Religion and reductionism : essays on Eliade, Segal, and the challenge of the social sciences for the study of religion 9789004378841, 9004098704, 9789004098701

Table of contents :
RELIGION AND REDUCTIONISM: ESSAYS ON ELIADE, SEGAL, AND THE CHALLENGE OF THE SOCIAL SCIENCES FOR THE STUDY OF RELIGION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
List of Contributors
Introduction
PART I The Challenge of the Social Sciences for the Study of Religion
1 Reductionism in the Study of Religion
2 Are Religious Theories Susceptible to Reduction?
3 Clarifying the Strengths and Limits of Reductionismin the Discipline of Religion
4 The Instability of Religious Belief: Some Reductionistic andEliminative Pressures
PART II Reductionism, Eliade, and Segal
5 Must Professors of Religion by Religous? On Eliade's Method ofInquiry and Segal's Defense of Reductionism
6 Mircea Eliade and the Battle Against Reductionism
7 Reduction without Tears
8 Beyond the Sceptic and the Devotee: Reductionism in theScientific Study of Religion
9 What is Reductionism?
10 Human Reflexivity and the Nonreductive Explanation of Religous Action
11 Religion, Explanation, and the Askesis of Inquiry
12 Explaining, Endorsing, and Reducing Religion
PART III Sources and Applications of Reductionism
13 Before 'The Sacred' Became Theological: Durkheim and Reductionism
14 Reductionism in the Classroom
15 Reductions of a Working Historian
16 Discourse with Angels: literature and Religion
Index of Names
Index of Subjects
STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS NUMEN BOOKSERIES

Citation preview

RELIGION AND REDUCTIONISM

STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS (.NUMENBOOKSERIES) EDITED BY

H.G. KIPPENBERG • E.T. LAWSON

VOLUME LXII

Idinopulos and Yonan - 978-90-04-37884-1

RELIGION AND REDUCTIONISM ESSAYS ON ELIADE, SEGAL, AND THE CHALLENGE OF THE SOCIAL SCIENCES FOR THE STUDY OF RELIGION

EDITED BY

THOMAS A. IDINOPULOS AND

EDWARD A. YONAN

EJ. BRILL LEIDEN · NEW YORK · KOLN 1994 Idinopulos and Yonan - 978-90-04-37884-1

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Religion and reductionism : essays on Eliade, Segal, and the challenge of the social sciences for the study of religion / edited by Thomas A. Idinopulos and Edward A. Yonan. p. cm. - (Studies in the history of religions, ISSN 0169-8834 ; v. 62) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. ISBN 9004098704 (alk. paper) 1. Religion-Study and teaching. 2. Reductionism. 3. Religion . 5. Segal, and the social sciences. 4. Eliade, Mircea, 1907Robert Alan. I. Idinopulos, Thomas A. II. Yonan, Edward A. III. Series: Studies in the history of religions ; 62. BL4 l.R383 1993 200'.7-dc20 93-34581 CIP

ISSN 0 169-8834 ISBN 90 04 09870 4 © Copyright 1994 by EJ. Brit~ Leiden, The .Netherlands

All rights reserved. .No part qf this publication may be reproduced, trans/at,ed, stored in a retrieval .rystem, or transmitt,ed in any form or by a'!)I means, e/,ectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior writt,en permission qf the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items far int£rnal or personal use is grant,ed by EJ. Brill provided that the appropria,t,e fees are paid direct!J to Copyright Ckarance Cent,er, 27 Congress Street, Sal.em MA 01970, USA. Fees are suiject to change. PRINTED IN THE NETHERI.ANDS

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TABLE OF CONTENTS List of Contributors Introduction

vii

1

PARTI

The Challenge of the Social Sciences for the Study of Religion 1 Reductionism in the Study of Religion by Robert A. Segal

4

Are Religious Theories Susceptible to Reduction? by Thomas Ryba

15

3 Clarifying the Strengths and Limits of Reductionism in the Discipline of Religion by Edward A. Yonan

43

2

4

The Instability of Religious Belief: Some Reductionistic and Eliminative Pressures by Terry F. Godlove, Jr. PART

49

II

Reductionism, Eliade, and Segal 5

6

7 8

Must Professors of Religion by Religous? On Eliade's Method of Inquiry and Segal's Defense of Reductionism by Thomas A. ldinopulos

65

Mircea Eliade and the Battle Against Reductionism by Wayne Elzey

82

Reduction without Tears by Ivan Strenski

95

Beyond the Sceptic and the Devotee: Reductionism in the Scientific Study of Religion by Donald Wiebe

9 What is Reductionism? by Arvind Sharma

108 127

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vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

10 Human Reflexivity and the Nonreductive Explanation of

Religous Action

143

by Lome Dawson

11 Religion, Explanation, and the Askesis of Inquiry

162

by Tony Edwards

12 Explaining, Endorsing, and Reducing Religion

183

by Daniel Pals PART

III

Sources and Applications of Reductionism 13

Before 'The Sacred' Became Theological: Durkheim and Reductionism by William E. Paden

14 Reductionism in the Classroom by George Weckman

15 Reductions of a Working Historian by Dan Merkur

16 Discourse with Angels: literature and Religion

198 211 220

by Edward Tomarken

230

Index of Names Index of Subjects

237 238

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Professor Lorne Dawson

Department of Sociology University of Waterloo Waterloo, Ontario, Canada N2L3Gl

Professor Tony Edwards

Department of Religion University of Pittsburgh Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15260

Professor Wayne Elzey

Department of Religion Miami University Oxford, Ohio 45056

Professor Thomas A. ldinopulos

Department of Religion Miami University Oxford, Ohio 45056

Professor Dan Merkur

3 Belsize Drive Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4S 1L3

Professor Daniel L. Pals

Department of Religious Studies University of Miami Coral Gables, Florida 33124

Professor William E. Paden

Department of Religion University of Vermont Burlington, Vermont 05405-0128

Professor Thomas W. Ryba

St. Thomas Aquinas Center Purdue University West Lafayette, Indiana 47906

Professor Robert A. Segal

Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies Louisiana State University Baton Rouge, Louisiana 70803-3901

Professor Arvind Sharma

Faculty of Religious Studies McGill University Montreal, PQ Canada M3A2A7

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Professor Ivan Strenski

Department of Religious Studies University of California Santa Barbara, California 93106

Professor Edward Tomarken

Department of English Miami University Oxford, Ohio 45056

Professor George Weckman

Department of Philosophy Ohio University Athens, Ohio 45701-1979

Professor Donald Wiebe

Department of Religious Studies University of Toronto Toronto, Ontario, Canada M5S1Al

Professor Edward A. Yonan

Department of Religion Millikin University Decatur, Illinois 62522

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INTRODUCTION This volume of essays on religion and reductionism grew out of a conference convened in November, 1990, at Miami University, Oxford, Ohio, at which the participants were asked to respond to the challenging question of the role of social scientific reductionism in religious studies. The focus of our conference was the writings of Robert A. Segal on reductionism, and particularly his critical reaction to Mircea Eliade's account of religion. At the conference we considered some of the most important and enduring questions in our discipline: What is religion? What is religious truth and meaning? How best to study and teach religion? And one question above all: What are the possibilities and limits of social scientific analysis of the religious phenomenon? It was in the context of this last question that the all-important matter of reductionism was discussed. That discussion focused on the provocation essay written by Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," (Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 51 [March 1983], 97124). Professor Charles H. Long of Syracuse University presented his own unique view on religion, reductionism, and the development of the History of Religions school in America. Formal critical responses to the views of Segal and Long were presented by Wayne Elzey, Edward A. Yonan, and Thomas A. Idinopulos. In several instances the respondents defended Mircea Eliade's analysis of religious meaning in the face of Professor Segal' s critique of Eliade' s method. Reductionism in the physical sciences is the attempt to demonstrate that the central concepts and conclusions of one science can be accurately and completely understood by the principles of another science. An example would be the reduction of biology to chemistry, and perhaps a further reduction of chemistry to physics. Another example would be the reduction of psychology to physiology. The positivistic claim that any valid idea is directly connected to a sense datum would be another but different instance of reductionism. It is far from clear that all scientists or philosophers of science are in agreement that reductionism, as defined, is a successful or valid operation. The application of reductionism to religious studies is no less controversial and uncertain. Generally speaking this reductionism has meant that the claims or assertions of religion can be adequately (or more truthfully) interpreted through the concepts of sociology and psychology.

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IN'IRODUCTION

Without passing judgment on the correctness of their views, Karl Marx, Sigmund Freud, Max Weber, Emile Durkheim, amongst a large number of nineteenth and twentieth century thinkers, have been described as reductionists. The issue posed by reductionism then comes down to the question, is religion a unique phenomenon resisting any act of "reduction" or can religion, as virtually every other activity, be adequately reduced to or interpreted by the social or behavioral sciences? The vigorous discussion on religion and reductionism that took place in Miami and the enthusiastic responses of the students present encouraged us all to think that the discussion should be widened to include other professors of religion who were not present, but who had written probingly on this subject. For contributing to this volume we are grateful to Professors George Weckman and Edward Tomarken, who participated in the conference; and we are also grateful to those not present who were willing to add their voices to the present debate: Professors Lome Dawson, Tony Edwards, Terry F. Godlove, Jr., Dan Merkur, William E. Paden, Daniel L. Pals, Thomas Ryba, Ivan Strenski, and Donald Wiebe. We are also grateful to Dr. Alan Miller and Dr. Newell Booth, along with all the members of Miami's religion department, without whose cooperation and support the conference on religion and reductionism could not have taken place. Financial support for the conference came from the Arthur C. Wickenden memorial lecture fund. Our special thanks are also extended to Millikin University, Eric D. Schmulbach, Mary Yonan, and Elisabeth Erdman at Brill Publishers for their gracious support, encouragement and enthusiasm during every stage of the completion of this volume. The issues raised by the Segal-Eliade confrontation over reductionism are complex and rewarding; they touch on the fundamental questions that everyone who engages in a productive study of the world's religions must answer. We can enumerate some of those questions: 1. Is there an irreducible religious "essence," which stubbornly remains after or resists every rational, conceptual effort to explain religion? If so, what is that essence? Its meaning? 2. Acknowledging that religion is woven into the socio-cultural fabric of human existence, how should one identify, describe, explain the religious strand or component of society and culture? What is the difference between description and explanation? What old and new methods of study can reveal the religious pattern? Are there special characteristics or religion? What are they? 3. Can one study religion as one studies art, or economics, or politics or sociology? Does religious study require a special methodology sepa-

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INTRODUCTION

3

rate and distinct from all other academic methodologies. 4. Does the study of religion require the student to be religious? Must the teacher of religious studies be religious? How can one defend the objective study of religion without converting that study into a branch of social studies? Are metaphysical presuppositions, moral values, personal commitments necessary to the study and teaching of religion? In a variety of ways all these questions touch on this crucial matter: By what method or methods are religious phenomena to be identified, studied, understood, and taught? The concern for method and the questions that underlie that concern are at the heart of all the essays in this volume. It is a commonly shared belief of all the contributors that method is central to every lucid and effective act of studying and teaching religion. Moreover, it is the concern for method that makes the study of religion truly interdisciplinary, combining philosophy and science, psychology and sociology and all the humanistic disciplines. In that respect the dialogue that reductionism has provoked is a salutary one, forcing "religionists" (or professional scholars of religion) to study belief and worship in a wide, diverse, and non-exclusive context. Diversity of study and outlook is important to this volume. For the contributors are often in disagreement not only over the soundness or validity of reductionistic analysis of religion, but even over the very meaning ofreductionism. It is our hope that the dialogue of religion and reductionism will not end with this volume, but will spur even more discussion of the role of the social sciences in the understanding of the religious phenomenon. In that spirit we invite the reader to consider the positions taken by the contributing authors, and then to form his or her own judgment on the important question, does religion stand on its own or must it somehow be "reduced" for the sake of knowledge and understanding?

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CHAPTER ONE

REDUCTIONISM IN THE STUDY OF RELIGION

Robert A. Segal As the term gets used in religious studies, "reductionism" refers to an analysis of religion in secular rather than religious terms. The origin, function, meaning, and even truth of religion are subject to reduction. Scholars within religious studies, though by no means all of those outside it, rail against reductionism. Four assumptions underlie their anathema. First, it is assumed that the true nature of religion is distinctively religious -wholly so for some "religionists," as I call scholars within religious studies; primarily so for others. Second, it is consequently assumed that reductionism, in reducing religion to something non religious, transforms it into something other than what it is. Third, it is assumed that reductionism is avoidable. Fourth, it is assumed that religious studies, as a discipline, approaches religion nonreductively and that the social sciences-the disciplines of psychology, anthropology, and sociologyapproach religion reductively. It is on the last two of these four assumptions that I will focus. Religionists employ two main strategies for fending off threats from the reductive social sciences. One is to neutralize the social sciences. The other is to embrace them. Both strategies presuppose that the social sciences threaten religion to whatever extent they are reductive. They differ over the extent. The first strategy, at once the more defiant and the more defensive, argues that the social sciences run askew to the nature of religion and therefore pose no threat to the religionists' domain. At the least, it is argued, the social sciences can give only certain kinds of answers to the fundamental questions about religion: the questions of origin, function, meaning, and truth. The answers the social sciences give are uniformly reductive or, even more specifically, materialist. Worse, it is often said, the social sciences can answer only the questions of origin and function, which themselves the social sciences can still answer only reductively or just materially. Worst, it is said, the social sciences cannot answer any questions about religion because the social sciences study psychology, anthropology, or sociology rather than religion. The grandest exemplar of the first strategy is Mircea Eliade, who declares that "a religious phe-

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nomenon will only be recognized as such if it is grasped at its own level, that is to say, if it is studied as something religious. To try to grasp the essence of such a phenomenon by means of physiology, psychology, sociology, economics, linguistics, art or any other is false." 1 The second strategy, at once more irenic yet more insidious than the first, argues that the social scientific threat, while once real, happily exists no more. Religionists and social scientists now analyze religion the same way. It is not that religionists have come round to analyzing religion the way social scientists do. It is that social scientists have belatedly come round to analyzing religion the way religionists do. In contrast to classical social scientists, contemporary ones analyze religion as religion rather than as psychology, anthropology, or sociology. They analyze religion nonreductively rather then reductively. This second strategy is by far the more fashionable today. It is, however, only rarely employed by Eliade, who typically lumps contemporary social scientists with classical ones. 2 NEUTRALIZING TI-IE SOCIAL SCIENCES

I contend that neither strategy works and that social scientific analyses of religion continue to challenge religionist ones. The limits imposed on the social sciences by the first strategy are fallacious. To take the most severe limit first: to assert a priori that the social sciences study the mind, culture, or society rather than religion is conspicuously to beg the question: what is the nature of religion? The capacity of the social sciences to analyze religion ought to be an open rather than a closed issue. It ought to be decided not by ex cathedra proclamations but by testing-by the capacity or incapacity of social scientists to analyze religion psychologically, anthropologically, or sociologically. 3 To say in response, as Eliade and others do, that religion is religion the way literature is literature is doubly to miss the point: not only is the nature of literature moot, but the final answer, if final answer there is, likewise depends on the outcome of research. Literary critics debate, not assume, the literariness of literature, and they do so by appealing to their capacity or incapacity to analyze it nonliterarily. If literature seems selfevidently literary, even in part, the reason is that what is provisionally 1 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion. tr. Rosemary Sheed (Cleveland: Meridian Books, 1963), xiii. 2 See esp. Eliade, "On Understanding Primitive Religion," in Glaube/Geist/Geschichte, eds. Gerhard Muller and Wintried Zeller (Leideen: Brill, 1967),502-3. 3 See my Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), Chapter 1.

