Religions of the East—Religion as Ideology, Part 3

By Craig Martin

This series of posts is excerpted from a chapter from a forthcoming book titled After “World Religions”: Reconstructing Religious Studies, edited by Christopher R. Cotter and David G. Robertson.

Using ideology critique in courses I’m required to teach like “Religions of the East” is made more difficult by the fact that students expect a survey of a wider variety of materials, not all of which are as easily interpreted in light of a theory of ideology—in part because I am not an expert in all of the matters that students assume we will cover, and also because students often lack any prior familiarity with some of the material and require very basic instruction (that is, we can’t historicize claims about karma, samsara, varnas, and class dharma until students learn what those terms mean). I’m simply not knowledgeable enough about, e.g., the social contexts in which the Rig Veda was written, to apply this form of critique. Of course, it is likely impossible that any single instructor could have the in-depth knowledge necessary to historicize all of the texts that students expect to be surveyed in a broad “world religions” curriculum. However, despite this, it is nevertheless still possible to emphasize how cultural tropes are recycled and changed over time, even if the interests served in all particular social contexts aren’t easily discerned.

In my “Religions of the East” course, when covering “Hinduism” I assign selections from ancient texts, including the Vedas, the Upanishads, and the Bhagavad Gita, and then we jump all the way to the late nineteenth and twentieth century with a collection of writings by Vivekananda. We discuss the fact that although almost all “Hindus” write as if the Vedic sources are the most authoritative—as they are the oldest—the Vedas nevertheless show little resemblance to the themes, norms, or cosmology of the Upanishads and the Gita. In fact, the philosophical cosmology that ends up becoming more or less dominant and which is assumed by Vivekananda—involving the characterization of Brahman as a divine substance, the wheel of samsara on which the atman is continually reincarnated, the end goal of escape from samsara, etc.—is derived more from the Upanishads. In addition, we note that while the Upanishads seem to be concerned with the renunciation of action as a means of liberation from samsara, the Gita criticizes that means and emphasizes instead the discipline of acting according to class duty or bhakti worship of the gods. When we jump to Vivekananda, it we note that he picks up some of these elements from these texts, discards others, and weaves in a few modern ideas as well.

In retrospect, what we’ve been calling “Hinduism” doesn’t look much like an unfolding essence so much as an evolving collection of cultural elements with no apparent lowest common denominator among all the elements. Thus I ask students: if “Hinduism” is a cultural tradition in a process of ongoing evolution, but is lacking both a common set of teachings and a stable canon anchoring the tradition, in what sense can we say it is “a” tradition? If the Vedas and Vivekananda teach completely different things, on what ground can we call them part of the “same” cultural tradition?

At this point British colonialism becomes an important economic and political context for understanding this invention of Hinduism, and I’ve found selections from Rethinking Hindu Identity by D.N. Jha are helpful for leading students through these considerations. When the British arrived in India they began identifying and emphasizing some Indians as Hindu and others as Muslim in a manner out of proportion to prior native identifications; in addition, they tied those identities to the colonial administration such that it put “Hindus” and “Muslims” in an unprecedented zero-sum game. As a result, some “Hindu” intellectuals invented this myth of an ancient Hindu identity tied to the land, with the corollary that “Muslims” (and others) could not rightly claim power or perhaps even belong in India. Jha writes, “indigenous propaganda writings … demonize[d] Muslims and Christians, and propagate[d] the idea that India and Hinduism are eternal.” On this view, “Hinduism” is thus not a “world religion” existing from eternity or even from the creation of the Vedas; on the contrary, it is a nineteenth century invention as a part of propaganda designed to advance the interests of those who identified as “Hindus” against those who identified as “Muslims.

I make it clear to my students that if we had a time-machine and went back to talk to the authors of the Vedas or the Upanishads, they wouldn’t identify as Hindus and wouldn’t have any idea what Hinduism was. Consequently, one wonders, for what reason am I assigning the Vedas and the Upanishads in a class about Hinduism? The answer, quite simply, is that the framework created by nineteenth century propagandists has such a hegemony and an inertia that even scholarship on India follows the propagandists’ paradigm. It is somewhat odd, of course, that political propaganda has served as the basis for scholarly approaches to the subject matter; however, for better or for worse, scholars are never able to fully lift themselves to a presumably “objective” perspective above the fray of the rest of the world’s power relations.

By the end, it turns out we haven’t been studying “Hinduism” in itself but rather a number of disparate ideological texts with competing teachings that have no common thread, other than the fact that they were put together by nineteenth century propagandists who collected them under the taxon “Hinduism.” Two goals have been served at once: on the one hand I’ve surveyed the literature that students expect the course will cover based on their stereotype of what Hinduism is, yet at the same time we’ve dismantled that stereotype and shown it to be a creation that was invented to serve a particular set of political interests at a particular juncture in history. The cultural inheritance that is gathered together, retrospectively, as “Hinduism” is the result of human groups continually recycling their inheritance, always adding some elements and dropping others, and in each case putting their inheritance to new purposes. While as a non-expert I cannot historicize all of the texts and cannot always demonstrate the political purposes to which the texts were put at various times, I can sufficiently historicize certain points and the creation of “Hinduism” as a whole to undermine the world religions paradigm and substitute a theory of culture, ideology, and social formation.

Teaching Theory in the Introductory Classroom, Part 4

This is part of an ongoing series of posts in a collaborative effort between the Practicum: Critical Theory, Religion, and Pedagogy and the Bulletin for the Study of Religion blogs. On November 23, 2014, approximately 20 scholars of religion, from grad students to more seasoned professors, participated in a NAASR workshop in San Diego, CA on the question of how to introduce theory in an introductory religious studies class. Participants were divided into three groups addressing: 1) who/which theorists to include; 2) what data should be included, and; 3) where should theory come into play (e.g., at the start, middle, or end?). What follows are reflections from two of the participants.

by Dan Moseson

“What is it you want people to stop taking for granted?” I don’t remember who said this at NAASR’s San Diego gathering on theory in the classroom, but it’s the standout line in my notes, and the point that gives me the best angle for reflecting on my theoretical choices in preparing my Introduction to the Study of Religion class next fall. Although we appeared to reach an agreement on the importance of going straight for the category of religion and for the power-effects of authorizing particular forms as “religious,” I want to take another direction in the fall of 2015.

