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What we can learn from our Founding Fathers

Rudolf Otto’s stern founding father “look”.

In this discussion, Professor Schmidt discusses her keynote lecture at the Open University’s “Contemporary Religion in Historical Perspectives: Publics and Performances”. We turn back to discuss some of the “founding fathers” of the discipline of Religious Studies: Rudolf Otto, R.R. Marrett, and Andrew Lang. These three founding fathers all proposed a non-rational understanding of religion which is relevant today to our considerations of religion in terms of vernacular or “lived” religion.

In this week’s podcast we don’t actually have a podcast. Instead, we’ve branched out again and decided to finish this “semester” of the RSP with a video interview with the president elect of the BASR Bettina Schmidt.

In this discussion, Professor Schmidt discusses her keynote lecture at the Open University’s “Contemporary Religion in Historical Perspectives: Publics and Performances”. We turn back to discuss some of the “founding fathers” of the discipline of Religious Studies: Rudolf Otto, R.R. Marrett, and Andrew Lang. These three founding fathers all proposed a non-rational understanding of religion which is relevant today to our considerations of religion in terms of vernacular or “lived” religion.

Professor Schmidt explains how this emphasis on the “non-rational”, on the way that religion is danced out rather than thought out, is of relevance to the consideration of her own research field on Trance and Spirit Possession in South America. By looking at scholars who have been shelved in contemporary scholarships we can work towards making what seems visceral or extra-ordinary appear to be as mundane as it is for the people involved.

Apologies in advance for any dips in quality. Bear with as we are now pretty happy with the medium and will improve upon this in future episodes!

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A transcription of this interview is also available, and has been pasted below.

What Can We Learn from Our Founding Fathers?

Podcast with Bettina Schmidt (18 June 2018).

Interviewed by Jonathan Tuckett.

Transcribed by Helen Bradstock.

Audio and transcript available at: Schmidt – What Can We Learn from Our Founding Fathers 1.1

Jonathan Tuckett (JT): Hello. And welcome to an entirely new format of interview with the Religious Studies Project! You may now recognise my face as somebody even more familiar – I’m the Features Editor, Jonathan Tuckett. And we are, once again, testing out the video format. So this time we actually have Bettina Schmidt with us, who is now President Elect of the BASR, and also Senior Lecturer . . ?

Bettina Schmidt (BS): Professor.

JT: Professor – apologies – Professor at Trinity St David’s, in Wales. So, we are currently at the OU Conference on Religion and Its Publics. And we’re here today to talk a little bit about Bettina’s keynote speech, in which she was talking about some of the older figures in Religious Studies; figures that . . . one of whom, I personally feel should be buried, and never remembered! But I’m sure Bettina is going to give us a valid reason why we should be reading some of these people, even today, in the modern research university. So – just a quick summary of the keynote speech?

BS: Well, Jonathan, to give a quick summary is always difficult for a long speech – but I will do my best. So, in my keynote lecture yesterday, I wanted to highlight that we can learn something from historical figures in our field. In particular, from three of what I call “founding fathers” of the wider field of the Study of Religions. I quite consciously didn’t select old female scholars, which is a bit of a problem, because we also had a few “founding mothers”. But I highlight the work of three figures who are often described – and were even described in the beginning – in quite negative terms. For instance, one of the figures which probably you think we should bury is Rudolph Otto, who was the professor for Systematic Theology at my old alma mater, the University of Marburg. And for the 400-year anniversary of the university, in 1925, he was able to found a new museum – the first museum which has artefacts – which is called, still today, Religionskundliche Sammlung. In this museum – which he founded outside any faculty, but as a university collection – he gave home to a rich (collection of) religious artefacts from all over the world, in relationship to religion. However, some of the other theologians during his time, and their students, quite dismissively called it (audio unclear) – which is a very negative term in German. The other figure was Andrew Lang, who described himself as an outcast of Academia. He had held, for a couple of years, a Fellowship at Merton College in Oxford. He decided to be through with Merton, because he wanted to get married. And, in that time, a Fellow was not allowed to get married. And the third person I highlighted was Marett, the successor of Edward Tylor, at Oxford, as Reader in Social Anthropology. But he himself, and others, described him as an anomaly. Although he had a university position, in the wider recognition – nowadays – of the beginning of an interest in religion from an academic point of view, he is often just a footnote. The Oxford University still has the Marett Lectures, but people are no longer interested in his work – apart from looking at his early work on mana and other things. And I think we can still learn from these figures – of course, with reservations. They were children of their time and they were firmly linked to a certain belief system at the time: evolutionism, Social Darwinism, and so on. But, nonetheless, they all three had something which really made them special, from my own view.

JT: Sure. So the obvious question then is, in a certain respect: you’ve mentioned Rudolph Otto – who comes from a very theological background – and you mentioned Lang and Marett who both come from EB Tylor’s background. So it’s two very different backgrounds here. So what is it that unites the three of them together, as a kind of collective, for you that allows you to talk of them a single group, as it were, in this context?

BS: Yes. This is an interesting field. Why did I choose to include Otto in this mix, with two Classicists? When you look at their engagement with other religion, I find that they’re highly appreciative of the emotional draw to religion, the creative one, the imaginative one. So, for them, a huge element which interests them, in religion, was imagination. Otto, it was also a personal connection to the sacred, this idea of the holy. He, as a child of his time – in particular as a Lutheran professor of theology – he of course saw Christianity as very important for his own person. But he appreciated, also, that this concept of religion – like Schleiermacher before him – was present in all regions. And he travelled around. He did not do proper fieldwork overseas, but he travelled around. Already, as a student, he visited Great Britain and attended high church services. And then he went to Greece, and got acquainted with the Greek Orthodox. And then he went to Egypt and encountered Coptic Christians, but then, also, the different forms of Islam. And this led him, then, to further encounters with Islam in Northern Africa. Then, in particular, his journeys to Asia inspired him. That there are so many different forms of religious practice, but they all had in common this fascinating, this mysterium tremendum et fascinans: this concept of awe in the presence of the deity – the idea of God, or something else. And this is what still attracts people to Otto. Lang, on the other side, always argued against Tylor. Although he is always put in connection with Tylor, he was never a student of Tylor. And he disagreed with Tylor’s quite intellectualist approach to religion, that religion is belief in spirits. And he really argued more on an emotional, on a “felt” position. And this was even stronger in Marett who, although he was a successor of Tylor, criticised Tylor’s approach and definition of religion and argued that religion is something “danced”. I have a quote, if I may. It is in the time of Marett, so it was in the beginning of the 20th century. So he used the term “savage religion”, which we don’t use today – fortunately!

JT: (Laughs).

BS: But he wrote: “Savage religion is something not so much thought out, as danced out” And this is something which I also feel is present when I do my fieldwork. One of my fields is spirit possession and trance. And so I’ve attended rituals in various different countries. And there, people don’t discuss what religion is but they feel it in their body. And this is what I think is a common aspect in all three of them.