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CHAPTER ONE

called "literature" has been demonstrated to be irreducibly literary in nature. After all, the Iliad does not come labeled as literature rather than history-or as literature as well as history. 4 Nor does the Bible come prepackaged as religion rather than as literature, history, or sociology. Even if one argues that the Bible, with all its references to "God," is obviously religious in nature, those references can be taken as projections of aspects of humans, society, or even the physical world, the way the gods in Homer have often been taken. The issue is not whether at first-glance the Bible or Homer seems to be a heart religious but whether it really is. The issue is whether the Bible really is a religious document rather than a literary, historical, or sociological one. The issue is not whether the manifest nature of the Bible, or of "religion" generally, is religious. Of course it is. Who would demur? Who would deny that references to "god" are apparent references to religious entities? Who would deny that self-professed believers offer prayers and sacrifices because they believe in god? The issue is whether religious texts and practices are most deeply, much less solely, irreducibly religious. They are so only to the extent that the efforts of social scientists, literary critics, and others to categorize them otherwise fail. To declare in advance that the social sciences cannot "touch" "religion" because it is irreducibly religious in nature is, again, to beg, not settle, the key question. Religionists who grant that the social sciences cannot be barred altogether from analyzing "religion" often argue instead that the social sciences can treat only certain aspects of religion: only the origin and function, not the meaning and truth, of it. This argument is tamer than the prior one insofar as it allows the social sciences some place in the study of religion. But it is bolder insofar as it claims that the social sciences cannot deal at all with the issues of meaning and truth, not just that it misses the correct answers when it does. Whether, to take the topics of meaning and truth in turn, the social sciences have any bearing on the "meaning" of religion depends, not coincidentally, on the definition of this notoriously elusive term. "Meaning" gets associated with "interpretation" and gets contrasted to "cause," which gets associated with "explanation." One interprets the meaning and explains the cause of religion. But what defines interpretation and explanation?

• On the analogy between religion and literature see Segal and Donald Wiebe, "On Axioms and Dogmas in the Study of Religion," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 57 (Fall 1987), esp. 600-2.

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There are at least four ways in which interpretation and explanation get distinguished. 5 By one distinction an explanation alone says what accounts for, or causes, religion, and an interpretation says what the content, or meaning, of religion is. Human behavior here is often compared with a text. Just as most literary critics still distinguish rigidly between the question why an author wrote a work and the question of what the theme of the work is, so many "interpretivists" distinguish between the question why persons become religious and the question of what ideas religious beliefs and practices contain. By this first distinction the social sciences are hardly barred from interpreting as well as explaining religion. Certainly social scientists find psychological, anthropological, and sociological content in religion. The richest social scientific interpretations-Freud's, Jung's, and Marx'sprovide whole glossaries for translating "religious" terms into secular ones. Furthermore, it is Clifford Geertz and other social scientists who, together with philosophers like Paul Ricoeur, propose this first distinction. They scarcely do so to exclude the social sciences from the interpretation of religion. Rather, they seek to distinguish interpretive from explanatory social science. Even if by this first distinction one were somehow able to confine the social sciences to explaining religion, explaining and interpreting religion would not be incompatible activities. Religionists would be able to keep the social sciences from the meaning of religion but not from the origin and function of it. By a second, more technical distinction an interpretation as well as an explanation is an account of religion, and the two accounts are incompatible. The difference now between interpretation and explanation is the difference between one way of characterizing why persons become religious and another. In explanation the "why" is separated from the behavior it brings about, in which case that behavior is the effect and what brings it about is the cause. In interpretation the "why" is logically inseparable from what it brings about, in which case that behavior is the expression rather than the effect and what brings it about is the meaning rather than the cause. Taken as an explanation, the claim that humans strive to make sense of their lives says that striving causes them to engage

5 On these distinctions see my Religion and the Social Sciences, Chapter 6; "Meanings and Causes," Journal/or the Scientific Study of Religion, 27(December 1988), 637- 44; "Interpreting and Explaining Religion: Geertz and Durkheim," Soundings 71 (Spring 1988), esp. 40-46; "Religionist and Social Scientific Strategies," Religion, 19(October 1989), esp. 311-14; review essay on J. Samuel Preus' Explaining Religion. Religious Studies Review, 15 (October 1989), esp. 33436; and "Religion as Interpreted Rather Than Explained" (Soundings) (Forthcoming).

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in sense-making activities like religion. Taken as an interpretation, the same claim says simply that humans engage in religion and other sensemaking activities, which evince rather than result from the sensemaking character of humans. Social scientists are no more barred from interpreting religion by this second distinction than by the first. Since the distinction is not over why there is religion but only over the way to characterize the relationship between the "why" and religion, a psychological, anthropological, or sociological "why" is categorizable as either a meaning or a cause. Likewise an irreducibly religious "why" like Eliade's is categorized as either a cause or a meaning. Where the first distinction between interpretation and explanation is over the kind of question asked of religion, the second is not even over the kind of answer given to the same question. It is over the way to characterize the same answer. The distinction is not between religionists and social scientists but between one way of characterizing social science and another. Furthermore, it is again social scientists as well as philosophers who propose it. In fact, some of them propose it as a way of characterizing not just one branch but all of social science. If by this second distinction one were somehow able to restrict the social sciences to explaining religion, the analyses of social sciences and of religionists would be incompatible, as they would not by the first. By the first distinction religionists could not keep social scientists from accounting for religion. By the second set they could-if, of course, they could justify their account as the correct one. By the third distinction an interpretation, whether an account or a content, is always mental, and an explanation, which remains an account, always material. When taken as an account in the second, technical sense, an interpretation is always mental: the "why" of behavior is always an intent-be the intent a motive, reason, or purpose. Likewise an explanation is always material. If, then, one adds this third distinction to the second, explanations do prove material and interpretations mental. But otherwise they do not. Certainly they do not by the first distinction. The content, or "what," provided by an interpretation can be material or mental, and the account, or "why," can be either mental or material. Social scientists are as free to interpret religion by this third distinction as by the prior two distinctions. Whether or not religionist accounts of religion are necessarily mentalistic, as Eliade's happens to be, social scientific one are by no means necessarily materialistic. Indeed, many practicing social scientists, like many natural scientists, account for human behavior in mental as well as material terms. Some social scientists, like some natural ones, may hope that mental states will one

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day be reduced to material ones to form a unified science, but they do not thereby consider mental states less scientific than material ones. For the mental states not only exist but also cause behavior. As anthropologist Melford Spiro puts it, "But the contention that the scientific conception of cause is restricted to material conditions is hardly self-evident . . . For by the most rigorous conception of cause-any antecedent condition in the absence of which some stipulated consequent condition would not occur-purposes, motives, intentions, and the like, for all their being nonmaterial, are no less causal than hormonal secretions and subsistence techniques.''6 By no means are most social scientists either materials or behaviorists. Moreover, few social scientific materialists deny the existence of culture and other forms of mental life. Even as extreme a materialist as Marvin Harris is seeming merely to account for culture materially. Similarly, few classical, let alone contemporary, social scientific behaviorists deny the existence of the mind. Only philosophical behaviorists like Gilbert Ryle reduce mental states to simply a tendency to behave a certain way. Where the first distinction between interpretation and explanation is over the kind of question asked of religion and the second over way to characterize the same answer to the same question, the third is over the answer to the same question. An "interpretivist" answers the question why there is religion in mental terms; an "explainer" answers it in material terms. This third distinction is not between religionists and social scientists but between some social scientists and others-with religionists allied on one side or perhaps even on both sides. If by this third distinction one were somehow able to restrict the social sciences to explaining religion, the analyses of social scientists and of religionists would be incompatible. Religionists could keep social scientists from accounting for religion-but only if, again, they could justify their account as the correct one. By a fourth and final distinction an interpretation is necessarily reductive and an explanation necessarily nonreductive. This distinction is the one assumed by Eliade himself. While one can assess this distinction when an interpretation is taken as either an account or a content, for convenience sake assume an interpretation to be the content of religion and an explanation an account of it. So Eliade does. By this fourth distinction to explain religion is to account for it nonreligiously. To interpret religion 6 Melford E. Spiro, "Cultural Relativism and the Future of Anthropology," Cultural Anthropology, I (August 1986), 272-73.

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CHAP'IERONE

is to characterize its contents as religious. Here a would-be translation of religion into psychological, anthropological, or sociological terms would be no interpretation at all. But on what grounds can one bar a nonreligious interpretation of religion? The only plausible grounds would be that a non religious interpretation misses the religious content of religion. But those grounds continue to beg the question: what is the content of "religion"? Certainly nothing inherent in interpretation as content or in explanation as origin and function entails a specific kind of content, origin, or function. While an interpretation must match the object of interpretation-religion must be interpreted religiously -"religion" is only the putative, not necessarily the underlying, object of interpretation. A Freudian interpretation of religion does not miss the subject of interpretation. Rather, it transforms that subject from religion to psychology and thereby retains the parallel between interpretation and subject. The same symmetry holds between explanation and explanandum. But because the subject of explanation, like that of interpretation, may really be religious, a religious explanation of religion is hardly impossible. Certainly Eliade, despite his equation of explanation with reductionism, himself explains religion religiously: as a yearning for contact with the sacred. For Eliade, that yearning is a necessary, perhaps even sufficient, condition for the existence of religion. Religion originates as a way of satisfying that yearning and functions to satisfy it. Since this final distinction between explanation and interpretation appeals to the differing concepts of the approaches, it fails to bar reductive interpretations and nonreductive explanations. There are yet another means of distinguishing interpretation from explanation, and so meaning from cause, they, too, fail to exclude the social sciences. In short, the argument that the social sciences cannot deal with the meaning of religion, which is therefore left to religionists to analyze, is unwarranted. As for truth, the standard religionist ploy is the invocation of the genetic fallacy or its functionalist equivalent. But in the first place few social scientists who assess the truth of religion do so on the basis of their social scientific findings. Certainly none of the classical social scientists who dare to pronounce religion false-for example, Marx, Freud, Edward Tylor, James Frazer-does so. Rather, they do the reverse: they argue for a secular origin and function and, even more, for the harmfulness or futility of the function on the grounds of the falsity of religion. For them, religion is false on philosophical, not social scientific, grounds.

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For Marx, for example, religion is dysfunctional-not because it fails to accomplish its intended function but because the escapist and justificatory functions it accomplishes are more harmful than helpful. Religion would not, however, be escapist if Marx believed in the place of escape: heaven. Marx, then, deems religion dysfunctional because he deems it false, but he does not deem religion false because he deems it dysfunctional. Someone else might invoke economic harm as an argument against the existence of a fair or powerful god, in which case the dysfunctional effect of religion would argue for the falsity of religion. But Marx himself disbelieves in a god of any kind-and does so on philosophical, not social scientific, grounds. Religionists can disagree with Marx's premise that religion is false, but they cannot charge him with exceeding his professional ken. For it is not as a social scientist that he pronounces religion false. He is not, then, guilty of the genetic fallacy. The same is true of Freud, Tylor, and Frazer. 7 In the second place it is not clear that religionists operate any differently from social scientists. Religionists assume the truth of religion and on that basis determine the origin and function, if not also meaning, of it. When, for example, Eliade praises religion of serving to link humans to the sacred, his praise presupposes the existence of the sacred: he can scarcely be praising religion for opening persons to the sacred unless the sacred exists-the determination of which must surely be on metaphysical grounds. 8 If Eliade can apply his metaphysical views to the determination of the origin and function of religion, so can social scientists. In the third place it is not self-evident that the social silences commit the genetic fallacy when they assess the truth of religion. The fallacy is the claim that the origin of religion necessarily hears on the truth of it, not that it has no bearing at all. The bearing must simply be shown. I contend that one possible bearing has been shown. In The Future of an Illusion Freud argues that the origin of religion in a wish renders religion likely false: "We shall tell ourselves that it would be very nice if there were a God who created the world and was a benevolent Providence, and if there were a moral order in the universe and an afterlife; but it is a very striking fact that all this is exactly as we are bound to wish it to be."9 Freud is saying that it would be an extraordinary coinci7 See my Religion and the Social Sciences, 89-91; "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," Zygon, 25 (September 1990), 273-75. ' See my Religion and the Social Sciences, Chapter 2. 9 Sigmund Freud, The Future of an Illusion. tr. W.D. Robson-Scott, rev. James Strachey

(Garden City, NY: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1964), 52-53.

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dence if our wishes about the world, constituting as they do "the oldest, strongest, and most urgent wishes ofmankind,"10 matched the world. The challenge to religion stems not from its origin in wishes-to say otherwise would be to commit the genetic fallacy-but from the rarity with which our mildest, let along fondest, wishes are fulfilled. A wish to believe that god exists does not preclude the existence of god, but it does make the existence of god improbable. Extending Freud's point, I have argued that the origin of religion in not only a wish but also projection lessens the probability of its truth. While the object of a projection can still exist on its own, projection itself nevertheless constitutes error. Whoever projects god onto the world does not discover god in the world but rather imposes god on it. Should god exist after all, the projection would represent no insight on the believer's part. It would represent mere coincidence. The extra ordinariness that such a coincidence would represent challenges the truth of religion. Projection challenges the truth of religion not because projection fails to establish the truth of religion but because a belief originating in projection is statistically unlikely to be true. Not every social scientific explanation of religion involves either projection or wish fulfillment, but every social scientific explanation does involve a naturalistic rather than divine origin. Where a divine origin automatically justifies as well as explains belief in the existence of god, a naturalistic origin, if accepted, automatically challenges the justification as well as the explanation of the belief. A naturalistic cause reduces the effect to error, which lies not in the postulation of a being who does not exist but in the postulation of a being on a basis that does not warrant the postulation. Should that being exist, the postulation would again represent a remarkable coincidence, the unlikelihood of which constitutes the challenge." In sum, the religionist claim that the social sciences can no more deal with the truth than with the meaning of religion is unjustified. EMBRACING THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

Where the first strategy for fending off the social scientific threat is to deny the relevance of the social sciences to the study of religion, the second strategy is the opp: it is to declare them kindred souls. Where the first strategy blanketly consigns all social scientists to intellectual Siberia, the second recalls present-day social scientists from exile. Religionists here 10

Ibid, 47.