In my particular location, the direct critique of the category doesn’t seem to play well, and I wonder if it will be more effective to take “religion” apart from a more oblique angle? Beginning the semester with “religion” as a piece of (relatively) solid ground for students to work from, I hope to short-circuit some related intuitions and perhaps, at the end, try to say something about the category itself.

In retrospect – and this amounts to a post-hoc rationalization on my part – the intuitions I want to shake up are that: (1) “religion” is reducible to a single psychological function, or doesn’t encompass the full range of intelligent, interested human behavior; (2) “religions” (and other social groups) are defined by centralized, empowered beliefs and rituals, and; (3) “religion” is separable from the “secular” and the “modern.” To that end, I’m pairing Freud’s Future of An Illusion, Durkheim’s Elementary Forms, and Weber’s Protestant Ethic with ethnographic studies that complement and complicate their central claims. At a faculty mentor’s suggestion, I‘m also having students investigate further layers of complexity by going out to report on local religious groups, using Michel de Certeau’s writings on practice as a theoretical framework. We will follow Freud with Brian Malley and Tanya Luhrmann’s cognitive ethnographies of evangelical Christians. Ann Grodzins Gold and Gloria Raheja’s study of sexual politics in rural Rajasthan will help complicate Elementary Forms’ top-down, center-out picture of ritually constructed communities. After some selections from Weber, we will turn to Joanne Punzo Waghorne’s studies of religion in urban South Asian spaces, and Courtney Bender’s ethnography of “metaphysical” spirituality subsisting across medical, scientific, artistic, therapeutic, commercial and traditional “religious” sites in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Given my recent experience of opening my fall course with J.Z. Smith’s critique of the category, I may decide to end my next class with it instead. In hindsight, the essay “Religion, Religions, Religious” seems a bit heavy for the first or second week, even in an upper-division course like the one I taught this semester. I am continuously enlightened (and entertained) by Smith’s work, but it’s still difficult reading for me, and I have a B.A., an M.A., and an MPhil in religious studies. This is not to criticize Smith, or the intrepid students who stuck out my first solo teaching venture with me. It is only to argue that his essays are professional-grade tools that even aspiring professionals sometimes struggle to use with precision. Assigning his denser work to undergraduates right out of the gate feels almost unfair. If I do include the critique of the category, it will be in the last week or two instead of the first, and it will definitely begin with the preface to Imagining Religion. This concise piece was received better in the fall, at least, though I don’t think its central point really sunk in (again, this certainly is not my students’ fault). I wager that it will stick a lot better once we’ve spent twelve or thirteen weeks shaking up the category from other angles.

Ian Cuthbertson told the group about broaching the critique of the category in the middle of his year-long course. I’m in agreement with Ian that this move works as a particular kind of dramatic gesture, and it’s a gesture I would enjoy closing on. What does everyone else think? Will it be easier to trouble “religion” after we’ve studied how “it” is conscious and unconscious, a conduit for power and for resistance, modern, non modern, anti-capitalist and flamboyantly capitalist all at once? Will the dissonance between “religion is almost anything” and “religion really isn’t a thing” make the last gesture more poignant and memorable, or will it just make it confusing?

The Evolution of Jesus—Religion as Ideology, Part 2

By Craig Martin

This series of posts is excerpted from a chapter from a forthcoming book titled After “World Religions”: Reconstructing Religious Studies, edited by Christopher R. Cotter and David G. Robertson.

The course in which I can most easily approach “religion” using ideology critique is one titled, provocatively, “The Evolution of Jesus,” instead of, e.g., “Christianity.” We begin the course rather traditionally by focusing on first or second century texts. I offer a historical-critical reading of the texts, situating them in the contexts in which they were written, and showing how Jesus was presented both as an apocalyptic prophet and a teacher with secret knowledge of the “light” that will enable us to gain eternal life; the figure of Jesus was contested even at the so-called “origin” of Christianity.

The historical-critical reading is in part intended to denaturalize the Jesus they already know; I take great pains to contrast the Jesus in the gospels with the Jesus of contemporary popular imagination. Whereas the popular version of Jesus is, e.g., all about love or salvation from sins, the authors who wrote Mark was clearly more interested in, e.g., abandoning family and friends in preparation for an apocalyptic event expected to arrive in his own lifetime. Such a Jesus is likely of little use for most contemporary readers situated in an industrial or post-industrial society. Consequently, the remainder of the course focuses on how the figure of Jesus is creatively transformed in modern contexts.

I provide students with the critical, theoretical tools we will use by assigning readings on “ideology,” specifically focusing on Marx’s claims that 1) ideology is produced by the ruling class and in support of the interests of the ruling class, that 2) ideology is part of a superstructure that reinforces a base, and that 3) ideology mystifies reality. In addition, I assign a reading on the concept of “authority” which focuses on the concepts of projection and selective privileging: practitioners often project their own voices onto absent authority figures or, where an authoritative canon exists, pick and choose whatever from the canon can most easily be enlisted in support of the social agenda at hand. The chapter concludes,

Although religious practitioners frequently hold particular figures or sacred texts as authoritative, that doesn’t mean they follow their authorities in any simple or straightforward manner. On the contrary, authorities are often subjected to projection, selective privileging, partial rejection, … etc. … [For this reason,] understanding Christianity does not require us to understand who Jesus really was, but how the figure of Jesus—as an absent authority—was recreated and recycled over and over in various historical contexts. … Religious traditions are subject to ongoing recreation and evolution, and focusing our studies on their “origins” is as misguided as trying to measure the height of an oak tree by looking at an acorn.

Once we’ve acquired these crucial analytical terms—ideology, ruling class, superstructure and base, mystification, authority, projection, and selective privileging—we move on to focusing not on the New Testament canon but rather on the various uses of that canon.

