Comparative Theology: A Critical and Methodological Perspective 9789004358461, 9004358463

Table of contents :
Intro
Contents
Comparative Theology: A Critical and Methodological Perspective
Abstract
Keywords
Introduction
Part 1: Defining, Exploring, and Mapping a Field
The Old, the New, the Historical, and the Global
Key Figures: Comparative Theology and Comparative Religion
Comparative Theology and the Theology of Religions
Comparative Theology as Theology and Method
Comparative Theology and Ecclesial and Academic Structures
Conclusion
Part 2: Comparative Theology after Religion
Introduction
Deconstructing Religion
Material and Lived Religion Rethinking Comparative Theology after ReligionPart 3: Discourses on Power and Representation
Power and the Subaltern
Whose Tradition? Whose Voices?
Gender in Comparative Theology
Comparative Theology as Subversive
Queer Religious Identity and the Comparative Project
Conclusion
Part 4: Comparative Theology, Hermeneutics, and Interpretation
Introduction
Grounding Comparative Theology in Philosophical Hermeneutics
Hermeneutics: Methods and Lenses
Conclusion
Concluding Reflections
Critical Bibliography

Citation preview

Comparative Theology

Theology Editor-in-Chief Stephan van Erp (KU Leuven, Belgium) Associate Editors Christian Bauer (University of Innsbruck) David Grumett (University of Edinburgh) Paul Hedges (Nanyang Technological University, Singapore) Kristien Justaert (KU Leuven) Vincent Lloyd (Villanova University) Amos Yong (Fuller Theological Seminary)

Volumes published in this Brill Research Perspectives title are listed at brill.com/rpth

Comparative Theology A Critical and Methodological Perspective By

Paul Hedges

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Originally published as Volume 1.1 (2017) in Brill Research Perspectives in Theology, DOI 10.1163/24683493-12340001 Library of Congress Control Number: 2017956157

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. ISBN 978-90-04-35845-4 (paperback) ISBN 978-90-04-35846-1 (e-book) Copyright 2017 by Paul Hedges. Published by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Comparative Theology A Critical and Methodological Perspective 1 Paul Hedges Abstract 1 Keywords 1 Introduction 2 Part 1: Defining, Exploring, and Mapping a Field 5 The Old, the New, the Historical, and the Global 5 Key Figures: Comparative Theology and Comparative Religion 10 Comparative Theology and the Theology of Religions 15 Comparative Theology as Theology and Method 19 Comparative Theology and Ecclesial and Academic Structures 24 Conclusion 26 Part 2: Comparative Theology after Religion 27 Introduction 27 Deconstructing Religion 28 Material and Lived Religion 36 Rethinking Comparative Theology after Religion 38 Part 3: Discourses on Power and Representation 40 Power and the Subaltern 40 Whose Tradition? Whose Voices? 42 Gender in Comparative Theology 47 Comparative Theology as Subversive 50 Queer Religious Identity and the Comparative Project 53 Conclusion 58 Part 4: Comparative Theology, Hermeneutics, and Interpretation 58 Introduction 58 Grounding Comparative Theology in Philosophical Hermeneutics 62 Hermeneutics: Methods and Lenses 66 Conclusion 72 Concluding Reflections 73 Critical Bibliography 75

Comparative Theology

A Critical and Methodological Perspective Paul Hedges

S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore [email protected]

Abstract The nature and field of comparative theology is mapped with particular attention to the tradition associated with Francis Clooney but noting the global and wider context of theology in a comparative mode. There are four main parts. Firstly, mapping the current field and exploring its methodological and theological aspects, with particular attention to global and intercultural theologies, comparative religion, and the theology of religions. Secondly, considering what the deconstruction of religion means for comparative theology and how the term “religion” may be deployed and understood after this. It also takes into consideration turns to lived and material religion. Thirdly, issues of power, representation, and the subaltern are considered, including the place of feminist and queer theory in comparative theology. Finally, an original and constructive discussion on philosophical hermeneutics, as well as the way certain hermeneutical lenses can bring issues into focus for the comparative theologian, is offered. The text notes key trends, develops original models of practice and method, and picks out and discusses critical issues and lacunae within the field.

Keywords hermeneutics – postcolonialism – gender – Francis Clooney – religion – methodology – lived religion – subaltern – liberation – Hans-Georg Gadamer

© paul hedges, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004358461_002

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Introduction1 In 1995 Francis X. Clooney published an overview of the field where he noted that “Comparative theology is an exciting and quickly developing field, and a relatively uncharted one” (Clooney 1995: 521). His paper could be said to mark the emergence of the contemporary discipline and practice of comparative theology onto the academic stage. A further step was taken in 2006 when Clooney introduced the Comparative Theology Group at the American Academy of Religion, while the Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology includes a chapter on comparative theology marking its recognition in wider theological reflections (Clooney 2007). Of course, comparative theology is not new and has precedents that extend back into the nineteenth century and before. In this essay I do not intend to pursue historical questions, and so the focus shall be on the contemporary practice, except in as far as the latter can help shed light on contemporary and future trends and practices. As such, it is addressed briefly in Part 1. Further, I also do not intend to replicate Clooney’s monumental literature review; in about thirty pages he covered six years of books, articles, conferences, and blogs, etc. Writings on comparative theology have multiplied exponentially since then making such a mapping task impossible. Further, Clooney’s aim in writing then was to help map and plot an essentially new field of exploration that stood very much at the fringes of theology, and was perhaps viewed with considerable suspicion. In contrast, the intervening twenty plus years have seen comparative theology becoming, I would suggest, an accepted (even if not mainstream) part of theology. Its concerns with the religious Other, and intercultural dialogue more broadly, have become matters of central focus not just in theology but in other areas of the academy, and in the world at large. My approach, therefore, will be more thematic and also attempt to pick up lacunae in comparative theology as it stands and look at likely future directions and prospects. Further, I cannot hope to engage the entire range of practices nor survey every type of work undertaken, therefore the focus here will primarily be questions of methodology. Before outlining the text I will address a set of critical issues around the way that comparative theology is represented here; many of these are addressed through the text but need highlighting here. I should note that certain limits or assumptions may be said to lie behind this work. Firstly, given the limitations of space, and also its role as part of the 1  I would like to thank a number of colleagues who have commented on the whole or parts of this project as it has been in preparation, in particular Francis Clooney, Marion Grau, Hugh Nicholson, Michelle Voss Roberts, Klaus von Stoch, Jon Paul Sydnor, and John Thatamanil.

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Brill Research Perspectives in Theology series to provide a critical overview of a field, I am limiting the range of what I take to be comparative theology for the purposes of this text. That is to say, I will focus upon what has become the mainstream academic discipline which may be said to be centred largely around Clooney, but including other major figures such as James Fredericks, and relating to a somewhat wider field that also takes in David Burrell, Robert Neville, Keith Ward, and others. This recognises that when most people employ the term comparative theology these days, either in their own practice or as a descriptive term, they are speaking about these figures and their way of doing comparative theology. However, this may paint the discipline as primarily a modern, Western, elite, academic discourse exemplified by certain foundational patriarchs. It is certainly not my intention to delimit or prescribe such a field. Therefore as I proceed I will show the limits of seeing comparative theology in this way. While having partly used the first part to set up this picture of the field the subsequent parts will look beyond it, asking questions about the way it represents religious traditions, subaltern voices, gender issues, how queer theory may be employed, and looking at liberative narratives that would displace any notion of a “central tradition”. Another limit to the work is that I will mainly engage the English speaking traditions of comparative theology, which partly reflects a strong American, and to a lesser extent British, involvement in writing comparative theology. There is also a very strong mainland European comparative theological tradition, especially in the German speaking world and in the Low Countries. This tradition is not neglected though, and many leading voices in it have texts written in English which are engaged, and so such figures as Martien Brinkmann, Marianne Moyaert, Perry SchmidtLeukel, Klaus von Stosch, and Ulrich Winkler are also part of the discussion. Related to the concern just raised is where we draw the limits of what is and is not comparative theology. There are certainly a range of terms for related work for instance intercultural theology, theology of religions, inculturation, contextual theology, cross-cultural theologies, or Multiple Religious Belonging. If we look, for instance, at a book like M. Thomas Thangaraj’s The Crucified Guru: An Experiment in Cross-Cultural Christology (Thangaraj 1994) are we looking at a work of comparative theology? Thangaraj places his work in relation to Indian Christian theologies that have arisen to locate the Christian tradition within India where native Indian traditions may inform the way that Christianity is understood and practiced (Thangaraj 1994: 21), whereas Clooney works as a Western Christian reading Hindu texts to cross over and return to inform his own Western tradition and readings of Christianity. I will not attempt to provide any clear cut or hard and fast rules about what distinguishes one theological category from another. I believe any such attempt would be

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arbitrary; however, as we proceed I will engage these questions. Further, theology in a comparative mode has always been going on. It is not a new endeavour. Christians have read the works of non-Christians and integrated their ideas and rethought Christian concepts in the light of them throughout the full history of the tradition. Indeed, there is not and cannot be any “pure” Christian tradition which lacks a comparative element. As such, while I am delimiting one particular strand with its own provenance and name I do not wish to suggest that it is thereby distinguished from other ways, contexts, or modes of doing theology. A further issue is that this text is written very consciously into a discipline that is dominated by Christian theological writing. While there are non-Christians who write comparative theology (e.g. Long 2010) they are the exception. What is said here situates itself therefore within the context of the way that Christian theologians have engaged these issues, and is written to a presumed audience of Christian theologians, students of Christian theology, and those interested in the way that Christians have engaged these issues. I do not though wish to suggest that only Christians can engage in such comparative work, nor that Christian practices and methods should be a norm. Before mapping out the text, it should be noted that if anyone comes to this text looking for an example of comparative theology as practised they will be disappointed. This text explicitly deals with method: it is a text about comparative theology, rather than a text of comparative theology. One reason is that most works in the genre do the latter, and so the reader can very readily find examples of the practice. Another, is that as I argue throughout there has been insufficient attention to method in the practice; though it may be argued with some reason that the method can be seen through the practice, a matter taken up later. Nevertheless, for the purpose of this text, attention is placed on what comparative theologians do and the questions of power, method, and hermeneutics that surround this. Finally, I will map out the text. Part 1 begins by mapping the field. Although I note a global and wide potential for looking at comparative theology, I limit myself for the purposes of this text to a particular time, place, and lineage. This will allow us to clearly get a sense of the method and practice of comparative theology as a contemporary academic practice. Having said that I will, as necessary, include figures in the discussion who may not describe themselves as comparative theologians nor see themselves as aligned with Clooney’s practice. This reflects the fact that I take it that doing theology in a comparative mode is much wider than the specific discipline that locates itself as comparative theology today. I will tackle a range of issues here including the relationship to comparative religion, the theology of religions, and theology more widely. The

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second part looks at criticism of the term “religion” and how this affects a tradition which presumes to speak across religious worlds. It will both address the deconstruction of religion and how this affects the discipline as well as tackling the textual focus that much comparative theology has had. The third part is entitled “Discourses on Power and Representation” and looks at the way that certain elite discourses or representations can be perpetuated by comparative theology, bringing the notion of the subaltern to the fore. Postcolonial, feminist, gender, and queer theory are all brought in as tools to help question the way that the discipline is practiced. Part 4 turns to address interpretation, and proposes a philosophical hermeneutical framework. This involves addressing questions about the possibility of interreligious translation and understanding drawing from such thinkers as Hans-Georg Gadamer, Paul Ricoeur, and Ludwig Wittgenstein, but also using hermeneutical lenses which will help comparative theologians in their methodological work. This draws upon the theology of Musa Dube, concepts of hospitality, and Brinkmann’s notion of “double transformation”. A final short set of “Concluding Reflections” draws the themes of the book together. It may be noted that the text could have been presented in reverse: exploring first the philosophical bases that make comparative work possible, next looking at the voices often silenced which need to be heard, next asking what we mean by religion, before finally presenting a methodology for the endeavour. However, the text has decided to first map the field and then problematise and question it, as well as seeking to see how it may proceed and understand its work; hence the current structure. To note, this text avoids the use of diacritics in transliterations. The reason for this is that diacritics can be obscure to readers unfamiliar with the particular language rendered, while experts do not need them to recognise the terms.

Part 1: Defining, Exploring, and Mapping a Field

The Old, the New, the Historical, and the Global The emergence of a new discourse on comparative theology in the late twentieth and into the twenty-first century has led to a distinction drawn between what is sometimes termed the old comparative theology (OCT) and the new comparative theology (NCT). The former was the often polemical, though supposedly “scientific”, analysis of Christianity and other “World Religions” (see Part 2 on this problematic phrase) carried out by nineteenth century theologians where the comparison was intended to highlight the truths and superiority of Christianity. The latter is very much a late twentieth century venture, which has become more prevalent in the twenty-first, where two or more

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religions are compared not in a spirit of contestation but for mutual learning and enquiry. Truth claims may be placed to one side, or ways of interpreting explored without competition, to see what light can be shed on the home tradition in the light of the Other. This, however, does not exhaust the scope of what is contemporarily termed comparative theology but encompasses what can be spoken of as its most mainstream and influential expressions. Moreover, it does not look at the wider nature and diversity of Christian theological thought in global and historical contexts. We will address below some of these various streams. Before turning to discuss some of the different forms of comparative theology and their practice, it is worthwhile to firstly consider the distinction between the so-called old and new comparative theologies and to position the discussion historically. In some senses, it can be argued, that theology in comparative mode is as old as theology itself. This is an argument taken up by such figures as John Renard and Robert C. Neville (see Stosch 2016: 163, referencing Renard 1998: 3 and Neville 1991: 4; see also Hedges 2010: 39–40, 109–12, 133–43, 230–53, and Leirvik 2014: 123–38). No system is created out of nowhere, and as such Christian theology – or for that matter any theology whether it be Buddhist, Daoist, or Islamic (accepting the limitations of speaking of this very Christian discipline, and its terminological baggage, in relation to these other traditions) – has always been engaged in some form of comparative exercise, or learning from the religious and cultural Other. Whether this be the employment of Neo-Platonism by many early Church Fathers, or Thomas Aquinas’ adoption of Ibn Sina’s formulation of Aristotelianism, the religious Other has always been present in Christian theology. Indeed, the biblical text is itself a reflection of this, as is true for all religious texts or scriptures. However, this is not a line I wish to go down here but I will return to it again. Nevertheless, it is important to bear in mind because although we will here be speaking about a seemingly modern phenomenon of a very conscious reading of Christian texts alongside the religious Other (which carries its own problems which we discuss in due course), it is not a modern endeavour alone. We may bring to mind here Paul Tillich’s concept of the Theology of Correlation which refers to the ways theological concepts and prevailing worldviews or cultures are related. While he notes it is something he has named and uses as a specific methodology (and so becomes a modern endeavour by relating Christianity to contemporary worldviews, especially existentialism) the relating of Christianity to culture is not new (Tillich 1968 I: 67–68). Christianity, and theology, must and can only ever exist within a cultural context, and this means making sense of the traditions within the worldview and cultural framework of the time. Likewise, while comparative theology is a new term, it simply expresses a facet

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that has inevitably always been part of the Christian tradition. However, we must not neglect that our particular contemporary context may affect the way that comparative theology is practiced today. In relation to the distinction between the OCT and the NCT, it is perhaps most thoroughly worked through by Hugh Nicholson (2011). His distinction is not simply a chronological one but also a methodological one. Chronologically, the OCT is that discipline which began in the nineteenth century when Christian scholars and theologians, mainly from Europe, looked “East” and, as implied in the name, compared their own native Christian tradition to what were becoming known as the other “World Religions”. Such figures as the British theologians Rowland Williams, Frederick Denison Maurice, F. Max Müller, and the American James Clarke are representative names (Williams 1856, Maurice 1856, Müller 1873, and Clarke 1876; see Hedges 2001). Meanwhile the NCT refers to specific writers in the late twentieth and into the twenty-first centuries. The literature surveyed in Clooney’s review would typify this (Clooney 1995). Clooney is himself a foundational figure alongside Keith Ward and Neville as perhaps the three major early figures in the NCT. However, many other significant writers have come up behind them. Methodologically, the distinction is between an OCT that while purporting to “scientific” impartiality was actually a form of Christian hegemonic discourse in which criteria were unreflexively chosen that would show that Christianity was the “true religion”, and a more reflexive and humble NCT. That is to say, in the latter, the writers do not use the discipline as a form of apology or rhetoric to show the superiority of the Christian tradition. Neither are criteria taken from the home tradition by which to judge the religious Other. Nicholson, taking Clooney’s style of comparative theology as his marker, sees the aim as being one of learning; the Christian theologian engages in an empathetic study of the Other to bring back insights and learning tools to refresh and renew her home tradition. Two points may be picked up from the discussion above. Firstly, Nicholson ties his discussion on this into what he calls the “political”, suggesting that while distinct from the earlier OCT, the NCT remains haunted by the possibility of the methodological failures of the former. We shall deal with issues related to this in Part 3, especially Nicholson’s more political arguments. Secondly, it has been argued that the sharp distinction that Nicholson draws between the OCT and the NCT is not so dramatic or sharply defined (Hedges 2012a). Briefly, I note three points. First, the idea that all writers of the OCT simply denigrated other religions to show Christian superiority is not true. A theologian like Rowland Williams wrote very sympathetically on the Hindu tradition and came to recognise that it too could have “revelation” (Williams 1856, see Hedges 2016f), while Müller envisaged a new Christianity developing in the

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future which would combine the best characteristics of all religions and so it would be transformed in the encounter (see Hedges 2001: 118–25, 2008b). The aims and methods of the OCT and the NCT are not therefore entirely distinct.2 Second, the question of what is a “religion” or a “world religion”, which is contested terminology, was shaped by the discussions in the OCT in a way which, it can be argued, undermined Christian hegemony; if other religions could have “revelation” or if Christianity would be transformed in the encounter with religious Others it was not alone the source of all truth (see Hedges 2012a). Third, it has tentatively been suggested that one reason why the NCT has primarily been a North American venture, at least until recently, is because Europe has a memory of the OCT that has made it wary of such comparative discourse which can too easily slip over into hegemonic discourse, and would thus be seen as apologetics rather than a work of scholarship (Hedges 2012a: 1133–34). Of course, it has never gone away and Ward is one example, while it may be suggested that figures like Louis Massignon were undertaking comparative theological work early in the twentieth century.3 With this said, our focus here will be only those traditions and theologians which can be spoken about within the terms of the NCT. However, because as I have noted, I am not convinced that a sharp distinction divides the OCT from the NCT I will refer instead to the contemporary practice of comparative theology, which I will simply call comparative theology. However, before we proceed, a sharp and important caveat needs to be noted. While I will focus in this text upon a particular Western academic lineage of comparative theology I do not mean thereby to suggest that it is normative nor definitive. Indeed, as I noted above, what we can call theology in a comparative mode has been a normative aspect of many periods and places: when the churches that did not accept Chalcedon orthodoxy (often mistakenly termed “Nestorian”) journeyed across Asia they adapted and learned from 2  As a side note, we should not disparage unnecessarily many nineteenth century works of comparative theology, such as that of Maurice who saw every religion as having one major idea or theme and hence is out of line with our suggestions, because these are works of their time and did sterling service in creating a more open approach to other faiths and increasing understanding and appreciation (see Maurice 1886; on Maurice’s “theology of religions” see Hedges 2001: 51–63, and for an appreciation of how we can approach the works of our forebears with an eye to their times, see Hedges 2008b). 3  I am thankful to Klaus von Stosch for the suggestion about seeing Massignon as a form of early twentieth century comparative theology. Ward meanwhile used the term “comparative theology” before we see the stream coming from Clooney that Nicholson sees as definitive of the NCT. Nevertheless, Ward may be seen as something of an outlier on the European scene, while Massignon did not use the term to describe his work.