JT: Interesting. Because when you say imagination, an almost “go to” kind of understanding of imagination would be Tylor and the idea of the savage philosopher who is sitting in his cage, and is imagining all these things to explain the world around him. But the way you’re describing it, imagination seems to serve a very different kind of function within the thinking of Otto and Lang and Marett. So in the way that you’re now talking about dance, how does this idea of imagination and dance, for instance, connect together in this kind of thinking?

BS: Well, I think we have a different understanding of imagination. For me, imagination is really the creative aspect, the wonderful performance, the feeling . . . . The imagination leads an artist to paint. And so this is, for me, imagination. While Tylor’s minimal definition of religion is not . . . .You are right: he’d argue that people sat somewhere, and imagined, and invented it. But he really thought that this is a logical answer to the question, “How did religion get started?” That it’s really just a way to explain things. All three never went in this direction. It was never about, in the work that they wrote, religious justification, or something to explain (religion). It’s something to be felt – the emotional aspect – and then to imagine what it meant, like how the deity, the sacred, might be, might enact and might feel. And so it’s not something intellectually thought of, but emotionally responded to.

JT: OK, yes. So we have Tylor’s rationalistic kind-of response. I’m curious. I’m going to use the phrase anti-rationalist to now describe these three. Would you say that’s a fair way of describing their approach?

BS: Otto himself used an English translation of the term, “non-rational”. And I think this is also true – although they didn’t use the term non-rational – but it’s also in-between-the-lines in Lang and Marett’s work. It’s not a rationalistic, intellectualist definition of the beginning of religion, but an emotional, felt one. And therefore, yes, the focus is on the non-rational.

JT: I’m feeling a couple of questions coming on. And I know the RSP audience is probably thinking, “Oh No! It’s Jonathan. He’s going to ask her all about phenomenology!” So I’ll hold back on those questions for now. But on a more practical level – you’re now talking about dancing. What kind of methodological challenges does that kind-of throw up if we’re focussing on the non-rational side of religions? If we can no longer read a book and read a statement and understand what is going on there, what kind of challenges do you then face for studying and understanding religion?

BS: I’m going to start answering your question by saying: I’m not saying it’s either/ or. But my argument is that by acknowledging the non-rational as part of the study of religion, we ought to allow religious, spiritual experience and even non-religious experience to be studied within the Study of Religion. This does not mean that everything has to be, then, non-rational or experience. Of course the Study of Religion includes a wider range of aspects. But at the moment, or from the beginning, the Study of Religion focussed on the controversy with Theology, and the aim to be acknowledged as science – with academic value. And therefore people shied away from acknowledging that we are also studying counter-culture, that we are studying New Age, that we are also studying something like Spirit possession. And my argument is, by showing that at the beginning of the discipline, at the beginning of the 20th century, or the end of the 19th century, this was already covered by some scholars who were very important in creating the field of the Study of Religion, we can then have a trajectory that shows that this was a more-or-less open or visible part of our discipline from the beginning. And which . . . . My argument is that it might help us to acknowledge that today, when we study religions, we are studying all different kinds of religious practices and beliefs. We are not just looking at the dominant tradition. But we are looking at what people do, the lived experience, the lived practice, the vernacular traditions. And when we start focussing on this aspect we can study everything. We can still read books. We can still do the normal participant observation and interviews. It’s just that we don’t acknowledge the non-rational in our field.

JT: Interesting. So building on that . . . because now that you’ve tied it into the idea of lived religion and vernacular religion, as kind-of like the vogue trends of how to study religion these days, and tying it particularly to Otto. And – you can then probably correct me – on Lang and Marett if they do something similar. But when you talk about Otto’s’ mysterium tremendum et fascinans, it’s a very – to use one of the words from one of the earlier panels – it’s a visceral experience, in the language of Otto. It’s a very dramatic experience, in the same way that you’ve described trances and spirit possessions which are dramatic events and dramatic experiences. But how does this kind of approach, then, apply to the more humdrum, kind-of mundane understanding of lived religion and vernacular religion?

BS: Otto used these Latin terms because he thought there is no equivalent, no way to express what he felt, in ordinary languages. This is why he went back to Latin. We also have to understand that at that time, Latin was seen as the language of the Church. And therefore I think we should not over-emphasise that he used Latin phrases. But you are, of course, right with my spirit possession and trance studies. In particular, my field area is Latin America. And I mainly focus on the African diaspora. And these are very powerful performances. But from the beginning I also included, for instance, Spiritism. Spiritism is not very dramatic. It is more of less sitting around a table until the medium say that the medium sees something or hears something. So it is not very dramatic. And this is also part of my own fieldwork. And we also need to acknowledge the lived experience. It’s sometimes praying in your world, in your own place, or being alone on a beach. And this is also a religious or spiritual experience, and also part of what we should study. And so, it’s not just the dramatic performances, but also performances which perhaps have elements which are just inside of ourselves. I want to argue that we should not just focus on aspects and practices which happen in religious buildings – like a church, or a synagogue, or a mosque – but we also need to include what happens in the street, what happens when somebody is alone. This also is part of vernacular religious practice.

JT: It’s interesting, because you’re talking about the importance of Lang, and Otto, and of Marett. And that’s very much in the way of: it’s important for “us”, as scholars and academics. But one of the themes of the conference has been the public face of the university. And, particularly, the reason I asked about trance – and particularly in terms of the visceral experience – is, when it comes to things like spirit possession, that kind of thing will capture the public eye because it is kind-of a dramatic thing. And, in your own presentation, one of the photographs had a woman who was moving around with a blade, and so it’s very eye-catching. But now, as you say, we need to focus on the person who’s praying in their living room, or in a quiet corner somewhere. So how, on a slightly more practical level, do we present that kind of study of religion to the public in a way that is as captivating as some of the more visceral imagery that can sometimes be associated with religion?

BS: Before I answer your question about how we can speak about it, just another comment. Otto and Lang are both quite popular outside university. Otto’s Idea of the Holy is translated in over 20 languages, and some of them non-European. And people are still reading it. And Lang was very dominant in the (audio unclear) Society, and is still very important in the material. So both had quite an impact on the public, and still have. We have kicked them out of our history, but the public is still enchanted by them! And so, I think we ought to catch up with what the wider public reads of publications in our field. But, back to your question. This is always a problem. A while ago I wrote about animal sacrifice for a publication on sacrifice. And one of the questions was whether I had an illustration for the publication. And I said, “No.” Because I didn’t want the public to get the wrong impression. I wanted my article to explain the normality of the practice, and not the exoticism. So I don’t have illustrations, and I don’t give out illustrations, and I don’t show illustrations of sacrifice in any presentations, because it would give the wrong impression of the practice. Spirit possession is different, because sometimes, in publications, I include some images – or in presentations like the lecture, yesterday. I find them wonderful. I find these photos that I’ve chosen, a wonderful expression of creativity. The costumes are exotic, wonderful, and colourful. Of course in the photo we cannot hear, but the music is wonderful, the whole performance is just wonderful. It could be on stage. It could be in the theatre. It could be in an art gallery. And you can see, in some museums, costumes presented to a museum because they are so creative and wonderful to look at. And so I’ve chosen them, also, as a way for the wider audience to realise spirit possession is not something negative. It’s not about being possessed by the devil. It can also be a very positive experience. And this is what I want to convey with the photos I’ve chosen.