Since I view the mode of production as one of the most important determinants of contemporary culture and behavior, I focus on how Jesus is (re)imagined after the rise of the capitalist mode of production. We analyze a number of pro-capitalist Jesuses, focusing on Russell Conwell’s “Acres of Diamonds” speech, which teaches a gospel of wealth; Laurie Beth Jones’ Jesus, Entrepreneur, which presents Jesus as a model businessman and from whom entrepreneurial readers can learn key business insights; and Bill O’Reilly and Martin Dugard’s Killing Jesus, which presents Jesus as a sort of libertarian icon who opposed taxation and achieved greatness independently of any governmental or institutional support. At that point we turn to a number of socialist or communist Jesuses, focusing on Samuel Zane Batton’s social gospel message in “The Social Nature of Christianity,” Bouck White’s The Call of the Carpenter, which presents Jesus as a working class hero who agitated against the Romans, who are depicted as capitalists; and Terry Eagleton’s revolutionary Jesus in his introduction to The Gospels, which is part of the leftist press Verso’s book series on “revolutionary” figures.

At every point the students are required to apply the critical concepts introduced earlier in the course to the texts at hand. Do these texts assume, reflect, reinforce, or naturalize a particular mode of production? Are these texts designed to advance the interests of a particular class or social group over others? Do the texts arguably distort or mystify how the economy functions? What parts of the New Testament do they privilege in drawing their picture of Jesus? What do they discard or ignore from the New Testament that might be at odds with their agenda? Are their readings of the New Testament anachronistic? To what extent do the authors anachronistically project their own voices onto Jesus?

At the end of the semester, one of my closing lectures points out that the class has never really been about Christianity, and, in fact, nor has it even been about Jesus. On the contrary, the course has actually been about the processes or the means by which groups imagine their past in order to advance a particular vision of the present or future. Thus does “Christianity” as a world religion dissolve; substituted in its place is a cultural process brought into relief by the theoretical apparatus we’ve deployed on the so-called “Christian” data. In addition, by pointing out that these processes are utilized in practically all social formations—for instance, the “founding fathers” trope in American political discourse is a blatant example, or the origins stories attributing the authentic foundation of India to an Aryan race—“religion” turns out not to be a unique case but just one type of culture alongside other types of culture. Christians are thus interested social actors like any other, employing discursive strategies about the past in order to create a present or future that aligns with their interests.

After World Religions—Religion as Ideology, Part 1

By Craig Martin

This series of posts is excerpted from a chapter from a forthcoming book titled After “World Religions”: Reconstructing Religious Studies, edited by Christopher R. Cotter and David G. Robertson.

Teaching against the world religions paradigm is made difficult in part by the fact that the paradigm is partially hegemonic and, as such, shapes our students’ assumptions and preconceptions about the subject matter of our courses. We risk facing student frustration when they feel they have been a victim of a bait-and-switch: they enroll expecting to be taught the “spiritual essentials” of the world religions, only to find such essentialism thwarted at every step and supplanted by, for example, an emphasis on society, classification and authority. Indeed, I’m sometimes challenged by students: “I thought this class was going to be on religion; why are we talking so much about social structure? When are we getting to Adam and Eve and the Qur’an and stuff?”

 

Although my courses appear on the surface to be oriented around a specific content—I teach “Religions of the West” and “Religions of the East”—my courses are actually organized by a theoretical question of my choosing, such as how social reproduction takes place, or how gender is constructed and contested. However, I attempt to meet the students’ expectations halfway by choosing the data or content from the so-called “world religions” at hand, to which we will apply the theoretical questions. I typically use a quasi-Marxist, non-essentialist social functionalist theory in my courses, focusing on how the elements of so-called “religious” traditions are used to advance social agendas. Thus, for instance, I might introduce students to the canonical “basics” of Christianity, but then go on to show them how those canonical cultural elements are used, reused, and recycled in support of various social agendas in different times and places. In the end, the course turns out not to be about Christianity, but rather about how different groups make functional uses out of their local cultural inheritance. In addition, since such uses are so widely variable, a necessary corollary is that such traditions lack an essence of the sort the world religions paradigm assumes. Contrary to the sui generis approach that assumes “the Sacred” or some other non-empirical, ontologically distinct, transhuman essence is revealed to us through an axis mundi or hierophany, I present the contents of the so-called “world religions” as garden variety, hum drum social rhetorics. On such a view, all religions turn out to be the “same” in a sense, but the shared elements around which their identity is drawn—discourses, authority claims, power relations, etc.—are, on the one hand, available for empirical investigation and, on the other hand, also the “same” as those of other social and political formations.

My assumption that authoritative discourses and practices lack an essential social function but can be recycled to serve a variety of purposes—as circumstances change—is in part shaped by Jonathan Z. Smith’s essay, “Sacred Persistence: Toward a Redescription of Canon” (1982). For Smith, culture is like cuisine: ingenious and inventive chefs can turn a very small selection of foods—out of an almost infinite variety available to us in the natural world—into an indefinite number of dishes. Similarly, ingenious and inventive cultural actors can put a very small selection of discourses in a limited canon to an indefinite number of social purposes. The closure or limitation of the canon is reciprocally related to the ingenuity of the interpreters of the canon. Smith writes:

The process of arbitrary limitation and of overcoming limitation through ingenuity recurs. As the pressure is intensified through extension and through novelty, because of the presupposition of canonical completeness, it will be the task of the hermeneute to develop exegetical procedures that will allow the canon to be applied without alteration or, at least, without admitting to alteration ….

 On this view, the “application” of principles in the discourses at hand “is not a generalized systematic process, but a homiletic endeavor, a quite specific attempt to make the ‘text’ speak to a quite particular situation.” Consequently, my task as an instructor is to bring the procedures of various hermeneutes into focus, to reveal the rhetorical games continually deployed, with an eye specifically to the social and political stakes at hand.

In the posts that follow I will describe how I use such an approach in two of my courses, while attending to some of the strengths and weakness of the approach, as well as what works and what does not in the classroom.

Teaching Theory in the Introductory Classroom

This is part of an ongoing series of posts in a collaborative effort between the Practicum: Critical Theory, Religion, and Pedagogy and the Bulletin for the Study of Religion blogs. On November 23, 2014, approximately 20 scholars of religion, from grad students to more seasoned professors, participated in a NAASR workshop in San Diego, CA on the question of how to introduce theory in an introductory religious studies class. Participants were divided into three groups addressing: 1) who/which theorists to include; 2) what data should be included, and; 3) where should theory come into play (e.g., at the start, middle, or end?). What follows are reflections from two of the participants. For previous posts, see here and here.

