 2009. Beyond Tolerance. DVD and Education Pack. www.freshlightfilms.com The Tony Blair Faith Foundation. http://www.tonyblairfaithfoundation.org /pages/our-aims (Accessed 24th January, 2010).

ENDNOTE DR. MAUREEN SIER

This timely publication captures some of the central concerns of the twenty-first century, and because they are the concerns of the present moment they open up both challenges and exciting possibilities. The articles have communication, discourse and identity at their core. They explore human rights, citizenship, feminism, ecology, hermeneutics, interreligious encounter, diversity, spirituality and globalization. Many speak of the need for a new paradigm not just in theology but in the lived experience of our encounter with those who appear to think and believe differently to ourselves. Many of the papers speak of a new discourse and a new social reality that is emerging and most explore how discourse and social reality are potentially challenged and changed through encounter with the ‘other’. Importantly, the papers explore how the potential for positive change and growth depends on the ability to recognize the particularistic lenses of history, culture and theology and to transcend those lenses to find new meaning. For example, in Daniel Sungho Ahn’s article the lens of the nineteenth century Christian Missionary endeavour frames the encounter with the Chinese polytheistic religious culture and yet when the lens is temporarily transcended and the sacred space of ‘the other’ is truly encountered it leads the Scottish Missionary, Legge, to proclaim – ‘I never felt under a more holy awe than when I was there’. His experience of more than 130 years ago speaks directly to my own experience of encountering the sacred on countless occasions in the synagogues, temples, mosques, churches and gurdwaras of twenty-first century Glasgow. I wonder how many others reading through this book will experience moments when they will also say “yes, that’s it, that’s my experience too!” I certainly sense many women doing so when reading the articles by Patricia ‘Iolana and Rasa Luzyte. They write clearly of how religion and spirituality, when filtered through the lens of the feminine experience, pose transformational possibilities to patriarchal religious structures.

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Endnote

Other lenses come in to play throughout the book and often provoke antagonistic or differing views: scientific environmentalism and religion (Wynter Miller); Euro-centrism and Islam (Erol Firtin); Christian eschatology and the eschatology of the religious ‘other’ (Jakob Wirén); ancient and modern hermeneutics (Samuel Tongue); traditional theology and nomadic synthesis (Chloe Erdmann); practicality and spirituality in nursing care (Beth Seymour). And yet each of the writers demonstrates the inter-play and the dynamics involved in the negotiation between ideas and their application in the world. What does all of this mean for the academic study of religion and for our lived experience in this increasingly diverse, complex and globalized society? I sense a paradigm shift, academic, theological and practical, that has been gaining increasing momentum since the time of the nineteenth century world-wide Christian missionary endeavour. At its heart, this paradigm shift is a movement towards something that is desperately needed—“a dialogical way of thinking” (Swidler 1990, xi). We can see the emergence of this paradigm in Legge’s endeavour to understand the Chinese religious world; we can see the growing need for it in our constant encounters with divergent world views whether scientific or religious; whether male or female whether theistic or non-theistic; whether western or non-western; traditional or non-traditional. Most often meaningful encounter demands dialogue. The old paradigms of doing theology in splendid isolation, of hostile polemic, or of the allegedly loving proselytizing of religious or ideological outsiders is more and more found wanting. Instead, dialogue within and without is seen as the way forward. (Swidler 1990, xiv)

This publication is essentially about transformation through encounter, inter-disciplinary exploration, and dialogic possibilities and it captures many of the relevant trends of our inter-connected twenty-first century world. Hopefully the future will find further collaborative academic endeavours taking place that develop the ideas in this volume, creating further evidence that exciting shifts and trends are taking place in the realms of human spirituality and human engagement.

References Swidler, Leonard. 1990. After the Absolute: The Dialogical Future of Religious Reflection. Minneapolis: Fortress Press.