JT: So, in a way, what we’re doing is . . . we’re kind-of taking the things that are visceral to the public, and showing that they’re not actually visceral – they’re more mundane things. And then, that will hopefully generate (interest) in other things that they already recognise as mundane, as well.

BS: Also, it’s in order to counter-balance a stereotype image that they have, often, when they hear the term spirt possession.

JT: Thank you very much, Bettina Schmidt, for being my test subject with the video format. I hope you enjoyed the experience!

BS: Well, I hope it’s come over quite well!

JT: I hope so, too! All that it remains for me to say is: “thanks for watching” – this time – not just “thanks for listening”. So, thank you for watching!

Citation Info: Schmidt, Bettina and Jonathan Tuckett. 2018. “What Can We Learn from Our Founding Fathers?” The Religious Studies Project (Podcast Transcript). 18 June 2018. Transcribed by Helen Bradstock. Version 1.1, 11 June 2018. Available at: https://www.religiousstudiesproject.com/podcast/what-can-we-learn-from-our-founding-fathers/

If you spot any errors in this transcription, please let us know at editors@religiousstudiesproject.com. If you would be willing to help with transcribing the Religious Studies Project archive, or know of any sources of funding for the broader transcription project, please get in touch. Thanks for reading.

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Human Consciousness & Religious Reality

It was real to me. There I was, curled into a corner, comforter wrapped around my shaking limbs and sweating torso, twisted in terror in the sinister hours of the morning. The salt of my tears were laced with the visceral reality of a specter, a monster, or some strange creature slowly scratching its course along the hallway outside my bedroom. I never saw the demon. I eventually fell asleep in exhaustion, still crimped into the corner of my room. The memory of those tormenting moments is still forbidding and physical for me, etched forever into my consciousness. Was it ontologically real? That is beyond the purview of my recollection. Was it real in my mind? Damn straight.

In a recent interview with Jeffrey J. Kripal, the RSP talked with the man who holds the J. Newton Rayzor Chair in Philosophy and Religious Thought at Rice University about his recent works Mutants and Mystics: Science Fiction, Superhero Comics, and the Paranormal (Chicago, 2011) and Authors of the Impossible: The Paranormal and the Sacred (Chicago, 2010).

In these works, Kripal shared how participation in what we call “the sacred” is a critical element that undergirds religious understanding and activity. From his perspective, human consciousness qualifies, as well as anything else, as “the sacred” itself, and must therefore be addressed and wrestled with by any self-respecting student of religion.

Particularly, Kripal argued that generally marginalized authors who have attempted to theorize the paranormal be treated as central to the religious project, even though their work deals with marvels deemed outside both mainstream scientific and/or religious parameters. These authors, Kripal contested, are “authors of the impossible,” but that does not make them charlatans or crackpots. Although Kripal does not come to conclusions about the ontological reality of these phenomena, and maintains a scholarly agnosticism, he does insist that the paranormal must be understood on its own terms (Authors of the Impossible, 158). Though these marvels may not be appreciated as “real,” they cannot be simply explained away or dismissed with snark or sarcasm either (all too often the case among “respectable scholars”).

Kripal fleshes this out in Mutants and Mystics, which acts as a case-study of sorts, applying the aforementioned theory to the symbiosis between paranormal believers and the production of superhero pop culture. As Kripal pointed out, many of the most popular science fiction and superhero creators were metaphysicists and New Age apostles. They imbued their fantasy narratives with spiritual themes that revealed that the sacred resides in each one of us and we, ourselves, are the superheroes, the true miracles of the divine world. Yes, indeed, behind the veil of science in the sci-fi genre, there is a touch of the ethereal, he asserted. This perspective lends itself to a “new anthropology” where, in the words of Kripal, “the Human [is] Two (and One),” which, “is the neuroanatomical, cognitive, and spiritual bedrock of the paranormal and its fantastic both-and, physical-mythical, masterful-mental, real-unreal expressions in popular culture.” (Mutants and Mystics, 333)

All-in-all, Kripal’s outlook stands as a corrective to purely anthropological, political, or economic analyses of religion as social construct. Counteracting strictly Durkheimian models, Kripal re-centers “the sacred” — posited as “consciousness” — as not only important to understanding religion, but as its critical point of departure. Essentially, Kripal calls out the religious studies world for not having a sufficient appreciation of the power of imagination and invites scholars and the interested public into a new comparativism that moves away from strict materialism.

As an ethnographer of religion, I appreciate this remedial position. I first encountered Kripal’s work as a journalist covering religion in Houston, the home of Rice University. This led to multiple conversations between the two of us about religion, the study thereof, and academia in general. While we come from two different perspectives and ask critically different questions as we approach the same topic, I value Kripal’s emphasis on the conscious as the seat of “the sacred.” While he readily admits that he is not concerned with the sociological questions of religion, and instead recasts some of the Otto and Eliade perspectives on “the numinous,” his viewpoint impacts me as an ethnographer.

I am often frustrated by the lack of empathy from the perspective of sociologists and ethnographers who study religion (and, for that matter, historians, political scientists, economists, and armchair scholars), but do not take the reality of religious experiences seriously. There are certainly exceptions to this rule (Daniel Levine’s Popular Voices in Latin American Catholicism immediately comes to mind), but in general the great swathe of scholars dealing with religion too easily dismiss the complexity of human consciousness, the power of the psycho-social, and the reality of the sacred.

As Kripal intimated in the interview, the applications of his perspective reach beyond New Religious Movements or paranormal phenomena and include historical analyses and contemporary studies of local and global religioscapes. Immediately, I can think of ethnographers working on the use of amulets and talismans in West Africa, the role of dreams in conversion to Christianity and/or Islam, or Pentecostal healing practices in Latin America.

While these cases may be summarily theorized by many as elements of social control, political context, or economic realities there is ample need to appreciate these occurrences as they occur — as real to those experiencing them. Although researchers should not treat them as ontological fact, they can at the very least be approached as “real” in respect to the human conscious.

And yet, the problem occurs when these experiences contradict each other. Take, for example, dreams that lead to conversion (or occur during the process thereof). While not the majority, I discovered in my own research that some Latina/o Muslims convert because of mystical dream experiences. One “revert” related the content of a dream wherein, “Allah spoke to me and told me I have to change.” Another related that she “had the same dream three times” in which she was in Mecca, wearing a hijab, and felt close to her other Muslim sisters there. Soon after she converted to Islam. Interestingly enough, these experiences mirror reports of many missionaries and Christian converts in the Middle East who also claim that dreams are playing a significant role in Muslims converting to Christianity. Furthermore, there is evidence that dreams have frequently played a role in conversions throughout history, including the mass conversion of Anglo-Saxons to Christianity in the 7th-century. What does the reality of these experiences mean when they seem to lead in different convictional directions?