11

See my Religion and the Social Sciences, Chapter 7.

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rigidly demarcate contemporary from classical social scientists. Classical ones mean above all Marx, Freud, Tylor, Frazer, Emile Durkheim, Bronislaw Malinowski, and sometimes Carl Jung. Contemporary ones mean above all Peter Berger, Robert Bellah, Mary Douglas, Victor Turner, Clifford Geertz, and Erik Erikson. "Poststructuralist" social scientists are only beginning to be assimilated, though it is certain that religionists will welcome these newest social scientists as comrades in arms. What, however, is the decisive difference between classical and contemporary social scientists? The difference cannot be over the importance of religion. Classical social scientists considered religion at least as significant as any of their contemporary counterparts do. Nor can the difference be over the truth of religion. Classical social scientists who judged religion false did so, as noted, on philosophical rather than social scientific grounds. Contemporary social scientists typically shun the issue of truth as philosophical rather than social scientific. True, Turner does berate his fellow social scientists for automatically assuming the falsity of religion. Berger, at least in his later writings, does say that the social sciences can affirm the truth of religion. But it is only her relativism that commits Douglas to the truth of all religions. When Bellah says that religion is true, he means that it is true to human experience of the world, not thereby true of the world itself. Geertz and Erikson skirt the issue of truth altogether. 12 The difference between "classicals" and "contemporaries" must be over the origin and especially the function of religion. Yet the difference even here cannot be over the utility of the function religion serves. While Marx, Freud, and perhaps Frazer consider religion harmful, Tylor, Durkheim, Malinowski, and Jung do not. For them, religion is one of the best, ff not the best, means of serving the beneficial functions they attribute to it. "Contemporaries" grant religion no greater due. The difference between "classicals" and "contemporaries" must be over the reducibility of the function religion serves. In contrast to "classicals," who account for religion nonreligiously, "contemporaries" purportedly account for it religiously, the way religionists do. Religion arises and serves to link humans to the sacred. In actuality, "contemporaries" account for religion as reductively as "classicals." Where religionists attribute religion to a yearning for the sacred itself, "contemporaries" attribute it to a yearning for, most often, a meaningful life. Religion may be one of the best means of providing meaningfulness, but even if it were the only means, it would still be a 12

See my "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," 272-3.

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mere means to a non religious end: meaningfulness. For Berger, Bellah, Turner, Geertz, and Erikson, humans need "existential" meaningfulness: they need to be able to explain, endure, or justify their experiences. For Douglas, humans need cognitive meaningfulness, or orderliness: they need to be able to organize their experiences. In short, contemporary, not classical, social scientists stand far apart from religionists. 13 The second strategy for fending off the threat of the social sciences therefore fails. Reductionism has been neither refuted nor tamed. SUMMARY

In sum, I have made two points. On the one hand I have contended that the social sciences have more to contribute to the study of religion than religionists recognize. On the other hand I have maintained that social scientific analyses of religion differ in kind from religionist ones. If religionists cannot neutralize the social sciences, they cannot embrace them either. Religionists are wrong not only in dismissing social scientific analyses as, among other characteristics, necessarily reductive but also in taking contemporary social scientific analyses as nonreductive. Both insofar as social scientists can interpret as well as explain religion and insofar as explanations as well as interpretations of religion can be nonreductive, social scientific analyses need to be reductive. At the same time present as well as past ones are reductive. Put another way, the difference between religionists and social scientists is not that the two groups answer different questions about the nature of religion. The difference is not that social scientists deal with only the origin and function of religion and religionists with only the meaning and truth of religion. The difference is that social scientists and religionists give contrary answers to the same four questions: meaning and truth as well as origin and function. And it is not just classical but also contemporary social scientists who do so. The difference between religionists and social scientists is not that social scientists explain religion and religionists interpret it. The difference is that social scientists interpret as well as explain religion differently from the way religionists explain as well as interpret it. And again, it is not just classical but also contemporary social scientists who do so. Contemporary and classical social scientists may differ sharply from each other, but both differ even more severely from religionists.

13

See my Religion and the Social Sciences, Chapter 4.

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CHAPTER TWO

ARE RELIGIOUS THEORIES SUSCEPTIBLE TO REDUCTION? Thomas Ryba INTRODUCTION

The pointed debate about the reducibility of religion which has ranged through religious journals for the past twenty years is one in which much as been assumed and little clarified.' Even in the case of the recent, excellent (though somewhat tortuous) series of articles in which Robert Segal addressed the issue of the reducibility of religions, many important things were left unsaid. 2 To take the most important example, Segal-as far as I know-never explained what he meant by 'reductionism' or 'a reduction.' Now it may be that 'reduction' has completely clear methodological referents for those theoreticians and metatheoreticians working in the area of religion, and it may, for this reason, be excusable that they do not engage in any lengthy discussions of its meaning. But this is dubitable. It is dubitable because 'reduction' has no unequivocal meaning for those philosophers of natural science who use it to describe the methodological procedures which first originated in their fields of study. Therefore, it is odd that what philosophers of natural science do not know unequivocally, is apparently assumed as univocal by some religionists whose own methods fall short of the rigor and precision of those sciences from which their notion of reduction is derived. REDUCTIONISM IN THE WORK OF ROBERT SEGAL

In his work Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, robert Segal makes a strong case for reductionism against the ten1 For the purposes of this paper, the beginning of this debate is marked by the classic article by Yonan and Penner ["Is a Science of Religion Possible?" Journal of Religion Vol. 52, No. 2, (April, 1972): 107-133.]. Its terminus is the recent work of Robert Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989). This span is defined by its relevance to this paper. It is thus defined neither to suggest than Yonan and Penner began the debate nor that Segal ends it. 2 Robert Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation Brown Studies in Religion 3 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989). (This work will subsequently be identified in this paper as 'RASS' .)

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dency of some religionists to assume the sui generis status of religious phenomena. Segal's case for reductionism is worth of careful consideration for two reasons. First, it accurately characterizes and criticizes the loose thinking and imported assumptions of religionists who defend the irreducibility of religious actions, beliefs and objects. Second, Segal, himself, is something of a phenomenon in the field of religious studies; he is one of the most clear-minded and analytical critics of those religionists who maintain the irreducibility of religion. However, Segal's case is weakened by the fact that he has little to say in the way of describing the general meaning which reductionism has in the social or natural sciences and even less to say when it comes to explaining the particular species of reductionism he would champion within that general meaning. This is not to say that Segal does not reach important conclusions about the limits and character of the reductionist project. Indeed, he does. But most of these are couched in an expository via negativa, by which he-though clairvoyantly revealing the hands of his antireductionist opponentsplays his own reductionist cards very close to his vest. Although never providing a substantive account of what reductionism is, Segal does provide accounts both of the modus operandi of the reductionist as well as the limiting conditions of a reductionist analysis of religion. Another way of putting this is that Segal is neither primarily concerned with the formal conditions for reductionism or antireductionism nor with whether or not there is a formal flaw in the antireductionist or reductionist projects. Rather, his primary concern is with the empirical usefulness and mose of operations of reductionism as these are practically demonstrable. In short, Segal is interested in describing the utility of the reductionist program in application of religious phenomena. The picture of reductionism which thus emerges is one which sets practical constraints on what constitutes the acceptable study of religious phenomena. Thus, without providing a definition of reductionism, Segal does describe how reductionism methodologically comports itself and what it entails. Following Segal, a fivefold characterization of the practical symptoms of reductionism is possible. First, reductionism is opposed to taking the believer's-eye view as having an unqualified primacy; it considers the live possibility that the reasons a believer gives for thinking or believing the things s/he does are not the real explanations for the behavior. 3 Second, scientific explanations call for an analysis outside of the faith world of religion; scientific explanation, in general, challenges the possibility of the a priori irreducibility of religious phenomena.4 Third, reductionism 3 4

RASS, 21. RASS,28.

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refrains from challenging "the manifest level of religion" but it demands to know why religions manifest the forms and behavior they do. It does so without buying into the unestablished claim that religion is not susceptible to a reductive analyses drawn from other sciences. 5 Fourth, individual reductionist approaches to religion must not be assumed to be, a priori, more adequate to the explanation of religious phenomena that they are to be assumed to be a priori inadequate. 6 This is a question to be decided upon empirical evidence alone and not dogmatically. Fifth, reductive analyses of religion are practically superior to nonreductive analyses because they are open to the greatest audience-they do not have to be believed to be understood. 7 Sixth, the argument that a reductive analysis of religion is superior to a nonreductive analysis of religion does not mean that (to date) such reductive analyses are adequate but merely (a) that there is no reason why, a priori, they should not be adequate and (b) that a reductive analysis has a higher prior probability of being true than a nonreductive analysis. 8 In making these claims, Segal is in the odd position of sketching the methodological impact of reductionism on the study of religion without actually describing what it is which has this impact. This peculiar situation brings me to the point of this piece. In this paper, my intention is to provide a survey of the notions of reduction actually identified by philosophers of science, first, to determine what reductionism is and, second, to determine the assumptions upon which scientific reduction operates. In other words, my purpose is to raise what I consider to be the fundamental problems behind all attempts to describe the reducibility of one theory to another: what is means for a scientific statement or theory to be reducible. What I should like to accomplish in the next few pages is nothing less than a brief investigation into the foundations of the possibility of reduction. This means I should like to answer four fundamental questions. First, "What is a reduction?" Second, "To what do reductions apply?" Third, "Are there formal features to the notion of reductionism-as it has been formulated-which rule out its strongest claims within the scientific enterprise?" In asking these questions, it seems to me that the antireductionist approach of Eliade is besides the point, because Eliade's own approach has little to do with science as it is practiced by natural or social scientists. It would better be termed-to indulge in a neologism-religio-

RASS, 10-11. RAWS, 25. ' RASS, 27. ' RASS, 28, 79. 5

6

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sophy. 9 It is questionable whether Eliade (Segal's nemesis) even presents anything which an qualify as irreducible in the senses described below. Thus, in my response to these three questions, I intend to take a path somewhat opposite to that of Segal, not simply because I intend to describe the meanings of reductionism as it is legitimately practiced but because, unlike Segal, I wish to address the formal characteristics of the reductionist project in order to discover the limitations of this project. If such limitations can be found, then they will obviously hold important consequences for the claims of reductionists. The way I framed my preceding comments about Eliade is a clue to my general position about the rigor of most theories proposed by religionists-which, if not already transparent, is that they are, for the most part, muddleheaded. Here, I think Segal and I are in full agreement. But, instead of taking all religious theories to task-something obviously impossible in this short space and not my intention anyway-I should like to confine my remarks, vis-a-vis Segal, to issues of the kinds of reductionism which might legitimately be applied to theories and phenomena of religion. Let me be clear, however, that in the main, I agree with Segal's characterization of Eliade's religiosophy. WHAT IS A REDUCTION?

I.

A COMMON LANGUAGE APPROACH

To establish the fundamental conditions for judging whether a reduction is possible or not presupposes that we know what a reduction is. But the task in not as easy as it might seem because philosophers of science are not in general agreement about the methodological nature of a reduction. A possible alternative might be to take its most general common English meaning in order to get a clue about the farthest limits of the semantic field within which the general controversy takes place. 10 Unfortunately, a decision about a preferable procedure does not suggest itself because of the lack of specificity in most writing about reductionism in religion. 11 9 I use the expression 'religiosophy' to reflect the apparent perennialist loadings in Eliade's thought because many of the motivations which drive the modern theosophical movement are visibly present in Eliade's work. The tacit agendum of the Eliadean opera seems, at points, as much a quest/or or appreciation of wisdom as it is an attempt to study religion objectively. It thus has affinities with the early development of philosophy, as well. 1°For an elementary discussion of the notion of a semantic field, see: Thomas Ryba, The Essence of Phenomenology and Its Meaning for a Scientific Study of Religion, Toronto Studies in Religion 7 (New York: Peter Lang, 1991), 6-10. 11 The notable (but somewhat dated) exception, here, being the classic article by Yonan and Penner cited above.

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A quick look at Webster's Dictionary and the OED makes it clear that there are two sets of qualitatively different definitions possible, the classes being distinguishable because one applies to a value-neutral set of operations and the other implies a transvaluation of the things reduced (inasmuch as it positively values reductive methods and negatively evaluates the objects or theory to be reduced or vice versa). 12 I point out that the two classes are at very least disjunctive because too often they are considered (by both their proponents and opponents in religion) as being convertible. That is to say there are proponents of reductionism in religion who approach the issue because they think by making their methodological case they will also establish the negative transvaluation of religion. Likewise, there are those opponents who fear reductionism in religion because they are certain that if the project of reductionism is accomplished, then the same negative transvaluation will occur. There is no necessary relation between both classes of reductionism except inasmuch as there are reductionists who are scientistic and antireductionists who fear science. Successful reductionism, alone, is not likely to ring the death knell for religion anymore than irrational religionists are likely to prop religion up. II.

DANIEL BoNEVAc's TYPOLOOY OF REDUCTION IN THE NATURAL SCIENCES

When we look at the attempts of philosophers of science to define reductionism we find further complications. In his book Reduction in the Abstract Sciences, Daniel Bonevac provides a useful taxonomy for de-

12 The OED is much less useful in helping us to understand the meaning which 'to reduce' shares in common and scientific discourse. Somewhat pertinent are the notions of clearing of superfluous qualities, or to establish "the validity of a syllogism by showing that the contradictory of its conclusion is inconsistent with its conclusions.(?.)" This latter notion actually has affinities with the contradictory model of scientific reduction described below. Also somewhat relevant are the ideas of reduction involving the reducing of (usually a substance) to another (usually simpler) form (10) or the "diminution, lessening, cutting down" (11.) or the "degrading to a lower rank" of something (12.). It is in the latter negative sense that religionists usually conceptualize the reductive process. Webster's Dictionary provides a more succinct telescoping of the relevant senses. There, to reduce is rendered as "to consolidate (la.), to diminish in size, amount number (lb.), restrict (le.), abridge (ld.), ... to bring to a systematic form or character (Sa), ... to lower in grade or rank (7a.), to lower in condition or status: downgrade (7b)." 'Reductionism' is more innocuous! y defined in Webster as "a procedure or theory that reduces complex data or phenomena to simpler terms." This is probably the most general and value neutral meaning for reductionism which American English has to offer. See: The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, vol. 2 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 317-318 and Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary (Springfield: Merriam-Webster, 1987), 988.