CONTRIBUTORS

Daniel Sungho Ahn (University of Edinburgh, UK) Daniel Sungho Ahn is from South Korea, and is an ordained Presbyterian minister of the Korean American Church in the USA. He holds a Bachelor and Master of Science in Mechanical Engineering from Syung Kyun Kwan University in Korea, as well as a Master of Divinity and Master of Arts in Intercultural Studies from Fuller Theological Seminary in the USA. He is currently studying in the PhD programme in the Centre for Study of World Christianity in the School of Divinity, University of Edinburgh, and his research interests include the British and North American Christian missions in East Asia from 17th to 19th century with special reference to their Bible translation into the vernacular languages. Elizabeth Chloe Erdmann (University of Stirling, UK) Elizabeth Chloe Erdmann is a PhD student at the School of Languages, Cultures and Religions at the University of Stirling. Her research is primarily focused on the need for a “Nomadic Theology” to explain the current movement of theology as a non-denominational process. She received an MTS from the School of Theology at Boston University and her Honours BA from the University of Stirling in Religious Studies. Other areas of interest include Paganism, Goddess Worship, Zoroastrianism and Vodou. Erol Firtin (University of Vienna, Austria) Erol Firtin is currently a MA student at Global Studies program, University of Vienna. He holds BA in Sociology (2007) from Istanbul Bilgi University. After finishing a sociology undergraduate programme in 2007 at Istanbul Bilgi University where he wrote a thesis on the relationships between nationalism, violence and economic development in Turkish context, he moved to the Global Studies program at University of Vienna. Currently Erol is in the process of writing the thesis that focuses on how the Muslim communities relate to the formation of a European public sphere and to the political citizenship. His long-term research interests include sociology of Islam and Europeanization of Turkish society.

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Contributors

David Jasper (University of Glasgow, UK andChangyang Chair Professor, Renmin University of China) David Jasper DD.Theol, Dr.FRSA.FRSE, is Professor of Literature and Theology at the University of Glasgow and Changyang Chair Professor at Renmin University of China. His most recent books include The Sacred Desert (2004) and The Sacred Body (2009). He was an editor of The Oxford Handbook of English Literature and Theology and the founding editor of the journal Literature and Theology. Patricia ‘Iolana (Ocean Seminary College, Institute for Thealogy and Deasophy, US and University of Glasgow, UK) Co-Editor Patricia ‘Iolana MA, DMStJA, is an Adjunct Professor at Ocean Seminary College in Department of Neopagan Studies. She is also a founding board member of the Institute for Thealogy and Deasophy and a PhD candidate at the University of Glasgow’s Centre for the Study of Literature, Theology and the Arts where she is utilizing Depth Thealogy to examine literature as a tool for thealogical, psychological and social change. She holds a Master’s Degree (Hons) in Humanities from California State University-Dominguez Hills (2008). Her latest academic publications include Literature of the Sacred Feminine: Great Mother Archetypes and the Re-emergence of the Goddess in Western Traditions (2009), ‘Tutu Pele: The Living Goddess of Hawai’i’s Volcanoes’ (2006), and co-editor of the present volume. Other areas of interest include Dreams, Depth Theology, Analytical Psychology, Goddess Thealogy, Post-Jungian Theory, Religious Pluralism, and Inter-faith Relations. Raza Luzyte (University of Stirling, UK) Rasa Luzyte was born in Vilnius, Lithuania, where she grew up and completed her BA degree. She left Lithuania to pursue graduate studies in Geography of Religions in Poland. After completing her MA degree, she chose to come to Scotland, where she started her PhD studies on the divine woman, and on Mary in particular, using the interdisciplinary fields of feminist theory, Jungian analytical psychology, feminist philosophy of religion, mythology and folk-tales, religion and literature as her theoretical resource. Rasa has been living, studying and working in Scotland for six years.

Testing the Boundaries

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Wynter Miller (Westminster College and Moberly Area Community College, US and University of Stirling, UK) Wynter Miller is currently working as a Visiting Instructor of Religion at Westminster College in Fulton, MO and as an Adjunct Professor of Philosophy and Religion at Moberly Area Community College in Missouri. Wynter holds a M.Res in Humanities from the School of Languages, Cultures and Religions at the University of Stirling, Scotland and a B.A. from the Department of Religious Studies at the University of Missouri-Columbia. Beth Seymour (Glasgow Caledonian University, UK) Beth Seymour RGN, BA, MA, Ed.D is a lecturer at Glasgow Caledonian University specialising in spiritual and emotional health. She directs the Centre for Spiritual and Pastoral Care Studies and runs modules in ethics, arts and humanities and spiritual care. Beth has pursued a varied academic and professional career. She is a registered nurse and has a first degree in theology, a master’s degree in curriculum studies and completed her doctoral studies in 2006 by exploring spiritual education in nursing. Dr. Maureen Sier (Aberdeen University and Scottish Government Equality Unit, UK) Dr. Maureen Sier graduated from Aberdeen University with a Masters in Cultural History, an MLitt in Cultural Anthropology and a PhD in Religious Studies. After graduation she taught sociology and history at the National University of Samoa (South Pacific) for four years. Maureen first became involved in interfaith activities at the University of Aberdeen where she was an active participant in the local interfaith group there. Since 2002 she has worked as the Interfaith Development Officer for the Scottish Interfaith Council and is currently on secondment to the Scottish Government Equality Unit where her remit is to build the capacity of local interfaith groups throughout Scotland and work on a Government Strategy for strengthening Faith and Belief relations in Scotland. Maureen was the first UK Scholar and interfaith activist to be awarded a Fulbright US/UK International Interfaith scholarship. This scholarship led to four months of interfaith engagement throughout the US and to the setting up of a Scotland America Faith Exchange (SAFE). Maureen is also a member of the Coordinating Committee of the European Women of Faith Network.