Further, while Kripal’s points about consciousness and the sacred prove a potent corrective, they cannot stand on their own in the study of religion. Even if Kripal himself is not concerned with religion as a social construct, we cannot neglect the social realities of religion. In fact, rather than treating the human as two (and one), perhaps we should theorize the human as three (and one). First, as a “conscious subject” (which Kripal makes us critically aware of); second, as an “embodied physicality”; and third, as a “socially constructed being” shaped by their social context and a conscience collective (to invoke Durkheim).

Regardless of these critiques and ruminations on my part, Kripal’s theory deserves attention and examination on the part of religious studies scholars. There certainly is no easy answer in dealing with such complex discussions such as human consciousness and religious reality, but that is no reason why we should not pursue it from multiple perspectives and ends, which Kripal worthily invites us to do.

Why should we keep paying attention to Otto?

 

Is it necessary, helpful even, to only study religion if you are not religious? Does the secular scholar of, say Hinduism, stand to be a better scholar than another with the same training but who happens to personally be Hindu? Does having a personal involvement in the group that one is studying assist one in understanding Otto’s numinous?

 

 

Why should we keep paying attention to Otto?

By Chris Duncan

Published by the Religious Studies Project, on 14th November, 2012 in response to the Religious Studies Project Interview with Robert Orsi on Rudolf Otto (12 November 2012).

In this interview with Robert Orsi, Religious Studies Professor from Northwestern University, Jonathon and Dr. Orsi discuss the seemingly evergreen writer Rudolf Otto. After a brief discussion over Otto’s more well-known ideas of the numinous and mysterium tremendum the two hit on an intriguing line of talk, one that I have been mulling over in the back of my mind for several months now without really ever noticing it much: as scholars of religion, should we ourselves be religious? Further, if we should be religious, should we be practitioners of the groups that we study? Naturally, I am restricting my definition of “we” to mean those who are non-theologians; perhaps scientists of religion would be apt also.

I have always personally held the position that no scholar of religion could honestly use that title if they were themselves religious. Maybe because specifically, the secular, non-biased scholarship was, to my eye, more brutally honest or willing to discuss the positives in addition to the negatives of particular religious traditions rather than  trying to explain away the negatives. However, recently and unknowingly I may have been changing my mind. For, could someone who studies humans not also be human; must someone who studies Germans not have any form of German connections? Or, as I am beginning to think, does having a personal zeal and insider understanding of a religious tradition make one a more suitable observer/scholar?

The argument over whether religious studies should be either theological or secular study has been an on-going process for decades now, with secular study having held the upper hand for the majority of that time. With the boom of the natural sciences in the late 19th and early 20th centuries came the separation of those who study religion in order to actively participate within it, and those who study religion for non-theological purposes. In 1963, the National Association of Bible Instructors changed its name to the American Academy of Religion, and since then there has continued a steady march towards secular, non-religious scholarly study of religions. However, in the journal of this same organization, the September 2012 edition, Donald Wiebe and Luther Martin lament that though platitudes of secular, unbiased study are tossed about in public, in execution, university programs, particularly American programs, “all reveal a continuing influence of theology on the field [of religious studies] worldwide.” So, what is one to do? Is it necessary, helpful even, to only study religion if you are not religious? Does the secular scholar of, say Hinduism, stand to be a better scholar than another with the same training but who happens to personally be Hindu? Does having a personal involvement in the group that one is studying assist one in understanding Otto’s numinous?

No to the first two, but to the last; maybe.

Undeniably there must be some form of separation from observer and the object of observation but rather than have an argument over the theological or secular study of religion, perhaps scholars should be focused on a more narrow question: why does our field consider that a scholar must be Richard Dawkins-like in order to study religion? Is it not possible to study, say American Pentecostals, from an extremely in-depth, personal platform without considering this to be theology? So long as the scholar is clear about bracketing their personal ties to their subject, there should be no problem with a devout Muslim teaching courses on Islam, indeed who would be better to write a chapter on Islam than a Muslim? Perhaps our beloved field should be less concerned with labeling scholars and worrying what their personal influences MIGHT be and stick to examining the output of scholars. By continuing this internal struggle over how best to regulate the study of religion, scholars are willingly allowing our field to crumble and be overtaken by Anthropology and the Cognitive Sciences. In short, a house divided falls entirely; so let us allow theologians to preach, independently we scientists of religion can continue to write and to teach and then we can critique the finished product rather than becoming manic, wondering how to best defend ourselves from the bullies who want our funding. If religious studies is on par with the other sciences (which I believe it is) why do we not simply allow our work to speak for itself and stop being so scared of our colleagues’ possible ulterior motives? Rather than continue to debate whether Otto wrote theology or secular, scientific works on religion, let’s simply use what he wrote in the most useful manner that we can muster.

 

 

Reference:

Martin, Luther H., & Wiebe, Donald. (2012). Religious Studies as a Scientific Discipline: The Persistence of a Delusion. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 3, 587.

This material is disseminated under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. and can be distributed and utilised freely, provided full citation is given.

 

About the Author:

Chris Duncan is currently in the final year of the undergrad Religious Studies program at Arizona State University, with an emphasis on Hinduism. He will be moving into the  Graduate program in the same field next year.

Rudolf Otto

Rudolf Otto was a highly influential figure in the history of Religious Studies, but whether that influence was for good or not is a debatable issue. His ideas about the sui generis nature of the religious experience and of an irreductible numinous or sacred foreshadow the work of scholars such as Eliade, but proved highly divisive for scholars and practitioners alike.

In this interview with Jonathan, Robert Orsi talks us through who Otto was, and why his ideas proved controversial. They then discuss whether scholars should still be paying attention to Otto – do his ideas still matter today?

You can also download this interview, and subscribe to our weekly podcast, on iTunes. And if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to rate us.

Robert Orsi is the first holder of the Grace Craddock Nagle Chair in Catholic Studies. Before coming to Northwestern, he taught at Fordham University at Lincoln Center from 1981 to 1988; Indiana University from 1988 to 2001; and Harvard Divinity School and Harvard University from 2001 to 2007, where he was Chair of the Committee on the Study of Religion in the Faculty of Arts and Sciences (2003-2007). In 2002-2003, he was president of the American Academy of Religion. Professor Orsi studies America religious history and contemporary practice; American Catholicism in both historical and ethnographic perspective; and he is widely recognized also for his work on theory and method for the study of religion.

In 2004 Robert Orsi published Between Heaven and Earth: The Religious Worlds People Make and the Scholars Who Study Them which received an Award for Excellence in the Study of Religion from the American Academy of Religion and was one of Choice’s Outstanding Academic Titles for 2005. More recently he published The Cambridge Companion to Religious Studies.

Podcasts

What we can learn from our Founding Fathers

Rudolf Otto’s stern founding father “look”.