Matthew King: I don’t think a method and theory 101 course should claim to help students think more deeply about religion. By design, as we all know, such a course de-naturalizes the category of religion and turns instead to working with its histories, its locations, and power-laden functions. Our 101 course about method and theory in religious studies actually deals with histories of colonial encounter, imperialism, and the like. Those same moments of encounter, those same moments that birthed new lexicons of human difference amongst Western Europeans are the very moments that birthed our own academic inquiries into the topic (like history and anthropology). So, 101 classrooms, 101 students and the university itself are implicated already in the power-laden histories of thinking (or ‘knowing’) human difference; of which ‘religion’ is just one organizing concept alongside ‘culture’. What remains is a category unbound and a group of students already implicated.

I think that the method and theory 101 course should actually proceed from this point. Our students must be encouraged to consider the implications of typologies of difference and be encouraged to speak back …. It’s useful to go through the process using religion as an example. To that end, I prefer students read a group of founding figures (usually Taylor & Frazer, Weber, Durkheim, Freud, James, Marx & Engels, Mauss) and then more contemporary critics (the feminist critique, the ecological critique, the post-colonial critique, etc.). Student reading and lectures thus focus on so many ‘conversations’ (open to student rejoinders) rather than a ‘canon’ (closed to such rejoinders).

For those reasons, for the sake of garnering some excitement (and not stepping back from some strategic hyperbole) I usually suggest at the start of my 101 courses that the study of religion is not a discipline but a critical field of inquiry. Thinking about how we think about religion (and human difference more broadly) is political, as others on this list know well. I prefer my lower division students to leave my courses seeing theory as the way they organize their own thinking about such difference. To that end, our workshop conversations on scaffolding, and on limiting the field of theory we introduce in the interest of depth, has been immensely helpful.

One question remains for me after our dialogue (one which could bring us all into conversation once again?): How to keep any continuity between method and theory 101 and the other sorts of introductory courses we teach. How do we avoid leaving critical reflections on method and theory in a silo? In other words, how can we even evoke those same driving questions when we turn next semester (with some of the same students) to an Introduction to Buddhism, and struggle to do anything other than reify one other blueprint of religious difference?

Lauren Horn Griffin: In addition to being more thoughtful about the choices I make in critiquing various theories, one idea that emerged for me during our workshop concerns course (and even department) structure. Group One discussed a few textbooks, pointing out the benefits and drawbacks of each. The workshop-wide discussion continued to critique the theorists themselves as well as the presentations of those theorists in the textbooks. Of course, in a class like this whose entire driving question is “what is religion?” there is going to be a breakdown between primary and secondary sources, as each text becomes our “data.” But I began to wonder, is there a constructive element here, or is our work in a course like this necessarily and solely deconstructive?

Like many of us, I structured my theory and methods class around problematizing the definition of religion, starting with the question “what is religion?” and continuing throughout the course to help students expose these categories as artificially constructed. As we encounter and disrupt various theories, students see that any definition is socially constructed, restrictive, and possibly harmful.

Also, considering explicitly the “methods” side of the course, I promoted the idea that we would use religion as an angle of vision from which to explore the types of questions asked by disciplines in the humanities and social sciences. So the course could also give students a taste of those disciplines as well as an introduction to the ways in which people have thought about and approached religion. This helps students see that certain approaches, questions, and sources make certain answers possible, thus creating their own objects of study. Since the group was pretty unanimous in deciding that it doesn’t matter what theorist or method we include as long as we are constantly disrupting them and exposing the ways in which they construct the category, perhaps the main takeaway here is to be more aware about which scholars we are choosing as “disrupters” and how we/they choose to disrupt. I realized in new ways after our discussion that our choices are powerful, and I need to be more purposeful with those choices and more explicit in my defense of those choices.

But as I thought about the discussions during our workshop, I also kept returning to the question of course structure. Do we continue to cover various theories and methods and then expose the problems created by them, or should we structure our classes completely differently? Are we in danger of reinforcing the ideas we are trying to disrupt by keeping this structure and using their vocabulary? Should a “theory and methods” course even be offered as a stand-alone course, since all courses necessarily involve both theory and content? Furthermore, should we be restructuring our course offerings and departments so that our job is not always to disrupt and critique the structure of our own courses and departments, or is this as it should be?

Call for Undergraduate Participants: Online Seminar on Religion and Critical Theory

Call for Undergraduate Participants: Online Seminar on Religion and Critical Theory 



The Practicum Blog invites advanced undergraduates in the academic study of religion to participate in an experimental online seminar. The central aim of this seminar is to expose students to critical theory and to help them integrate critical perspectives into their senior/honors theses (and beyond). As such, all applicants should have a specific research project they hope to develop.

This is an online seminar and will consist of two meetings (roughly two hours each). During these meetings, students are able to interact directly with scholars in various stages of their careers who will provide feedback and suggestions that should help the students create more rigorous and insightful scholarship.

Each student will read the assigned material before the meeting and then listen to a brief lecture (no more than thirty minutes), followed by a roundtable discussion where the scholar helps students integrate critical theory into their research. Students will not only get direct input from scholars versed in critical theory, but student participants are invited to publish what will probably be their first publication, as all undergraduate participants will have the opportunity to write a blog for Practicum where they reflect on the material and its relevance for their current projects.

The schedule consists of:

First meeting: February 6, 2015, from 1:00-3:00 PM (EST)

·         Craig Martin on “Critical Theory and the Academic Study of Religion”

·         Russell McCutcheon on “Classification Matters”

Second meeting: February 13, 2015, from 1:00-3:30 PM (EST)

·         Christopher Cotter and David Robertson on “Classify and Conquer: Rethinking the World Religions Paradigm”

·         John Lardas Modern on “‘Secularity’”

·         Concluding thoughts moderated by the Practicum editors

To apply, please submit the following materials in electronic form to practicumreligionblog@gmail.com by January 24, 2015.

·         One-page cover letter explaining your interest in the weminar. Include a summary of your interests and describe your senior/honors project. Also, identify your goals for participating in the conference.

·         C.V.

·         Names and contact information for two references.

We will notify applicants of their status by January 29, 2015.

Please direct all questions to practicumreligionblog@gmail.com.