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local cultures and religious pathways, indeed to such an extent that Martin Palmer has suggested we can speak of a “Taoist Christianity” (Palmer 2001);4 in nineteenth century India various Christian converts believed that they could draw inspiration from their own Hindu past, including its scriptural resources and philosophical concepts, to help inspire a new form of Indian Christianity, with figures such as Krishna Mohun Banerjea and Brahmabandhab Upadhyay being exemplars (see Hedges 2001: 144–49, and 152–54 respectively); again, the contemporary African theologian Benezet Bujo has spoken of Christ as a “proto-ancestor” linking him and Christian thought to African traditions of ancestor veneration (see Parratt 1995). These three examples are far from exhaustive, and each shows a way that Christian theology has engaged with, and developed concepts from, the religious Other. Certainly, we would not typically speak of these examples as comparative theology, and terms such as intercultural theology, inculturation, indigenisation, and contextual theology may be invoked to position or classify them. Such markers may serve several functions. Some, such as contextual theology, are used to show that these things may have a place or might be of interest to some particular group or location but may not be of interest to the wider theological world; it serves as such to prioritise and maintain the predominance and prestige of what is assumed to be a normative and universal (white, male) Western theological discipline (Hedges 2010: 44–47). More innocently (but not innocent), the terms may demarcate certain academic domains, such that certain figures may see their work within the remit of comparative theology rather than intercultural theology, just as some people work on early church history rather than medieval church history. While helpful in some ways (you know what type of work is undertaken by these markers) they may also delimit certain things as being of interest to some groups but not others, and thereby become part of allocations of funding, power differentials, and prestige. We therefore need to ask questions about why we see certain things as being within the remit of comparative theology, who gets to determine these boundaries, and what is or is not excluded? With that said, I dedicate most of this part to tracing a lineage of the normative academic pedigree of what is recognised as comparative theology that is very white, male, and Western, and arguably focused upon reified traditions and notions of religion that has tended to prioritise elite, literate, male textual lineages as the mainstream focus of concern (on issues related to this see Brecht 2016). In the following parts, though, I will point to limitations and problems with what tends to be recognised and done as comparative theology. 4  Other scholars would question his representation of the extent to which Christianity adapted theologically and for a brief overview and references to other sources, see Bays (2012: 7–11).

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Therefore, what is described below is not taken as the normative or correct way of doing comparative theology. Rather, it sets out what is known and privileged by this name and exists within what is currently the mainstream discourse. Comparative theological work can, and has been, done very differently in other times and places. Indeed, there is no reason why alternative models should not be considered equally authoritative. Key Figures: Comparative Theology and Comparative Religion Three figures, Clooney, Neville, and Ward (Clooney 2010a: 43–47) can be seen as foundational figures for the contemporary practice of comparative theology. Each of these has a different vision for the discipline, although it is Clooney who has been the most influential and largely determines what is meant today when people invoke the term “comparative theology”. Therefore, I will primarily discuss the lineage (if I can term it as such) that follows Clooney. However, even in the contemporary sense it is not a unified school or tradition, and James Fredericks (Clooney 2010a: 49, see Fredericks 2004), Raimon Pannikar (Clooney 2010a: 47–49, see Pannikar 1973), Michelle Voss Roberts (e.g. Voss Roberts 2014), Klaus von Stosch (e.g. Stosch 2012a), Ulrich Winkler (e.g. Winkler 2011), and others have also helped chart some of the different trends within this mainstream exposition. In considering some of the differences, we can say that Clooney’s style of comparative theology refers to a particular form of the theology of religions that seeks to engage in thinking about the Christian faith by comparison with, or in relation to, one or more other religious traditions. In Clooney’s case this means Hinduism, and it entails considerable expertise in both the Christian and Hindu traditions, with a very specialist exploration of select areas (e.g. Clooney 1993, 1996, 2008, see 2010). In this, it differs from the comparative theology of Keith Ward who seeks to show more general similarities between many religions (e.g. Ward 1994, 1999, 2000). Indeed, while he terms his work comparative theology it may be said that Ward’s style is more like a form of comparative religion, although he sees his work as directly theological (Ward 1994: 1). We need to briefly address what the difference may be between these two disciplines. It is often suggested that comparative theology is the meeting place between theology and the academic study of religion (Moyaert 2016a: 250), or sometimes more particularly the discipline of comparative religion (Tracy 1986). Once the mainstay of the academic study of religions, which seeks to approach the phenomenon of religious traditions and practices from a nonconfessional perspective, comparative religion has now fallen from favour in certain circles. We shall discuss some of the reasons for this in Part 2 as it

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involves questions about the very meaning of the category religion itself. But, for the moment, we may note that there are moves to restore comparative religion as a central part of the academic study of religion.5 In brief, it involves seeking the commonalities and linked threads, as well as disjunctions and differences, that can be ascertained in relation to those traditions we commonly term religions. However, whereas comparative theology seeks to stand within one religious tradition and so approaches this from an insider, or devotee, perspective, the scholar of comparative religion stands as an outsider to each tradition and simply observes historical, philosophical, phenomenological, or other categories of comparison. The distinction between comparative theology and comparative religion is therefore one between what may be termed insider and outsider perspectives (accepting the limitations of these terms).6 Or, as Stosch puts it, the “crucial difference” is that comparative theology “asks the question of truth and validity” (Stosch 2016: 165). Taking us back to Ward and Clooney, while the latter’s work requires theological judgements and is done from within a tradition, Ward suggests that anyone, even an atheist, can do comparative theology as he defines it (Ward 1994: 45). Certainly Ward does not see his work as entirely devoid of theological content, but it is done as a pluralist endeavour free from confessional restraint (Ward 1994: 36–49). He believes that normative theological judgements may follow from the investigations, that is to say questions of truth arise. However, he believes that the comparison itself is very much an affair of comparative religion, for it must be set within “human religious activity in general” (Ward 1994: 37). Here, Neville’s own comparative religious project seems much closer to Ward’s approach. In a series of books he asked scholars, rather than devotees or practitioners, from a range of religions to discuss similar themes before applying himself to the task of seeking to make common judgements across the traditions (e.g. Neville 2001). Likewise, with Ward, we see general assessments of what traditions say in ways which are somewhat generic (Ward 1994: 324– 43). However, for Ward this comparative project leads to statements of what is 5  We may note a number of recent edited works and monographs which strongly and credibly argue for ways that comparative religion may return to a central role in the study of religion, e.g. Flood (2004, 2013), Patton and Ray (2000), and Schmidt-Leukel and Nehring (2016). 6  The terms insider and outsider are well known in the study of religion, however, they are generally understood to be deeply problematic. For instance, there may be more of a continuum between levels or degrees of “insiderness” and “outsiderness” than a stark dichotomy. When we discuss Roberts’ notion of “outsiders within” in chapter 3 we will see another way that the problem could be addressed. The classic collection of readings is McCutcheon (1999), while a useful survey of arguments and issues can be found in Hedges and King (2014: 33–7). The edited volume by Chryssides and Gregg (forthcoming) is likely to be an important study.

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held in common and what he terms an “open theology” (Ward 1994: 339–40). It is in some senses a form of global theology seeking to find the truths across all religions. As such, the task of comparison was essentially about seeking to look as objectively as possible, from an outsider perspective, on a particular topic to see what common threads emerged. As such, in Neville and Ward, themes such as revelation, nature, salvation, or others become themes of comparative analysis. Indeed, one interesting result of Neville’s project was that to some extent at least certain scholars refused to play ball; that is to say they argued that the categories proposed were not actually ones native to, applicable to, or intrinsic to the religion they were being asked to comment on (see Schilbrack 2002). We need to stop and dwell on this point for a minute as it will raise at least two very important issues. One of these issues is the fundamental importance of comparative religion, done well, to the comparative theology project. One criticism of the OCT, and indeed one reason why in certain forms comparative religion fell from academic favour, is that it was seen to impose certain conceptions or themes of one tradition onto others. Indeed, this is a criticism which can potentially be raised against Ward’s own comparative theology, that he chose essentially Christian categories into which he then shoehorns other traditions. Alongside this, it was noted that he chose often modern or Western influenced interlocutors who perhaps did not fully represent their tradition. I do not want to enter into the arguments either way as to where we stand on Ward’s project as it is not what we focus on. The point to be made here is that a deep and fully appreciative understanding of the religious traditions engaged is necessary. Clooney stands here as a paradigmatic exemplar as he is a leading scholar of the Srivaishnava traditions of Hinduism with which he normally engages, and is also a widely respected Jesuit theologian within his own Catholic tradition (see Clooney 2006). Certainly, few scholars can be expected to match the extraordinary erudition of a Clooney who would be a leading scholar of either the Hindu or Christian tradition even if he didn’t know the other tradition, or practice comparative theology. The key point, though, is that the engagement with comparative theology must entail a deep enough understanding and awareness of both traditions. I would add as a note here that this need not be deep scriptural knowledge in the style of Clooney, because much religion is practiced at what is often termed the level of Lived Religion, which is the day to day ritual of believers, or is expressed through art (see McGuire 2008); we address this further in later parts. The second issue, and strongly related to the first, is the need to take areas for comparison that will not do violence to the self-understanding of either tradition (Moyaert 2016a: 250). This of course needs an understanding and

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appreciation of the other tradition. Importantly, though, it means that we do not try and find or apply categories to one tradition that do not fit. Here some traditional ways of comparing religions may be noted which may try, for instance, to look at categories like scripture, ritual, priesthood, founders, creedal statements, etc. Indeed, in the contemporary world, when we approach a member of another religion we may typically ask what she believes? However, as contemporary scholarship in the study of religion has increasingly shown this distorts particular religious traditions. Belief, or creedal statements, may not be a central feature. Again, they may not have a priesthood, or indeed any form of leadership, that looks like what we would traditionally envisage a priest to be, hence it may not be a useful concept for comparative dialogue or analysis;7 we will address some further issues around such matters in the next part. Likewise, concepts like revelation, often imposed from a Christian perspective, are not always appropriate fits with other religions. Certainly if applied in a blanket way such terms will significantly distort the conversation. Hindu concepts of what we may roughly call revelation, the hearing of texts by the ancient rishis (sages), is not the same kind of endeavour as the way revelation is understood by Catholics or Protestants, both of whom also have varying interpretations of this (see W. C. Smith 1993). Marianne Moyaert has further stated that without understanding we cannot do theology well, such that: “unsubstantiated or biased knowledge of a foreign religious tradition lead to bad theology” (Moyaert 2017: 186). This is relevant to the differences of style we find between Clooney’s method and that of Ward and Neville. The latter two have both tried to find common points around certain preconceived topics. Clooney’s method, certainly as he describes it, arises in and from the investigation itself. He has suggested a somewhat intuitive model whereby he has a sense that it may be useful to compare two specific texts or thinkers together. (We will say more on this in relation to method below.) This again marks a difference between all three. Neville’s in some senses is the most general, in that a theme is taken, it is then compared across a range of traditions as broad entities; so it may ask what Buddhism, Daoism, or Hinduism has to say on, for example, nature. Ward’s takes a more in depth look by taking a theme which is then explored in a set of traditions by a specific theologian who is taken as a notable or exemplary exponent of that theme within the traditions explored. So it may compare, just for example, Karl Barth, Sri Aurobindo, Mohammed Iqbal, and Abraham Heschel (Ward 1996). Clooney’s work, meanwhile, often tends to be the most 7  Khalil Mohammed discusses some problems this causes in interreligious dialogue if we assume similar levels of institutional leadership (see Mohammed 2015).

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specific, where a particular religious text and its interpretive tradition is taken from one tradition and then compared to a specific text and its interpretive tradition from another tradition (e.g. Clooney 1993, 2013a). However, he has also explored some broader themes such as images of the goddess in Hinduism against the Virgin Mary in Catholicism (2005), or addressing the way that interreligious exploration can help to break down differences and misunderstanding (Clooney 2001). It would be wrong, though, to give the impression that Clooney’s work is the most specific and sophisticated and Neville’s the most general. To give credibility to his comparative project Neville arguably developed the most philosophically sophisticated set of tools for comparative analysis. We will return to discussing related themes when we address hermeneutics, although Neville’s method is more linked to other philosophical trends. We should also note that the comparative religions project is not Neville’s only venture into comparative theology, and in some ways more related to comparative theology is his own work looking at the insights which particularly Confucian thought can provide in relation to process philosophical concepts (e.g. Neville 1980, 2008). As such his work has something of the nature of comparative philosophy. We may mention here also David Burrell who has also forged his own distinctive path generally with historical analyses across three traditions (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam) in terms of a comparative philosophy of religion but always with a distinctly theological focus (see Burrell 1993, 2008, 2011). Having worked through some distinctions, I would like to suggest why my focus will be on Clooney’s comparative theology. Firstly, Clooney’s has been much more thoroughly taken up, which means that if we want to stand within mainstream practices and understandings we need to stick with this. Secondly, and no doubt a reason for the first is that few have felt happy following Ward’s non-confessional approach. Indeed, he distinguishes comparative theology from confessional theology (Ward 1994: 36–42), though he notes they need not exclude each other (Ward 1994: 49). However, it is a fact that most scholars doing comparative theology stand within a tradition, and even if one is sympathetic to Ward’s attempt to bring traditions together it is arguably not the practical way to proceed. It will be suspect both to many who work in comparative theology (not properly theological) and comparative religion (too theological). As such, we will understand comparative theology as starting within a tradition; indeed, Ward certainly notes we cannot begin from nowhere (Ward 1994: 47). To note, I fully recognise the theological nature of Ward’s work, but realise some may not see it as doing theology anymore because of his approach. Thirdly, given our concerns about method, I think there are problems with Ward’s approach of taking grand themes and finding

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the common denominators which will always erase or sideline specificities. These may not always be significant, but the learning often comes from the differences rather than grand synthesising; as noted I might see his approach as more of a global or world theology style rather than comparative theology as understood here (see Smart and Constantine 1996). Fourthly, and somewhat subjectively, I think that richer and fuller understanding and learning both about one’s own tradition and the tradition of the Other is revealed through the kind of depth engagement we see with Clooney’s approach. This may seem to follow from our last point, but here our concern is not with what is lost but what is gained in the comparison. Before proceeding, I would like to draw out a particular methodological insight that relates to the practice of deep comparative religion. This concerns the depth of understanding of what is engaged within the religious Other. As I will discuss in the following parts, the focus of much traditional comparative theology on textual study has been criticised, or supplemented, by a turn to such things as ritual, material religion, and Lived Religion in recent years. This reflects a move from textual study to these other areas in the academy in general. Nevertheless, an understanding of the actual forms of the religion, whether it be the texts studied or ritual practices etc., is essential to the good practice of comparative theology. This is detailed in Clooney’s work where the intense attention to detail of how the religious Other is approached and understood is fundamental to his work, hence the attention on such texts as mimamsa commentarial tradition (see, e.g. Clooney 1993: 23–30, forthcoming b). His reading is how a text is read and understood in the tradition in which it is placed and so it is very different from assumptions that, for instance, we can simply read and compare the “great texts” (i.e. Vedas and Bible) across two traditions. The depth of understanding of a tradition in context is therefore imperative to Clooney’s practice. Hence we often see two, or more, treatises that may be in some ways comparable being compared that belong to complex commentarial traditions (for a short example see, e.g. Clooney 2017). Comparative Theology and the Theology of Religions Another distinction within styles of comparative theology is that while Ward is more explicitly a Christian pluralist theologian who works in the theology of religions, Clooney, like Fredericks, has suggested that comparative theology differs from the theology of religions. It is worth mentioning some key points in this dispute. One question is whether comparative theology is distinct from the theology of religions? Clooney, Fredericks, and Stosch have strongly argued this, while Kristin Kiblinger, Perry Schmidt-Leukel and the current author have argued

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that they are not distinct (for a general overview, see Schmidt-Leukel 2009: 90–91, for arguments since then see Hedges 2010: 52–54, Kiblinger 2010, Stosch 2012b). We can follow two points in this discussion. The first, which I consider settled, is whether comparative theology bypasses the typological types. Well known within theology, the theology of religions typology first advanced as a threefold paradigm by Alan Race, but now often seen in the fourfold form of exclusivism-inclusivisms-pluralisms-particularities, is a standard part of the discussion.8 As Hedges, Kiblinger, and Schmidt-Leukel have convincingly argued comparative theology needs at least an inclusivist, if not pluralist, prejudgement that allows the possibility that the religious Other is engaged. If the religious Other is simply depraved or demonic then no interreligious learning or positive engagement can be undertaken. Therefore, an advance pre-judgement of the theology of religions typology type must have taken place in order to do comparative theology. Of course, one need not be aware of the theology of religions typology or terms to make these claims, and it can be seen as merely a tool for classificatory purposes (see Hedges 2016a). Nevertheless, the way in which the religious Other is engaged – whether the justification comes from a philosophical, (inter)cultural, or pragmatic decision-making process – is capable of analysis and classification within the typological framework if it is working within a theological matrix.9 More interesting, though, is the way that the typological style approach may be disrupted by the activity of a sophisticated comparative theology. Stosch sees this as the basic difference. He sees theology of religions approaches as essentialist in nature (i.e. how Christianity “as-a-whole” views, e.g. Hinduism “as-a-whole”) whereas comparative theology looks at gaining greater understanding in specific limited areas (Stosch 2012b: 19–20). Marianne Moyaert has also explored this question recently (Moyaert 2016a). For her, the question of whether Christianity has an inclusivist, exclusivist or whatever approach or 8  The typology was first proposed by Race (1983), and this fourfold typology has been advanced by Hedges (2010, 2016a); it should be noted it is distinct from Knitter’s fourfold typology (2002), though in recent writings Knitter has used the terms of and cited Hedges typology (e.g. Knitter 2013). The most definitive survey of current debates is Harris, Hedges, and Hettiarachchi (2016). 9  It may be noted that one way comprative theology usefully expands much theology of religions debate is by not being solely focused upon soteriological criteria (Rambo 2016: 297). Nevertheless, this is not essential to formulating a theology of religions approach and the current author has argued for understanding the typological categories under degrees of openness to the Other (Hedges 2016a). However, to say soteriology is solely a Christian concern is a sweeping claim, ignoring that it can be deeply significant to other traditions (see Khalil 2012).

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attitude to Hinduism, Islam, or any other tradition is engaged in a deeply essentialist conversation. There is no such thing as “Christianity” or “Hinduism” or “Islam”, only Christianities, Hinduism, Islams. This pluralisation refers to two things. One the one hand, the inevitably diverse nature of each tradition: we can only ask which form of Hinduism in conversation with which form of Christianity. Clooney’s work says we must dig down deeper: no religion is monolithic – can there only be one approach even to Kashmiri Shaivism, for instance? On the other, it disrupts the question of whether there is actually any essential form of the tradition. There is no “Buddhism” or “Judaism”. While we cannot deny that actually existing traditions or lineages exist, what Wilfred Cantwell Smith would have called the cumulative tradition (W. C. Smith 1978), the meaning and form given to each is always open to change and interpretation. What forms the core of Judaism now, which varies across the varieties of Orthodox, Reform/ Progressive, Conservative, Secular and other forms, is not what Rabbi Akiva or Moses Maimonides saw as the “essence” of their tradition. Again, when we go back to Second Temple Judaism in its various forms, or the Israelite tradition at the time of the Babylonian Exile or deeper into the traditions and tribal origins where we find the mythic heritage, whatever it may be, of Moses, Abraham, and other patriarchs (should we also mention the matriarchs and the whole herstory which often lies hidden?). Here though we meet a paradox. As my colleague the anthropologist Anna King has noted, while scholars of religion are keen to avoid and disavow essentialism, it remains the heart blood of many religious traditions.10 What I have just said about Judaism would certainly be disputed by many Jews today; they may well see a direct lineage from Abraham and Moses through the Israelite tradition and Second Temple Judaism up through to the Rabbinic Judaism as it exists today. A good case study is the way that Canadian Sikhs reacted strongly against the research of a professor of Sikh studies whose chair they helped fund; his argument that Sikhism was inherently syncretic was a strong blow and seen as entirely wrong to those Sikhs who believed they had a clear and essential Khalsa heritage (Harrison 2014: 28–31). This takes us directly back to our questions on comparative religion. The findings of this may not sit well alongside the more theological claims of specific traditions. This certainly is a claim of Ward who felt that his comparative theology interrogated normative claims in as far as it showed the way that historical analysis may disrupt particular insider narratives. This, however, is not our current question. Rather we come to the question of how the theology of religions is practiced and how this relates to comparative theology. 10  In a personal conversation with the author.