In this discussion, Professor Schmidt discusses her keynote lecture at the Open University’s “Contemporary Religion in Historical Perspectives: Publics and Performances”. We turn back to discuss some of the “founding fathers” of the discipline of Religious Studies: Rudolf Otto, R.R. Marrett, and Andrew Lang. These three founding fathers all proposed a non-rational understanding of religion which is relevant today to our considerations of religion in terms of vernacular or “lived” religion.

In this week’s podcast we don’t actually have a podcast. Instead, we’ve branched out again and decided to finish this “semester” of the RSP with a video interview with the president elect of the BASR Bettina Schmidt.

In this discussion, Professor Schmidt discusses her keynote lecture at the Open University’s “Contemporary Religion in Historical Perspectives: Publics and Performances”. We turn back to discuss some of the “founding fathers” of the discipline of Religious Studies: Rudolf Otto, R.R. Marrett, and Andrew Lang. These three founding fathers all proposed a non-rational understanding of religion which is relevant today to our considerations of religion in terms of vernacular or “lived” religion.

Professor Schmidt explains how this emphasis on the “non-rational”, on the way that religion is danced out rather than thought out, is of relevance to the consideration of her own research field on Trance and Spirit Possession in South America. By looking at scholars who have been shelved in contemporary scholarships we can work towards making what seems visceral or extra-ordinary appear to be as mundane as it is for the people involved.

Apologies in advance for any dips in quality. Bear with as we are now pretty happy with the medium and will improve upon this in future episodes!

You can download this interview, and subscribe to receive our weekly podcast, on iTunes. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to rate us. And remember, you can use our Amazon.co.ukAmazon.com, or Amazon.ca links to support us at no additional cost when buying academic texts, Maoam Stripes, golf balls, and more.

A transcription of this interview is also available, and has been pasted below.

What Can We Learn from Our Founding Fathers?

Podcast with Bettina Schmidt (18 June 2018).

Interviewed by Jonathan Tuckett.

Transcribed by Helen Bradstock.

Audio and transcript available at: Schmidt – What Can We Learn from Our Founding Fathers 1.1

Jonathan Tuckett (JT): Hello. And welcome to an entirely new format of interview with the Religious Studies Project! You may now recognise my face as somebody even more familiar – I’m the Features Editor, Jonathan Tuckett. And we are, once again, testing out the video format. So this time we actually have Bettina Schmidt with us, who is now President Elect of the BASR, and also Senior Lecturer . . ?

Bettina Schmidt (BS): Professor.

JT: Professor – apologies – Professor at Trinity St David’s, in Wales. So, we are currently at the OU Conference on Religion and Its Publics. And we’re here today to talk a little bit about Bettina’s keynote speech, in which she was talking about some of the older figures in Religious Studies; figures that . . . one of whom, I personally feel should be buried, and never remembered! But I’m sure Bettina is going to give us a valid reason why we should be reading some of these people, even today, in the modern research university. So – just a quick summary of the keynote speech?

BS: Well, Jonathan, to give a quick summary is always difficult for a long speech – but I will do my best. So, in my keynote lecture yesterday, I wanted to highlight that we can learn something from historical figures in our field. In particular, from three of what I call “founding fathers” of the wider field of the Study of Religions. I quite consciously didn’t select old female scholars, which is a bit of a problem, because we also had a few “founding mothers”. But I highlight the work of three figures who are often described – and were even described in the beginning – in quite negative terms. For instance, one of the figures which probably you think we should bury is Rudolph Otto, who was the professor for Systematic Theology at my old alma mater, the University of Marburg. And for the 400-year anniversary of the university, in 1925, he was able to found a new museum – the first museum which has artefacts – which is called, still today, Religionskundliche Sammlung. In this museum – which he founded outside any faculty, but as a university collection – he gave home to a rich (collection of) religious artefacts from all over the world, in relationship to religion. However, some of the other theologians during his time, and their students, quite dismissively called it (audio unclear) – which is a very negative term in German. The other figure was Andrew Lang, who described himself as an outcast of Academia. He had held, for a couple of years, a Fellowship at Merton College in Oxford. He decided to be through with Merton, because he wanted to get married. And, in that time, a Fellow was not allowed to get married. And the third person I highlighted was Marett, the successor of Edward Tylor, at Oxford, as Reader in Social Anthropology. But he himself, and others, described him as an anomaly. Although he had a university position, in the wider recognition – nowadays – of the beginning of an interest in religion from an academic point of view, he is often just a footnote. The Oxford University still has the Marett Lectures, but people are no longer interested in his work – apart from looking at his early work on mana and other things. And I think we can still learn from these figures – of course, with reservations. They were children of their time and they were firmly linked to a certain belief system at the time: evolutionism, Social Darwinism, and so on. But, nonetheless, they all three had something which really made them special, from my own view.

JT: Sure. So the obvious question then is, in a certain respect: you’ve mentioned Rudolph Otto – who comes from a very theological background – and you mentioned Lang and Marett who both come from EB Tylor’s background. So it’s two very different backgrounds here. So what is it that unites the three of them together, as a kind of collective, for you that allows you to talk of them a single group, as it were, in this context?

BS: Yes. This is an interesting field. Why did I choose to include Otto in this mix, with two Classicists? When you look at their engagement with other religion, I find that they’re highly appreciative of the emotional draw to religion, the creative one, the imaginative one. So, for them, a huge element which interests them, in religion, was imagination. Otto, it was also a personal connection to the sacred, this idea of the holy. He, as a child of his time – in particular as a Lutheran professor of theology – he of course saw Christianity as very important for his own person. But he appreciated, also, that this concept of religion – like Schleiermacher before him – was present in all regions. And he travelled around. He did not do proper fieldwork overseas, but he travelled around. Already, as a student, he visited Great Britain and attended high church services. And then he went to Greece, and got acquainted with the Greek Orthodox. And then he went to Egypt and encountered Coptic Christians, but then, also, the different forms of Islam. And this led him, then, to further encounters with Islam in Northern Africa. Then, in particular, his journeys to Asia inspired him. That there are so many different forms of religious practice, but they all had in common this fascinating, this mysterium tremendum et fascinans: this concept of awe in the presence of the deity – the idea of God, or something else. And this is what still attracts people to Otto. Lang, on the other side, always argued against Tylor. Although he is always put in connection with Tylor, he was never a student of Tylor. And he disagreed with Tylor’s quite intellectualist approach to religion, that religion is belief in spirits. And he really argued more on an emotional, on a “felt” position. And this was even stronger in Marett who, although he was a successor of Tylor, criticised Tylor’s approach and definition of religion and argued that religion is something “danced”. I have a quote, if I may. It is in the time of Marett, so it was in the beginning of the 20th century. So he used the term “savage religion”, which we don’t use today – fortunately!

JT: (Laughs).

BS: But he wrote: “Savage religion is something not so much thought out, as danced out” And this is something which I also feel is present when I do my fieldwork. One of my fields is spirit possession and trance. And so I’ve attended rituals in various different countries. And there, people don’t discuss what religion is but they feel it in their body. And this is what I think is a common aspect in all three of them.