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CHAP'IER Two

20

scribing the species of reduction in natural science and mathematics. 13 Bonevac counts six major varieties: (1) the Russellian model of reduction, (2) the Carnapian model of reduction, (3) the derivational model of reduction, (4) the counterfactual model of reduction, (5) the model-theoretic model of reduction and (6) the explanatory model of reduction. 14 What is interesting about Bonevac's typology is that in the process of clarifying what sense 'reduction' can have in the abstract sciences, he provides the means by which Segal's species of reductionism may be analyzed.

A. Russellian Reduction in the Natural Sciences The simplest variety of reduction is the notion of Russellian translation. A Russellian translation is a semantic relation between statements about objects which Bonevac (quoting Carnap) describes as follows: '"(A)n object is said to be 'reducible' to others, if all statements about it can be translated into statements which speak only about these other objects."15 In effect, the reduction of one object to another (and the reduction of statements about one object to statements about others) is nothing other than the converse of a constructional definition, a constructional definition being a definition which consists of "the giving of a rule that indicates how a statement about a constructed object can be translated into statements about previously given objects."16 Here the truth value associated with the statements about the reduced object must be preserved in the statements bout the objects to which it is reduced. It is the goal of science to build up constructional definitions (and objects) which unambiguously reduce to more elementary definitions (and objects) with no semantic (or ontological) residue. But it is also the goal of science to simplify scientific descriptions by taking known objects (and corresponding propositions) and reducing them to statements about other objects, when it can be shown that such an elimination sacrifices nothing in the way of description or explanation.

13 Daniel Bonevac, Reduction in the Abstract Sciences (Cambridge: Hackett, 1982). (This will be references as 'RIAS' in subsequent notes.) In this section, I have-as my footnotes indicatefollowed Bonevac's arguments very closely rather than spend time reinventing them. Nevertheless, I have conducted a close reading of the works he references to make sure my interpretation accords with his. Sometimes I have quoted these sources in the notes, where an expansion of a point is required.

IS

RIAS, 1-59. RIAS, 30-31.

16

RIAS, 31.

14

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B. Carnapian Reduction in the Natural Sciences Carnap slightly modifies the Russellian notion of reduction because his interest lies in the actual construction of a logical system which can globally explain human experience.17 He does this by accepting the Russellian notion of reduction but he supplements it by stipulating a few additional conditions. First, Carnap includes "a further distinction between explicit and contextual definitions. Explicit definitions explain the new symbols themselves, in isolation, whereas contextual definitions assign no meaning to the new symbols alone, but indicate what it contributes to sentences containing it."18 Second, Carnap makes a distinction between logical and sense translations (or logical and sense reductions or definition). The former "preserves the truth value, whereas a sense translation (reduction or definition) preserves meaning or ... the psychological and epistemic value of the sentence." 19 An example of a contextual definition would be not an explicit constructional definition but a definition based upon (a) definition(s) already in use. Any such object introduced via such a contextual definition Carnap terms a quasi-object. A quasi-object has this status because it is not entailed by any explicit extensional relationship: it is not a thing in the physical world denoted by a word or concept. Tacit in Carnap's approach to defining the distinction between contextual and explicit definitions is his commitment to the epistemic primacy of certain explicit definitions. 20 Explicit definitions are wither tautological or always operationally related to phenomenal reality. Carnap-in typical foundationalist style-makes a decision preferring the uninterpreted (or basically interpreted) qualia as the foundation of his system, but he might-in the absence of arguments to the contrary-have preferred a coherentists account which argued for the primacy of physical reality, physical reality construed as the fundamental constructivist system. Even if Carnap had taken the second course, it is unlikely that he would have changed his thinking about the question of the ultimate reality of any physical construction. For Carnap,

17 Rudolf Carnap, Logical Structure of the World & Pseudoproblems in Philosophy, Trans. Rolf George (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 1:5-5:10. 18 RIAS, 31. 19 RIAS, 32. 2°Carnap expresses the notion of epistemic primacy as follows: "The system form which we want to give to our outline of the constructional system is characterized by the fact that is not only attempts to exhibit ...the order of the objects relative to their reducibility, but that it also attempts to show their order relative to epistemic primacy. An object (or an object type) is called epistemically primary relative to another one, which we call episternically secondary, (89) if the second one is recognized through the mediation of the first and thus presupposes, for its recognition, the recognition of the first." Rudolf Carnap, The Logical Structure of the World, 54:88-89.

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ultimate existence is a pseudoproblem; existence of an object when viewed from within a constructional system is to be completely decided upon empirico-logical grounds alone. Metaphysical existence apart from such a system has no meaning. Finally, in attempting to describe the ordering of propositions in the constructionist system, Carnap is unable to prescribe exactly how the relations between translations "uniquely determine the order of the system.''2 1 This is because at certain points in the system translations (neither of which are simpler) ar related by biconditionals one to the other. The effect of this situation is to force a decision in favor of the foundationality of one over the other. Carnap always opts in favor of the phenomenal over the scientifically constructed because he presumes that the phenomenal involves the fewest theoretical importations and that it is most universally and operationally accessible to all subjects. C. The Derivational Model of Intertheoretic Reduction Up to this point, the models ofreduction considered have been about sentences within or without particular theories. Reduction is thus a methodological possibility only with respect to sentences either within a constructional system (Carnap) or within any fields of discourse (Russell). With the notion of the derivational model of reduction, however, comes a shift in the extensions of the objects of the reduction and the objects which result from the reduction. The derivational model of scientific reduction is about the reduction of whole theories and is not as general as the notion of the reduction of sentences one to the other. Bonevac describes this species of reduction as the most commonly intended meaning of reduction in the empirical sciences.22 "Reduction in the empirical sciences has most often been considered a sort of intertheoretic explanation; when one theory reduces to another, it is explained by that reducing theory .''23 When one combines this notion with the Hempel-Oppenheim covering-law conception of scientific investigation one gets "the derivational model of reduction in science.''24 It is Ernest Nagel who has chief responsibility for developing this model of intertheoretic reduction. In his construal of the derivational model of intertheoretic reduction, Nagel distinguishes between two classes of reductions: intratheoretic

21

Rudolf Carnap. The Logical Structure of the World, 88, 92.

RIAS,45. 23 RIAS, 45. 24 RIAS, 45-48. 22

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reductions (or homogeneous reductions) and intertheoretic reductions (or heterogeneous reductions). The former refer to theories which are framed in identical vocabularies and thus represent a trivial class of examples because the variety of reduction described is a species of simplification based upon Ockham's razor, while the latter is about theories employing different vocabularies and is, therefore, more interesting. The two necessary conditions which Nagel stipulates for reduction are those of connectability and derivability. The former is the stipulation that assumptions must be introduced into the reducing science which establish relations between theoretical terms already in its own vocabulary and the traits represented by those theoretical terms in the science to be reduced. Simply put, the stipulation of connectability is the recognition that, for a theoretical term to be reduced, there must be simpler means for describing the associated data, even if it is necessary that new consistent postulates be introduced. The stipulation of derivability implies that the reducible science be logically deducible from the postulate-supplemented reducing science. Clearly, then, derivability is impossible without connectability, but is connectability impossible without derivability? According to Oppenheim and Kemeny, derivability and connectability are interdependent only if the biconditional holds between postulates in the reducing science and the theoretical terms of the science to be reduced. 25

25 John G. Kemeny and Paul Oppenheim, "On Reduction," Philosophical Sntdes 7 (1956):10. The question is whether the formulation of Nagel's model introduced earlier in this piece accurately mirrors Nagel's intention. Nagel seems to suggest that the set of theoretical expressions in the reducible theory is larger than that of the reducing theory so that they are related by the logical condition (and not the biconditional) as follows: PCTreducing) . Pnew~).' This is not to be confused with the converse principle, the identity ofindiscernibles, which states that if two objects are identical in all respects, then they are identical. In formal terms: ()(ex=~) :::Jex=~- Although the first principle has been rarely challenged, the second poses

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The challenge that faces the reductionist is that of defining precisely in what sense entities in the reducible science are to be construed as identical in the reducing science. To push the point further, the challenger of ontological reductionism might well argue that no reductionism is complete unless it entails the most complete identity between all possible varieties of predicates in the reducible science and the simpler predicates in the reducing science. But this would seem to imply-as Hempel seems to suggest-that complete explanations must be provided in the reducing science for the presence of intentions, senses and/or accidents in the reducible science. Note that this stipulation is not a logical impossibility nor even an empirical impossibility, but it entails stronger conditions than what is usually meant by 'strong reducibility' in the sciences. However, the advantages of the Sklarian and Shaffnerian formulation of bridge laws is that if one makes bridge laws identities instead of biconditionals, then one is not forced to provide evidential support and explanation for the bridge laws themselves. Moreover, the notion of identity better captures the elimination of theoretical onta which the reduction of a theory often entails. Causey further narrows the limit conditions for reduction by introducing the notions of a microreduction and minimal set of bridge laws. As Causey puts it: "a microreduction ofT2 to T 1 is a reduction ... in which the elements of [the domain of T2] Dom2 are identified with certain elements of [the domain of Tl] Dom/'33 Here, the reduction of T2 means only a derivation of the fundamental laws of T 1• Causey also further accepts the Hempel-Sklar stipulation ofbiconditional bridge laws which are identities. He distinguishes thing-identity bridge laws and attribute-identity bridge laws and argues that the connecting assumptions between theories are necessary universal biconditionals which are identities. His argument for thus characterizing reductions follows the reasons given by Hempel, Schaffner and Sklar. Where he differs from his predecessors is in defining a minimal set of bridge laws adequate for accomplishing a reduction. This is defined as a set of laws whose proper subsets are not problems because of differences about the interpretation of is to stand for intensional predicates as well as extensional predicates, and/or senses as well as referents, and/or accidental as well as essential properties, then identity is significantly narrowed. As long as one specifies the scope of one's definition of identity, however, most difficulties can be avoided. The problem is that some reductionists either do not specify the scope of identity or so narrow it to make investigation into phenomena outside of their science impossible. In narrowing the scope of the identity of indiscernibles by pre-deciding what counts as a property, some reductionists define, by fiat, the onta which may be brought into relation to one another. This has the effect of deciding, a priori, what is real and what is not real. See the discussion of materialisrn/physicalism later in this paper and the article of Jerry Fodor, upon which it is based. 33 Robert L. Causey, "Uniform Microreductions," Synthese, 25 (1972): 176.

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adequate to accomplish the reduction. 34 Causey's theory of reducibility differs from the Russellian notion in that the Russellian eliminability "requires that there be a biconditional for each term of the reducible theory" while "unambiguous eliminability requires that there be only one such biconditional."35

D. The Counterfactual Model of Reduction in the Natural Sciences Although it is Nagel's derivational model of reduction that has received the greatest attention, a set of models has been proposed which is radically at variance with its major assumption, namely that a reduction is a variety of logical entailment. The challenge is from a set of models that defines the relation between a reducible theory and a reducing theory to be a logical contradiction is called the counterfactual model of theory reduction. Of the varieties of counterfactual models of reduction, Glymour's is closest in spirit to the derivational model of theory reduction for, though maintaining that competing theories stand in contradiction to one another, Glymour also maintains that the relationship is still derivational, the gaps between the theory to be reduced and the reducing theory as one bridged by laws which are counterfactual statements. "Intertheoretic explanation is thus not the simple explanation of one theory by another, nor is it the explanation of a theory's success; it is an explanation of the circumstances under which the theory would be true even though it is false in the actual world. Thus a theory is explained by showing under what conditions it would be true, and by contrasting those conditions with the conditions which actually obtain."'36 Formally, this means that reduction '"consists first, in the connection of the terms of the secondary theory with those of the primary theory by means of syntactic definitions; and the second, in the generation from the primary theory, by means of deduction, special assumptions, limiting procedures and possible other devices, of a collection of sentences which, together with the definitions, entails the secondary theory."'37 The only thing differentiating Glymour's account from the straightforward derivational account is that of counterfactual assumptions. Other more radical models of the counterfactual model are those proposed by Sklar and Nickles. Key to Sklar's description of the counterfac-

Robert L. Causey, "Uniform Microreductions," Synthese, 25 (1972): 212. RIAS, 52. 36 RIAS, 55. 37 RIAS, 55. 34

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tual approach is a distinction between "explaining a theory and explaining a theory's success•'3s If the new theory can be related to the old theory by way of the Nagel paradigm, then that theory can be said to explain the other. But if the reduction of one theory to another is not the result of a logical derivation according to Nagel's original model, then the best that the new theory does is to explain the success of the old theory. Those theories which are logically bridgeable from the new theory are described as successfully reduced, but those which must be discarded because there is no way to resolve the contradictions between them and the new theory are discarded and "and replaced rather than reduced.''3 9 Finally, Thomas Nickles has proposed a counterfactual model which captures some of the features of both Glymour and Sklar reduction. He draws his distinction between domain-combining relations and domainpreserving relations, the tacit assumption, here, being that the sentences of the two sciences may be treated like mathematical functions. Domaincombining reductions achieve "postulational and ontological economy" through derivational reductions a la Nagel,40 Like Sklar, Nickels calls this variety of reduction explanation of the old theory by the new theory. However, a reduction which is merely domain-preserving does not achieve the economy of the domain-combining reduction. Like the descriptions of scientific change provided by Feyerabend and Kuhn, this model of reduction holds the fundamental logical incompatibility of the two theories and maintains that they are interpretable, one in the other, only be means of "special assumptions, limiting cases, etc."41 For Nickles, these are two distinctly different varieties of reduction, the only model which accomplishes an ontological reduction being the derivational account.

E. The Model-Theoretic Notion of Reduction in the Natural Sciences The most idiosyncratic model of scientific reduction has been proposed by Patrick Suppes. Because of its clarity and succinctness, Bonevac's summary of this approach may be quoted in full: T reduces to T' if, for every model of T, it is possible to construct an isomorphic model of T'. Now it is difficult to explain this paradigm because of its vagueness: Suppes refuses to articulate any general account of what an 'isomorphism' is. We may make the model a bit more precise, however, by filling

38

RIAS, 53.