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In as far as comparative theology learns and engages with comparative religion, as a critical discipline, it engages the fact that while essentialism is a part of religious narratives in many cases it is not inherent to the religious traditions as historical artefacts. Therefore we have a critique of the way of doing the theology of religions. While to do comparative theology one needs to make a theology of religions typological judgement – in Clooney’s case Hinduism may be engaged positively because of Vatican II’s inclusivism – comparative religion will help break down our assumption that these traditions exist as monolithic entities. How can the many Christianities make an assumption about the many Hinduisms? This may seem a paradoxical situation. However, it leads us to ask questions both about the home tradition and the other tradition engaged. We will come back to this further in relation to method, and in subsequent parts. However, here we need to note that such essentialist judgements are part of the religious traditions, and exist as theological claims. They are therefore social realities regardless of the arguments by Moyaert and Stosch that they essentialise narratives; they do, but they also have a real impact upon theologies. However, such essentialism is not inherent in the typology. As is implicit in my argument above, one need not assume that there is one essentialist Christianity set against a number of other essentialist “religions” to ask the question as to whether and how far one’s own form of the variety of Christianities which exist may seek to engage in learning and open encounter with the variety of traditions which exists amongst the traditions we conveniently label Buddhisms, Hinduisms, Islams, Jainisms, etc. Especially if the typology is reset to speak about openness to Others rather than soteriology this is positively enabled (Hedges 2016a). One can have a non-essentialist theology of religions or typological framework; indeed, this can be part of the learning between different modes within Christian theological reflection on the Other rather than seeing confrontational or either-or approaches. A final question in addressing the relationship to the theology of religions is to ask if comparative theology is simply a subset of the theology of religions. My answer is that the theology of religions is a broadly systematic discipline within the wider field of (here) Christian theology which deals with the understating of and relationship to the religious Other. As such, comparative theology is one of the aspects of it (Hedges 2010: 16). This is not to downplay the importance of comparative theology, and as has been argued the practice of comparative theology is perhaps a place where theology of religions comes to show its relationship to all fields of theology more broadly (see Voss Roberts 2016). Indeed, rather than being distinct, it is my argument that the kind of analysis that comparative theology engages, by looking across religious borders, is “the very heart blood of the theology of religions” (Hedges 2010: 54). It

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relates theology, especially systematic theology, to the religious Other, specifically via the lens of comparative religion. Ulrich Winkler puts it this way: “the theology of religions is the theological theory of the ‘willingness’” to engage the truth in the religious Others, while “comparative theology is more a practice than a theory” (Winkler 2016a: 194). Comparative Theology as Theology and Method As discussed, we will in this work mainly follow the tradition and understanding of comparative theology as founded and promoted by Clooney. The paradigms of Neville and Ward are to some degree forms of comparative religion or philosophy and so somewhat distinct; at least I will make this distinction herein. As such, in this section we address the question of theology and method together. For Clooney, the doing of comparative theology is the doing of theology as a first order insider practitioner. The method of comparative theology likewise largely follows from its being a form of theological reflection. This criteria is also strongly emphasised in Fredericks work (Fredericks 2004: 11–14); who alongside Clooney has been a strong influence in developing comparative theology qua theology (see Clooney 2010a: 49). It should come as no surprise therefore that, for Clooney, the very basis of comparative theology looks to a foundational theological method. For him, a stated “operative principle” of comparative theology is fides quaerens intellectum, “faith seeking understanding” (Clooney 2010a: 11). It is therefore a confessional discipline, which must be grounded within a specific denominational affiliation, which for Clooney will be Catholicism (e.g. Clooney 1996: xviii). Further, Clooney identifies twin poles as central principles for his work, which are fundamental guides: “intuition” and “rational insight”. These complement the theological side, “faith seeking understanding”, for they underpin his engagement with the comparative method (Clooney 2010a: 10): Clooney admits employing an ad hoc system, which is to say that based upon an intuition that it might be fruitful to read two theologians together, or that a particular area is worth exploring is what has inspired much of his work (Clooney 2012).This is then the object of study, which is worked through with rational exploration. Hedges 2016b: 8

We see the relationship to comparative religion here, because it is as a scholar of Sri Vaishnavism that he explores the tradition with which he engages his own Catholic tradition. Therefore, we can say that we see the poles of “faith seeking understanding” and a comparative understanding of the religious

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Other coming together through “rational insight”; the precise comparative act is determined by an act of “intuition” that these work well together (though this is not entirely ad hoc but based in his depth understanding of each tradition, see Hedges 2016b: 8). As discussed above, in Clooney’s work comparative theology moves beyond generalities or abstractions to precise engagements of specific commentarial traditions. It therefore involves in-depth knowledge of not simply “major (foundational) texts”, but of the methods and traditions of interpretation of those texts. To understand this work, Clooney says that comparative theology can be seen as having a certain generosity in approaching the religious Other. In which one crosses over to another tradition “for the sake of fresh theological insights” (Clooney 2010a: 10). As such, while the comparative theologian is someone who stands within one tradition they need in some sense to be able to sympathetically engage with another tradition, to walk to some degree – at least some of the time – within two (or more) religious worlds. This has been spoken of as a theological border crossing, or in the words of John Dunne a “passing over and coming back” (Dunne 1978). That is to say that one starts as a Christian, explores imaginatively or sympathetically the religious world of another tradition, and then returns to the home tradition to see what insights can be brought. To look again at old ideas, texts, or practices with fresh eyes and to bring new insights. A paradigmatic instance of this can be seen in the work of Paul Knitter: He does this by a threefold writing of each chapter, where firstly he outlines a specific Christian doctrine or concept, such as the transcendence of God, he then “passes over” to Buddhism to look at what this issue looks like within another tradition, and then “passes back” to see how the insights of that other tradition can illumine and reinvigorate his Christian belief and practise (e.g. Knitter 2010: 1–8 (Christian tradition), 8–14 (Buddhist tradition – “passing over”), 14–23 (“passing back”)). Hedges 2016b: 7

Knitter’s example shows one way of doing this, taking first a particular Christian doctrine or issue, looking at what seems to be the closest example of something similar – which may even be because of its very difference – in Buddhism, and then bringing back insights to ask how Buddhist reflections may help illuminate Christian reflections. Recently, further theorising on the crossing and returning theme has been done by Mara Brecht and Reid Locklin who see what they term “departure and return” predicated “on the Neo-Platonic exitus-reditus model” (Brecht and Locklin 2016b: 2). This entails

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the comparative theologian “honouring” both the home tradition and that crossed over to. Therefore “[w]hat happens in between departure and return is very complicated” (Brecht and Locklin 2016b: 3, 4). They see the crossing as involving “second-order, not first-order, access”, that is to say it is comparative religion not comparative theology qua theology (Brecht and Locklin 2016b: 4). Importantly for them it allows the practice to “slip free” from what they term “the post-liberal impasse” (Brecht and Locklin 2016b: 4; on the impasse see Hedges 2010a: 9–10). This concerns the specificity and particularity of traditions, as well as the potential incommensurability of religions or incompatibility of religious languages; an issue addressed in Part 4. Keeping on with the question of method, some further aspects of what Clooney says about his method may be noted. One of these is what he terms “creative tension” which is about the meeting and interaction of the comparative and theological aspects of the enterprise (Clooney 2010a: 11). It involves the fact that he is bringing together two things which, at first glance, may not seem natural conversation partners or even related. This is not, generally, because the concepts are entirely unrelated but because it involves bringing together two religious worlds. We will address this further below, particularly taking up the idea that religions are discrete and separate units; such interreligious learning is both normal and natural and has always been going on within religious traditions. However, for Clooney it also represents something of a third way which extends our traditional ideas of theology and comparative religion, notably linking this to the work of David Tracy (Clooney 2010a: 42–43). To do this Clooney undertakes deep tradition specific studies of certain texts (Clooney 2010a: 20–21) and relies upon something of an intuitive grasp that two things may profitably be read together. As I have suggested elsewhere and above: “Whether this is entirely ‘intuition’” is not clear “given Clooney’s own comprehensive knowledge of the Catholic Christian and Sri Vaishnava Hindu systems with which he tends to work” (Hedges 2016b: 8). Keeping with the theme, in some ways, of the naturalness of interreligious exchanges, it can be a common experience that we feel some kinship, attraction, or fascination, with aspects of religious traditions other than our own. Clooney sees this as in some ways part of the method, a sense of attraction to the religious Other. I have suggested that we see this most paradigmatically when Clooney discusses an experience he had before a particular statue of a Hindu goddess: Another aspect of Clooney’s comparative method which we can mention is about the way that the religious Other, whether it be a text, statue, or motif appeals to us and draws us in. We see this when he talks about

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his experience of standing before a statue of Lakshmi in an old Hindu temple, where clearly he is entranced, but says: “I was already there, as it were seeing and being seen. But Christians do not worship Goddesses, so I did not. I just stood there looking” (Clooney 2010a: 88). Describing a set of evocative verses to the Goddesses he describes them as beautiful but hard words, saying that for him, “it may be impossible for us to utter such verses as Christians”. Clooney 2010a: 89, Hedges 2016b: 9

For Clooney, then, some sense of being drawn to the religious Other may help inspire our work, and perhaps we may say that we see something similar in Knitter’s work. This is exemplified by his phrase: “Without the Buddha I Could not be a Christian” (Knitter 2010). That is to say, while a Christian, he finds in some ways a greater appeal or power in certain aspects of the Buddhist religious narrative than his own. However, in terms of theorising a sense of wonder at, or the concept of being charmed by, the religious Other, the most developed work is that of Voss Roberts. As an act of comparative theology she brings together reflection on the aesthetic categories of Indic thought, the rasas, in relation to the Christian tradition and develops the category of “wonder” within an aesthetic framework to discuss the sense of the appeal of the religious Other (Voss Roberts 2014: 192–4). We will return to Roberts’ important work in this area later. Here we may note that another methodological tool that deals with a non-linguistic sense is that of John Sheveland who suggests a musical polyphony model (Sheveland 2010). A sense of attraction may be said also to be an element that Fredericks has particularly brought out in his own work relating to interreligious friendship. For him it is very much about an interpersonal knowing of the other, and as such comparative theology is not so much about abstract philosophical concepts, or learning things which may have doctrinal implications, so much as it is about growing understanding through actual knowing of the Other in their discrete and personal individuality (see e.g. Fredericks 2004: 106–8). A further theoretical aspect of methodology that we may draw from Clooney is the sense that comparative theology is autobiographical. He sees it as coming from his life journey (Clooney 2010a: 17–19). While this may to some seem a very subjective issue, it has been argued by a variety of scholars particularly in relation to what is often called the reflexive turn to be true of all scholarship. We never can stand as entirely neutral and objective minds applying pure and unbiased standards of reason to achieve perfect knowledge. Rather, our reason, methods, and reflection is also situated and comes from somewhere,

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and will be related in some part to our pre-existing sense of understanding (see Flood 1999, Hedges and King 2014: 36–38). We will return to these issues when we address hermeneutics below, especially Hans-Georg Gadamer’s concept of prejudice, which he sees not as a negative sense of bias, but positively as the very basis of the possibility of knowledge: we can only know something because we already know other things. We may also note that this autobiographical sense of comparative theology also relates to many who engage not just in comparative theology but various forms of engagement and learning from religious Others. Panikkar is an example, who believed that the events and experiences of his life brought him to the situation in which the dialogue between religions occurred very much within him (see Clooney 2010a: 47–49). Again, we see this in such figures as John Hick or Paul Knitter whose attitude towards religious Others shifted from a sense of disavowal to a positive embracing through their autobiographical encounters and challenges (on Hick, see Cheetham 2003; on Knitter, see Knitter 2016). Having discussed these points of method it is notable that a number of authors have voiced a concern that interreligious encounters, including comparative theology, may lack a really robust methodology grounded in deep philosophical concerns, awareness, and concepts. Indeed, this is one reason why we shall turn to hermeneutics later on in this work. Hermeneutics both lurks beneath the surface of Clooney’s work but has also been used by both Moyaert and the current author to try and help flesh out a more robust methodology (Hedges 2016b, Moyaert 2014a). Indeed, Clooney’s discussion of intuition, a sense of things fitting together, and general approach could be described more as an ethos than a methodology. Certainly this is not to dismiss the depth of his scholarship nor his pioneering and influential impact on the field. Rather, it is a suggestion that to extend and strengthen comparative theology further we may need to dig deeper into its methodology and rationale. A final methodological note may be made here about how method is practiced or discussed.11 In response to colleagues (critics?) in the field who contend that he does not attend as much to theory as to practice, Clooney would respond that his method is made explicit in the actual practice. As such, while some insist that in-depth methodological considerations and theory are largely absent, it can also be argued that they are simply put into effect and can be seen in practice.12 Certainly, I would agree with Clooney that too much 11  The author’s thanks go to Clooney for raising this observation. 12  I would also note that it would be very unfair to say that Clooney does not address method at all. It is, as noted, seen in his practice, while addressed to some extent throughout his

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time may be placed in before-the-encounter theorising without any actual practice taking place. Nevertheless, I believe that as it stands comparative theology would benefit from more explicit and robust theoretical discussions. Indeed, as Clooney himself notes: “One has to know one’s craft, in order to do it well” (Clooney forthcoming a). This, I would hope, explains for some what may seem a lacuna in this text: the discussion of comparative theology without any practical outworking. Certainly the latter is referred to, but as noted already this text is based upon a perceived need for deeper theoretical reflection. For those seeking to see the doing there are already many examples, amply referred to throughout this text. Comparative Theology and Ecclesial and Academic Structures As discussed above, one thing which marked a difference between the work of Clooney and Ward is between more explicitly first order theology rather than emphasising comparative religion. As we have noted, Ward has argued that comparative theology need not be confessional, and as such may even be undertaken by a non-Christian (Ward 1994: 36–49). Indeed, for Ward, the very notion of the comparative project suggests that the comparative aspect makes it something other than a “faith seeking understanding” theology. However, for Clooney, Fredericks, and others the comparative aspect does not invalidate a confessional approach. Indeed, they seek to ground their work within their own tradition to help bring out the nature of it as confessional theology. It could be argued that if comparative theology is to be theology, and to be accepted as theology by the academy, church, and wider world it needs to ground itself in the methods and language of that discipline. As Stosch noted this may involve questions of “truth and validity”. Of course, theology is not a monolithic discipline and so different methods, forms, and styles exist across its various sub-disciplines, across denominational borders, between competing schools or visions of what the church or theology is or should be. Clooney grounds his method in the “faith seeking understanding” principle, which as far as anything is may be said to be the sine qua non of any definition of theology as a first order discipline. Indeed, his position within the Society of Jesus as a leading theologian shows that he is regarded as being a theologian work. Further, in more recent writings he has addressed it. An overview of what he sees as his method throughout the years can be found in Clooney (forthcoming a), while his short monograph on the field is more directly methodological (2010a). Ways in which method is explicated in relation to the subject matter can also be usefully seen in Clooney (2017, forthcoming b).

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of some stature within his own denomination. Again, Fredericks has argued that comparative theology must be kept within the bounds of Catholic orthodoxy (Fredericks 2004: 1–26). Increasingly, also, comparative theology is included amongst discussions of the various sub-disciplines of theology, and this extends beyond the Catholic tradition. As such the case does not need to be made that it is theology (see Clooney 2007). Nevertheless, it is unclear as yet what its wider impact on the discipline of theology is. Certainly at least one purpose of comparative theology is to enrich the wider systematic discussion with insights that can be gleaned from a variety of other religious traditions. Therefore, if accepted, discussions of Christology, soteriology, ecclesiology, missiology, and other areas will be informed by it. Certainly there are a growing number of books which will develop these insights. Nevertheless, I think it fair to say that they exist generally at the margins of disciplines which continue and develop without a consideration of the insights of comparative theology.13 It is perhaps not entirely surprising. As has been long argued the global centres of Christian demographics and power are increasingly shifting from the “Global North” to the “Global South”, especially from Europe to places like Asia, Africa, and South America.14 However, this has by and large not yet affected the mainstream theological discussion that still privileges the European-American heritage. Likewise, since at least the 1960s, feminist insights have become a central part of theological discussion (certainly feminist critiques and work existed long before this but very much as isolated examples, I see this as a period when it would become established in university courses, a significant numbers of books, and also having prominent spokespeople within the theological academy and in part the churches too). However, any survey of most systematic discussions would be hard pressed to find the feminist contribution in most main(male)stream theology. All three of these areas, the theology of the majority Christian world, the experience of women and feminist theology, and engagement with religious Others in various forms, tend to remain an afterthought or are tucked away into specialist discussions of contextual theology 13  A very notable recent contribution to the way comparative theology may contribute to systematic theology is Voss Roberts (2016). 14  See especially Jacobson (2011) and Jenkins (2007) as good representative examples of works which have argued for a global turn in the Christian world and the need therefore for a refocusing of Christian traditions and theology from Western-centric hegemony. This is an issue I have raised elsewhere in this chapter, though as I have noted the writing of comparative theology, and its disciplinary belonging, sits still very much within the Western-centric academic sphere.

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for those interested. Indeed, I would even suggest that an (unspoken) attitude exists amongst some that (at least for feminist and interreligious themes, but also some of the most challenging aspects of global Christianity) that they do not properly belong within the theological conversation. Certainly, the marginalisation of such approaches continues both in ecclesiastical and academic theology (see Hedges 2010: 44–47). We noted this above, but it bears repeating. As a further note, while I have spoken here of the way that a particular Catholic vision, and to some extent an adherence to orthodoxy, has been important in developing the current shape of comparative theology, this does not mean it is tied to such a paradigm. Comparative theologians may wish to see how their explorations extend, push beyond, or transgress what may be the accepted orthodoxies of their day, and such issues will be explored in later parts. Conclusion Comparative theology is marked by a range of different styles and approaches. However, we have focused here on a particular style or lineage that flows most especially from Clooney. This is not to suggest that his is the only way to do comparative theology, nor even the best, however, I have suggested reasons for following it. For some, a number of other approaches may be said to not really be best described as theology. Rather they would appear to be forms of comparative religion or philosophy; the work of Ward and Neville being notable examples. Certainly, Ward considers that normative theological judgements take place within his work and thus it may become theology, however, I would suggest that issues arise if few recognise his approach as speaking theologically to them. Ward’s work like Neville’s is important, but Clooney’s approach remains the most influential. Meanwhile other important thinkers have not been discussed in depth, such as Burrell or Stosch, however, this would have entailed a set of superficial sketches not suited to the work in hand. Nevertheless, the discussion herein has been informed by a wide range of texts and thinkers. There is not simply one way of approaching or doing comparative theology, and various divergences of approach and emphasis will appear in the following parts. The next part continues the theme of the relationship of comparative theology and comparative religion addressing the question of “Comparative Theology after Religion”. This continues the methodological focus, because if comparative theology is to speak across religious and cultural worlds it needs to understand what those religious and cultural worlds may be especially in relation to contemporary critiques of the concept of religion as an analytic category.

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Part 2: Comparative Theology after Religion

Introduction That the term “religion” itself is neither simple nor straightforward is a commonplace within the academic study of religion,15 and something which comparative theologians are increasingly taking on board (e.g. Moyaert 2016a, Thatamanil 2011). For a discipline which supposes to inform one “religion” by drawing insights from one or more other “religions” this is a problem. If these “religions” do not exist as clear and distinct entities, with carefully designated borders, then how and where do these boundary crossings take place? Further, if the very concept and notion of there being a universal sense of “religion”, or even, if the set of existing traditions we term “religions” reflects simply the imaginary of a modern Western taxonomic system, that has read largely Western, modern, and (Protestant) Christian categories onto a diverse mass of cultural territory then how can the discipline operate? The deconstruction of “religion” as a concept is well documented, and we cannot cover the issues in detail here, so we will just outline some main aspects. However, it is imperative that the arguments themselves are contended with. In particular, we need to consider how we will re-envisage the terrain of comparative theology in a “post-religion” context. First, though, I should note that we need to be careful regarding how we regard the deconstruction of religion itself. While some scholars take what I would call a hard deconstructive position that we need to abandon the very concept and term religion in its entirety, this I suggest is too extreme. Certainly there is no gainsaying the fact that when we imagine that there is some essentially common genus of “religions” such that the various traditions we term “Buddhism”, “Islam”, “Jainism”, etc. are common human manifestations of a response to a single divine essence which is marked by similar patterns of belief, scriptural resources, and other features we do violence to the specific nature of each tradition. Many traditions are marked more by orthopraxy than orthodoxy, so asking what beliefs characterise that religion does not reflect what is important or relevant to understanding its practice. Many religions have no scriptures, or even if they do they may not be considered essential to informing the beliefs, values, and practices of the tradition as a whole. Moreover, the very diversity of every 15  The literature and debates in this area are extensive, but of particular note here would be the following: Asad (1993), Fitzgerald (2000, 2007), Hedges (2010, 2014a), King and Hedges (2014), McCutcheon (1997), Masuzawa (2005), Nongbri (2013), Schilbrack (2012, 2017), W. C. Smith (1978), and J. Z. Smith (1982, 1998).