Teaching Theory in the Introductory Classroom

This is another installment in an ongoing series of posts in a collaborative effort between the Practicum: Critical Theory, Religion, and Pedagogy and the Bulletin for the Study of Religion blogs. On November 23, 2014, approximately 20 scholars of religion, from grad students to more seasoned professors, participated in a NAASR workshop in San Diego, CA on the question of how to introduce theory in an introductory religious studies class. Participants were divided into three groups addressing: 1) who/which theorists to include; 2) what data should be included, and; 3) where should theory come into play (e.g., at the start, middle, or end?). What follows is a reflection from one of the participants.

By Pat McCullough

My Religion 101 course presents me with a bit of a dilemma. At UCLA, the “101” actually signals an upper division course. The course is not really a general introduction to the study of religion, highlighting foundational methods and broad themes—we don’t have one of those. Rather, the course (“History of the Study of Religion”) surveys the theorists who have influenced the academic study of religion. Since we are on the quarter system, I have only ten weeks to play around with.

So, it’s a 10-week introductory course at an upper-division level focusing on theorists without any more general introductory course leading them in. I don’t want to bring the students into our list of dead white guys cold, so I need to provide a framework . . . and one that fits in 10 weeks. J. Z. Smith’s “less is more” pedagogical challenge haunts me.

Setting the Framework. One of the key questions we address in the course is: what is religion? We start the first week with the intro and first chapter to Brent Nongbri’s Before Religion (a decent, accessible overview to the historical invention of the category) and Craig Martin’s first chapter in his Critical Introduction to the Study of Religion. On the whole, the students are really drawn in by the issues of definition and categorization that these readings raise. Then we apply what we’ve learned to a comparison between Geertz’s and Lincoln’s definitions. This issue of the category of “religion,” then, permeates our analysis as we go.

I also present them with a dichotomy that gives them a narrative of controversy (to add a bit of excitement to the course): the “essentialists” vs. the “reductionists.” I present these as two “camps” that battle over “religion” language. We talk about how these two camps utilize certain terms to claim their territory or attack the other camp.

After this first-week framework, I give them the rest of Craig Martin so that they know what a contemporary, critical approach to the study of religion looks like. (This is what I wish they had before walking into my class.) Also, I know that we’ll spend the majority of the quarter reading Pals, whose approach to the study of religion differs considerably from mine. I want them to have a resource that helps them make sense of Pals’ perspective (more on this later). This takes up weeks two and three. As fun and revolutionary as Craig’s book is, I feel like it’s too much reading not directly on the topic at hand. I may work on choosing just two chapters.

Also, throughout the entire class, we have “case studies.” This year, we talked about Hobby Lobby, the Quebec charter, the intro to Carolyn Chen’s Getting Saved in America, 12 Years a Slave, the intro to Kathryn Lofton’s Oprah: The Gospel of an Icon (that was so much fun), Christian Zionism, and Richard Madsen on Buddha’s Light Mountain. We do this because I think we’d all get bored out of our minds talking theory for theory’s sake all quarter.

Choosing the “Canon.” Not everyone has to set a canon in their introductory religion courses, but it seems to me that a course on the “history of the study of religion” is necessarily canonical. I need to decide who is in and who is out. My choices thus far have been fairly traditional, with just a little bit of extra flavor towards the end. I use Pals’ Eight Theories of Religion as the main text, supplemented by Deal and Beal’s Theory for Religious Studies and the glossary of scholars in Russell McCutcheon’s Studying Religion. I use Pals because the reading is the most accessible presentation. I use McCutcheon and Deal and Beal because I find Pals’ bias too much to bear at points. For Pals, Freud, Durkheim, and Marx are the enemies and Eliade is the clear hero:

Reductionist explanations, even in the less militantly antireligious form developed by Durkheim, tend to be so fundamentally opposed to the normal stance of faith that it is hard to see how believers could abide them without discomfort. . . . Behind the scenes, then, it is apparent that personal commitments have played at the very least a strong motivating role in the development of modern theories of religion. To those who, like Freud and Marx, have written from a personal stance of antipathy toward religion, aggressive reductionism seems only natural and right. To those who, like Eliade, have been moved by sympathy with the religious perspective, it can only be misguided and mistaken. (316–7, emphasis mine)

Thus, I pit Pals against McCutcheon as representatives of our “essentialist” and “reductionist” camps—highlighting how these often function as pejorative labels. So, these disagreements become pedagogically useful.

I use 6 out of 8 theorists from Pals: Freud, Durkheim, Marx, Weber, Eliade, and Geertz. I add Althusser and Foucault. We also get Bourdieu via Craig’s book. Nine theorists: all white, all dead, one gay, one wife murderer.

This brings me to the canon question: who represents the history of the study of religion? Fundamentally, it seems to me that there are two approaches to this: theories of religion (see Pals’ title) and theory for religious studies (see Deal and Beal). One is a review of theorists who have said something about “religion” and the other affects the way that we do religious studies. At times, we deal with this distinction in a single theorist: Marx, for example, said some stuff about “religion” that’s worth unpacking, but that’s certainly not where his influence ends in the academic study of religion. Foucault said some stuff about “religion” that I don’t really think matters all that much (sorry, Jeremy Carrette!), but he’s offered some analytical tools that have revolutionized the field.

My primary textbook largely sets the agenda for me: I do mostly theories of religion, which I think is reasonable. There’s a problem, though. It kills me that all the theorists are dead white guys. I have several important female scholars in the case studies (Lofton, Mahmood, Sullivan, others), but they don’t function as part of the “canon.” These women are not available to the students when they choose a theorist to write about in their final paper. (I never used the term “canon” in class, even though it is effectively a canon.)

I finish the class with a reading that would have been impossible to start with, but is a wonderful way to tie all the loose ends together and bring us back to the overall framework: chapters 1 and 6 of Arnal and McCutcheon’s The Sacred Is the Profane. Closing out the course, it reviews just about all the theorists we discussed and pushes the students to take categorical considerations even more seriously.

Changes for Next Year: Less Is More; Difference Is Better. I’m going to be soliciting feedback from students on how best to do this, but I will be making changes to cut down on the reading and to reduce the white-male-ness of the course-canonized theorists. My gut tells me I will chop our Craig Martin reading, as I mentioned, to free up a week, and to switch out some theorists. Right now, I’m thinking I could reasonably nix Freud and Weber (and maybe Althusser), changing them up with Mary Douglas, Judith Butler, and Talal Asad (we already talk about Asad quite a bit). I’m certainly open to suggestions on theorists. The best canons are flexible canons.