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Samuel Tongue (University of Glasgow, UK) Co-Editor Samuel Tongue is a PhD candidate working at the Centre for Literature, Theology and the Arts at Glasgow University. His thesis argues for a 'poetics of writer response' that is aware of the tensions inherent in poets’ uses of biblical texts when juxtaposed with the pre-eminent historicalcritical method of biblical interpretation. His work refreshes the thinking behind current issues in audience-centred theories of meaning and the cultural contexts in which biblical 'afterlives' are produced. He is the coeditor of Communicating Change: Self and Community in a Technological World (2010) and co-editor of the present volume. Sam is also a published poet. Jakob Wirén, (University of Lund University, Sweden) Jakob Wirén, M.Th, is a PhD student of Systematic Theology at Lund University, Sweden. Since January he has been Honorary Research Assistant at the Theological Department of Glasgow University. Jakob Wirén is currently working on his thesis entitled "Hope and Otherness Christian eschatology in an interreligious horizon" and he is also interested in several other topics concerning Christian theology in a changing world.

INDEX  A Allah, 2, 179 Alley, Kelly D., 115-117, 119-123, 125 Asad, Talal, 77-78, 81-82, 84 B Bal, Mieke, 92-94 Benhabib, Seyla, 72-73, 77, 84 Bible, 4, 23, 27, 91-93, 95, 97, 101, 112-113, 127-141, 143-146, 185 Blair, Tony, 198 Boone, William Jones, 97-99, 111 Buddha, 66, 180, 187 C Catholic, 10, 17, 34-35, 46-48, 51, 70, 103-104, 106-107, 133, 179, 185, 187-188, 191, 198 Catholics. See Catholic Christ, 28, 35, 37, 51, 61-63, 66, 6870, 100, 185, 190, 193 Christ, Carol P., 9, 15, 23, 25-26, 28, 189-190 Christian, 3, 10, 15-17, 25-26, 3031, 33-34, 36-38, 40-42, 45-46, 48, 51-52, 54, 57-61, 63-68, 70, 86, 93, 95-105, 107-109, 111113, 131-132, 134, 136, 145, 150, 178-179, 182, 185-190, 192-193, 200, 207-208 Christians. See Christian citizenship, 53-54, 71-75, 77, 79, 81-86, 207 cosmogony, 1, 22 Curott, Phyllis, 15-19, 22, 25, 27

D Daly, Mary, 9-10, 45, 189 Divine Feminine, 20-25, 28 (see also Feminine Divine) Divine Immanence, 24, 27 dreams, 18-21, 33, 68 Durkheim, Emile, 76 E Eagelton, Terry, 91, 93, 139 Eller, Cynthia, 21, 23 Enlightenment Bible, 92, 128-130, 137, 140, 142, 144 eschatologies. See Eschatology eschatology, 57-70, 208 F Faist, Thomas, 72 faith, 1-3, 5, 9-10, 13, 17, 20-21, 23, 26-27, 29, 48, 52, 57-58, 67-68, 76, 100, 107, 150-151, 166, 170, 178-179, 184-185, 187-189, 191, 195-201, 203-205 Feminine Divine, 9-10, 14-16, 18, 20-21, 23-24, 26-28 (see also Divine Feminine) Fictive narrative, 14 G gandagi, 121 Ganges, 91, 93, 115-126 Gimbutas, Marija, 23, 34-35 God, 1-3, 5, 9-11, 14, 17-18, 20, 23, 25-28, 30-32, 38, 59-62, 65-66, 69-70, 80, 82, 91-93, 95-102, 104-113, 126, 130, 133-135, 157, 162-163, 166-167, 178, 183, 185-186, 188-190, 193