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tradition makes asking questions about any core or essential characteristics suspect. In many cases no clear border lines or strict demarcations delimit the different groupings/ denominations/ sects. Nor are the borders of every tradition always clearly demarcated from the others. As Judith Gruber has forcefully argued, it is syncretism and hybridity that is often more characteristic of religious traditions than each being a clear and demarcated set of beliefs, rituals, texts, practices bound by some essential identity (Gruber 2016). Reid Locklin has noted that the more widespread occurrence of attitudes which suggest it is not necessary to stick to just one religion amongst Western millennials may “represent a kind of return to normal” (Locklin 2016: 136, see Hedges 2017a). Nevertheless, while accepting much of the substance of the hard deconstruction of religion, I suggest we actually need a soft deconstruction. In this, while realising the problems and reifications inherent in the way the term has been used, we do not throw the baby out with the bathwater. I will indicate in what follows a number of arguments that I and others have advocated for the continued relevance and applicability of the term religion, and why despite reservations about its employment and history, it remains a useful term if used reflexively and with qualification. This will also inform our discussion of how we may continue to speak of comparative theology after religion. Deconstructing Religion Wilfred Cantwell Smith noted back in the 1960s that the modern Western concept of religion had no real cognate term in most traditional languages (W. C. Smith 1978 [1962]). Various terms sometimes translated as “religion” have a very different sense in the original: the Indian term “dharma” often indicates something like “duty”; the Arabic term “deen” more readily means something like “customary practices” (though both deen and dharma have a range of meanings). Meanwhile, Chinese coined a new word (actually borrowed from the Japanese who had been forced more directly to contend with the Western notion), “zongjiao”. This is composed of two characters denoting something like “ancestral tradition(s)”, and carries baggage that is not exactly equivalent to the English usage (see Yao 2000: 38–47). By itself this may only signify a certain linguistic difference, such that for instance terms we translate as “pain” or “suffering” across languages carry varying connotations, but does not mean that only English speakers have a hurting experience. However, a lot of conceptual and cultural baggage lies behind this terminology which also affects how we see the world. As has been convincingly shown, quite a lot of things which in English we associate with the word religion, and which leads us to believe that around the world there are a set of somewhat similar things we call religions, even

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that there are a set of major “world religions”, are problematic and potentially distorting. As noted, I will not try and deal comprehensively with these issues here and so will just discuss and clarify some key points. Firstly, what has been termed the “World Religions Paradigm” (WRP) tends to dominate our worldview in this matter. This has come about through a set of mainly scholarly categorisations for shaping the data we term “religious” (Masuzawa 2005, Cotter and Roberston 2016). The WRP suggests that we can identify and discuss religions through a range of common or similar categories (see Hedges 2017a: 53–4). We can list a fairly typical set of some of these as follows: beliefs, so there are a set of core or central beliefs which form the foundation of every religion; scriptures, each religion will have its own set of books which determine the beliefs, practices, and guidance for that religion; institutions, there will be leaders, somewhat like priests, who are the guides and teach and instruct the followers; ethics, there will be a standard set, or list, of moral injunctions; gods, they will be a single or set of deities or supernatural beings of some kind who are worshipped or revered. Depending upon who is doing the defining and for what purpose these form a common set of assumptions about religion, and generally things which most closely match this are seen to be paradigmatic religions, and those which stray furthest away are least like religions. An obvious case would be Buddhism which some see as atheistic (it is actually far more complicated) and so not a religion if one sees belief in a “god” as central; but often people employ a category denoting the supernatural or some belief in transcendent reality rather than a strict “god” category and so Buddhism fits most definitions of religion. Nevertheless, serious problems remain. One major problem with the WRP is the heavy Christian bias which tends to underlie it. Scholars have explored the way that Christian categories were used to make the judgement of what religion was or was not. For one, in the period around the nineteenth century when the modern employment solidified (the modern usage is seen to have emerged around the seventeenth century, with various genealogies seeking to show first usages), a liberal Christian sense of religion as a common human essence was significant (Fitzgerald 2000). Therefore, the categories employed make us view all religions as being something like Christianity, which both distorts them as well as making differences between traditions disappear. Another problem is the distinction made between religion and the secular as two separate and naturally distinguished spheres of human life (Fitzgerald 2007). This is a particular facet of the trajectory of the modern Western world’s development, and one which would make no sense to those living before about the eighteenth century nor in many other cultures. For instance, the notion of the divine right of kings in early modern Europe meant that any simple

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distinction of a secular political realm from matters of church and religion is anachronistic. A third problem is the way that the term “religion” is given or deployed as a political tool. While we noted in the nineteenth century that there was an assumption that all humans were inherently religious there have been cases where European “explorers” (colonists) had decided that certain indigenous people lacked religion which was part of a strategy to claim they were not civilized and therefore needed imperial rule/ “civilising” (see Chidester 2013, Twells 2009). Indeed, still today distinctions between different levels of traditions/ practices/ beliefs exist which label some as “primitive”, some as “superstition”, some as “magic”, some as “cults”, etc. The language employed often tells us far more about the judgement and attitudes of the person making the claims than it does about the object studied or described. This also becomes a question in the contemporary world because legal recognition as a religion can lead to protections, tax breaks, educational rights, and other benefits which groups not classified as religions do not enjoy. A fourth problem we can note here, which encompasses aspects of all the above, is the shaping or distortion of the categories. For instance, a term like “scripture” which may seem a natural part of religion is not so simple. For many we will think in Christian terms of traditions having authoritative books. But what about traditions which do not have any texts? Or, if they do, what if those texts are not so central or play very different roles? The Classics of the Confucian tradition are not scripture or revelation in the same way the Bible or Qur’an are seen to be by Christians and Muslims respectively. Again, while the Vedas of Hinduism may more closely relate to the sense of being scriptures in something like, but not the same as, the Christian sense they have played a very different role. Indeed, there seems to be good reason to suppose that the Hindu family of religions have been altered by Western scholars and administrators seeking a common central text which can be seen as definitive of the religion (King 1999). Further terms could be mentioned, but these examples should be enough to show problems with concepts often associated with religion. Fifth, is the naming and classification of particular religious traditions. The traditions we term Hinduism are a good example. The term Hindu was originally a geographical marker indicating the land beyond the Indus, and in time came to be used of the people and culture of the region, the Hindus. By around the late eighteenth century, European usage had come to establish it as the religious traditions of the people beyond the Indus, meaning broadly South Asia. Classification was not so simple, and at various times the definition included what we today term Hinduism as well as Sikhism, Jainism, Buddhism, and various tribal traditions. Hinduism itself includes a range of traditions including

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those dedicated to Vishnu, Shiva, and the Goddess under many names, as well as quite distinct philosophical and devotional strands. This has led to some questioning whether we are dealing with a single religion in the same way that Christianity is commonly classified as such. The debates on this are extensive (see Bennett 2014: 284–90, King 1999, Lorenzen 1999, W. C. Smith 1978). A final issue we should raise is the question of religion as a sui generis category. This developed from nineteenth century theological discourse inherited by early scholars of religion, such as Rudolf Otto and Mircea Eliade. Here we enter somewhat complicated territory because the debate asks whether some supposedly “supernatural” or “transcendent” reality can have any place within the secular study of religion, which forms part of the critique against the lineage from Eliade and others (see Hedges and King 2014, and King and Hedges 2014). A theological judgment may say otherwise; however, as we have discussed comparative theology sees itself informed by comparative religion.16 Certainly such debates have affected theological thinking and within the theology of religions the stance described as particularist takes its starting point from these type of critiques. The particularist stance suggests, especially against the pluralist (but also the exclusivist and inclusivist), that no common ground for discussion exists between the religions.17 This is now well trod territory in the literature and I will not enter the debates here, suffice it to say that the particularist critique has been well answered, if not utterly 16  Here we enter another tricky set of debates, because with the critique of phenomenologists like Eliade who championed the comparative study of religion, comparison as a method in the study of religion has become suspect in many quarters. For some major texts in this debate, see note 5. Further to that, it can be remarked that many of the arguments against comparative religion seem related to the kind of work done by figures such as Eliade and Otto whose vision may have been more theological than based within a more “neutral” and empirical study of religions approach. Therefore, arguments against comparative work often take issue with bad comparison rather than showing that comparison per se is illegitimate. However, they may make that second step. Even where it is admitted to be possible, scholars such as J. Z. Smith lay down such prescriptive conditions (to prevent comparison) that it becomes practically impossible (see J. Z. Smith 1982: 19–35), however, this appears overly prescriptive (see Hedges 2016e). 17  The reader is directed particularly to the overview and assessment of the particularist model in the author’s own work which offers a cutting, and arguably decisive, rebuttal to the claims it makes (see Hedges 2008a, 2010: 146–96). In addition, Moyaert has particularly engaged George Lindbeck’s work which is often a basis for such claims again providing very telling arguments against his position (see Moyaert 2011b), while Andrejč has shown that the claims that such arguments are founded within Wittgenstein simply cannot be substantiated and that a reading of his philosophy as a whole actually counters such a position (Andrejč 2016).

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dismissed, within the theology of religions. While below arguments against a strong deconstructivist stance are offered, which I suggest provide a better way of reading the evidence. This also relates to the final part where we discuss hermeneutics to show that a philosophically grounded understanding of human interpretation will show that learning and dialogue across cultural and religious traditions is possible. However, we are getting ahead of ourselves in the discussion. Returning to the sui generis question the debate asks, for our context, whether something similar occurs across all religions. For instance, if the concerns of a Buddhist seeking nirvana through the path of realisation of anatman18 are utterly distinct from the Christian pursuit of resurrection and an eternal life of the soul in heaven, then seeking comparison may be futile. Importantly, implied here is that it is not simply that the two ends are in disagreement, but engaged in a wholly different conversation; they are not different ways of talking about some broadly similar concept, but actually radically distinct conceptual worlds. The kind of problems we have discussed have led some scholars, including Cantwell Smith, to suggest that the terminology of religion should be abandoned altogether. More recent scholars have, if anything, gone even beyond Cantwell Smith who simply suggested that we needed to change our vocabulary. He suggested adopting the term “faith” to speak about the belief aspects, and “cumulative tradition” to speak about the historical traditions (W. C. Smith 1978: 154–92). However, it is asked what if it is not simply the term religion itself which is at fault, but the very conceptualisation that there exists a category of religion at all? A manifesto statement of such a standpoint lies in the words of Jonathan Z. Smith: While there is a staggering amount of data, of phenomena, of human experiences and expressions that might be characterised in one culture or another, by one criterion or another, as religious – there is no data for religion. Religion is solely the creation of the scholar’s study. It is created for the scholar’s analytic purposes by his imaginative acts of comparison and generalization. Religion has no independent existence apart from the academy. J. Z. Smith 1982: xi

For such critics of the term there is no category of religion at all. They claim one section of culture has been arbitrarily pared off and labelled. Therefore, 18  Literally “no-self” or “no-soul”, in Buddhist terms it refers to the understanding that there is no permanent and abiding self, or “soul” (atman), see Gethin (1998: 133–62).

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the argument goes, distinguishing religion from politics, philosophy, the secular, society, etc. simply demonstrates our prejudices and tells us nothing about the phenomenon under discussion. In short, religion does not exist, it is simply a phantasm, or as some have said the term is simply an “empty signifier”, it means whatever the user wants it to (Braun 2000); it is without any analytic value. This is the hard, deconstructivist stance; some may prefer to term it historicising or genealogical study of the term, nevertheless, the point remains. In many ways the hard deconstructivist argument is unassailable. There is no denying the historical origins of the term, and the use and abuse of the term religion for political or apologetic purposes. Nevertheless, the jump from the evidence to arguing this term can never be used is, I argue, neither intellectually viable nor justified by the evidence. Again, I will not explore the full range of arguments here for limits of space, but will indicate some of the main reasons for adopting a soft deconstructivist approach. This is one which accepts the problematic construction and inevitable limitations of the term “religion” but argues that we may retain it for reasons which may be strategic, pedagogical, historical, or because it does relate to a certain social reality. Firstly, I will develop an argument that I have used elsewhere (Hedges 2017a), which draws from the work of Walter Gallie (Gallie 1956). Gallie developed a notion that he termed “essentially contested concepts”, which refers to terms for which we cannot find universally agreed meanings. These may be words which have a particular history, as of course all words have, which affects their employment, or else different people may define them in different ways. Examples of the essentially contested concepts Gallie discusses are “art”, “social justice”, “democracy”, and “Christianity”. In many ways these are like “religion” as I have discussed above because: “None of these has one clearly defined pure type but all only exist with grey borders such that we do not know what is inside its boundaries and what is outside. Again, it is not always clear where the category ends and spills over into other areas of life which we may define in other ways” (Hedges 2017a: 52–53). Importantly, though, Gallie adds a further clarification to this group of essentially contested concepts which is that they are words which perform a function. Therefore, we are worse off if we do not have them. Indeed, against the hard deconstructivist argument that religion has no analytic function, I would suggest that for various reasons it does help us define an arena of human culture that can usefully be discussed and classified. Importantly, though, this is not to suggest that religion is any more a sui generis category than the other essentially contested terms we use to delimit other areas of human cultural activity, such as politics, the secular, philosophy, economics, social justice, art, or even culture itself. All of these words have developed their contemporary meanings within a particular context.

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Generally, like religion, a primarily modern Western, and therefore Christian, context over the last few hundred years has defined how we now interpret and view them. While they do not adequately map onto other societies, historical periods, or situations, and if applied in a blanket way distort the phenomenon and concepts looked it, this does not mean we cannot apply them at all. In Part 4 we discuss the problems of linguistic and cultural translation from the lens of hermeneutical phenomenology which explores the tensions of all translation: religion is not a uniquely bad word despite the rhetoric of its critics, but like many others needs careful analysis – it is essentially contested. As such, as I note below, it can be applied with some analytic coherence to societies and traditions in different contexts. Secondly, historical studies suggest that far from being an arbitrary Western taxonomical phenomenon, those things we today call religions have in fact been relating to each other in ways that suggest they recognise some similarity (see Hedges 2010: 74, King and Hedges 2014, and Riesebrodt 2010). For instance, Islam recognised Christianity and Judaism as people of the book (dhimmi), a category which was, by at least some, extended to Zoroastrians, Hindus, Buddhists, and others as they met them; again, when Buddhists arrived in China the contests and debates were largely with Daoism and to some extent Confucianism. Likewise, there seems good reason to suggest that Christians and Buddhists saw areas of common recognition. Muslim scholars did not start having debates with hairdressers, and Buddhists did not set up against the postal service, and Christians did not seek to convert people from being farmers. Obviously my last points are somewhat rhetorical, but it should serve to make the point that to suggest that bracketing out some common area of culture as what we term religions is not simply the imaginations of modern Western cultures inspired by Christianity. Another point that could be raised is that the hard deconstructionist critics of religion tend to have recourse to something to replace the category of “religion” as a distinct area. For Fitzgerald, the “sacred” is invoked as a term that refers to a specific area of culture once we no longer use the language of religion (Fitzgerald 2000).19 As I have argued elsewhere this term is, if anything, 19  In recent debates with Fitzgerald I have discovered that he no longer supports the use of the term “sacred” as a substitute for “religion”. He also states that he recognises that we can clearly distinguish temples from post offices. What analytic or descriptive terms do we therefore use to speak about these different arenas within the human cultural world? McCutcheon has likewise claimed that everything is culture (McCutcehon 1997) because for him this is an analytically meaningful word. But this ignores the major arguments within cultural studies that it is anything but meaningful. In short, religion’s critics can

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even more problematic (Hedges 2014a). Likewise, it has been suggested that although we do away with the noun “religion” we keep the adjective “religious” (J. Z. Smith 1998). This, I suggest, returns us to religion as an essentially contested concept. While we may disagree how we use it we find that we need something else to replace it if it is done away with. As such it does appear, as even the critics cede by the lacuna within their own arguments, that it is analytically useful because we need some way to refer to a specific area of culture. There are also strong arguments showing that in various ways we can analytically class various aspects of what we term religion together: Riesebrodt has shown that the theme of salvation provides an analytically powerful tool (Riesebrodt 2010); Gavin Flood’s comparative studies show ways in which certain themes that link religions form patterns that can be spoken of (Flood 2004, 2013, 2016); the cognitive science of religion is at the very least strongly indicating that at a species level we can identify common responses which may well allow us to bracket certain things as religious (A. Smith 2014, Hedges 2017b: 165–68); meanwhile, the current author has advanced a typology of religion which draws from many traditions and points to areas which may indicate that a common categorisation can be drawn without resorting to imposing Christian terms and concepts (see, e.g. Hedges 2010: 76–81, and King and Hedges 2014: 16–18). A final issue we may mention is the deeply problematic epistemology employed by certain scholars whom we are labelling here as following a hard deconstruction of religion. Kevin Schilbrack has shown, with particular relation to McCutcheon’s arguments, that a non-realist ontology underlies this. I would suggest that this is not only belied by basic reasoning, but as Schilbrack shows is somewhat incoherent (Schilbrack 2017). Indeed, he notes that at least certain parts of the claimed philosophical basis of McCutcheon’s arguments are simply wrong. In particular McCutcheon’s claims that his thought accords with Wittgenstein (Schilbrack 2017). Schilbrack’s claims here accord with the most reliable Wittgensteinian scholarship which is summed up in relation to the religious Other by Gorazd Andrejč (Andrejč 2016). Certainly, at the very least, we can say that the hard deconstructivist stance remains unproven. At worst, that it is philosophically falsely founded and does not accord with the evidence. Nevertheless, thinking religion through the WRP which dominates in many conversations and perceptions is problematic and point to the problem of the term “religion” (which we all recognise) but either then use other equally problematic terms to replace it, or (inadequately) recognising the problems of all language simply criticise others who use “religion” (while continuing to publish books with the term “religion” in the titles – they do of course have to justify themselves as academics and make a living).

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will distort the way the religious Other is conceived. Before discussing how this will affect comparative theology we will address another aspect of contemporary theory in the study of religion. Material and Lived Religion Exploring the way that religion is understood in relation to the theology of religions and comparative theology, Moyaert has particularly emphasised the aspect of the material nature of religion (Moyaert 2014b). The focus on beliefs tends to result in religions being seen as highly cognitive affairs. If beliefs (seen as propositions, via Protestant foci on creedal statements and biblical tenets) are emphasised, then we get a situation where we presume: a religion is what someone believes, which consists of a discrete subjective experience of assent to propositions concerning the origin of the cosmos, the nature of humanity, the existence of deities, or the purpose of life. When seeking to understand religion, scholars have … tended to ask: what are its teachings? Morgan 2010: 1, cited in Moyaert 2016a: 247

Associated with this is a textual focus, wherein “the importance attached to sacred texts as central to the identity formation of religious communities is typical of a Western Christian understanding of religion that is too cognitive and elitist” (Moyaert 2016a: 257). However, increasingly within the study of religion it is realized that embodied practices and material religion is of primary importance (see, Knott 2005). What people do rather than what they think is more significant for understanding religious behavior and practice. Indeed, in her study of what is termed Lived Religion, Meredith McGuire has also shown that what people believe is often far divorced from any normative textual or doctrinal/ creedal prescriptions as taught by religious elites (McGuire 2008). What is sometimes termed the “material turn” in the study of religion takes us away from texts and beliefs, and the idealized assumptions of theologians and often celibate monastic leaders towards such things as rituals, everyday behavior, as well as the actual beliefs or rationalizations of the ordinary practitioners. Of course these are not always in contrast, but certainly idealized textual representations and actual practice tend to be quite different. Moyaert in particular has been amongst those who have pioneered the comparative study of rituals in interreligious encounters (Moyaert 2017, Moyaert and Geldhof 2015). Meanwhile Bagus Laksana has looked at shared Christian and Muslim pilgrimage sites (Laksana 2014). Pertinently, Moyaert has claimed: “I would argue that comparative theology stands in need of what has been

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called a materialization of religion” (Moyaert 2016a: 260). The implications of this can be quite profound: asking how religion happens materially, which is not to be confused with asking the much less helpful question of how religion is expressed in material form. A materialized study of religion begins with the assumption that, their use, their valuation, and their appeal are not something added to a religion, but rather inextricable from it. Meyer and Houtman 2012: 7, cited in Moyaert 2016a: 260–1

As Moyaert goes on to explain: “Religious beliefs are embedded and embodied…. [M]aterial expressions…. are of primary importance if one wants to understand religion. On the one hand, religious meanings cannot exist apart from their material embodiment; on the other hand, they cannot be reduced to it either” (Moyaert 2016a: 261, referencing Moyaert 2014b). As noted this plays into key motifs in the contemporary understanding of religion where the body, embodiment, and material religion are given increasing prominence and importance (Torree 2014). However, comparative theology has tended to focus on textual studies. This, arguably at least, stems from a very Christian, even Protestant (notwithstanding the often Catholic nature of the studies), focus on the text as the sole arbiter of religious belief, sola scriptura, or certainly the normative arbiter in matters of debates. As such Moyaert suggests: “this specific approach suffers from a textual bias, which may unduly limit this project [comparative theology] and may even lead to a novel misconstruction of religious Others” (Moyaert 2016a: 263). When this emphasis is taken into account it can be seen that comparative theology may play upon motifs embedded within the WRP. Of course, what we have said above is not to say that texts do not matter. Some religious traditions such as Islam have an equally, arguably stronger, focus on texts, and Confucianism would be another tradition which also emphasises the written text very strongly.20 Indeed, while many of the traditions engaged by comparative theologians also have texts, for instance Buddhism and Hinduism, we find that what may appear to be key texts sometimes play a much less central role. The focus on texts as definitive may indeed be part of a Western colonial heritage, inspired by Christian categories, which has made texts more significant (see King 1999). A classic case would be Daoism, which is often interpreted in the West through several texts seen as the original 20  It is of course much debated as to whether Confucianism should be classified as a religion, but on that see Yao (2000: 38–47).