Also, I’m wondering if there’s some way to reduce Pals. Ultimately, even though it is fun to teach against the text, I do long for a single “History of the Study of Religion” textbook that does what I want it to do—and with shorter chapters. I imagine a mix between Pals and Deal and Beal, with a sprinkling of Martin’s “Intro” and Nongbri. I can juggle the current combination in teachable ways, but it feels like too much.

That said, I have watched my students progress through the class in astounding ways. It was challenging for them, I know, but I’m confident they can handle pretty much anything another humanities or social science course might throw at them after this.

Part I: Teaching Theory in the Introductory Classroom

This is part of an ongoing series of posts in a collaborative effort between the Practicum: Critical Theory, Religion, and Pedagogy and the Bulletin for the Study of Religion blogs. On November 23, 2014, approximately 20 scholars of religion, from grad students to more seasoned professors, participated in a NAASR workshop in San Diego, CA on the question of how to introduce theory in an introductory religious studies class. Participants were divided into three groups addressing: 1) who/which theorists to include; 2) what data should be included, and; 3) where should theory come into play (e.g., at the start, middle, or end?). What follows are reflections from two of the participants.

 
By Ian Cuthbertson
PhD Candidate, Queen's University

I organize my full-year introductory course as an introduction to the academic study of religion. Enrollment is typically between 150 and 175 and most of the students are first-year students who have never taken a religious studies course.

I have three main goals for the course.

1. In April, I want students to understand that religion is not a straightforward ‘object’ of study and that the usual ease with which we determine what is, or isn’t, religion obscures the ways this seemingly obvious designation varies according to the contexts (temporal, geographical, cultural, etc.) and motives of the individuals who employ that designation;

2. I also want students to understand that theory is everywhere – not only in classrooms or textbooks, and;

3. I want students to understand that theory isn’t something that is applied to an object, but that theory actually determines the boundaries of the ‘object’ under scrutiny. Additional details concerning the course and my plan for achieving these goals can be found here.

I would like to address two themes that came up at the workshop this November: 1. The value of using everyday seemingly mundane reality as data in introductory courses and, 2. The importance of cultivating what might be described as an attitudinal or affective change in students.

1. Making the Usual Unusual

Last week I solicited student feedback for the first half of my course and one recurring complaint concerned how little time we spent ‘actually learning about religion.’ The problem, I think, is that while I want to discuss problems surrounding the category ‘religion,’ students expect to learn interesting facts about various religions. I think this is a problem for three reasons. First, it reinforces the notion that there are religions in the world that, while different, all share some common irreducible core that sets them apart from other aspects of human culture (economics, politics, etc.). Second, I think it reinforces the notion that the study of religion involves learning what religious people (Buddhists, Muslims, Christians, Jews, etc.) believe or do – as if these identities are straightforward, static, and universal. Third, I think it obscures the fact that the study of religion should involve not only exploring their (exotic, unusual) beliefs practices, texts, etc., but also our (seemingly unproblematic) categories and acts of classification.

Several strategies for shifting the focus away from the contents of various religions and toward problems of classification came up in the workshop but I want to focus on one strategy I hope to implement next term. In the second term we approach ‘religion’ from the standpoint of practice rather than of belief. One assignment I like requires students to visit and report on a religious ritual. Last year I expanded the assignment to include any kind of ritual (a football game, say) but left it at that. This year, in light of the workshop, I want to modify the assignment so that students observing (apparently) religious rituals are paired with students observing (apparently) non-religious rituals. While the first half of the assignment will remain the same, I will add a new component in which students read and discuss their partner’s work and then report on this exchange. In this way the data for the assignment is no longer the (seemingly unusual) religious ritual or the (seemingly ordinary) non-religious ritual but rather the process of studying ritual as religion or studying ritual as non-religion. I’m still thinking about how best to make this interesting for students, but I think it might help dispel the idea that religion is radically different from other domains of human activity and encourage students to become curious about their own distinctions between what is and isn’t religion.

2. Cultivating Confidence

I don’t remember what I learned in my first year classes and I don’t expect that my students will remember much of what they learn in my class either. The one thing I do remember from my very first religion class at Mount Allison University is being asked the question “what is religion?” I don’t know how I responded, but I can clearly recall the dawning realization that this was actually a difficult question that would require some serious thought. I became curious, in other words, and remain curious today.

Cultivating this sort of curiosity is one of my priorities as an instructor and this desire to affect change in the ways students think was a central theme of the workshop. While we disagreed as to how best to describe this change (affective? attitudinal?), we seemed to agree that what really mattered was the development of critical faculties and curiosity rather than the acquisition of particular bits of information or the mastery of particular theoretical approaches.

One thing I would like to add to this discussion is the importance of cultivating confidence in first-year students. Theory is complicated and theorists’ writing can be obscure and intimidating. I want my students to feel as though they are able to engage with theory, even if they have not yet developed anything close to a complete understanding. There is a fine line, I think, between cultivating confidence and settling for sloppy or incomplete arguments – and I don’t always know where to draw that line. But I think that confidence is necessary for the development of the kind of active inquisitiveness or curiosity we value.

 

By Martha Smith Roberts

PhD Candidate, Department of Religious Studies, University of California, Santa Barbara

This workshop created a space for discussion of theory, method, and course goals in relation to larger critical understandings of religion and religious studies. My group, which included Matthew King, Rebekka King, and Ken Estey discussed the question of when/where to use theory in an introductory course. And, like the other groups (discussing the who and what) our conclusion was that there is no single correct answer. However, what became clear in our discussion was that context is key. Whether organizing a course thematically or chronologically, theoretical structures, questions, and ideas must be contextualized and connected to content throughout the course. Matthew King discussed an approach that begins by introducing traditional categories/theories of religion then offers critiques of those definitions (including postcolonialism, feminism, and secularism). Rebekka King discussed a thematic approach based on traditional concepts of religion (like creed, code, cultus, community) that provides students with critical theory and case studies to problematize each concept. In both of these examples, they emphasized the need for critiques and content that give students a way to understand and “speak back” to dominant theories.