39 RIAS,

54.

RIAS, 54. 41 RIAS, 54. 40

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in the standard definition of 'isomorphism' as it is used in model theory. Think of a model as a structured set, i.e., as an order pair (K,N), K being a set of objects and N a set of relations each of which has a field K 0 !;;; K. Then two models (K,N) and (K' ,N') are isomorphic if and only if there are one-to-one mappings f and g of K onto K' and N onto N', respectively, such that for every n-tuple of members of K, , and every n-ary relation R of N, R if and only ifR'. (s 1- S2 ). Des(a,x) and Des(b,y)'. This is read as "The terms 'a' and 'b' are not identical, the languages in which the lawlike expressions occur are identical, neither the types of events, nor the events themselves are identical, the events stand to their types by the relation of set inclusion, S1 quasicausally implying S2 and the terms 'a' and 'b' designating x and y respectively."49 Fodor-following the bridge law model of scientific reductionargues that a reduction is accomplished when it is possible to specify a few additional formulae related to one another by an inference. Thus, [(S 1x - S2y) . (S 1x •-• F 1x) . (S 2 y •-• F 2y)] ::, [F 1x -• F2y]. The events collected under F 1 and F2 are the events of the reducing (or basic) science, the science within which the reduction of S 1x and S2x is to occur. The additional formulae which are crucial to this reduction are the two formulas connected by the biconditional ·• -•· which functions in a fashion analogous to '='. The significance of all this is that the quasicausal biconditional establishes that the laws of the reducing science and the laws of the 0

0

0

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I. M. Bochenski, The Logic of Religion (New York: New York University Press, 1965), 156-

173.

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reducible science are logically substitutable for one another. (It is curious that Fodor gives no definition for the second quasicausal biconditional. Certainly, it cannot be rendered according to the same language as the quasicausal form of implication for that would give us something like S I x brings about P 1x and P 1x brings about S 1x, a sentence which is semantically odd. A betterrendering might be that the events of the types P I and S 1 are indistinguishable.) Notice that the understanding of reduction that one employs changes as one alters the construal of the Fodorian biconditional. Thus when the Fodorian biconditional is read as a logical biconditional, one has really only established correlation, but when one reads the Fodorian biconditional as identity-its strongest possible condition-one has the strongest version of the reductionist thesis. Fodor himself admits this in his own words: To begin with, if we read '- as 'brings about' or 'causes' in proper laws, we will have to have some other connective for bridge laws, since bringing about and causing are presumably asymmetric, while bridge laws express symmetric relations. Moreover, unless bridge laws hold by virtue of the identity of the events which satisfy their antecedents with those that satisfy their consequents, reductionism will guarantee only a weak version of physicalism, and this would fail to express the underlying ontological bias of the reductionist program.so 0

'

The problem is that reductionism is not simply one thing; under one interpretation, reductionism is about correlations and the logical omission of theoretical constructs, under another it is about identity and the ontological elimination of entities. The latter makes a strong claim about the actual existence of the things to be reduced, the former makes a logical claim about entities within a constructional system. In order to recognize that the various definitions of reductionism dictate stronger or weaker conditions which must be upheld for a reduction to occur, Fodor distinguishes token physicalism from type physicalism, materialism proper and physical reductionism. But since token physicalism is entailed by reductionism, it intersects with reductionism on a number of points: (a) both entail the generality of physics, (b) both maintain that any prediction which follows from the laws of a special science will also follow from the laws of an adequately supplemented physics and (c) both assume that physics is the only basic science. 51

50 51

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The above conditions to Fodor's argument will be ignored for the purposes of this paper, especially in light of the fact that Segal's disposition on the reducibility of the social sciences to physics is not apparent in his writings. Rather, what I shall attempt to do is generalize Fodor's argument about physical reductionism to demonstrate that it has significant applicability to any science claiming to be basic with respect to another. My adaptation of the argument follows. Suppose one has two sciences S and F, the former claiming special status and the latter claiming basic status. (Al) Assume that what defines a reduction is the ability to establish an identity between types of events from one science and types of events from the other science. (A2) Assume, further, that one of the purposes of a reduction is a net gain in simplicity of the reducing (basic) theory over the reducible (special) theory. If one can find any instance in which the bridge laws between the special science and the basic (reducing) science do not assign a one-to-one (or a many-to-one) correspondence between reducible types and reducing types, then such bridge laws are not laws at all. The first assumption Al contains two operative conditions: the necessary conditions of a reduction are (a) that an identity be established and (b) that the identity be between event types from each science. The second assumption (A2) contains: (c) the third necessary condition, that of simplicity, and can be rendered as specifying that a one to one identity or a many to one identity of event types from the special (reducible) science to the basic (reducing) science must be accomplished. Conjointly, these are sufficient conditions under a strong interpretation of reductionism. What happens, however, if we suspend any of the necessary conditions? Let's take the first condition. If we make identity unnecessary, then we are left with an interpretation which make the relations between type laws in the special science and type laws within the basic science as related by the biconditional at best and the conditional functor, at worst. If related by the biconditional, then there is perfect substitutability between the sentences of the special science and the basic science, a situation tantamount to translatability. However, if the special science is related to the basic science across the implication functor, then synonymy is impossible and reductionism looses its force. Even in the case of logical translatability, the net gain is correlation and not real ontological reduction. But what happens if we suspend the condition of the correspondence (or identity) holding between event types? Consider this alternative. If the predicates related by bridge laws are not types, what could they be?

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The only alternative would be unique properties. But were they unique properties then the specified bridge laws would not be laws at all, for laws specify universal generalizations regarding the individuals at hand. A true empirical generalization is inconceivable without such specifications, because empirical necessity has no meaning without generalizability. Moreover, given the constraint that the bridge laws should be derivable from the laws of the basic (reducing) science, a further conundrum is obvious. Especially if one were to suspend the requirement that bridge laws refer to universal generalizations, would one find them underivable on the basis of the laws of the basic science? First, take the case that a one to one identity is being expressed between the laws of the special science and the individual events of the basic science-these certainly cannot be laws according to what was said above. Second, take the case of a multiplicity of laws or onta being identified with a single individual event described in the basic science; again, no lawlike relation will be establishable. What further happens if we violate condition A2-the condition which governs the increased parsimony of the reduction? In this case one is in the position of maintaining that individual type expressions in the special science correspond to a multiplicity of individual disjunctive expressions in the basic science. Thus, any causal law in the special science will be mirrored in the basic science by a causal expression in which the antecedent of the quasicausal functor is a set of predicates disjunctively related and whose consequents will be a similar set of predicates disjunctively related. How, in any sense, may this be called a law? It is simply a matrix of alternatives related to a matrix of results across a conditional statement. At best, it can only tell us that n alternate outcomes are possible, given p alternate conditions. Finally, what happens if we retain the other conditions while suspending the condition of increased simplicity? It would be difficult to conceptualize a theoretical process which went under the name reduction which did not reduce the number of laws and/or onta in the special science under consideration. One might argue that the identification of many type statements with a one type or a one type statement with a one type statement are not the only two possible conditions for a reduction. The point is well made as long as the net simplicity, precision, explanatory power and/or scientific fruitfulness are prosecuted within the reducing science in a way not found in the special science. The notion of a reduction is meaningless, however, unless some preferable, advantageous translation is accomplished. However, the possibility of any such advantageous translation is forever foreclosed if the laws relating the special science to the basic science is one riddled with alternatives (or exceptions) because this

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seems to fly in the face of what is meant by parsimony and nomological interpretabili ty. The only way out of this dilemma is to allow the special science to be the one possessing the exceptions. And this is exactly what one finds. What differentiates chemistry from biology and biology from psychology-as basic to special science-is the fact that the former is less exceptionless than the latter. The important question which Fodor raises is whether this relationship is epistemological or ontological. To put it another way: Is biology imperfectly reducible to chemistry because of the present state of our knowledge or is it a matter of the difference between chemical onta and biological onta? The same question might, just as appropriately, be posed for the relationship between the social sciences and the study of religion. Fodor incisively observes that the strong reductionist model of the sciences is powerfully invested in the model which makes the present irreducibility of the special sciences to the basic sciences a matter of our state of knowledge and not a matter of the phenomena themselves. Starkly put, this means that the strong reductionist model is tied to a specific scientific architectonic. The project of the unity of the sciences has as its tacit assumption a hierarchical arrangement which places physics as the most basic of all the sciences with chemistry, biology, psychology, etc. stacked one on top of the other either as coordinate levels or sequential levels all reducible to the more basic sciences below them. Segal would certainly seem to accept this model of the sciences at least with respect to religion and the social sciences, but does he think that it holds for, say, psychology and chemistry or psychology and biology? An alternative model is conceivable, however. It is one which divides reality not hierarchically (in ziggurat or layer cake fashion) but into coordinate sectors, like a pie seen from above. Under this interpretation, each sector of reality would be coordinate with another sector under many different qualitative aspects but would never be absolutely reducible to another. It is this view of reality which is more easily squared with the weak logical interpretation of translatability, the same notion which does not prescribe any absolute form of metaphysical commitment to onta. Here, reality is one but aspectually differentiable. The purpose of "the kind of predicates of the special sciences [is to] cross-classify the physical natural kinds." 52 Although this approach might seem plausible, it wreaks havoc with the classical model of natural science because it comes with no apparent 52

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means for the simplification of ontologies. Presumably, scientific theories would be evaluated on the basis of their productivity and fruitfulness but what would result would be a sort of Jamesian polyverse in which scientific realities occupy coordinate sectors. Here, the tendency would be to ignore Ockham's razor and ontological reduction in deference to ontological richness and biconditional translatability. CONCLUSIONS

I.

SEGAL'S ESTIMATION OF THE PRACTICAL VALUE OF REDUCTIONIST APPROACHES TO THE STUDY OF RELIGION

Segal's observations about the reductionist approach and its relevance to the scientific study of religion are, in the main, very cogent. A scientific approach to the study of religion cannot take the believer's point of view as having unqualified primacy nor can it a priori assume that the believer's point of view is without a qualified primacy. It is the goal of the scientific approach to determine exactly what value the believer's point of view is to have-not to decide this before the start of the scientific enterprise. Second, a scientific approach-insofar as science is reductionistic-will be committed to some form of reductionism; this is unavoidable even in a scientific approach to religion because this is what is meant by a scientific approach to religion. Third, a scientific approach to religion will-by definition-entail the explanation of the forms of manifest religious behavior. Fourth, insofar as an approach to the study of religion is scientific it will suspend all judgment about the ultimate reducibility or irreducibility of religion but, in the short run, it will attempt to reduce religious theories to more basic theories since this is what is entailed by the rationality of the scientific approach. Insofar as social scientific approaches to the study of religion possess these features, these approaches will be preferable to those approaches which are devoid of these features. It is on only two accounts that Segal's characterization of the reductionist enterprise calls out for criticism. First, in arguing that reductive analyses have practical superiority because they appeal to the widest audience-Segal is making a tacit ad populum argument. It is irrelevant how wide the audience is which thinks an explanation plausible. What is important is that it is really an explanation. A moment's thought will demonstrate the fallacy in such a line of argument. There are physical theories which only a small group of scientists understand and think plausible, yet the size of the group who have perfect insight into those theories has no real relevance to their explanatory power. Explanatory power is

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decided on other practical grounds. If Segal means that a scientific theory must be persuasive to an ideal rational actor-then his point has greater plausibility. 53 Simple appeal to numbers of people does not establish his case for practical superiority or reductionism. Second, it is inappropriate to argue for the practical superiority of the reductionist approach on the basis of its "prior probability." Segal's use of this expression remains undefined. Under one interpretation Segal's argument from prior probability would seem to be a species of the inductive fallacy-as I have said elsewhere. 54 The inductive fallacy consists of asserting the certainty of a fact or procedure because it has always worked in the past. Formally, there are no grounds for such an assertion. Segal's case is further weakened by the fact that instances of the reducibility of religion-as reducibility has been defined either in the formal or material sense-are particularly embryonic, so that Segal's argument about prior probability applies, at best, to disciplines more formalized than religious studies and, perhaps, having different objects. The argument from prior probability is, thus, questionable because Segal asks that we believe the success of reductionism in other disciplines will transfer to a science of religion. Here, the notion of prior probability has a connotation suspiciously like that of a priori probability-something logically indefensible.55 Although rational actors generally take success in the past

" The difficulty with this approach is that it must provide the criteria for the ideal type of a rational actor. If these criteria make reference to the inductive fallacy, in any form, they are subject also to the same critique as it is. 54 Thomas Ryba, "The Separation of Religious Studies and the Social Sciences," Religion (1990) 21:93-97. 55 The notion of prior probability is most often used in connection with the Bayesian analysis of inductive probability. Bayes' theorem has the following form: P(H/D & I)= ffi1!R & D P(D/I)

Where 'P' =probability, 'H;' =hypothesis, T =prior information and 'D' =new data. This equation can be read as expressing that the measure of the probability that a hypothesis is true is a function of its prior probability in light of new data. A number of relationships are important here. If D is more strongly predicted by H; and I, or of the prior probability of H; (that is, P(H/1)) increases, then the final probability of Hi increases. But if D can be just as easily predicted by all available hypotheses then the final probability of Hi decreases. Finally, improbably data likely to be demonstrated if the hypothesis is true increase the probability of the hypothesis. Although often useful, the Bayesian analysis is susceptible to criticism because the methods for assigning prior probabilities are variant, different scientists evaluating the probability of the hypothesis and weight of the information in different ways. If Segal is employing a Bayesian notion of prior probability, then he must specify how he arrived at his judgment that a reductionist argument is more likely. See: William H. Jefferys and James 0. Berger, "Ockham's Razor and Bayesian Analysis," American Scientist 80 (January-February 1992): 64-72 and Arthur W. Burks, Chance, Cause, Reason (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), 65-98.

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as heuristically useful for guiding actions in the future, and although those who learn from the past are generally considered more rational than those who assume no such regularities, from a metaphysical and logical point of view this is a paradox because there is no possible formal demonstration of the rationality of such a choice. Moreover, under a non-qualitative formulation of probability, a frequency is not even assignable to such success. In fact, such a choice is always potentially subject to frustration, since no demonstrable logical necessity holds from past to future. II.