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foundational scriptures, notably the Daodejing and the Zhuangzi. However, for the tradition itself, somatic knowledge is far more central and these texts while having significance have not been the primary sources of religious knowledge or authority. Today, however, expected to perform as “religious traditions” (see Thatamanil 2015), such philosophical textual sources are often placed centre stage in presentations of Daoism by Daoists themselves to show that they too have their foundational scripture that tells what true Daoism is.21 The role and significance of the material aspects of religion, and certainly the Lived Religion of everyday practice, therefore become downplayed or ignored. The process of the control and creation of knowledge and authoritative representations of the religion must therefore be considered. This is a matter we contemplate further in the next part. Rethinking Comparative Theology after Religion Accepting the critique of religion, but suggesting that religion remains an essentially contested concept which can be usefully and strategically applied to talk about certain phenomenon, means our perception of religion must change. When we speak of a comparison of Hinduism and Buddhism, or Christianity and Islam, or any combination of traditions, we are not directly comparing like with like. Indeed, the categories and thought patterns of one if applied to another will more often than not violate or damage the Other. We have noted above that a focus on texts as the source of knowledge has led to an emphasis on religions being about beliefs, defined by creedal statements, with textual sources as defining norms, in which the material practice is merely a secondary manifestation. Studies of Lived Religion, however, show us that this may not even be the best way to study Protestantism, and further as Moyaert has suggested may even be unhelpful when we come to the Catholic tradition (Moyaert 2014b). In some ways, though, this may not always be an issue for comparative theology in the same way that it is for comparative religion, for instance. If the practice of comparative theology involves crossing over to return with insights to illuminate the home tradition then the concern may not be with the concept that something alike is being compared. Indeed, it is very often the differences which may be most illuminating in the comparison. Nevertheless, vigilance is needed that the religion of the Other is not misrepresented or distorted. Further, a focus on texts may mean that the fullness of

21  The classic text on the body and its role in Daoism is Schipper (1993). On the Western “creation” of Daoism, see Clarke (2000) and Kirkland (2004). On the way that Christians have engaged Daoism and some aspects of Daoist representation see Hedges (2014b).

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the tradition engaged is not actually being explored. There is certainly a need therefore to move comparative theology away from textual analysis, or even the supposition that this represents the best way to undertake the discipline. Though, as Clooney notes the text is a great challenge because we can “engage these difficult, near-complete systems” so we find ourselves “an intensely rationalized other that is difficult because it requires intense thinking” that can help us see differences (Clooney forthcoming b). Textual study should not be abandoned, but supplemented. John Thatamanil has asked the question of what is it that the comparative theologian should do with the data that we find in a world in which we do not find directly comparable religious traditions. However, as a comparative theologian he is “committed to theological reflection that seeks to learn from multiple religious traditions and to rethink my own theological commitments and those of the Christian tradition in the light of these encounters” (Thatamanil 2011: 247). Certainly, he believes that theology, and comparative theology, must resist a turn towards a deconstructive path that says that there is no commensurability between religions (Thatamanil 2011: 246–53). As I read Thatamanil’s argument, a particular enemy to be avoided is essentialism, any approach that seeks to define the true essence of any religious tradition. As I have suggested this is in line with a soft deconstruction that avoids essentialism about the existence of a pure or sui generis category of religion. (We also engaged the issue of essentialism in Part 1 where we noted it may be typical of many theological approaches, but a theology informed by comparative religion must transcend this). It also avoids the other essentialist extreme of denying that religion is meaningful at all. That claim itself presumes a bird’s eye view. Indeed, while we may not support sui generis characterisation we do not have the bird’s eye view that tells us it is also absolutely false! There is a single archetype or there is no type at all lie as two dichotomous poles. Between these two, as I have suggested, we see (on both theoretical and historical grounds) the actuality that those things which we call religions have interacted, and continue to interact. To help ground the theoretical aspects of this we will turn in Part 4 to discuss hermeneutics. However, for our purposes here, we may note that we can see the role of the comparative theologian as needing to maintain an awareness of the difficulty of understanding the religious Other. Constant vigilance is needed to ensure that the difference of the Other is respected and comprehended, yet without taking the extreme of denying the possibility of encounter. In the next part we shall further address these issues as we consider what we may broadly term political questions which concern the way we shape discourses in relation to issues such as power, gender, and the way that one’s own tradition and that of the Other is represented.

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Part 3: Discourses on Power and Representation

Power and the Subaltern Studies in interreligious relations in recent years have often turned from examining the niceties of theological doctrine, or abstract questions about what texts say, to the social, cultural, and political entanglements that are involved, including the issue of who has the power to determine what counts as normative discourse. The African Methodist theologian Mercy Amba Oduyoye has noted that when (white Western) missionaries tended to feel they were losing control they accused their converts of syncretism (Oduyoye 2003: 47). The question she raises, in broad terms, is who gets to decide what theological norms are, and how such judgements are made. In particular, we may raise the question of which voices are heard (or heeded) and which are not heard (or unheeded). To this end I would like to foreground in the discussion of comparative theology the question of the subaltern (see Louai 2012, Spivak 1988). The term “subaltern” is taken from the Italian Marxist theorist Antonio Gramsci and was originally used by him as it was politically dangerous to use proletariat. However, it has been taken up in postcolonial theory, including the influential Subaltern School in India, as a way to think about the various groups who traditionally lack a voice (see Dube 2002: 104–5, King 1999: 190–96, 204–6, Sugirtharajah 2003: 14–15). That is various oppressed or downtrodden groups who do not make up the elite in some sense. As famously described by Ranajit Guha, the term subaltern refers to: “The social groups and elements included in this category represent the demographic difference between the total Indian population and all those we have described as the élite,” noting further that those so classified “could under certain circumstances act for the ‘elite’ … and therefore be classified as such in some local or regional circumstances” (Guha 2012: 7, italics in original). This is important because the subaltern does not refer to a fixed or static grouping. There can also be rankings and hierarchies amongst the subalterns themselves (Spivak 2012). The term is not often employed in relation to theorising comparative theology but nevertheless I believe reflection on it raises important issues (for brief mentions, see H. D. Lee 2014: 19, 21).22 One question is whether comparative theology is a subaltern voice or does it give space for subaltern voices, or is it simply a vehicle for main/malestream discourse and rhetoric? Of course, at different times and places it may be both, so we may ask what agendas comparative theology brings to the table. Hugh Nicholson contrasts scholars who seek to be simply neutral, or secular, with those who acknowledge their own bias and stance and seek to make that a 22  A very recent work which resonates with the arguments of this chapter is Samuel (2017).

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part of their work, which he refers to as the “political dimension of critical self-consciousness” (Nicholson 2009: 634), arguing for the imbrications of politics within the way the religious Other is constructed. In respect of this, the Austrian Catholic intercultural theologian Judith Gruber argues Clooney artificially creates solid barriers of a normative tradition and thereby makes comparative theology seem both more novel than it is, but also more marginal (Gruber 2016). We may say that the accusation is that comparative theology operates to impose a sense of defined and elite traditions (Catholic orthodoxy in conversation with elite Sri Vaishnava textual traditions) while claiming something of a subaltern position, by bringing interreligious conversation into theological discourse (so is in danger of the charge of “syncretism”). Gruber’s criticism plays into the problematic discussion of reified traditions discussed in the last part. However, I would tend to agree with Clooney’s response to Gruber, that it is partly a question of what is emphasised (Clooney 2016). I think it fair to say that the mainstream Catholic tradition does not see itself as syncretistic, and so the kind of work which Clooney engages in (reading Hindu texts in relation to Catholic texts) is seen by his tradition as a potentially illegitimate border crossing. Notwithstanding this, Gruber’s main thrust in her argument is entirely accurate and well placed. There are not natural and solid borders separating religious traditions as solid and impermeable territories (Gruber 2016: 26). Religions always have been, and are, inherently syncretistic (see Harrison 2016; on Christianity see, Hedges 2010: 31–44). There exists no unadulterated “pure” tradition, contra the kind of argument found in certain theological systems often termed particularist (see Hedges 2008a). All of this is about the contestation and creation of religious traditions and religious identities. Power dynamics are therefore central and fundamental to studying and understanding comparative theology in terms of its ideology, methodology, and reception. When we see border crossings between, for instance, Christianity and Hinduism how do we envisage those traditions and what borders are crossed? In part the Gruber-Clooney debate relates to Nicholson’s argument about the distinction between the old comparative theology (OCT) and the new comparative theology (NCT). For Nicholson, a hegemonic and colonial attitude existed within the mindset of advocates of the OCT such that the religious Other was never allowed its own proper voice. The non-Christian religion had to be placed in relation to, and lower than, Christianity in such analysis. By contrast, he argues proponents of the NCT are more reflexive of their own standpoint(s) and do not seek to privilege the Christian position. This links this to a new performance of theology that is critical and reflexive: in comparative theology the scholar must seek fully to understand the tradition with which she engages

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on its own terms. In broader terms questions of the scholar as critically aware commentator are brought into play.23 Nevertheless, Nicholson suggests that the dangers of religious hegemonic attitudes haunt the discipline and so the practising comparative theologian needs to be on guard against the dangers of identity politics (not his term) (Nicholson 2011: 38–48). While the religious Other is not dismissed summarily, which would be one part of a postcolonial critique of the OCT, does it allow the subaltern voice to appear? Do we see powerful malestream elites in one tradition seeking to learn from powerful malestream elites in another tradition? It is not enough merely that the religious Other is respected. It will be the role of this part to analyse the discourse and practice of comparative theology in the light of the concern with the subaltern. Whose Tradition? Whose Voices? In general, comparative theology has been, and is, practiced by scholars who come from, or at least are trained in, the Western academy, but it would be wrong to see it as an altogether Orientalist project. Post-colonial critique is addressed in comparative theology by a number of scholars (e.g. Rettenbacher 2016, Thatamanil 2006, Voss Roberts 2014). Nevertheless, the problematic heritage of the term religion discussed above, as well as Christian perspectives and norms have shaped the language and landscape not just of the study of religion but the whole academic sphere. Further, traditions and thinkers from outside 23  This involves debates of the insider/outsider variety which we have discussed in chapter one; noting there that the terminology and notion of fixed stances or positions is problematic (see Hedges and King 2014: 33–36). Using the analogy of the gardener and the botanist, i.e. one who does as opposed to one who only studies (as ideal types), Stosch takes up this debate in relation to comparative theology (Stosch 2016: 167–70). It would sidetrack us here to enter this debate, but we should observe that there are debates around the roll of any scholar as activist, caretaker, curator, or whatever other terms we choose to deploy, within the academic study of religion; some of this literature includes the following: McCutcehon (2001) and Omer (2011). This in turn raises questions of the relationship of theology to religious studies (see Hedges and King 2014). We should note that comparative theology may be seen to be related to the new field of Interreligious Studies which argues that the binary notion of the devotee/ practitioner and scholar/ neutral observer is deeply flawed and both are implicated in the creation of the categories which we term “religion” and those associated with it. As such, to pretend that some impartial, neutral, and untainted space exists from which “pure scholarship” can exist which takes no part in the actuality of the world is naive, outdated, and intellectually misconcieved. As such, to be a scholar practitioner/ activist seems a viable option, see Hedges (2013). On reflexivity generally, see Flood (1999) and Hedges and King (2014).

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the West have to some degree needed to adapt to Western models for recognition within the intellectual sphere. The classic study of Edward Said has outlined what he terms Orientalism as a way in which Islam, or more broadly as adumbrated by others various traditions and aspects of “the East”, has been created as the shadow side and reverse of the positive self-portrayal of the West (Said 1985, see Bennett 2014: 278–80). Of course, critics of Said and his followers have noted the often one-sided portrait this represents. For instance, cultural flows have moved both ways, while the West has learnt from and imbibed ideas from the Orient and positively extolled various aspects of it (see Clarke 1997, Kabbani 1994, Lowe 1990). Meanwhile, in Nicholson’s terms, the NCT seeks to move beyond any exoticising and stereotypical portrayals of the religions it engages. Does the attitude and respectful approach for the religious Other make a potential dangerous venture more legitimate? We should note that various scholars have ventured into the field of ethics with respect to the religious Other in diverse ways: concerning relationality and power (Leirvik 2014: 17–31); using the scriptures of another religious tradition (Hedges 2016d); or in the sharing or experiencing of religious rituals (Moyart and Geldhof 2015). I will therefore not take this further here, but suffice it to say that comparative theology needs to be deeply grounded in ethical reflection on the responsible usage of the resources of the Other. It would be too simplistic though to suggest that comparative theology exists in a space beyond the Orientalist debate and I will discuss further potential issues and debates. One area which comes up can broadly be summed up by the term appropriation. A now somewhat fashionable cultural critique of almost any borrowing or employment of the concepts and values of Others, it is nevertheless a potential concern with comparative theology.24 What gives Christian theologians the right to take and employ aspects of the traditions of Others for their own purposes? This is a charge which could especially be made in the wake of several centuries in which Western forms of Christianity have been complicit in the colonial enterprise whereby the cross and sword often came together to take the land, economic profits, and other material valuables of those they 24  I would note a concern with many discussions around appropriation which often portray a class bias, and therefore stigmatise certain subaltern groups (those without the finances or connections to education). That is to say, making some use of another’s cultural/ religious traditions is often seen as acceptable if a full and deep understanding of the culture, traditions, and meanings they have is attained, which means that only those with the educational tools, leisure time, and means to do such research can employ them. As such appropriation can be a tool to shame or blame those marginalised in society for lacking the correct education and resources.

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encountered around the globe.25 Is comparative theology simply part of a new form of neo-colonial cultural profiteering in which the concepts, spirituality, and intellectual capital of the East can be made available for the benefit of the West? The question, like the Orientalist theory in some forms, oversimplifies the issue and the problem. There is no pure or essential West or East, while cultural flows throughout history have always occurred. Indeed, while the current author could be seen as a culturally, ethnically, and religiously Western Christian to whom this charge could be made, what about a comparative theologian such as John Thatamanil of Indian origin who reads the texts of Hinduism, part of his cultural heritage, in dialogue with his Christian religious heritage? We can also critique the typical procedure of comparative theology, certainly as practiced by Clooney. This relates to an issue in subaltern theory that the subject of study is not the subaltern herself, but the systems of thought, political control, and discourse creation that erase the subaltern. Therefore, the issue is raised as to how comparative theology may contribute to this? At least in certain influential modes of practice, comparative theology may be a contributor to the very modes of discourse that silence and marginalise the subaltern. In Clooney’s system certain influential texts are chosen for comparison, especially those which have long and established commentarial traditions which help establish them as classic within their tradition. It has engaged “high tradition” and so shown itself to be engaging central and important figures in the traditional histories and understanding of Hinduism and Christianity. Textual study, especially through elite high-culture languages (e.g. Greek, Latin, Pali, Sanskrit) often remains the benchmark and sine qua non of respectable work in theology and the study of religion. To engage folk traditions, or material artefacts, or vernacular languages may have had the effect of failing to give comparative theology the prestige it now enjoys. While therefore, arguably, a sensible rationale to study what may be seen as mainstream and influential traditions the very nature of such comparison inevitably favours the interpretation, traditions, and religious ideas of the malestream elite – in times past, the only ones who would be literate and capable of creating and transmitting the texts and traditions that Clooney chooses to study. A whole swathe of religiosity, what may often be termed Lived Religion (McGuire 2008), of the underclasses, women, and non-elites is therefore off the agenda. As an elite academic enterprise, practiced in universities such as Harvard, comparative 25  Recognising that missionaries were not always complicit with colonial agendas, and often opposed or resisted these, we can still note that the two were interlinked.

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theology may therefore contribute to a continued valorisation and prioritisation of the elite textual traditions at the expense of the religion of subalterns. In particular, the elite Vedantic traditions often engaged as representative of “Hinduism” can be those which are part of the system of oppression of Dalits and other subalterns within the Hindu traditions (for interreligious reflections on this, see Collins 2007: 77–95, Parker 2016, Samuel 2017, Singha 2009). Recent decades have seen a shift to material religion and lived practice (certainly in religious studies though theology is following, although some universities still see the study of religion as primarily, or properly, a textual concern, often seen as a sign of a perceived elite status). We have noted the ritual turn in comparative theology, as well as Moyaert’s calls for a stress on materiality. However, this in itself may not address the issue of the subaltern. Just as textual traditions have been the preserve of elites, so too most ritual traditions have also been determined and practiced by elite, often male, traditions; sometimes a “priestly” caste of some form. Any turn to materiality or ritual must take heed of this. Of course, the more comparative theology engages traditions seen as marginal, heterodox, superstitious, or even heretical (generally the traditions of subalterns) it may risk making itself seem not so central to the religious traditions it needs to relate to if it is to be seen, in some meaningful way, as faith seeking understanding. It may, of course, continue as a respectable academic procedure, and certainly may appeal to marginal groups. But for Catholic theologians like Clooney there is, it must be said, a necessity to be seen as a theologian speaking from within and to the core of the tradition. I raise this question without necessarily answering it. However, themes around this are picked up at various places. Another issue that can be addressed is the positioning of comparative theology as a primarily Christian, and Western, discipline. On purely empirical grounds it is clear that the vast majority of practitioners within the field are Christians, and largely based within the Western academy. Bagus Laksana in Indonesia is one of few academics based outside the broadly Western academy who does comparative theology (e.g. Laksana 2010). Indeed, where nonChristian theologians are found they also often tend to be based in a Western academic context, and the engagement may well be with Christianity. Perhaps the most notable Hindu exponent is the academic and Vedantin from the Ramakrishna tradition Jefferey D. Long. Indeed, in his own comparative theology he has picked up the potential criticism that as a former Christian he may be seen as seeking to bring in a tradition he has not fully left behind to supplement his Hinduism (Long 2016: 109–10). He suggests, however, that such criticisms arise from what he terms “insecurity” from his co-religionists rather than

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from “the work itself”. However, he does not seek to fully answer or address the criticisms, simply noting as a “possible question for future engagement” the issue of whether there is “something peculiarly Christian, or at least particularly ‘Western’ about the enterprise of comparative theology, and if so, should it trouble us, or might it be circumvented in some creative way?” (Long 2016: 110). Long’s question as to whether this should trouble us is, I think, pertinent. In and of itself, I would answer: no. However, given the imbrications of the strands of Christianity involved with colonial discourse, continued Western hegemony in intellectual and religious thought, then I would answer: yes (see Alatas 2002). A further question, though, is whether this troubling should be an impediment to the practice and discourse of comparative theology? I would suggest it should not for a variety of reasons, though we need to bear in mind Nicholson’s injunction that politics “goes all the way down” and the need for even reflexive practitioners to be constantly vigilant. I would suggest several reasons. For one, as I have argued elsewhere while in the development of the OCT in the nineteenth century there are clear signs that Christian concepts, tied to a dominant ideology and power structure, did shape the concept and notion of what religion should be conceived as (Masuzawa 2005, Fitzgerald 2000), there was also a counter narrative (Hedges 2012a). Against the Saidian Orientalist thesis that the West has constructed the East as its opposite and shadow side, portraying a one-way interpretative structure, more careful studies have shown that the influence actually went two-ways (Clarke 1997). Said’s narrative disempowers the East while both essentialising the narrative and strengthening the unhelpful dichotomy of East-West (see e.g. Kabbani 1994, King 1999, Lowe 1990). Therefore, we need to be mindful that in creating a wider category of “religion” which no longer simply meant Christianity, a fissure was opened within the Western Christian hegemonic perception whereby the Other had become part of the envisaging of religion as a whole, and to some extent potentially challenging Christianity (Hedges 2012a). Indeed, as I argue against Nicholson’s portrayal of the OCT and the NCT as two distinct conceptual worlds, we find in the former the kind of depth of appreciation and sympathetic treatment, coupled with an opening up of Christianity to potential change and criticism (Hedges 2012a). As an example, I have shown that Rowland Williams’ application of biblical criticism (higher criticism) in the nineteenth century came about in part because he believed that an equal and level critique should be offered to all religions. Hence his application of such criticism to Hindu traditions meant he applied it also to his own Christian tradition (Hedges 2016f). At least potentially comparative theology has, and continues, I would suggest to provide a counter to hegemonic and essentialist Christian and colonial