JT: Interesting. Because when you say imagination, an almost “go to” kind of understanding of imagination would be Tylor and the idea of the savage philosopher who is sitting in his cage, and is imagining all these things to explain the world around him. But the way you’re describing it, imagination seems to serve a very different kind of function within the thinking of Otto and Lang and Marett. So in the way that you’re now talking about dance, how does this idea of imagination and dance, for instance, connect together in this kind of thinking?

BS: Well, I think we have a different understanding of imagination. For me, imagination is really the creative aspect, the wonderful performance, the feeling . . . . The imagination leads an artist to paint. And so this is, for me, imagination. While Tylor’s minimal definition of religion is not . . . .You are right: he’d argue that people sat somewhere, and imagined, and invented it. But he really thought that this is a logical answer to the question, “How did religion get started?” That it’s really just a way to explain things. All three never went in this direction. It was never about, in the work that they wrote, religious justification, or something to explain (religion). It’s something to be felt – the emotional aspect – and then to imagine what it meant, like how the deity, the sacred, might be, might enact and might feel. And so it’s not something intellectually thought of, but emotionally responded to.

JT: OK, yes. So we have Tylor’s rationalistic kind-of response. I’m curious. I’m going to use the phrase anti-rationalist to now describe these three. Would you say that’s a fair way of describing their approach?

BS: Otto himself used an English translation of the term, “non-rational”. And I think this is also true – although they didn’t use the term non-rational – but it’s also in-between-the-lines in Lang and Marett’s work. It’s not a rationalistic, intellectualist definition of the beginning of religion, but an emotional, felt one. And therefore, yes, the focus is on the non-rational.

JT: I’m feeling a couple of questions coming on. And I know the RSP audience is probably thinking, “Oh No! It’s Jonathan. He’s going to ask her all about phenomenology!” So I’ll hold back on those questions for now. But on a more practical level – you’re now talking about dancing. What kind of methodological challenges does that kind-of throw up if we’re focussing on the non-rational side of religions? If we can no longer read a book and read a statement and understand what is going on there, what kind of challenges do you then face for studying and understanding religion?

BS: I’m going to start answering your question by saying: I’m not saying it’s either/ or. But my argument is that by acknowledging the non-rational as part of the study of religion, we ought to allow religious, spiritual experience and even non-religious experience to be studied within the Study of Religion. This does not mean that everything has to be, then, non-rational or experience. Of course the Study of Religion includes a wider range of aspects. But at the moment, or from the beginning, the Study of Religion focussed on the controversy with Theology, and the aim to be acknowledged as science – with academic value. And therefore people shied away from acknowledging that we are also studying counter-culture, that we are studying New Age, that we are also studying something like Spirit possession. And my argument is, by showing that at the beginning of the discipline, at the beginning of the 20th century, or the end of the 19th century, this was already covered by some scholars who were very important in creating the field of the Study of Religion, we can then have a trajectory that shows that this was a more-or-less open or visible part of our discipline from the beginning. And which . . . . My argument is that it might help us to acknowledge that today, when we study religions, we are studying all different kinds of religious practices and beliefs. We are not just looking at the dominant tradition. But we are looking at what people do, the lived experience, the lived practice, the vernacular traditions. And when we start focussing on this aspect we can study everything. We can still read books. We can still do the normal participant observation and interviews. It’s just that we don’t acknowledge the non-rational in our field.

JT: Interesting. So building on that . . . because now that you’ve tied it into the idea of lived religion and vernacular religion, as kind-of like the vogue trends of how to study religion these days, and tying it particularly to Otto. And – you can then probably correct me – on Lang and Marett if they do something similar. But when you talk about Otto’s’ mysterium tremendum et fascinans, it’s a very – to use one of the words from one of the earlier panels – it’s a visceral experience, in the language of Otto. It’s a very dramatic experience, in the same way that you’ve described trances and spirit possessions which are dramatic events and dramatic experiences. But how does this kind of approach, then, apply to the more humdrum, kind-of mundane understanding of lived religion and vernacular religion?

BS: Otto used these Latin terms because he thought there is no equivalent, no way to express what he felt, in ordinary languages. This is why he went back to Latin. We also have to understand that at that time, Latin was seen as the language of the Church. And therefore I think we should not over-emphasise that he used Latin phrases. But you are, of course, right with my spirit possession and trance studies. In particular, my field area is Latin America. And I mainly focus on the African diaspora. And these are very powerful performances. But from the beginning I also included, for instance, Spiritism. Spiritism is not very dramatic. It is more of less sitting around a table until the medium say that the medium sees something or hears something. So it is not very dramatic. And this is also part of my own fieldwork. And we also need to acknowledge the lived experience. It’s sometimes praying in your world, in your own place, or being alone on a beach. And this is also a religious or spiritual experience, and also part of what we should study. And so, it’s not just the dramatic performances, but also performances which perhaps have elements which are just inside of ourselves. I want to argue that we should not just focus on aspects and practices which happen in religious buildings – like a church, or a synagogue, or a mosque – but we also need to include what happens in the street, what happens when somebody is alone. This also is part of vernacular religious practice.

JT: It’s interesting, because you’re talking about the importance of Lang, and Otto, and of Marett. And that’s very much in the way of: it’s important for “us”, as scholars and academics. But one of the themes of the conference has been the public face of the university. And, particularly, the reason I asked about trance – and particularly in terms of the visceral experience – is, when it comes to things like spirit possession, that kind of thing will capture the public eye because it is kind-of a dramatic thing. And, in your own presentation, one of the photographs had a woman who was moving around with a blade, and so it’s very eye-catching. But now, as you say, we need to focus on the person who’s praying in their living room, or in a quiet corner somewhere. So how, on a slightly more practical level, do we present that kind of study of religion to the public in a way that is as captivating as some of the more visceral imagery that can sometimes be associated with religion?

BS: Before I answer your question about how we can speak about it, just another comment. Otto and Lang are both quite popular outside university. Otto’s Idea of the Holy is translated in over 20 languages, and some of them non-European. And people are still reading it. And Lang was very dominant in the (audio unclear) Society, and is still very important in the material. So both had quite an impact on the public, and still have. We have kicked them out of our history, but the public is still enchanted by them! And so, I think we ought to catch up with what the wider public reads of publications in our field. But, back to your question. This is always a problem. A while ago I wrote about animal sacrifice for a publication on sacrifice. And one of the questions was whether I had an illustration for the publication. And I said, “No.” Because I didn’t want the public to get the wrong impression. I wanted my article to explain the normality of the practice, and not the exoticism. So I don’t have illustrations, and I don’t give out illustrations, and I don’t show illustrations of sacrifice in any presentations, because it would give the wrong impression of the practice. Spirit possession is different, because sometimes, in publications, I include some images – or in presentations like the lecture, yesterday. I find them wonderful. I find these photos that I’ve chosen, a wonderful expression of creativity. The costumes are exotic, wonderful, and colourful. Of course in the photo we cannot hear, but the music is wonderful, the whole performance is just wonderful. It could be on stage. It could be in the theatre. It could be in an art gallery. And you can see, in some museums, costumes presented to a museum because they are so creative and wonderful to look at. And so I’ve chosen them, also, as a way for the wider audience to realise spirit possession is not something negative. It’s not about being possessed by the devil. It can also be a very positive experience. And this is what I want to convey with the photos I’ve chosen.

