When Roland Barthes asserts that “to look to ‘authorship’ as the decisive clue to meaning […] is misleading in that it constitutes an attempt ‘to impose a limit’ on the text,” I want to ask him why he feels that texts should be limitless (133). And yet, I remain a fan of the way in which his argument champions meaning as the product of a reader-text relationship (133). In combination with the readings from previous weeks, Clark’s chapters have reinforced the “academic dilemma” that I have known to be mine for a while now: I am not comfortable with absolutism or relativism as theories of interpretation.
It has been good to think about this issue alongside Clark’s presentation. In “Texts and Contexts,” her survey of several theorists and each one’s approach to interpretation is helpful. Her discussion is detailed and makes a point of candidly talking about some of the major shifts that have taken place in how academics have thought about “a(A)uthor,” “text” and “context.” The “hermeneutic timeline” that this second feature creates is especially useful in the way that it assists the reader in tracing different theoretical movements to contemporary modes. This plotting of analytical trends has helped me to better understand these movements, particularly in their shift from prioritizing the author’s authority to the reader’s (133).
One thing that I think Clark fails to adequately discuss, however, is the extent to which this shift is rightfully evidenced with respect to texts that claim to be divinely inspired. Admittedly, she does explicitly underline a few of the ways in which historical writings of early Christianity (her area of focus) “provide excellent material for pondering Foucault’s question, ‘What is an Author?’” (170). She even goes as far to mention that the Bible’s claim of divine authorship was taken very seriously by both early Christian writers and readers (170). What I find unsatisfying, however, is the way in which she dismisses this conviction as “misguided” as far as “later perspectives” are concerned (170). I have to say that after reading this statement in light of everything else that this course has exposed me to thus far, I find the attitude that it expresses problematic.
Bynum’s advocacy of taking the text (be it literary or phenomenological) on its own terms, for example, helps us to see the mistakes that are made when we seek to explain away those textual elements that make understanding difficult by appealing to our own feelings of intellectual “superiority” (Holy Feast…7). I am not confident that Clark’s appeal to “later perspectives” is free of such mistakes. I am also not confident that I understand what seems to be her rebuttal to this point, namely, that there is no such thing as taking the text “in itself” because reading always equals extracting the text from its original context and then reinserting it (144). If this does discount my appeal to Bynum, does it discount my appeal to Van Voorst? He encourages an insider-outsider approach to scripture and I wonder how much can be drawn out/understood of a text, particularly one that claims to be divinely inspired, if this stance is not adopted (Anthology of World Scriptures…16)? What is lost and does it outweigh what is gained?
I am frustrated by these questions—a little because I feel as though the question of “divine-authorship/inspiration” is not scientifically verifiable, and a lot because I am not clear on the role that scientifically verified information must play in the study of religion. It sounds like a cliché, and I cringe a little as I type this, but just because we cannot scientifically prove that something exists, does not automatically mean that it does not exist. Right? If this is right than how do we avoid producing scholarship that speaks as though it isn’t right? Is this resonating with anybody else? Or do I feel this way because I am studying Marian apparitions and have a hard time completely discounting these “divine visitations” as the “misguided” delusions of an earlier perspective?
I can admit that my critique of Clark evidences my preference for the academic approaches upheld by Bynum and Van Voorst, and I can also admit that my preference for these approaches stems from the value that I see in adopting an insider-outsider perspective. And I think that ultimately, these biases originate in my desire to know. The “metaphysical assumption” that Derrida believes haunts an individual that feels the need to “locate one particular and exclusive context in order to understand a text,” is one that I personally make nearly every time I engage in research, in writing, in reading (142). I do not think that “there is no such thing as a wrong answer” when it comes to historical work and while this thought does not necessitate a belief in one Truth, I notice that with myself, it usually does. Is this a fault or is this a valid stance? If it is legitimate, is it always or is it only under certain circumstances?
I wonder about this last question because at the same time that I am researching, writing and reading against the backdrop of the “metaphysical assumption” that I am prone to make, I am engaging in these activities because I am also driven by Derrida’s “poverty of hermeneutics” (143). "Original meaning"--how would we ever find it and if we did, would we recognize it? (143). I have experienced texts that have “contradictory and heterogeneous elements” that seem to require multiple interpretations (132). I also sympathize with Barthes’ notion that the reader is the text’s dialogical partner (133, 143). But, what to do about Truth and its role in all of this…I just don’t know.
5 comments:
Natalie, I found your questions involving the role of science in the study of religion very thought provoking. I want to address this specific passage that you wrote:
"It sounds like a cliché, and I cringe a little as I type this, but just because we cannot scientifically prove that something exists, does not automatically mean that it does not exist. Right?"