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discourses. Indeed, it could be seen as a place in which the kind of Third Space that Homi Bhabha (1994) talks of could be opened up in the fissure between traditions (see Winkler 2016b). The fact that such potential exists, however, is not reason to laud or validate all forms of comparative theology, hence the need for vigilance as noted. Further there are clear lacunae in the way it engages other traditions which can perpetuate certain forms of hegemonic dominance; the textual bias which emphasises certain elite traditions, for instance. This also means that the material religion which may be associated with subaltern groups or even their theorising is also dismissed or not engaged. Perhaps also the range of traditions engaged by comparative theologians is also interesting, with perhaps more attention being placed on Buddhism (e.g. Feldmeier 2006, Fredericks 2004, Keenan 1995, Sydnor 2016) and Hinduism (e.g. Clooney 1990, Hillgardner 2016b, Thatamanil 2006, Tiermeier 2010, Roberts 2014), though Islam also gets some attention (e.g. Burrell 2011, Laksana 2014, and Stosch 2016b). Engagement with Judaism, Daoism, or those traditions often off the “world religions” list get less treatment, although some recent voices are engaging more widely. For instance: Padilla (2016) engages Aztec religion; Bidlack (2016) engages Daoism; Moyaert (2016b) engages Judaism, which is also engaged by Burrell (2011); and Hyo-Dong Lee (2014) has engaged a range of Korean and East Asian traditions. (These lists are not intended as comprehensive but as indicative.) In the rest of this part we will address some further issues through other lenses. Gender in Comparative Theology Women are cited as a subaltern group, and are often sidelined or marginalised in most religious traditions (see Anderson and Young 2004); and in the academy as well. The question here, therefore, is: to what the extent are women and feminist theory represented within comparative theology? As is typical of much theological work, I think it fair to say that more men than women are working in the field, and certainly amongst the early pioneers we see an all male line-up: Clooney, Fredericks, Neville, Ward. Nevertheless, a fair number of female theologians have become involved, and perhaps two of the most prominent figures in the generation that is replacing the pioneers are women: Marianne Moyaert and Michelle Voss Roberts. They are certainly not alone, and figures such as Mara Brecht, Judith Gruber, Jeanine Hill Fletcher, Holly Hillgardner Kristin Beise Kiblinger, Elaine Padilla, Sigrid Rettenbacher, and Tracy Sayuki Tiemeier also either do comparative theology or have engaged it. This list is by no means exhaustive, and given that comparative theology remains a relatively small field represents a good female contingent. For

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instance, a list of prominent male Christian comparative theologians would include many of the names discussed herein and so is not representative of a huge cohort. To discuss one way in which it has been suggested a feminist, or female, perspective may be given to the discipline I will employ Voss Roberts’ essay “Gendering Comparative Theology” (Voss Roberts 2010b).26 For Voss Roberts, the concept of the “outsider within”, borrowed from Patricia Hill Collins, is something which “will enable a feminist comparative theology to open up new subjects, genres, and goals for the discipline” (Voss Roberts 2010b: 110). In opening up this discussion, Voss Roberts quotes Richard King’s work (King 1999: 114) in comparing the way that both female and non-Western voices have often been excluded from what contributes to meaningful discourse (various subalterns). Indeed, in as far as comparative theology works between different religious traditions it, as we noted, often entails a discussion of elite, and therefore masculine, forms of those traditions, which may neglect the aspects of Lived Religion. However, this certainly need not be the case and we pick up the theme of some potential “subversive” elements of comparative theology in the next section. As such, comparative theologians should be alert to the kind of dangers that Voss Roberts notes in which goddesses may be appropriated, or the token appearance of women may disguise a silencing or ignoring of actual women’s lives or voices (Voss Roberts 2010b: 111). Voss Roberts takes up the issue noted that a comparison within and across traditions may often mean looking at the “representative” figures who always tend to be male because of the patriarchal systems which have prevailed historically (Voss Roberts 2010b: 115). Certainly, it is possible to find what we may term elite female representatives and elsewhere Voss Roberts has focused on two such figures, Mechthild of Magdeburg and Lalleśwarī (Voss Roberts 2010a). Nevertheless, as she notes, if you want the “classical representatives” of specific traditions we are almost inevitably looking at male figures who may be deemed, while not necessarily speaking for a whole tradition, to be the go-to figures, in a way that would not be the case for female thinkers (Voss Roberts 2010b: 115–6). Indeed, sometimes “women’s voices fail to qualify as scripture and doctrine” (Voss Roberts 2010b: 118). Voss Roberts does nevertheless note that the issue of women’s voices are present in comparative theology, for instance in the AAR Comparative Theology Group statement (Voss Roberts 2010b: 114). She also notes that the kind of essentialism of feminine perspectives that can be found even in some notable proponents of interreligious dialogue and 26  Though I could have picked a number of other works including Hillgardner (2016a) or Tiemeier (2016).

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engagement are largely avoided in Clooney’s own study of Hindu goddesses and the Virgin Mary (Clooney 2005), which attends more to particulars and women’s experience rather than vague notions of masculine and feminine (Voss Roberts 2010b: 112–14). Nevertheless, she speaks of women as the “outsiders within”. While being within the religious tradition women are, to some extent at least, marginal to that tradition; whether institutionally, liturgically, hierarchically, or otherwise they often do not have a role that allows them to operate centre stage. Or else their traditions or interpretations are considered tertiary or not mainstream. They thus operate as “outsiders within” the tradition, which can be seen to play on the problematic binary – when seen as two either/ or poles – of “insider” and “outsider” as ways to categorise, respectively, belongers/ devotees and those not within a tradition (see Hedges and King 2014: 33–6). Another issue that is raised by Voss Roberts is the way that feminist readings can often involve a counter narrative to the mainstream one; what has been termed “herstory” approaches. Further, as she puts it, “feminists extend a hermeneutics of suspicion toward all orthodoxies” (Voss Roberts 2010b: 117). She also sees feminist approaches as inherently interreligious, comparative, and liberation-focused (Voss Roberts 2010b: 117). To some degree this may involve shifting conventional narratives, because, referring to the work of Pamela Sue Anderson, she notes that women’s “dissent are muted” or “made safe” by reading or interpreting them within “patriarchal ideals of femininity” (Voss Roberts 2010b: 120, see Anderson 1998). We will pick up an example of this in the next section, although it does not arise from a specifically feminist reading. This may raise the question as to whether there may be a distinctive feminist approach within comparative theology; a question which has been asked in relation to the theology of religions more widely (Hedges 2010: 197–99, 209– 27). It has been suggested, from an analysis of literature, that five categories could be explored which signify feminist/ female approaches in the theology of religions, which can be termed: bottom up; renewal; multiple interstices and boundary crossing; disputing “malestream” concepts; and, forms of encounter (Hedges 2010: 209–10). This crosses over with what Voss Roberts has to say in terms of issues here. For instance the notion of “multiple interstices and boundary crossing” relates to Voss Roberts’ “intersection of various identity markers” (Voss Roberts 2010b: 126); while issues like the “bottom up” and disputing of “malestream concepts” are related to issues she picks up when she quotes Kwok Pui-lan and issues around the voices and sources from colonised women, where forms such as “storytelling, songs, poems, dances, and quilting, etc.” (Kwok 2005: 30, cited in Voss Roberts 2010b: 117) are deemed insignificant but may be resources for theological reflection and inspiration. (Though

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perhaps a danger in white Western comparative theologians bringing these to light is a perception of the need of the white person to save brown women, to take another theme from Kwok’s work, see 2002: 64–65; I note this as a potential perception and certainly not an accusation.) Nevertheless, it is likely that not a single one is unique to feminist comparative theology, nor can be singled out as defining of such an approach; which would be expected as we would expect to see a variety of feminist approaches and concerns. I will end though with a final point, emphasising what has been said implicitly, but which Voss Roberts explicitly picks out in her concluding sections. Speaking of “liberative ends”, Voss Roberts takes issue with Clooney’s “patient deferral of issues of truth” (Clooney 1993: 187), noting that “feminist commitment impels constructive work” and will “refuse a permanent deferral of issues of truth” (Voss Roberts 2010b: 123, 124). This relates very much to the notion of liberation where, in situations of oppression, it is necessary to act. Also, I may suggest, in a context where primarily patriarchal traditions endure deferral can mean a continuation of those androcentric norms. Indeed, she suggests that as feminist and comparative theologies come together a mutual benefit may well be seen as “each becomes more aware of the power operative within its respective field of discourse; and in overcoming these hegemonies, each can do liberative work” (Voss Roberts 2010b: 128). This leads us readily into our next section. Comparative Theology as Subversive Despite what we have said about Clooney needing to place his comparative theology firmly within his Catholic tradition, he sees the comparative theologian as a “marginal” figure within that tradition. That is to say, by the very nature of the practice he sees it sitting not within the very centre of the tradition, and those who practice it having a somewhat unusual relationship to hierarchy, orthodoxy, and notions of identity (Clooney 2010a: 157–60). The border crossing inevitably entails that the theologian is so positioned that she cannot sit easily as solely or only belonging to that one tradition as an exclusive identity. This may raise the question of the potential of dual, or multiple, belonging or identity, which we will discuss below. This again raises the question of syncretism and hybridity. We have already raised the question of the inherently syncretistic nature of all religious traditions, however, certainly in the contemporary period it is not something which most religious traditions are either happy or willing to embrace. Indeed, suggestions of anything except a “pure” lineage is likely to see a strong pushback and rebuttal from the tradition and its representatives (see, e.g. Harrison 2016: 28–31). We have mentioned this already in relation to the Gruber-Clooney debate above, where I have suggested that

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while Gruber is right that borders are imagined and unstable, nevertheless, they do become real and solid to those who inhabit the territory which they are seen to bound: they are social realities. I would suggest it is necessary to reclaim the language of syncretism as positive (see, Harrison 2016, Hedges 2010: 237–41, Schmidt-Leukel 2009: 72–89, Schreiter 2004: 63). In relation to the issues raised, it is important to consider seriously the subversive nature of comparative theology. While I have stressed above the way in which Clooney has sought to and maintained a position as an orthodox Catholic theologian who sits comfortably within his Jesuit identity, within the mainstream Catholic tradition there are aspects of his work which inevitably work against this: hence, his recognition of being a marginal figure. A characterisation which many in interreligious fields experience; vis-à-vis their religious tradition, theological studies, broader studies in religion, or even within academia. However, here I wish to focus on some more specifically theological concerns. These are well summed up by Nicholson: “These two dimensions of Clooney’s theological challenge, namely, the destabilization and reformulation of Christian identity, together imply a relational conception of Christian identity. The recognition of other forms of religious identity forces a revision of one’s own” (Nicholson 2009: 244–45). Nicholson argument is that the methodology of comparative theology forces a reconceptualisation of Christian identity. Against what Hill Fletcher has termed the container theory of religious identity (wherein each religious tradition “contains” a solid set of principles, beliefs, and practices that belong to that tradition, and it alone, Hill Fletcher 2008), comparative theology says that it is possible to rethink the terms of Christian thought and practice through another religious lens. The imagined impervious boundaries are transgressed, and shown to be permeable. Indeed, the solidity of the identity is further destabilised in what Nicholson recognises as a second move, by not just the initial “destabilisation” but by a further “reformulation”. Of course, from an academic perspective this is not at all shocking. Identities are always and inevitably plural, and are constantly renegotiated, and indeed are never stable but always in the process of being formed and reformed (see Hedges and Coco 2014). However, from many theological positions, including some which would identify themselves as academic theology, and certainly from many established theological principles, Christian identity (or religious identity more broadly) resists this, being sure, solid, unchanging, or essential in some fundamental way (which other identities are not) (see, Hedges 2010: 33–44, Hedges and Coco 2014). In this sense, comparative theology may appear to be an inherently subversive discipline in relation to at least certain mainstream interpretations of the tradition.

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This discussion, as noted, leads us to contemplate Multiple or Dual Religious Belonging or Identity (hereafter MRB). This is certainly not inherent in comparative theology, and to some degree a number of notable practitioners are very keen to position themselves as orthodox and mainstream devotees within their tradition; something not normally seen as compatible with having another religious identity or belonging. Nevertheless, there is a sense in which, as Clooney has discussed, crossing into and becoming a fluent communicator in another religious language means that one will always see their own Christian tradition anew through their knowledge and awareness of this second tradition (Clooney 2002). Few, though, would go to what may seem to some as the “extreme” of Paul Knitter who has famously, if not provocatively, stated: “Without the Buddha I Could Not be a Christian”. Further declaring himself to be a “card carrying” member of the Buddhist tradition to which he has crossed and (not fully) returned (Knitter 2010). But, of course, the same is true of Clooney as can be seen in his own words: “If my theological instincts shaped how I have thought of Hinduism, in turn Hinduism has reshaped how I think theologically as a Christian” (Clooney 2010a: 184). However, he still retains a declared identity of a Catholic, he carries only the single card of membership. The questions raised above concern what we mean by identity and belonging. Is MRB restricted only to those who claim strict identities across two traditions? How do we position those whose Christianity is informed by another religio-cultural identity, such as many who may identity variously as Indian Christians or Hindu Christians? Also, we see the very particular Western Christian (or more broadly Abrahamic) notion that religious belonging is about a claimed identity, something which is not prevalent in many other parts of the world, where various forms of ritual engagement mark people’s religiosity without the perceived need to declare oneself to have some form of “membership” or “identity” within that religion. Of course, in as far as we are discussing Christianity this last question may not always arise. But for Christians living in parts of Asia or elsewhere, some forms of multiple religious-cultural identity may seem to be a normative way of being religious/ Christian (see, Laksana 2014; on the different but related theme of religious cosmopolitanism, see, Wilfred 2017). Behind discussions of MRB we need to be aware of the lurking hand of the World Religions Paradigm (WRP). As the current author has argued at length (Hedges 2017a), our conventional notion of MRB is based upon the WRP which shapes a perception whereby we can only, properly, belong to just one religion at a time. In part this is because each is seen as a different and isolated bounded territory of impervious belonging, but also because the notion of each being a coherent and whole set of beliefs and creedal statements makes

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it seemingly impossible to belong to more than one without inherent contradiction. However, studies on Lived Religion show that this is not the way religions normally operate. Moreover, it reflects a very specific dynamic. When we ask the question in East Asia we enter a very different religious ecology. In that context (specifically China is the case study, but it seems likely true elsewhere) it makes more sense to speak of what is termed Strategic Religious Participation (SRP), which takes place within a Shared Religious Landscape (SRL) (Hedges 2017a). This would not be the place to enter into the detailed examination of Chinese forms of religiosity, but it is argued that, at both elite and popular levels, people have not traditionally seen fixed and impervious borders. The sanjiao, or Three Traditions teaching, has meant that people feel free to partake, or strategically participate, in the practices of a number of different “religions” (we should note Part 2 here and the problem of the way this term may make us envisage the borders of such traditions). This is in part possible because a certain basic set of principles, a Shared Religious Landscape, is seen to be in operation. In such contexts, the kind of border crossing that may look illegitimate to Western Christian eyes may not appear so to others. As Reid Locklin observes, there are “widely shared ritual patterns” linking Catholics and Hindus in South India (Locklin 2016: 127), which seems potentially indicative of something similar. It is not my intention to settle this question here. It raises many issues, complexities, and local differences so avoiding any quick and ready answer. It is an area which needs further study. We may note, though, returning to a point raised above, that beyond the inherent undermining of supposed clear identities, we may find comparative theology creates something like Homi Bhabha’s Third Space within and between traditions; a subversive approach to comparative theology is possible (see Winkler 2016b). Queer Religious Identity and the Comparative Project To give an example of the way that comparative theology may deal with subversive issues I will take an example from my own work.27 This is because it explicitly sees itself as a form of “subversive” theology, but it also does a number of things which may appear subversive in relation to mainstream theological or religious traditions, including comparative theology. Firstly, it engages a style of theology termed Queer Theology which grew out from gay and lesbian theologies, although going beyond them to ask wider questions which may destabilise traditional conceptions. Secondly, it looks to various subaltern traditions and readings. Thirdly, it does something which transgresses the usual rules of comparative theology which is that the theologian (an Anglican Christian) 27  This section draws heavily from Hedges (2011).

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does not just cross over to consider another tradition (Chinese Mahayana Buddhism) but also tentatively engages in a form of theologising about the tradition crossed over into, to suggest a wider category of what is termed “Queer Religious Identity”. Here, I will not replicate the entire paper, but mainly offer a synopsis of some key themes and arguments, then repeating at greater length some important aspects of the argument. It provides a reading of the bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara in the form of the Chinese “goddess”28 Guanyin in the light of Queer Theology as developed and expressed by Professor Elizabeth Stuart. I will, as noted, largely summarise some key points and therefore will only provide a brief background needed to contextualise the arguments. The Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara is a figure of immense significance within the Mahayana tradition. As Guanyin (in Japanese, Kwannon), she29 is the most widely revered figure in East Asian Buddhism and religiosity (Tay 1976). The most popular literary source on Avalokiteshvara is the Lotus Sutra, which presented the bodhisattva as always ready to hear a devotee’s prayer: if one fell into a fire, calling on him would prevent one from being burnt; he could save one from drowning; make you impervious to your enemy’s weapons; provide bravery; and, even make one’s chains fall off if one were kept in prison, regardless of whether you were guilty or innocent. He was, therefore, an all purpose protector in times of need and highly popular. This is shown iconographically in the Thousand Eyed Guanyin who, with a thousand arms and eyes, is capable of seeing and responding to every need of her devotees (Tay 1976: 171ff.; Yü 2001: 93ff.). From around the twelfth century, especially in the Chinese cultural world (China, Korea, Japan), Guanyin was mainly portrayed iconographically in female guise, something which in terms of orthodox representation plays on suggestions in the Lotus Sutra that the bodhisattva has many manifestations including as female (many Buddhists regarded women as unable to attain Awakening, hence the bodhisattvas or Buddhas were normally always seen as male). In less orthodox perspective, Guanyin became merged with indigenous cults of female deities in Daoist and Chinese folk tradition (see, Yü 2001: 311–2, also Hedges 2012b, Meulenbeld 2016 ). One particular trajectory saw Guanyin identified with the legends of the princess Miaoshan. In these narratives, the princess refuses her father’s desire for her to marry and insists on becoming a nun. Despite attempts to stop this, she ends up as a hermit in the mountains where she attains great eminence. 28  Technically a bodhisattva, however, it is argued that Gunayin “operates” as a Chinese folk goddess in many contexts hence this designation. 29  When speaking of Guanyin in her various guises I will employ “she”, when speaking about Avalokiteshvara I will employ “he”, for a rationale, see Hedges (2011: 206, 209–12).

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Meanwhile her father became critically ill “on account of that sinful karma” (Dudbridge 2004: 30). He grew sicker and no cure can be found until one day a monk arrives, and it is worth quoting at length the account given: The monk said: “I have a prescription which requires the use of two major ingredients.” The king asked what, and the monk replied: ‘”his medicine can be made using the hands and eyes of one without anger.” The king said: “Do not speak so frivolously. If I take someone’s hands and eyes, must they not be angry?” The monk said: “Such a one does exist in your land…. In the south-west of your dominion is a mountain named Fragrant Mountain. On its summit is a hermit practicing religious cultivation with signal merit, though none knows of it. This person has no anger…. By obtaining the hands and eyes of this person, this sickness of yours can be cured instantly, without any doubt”. Dudbridge 2004: 31

Miaoshan saves her father by gouging out her eyes and cutting off both hands (with the help of the envoy sent to obtain the medicine). Once recovered, her father sets off on pilgrimage to pay homage to this hermit and realises that his healer is none other than his daughter. The story concludes with her great compassion seeing her transformed into a celestial bodhisattva, identified with Guanyin, and the king and his court converting to Buddhism. As a tool to study this story, I employed Queer Theology associated with a number of thinkers, but, perhaps most notably Stuart. This is a very different trajectory from much comparative theology. I can briefly note some aspects of the style of Queer Theology employed, which “in contradistinction to much within the broad spectrum of gay, lesbian, feminist, and gender theory and theology, is not primarily a discourse of, or about, sexuality and gender” (Stuart 2003: 102). Instead, it seeks to find a way to liberate all people from their notions of embodiment, rather than to seek rights and a place for some section of people (Stuart 2003: 89). Stuart also suggests that “it seeks to liberate us from the bonds of sexualized discourse,” and is described by her as “an anti-identity theology,” based on an “unnatural development” from “the fissures within gay and lesbian theology” (Stuart 2003: 89). Indeed, within it, via the Christian tradition, she sees normal identities to be blurred or transgressed; that is, as she puts it, Christianity is “essentially queer in its attitude to identity” (Stuart 2003: 101): in Genesis 2.21–24 the original Adam was non-gendered; Church as the body of Christ is omnigendered; the examples of canonized saints include such figures as Pelagia, Marina, Eugenia, Anastasia and Joan of Arc who have defied gender roles, sometimes by growing beards (Stuart 2003: 101); the early church

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taught that women could become “manly” through virtue (Stuart 2003: 109); while it valorized same sex desire in the liturgy and devotion (Stuart 2003: 3); in Ephesians 5 the male Christ has a female body (Stuart 2003: 111). Indeed, for Stuart, this transgression which is important for rethinking our identity, is built into a Christian worldview, such that: “Only Christianity can make queer theory a viable strategy for only Christians are called to imitate their God in acting para phusin, in excess of nature” (Stuart 2003: 106). Here, against Stuart, I argue that Guanyin provides similar Buddhist resources for the transgression of standard identities. This is done by taking from Stuart’s Queer Theology ten aspects of a Queer Religious Identity, which I then apply to Guanyin:30 First, it subverts our conventional notions of gender; second it subverts our conventional notions of identity; third, while looking at and subverting gender-identity it does not highlight, but rather de-emphasizes gender and sexuality; fourth, it finds an important space for embodiment; fifth, the categories of embodiment and gender become mediums for hospitality, understood in a broad sense; sixth, it provides a route to reenchant (or enchant) the world, for it takes physicality seriously while re-presenting it; seventh, it parodies conventional identities and understandings; eighth, it allows devotees a way to escape and reposition themselves in relation to the world; ninth, it makes gender and identity subversion a place of holiness through allowing fissures to be opened up in conventional understandings to let visions of the holy/ divine/ sacred become apparent; and, tenth, it makes connections between the scandalous and the sacred. Hedges 2011: 216

It is not necessary here to detail how each applies to Guanyin, but I will provide some examples of how we may speak of her as a Queer Goddess. For one, she refused to obey conventional female roles, for instance in terms of filial piety by disobeying her father and also by taking on a celibate status (almost unthinkable for a female in the Chinese context). In this the subversion is not simply symbolic, but actually empowered moves towards female 30  Despite this subversive aspect Guanyin has also been seen as a figure who can reinforce patriarchal norms. We can bring to mind here Voss Roberts’ discussion above that some fissures opened up by women’s protests and discourses were subsumed within patriarchal traditions; whether or not this is what happened with Guanyin, it raises the way that (what I argue is) the inherently subversive nature of Guanyin becomes downplayed.