214

Index

Goddess, 2, 9, 14-16, 18-26, 29-30, 34-35, 46-48, 116, 118, 126, 178, 183, 186, 189-190, 193 Goddess Spirituality, 10 Goldenberg, Naomi R., 9, 15, 20-21, 29, 32 H Habermas, Jürgen, 79-80 Heaven – in Ratzinger, 62-63 Hell – in Ratzinger, 61-62 Hick, John, 51-52, 57, 63-69, 151 Hindu, 23, 48, 59, 66, 94, 115-116, 126, 150, 178, 180, 182, 185, 188, 193 Hope – in Moltmann, 58 Hope, Angela, 15-16 Huskinson, Lucy, 33 Hutton, Ronald, 23-24 I immanence, 24, 27 immanent, 1, 3, 10, 14, 18, 20, 2426, 28, 154, 157 immigration, 53, 71-72, 74, 77, 84 interfaith, 15, 151, 199, 205 Inter-religious, 150-151, 195-196, 199-201 Irigaray, Luce, 26-27, 32-33, 38, 45 Islam, 54, 76-81, 84-86, 208 Islamic concept of selfhood, 79 Islamophobia, 2, 76, 151 J Jantzen, Grace M., 31 Jasper, David, 91, 94, 136, 210 Jesuit, 93, 101-103, 107, 112-113 Johnson, Elizabeth A., 2-4 Judaism, 58, 60, 179, 190 Judgement – in Moltmann, 58-59 Judgement – in Ratzinger, 61 Jung, Carl G., 10, 19-21, 29, 32-33, 39-40



K Kidd, Sue Monk, 15-25, 27 King Abdullah II, 151, 195, 197, 205 Knitter, Paul, 14, 151, 182-186, 191 L Legge, James, 93, 96, 98-101, 106111, 207-208 Long, Asphodel, 23 Lowth, Robert, 135, 138, 140 M Madonna of CzĊstochowa, 42-43, 45 March, Andrew, 83 Martínek, VoitƟch, 42, 44 Mary-myth, 31, 33-34, 37, 40 McFague, Sallie, 26 Messianism – in Moltmann, 60-61 Moltmann, Jürgen, 51-52, 57-60, 68 Muslim, 3, 53, 57, 59, 71, 75-79, 81-86, 150, 179, 196, 199-200, 204 myth, 10, 13, 31-35, 37-40, 42, 46 myths. See myth N Nagarajan, Vijaya, 115, 117-119, 124-125 neo-paganism, 26 Nomadic Theology, 150, 177-180, 187, 189-193 Nursi, Said, 54, 79-81, 84, 86 O Obama, Barack, 196-197, 204 Other, the, 2-4, 32, 52-55, 57, 5962, 67-69, 91, 93, 184, 207-208 Otherness, religious, 51, 57, 63, 68, 70 Otherness – in Hick, 63-68

Testing the Boundaries P pagan, 23-24, 60, 150 Panikkar, Raimon, 182-186, 191 Paradigm, 1-4, 13, 18, 20, 26-29, 51, 64, 67, 92, 128-129, 134, 139, 141, 143, 158, 202, 207208 pareschatology, 65-66 pluralism, 64, 72, 183 poetic Bible, 130, 135 polyonymous, 18, 22-24 Protestant, 58, 95-97, 100-101, 103, 107, 113, 178 Q Quran, 54, 78-79 R Raphael, Melissa, 20-21 Ratzinger, Joseph, 51, 57, 61-63, 68-69 religion, 17, 23, 26, 31-34, 48, 5253, 60, 62-64, 76-78, 85, 93, 109, 117, 131, 133, 135-136, 144, 149-150, 154, 157, 163, 168, 180-184, 186, 188-192, 195-197, 199-203, 207-208 Ricci, Matteo, 93, 96, 101-108, 111, 113 Ricœur, Paul, 52, 69 Rowland, Susan, 39 S Sacred, 4, 10, 15-17, 19-20, 22, 24, 27, 29, 33-36, 46, 92, 99, 116,



215

118-122, 124-125, 134, 136, 144, 151, 182, 184, 188, 191192, 207 Sacred Feminine, 15-16, 20, 24, 29 (see also Feminine Divine and Divine Feminine) samsara, 117 Shangti, 95-111 Sheehan, Jonathan, 128-132, 134138, 141, 144 Skamieniały Statek, 36 Soysal, Yasemin, 72, 75-77 spiritual education, 153-156, 211 spiritual memoir, 9-10, 13-15, 19, 21, 26, 28-29 Swidler, Leonard, 151 symbol, 10, 16-17, 27, 31, 33, 39, 43, 46, 53, 76-77, 123, 190 T thealogy, 9, 14-16, 25, 28-29, 149, 190 Tracy, David, 52, 69 transcendent, 1, 24-26, 154, 157 V Vodou, 182, 184-185 W Westphalian, 74, 82, 84-85, 133 Wolff, Tony, 31 Z Žemaitơ, Raštai, 40, 42