JT: So, in a way, what we’re doing is . . . we’re kind-of taking the things that are visceral to the public, and showing that they’re not actually visceral – they’re more mundane things. And then, that will hopefully generate (interest) in other things that they already recognise as mundane, as well.

BS: Also, it’s in order to counter-balance a stereotype image that they have, often, when they hear the term spirt possession.

JT: Thank you very much, Bettina Schmidt, for being my test subject with the video format. I hope you enjoyed the experience!

BS: Well, I hope it’s come over quite well!

JT: I hope so, too! All that it remains for me to say is: “thanks for watching” – this time – not just “thanks for listening”. So, thank you for watching!

Citation Info: Schmidt, Bettina and Jonathan Tuckett. 2018. “What Can We Learn from Our Founding Fathers?” The Religious Studies Project (Podcast Transcript). 18 June 2018. Transcribed by Helen Bradstock. Version 1.1, 11 June 2018. Available at: https://www.religiousstudiesproject.com/podcast/what-can-we-learn-from-our-founding-fathers/

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- NonCommercial- NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. The views expressed in podcasts are the views of the individual contributors, and do not necessarily reflect the views of THE RELIGIOUS STUDIES PROJECT or the British Association for the Study of Religions.

Human Consciousness & Religious Reality

It was real to me. There I was, curled into a corner, comforter wrapped around my shaking limbs and sweating torso, twisted in terror in the sinister hours of the morning. The salt of my tears were laced with the visceral reality of a specter, a monster, or some strange creature slowly scratching its course along the hallway outside my bedroom. I never saw the demon. I eventually fell asleep in exhaustion, still crimped into the corner of my room. The memory of those tormenting moments is still forbidding and physical for me, etched forever into my consciousness. Was it ontologically real? That is beyond the purview of my recollection. Was it real in my mind? Damn straight.

In a recent interview with Jeffrey J. Kripal, the RSP talked with the man who holds the J. Newton Rayzor Chair in Philosophy and Religious Thought at Rice University about his recent works Mutants and Mystics: Science Fiction, Superhero Comics, and the Paranormal (Chicago, 2011) and Authors of the Impossible: The Paranormal and the Sacred (Chicago, 2010).

In these works, Kripal shared how participation in what we call “the sacred” is a critical element that undergirds religious understanding and activity. From his perspective, human consciousness qualifies, as well as anything else, as “the sacred” itself, and must therefore be addressed and wrestled with by any self-respecting student of religion.

Particularly, Kripal argued that generally marginalized authors who have attempted to theorize the paranormal be treated as central to the religious project, even though their work deals with marvels deemed outside both mainstream scientific and/or religious parameters. These authors, Kripal contested, are “authors of the impossible,” but that does not make them charlatans or crackpots. Although Kripal does not come to conclusions about the ontological reality of these phenomena, and maintains a scholarly agnosticism, he does insist that the paranormal must be understood on its own terms (Authors of the Impossible, 158). Though these marvels may not be appreciated as “real,” they cannot be simply explained away or dismissed with snark or sarcasm either (all too often the case among “respectable scholars”).

Kripal fleshes this out in Mutants and Mystics, which acts as a case-study of sorts, applying the aforementioned theory to the symbiosis between paranormal believers and the production of superhero pop culture. As Kripal pointed out, many of the most popular science fiction and superhero creators were metaphysicists and New Age apostles. They imbued their fantasy narratives with spiritual themes that revealed that the sacred resides in each one of us and we, ourselves, are the superheroes, the true miracles of the divine world. Yes, indeed, behind the veil of science in the sci-fi genre, there is a touch of the ethereal, he asserted. This perspective lends itself to a “new anthropology” where, in the words of Kripal, “the Human [is] Two (and One),” which, “is the neuroanatomical, cognitive, and spiritual bedrock of the paranormal and its fantastic both-and, physical-mythical, masterful-mental, real-unreal expressions in popular culture.” (Mutants and Mystics, 333)

All-in-all, Kripal’s outlook stands as a corrective to purely anthropological, political, or economic analyses of religion as social construct. Counteracting strictly Durkheimian models, Kripal re-centers “the sacred” — posited as “consciousness” — as not only important to understanding religion, but as its critical point of departure. Essentially, Kripal calls out the religious studies world for not having a sufficient appreciation of the power of imagination and invites scholars and the interested public into a new comparativism that moves away from strict materialism.

As an ethnographer of religion, I appreciate this remedial position. I first encountered Kripal’s work as a journalist covering religion in Houston, the home of Rice University. This led to multiple conversations between the two of us about religion, the study thereof, and academia in general. While we come from two different perspectives and ask critically different questions as we approach the same topic, I value Kripal’s emphasis on the conscious as the seat of “the sacred.” While he readily admits that he is not concerned with the sociological questions of religion, and instead recasts some of the Otto and Eliade perspectives on “the numinous,” his viewpoint impacts me as an ethnographer.

I am often frustrated by the lack of empathy from the perspective of sociologists and ethnographers who study religion (and, for that matter, historians, political scientists, economists, and armchair scholars), but do not take the reality of religious experiences seriously. There are certainly exceptions to this rule (Daniel Levine’s Popular Voices in Latin American Catholicism immediately comes to mind), but in general the great swathe of scholars dealing with religion too easily dismiss the complexity of human consciousness, the power of the psycho-social, and the reality of the sacred.

As Kripal intimated in the interview, the applications of his perspective reach beyond New Religious Movements or paranormal phenomena and include historical analyses and contemporary studies of local and global religioscapes. Immediately, I can think of ethnographers working on the use of amulets and talismans in West Africa, the role of dreams in conversion to Christianity and/or Islam, or Pentecostal healing practices in Latin America.

While these cases may be summarily theorized by many as elements of social control, political context, or economic realities there is ample need to appreciate these occurrences as they occur — as real to those experiencing them. Although researchers should not treat them as ontological fact, they can at the very least be approached as “real” in respect to the human conscious.

And yet, the problem occurs when these experiences contradict each other. Take, for example, dreams that lead to conversion (or occur during the process thereof). While not the majority, I discovered in my own research that some Latina/o Muslims convert because of mystical dream experiences. One “revert” related the content of a dream wherein, “Allah spoke to me and told me I have to change.” Another related that she “had the same dream three times” in which she was in Mecca, wearing a hijab, and felt close to her other Muslim sisters there. Soon after she converted to Islam. Interestingly enough, these experiences mirror reports of many missionaries and Christian converts in the Middle East who also claim that dreams are playing a significant role in Muslims converting to Christianity. Furthermore, there is evidence that dreams have frequently played a role in conversions throughout history, including the mass conversion of Anglo-Saxons to Christianity in the 7th-century. What does the reality of these experiences mean when they seem to lead in different convictional directions?