The larger group discussion on who to include and what data is useful for this project was also a conversation on context. The questions that I found were perhaps left unanswered were those of alternative knowledges that could be a useful tool for both contextualizing and critiquing dominant theories of religion. Introduction to Religion courses are often theory-centered, and the traditional theorists and theories (like those in Daniel Pals’ Eight Theories of Religion) can be paired with their critics so that, for example, students read both Geertz and Asad (other suggested critical texts and authors were Craig Martin, Russell McCutcheon, and J.Z. Smith). However, our discussion left me wondering about theories that challenge the narratives of religion from other angles that students might find both relevant and empowering.

In an Introduction to American Religions course, for example, the frames shift; theory is not my content in the same way it is in a method and theory course. And the narrative we are challenging is one that students can perhaps more clearly see that they have a stake in. We discuss the construction of dominant narratives of American religion: consensus, conflict, and combinative histories that reveal power dynamics of which religions “count” in particular historical contexts. We look at the ways in which categories like diversity, pluralism, and tolerance are used to create American religion as inclusive, even as many are excluded. Alternative narratives reveal the cracks and fissures of those dominant constructions. Reading theory from women and people of color like Charles Long, Ron Takaki, Khyati Joshi, Jane Iwamura, bell hooks, and Robert Allen Warrior, among others, is a powerful way to disrupt white, Protestant, hetero-patriarchal theories of religion.

The workshop made me consider how to incorporate these ideas as I write a syllabus for a method and theory class. Disrupting, decentering, and complicating the categories and definitions of religion can happen in a variety of ways. For me, giving students different models for “speaking back” not only introduces the possibilities of new forms and languages of critique, but also encourages students to see how it is that our socially constructed identities inform our critiques in very real ways.

Notes on the film ‘Teenage’

By Adam T. Miller
University of Chicago

In "Redescribing ‘Religion and…’ Film: Teaching the Insider/Outsider Problem," Russell McCutcheon writes: "What makes a particular film a candidate for [religious studies] courses…is usually limited to whether it addresses such grand issues as suffering and evil or such supposedly enduring human values as forgiveness and love." But if our classes are about "cultivating historical, cultural analysis of complex human behaviors and institutions," not uncritically reproducing the understanding of religion our students often already have, then perhaps we ought to choose films more suited to our ends.

It is with this suggestion in mind that I bring to the table for consideration Teenage, a film ostensibly having very little to do with the study of religion. Using archival footage and diaries of youngsters living in the United States, England, and Germany between the late nineteenth century and the years immediately following the conclusion of World War II, the 2013 film documents the birth of the teenager. Watch the trailer below:

Although the film could probably be used to raise a few different sets of questions, I’d like to focus on how it might help students in introductory classes begin to think critically about the categories we employ.

Using an example seemingly inconsequential relative to the seemingly ever-serious topic of religion, the film introduces social constructionism and the genealogical method–it traces the development of the category "teenager" (thereby implying that teenagers [as we conceive them today] have not existed in all times and places), and shows how the category has connotations unique and directly related to its development.

"But," the objection goes, "haven’t there always been people whose bodies have revolved around the sun thirteen to nineteen times (or, if you fancy a longer view of adolescence and young-adulthood, twelve [or so] to twenty-five [or so] times)?" Sure there have. But people with this level of solar-systemic experience–not all of them, of course–were only recently afforded the rights, privileges, and responsibilities (or lack thereof) we today associate with being a teenager. Prior to this gradual bestowal, children became adults as soon as they were able to work. There was no in-between stage characterized by voluntary/optional work, increased (albeit still limited) self-determination, and surplus time for leisure and "self-discovery". Conceptualized in this way, we can’t sensibly talk about teenagers in contexts prior to the industrial revolution (not to mention some contemporary contexts). But if we take the word and give it a new, limited sense for the purposes of conversation and/or analysis (e.g., if we restrict our usage of the term to refer to people whose bodies have revolved around a certain number of times), such silence is no longer necessary.

Like the category "teenager," the category "religion" has a traceable history, and it carries connotations today unique and directly related to its development. As Jonathan Z. Smith notes in "Religion, Religions, Religious," the etymology of the word "religion" is complex, but it gradually came to be employed by Euro-Americans (often in colonial contexts) to describe "human thought and action, most frequently in terms of belief and norms of behavior." In other words, the word became an anthropological category. And, as Craig Martin writes in the second chapter of A Critical Introduction to the Study of Religion, "[t]he categories we use are almost always directly related to our human interests." Discussing the human interests that lead to the advent of teenagers as we know them (e.g., the desire to do away with child labor) could be a useful entry point to a discussion of the same with regard to religion. And though perhaps a bit meandering, loosening up the meaning of "teenager" may help students to understand why it is important to begin with theories and definitions when studying religion.

On a related note, the way in which the film seems to disregard empirical differences among its subjects (whose situations and identifications, both self-imposed and otherwise, vary drastically in some instances) in favor of an abstracted essence is reminiscent of the way in which some religious studies scholars (not to mention most students, at least initially) think about religion. The following words from the film’s website illustrate this suppression of difference: "Whether in America, England, or Germany, whether party-crazed Flappers or hip Swing Kids, zealous Nazi Youth or frenzied Sub-Debs, it didn’t matter – this was a new idea of how people come of age. They were all ‘Teenagers.'" The fact that the swing kids defined themselves in direct opposition to the Hitler youth, for example, is inconsequential–or, so the film suggests. But is it really? Can these differences be so easily brushed aside? Regardless of where one lands with regard to this particular question, I think working through it–in conjunction with the first chapter ofA Critical Introduction–could open up avenues for discussion about how colloquial uses of words like "religion" group together dissimilar things and not everyone is in agreement about what should count as "religion"–the end goal again being to get students to see the need for up-front talk of theory and definition.

*This post originally appeared on the author's blog.