I would affirm your "right," and I think that this is an important acknowledgment for many scholars of religion. I myself work within a mystical tradition, so this idea is important to address. I find this quote from Sir Muhammad Iqbal's "The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam" to be extremely helpful:
"Religion is not physics or chemistry seeking an explanation of nature in terms of causation; it really aims at interpreting a totally different region of human experience- religious experience- the data of which cannot be reduced to the data of any other science." (p. 25)
Religion, specifically for him faith and/or religious intuition, is a mode of knowledge distinct from empirically grounded scientific knowledge. Therefore it is unfair to suggest that religious knowledge/experience must be verified in terms of scientific knowledge. In fact, he says that religious/intuition knowledge and scientific knowledge are two sides of the same coin. They both have as their object the same Reality, but the first views it in totality while the second views it in pieces.
I find this a useful stance to adopt when discussing mystical modes of knowledge. Working within the system I naturally assume that intuitional knowledge is a mode of knowledge separate from scientific knowledge and just as valid. And perhaps a variation on it would be for helpful for you when discussing Marian apparitions. Perhaps a sociologist or a psychologist or an anthropologist would take a different approach, i.e. reject this method, but this does not mean my approach would be wrong. Our intent would be different and therefore our approach to the subject matter would be different.
Natalie, this was a pleasure to read! You bring up so many great points.
"just because we cannot scientifically prove
that something exists,
does not automatically
mean that it does not exist"
I believe that we can't - even in the sciences, there are no absolutes.
It took me a long time to learn that; I was so naive and over trusting of the "absolute" power of science. After a fair bit of reading and actually dialoguing with scientists, I have learned that the only absolutes that we can claim are high probabilities and correlations. This is why I have become more liberal in my thinking and prompt scholars to consider that knowledge has nothing
to do with whether or not it is "provable" in our "superior" world view.
If one of the women in my support groups shares that she is afraid of "monsters" or "voices" in her closet, I could never do my work as a counsellor if I deny her reality.
If a text speaks of realities that we cannot understand, or "prove", I find it an unwise and pretentious move on our behalf to just do away with it.
A minor note,
In the beginning of your article, you mention your appreciation of Barthes' definition of meaning (as a product of reader/text relationship. Yet when you expressed your discomfort with absolutism or relativism as theories of interpretation, I was a bit confused; doesn't Barthes' definition match with a relativist
theory of interpretation? Correct me if I am mistaken about your point.
Rebekah and Jessy, thanks so much for your comments.
To Rebekah, it was good to hear about how you have been approaching your own area of interest within a mystical tradition. It helps me in thinking about what individuals engaged in this kind of scholarship can claim as valid sources or, as you say, "modes" of knowledge. The quotation that you offer from Sir Muhammad Iqbal was definitely useful in articulating one such view.
To Jessy, I definitely know what you mean about being confused when I express appreciation for Barthes theory! I am confused as well and that was what I was hoping to articulate! I sympathize with the "meaning" portion of his theory and find that this creates a tension within me because I also sympathize with an absolutist's stance on Meaning. All this to say that I don't know what to about the fact that I believe in meaning and Meaning! I was doubtful of whether or not I was being clear when I was writing about this in my blog...hopefully I'm being clearer here!
Natalie, your blog invoked many interesting and complicated questions this week. I'm not sure with which one I should begin. That said, I read through the comments posted thus far and noted a common interest: "just because we cannot scientifically prove that something exists, does not automatically mean that it does not exist".
Which is better: (a) because we can't prove something exists we take it not to exist, or (b) because we can't prove something exists we take it to exist. For me, the role of the academic is to be both critical and skeptical. Acknowledging that something we cannot prove is real is poor scholarship. However, acknowledging that others 'considered' it real should be quite acceptable. If Augustine believed in a triune-God, than one should pursue his work assuming its truth. But, when questions of supersensible entities enter scholarship, their truth, unless rigorously proven, should not affect good judgment. Kant knew that we could't know anything beyond the world, why is it so hard for people to realize that?!
Natalie,
I agree with you, I also was a bit taken back when reading Clark’s dismissal of the early Christian writers and later readers willingness to endorse an apostle’s authority on a text. What I would like to know is if she implying that these early Christians knew that certain apostles were not the true authors of a text, but decided to accept it anyway?
What kind of approach should scholarship take in addressing questions of divine authorship or divine inspiration? To address your already well-addressed question, I do think just because something is not scientifically proven doesn’t mean it cannot and does not exist. Is there not a way to study these kinds of texts, or in your case Marian apparitions, without discounting the believers views of divine inspiration or visitations?
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