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lay renunciant orders, which provided women with a legitimate way out of, or refusal to, (unwanted) marriages. For another, she subverts our sense of the naturalness of male and female identities. In being portrayed as female she is thus in defiance of the fact that women cannot attain Awakening, and hence the inherently masculine nature of the bodhisattva. Meanwhile, though, as a bodhisattva within the Mahayana context she/he actually transcends gender altogether. Further, by being portrayed as female it provided a counter to a strong cultural emphasis, reinforced by apocryphal but generally authoritative Buddhist texts, which saw women as inherently polluting and even damned to hell by their nature. This relates to the so-called Blood-Bowl Sutra (Xuepen Jing), which sees women because of their menstrual blood contaminating the sacred earth and so needing punishment for this “sin”. Finally, Guanyin “is worshipped by all classes and by both genders. She is gracious to all and, in turn, possessed by none” (Yü 2001: 418). She is worshipped and revered by many from the margins of society who, despite her role as a preeminent establishment Buddhist figure (her statue is central in many Buddhist temples) is welcoming to prostitutes, women and many others on the margins of society, those who may be subalterns or “outsiders within”. This does not cover all ten aspects of how she can be seen as a having a Queer Religious Identity, nor as being subversive, and are perhaps not even the most interesting. Nevertheless, they raise the way in which reading two traditions alongside each other can bring out something which sits outside the margins of the mainstream of both traditions. Much of this may scandalise many Buddhists who would not want to think of Guanyin in this way; which relates to the way, perhaps, it has been argued that she has been domesticated and tamed in much contemporary Buddhist representation. The example outlined shows that comparative theology need not be done within, from, and to, the mainstream of orthodox religious representations. Such accounts can help to bring out subaltern narratives. As noted, this study also transgresses or subverts the expected norms of comparative theology because as a Christian theologian I am offering a reading of a non-Christian figure, however, with the hope of opening up a space for a discussion of what I may term an interreligious theology: I termed the original paper a work of “interreligious theology” rather than “comparative theology”. However, I would suggest that it does not stand apart from all forms of comparative theology, and certainly I would see it according with Voss Roberts’ notion of “liberative ends”. Of course, she saw that as a theme within a feminist comparative theology, but there is no reason why such liberative ends should be restricted only to feminist approaches. Indeed, the kind of Queer Theology engaged here would

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also see itself as working within a liberation theology perspective; a matter which would also link it with much postcolonial theology which crosses over with feminist theology. Conclusion The choices taken by the comparative theologian are never neutral or innocent. They have consequences and take part in the representation of traditions and disciplines. It has therefore been necessary to ask whether subaltern voices can be heard in comparative theology. Returning to the Gruber-Clooney debate and other issues, we will see a constant tension between several poles: the centre and margins of traditions; the inevitable hybridity and syncretism of all religion against the claimed solidity of traditions; the need for comparative theology to establish itself as mainstream enough to engage wider debates (in systematic theology for instance) against the sense of it as a marginal discourse; and, orthodoxy informed by hetero-patriarchal, colonial, and other norms (passively inherited and/or actively perpetuated) and a desire amongst many for liberative discourses which will rebel against these. Inevitably any act of comparative theology, or any specific comparative theologian, will locate themselves at different places along the axis points that differentiate these debates in varied traditions (we rarely see dichotomous poles, rather a spectrum of attitudes in areas, for example, of whether a tradition is syncretistic or monolithic). It can even be asked whether by opening fissures between narratives and traditions and disrupting discourses comparative theology itself is an inherently queer discourse? Whether it is or not, increasingly these issues are being grappled with as the discipline matures. They are issues which should not be ignored, but always the role of the subaltern should be placed consciously into the mind of the comparative theologian as she works.

Part 4: Comparative Theology, Hermeneutics, and Interpretation

Introduction The use of hermeneutics to undergird interreligious engagement is not new (see Cornille and Conway 2010), and is already found in comparative theology (see Hedges 2016b, Moyaert 2014a). Nevertheless, at least in comparative theology the theorising has arguably been quite thin. This is important as philosophical hermeneutics can show that the kind of intercultural/ interreligious translation and border crossing entailed by comparative theology is theoretically justified, while enhancing its methodology. We will also look at the linguistic philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein as a further support in this

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argument. Moreover, I will also argue here that certain hermeneutical lenses can further support the concern with the subaltern and point further to the potentially subversive nature of comparative theology discussed in the last part. It is necessary to place this discussion in the context where significant theological voices and traditions have disputed the viability and possibility of the kind of interreligious engagement, encounter, and learning posited by comparative theology. As such, while engaging the hermeneutical basis of comparative theology Moyaert, Hedges, and others have also sought to counter the incompatibility/ untranslatability models offered by, for instance, post-liberal theologies, Radical Orthodoxy, and particularities. This has been noted in previous parts, but we will return to this theme here. It will not be our main concern as compelling rebuttals against the critics of such interreligious encounters and comparative theology have been offered elsewhere, nevertheless, we may note that this is inherent in the discussion of the hermeneutical underpinning of comparative theology (see, Hedges 2008a, 2010, Moyaert 2011b, see also Andrejč 2016). We also return to another issue raised before, somewhat to one side of the direct hermeneutical discussion but important. This is that comparative theology does not stand alone in seeking ways that Christian theology may engage in learning and engagement with the religious Other. The concept and idea of “inculturation” (in various forms and under different terminology) is widely accepted amongst all mainstream churches when, what have been largely, European and American traditions (i.e. Roman Catholic and Protestant Christianities) seek inroads in other geographic/ cultural regions; for instance, in the development of Indian Christian theologies, liturgies and architectures (see Collins 2007). Outside (Western) Europe and (North) America, Christianity will look, feel, and perhaps even believe, quite differently. However, in an increasingly globalized and multi-cultural situation, the question arises of whether and how this process should become more relational, with Western Christianity adapting as well. The tradition of intercultural theology has challenged what is the dominant “norm” of Western theology which speaks mainly from a tradition of white, Western, male authority figures (the “canon” of much theological education, see Schreiter 2004, Ustorf 2011, Wijsen 2005). To begin considering upon what basis interreligious and intercultural exchanges may occur, it would be useful to consider Charles Taylor’s notion of the “social imaginary”. As described by Taylor it is “the ways in which [people] imagine their social existence … the way ordinary people ‘imagine’ their social surroundings … that common understanding which makes possible common practices” (Taylor, 2003: 16). Taylor points towards the fact that not only are communities, even society, a product of the imagination, but also that the

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stories they tell to hold together, the shared “common understanding”, are themselves are brought into relation and sustained through acts of shared imaginings and remembering. As Graham Ward says this does not make them insubstantial, but they are poiesis, acts of making real; but they remain narratives of existence which lack ontological foundations (Ward, 2005: 129). Ward tells us therefore that we “need to understand the discursive operations involved in the creation and transformation of these imaginaries …”, in which “persuasions, conversions, changes of mind, acts of will, displacements of desire” are involved (Ward, 2005: 129). That is to say: the Christian tradition and the sense of identity it instills is, like all discourses, imagined or constructed. It is not an ontological given. The texts, traditions, and discourses it employs are not naturally set in place nor the only ones. Rather, they are a selected set of texts, practices, and beliefs, which could have been otherwise. Nevertheless, in the act of bringing forth a religious narrative, they create a deeply ingrained imprint that can seem unchangeable (though as with all tradition its only certainly is that it is invented and changing, see Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983, Lewis and Hammer 2011). A social imaginary is therefore also a social reality. A hermeneutical strategy for approaching this, because the discourses are deeply ingrained, must necessarily speak from the social imaginary it addresses. So, for a Christian comparative theology arguments that are acceptable (theologically and ecclesiastically) must go hand in hand with the development of a hermeneutical proposal. However, we must highlight that the tradition is already interpreted and so implicated within hermeneutics; it is not something applied to it but inherent in it. Further, the hermeneutics should not reinforce the malestream elite which can silence subaltern voices; it requires a balancing act. It is possible to get bogged down in the quagmire of theory, counter theory, and conflicting opinion that marks the territory of contemporary hermeneutical discussion and its discontents. Landmark figures include Hans-Georg Gadamer, Paul Ricoeur, Martin Heidegger, Jürgen Habermas, and Jacques Derrida to name but a few (see Malpas and Gander 2015). Likewise, theological hermeneutics can boast such key figures as Rudolf Bultmann (Bultmann 1956), David Tracy (Tracy 2010), and Werner Jeanrond (Jeanrond 2010). Of course, this refers simply to discussions primarily within the Western tradition, and various voices have warned that intercultural hermeneutics is more fraught, and still at an early stage of development or, even, non-existence (Wijsen 2005). Nevertheless, in recent years people have attempted to begin to formulate suggestions towards this or propose hermeneutics that can be used in particular contexts. It may usefully be noted that Joseph O’Leary suggests that the

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Buddhist concept of upaya, or skilful means, can be employed. I agree that as a philosophical concept it could potentially be disembedded from its original Buddhist scriptural context and employed as a more neutral hermeneutical tool (see Cornille 2010: xx-xxi). Some may suggest that if we are seeking a method that makes sense within the social imaginary of Western Christians then the concept may, to some, seem too alien and carry connotations of its context which may make it problematic. I would see this as problematic though, because it retains a sense that Western theory is somehow universal but non-Western theory is contextual; I think we must resist this line of thinking (see Alatas 2002, Braak 2016). Certainly, rather than simply using Christian or Western hermeneutical tools, a comparative theology should seek (at the least) theoretical tools from the tradition engaged. I will not develop this point further here, as my aim here is not to develop a specific comparative theological act. With that said, it is useful to address what hermeneutics is to help shape the scope of the project. Literally, “it is the ‘art of hermeneuein, i.e. of proclaiming, translating, explaining and interpreting’, or, in short, the ‘art of understanding’” (Jensen, 2007: 2). However, it is not a full and comprehensive system for this, and Jensen suggests it stands between epistemology and methodology, as “the link between the two” (Jensen, 2007: 5). Certainly, it is not my aim to develop an epistemology herein; how we come to know and understand raises questions beyond the scope of this work. Nevertheless, philosophical hermeneutics does engage the way we know. Likewise, my aim is not to provide a strict methodology for comparative theology. Nevertheless, hermeneutics certainly can provide a way of helping us see what methodological tools are useful and valid, as well as giving lenses to help inform methodological work. Indeed, I strongly suspect there will not be any single method for comparative theology. Interreligious readings of scripture or Christological examinations require different skills in interpretation, reading, philosophy, historicity and other disciplines. Hermeneutics provides a practical possibility for suggesting ways in which comparative or intercultural theological engagement can proceed. As a final introductory note, I would like to propose several levels of hermeneutics, or types of hermeneutics, or even ways of engaging hermeneutically to help explain the way the part is structured. Hermeneutics developed out of Christian scriptural interpretation. Indeed, scriptural or textual interpretation remains a basic form of thinking about hermeneutics. However, especially as developed by Heidegger, Gadamer, and Ricoeur what is often known as philosophical hermeneutics took on a wider scope being concerned with the way we make sense of the world. For Gadamer this was very much about

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shaping a “method” (whether Gadamer proposes a methodology or not is a debated topic31) for the human sciences. It concerns therefore human modes of interpretation more broadly. This contains both suggestions for the possibility and conceptual basis for how we can interpret and understand (closer to epistemology) as well as consideration of how this is put into practice (closer to methodology). It is primarily with such philosophical hermeneutics that we are first concerned. Therefore we will in the next section look at the way that the kind of interreligious border crossing, translation, and understanding that comparative theologians undertake may be legitimated and seen as possible through hermeneutical principles. The main engagement will be with Gadamer and Ricoeur. However, we will also address the way that such philosophical hermeneutics can help support the methodology of comparative theology, especially as envisaged by Clooney. I note that I do not engage in a purist way with hermeneutics and bring other linguistic philosophy, especially Wittgenstein, in as a further tool. Such philosophical hermeneutics can remain, however, at quite an abstract level, and so we will also engage another way of doing hermeneutics. I will term this the employment of hermeneutical tools/ lenses. That is to say, it will be about proposing particular concepts which can direct the way we interpret. I will suggest a number of such lenses which come from a variety of sources, but mainly embedded within Christian thought. These will be: double transformation; hospitality; and, liberating interdependence. As I have mentioned for a comparative theological project it would certainly be important also to draw tools from the tradition(s) engaged, and also from other non-Western sources. However, as this is a set of initial suggestions, I will outline these three which draw from global sources. Grounding Comparative Theology in Philosophical Hermeneutics Both Gadamer and Ricoeur provide ground rules for understanding acts of translation (cultural and linguistic) as well as explaining how understanding occurs. Importantly, in hermeneutics, understanding and interpretation are not separated. Gadamer tells us: “Interpretation is not an occasional additional act subsequent to understanding, but rather understanding is always an interpretation, and hence interpretation is the explicit form of understanding” 31  I would suggest that we can speak of Gadamer advancing a method for the human sciences, in part because it aligns with his own way of describing hermeneutics (see Gadamer 1979: 433). Others suggest that his opposition to the method of the natural sciences as applied to the human sciences meant he opposed all method in his hermeneutical endeavour. Recent studies such as Barthold (2009: 66) do, however, agree with my approach in speaking of him seeking a method for the human sciences.

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(Gadamer 1979: 274). We can unpack this in various ways. An important foundational point is what recent philosophy, not just in hermeneutics but following Wittgenstein and the so-called linguistic turn, sees as the linguistically and culturally embedded nature of all knowledge. We do not have free-floating ideas. Rather, all our knowledge is embedded within what Wittgenstein would call language games. Further, Wittgenstein speaks of “hinge propositions” – those concepts which are (almost unchallengeable) certainties in our knowledge (see Andrejč 2016: 38). It is through our pre-existing mental concepts, which as humans are always linguistically expressed as they become conscious to us that we know anything. This comes from our being “part of a linguistic community, indeed our (religious) language has no life apart from that community” (Hedges 2016b: 9–10, referencing Gadamer 1979: 401). Employing Heidegger’s thought, Gadamer further describes this as “the fundamental linguistic quality of man’s being-in-the-world” (Gadamer 1979: 401). Importantly, Gadamer advances our understanding of this through his concept of prejudices. Gadamer uses the term “prejudice” in a specific and technical way to refer to our preunderstandings. This refers to more than Wittgensteinian hinges because it is not just the absolute certainties (that I exist, or that the world existed yesterday, Andrejč 2016: 38–39), but to the whole experience and worldview that has come to us at any specific time. To be within the world we need to be creatures that position ourselves in relation to that world: “To have a ‘world’ means to have an attitude towards it” (Gadamer 1979: 402). Therefore, for Gadamer, prejudice does not carry any negative connotations. Rather they are “beneficial in that they are the social, cultural, and religious formation which allow us to understand and interpret the world” (Hedges 2016b: 10). Nevertheless, Gadamer suggests they can be either “good” or “bad”, a matter which leads us onto another signature idea of his which is the fusion of horizons. The connection of these can be seen in the following quote: “The key to a proper interpretation lies in acquiring the proper horizon” (Vessey 2009: 533). That is to say, only when we are open to the possibility of learning can this occur. For Gadamer, the horizon is both the limits of our knowledge and the space to look beyond those limits. Here we must understand, against some critics who have misunderstood Gadamer’s concept (see Hedges 2016c), that the horizon is never a fixed limit but always a potentially expanding one. The analogy with the horizon we see as we walk is the obvious one; the further we walk on the more we can see: “In this the interpreter’s own horizon is decisive, yet not as a personal standpoint that one holds onto or enforces, but more as a meaning and a possibility that one brings into play and puts at risk, and that helps one to truly make one’s own what is said in the text” (Gadamer 1979: 350). We see here the relation to prejudices: they form the basis upon which we come to

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know anything, but they are not a limit to what we can know. This offers a response to Jürgen Habermas’ (Habermas 2005) criticism of Gadamer where he argues that if we are always inside our prejudices we can never know if they are true or false. Although Gadamer strongly emphasises our tradition, pre-knowledge, and prejudices as shaping our understanding, he sees this as always capable of being critiqued or extended. We can move our horizon. Indeed, as I have suggested elsewhere, we may be better off speaking of the “opening of horizons” as fusion may simply suggest, for example, two things coming together and being merged, but instead our horizon means that it is always open to new learning (Hedges 2016c). This takes us back to Gadamer’s conception of “good” and “bad” prejudices, for the bad ones are those which prevent the opening or expansion of our horizons. Good prejudices on the other hand are those which tell us that such learning from the Other may occur, and keep us ready to challenge and question our own knowledge and understanding. In relation to fields such as comparative theology “the following is a very useful quote from Gadamer: ‘A person who has no horizon does not see far enough and hence overvalues what is nearest to him’” (Hedges, 2016b: 11, citing Gadamer 1979: 269). We will return to some lessons from this for comparative theology in due course, but first we must address the issue of translation. We have addressed above the rather meta-conceptual issues of how we can come to extend our own knowledge and the possibility of this. We turn now to the ways in which philosophical hermeneutics shows the viability of interreligious learning and encounter. This begins, for both Gadamer and Ricoeur, with the fact of our linguistic nature as human beings: “Thanks to the linguistic nature of all interpretation every interpretation includes the possibility of a relationship with others. There can be no speech which does not bind the speaker and the person spoken to” (Gadamer 1979: 359); “the strangeness of man [sic] is never total” (Ricoeur 1965: 282). Both concur that we face difficulties in crossing linguistic and cultural barriers of understanding and translation. However, the barrier is also a potential bridge. The horizon is open not closed. Employing her Ricoeurian inspired hermeneutical framework, Moyaert has particularly discussed and developed this issue. For her, we always face a tension through the fact that translation is both possible but also impossible (Moyaert 2014a: 146, 165). Translation can never be complete, for words, phrases, or concepts will never have utterly univocal meanings across linguistic or cultural barriers. Nevertheless, while therefore impossible, the task is also possible because it does occur and meaning is conveyed (Moyaert 2014a: 119–56, see also Cornille 2008). In Gadamerian terms we would speak of the “agony” of translation (Gadamer 1979: 363); this keeps together the difficulty yet also the potential of interpretation across cultures. Indeed, developing points from

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previous parts, we see people who are, with greater or lesser fluency, religious bilinguals. Indeed, as we discussed in relation to Multiple Religious Belonging our paradigms also shape our expectations and understanding. Likewise within the Chinese example, for instance, it was noted that the concept of Strategic Religious Participation in a Shared Religious Landscape may better express the situation. That is to say, there is an understanding that communication and exchange across religious worlds is the expected norm, not the difficult to conceptualise exception (see Hedges 2017a). For Moyaert this relates, again through Ricoeurian concepts, to her language and understanding of humans and their religious identities as “fragile” and “vulnerable” where a connection on the human realm is always a possibility that can open us to the Other (Moyaert 2014a: 96). A Levinasian ethical sense of being before the face of the Other and the challenge that invokes has certainly been seen as helpful in interreligious encounter (see Leirvik 2014: 17–28).32 Again, as we discussed in Part 2, the World Religion’s Paradigm (WRP) may shape the way we see relations between religions as bounded territories, but this is neither a normal nor natural understanding of the global religious landscape (see Hedges 2017a). Therefore, the relation to the academic study of religion is important so that we keep in mind a strong understanding of the religious Other. These strands around ethics and not domesticating the religious Other can be expressed as follows with reference to Gadamer’s work: In terms of translation, this dialectical tension between self and other, which is also a dialectical harmony, means that in the act of comparative theology, “the translator must respect the character of his own language, into which he is translating, while still recognising the value of the alien, even antagonistic character of the text and its expression”. Hedges 2016b: 11, citing Gadamer 1979: 348–49

As noted, particularities stress the untranslatability and even the incommensurability of religions, arguing that learning from the ideas of an “alien” religion may sully the (socially imagined) “pure character” of one’s tradition. However, philosophical hermeneutics shows the folly of this. It misunderstands the problem of translation as an impossibility. Arguments that this is grounded in 32  In invoking Levinas we should be wary though of the critique that he makes the Other so wholly Other that they can never be understood or approached (see Cheetham 2013: 212–13). Nevertheless, the embodied focus of Levinas’ ethical theorising may, I would suggest, make it capable of transcending such a barrier especially in contradistinction to a solely linguistically focused ethical conception (see Hedges 2016d).