THE FORMAL LIMITS TO REDUCTIONISM AND THE PosSIBil..ITY OF A STRONG REDUCTIONISM IN THE SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF RELIGION

The practical considerations entertained in Segal's discussion of reduction do not provide much insight into the variety of reduction Segal himself assumes in prosecuting the case for reductionism. And although one might argue that Segal's defense of reductionism is a defense of the possibility of the broadest notion of reductionism, surely this assertion cannot be squared with Segal' s own words. It is not consistent with Segal's discussion because he provides clues to the specific variety of reductionism which he apparently prefers-it is a variety which entails a reduction of onta-onta taken in the broadest sense, as things. The evidence for this occurs at a number of places throughout Religion and the Social Sciences. 56 Segal makes a distinction between reductionism as it applies to the function, origin and object of religion. He admits that only those approaches to reductionism which reduce the object of religion assume the falsity of its claims. Hence he attempts to squirm out of the indictment of religion as false by arguing that although he admits a reductionism of the origin and function of religion, and that these are entailed by a social scientific approach, he does not indict religion as false. And yet that is precisely the claim that he is making. For if one has completely explained the function and origin of religion in social scientific terms, then one has accomplished a reduction which makes no appeal to that which most religions claim in some for or another-a supernatural reality. Perhaps he might argue more subtly that, in fact, it is conceivable that an Object of religion might indeed exist anyway and that its existence is independent of the purely natural conditions which conditions belief in it. However, this a priori assumes a separability between the grounds for believing and what the believer means by the existence of an Ultimate. In fact, the situ-

56

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ation is more complicated. Most believers would wish to maintain that there is a connection between the existence of a religious Object and the existence of religion; the social scientist would not. In fact, most believers would express it in the form of an implication: whatever grounds my religion implies the existence of a religious Object. If there is no religious Object, then my religion is ungrounded. Both claims are based upon arguments about the agency (or at least-pace Buddhologists-the experience) of the Religious Object. Short of the social scientist claiming, a priori, that the religious individual has no grounds for asserting this connection, he must provide an explanation within the social sciences which reductively addresses the reasons why a religious individual thinks the religious object is thus related to the grounds for religious belief. The explanation becomes one of experiential and logical grounds. It is particularly uninteresting for the religious believer to be told that God does indeed exist but you cannot know him and moreover all the grounds for your believing in him are false. The deus absconditus absolute has rarely been an object of faith. Logically, Segal is certainly correct to argue that existence is something different from known existence. But for the religious believer-the religious believer with "validating" arguments or experiences-the reduction of all religious arguments about origin and function is tantamount to disproval of the existence of the experienced or known religious object, to the religious believer this is really the only interesting religious object. Segal admits as much himself in an article which appeared in Zygon in 1990. 57 (Expand mention of Segal's tacit agendum) Why introduce this latter point in a discussion about the formal varieties of reductionism? Because it has a direct bearing on Segal' s own tacit assumptions about what reductionism is. Insofar as the religious believer attributes some efficacy to the existence of a religious object both with respect to the origin and function of his own belief, to deny the asserted relation between religious object and believer is to make the existence of 57 Robert S. Segal, "Misconceptions in the Social Sciences," Zygon. vol. 25, no. 3 (September, 1990), p. 275. Segal 's arguments about the groundlessness of religion has affinities with the Freud's disctinction in The Future of an Illusion between lrrtum (error). Wahnidee (delusion) and Illusion (illusion). The religious believer, for the most part, does not commit a factual error, nor is s/he, for the most part, delusional in the sense of being absolutely convinced that a state-of-affairs that is patently false. Rather, the believer labors under an illusion for s/he believes-for bad reasons-in something which may or may not exist; s/he believes in it because it fulfills a wish and not because it is grounded in any rational fashion. Although I think this analysis correctly describes many believers, I find more intriguing the question of what-if anything-Freud (and Segal) would allow as good grounds for religious belief. See the illuminating discussion in: Raymond Geuss, The Idea of Critical Theory: Habermas & the Frankfurt School. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988, 39-44.

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the religious object superfluous to his/her (weak) theoretical system. It is further to argue that the connections made by the believer have extensions other than that which the believer claims. This has a ring of truth about it very much like the reductionism criticized by Fodor. Let's formalize this observation. Let's assume a science to be reduced. Let's call it a theology. If we let T 1x stand for 'xis an event of type I '(where type 1 = the class of theophanies) and T2y stands for 'x is an event of type 2'(where type 2 = the class of beliefs), then the function in the special science (say theology of some tradition) would be T 1x :::, T2y, which would be read as "A theophany results in some belief about a supernatural being." Now Segal's notion of reductionism is one in which such functions of origin are reducible to psychological (or other) laws. Thus, perhaps, tumors in the frontal lobe might be rendered as P 1x, and delusion might be rendered as P2y. 58 But notice also that the relationships between T 1x and P 1x on one hand and T2y and P2y must, according to the strong version of Nagel reductionism, either be relations of identity (P 1x = T 1x . P 2y = T2y) or the relation of subset to set (P,x c T,x. P 2y c T2y) and according to the weak version of Nagel reductionism must, at very least, be biconditionals (P1x =T 1x . P2 =T2y). If interpreted as identities or as subset-to-set relations, then the bridge laws are ontologically reductive-that is to say reductive in the sense Segal' s seems to specify. But if they are reductive only in the weak sense--that is to say across a biconditionalthen no ontological reduction is being prescribed, but merely a logical simplification. The former poses the greatest threat to a religion because it implies the elimination of religiously interpreted events arguing they are not really what they religiously seem to be. The latter implies only a strict logical translatability, a concomitance between religious events and psychological events which, however disturbing to the practitioners of the opposite science, are not ontologically eliminable. From what was said above about the necessity of bridge laws, it is clear that the strong form of reductionism also requires Hempel's modification of the Nagel model. Not only must the bridge laws be postulated but these must be included as parts of the psychological theory. But, in addition to these, a further supplement is required. The reducing science must also explain why the religious believer thinks that T,x:::, T2y' is true; it must explain how this is different from P 1x:::, P 2y and finally it must provide a quasi/causal law which explains the believer's postulation of

58 This particular example is not meant to suggest that Segal would necessarily accept the reduction of religious phenomena to a neurophysiological pathology. Substitute any variety of psychological reduction and the difficulties with a hard reductionism are the same.

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'T1x ::J T 2y' in terms of the psychological theory. In short, the reducing science must also provide explanations for the illegitimate epistemological assumptions of the reducible science. I mention all of these conditions, not to refute the possibility of such a reduction, but merely to show how complicated this reduction will be. However, if this is what Segal assumes as his model of reduction-and I believe he has only one other choice to preserve his notion of functional and original reduction-then his adoption of this approach must still meet the criticisms of Fodor which formally complicate the hard reductionist claim. The only other model which Segal could conceivably use to support his hard reductionism is the generic counterfactual approach which includes either the Glymourian, Nickleian or Sklarian variety. I doubt that he would choose this genus, however, because though it preserves feature of the Nagel reduction (however modified), its final recourse is to an insufficiently grounded break with the science to be reduced, a break founded upon a contradiction but justified by means which do not always fulfill the material conditions for science. Now although I believe that Segal would not necessarily be squeamish about asserting that religion and psychology contradict one another, I doubt that he would wish to extend the counterfactual model to other sciences simply to make this simple point, especially at the expense of giving up the notion of strong reductionism. Moreover, because the counterfactual model can only bridge contradictory theories through the use of special assumptions and limiting cases, it is defective in the very way Fodor has argued the strong reductionist model must be. III.

FINAL COMMENTS

What is the upshot of the above? First, it seems to me that Segal is correct in arguing that those who study religion should aspire to be reductionist, because to be reductionist is to aspire to the simplification and explanation of the world. The reductionist enterprise is symptomatic of what we mean by rationality, but unfortunately the conception of rationality is, itself, not susceptible to any variety of logical proof. All attempts to demonstrate it from the notion of prior probability have only instinctive weight. Second, it seems to me that each variety of reduction has its shortcomings. For this reason it is premature to argue, a priori, that any single notion will accomplish all that Segal hopes it may. The issue of reductionism in religion must be redirected away from consideration of whether religion is sui generis or perfectly reducible-two questions which must be decided empirically and not formally-and to the questions of the truth claims of science and religion. This does not mean,

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however, that we should draw the radical conclusion that the project of the reduction of religion must be abandoned, wholesale. It does mean, however, that the issue of whether religion can be reduced should not be decided before the fact. If there is ever to be a science of religion, I presume that it will follow science both in its material and formal aspects, and for this reason the reductive approach will necessarily be an important part of its modus operandi.

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CHAPTER THREE

CLARIFYING THE STRENGTHS AND LIMITS OF REDUCTIONISM IN THE DISCIPLINE OF RELIGION

Edward A. Yonan I. THE CHALLENGE OF REDUCTIONISM It has become a matter of more than peripheral interest in the academic study ofreligion that the problem of reductionism has generated considerable analysis and discussion in recent years. Incisive claims against reductive views of religion have been advanced in a wide spectrum of scholarly publications specifying why the study ofreligion, pursued as an autonomous discipline in public and private institutions of higher education, should be developed in directions that stand against reductionism in religion. Likewise, those who have become impatient with established anti-reductionist interpretations of religion have registered their counterclaims against the defenders of the irreducibility of religion. 1 In the midst of a wider and ongoing controversy surrounding reductionism in the sciences and social sciences, with reductionist and anti-reductionist exchanges refined by repeated firings, the most recent battle lines in the academic study of religion have been drawn even more sharply as a consequence of an incisive and influential article by Professor Robert A. Segal on "In Defense of Reductionism" that appeared in the 1983 issue of the Journal of the American Academy of Religion.2 The methodological confrontation between religious studies and the social sciences is the argumentative focal point of Segal's defense of reductionism. Religionists who follow the paradigm example of Mircea Eliade argue against and reject the reductive explanations of the social sciences. They claim, Segal argues, that (1) religion is a sui generis and autonomous domain of study, (2) that religion can be fully understood

1 See Donald Wiebe's excellent book on Religion and Truth, (The Hague: Mouton Publishers, 1981), especially chapters 2 and 3. 2 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 51 (March 1983, pp. 97-124. The same article has been revised and an addendum of incisive counter-clarifications has been added in the re-publication of it and several of Segal's other articles in his very impressive book on Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), pp. 5-36.

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only after the believer's irreducible point of view regarding the sacred has been endorsed, and (3) that the truth of religion is beyond explanation. Segal construes the nonreductionism entailed by these claims to be in opposition to the reductionism advanced by some secular explanations of religion given in the social sciences.3 The reductionism (of some social scientists) that Segal defends is defined negatively by arguing that (1) religion is not a sui generis and autonomous domain of study, (2) that religion cannot be fully understood only from the believer's privileged access point of view, and (3) the truth of religion is not beyond explanation. The kind of reductionism that is warranted by these claims, according to Segal, is defined and analyzed as a secular explanation of religion that translates its manifest religious nature into something nonreligious in the context of any one of the social sciences. The reductionisms of classical (Emile Durkheim, A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, and Max Weber) as well as contemporary (Clifford Geertz, Peter Berger, Victor Turner, Robert Bellah, and Mary Douglas) social scientists have, by Segal's stipulative definition, explained religion in nonreligious or secular terms. Therefore, social scientific reductionistic accounts of religion have the superior pragmatic advantage over nonreductive ones in that one does not have to be a religious believer to accept the reductive ones. Four empirical criteria of (a) origin, (b) function, (c) meaning and (d) object are explicitly and consistently presupposed in Segal's examination of both nonreductive and reductive analyses ofreligion. 4 Finally, in his detailed analysis of the confrontation between nonreductive and reductive approaches to religion, Segal fails to clarify and specify his own view of reductionism. At one point in his "Defense of Reductionism" he refers to a widely influential model of theory reduction formulated by Carl Hempel. At another point he rightly criticizes defenders of theory reduction in overlooking religionists, like Eliade, who fear reductive analyses of religion on the assumption that such analyses really are ontologically reductive. 5 What is not so clear in either case or throughout Segal's discussion of these issues is his own view of reductionism.

3

4

5

Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences, pp. 5-20. Ibid., pp. 20-29 and 75-83. Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences, pp. 25-26.

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II.

45

CLARIFYING THE WIDER CONTEXT OF REDUCTIONISM

Professor Segal' s vigorous defense of reductionism in religion and his less than clear account of what it means poses a challenging problem of clarification for those who agree and those who sharply disagree with his views. Clarification of what is meant and not meant by reductionism is clearly warranted on both sides of the debate. In a wider context Niles Eldredge (a paleontologist) and Marjorie Grene (a philosopher) address this matter directly in their recent book on Interactions: The Biological Context of Social Sciences where they state that: Twenty or more years ago the so-called problem of reductionism loomed large in the thought of philosophers of science and of biologists-at least there was an extensive and lively literature on the subject. Better, perhaps, reduction was a problem for those who feared it and a claim for those who welcomed its (alleged) success. 6

In a similar vein and even wider context of understanding, Arthur Peacocke argues for a specific clarification and classification of reductionism in a recent book he edited on Reductionism in Academic Disciplines where he asserts that the three kinds of reductionism in the sciences are: (1) methodological, (2) ontological, and (3) epistemological. 7 Methodological reductionism is simply the breaking down of unintelligible complex wholes into their component units, where the larger whole is explained in terms of its smaller parts. Ontological reductionism entails the belief that all processes going on in an organism are basically processes of atoms and molecules, where biological systems are 'nothing but' complex patterns of atoms and molecules. Epistemological reductionism represents the view that the theories and laws formulated in one field of science (biology, psychology, sociology) can be shown to be special cases of theories and laws formulated in another branch of science (physics, chemistry, or the neuro-sciences), where the former set of theories and laws is said to be reduced to the latter. Peacocke's reference to these basic kinds of reductionism is based on an earlier specification of the same three domains described by Francisco Ayala, an anti-reductionist in biology. 8 A similar and even clearer classification of reductionism displayed in the sciences has been developed by Sahotra Sarkar in his recent article on • Niles Eldrege and Marjorie Grene, Interactions: The Biological Context of Social Systems, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992), p. 9. 7 Arthur Peacocke (ed.), Reductionism in Academic Disciplines, (Worcester, England: Billing & Sons Ltd., 1985), pp. 3-4 and 7-16. ' Ibid., pp. 9-16.