Ten Observations about Teaching and Academia

By Tommy Carrico
Florida State University

Sometimes, an instructor is afforded a great amount of leeway when designing a course – reading schedules, assignments, course descriptions, and policies are all left up to her.  Other times, the syllabus comes pre-prepared with all of these policies, procedures, and reading lists: the instructor’s task is to teach a course that someone else has designed.  In the former situation, the instructor is able to structure the readings, assignments, and flow of the course according to her research interests, style of argumentation, and the learning goals of the course.  In the latter, while it may seem that the instructor is not afforded these opportunities, I have found that teaching a pre-prepared syllabus provides a unique opportunity to examine academic discourse more generally.  Rather than viewing this type of teaching assignment as unduly restrictive, I would recommend using the construction of a body of knowledge as a theoretical grounding point to tie various elements of the course together.  This is, in many ways, an approach that scholars are (or should be) quite familiar with:

      1. The instructor/scholar is presented with a unified body of material;

      2. This unified body of material may have been divided into sub-sections based on any number of categorizations (thematic, chronological, etc.), necessitating that the instructor

      3. Identify some kind of unifying principle, thesis, or logic to this body of material and its subdivisions,

      4. Assess the strengths and weaknesses of this body’s unity,

      5. Draw attention to the processes by which this material and its subdivisions are presented as related and unified,

      6. Make an argument based on this body of material, introducing “outside” material as necessary, in order to

      7. Challenge the presuppositions of the material itself as well as its unification, in order to

      8. Come to a clearer conception of the production of bodies of knowledge as well as their internal strains/contradictions, in order to

      9. Render elements of these bodies (in fact, the bodies themselves) contingent and, therefore, challengeable, in order to

      10. Begin the project of re-structuring, expanding, or pruning particular commonplace categories or bodies of material presented as unified.

Asking the Right Questions

By Adam T. Miller

I’ve been teaching an accelerated online course in religious studies for a little over a year now (thanks, Doug!), and have had some time to get certain parts of my course–the discussion forums in particular–how I want them. But I’m always looking to improve, so I want to do a bit of crowdsourcing here. After providing my current discussion forum prompts, I will humbly request feedback from my comrades in the business of teaching courses in religious studies–ideally those familiar with (to one degree or another) the works in question. I am looking for better ways to frame the questions so as to elicit better responses–for if there’s anything I’ve learned from teaching, it’s that it’s all about asking the right questions.

So, here goes nothing…Hopefully this turns out to be a good idea.

Week 1: Approaching Religion Academically

Having read “Studying Religion: Laying the Groundwork” by Craig Martin, I want you to explain in mostly your own words the following: (1) Functionalism, (2) The hermeneutics of suspicion, (3) Methodological atheism, (4) The difference between methodological atheism and atheism, and (5) Martin’s reasons for promoting methodological atheism in the academic study of religion.

Week 2: Social Constructionism

Having read Craig Martin’s “How Society Works: Classification,” I want you (1) to explain social constructionism in mostly your own words (Hint: it’s a theory about the relationship between language and the social world; pay close attention to his discussion of classification/categorization), and (2) to explain why Martin treats religion as a social construct.

Week 3: Socialization, Naturalization, and Religion

Having read “How Society Works: Structure” by Craig Martin, I want you to explain in mostly your own words (1) the process of socialization, (2) the meaning of the word naturalization, and (3) the role religion plays in the naturalization of socially constructed realities (for example: social roles, norms of behavior, social orders/hierarchies).

Week 4: Habitus

Having read “How Society Works: Habitus” by Craig Martin, I want you to explain in mostly your own words (1) the concept of habitus, and (2) the relationship between habitus and religion.

(Think about these questions in formulating your response: What is the root word of habitus? How does habitus relate to socialization and naturalization? How does habitus function—that is, what does it do? How do we acquire habitus? What role does socioeconomic status play in the acquisition of habitus? Does religion provide its own unique habitus? Is religion just one ingredient in a habitus, broadly conceived?)

Week 5: Legitimation

Having read Craig Martin’s “How Religion Works: Legitimation,” I want you to explain in mostly your own words (1) the concept of legitimation and (2) the relationship between legitimation and religion.

(In formulating your response, it will be helpful to think about and use Martin’s discussion of cultural tools and toolboxes.)

Week 6: Authority and Projection

Having read Craig Martin’s “How Religion Works: Authority,” I want you to explain in mostly your own words (1) the concepts of authority and projection, and (2) the relationship between the two concepts and religion. (Hint: It will be helpful to explain the types of authority, as well as the circle diagram.)

Week 7: Authenticity

Having read Craig Martin’s “How Religion Works: Authenticity,” I want you to explain in mostly your own words (1) the concept of authenticity as it relates to religion, and (2) how Martin thinks scholars of religion should interpret authenticity claims (Two hints: (a) He does not argue that scholars should take all authenticity claims as true, and (b) His position has to do with the construction, maintenance, and modification of social groups.)

Week 8: Redescription and Social Formation (see note below)

Having read Russell McCutcheon’s “Redescribing ‘Religion’ as Social Formation: Toward a Social Theory of Religion,” I want you to explain in mostly your own words (1) the concept of redescription, (2) the concept of social formation, and (3) how religion can be redescribed as a social formation.

—

As you see, my students read Martin’s Critical Introduction almost in its entirety, and I have them finish up with the second chapter of McCutcheon’s Critics Not Caretakers. This is my first time using the McCutcheon piece, so who knows whether they’ll be able to dig into it. But I think after reading Martin for several weeks, they will hopefully find the piece accessible.

I am open to any comments, suggestions, criticism, or corrections. All I ask is that you keep in mind that this is an online course, and that it is only eight weeks long. My sincere thanks in advance to anyone who takes the time to read and share some thoughts.

—

A quick note as of 11 October:

This post initially appeared on 30 September, during the seventh week of my eight-week course. My term has since come to end, so I wanted to share a few words about how my students did with the McCutcheon reading/forum.

To put it very briefly, I’d say over half of my students had a very difficult time with it. Many of them found it to be way over their heads (a reaction I anticipated), but also had a hard time uncovering what McCutcheon meant by redescription and social formation (something I did not anticipate, at least not to this degree). That said, there were a handful of students who did pretty well, and an even smaller handful whose posts were truly impressive. Those who did well on this forum, however, were those who had done very well on all previous forums.

In the interest of some kind of fairness (and to alleviate my mild sense of guilt for making them my guinea pigs), I decided to give full credit to everyone who took a legitimate stab at responding to the prompt (making sure to privately recognize the excellent responses, of course).

I’m pretty sure I have to go back to the drawing board for my last week of class. At the moment, I plan to do what I’ve written about doing elsewhere (a post, I should note, written just before the beginning of the term in question here), and have them formulate a critique of Kessler’s Elephant Principle. But, with all that said, I’m still open to any suggestions regarding the Week 8 prompt given above.