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Wittgenstein have been convincingly shown to be based on a misuse or misunderstanding of him (see Andrejč 2016). Indeed, Gorazd Andrejč has shown that a Wittgensteinian approach sees interreligious communication and understanding as inherently possible. However, we must always beware of assuming that we speak naturally across religious worlds. There are no natural “religions” (see Part 2). We must constantly be wary of domesticating the Other in our own terms, concepts, or worldview: this will both misconstrue her, and also mean that we can no longer learn from what she has to say to us. Despite this, a hermeneutical or philosophical view demonstrates that communication across linguistic and cultural worlds is a possibility. This also means across religious worlds, whatever that may mean for the particular traditions and communities involved. Hermeneutics: Methods and Lenses We turn now to asking what way hermeneutics provide methodological support for comparative theology. In doing this, we will also combine discussion of specific hermeneutical lenses that can be used by the comparative theologian in her work. We continue with the notion of translation and acts of interpretation across borders. While comparative religion may sometimes seek to find related concepts, the act of comparative theology may be quite different. It employs, to some extent, what Arvind Sharma has called “reciprocal illumination” (2005, 2016).33 As such, while the understanding of comparative religion is important to ensure that we do not misconstrue, domesticate, or distort the religious Other, comparative theology does not rest simply with this understanding (although, as we noted hermeneutically, this always means an interpretation). Rather, it wants to return with insights for the home tradition. In speaking of what we find within other texts, Gadamer tells us: “It not only has its own truth in itself, but it also has its own truth for us” (Gadamer 1979: 400). As such, in crossing over and returning, we do not seek simply to replicate the other 33  I would note that I find Sharma’s concept far more applicable to comparative theology rather than comparative religion which is where he suggests it is useful (see Winkler 2016a). In the latter it does not seem to act as an analytical tool, but rather suggests we can find interesting associations in our minds. While this may open new insights for us, finding things kicking off ideas seems to lack a solid foundation, though as we will discuss below such acts of intuition can to some degree be founded in hermeneutical method as applicable to the human sciences. For comparative theology it is to some degree the dissonance of ideas which means that constructive work within a normative tradition can be inspired in this way. We discuss this as we proceed.

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within our own system, but to reapply it and bring fresh insight (see Hedges 2016b, referencing Clooney 2010a: 83–86, and Clooney 2005: ix). To explore this we can usefully consider how Gadamer argues we need to advance upon Schleiermacher’s psychological views of hermeneutics which had aimed at returning to the original intention of an author: It sounds at first like a sensible rule, generally recognised as such, that nothing should be put into a text that the writer or the reader could not have intended. But this rule can be applied only in extreme cases. For texts do not ask to be understood as a living expression of the subjectivity of their writers. This, then, cannot define the limits of the text’s meaning. Gadamer 1979: 356

For Gadamer “[t]he idea of the original reader is full of unexamined idealisation” (Gadamer 1979: 356). It is often an impossible or imaginary task to put ourselves back into the mind of a writer of another culture or period. Rather, Gadamer tells us that we may even expect new insights to occur (Gadamer 1979: 160–2): “since men [sic] cannot be aware of everything, their words, speech and writing can mean something they themselves did not intend to say or write” (Chladenius quoted by Gadamer 1979: 162). This relates to what Clooney sees as the “creative tension” (Clooney 2010a: 11) when different worlds of thought are brought into interaction. We open our horizons to see, potentially, beyond what may have been in either original tradition. Here I suggest a particular hermeneutical lens can help clarify and deepen our reflection: Martien Brinkman’s notion of double transformation (Brinkmann 2009). Brinkman suggests that many attempts at the cultural translation of Christianity have tended to take a biblical model from which it is supposed a clear map exists for giving a representation of the faith for a new cultural context. However, he points out the biblical texts and concepts are themselves acts of intercultural encounter (even biblical ideas are already interpreted ideas). Every concept, as it is appropriated and used will “undergo a certain metamorphosis” which will both change the concept as well as the context into which it is translated (Brinkman, 2009: 26). Therefore, not only is the concept inculturated into the new context (the traditional notion of a single transformation), but the original concept itself is also newly understood and given new meanings: a double transformation takes place. Brinkman explicitly sets his paradigm against that of Reinhold Niebuhr of “Christ the Transformer of Culture” because by being known in culture Christ is always thought anew and given fresh meanings (Brinkman, 2009: 20). Christ cannot simply transform culture, but the concept of Christ is itself

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transformed in every cultural encounter or interpretation. We do not have simply, as Schreiter suggests, a situation of senders and receivers (Schreiter 1985, 2004), but a position wherein both are senders and receivers. Indeed, Brinkman’s analysis informs us that we do not prioritize the initial sender because they too are embedded within a cultural context and therefore already partake in the nature of receivership even before they become senders. This has important implications about decentering Western theological forms as universal or standard. To take an example from Christology, biblical images of Jesus as Lord and Son gain new nuances if we apply to Jesus concepts of Avatar and Ancestor. Because the biblical message is already culturally encoded, we must realize that when we speak of Jesus as Lord we must now do so with respect to his being an Ancestor. Existing images, doctrines, or concepts take on fresh perspectives in the light of new readings. Raised by Brinkmann in the context of intercultural theology, it can readily be applied to comparative theology. It certainly shows that when we are involved in seeking to understand another culture or religion we are involved inevitably within double transformation. The crossing and returning means that we will always and must be transformed: interpretation can never just go one way. We can link this to Tracy Sayuki Tiemeier’s point that a principle of comparative theology is that “one is fundamentally changed in encounter with the ‘other’” (Tiemeier 2010: 140). As Moyaert notes through her employment of Ricoeur, translation does not mean simply loss of meaning for actually new meanings (horizons or interpretations) can be opened up (Moyaert 2014a: 112). Certainly, we do not seek, nor should we expect “a common language and a common statement” (Gadamer 1979: 348). For Moyaert, in terms of translation, this can be related to Ricoeur’s reflections on translation as hospitality (Moyaert 2014a: 159–61), which picks up a key theme from interreligious dialogue and engagement (see Kearney and Taylor 2011; Hedges 2010: 231–37). We are open to the Other, but not seeking to either find a unified narrative nor sameness; hospitality is to some degree posited on the Otherness of the Other. Hospitality may be a useful lens for thinking about hermeneutics. It is embedded within the Christian tradition, which in its biblical formulation entails that: “The stranger comes from another world and has a message from it” (Westermann 1986: 277). I would argue that this means that we must let the religious Other challenge us. We see this exemplified in Jesus’ example in parallel stories of an encounter with a Gentile woman in Matthew and Mark (Matt 15: 22–28, Mark 7: 1–23; see, Hedges 2010: 233–4, Foster 1990: 26): In Mark’s narrative the abolition of the purity laws [Mark 7.1–23] is followed by the story of the Syrophoenician woman (7.24–30). The

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structuring of the narrative is significant: after making a full-scale attack on the purity system Jesus has his theory tested by a Gentile woman. His reaction is shameful. But this woman, the fiercely protective mother, demands the hospitality that he has declared to be possible (albeit implicitly). Stuart 1998: 59

Hospitality as a biblical and hermeneutical lens allows us to see how we must be open and willing to be changed in relation to the Other. Knowing when and how to apply hospitality may though not always be clear. We can link this to Clooney’s reflection that comparison is not an exact science and that sometimes intuition tells him what may be usefully compared (Clooney 2010a: 20– 21). While this may seem vague, we see it related to the way Gadamer sees his work as building foundations for the human sciences where certain approaches such as “tact” may be useful: “By ‘tact’ we understand a particular sensitivity and sensitiveness to situations, and how to behave in them, for which we cannot find any knowledge from general principles. Hence an essential part of tact is inexplicitness and inexpressibility” (Gadamer 1979: 16, cf. 9). Elsewhere he speaks of the need for “formation” (bildung) of various soft virtues, skills, or forms of knowledge/ being which cannot necessarily be taught (Gadamer 1979: 30). This includes developing judgement or good sense (Gadamer 1979: 29). Indeed, he calls judgement, judicium, “a basic intellectual virtue” (Gadamer 1979: 30). They are for him “at the same time a mode of knowing and a mode of being” (Gadamer 1979: 17). This implies some kind of “formation” and accords with the need for comparative theologians to develop “virtuous skills” (Hedges, 2016b: 14), or as Clooney says “Comparative theology is fruitful primarily in practice; doing it will require wise practitioners …” (Clooney 2010a: 154). What this means may be disputed, but perhaps it may be possible to link this to Jeanrond’s notion of a hermeneutics of love (Jeanrond 2010) seen in the light of Moyaert’s concerns about our vulnerability to the Other (see Moyaert 2014a). It is important that while Gadamer speaks about his hermeneutics being about the interpretation of “texts” he suggests we should understand this widely to include such areas as art and rituals (Gadamer 1979: 146). Indeed, while we have spoken of it as a highly linguistic discipline, because our understanding and interpretation of the world is always and inevitably through language we must not forget that much that affects us most powerfully as humans is not necessarily the words themselves. Further, it is not often creeds, texts, or doctrinal formulations where we see religion being enacted, but often in the embodied experiences of people. For Gadamer, this is focused around a discussion of what is charming and beautiful. We may feel an attraction to

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something: “When we understand a text, what is meaningful in it charms us just as the beautiful charms us. It has asserted itself and charmed us before we can come to ourselves and be in a position to test the claim to meaning that it makes” (Gadamer 1979: 446). Indeed, this certainly goes beyond texts, and Clooney himself (as discussed above) relates a narrative where he stands before a statue of a goddess, not worshipping because this is something he believes Christians do not (cannot) do, but nevertheless he seems enthralled (Clooney 2010a: 88–89). This appears suggestive of why in comparative work we are drawn to make certain comparisons, or why studies turn to particular figures or themes rather than others – they are the ones that captivate the theologian in question. Within comparative theology this notion of the charm of the Other has been most fully theorised by Voss Roberts (Voss Roberts 2014). She explores the aesthetic aspects of the Hindu tradition in relation to Christianity, particularly picking up the notion of rasa (Voss Roberts 2014: 1–17). Three particular rasas are explored in her work, peace, love, and fury, and she takes a paradigmatic aspect of the Hindu tradition to explicate each one, Kashmiri Shaivite, Bengali Vaishnava, and Dalit thought, respectively. In terms of her comparative work she again seeks representative figures or strands within the Christian tradition, which are, in order: Indian Christian Ashramite traditions, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Liberation Theology. However, her work does not simply compare but also engages in constructive theological work, and this involves theorising a ninth rasa which she terms wonder (Voss Roberts 2014: 181–94). She reflects on the way that a sense of wonder leads us to discovering or exploring religious Others, such that as Gadamer would put it we are “charmed”. This she argues plays a key role in developing comparative theological engagement (Voss Roberts 2014: 183–87). We must ask though what attracts us, or what are we charmed by, considering that Voss Roberts notes also: “The transcendent function of aesthetics abstracts from daily life, we have charged, and permits connoisseurs to become insensate to suffering and injustice” (Voss Roberts 2014: 124). She speaks, in relation to the Hindu family of religions, of our need to attend to Dalit sensibilities, and also “moves towards a politically responsible view of rasa” (Voss Roberts 2014: 125; though for a critique of the “Brahamanic and Sanskrit-based” “framework” for engaging this see Samuel 2017: 55 n12). This applies not just to aesthetic concerns nor Dalits, but the wider concern with all subalterns. In light of our last point, I suggest a final hermeneutical lens that comes from the African post-colonial and feminist biblical scholar Musa Dube (Dube, 2000: 184–86), especially as interpreted by the Asian American theologian Boyung Lee (B. Lee, 2010). Taking her lead from Said, Dube sees interdependence as speaking about the interconnectedness of histories, economies,

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political structures, races, cultures, etc. (Dube, 2000: 18 and 185). However, the important connecting idea to this is that of being liberating, and of this Dube says: The interdependence of nations, continents, genders, races, cultures, and political and economic systems, therefore, has always been a given and remains one of the most important aspects of survival. Nonetheless, most interconnections are built on foundations that are both oppressive and exploitative. The term liberating interdependence is therefore used here to define the interconnectedness of relationships that recognize and affirm the dignity of all things and people involved. The crucial question, therefore is: How can we begin to articulate a vision of liberating interdependence? Dube, 2000: 185–186, italics in original

Utilizing the thought of Rita Nakashima Brock, B. Lee further suggests that: … many liberation theologians and pedagogues from the formerly colonized Two-Thirds World and the marginalized First World tend to focus on the fulfillment of justice and peace in their own communities through challenging the dominant paradigm and speaking up from their different contexts. B. Lee 2010: 291

This, she suggests is a problem because it means each group is in dialogue with the dominant group, which perpetuates a separated dialogue. We see each minor group circling around a dominant centre. This reinforces rather than undermines, in some senses, the normativity of that dominant central community. Of this she says: This dynamic often results in unhealthy relationships between the marginalized as they compete with each other to be a more important partner of the dominant group. This mode of engagement thus helps the dominant group to keep the status quo, while putting other groups at odds with one another. B. Lee 2010: 291

What is needed then is that ethical obligations are not simply on one-side (Dube, 2000: 19), and that we should not minimize the cultural other, but recognize the many facets of every situation (Dube, 2000: 192–93). Importantly

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for our context, Dube notes that this will allow us to learn from many cultural and religious traditions. Speaking of the African Independent Churches, and specifically the women of those traditions, that inform her perspective on this she says: They reject the imposition of Christianity as the one and only valid religion and freely cull from both religious cultures whatever wisdom these traditions offer in the enhancement of life and nurturing difference. For today’s multicultural and multifaith global village, a mode of reading that allows one to encounter and to acknowledge the strengths and weaknesses of our different cultures as well as to respectfully learn cross-culturally, without subscribing to the oppressive aspects, is imperative. Dube, 2000: 193–94

This, again, may raise issues about maintaining the integrity of the Christian tradition in a situation where it is surrounded by, and in dialogue with, other religious traditions. The key aspect, if we may summarize, is of the need to be aware, at all times, of the multivocal nature of the dialogue and the needs and position of all participants, especially those who may be most marginalized or at risk of oppression. Not, however, to promote them at the expense of others, but to be in an active and reflective process of seeking to engage with the focus of liberative interdependence. We need to realize that all are related. Some key points in this are well summed up by B. Lee as follows speaking about pedagogy but in ways that may be applied to the writing of (comparative) theology: … I urge them to stop imagining nonexistent centers. There are many subcenters, in addition to an imagined center; however, when we assert one norm, then we effectively limit our contributions to interdependence, as though our own thoughts are afterthoughts…. We need to reflect critically on who our conversation partners are, and why we tend to talk to one imagined center rather than to talk with one another and the plurality of “centers”. B. Lee 2010: 295

Conclusion These examples do not exhaust the themes which could be developed from philosophical hermeneutics either to provide a theoretical possibility for the viability of interreligious engagement or for ways that encounters can be methodologically grounded. Nevertheless, our aim here is not to engage every aspect of philosophical hermeneutics, but rather to use it as a tool to show

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how comparative theology can be more strongly grounded. Further, more hermeneutical lenses could be suggested which may draw from wider sources. Again, the aim here is not to be definitive but to move towards the development of theorising these issues within comparative theology. Nevertheless, I will suggest why the three picked out here are particularly useful. Firstly, double transformation breaks the social imaginary that comparative theology (or any intercultural theology) simply adds a “contextual” footnote to the established norms or images of the tradition. Both the new concept and the original concept are altered and transformed by the encounter. It also reminds us, in Gadamerian terms, that traditional Christian thought and doctrine are simply the prejudices we inhabit, that is they are what allow us to explore and expand our horizons but they are not, and never can be, the limits or perspective from which to view all other horizons or concepts. Secondly, hospitality grounds our exploration within the tradition, and must be wisely extended in light of our loving vulnerability to the Other. Thirdly, liberating interdependence concerns the way we engage and who we engage with. There is no centre, except that imagined, and so we must be mindful of not neglecting the multitude of “centres” each of which may be in conversation and instead seek to engage through the normative tradition of the social imaginary. This allows us to attend to the concerns of the subaltern, but not at the expense of other subalterns by prioritising some. Each of these seems to have strong resonances for how we go about bringing comparative theology into a richer conversation with other resources.

Concluding Reflections

Comparative theology, as practiced today, while having a mainstream representation based around Clooney and others is marked by many and diverse streams. Moreover, theology in a comparative mode takes place in many different contexts and the aims and methods of what is commonly termed comparative theology may not speak to all of them. We have focusing upon those who would align themselves with the broad comparative theology movement which while still young as a contemporary academic discipline is a flourishing and rigorous area. It is a practice, though, which needs strongly reflexive practitioners who are aware of the pitfalls and ambiguities that lie within its remit. On the one hand it may be seen as representing itself as part of an orthodox and mainstream tradition, yet it is also linked to an awareness that such a tradition cannot truly have a centre and that our representations of religion while producing strong social realities are very much part of a social imaginary.

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Indeed, practitioners need to be alert to the way that speaking into discourses can strengthen elite and powerful voices and sideline or marginalise a range of subaltern voices. The task and vocation of the contemporary comparative theologian is not an easy one. Looking at the contemporary situation, it is possible to note a few trends and issues. First, the ritual and material turn in comparative theology is likely to become stronger and more significant. While initially a textual movement, and this is likely to remain a fundamental part, further explorations and theorising around liturgy, ritual, and embodied religious practices are likely to become foci for more comparative theological work. Second, hermeneutical and other philosophical grounds and foundations for comparative theology are likely to become more significant. There is a balance to be struck between theorising comparison and actually doing it, but I suspect that as the field grows and needs to continually claim and justify its space within the academy it will need to further assess its conceptual basis. Third, the question of who does comparative theology, and where, will need to be considered and addressed within a global dialogue involving multiple voices. As noted, comparative theology can seem a particularly white, Western, elite, academic discipline which has a danger of separating itself from other theologies, partly through territorial naming into the realms of intercultural theology, cross-cultural theology, contextual theology, comparative theology, etc. This is not to suggest that a single term can replace all of these, but there is a danger of painting certain versions of theology in a comparative mode as acceptable while others are not; this may silence subaltern voices. Fourth, a certain democratisation of who can do comparative theology is underway and needs to continue. Concerns about the danger and difficulty of doing comparison well have often limited it to certain elite textual and trained specialists, but as recent significant books (Voss Roberts 2016, Brecht and Locklin 2016) have shown it can be usefully taught to, and practiced by, a wider range of people. This is also a reason for grounding the methodology (especially hermeneutically) more thoroughly, which can help us see the possibility and limits within which we can do such comparative work. As such, rather than relying upon the fine-tuned instincts of people who can dwell as experts within two or more traditions based upon decades of elite study, we can seek to see ways in which comparative work can be accessible more broadly. Fifth, while comparative theology has mainly engaged elite philosophical figures in dialogue about doctrine it is likely that it will start to see more subversive acts of comparison undertaken. What can, inter alia, queer theory, subaltern voices, and other perspectives bring to light in a comparison between and across traditions? These will surely be questions we will see raised as comparative theology furthers its scope.

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