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"Models of Reduction and Categories of Reductionism.''9 Sarkar shows that "models of reductionism which fall into the categories of theory, explanatory and constitutive reductionism will be called models of 'theory reduction,' 'explanatory reduction,' and 'constitutive reduction,' respectively. He, like Ayala and Peacocke, claims that constitutive reductionism is ontological reductionism, explanatory reductionism is epistemological reductionism, and theory reductionism is similar to what Ayala and Peacocke describe as methodological reductionism. Within each model Sarkar describes specific types of reductionism that exemplify the particular model that is assumed and employed. 10 Theory reduction includes and is exemplified by three types of reductionism. The first is based on the work of emest Nagel and Kenneth Schaffner. Sarkar states that: In Nagel's approach, the reduction of one theory to another is the explanation of the former (reduced) theory by the latter (reducing) one, where explanation is construed as deductive nomological ... Schaffner modifies Nagel's model to allow what can be exactly derivable from the reducing theory is not the reduced theory itself but a corrected version that is 'strongly analogous' to it. 11

This Nagel-Schaffner type of theory reduction encompasses the twin conditions of derivability and connectibility between reduced and reducing theories via bridge laws that require the use of conditional and biconditional statements. The second type of theory reduction is "due to Thomas Nickels who made an important distinction between 'inter-level' and 'intra-level' reductions. The former kind occurs when a theory at one level of organization is reduced to one at another, presumably lower, level."12 The third type of theory reduction, according to Sarkar, has been "advocated by W. Balzer, J. D. Sneed, and C. W. Dawe. They formulate theories using set-theoretic predicates (rather than first-order logic) where one theory reduces to another if, given models of the two theories, there exists a relation between such models which ensures that every model of the reduced theory turns out to be a model of the reducing theory.''13 Explanatory reduction, claims Sarkar, has three types as well. The first is formulated by W. Wimsatt who "rejects the point of view that inter-level reduction must be construed as a relation between theories.

9 Sahotra Sarkar, "Models of Reduction and Categories of Reductionism," Synthese, vol. 91, No. 3 (June 1992), pp. 167-194. 10 Sahotra Sarkar, "Models of Reduction and Categories of Reductionism." pp. 170-172. 11 Ibid., p. 172-173. 12 Ibid., p. 173-174. 13 Sahotra Sarkar, "Models of Reduction and Categories of Reductionism,» pp. I 74-175.

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Instead, explanation is a search for causally relevant, rather than just statistically relevant, factors. In order to avoid the conclusion that causal factors at one level are eliminated by causal factors at a lower level when a reductive explanation is effected, Wimsatt introduces a notion of 'effective screening off' in which the cost of explanation by the second property is much higher than that by the first. This criterion provides pragmatic grounds for the retention of the causal factors at the higher level." 14 The second type of explanatory reduction is offered by S. A. Kauffman as an "explanation in biology, which he called 'articulation of parts explanation.' that turns out to constitute a new model of explanatory reduction. This model is presented as a way of conducting a search for such an explanation, that is, as a research strategy." 15 Sarkar refers to his own model of explanatory reduction as the third type: namely, "a defense of explanatory reductionism in molecular biology. " 16 All three types support the epistemological claim that reductive explanation is possible in those cases where reductions take place, and an ontological claim is also assumed about real relations existing between whole and parts. Finally, constitutive reduction includes two types. Sarkar claims that the first type "is 'token physicalism' as explained by J. Fodor. All it requires is that higher-level phenomena, mental phenomena, should not violate but remain consistent with lower-level ones."17 The second type of constitutive reduction is explicated by D. Davidson who defends the notion of supervenience in the context of the relation between mental and physical events. "Dependence of this kind is called supervenience: the higher-level events are supervenient on lower-level ones. This is obviously an ontological claim." 18 In short, Sarkar argues that the three categories and their exemplifying types of reductionism are distinct but not mutually exclusive. His overall argument magnifies several crucial points of clarification that are presupposed throughout his analysis. (1) There are no good a priori reasons for claiming that all cases of reduction can or should be captured by any one model of reduction. (2) Each model has specific strengths and limits. (3) There can be some situations where no reductions obtain. (4) All serious discussions of reductionism must pay close attention to its complexity.

Ibid., pp. 176-177. Ibid., pp. 177-178. 16 Ibid., p. 178. 17 Sahotra Sarkar, "Models of Reduction and Categories of Reductionism," p. 181. 18 Ibid., pp. 181-182. 14 15

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III.

CONCLUDING REMARKS

The preceding analysis provides some groundwork for several concluding remarks I would like to offer in reference to Professor Segal's defense of reductionism in religion and the critical need to be clear about what he and others mean by reductionism. First, Segal is quite right in defending the view that religion is not exempt from the challenges of reductionism. Clarifications of the kinds of reductionisms (Sarkar's classifications and others) that will be employed in the analysis and study of religion should be examined and assessed for their strengths and limits. All reductions of religion are not equally good. Some will be better than others. Critical clarifications should be the prior guide in determining which reductions actually contribute to the greater growth of knowledge in the discipline ofreligion. Second, all reductions of religion should pay serious attention to the complexity of religious phenomena. If, "formal precision might well be achieved at the cost of describing few, if any, actual cases of scientific reductions,"19 according to Sahotra Sarkar, the same principle, I would argue, should apply as well to actual cases of reduction in religion.

"Sahotra Sarkar, "Models of Reduction and Categories of Reductionism," p. 188.

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CHAPTER FOUR

THE INSTABILITY OF RELIGIOUS BELIEF: SOME REDUCTIONISTIC AND ELIMINATIVE PRESSURES Terry F. Godlove, Jr.

For most of us, it will be hard to imagine that a systematic inquiry into religion could fail to reserve an important place for belief. Even if we concede explanatory and interpretive priority to behavior, still, insight into the behaver's belief often seems to further our understanding in ways that cannot be seriously doubted. Thus, it seems indispensable to our eventual understanding-however subterranean-of why a person prays for forgiveness that we grasp his belief that he may be forgiven if he prays for it. Despite its seeming security, the place of belief in the study of religion today faces a variety of reductionistic and eliminative pressures. 1 My aim in what follows is simply to chart some of the stronger reductionistic and eliminative currents, to mark where they flow together and where in opposition. I shall distinguish between six of them, recognizing that there are others. 1.

MISUSE OF "RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE"

One continuing source of reductionistic and eliminative pressure on religious belief stems from the sort of misrepresentation of religious experience that Wayne Proudfoot has recently documented in Schleiermacher's On Religion, and in the tradition for which that text continues to be influential. In the famous Second Speech, Schleiermacher tries to isolate the "essence of religion," which, he determines, is a mode of immediate awareness, having no conceptual, propositional, dogmatic or doctrinal components. One obvious rhetorical challenge here is how to describe in linguistic terms an allegedly preconceptual, prereflective mental state, and Schleiermacher showed great sensitivity to this problem over the three 1 These pressures apply equally to the other propositional attitudes-remembrances, desires, longings, fears, hopes, and so on; I shall focus on belief because it is apparently basic to the rest.

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editions of the work. 2 But critics from Hegel to Proudfoot agree that Schleiermacher was less sensitive to a deeper problem. Schleiermacher either never saw or, as part of a wider apologetic strategy, deliberately obscured the fact that his descriptions of the state of "immediacy" show it to be shot through with beliefs and concepts. By even the third edition, Schleiermacher could write that the sum total of religion is to feel that, in its highest unity, all that moves us in feeling is one; to feel that aught single and particular is only possible by means of this unity; to feel, that is to say, that our being and living is a being and living in and through God. 3

Proudfoot remarks that, in this passage, "the identification of a moment of feeling as religious assumes not only reference to God or the infinite as the object of the feeling but also a judgement that this feeling is the result of divine operation."4 That is, religious experience-while it involves, among others, the belief that it is an experience of God as well as the belief that it is caused by God-is portrayed in such a way as to mask their presence. Of course Schleiermacher does not deny that religious people have religious beliefs-in fact, he gives a detailed account of their development out of religious experience. 5 The point is that Schleiermacher eliminates belief from a mental state of which it is partly constitutive. The rather sophisticated beliefs and concepts that go into the experience he describes are simply eliminated. In recognition of its likely motivation, let us call this position "apologetic eliminativism." We find a related eliminativist stance in Eliade's methodological writings. I take as representative the first few familiar pages of The Sacred and the Profane: "To designate the act of manifestation of the sacred, we have proposed the term hierophany ... It expresses no more than that ... something sacred shows itself to us. And:

2 Friedrich Schleierrnacher, On Religion: Speeches to Its Cultured Despisers (trans. of first edition (1799), with Intro. and notes, Richard Crouter), (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988); see especially, Crouter's discussion, 55-73. 3 Schleiermacher, On Religion: Speeches to Its Cultured Despisers (trans. of third edition (1821), John Oman, Intro. Rudolph Otto), (New York: Harper and Row, 1958), 49-50. • Wayne Proudfoot, Religious Experience, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 15. 5 Indeed, as Brian Gerrish reads the subsequent Christian Faith, religious "doctrines do not express a prelinguistic experience but an experience that has already been constituted by the language of the community" (''The Nature of Doctrine," The Journal ofReligion 1988:90). The issue is controversial and, in any case, does not affect Proudfoot' s treatment of the more influential On

Religion.

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For those to whom a stone reveals itself as sacred, its immediate reality is transmuted into a supernatural reality. In other words, for those who have a religious experience all nature is capable of revealing itself as cosmic sacrality. 6

One striking feature of these and like passages is that all the action - the "manifesting," the "showing," the "revealing" - takes place outside the agent's head. The agent, as Eliade puts it, merely "confronts" the hierophantic event. But, if Eliade does not explicitly recognize it, the agent's religious and other beliefs nevertheless play an active role in making the hierophantic experience the experience that it is. To begin with the nonreligious beliefs: A person could not recognize a stone as sacred unless he or she had many beliefs about stones-that they are usually found on or under the ground, that we humans cannot generally eat them or crush them with our hands, that they do not grow on trees or (often) fall from the sky, and so on. A rich background of religious belief is equally indispensable: For a stone to figure in a religious experience-for it to be experienced as sacred-a person must have many beliefs about what his or her religion takes to be religiously possible,1 about what sorts of hierophanies have occurred in the past, and about what may or is expected to happen in the future. Clearly a stone cannot be experienced as sacred (as religiously significant) unless stones are included in the range of objects believed to be candidates for hierophantic transformation (as having potential religious significance). This is not simply a point about the methodology of interpretation. The point is not just that, as interpreters, we could not be confident of ascribing to someone the experience of confronting a sacred stone unless we were confident that he or she possessed a background of religious and nonreligious beliefs about stones. The point is that these beliefs are constitutive of the experience for the agent "all the way down," so to speak; they help make that experience that experience. Without them, it would

• Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane (trans.) Willard Trask, (New York: Harvest Books, 1968), 11, 12 (original emphasis). I have benefited from Robert A. Segal' s discussion of this and the following passage ("In Defense of Reductionism," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, LI/1 (March 1983): 100). 7 The requirement of bringing in particular beliefs from the local religion-as distinct from generic beliefs about "the sacred"-raises the question of a different sort of reductionism. This charge has been persuasively brought by Segal, ("In Defense of Reductionism," 98), and Hans H. Penner, (Impasse and Resolution: A Critique of the Study of Religion (Toronto: New York, 1989), 27). For extended analysis of an example of what Segal and Penner are alleging, see Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), Ch. 1.

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not have the content that it in fact has; without them, there is no sense in speaking of that experience. While both Eliade and Schleiermacher fail to bring out the constitutive role of (religious) belief in religious experience, there is the important difference that Eliade does not deny it outright. And, since Eliade has a legitimate rhetorical interest in helping the reader to appreciate the objectivity of the hierophantic event-how the world appears at that moment to the agent-we might reasonably choose to view this as simply a matter of emphasis. I think, however, that Eliade's inattention to the formative role ofreligious belief follows directly from his trademark anti-reductionism. Consider the following well-worked passage: A religious phenomenon will only be recognized as such if it is grasped at its own level, that is to say, if it is studied as something religious. To try to grasp the essence of such a phenomenon by means of physiology, psychology, sociology, economics, linguistics, art or any other study is false; it misses the one unique and irreducible element in it-the element of the sacred. " 8

By "a religious phenomenon" I take Eliade to mean the experience of some object or event as sacred. And I take it that we "grasp" a religious phenomena "at its own level" when we have understood how it happened that so-and-so experienced some object or event as sacred. So interpreted, Eliade cannot both maintain the anti-reductionism expressed in this passage and recognize the constitutive role of belief in the "religious phenomenon." The reason is this: We have seen that religious beliefs are constitutive of religious phenomena (understood as above) "all the way down"; that is, that the experience would not be what it is without the presence of the beliefs (they are part of its "essence," if you will). Further, these beliefs are obviously not themselves "something religious"-rather, they are ordinary mental states of biological human beings. Since these mental states are essential to the religious phenomenon we wish to "grasp," it follows that any and all legitimate accounts of that phenomenon must explain how the person came to hold the beliefs that made the experience possible as that experience. Presumably, we will turn for these accounts to those human and natural sciences concerned with the formation of beliefs and other attitudes-those that count as evidence facts about the agent's personal history and personality, position in the local and wider physical and social worlds, educational background, material and biologi-

' Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion (trans.) Rosemary Sheed, (Cleveland: Meridian Books, 1963), xiii.

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cal constraints and so on. But this seems to be just the sort of result that Eliade is warning against. And since it follows from recognizing the constitutive presence of (religious) belief in religious experience, I conclude that Eliade's anti-reductionism-whatever its other virtues or vices -requires an eliminativist stance toward those beliefs. In view, once again, of its motivation, we may dub Eliade's position "anti-reductionist eliminativism." It is hard not to feel some unease in attributing to the author of the massive History ofReligious Ideas trilogy an eliminativist attitude toward religious belief. But, whatever else it establishes about Eliade's authorship, the testimony of such books as these does not affect the present point. The point is that Eliade' s bedrock commitment to grasping the religious phenomenon "at its own level" requires that the religious (and other) beliefs constitutive of that phenomenon go unnoticed.

2.

THE CASE AGAINST "FOLK PSYCHOLOGY"

A second source of reductionistic and eliminative pressure on the notion of religious belief comes indirectly, via the current attack on the notion of belief, per se. We certainly seem to appeal to beliefs and a host of related "propositional attitudes" in describing and explaining and understanding much human experience and behavior, religious and other. We seem to use them to make important distinctions, gross and subtle: between those who pray fervently and those who pray mechanically; between those who believe god answers prayers, and those who hope, those who imagine, and those who are terrified, afraid, nervous, or are merely apprehensive that he does. We commonly take our appeals to these mentalistic terms to be governed, as Steven Stich puts it, "by a loose knit network of largely tacit principles, platitudes, and paradigms which constitute a sort of folk theory ."9 About some of our "folk psychology" we are pretty certain: If someone strongly desires that some event should occur, he or she will likely try to bring about that event. Elsewhere the knit is considerably looser: "Love is blind," we say, but, "Seek and ye shall find." And, less musically: "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," except that, "Out of sight, out of mind." But, even at its tightest, no one claims for folk psychology the strict lawfulness commonly accorded the physical sciences.