Further, while Kripal’s points about consciousness and the sacred prove a potent corrective, they cannot stand on their own in the study of religion. Even if Kripal himself is not concerned with religion as a social construct, we cannot neglect the social realities of religion. In fact, rather than treating the human as two (and one), perhaps we should theorize the human as three (and one). First, as a “conscious subject” (which Kripal makes us critically aware of); second, as an “embodied physicality”; and third, as a “socially constructed being” shaped by their social context and a conscience collective (to invoke Durkheim).

Regardless of these critiques and ruminations on my part, Kripal’s theory deserves attention and examination on the part of religious studies scholars. There certainly is no easy answer in dealing with such complex discussions such as human consciousness and religious reality, but that is no reason why we should not pursue it from multiple perspectives and ends, which Kripal worthily invites us to do.

Why should we keep paying attention to Otto?

 

Is it necessary, helpful even, to only study religion if you are not religious? Does the secular scholar of, say Hinduism, stand to be a better scholar than another with the same training but who happens to personally be Hindu? Does having a personal involvement in the group that one is studying assist one in understanding Otto’s numinous?

 

 

Why should we keep paying attention to Otto?

By Chris Duncan

Published by the Religious Studies Project, on 14th November, 2012 in response to the Religious Studies Project Interview with Robert Orsi on Rudolf Otto (12 November 2012).

In this interview with Robert Orsi, Religious Studies Professor from Northwestern University, Jonathon and Dr. Orsi discuss the seemingly evergreen writer Rudolf Otto. After a brief discussion over Otto’s more well-known ideas of the numinous and mysterium tremendum the two hit on an intriguing line of talk, one that I have been mulling over in the back of my mind for several months now without really ever noticing it much: as scholars of religion, should we ourselves be religious? Further, if we should be religious, should we be practitioners of the groups that we study? Naturally, I am restricting my definition of “we” to mean those who are non-theologians; perhaps scientists of religion would be apt also.

I have always personally held the position that no scholar of religion could honestly use that title if they were themselves religious. Maybe because specifically, the secular, non-biased scholarship was, to my eye, more brutally honest or willing to discuss the positives in addition to the negatives of particular religious traditions rather than  trying to explain away the negatives. However, recently and unknowingly I may have been changing my mind. For, could someone who studies humans not also be human; must someone who studies Germans not have any form of German connections? Or, as I am beginning to think, does having a personal zeal and insider understanding of a religious tradition make one a more suitable observer/scholar?

The argument over whether religious studies should be either theological or secular study has been an on-going process for decades now, with secular study having held the upper hand for the majority of that time. With the boom of the natural sciences in the late 19th and early 20th centuries came the separation of those who study religion in order to actively participate within it, and those who study religion for non-theological purposes. In 1963, the National Association of Bible Instructors changed its name to the American Academy of Religion, and since then there has continued a steady march towards secular, non-religious scholarly study of religions. However, in the journal of this same organization, the September 2012 edition, Donald Wiebe and Luther Martin lament that though platitudes of secular, unbiased study are tossed about in public, in execution, university programs, particularly American programs, “all reveal a continuing influence of theology on the field [of religious studies] worldwide.” So, what is one to do? Is it necessary, helpful even, to only study religion if you are not religious? Does the secular scholar of, say Hinduism, stand to be a better scholar than another with the same training but who happens to personally be Hindu? Does having a personal involvement in the group that one is studying assist one in understanding Otto’s numinous?

No to the first two, but to the last; maybe.

Undeniably there must be some form of separation from observer and the object of observation but rather than have an argument over the theological or secular study of religion, perhaps scholars should be focused on a more narrow question: why does our field consider that a scholar must be Richard Dawkins-like in order to study religion? Is it not possible to study, say American Pentecostals, from an extremely in-depth, personal platform without considering this to be theology? So long as the scholar is clear about bracketing their personal ties to their subject, there should be no problem with a devout Muslim teaching courses on Islam, indeed who would be better to write a chapter on Islam than a Muslim? Perhaps our beloved field should be less concerned with labeling scholars and worrying what their personal influences MIGHT be and stick to examining the output of scholars. By continuing this internal struggle over how best to regulate the study of religion, scholars are willingly allowing our field to crumble and be overtaken by Anthropology and the Cognitive Sciences. In short, a house divided falls entirely; so let us allow theologians to preach, independently we scientists of religion can continue to write and to teach and then we can critique the finished product rather than becoming manic, wondering how to best defend ourselves from the bullies who want our funding. If religious studies is on par with the other sciences (which I believe it is) why do we not simply allow our work to speak for itself and stop being so scared of our colleagues’ possible ulterior motives? Rather than continue to debate whether Otto wrote theology or secular, scientific works on religion, let’s simply use what he wrote in the most useful manner that we can muster.

 

 

Reference:

Martin, Luther H., & Wiebe, Donald. (2012). Religious Studies as a Scientific Discipline: The Persistence of a Delusion. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 3, 587.

This material is disseminated under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. and can be distributed and utilised freely, provided full citation is given.

 

About the Author:

Chris Duncan is currently in the final year of the undergrad Religious Studies program at Arizona State University, with an emphasis on Hinduism. He will be moving into the  Graduate program in the same field next year.

Rudolf Otto

Rudolf Otto was a highly influential figure in the history of Religious Studies, but whether that influence was for good or not is a debatable issue. His ideas about the sui generis nature of the religious experience and of an irreductible numinous or sacred foreshadow the work of scholars such as Eliade, but proved highly divisive for scholars and practitioners alike.

In this interview with Jonathan, Robert Orsi talks us through who Otto was, and why his ideas proved controversial. They then discuss whether scholars should still be paying attention to Otto – do his ideas still matter today?

You can also download this interview, and subscribe to our weekly podcast, on iTunes. And if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to rate us.

Robert Orsi is the first holder of the Grace Craddock Nagle Chair in Catholic Studies. Before coming to Northwestern, he taught at Fordham University at Lincoln Center from 1981 to 1988; Indiana University from 1988 to 2001; and Harvard Divinity School and Harvard University from 2001 to 2007, where he was Chair of the Committee on the Study of Religion in the Faculty of Arts and Sciences (2003-2007). In 2002-2003, he was president of the American Academy of Religion. Professor Orsi studies America religious history and contemporary practice; American Catholicism in both historical and ethnographic perspective; and he is widely recognized also for his work on theory and method for the study of religion.

In 2004 Robert Orsi published Between Heaven and Earth: The Religious Worlds People Make and the Scholars Who Study Them which received an Award for Excellence in the Study of Religion from the American Academy of Religion and was one of Choice’s Outstanding Academic Titles for 2005. More recently he published The Cambridge Companion to Religious Studies.