• Stephen P. Stich, From Folk Psychology to Cognitive Science: The Case Against Belief (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1983), 1.

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Indeed, there is a growing body of literature addressing the question whether folk psychology-the practice of appealing to beliefs and other propositional attitudes to explain or understand human behavior-is legitimate at all. Answering in the negative, Paul Churchland has argued for what he calls "eliminative materialism." This is the thesis that our commonsense conception of psychological phenomena constitutes a radically false theory, a theory so fundamentally defective that both the principles and the ontology of that theory will eventually be displaced, rather than smoothly reduced, by completed neuroscience. 10

And, while not prepared to call for their outright elimination, Stich wants to exclude our "folk" explanations from scientific psychology or cognitive science. While this is certainly a more measured stance than Churchland' s, still, according to Stich, it "is indeed a serious possibility" that "there are no such things as beliefs."11 (His subtitle is, "The Case Against Belief.") Clearly there are many disparate and often incompatible motivations and arguments for these and like claims. And certainly this is not the place for a detailed examination of them. 12 However, I would like to set out one of Churchland's arguments that is especially relevant to the study of religion. The argument is from what he sees as the widespread failure of folk psychology as a theory. As he sees it, these failures include the nature and dynamics of mental illness, the faculty of creative imagination, or the ground of intelligence differences between individuals. Consider our utter ignorance of the nature and function of sleep . . . Reflect on the common ability to catch an outfield fly ball on the run, or hit a moving car with a snowball. Consider the internal construction of a three-dimensional visual image from subtle differences in the two-dimensional array of stimulations in one's respective retinas. Consider the rich variety of perceptual illusions, visual and otherwise. Or consider the miracle of memory, with its lightning capacity for relevant retrieval. On these and many other mental phenomena, (folk psychology) sheds negligible light.

10 Paul M. Churchland, "Eliminative Materialism and the Propositional Attitudes," Journal of Philosophy 78/2 (I 981 ); reprinted in, A Neurocomputational Perspective: The Nature ofMind and the Structure of Science (Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 1989), 1. 11 Stich, From Folk Psychology to Cognitive Science, 242. 12 To cast doubt on the notion of belief is, or course, to call into question all those human sciences that rely on it. After having for so long tried to gain legitimacy in the eyes of the established human sciences, there is, from the point of view of the religious studies community, plenty of irony in hearing them labelled "pre-scientific," "superstitious" and "medieval" (tenns are from Stich, From Folk Psychology to Cognitive Science. 1).

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From these "large scale failures," Churchland concludes that folk psychology "is at best a highly superficial theory, a partial and unpenetrating gloss on a deeper and more complex reality."13 (Here we may note an ironic convergence between Churchland and Eliade. Churchland holds that reduction does not, as is widely assumed, entail elimination. Thus, Newtonian mechanics has survived as a special case of general relativity. This view of the relation between reduction and elimination prompts Churchland to speak of folk psychology's inability "to win survival through intertheoretic reduction."14 His is an antieliminativist reductionism; he can't see how to reduce (read, save) the propositional attitudes-so he infers their elimination. Eliade's by contrast, is an anti-reductionist eliminativism; he wants to safeguard religious experience from reduction (read, elimination)--and so religious belief is eliminated. Eliade's anti-reductionism dovetails eerily with what Stich suggests is Churchland's "crass physicalist prejudice." 15 Either way, religious belief loses out.) Though I am not going to argue the point, I agree with those critics who find that Churchland's argument from the failure of folk psychology in these important areas does not show that it should be abandoned. 16 Indeed, I can find no legitimate pressure on religious belief from the general failure of intentional or teleological explanation. Still, Churchland's list of individual failures is impressive, and it does suggest the more modest, but, for our purposes, decisive question: How much light does folk psychology throw on religious activity? That is, to what extent does a grasp of a person's religious beliefs, desires (and the like) help us understand his or her religious behavior? If the answers to these questions turn out to be, "not much," and, "very little," then-again, for our purposes-the case against folk psychology will have been made. Churchland, "Eliminative Materialism and the Propositional Attitudes," 7. Churchland, ''Eliminative Materialism and the Propositional Attitudes," 6. 15 Stich, From Folk Psychology to Cognitive Science, 214. The likelihood is that Eliade has too little respect for the unity of science-and Churchland too much. The previous section's criticism of Eliade stand even if we decide (with Eliade and against Churchland) that reduction is eliminative (but, see below, note 30). Penner has noted the ironic affinity between Eliade and logical positivism (Impasse and Resolution, 31-2). 16 See Stich's criticisms, From Folk Psychology to Cognitive Science, 210ff. Also, Kathleen V. Wilkes, "1be Relationship Between Scientific Psychology and Common-Sense Psychology," Synthese 89 (1991): 15-39. Fred Dretske makes it a question of aim; while folk psychology "is in the business of explaining behavior, (it) is not in the business (as is cognitive science) of looking for explanations of very general application" (Explaining Behavior: Reasons in a World of Causes (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1991), Sln.) Within the religious studies community, a nuanced appropriation of Churchland 's work will be found in, E. Thomas Lawson and Robert N. McCauley, Rethinking Religion: Connecting Cognition and Culture (New York: Cambridge University Press, 13

14

1990).

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Fully satisfactory answers to these questions could emerge only from a systematic, empirical survey of the world's religions. And one must admit that such a thing is probably not possible, even "in principle." (Arguably, Max Weber made the only attempt at it; his studies of the religions of China, of India, of ancient Judaism and of Protestant Christianity were to be supplemented at least by works on Islam, early Christianity, and medieval Catholicism.) Let us turn, then, to a more indirect approach. We want to know how much light folk psychology sheds on religious activity. If we cannot go believer-by-believer (or, so as not to beg the question, behaver-by-behaver), let us proceed by examining the theories of religious activity that we in the academy now take most seriously. If they rely on forms of intentional, folk-psychological explanation-that is, on an appreciation of persons' religious beliefs, desires, etc.-then that will be a kind of answer to our question. Do our theories of religion (religious activity) rely on an appreciation of persons' religious beliefs and desires? The answer, from all appearances, is that most do not. Indeed, Robert Wilken makes this surprising truth the theme of his 1988 Presidential Address to the American Academy of Religion. In the following passage, he indicts the academy for its systematic failure to take seriously the claim of religious people that the real significance of what they are saying and doing is just what they say they are saying and doing. [When] we allow the "ostensible" meaning of religious language to be taken hostage to the etiquette of disinterested secondary discourse, or to things that have only a tangential relation to things religious people care about, not only do we prune the list of things we talk about, we also narrow the circle of people we will talk to, or better, of those who will talk to us. And that is a great loss, a kind of self-imposed deafness."

It is hard to dispute Wilken's premise. To name only a few theoretical stances receiving current attention, we have contributions from various forms of critical theory and functionalism, from psychoanalysis and structuralism, from experimental psychology and theoretical linguistics, from statistical sociology and microeconomics, from sociobiology, and from a newly resurgent verificationism. I think we must agree with Wilken that most of the theories that we in religious studies take seriously either heavily discount what the religious person says he or she is doing, or ignore it altogether. In constructing our theories of religion we, to a surprising extent, are eliminativists-"theoretical eliminativists," let us say (our fourth eliminativism). 17 Robert L. Wilken, "Who Will Speak for the Religious Traditions?," Journal of the American Academy of Religion 51 /4 (Winter 1989): 700.

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Wilken laments this state of affairs, and, as in the above quote, attributes it to the academy's "self-imposed deafness." But, as an explanation of such a pervasive phenomenon, this is unpersuasive. If even a significant portion of the academic community has chosen to ignore folk-psychological, intentional explanations of religious practices, we ought at least to inquire whether there are underlying, systematic features of those practices that invite this response.

3.

INTERNAL PRESSURES AGAINST RELIGIOUS BELIEF

There appear to be at least two questions. First, we want to know whether there are "built-in," or internal features of at least some important forms of (what we call) religious belief that tend to block its ascription. Second, we want to know whether there are "built-in," or internal features of at least some important forms of religious activity that tend to resist folkpsychological, intentional explanation-if so, they would exert an indirect pressure against those (putative) religious beliefs, desires (and so on) that might otherwise have earned their explanatory keep. There seem to me to be at least four candidates for such internal features. 3.1

SEMANTIC CONTENT

Perhaps the best advertised source of pressure on religious belief is the semantic. We require neither a polished theory of linguistic meaning nor strong empiricist leanings to agree that one knows the meaning of a concept when one knows the conditions under which it can be legitimately applied-at least we might agree that evidence for its application constrains its meaning. But what, then, of the term or concept whose application is licensed by every and all circumstance? The history of the meaningfulness-of-religious-language debate from Hume through Wisdom shows, at a minimum, that there is a stubborn problem about how to understand putative beliefs about a supremely abstract god. On the other hand, there is James' remark in the Varieties that most of the "common people" are polytheists--even in the monotheistic traditions. 18 I have argued elsewhere that we must recognize a spectrum of theoreticity, with the semantic pressure increasing as we move nearer to the God beyond the God of theism. 19

William James, Varieties of Religious Experience (New York: MacMillan, 1961), 407. Religion, InterpretaJion and Diversity of Belief: The Framework Model from Kant to Durkheim to Davidson (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989). 18

19

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In its higher reaches, this pressure has prompted both reductionistic and eliminative responses. Hare's groundless "bliks" and Braithwaite's assimilation of religious to moral assertions are well-known examples of the former, while the latter is famously represented by Flew's falsification challenge and Edwards' unflattering portrait of the "metaphysical believer.''20 According to Hare and Braithwaite, what appear to be ordinary beliefs have instead an entirely different cognitive, linguistic content; according to Flew and Edwards, what appear to be ordinary beliefs in fact have no content at all. 3.2

TRUTH

Even when we can assign a content to the religious belief in question, we then often encounter a second source of pressure. We often must ask whether the belief, so interpreted, is really held. Here, we imagine that the interpreter has correctly understood the content of the belief (has understood the words in which it is expressed), but is unsure whether it is held sincerely. What considerations might produce such hesitation? I think that such hesitation is a natural reaction, for example, to Eliade' s many discussions of sacred time and space. Granted, we can conceive what it would be to encounter a region of space set off or discontinuous from the surrounding regions-and so we know what a person who claims to now be confronted by one. But we hesitate before accepting such a person's apparent belief at face value because, let us say, we see him step over the threshold to the altar. That is, we see his body describe a continuous, rather than a discontinuous, region of space, and, further, it seems to us that he seems to see it, too. The point is not that we want to avoid ascribing error at all costs; clearly, we may interpret someone as having mistaken a granny smith for a golden delicious apple. The point is, first, that a variety of extra-semantic evidence can throw into doubt whether a person actually holds a belief whose linguistic content has already been accurately assigned. 21 Second, the likelihood of possessing such evidence greatly increases when the (apparent) belief cuts against an obvious truth (apparently obvious to all concerned). Put differently: If an apparent religious belief conflicts in an obvious way with what we have strong independent evidence for thinking a person realizes is obviously true (space is continuous, whole), then the obviousness of

20 All may be found in, (ed.) Steven M. Cahn, Philosophy of Religion (New York: Harper and Row, 1970). 21 For example, see, Frits Staal, Rules Without Meaning: Ritual, Mantras and the Human Sciences (New York: Peter Lang, 1989), esp. 253.

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that conflict, in combination with the obviousness of the truth, will cause us to re-evaluate whether it is actually held-whether, in that sense, the words really express a belief. 3.3

RATIONALITY

Granting semantic content and tabling questions of egregious error, there is still the issue of rationality. Here I mean rationality in the weak, agentrelative sense of consistently abiding by what one considers one's own best epistemic and interpretive principles. It may well be that no finite agent is, could be, or would ever want to be consistently rational in this sense, and, in fact, recent studies have suggested areas of systematic departures from, for example, basic tenets of expected utility that few would deny outright. 22 The issue is important for our purposes because this form of irrationality poses a well-known problem for intentional explanation in general, and so for belief attribution in particular. The problem is that, as Donald Davidson, Kathleen V. Wilkes, and others have pointed out, it opposes what Davidson terms "the holistic character of the mental." This is the claim that "the meaning of a sentence, the content of a belief or desire, is not an item that can be attached to it in isolation from its fellows."23 "Its fellows" form, on this view, a network in the context of which the belief (etc.) purchases its meaning. But then a guarantee of pervasive consistency seems to come with the idea of such a network, for inconsistent members would negate each other. That is, pervasive consistency (the absence of irrationality in the present sense) makes interpretation-the assignment of content to an agent's propositional attitudes-possible. Opinion is divided over whether folk psychology has the resources to handle this problem (Davidson, for one, thinks it does; Wilkes thinks not); but that issue need not concern us. All parties recognize that irrationality places a burden on the attribution of belief. In our sense, then, the question of rationality is not the ancient one of whether religious belief conforms to the best available evidence. Nor is it the question whether religious belief can be made justifiable, "properly basic," or anything of that kind; those questions we may cede to the phi-

22 See, for example, Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky, "Prospect Theory: An Analysis of Decision Under Risk," and, Tversky and Kahneman, "Judgements Under Uncertainty: Heuristics and Biases," both in (ed.) Paul K. Moser, Rationality in Action: Contemporary Approaches (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 23 Quotes are from Davidson, "Paradoxes of Irrationality," in (ed.) Richard Wollheirn, Philosophical Essays on Freud (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 302. For Wilkes, see, "The Relationship Between Scientific Psychology and Common-Sense Psychology," 30 ff.

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losophy of religion or philosophical theology. Ours is a question in philosophical anthropology: To what extent do religious people accommodate (what we call) their religious beliefs by suspending (consciously or no) what they recognize as their own best epistemic and interpretive principles? We are considering someone who seems to hold the following beliefs: A thing having no body cannot hear. God has no body. God can hear prayers.

On the face of it, this person both believes and does not believe that a thing having no body cannot hear. I think that the main difficulty in considering such examples is to resist the philosopher of religion who claims -perhaps rightly-that there are subtle ways to construe "body" and "hear" so as to dissolve the apparent inconsistency. The question, rather, is whether these things are said to be believed straightforwardly. If consistency helps to make belief-attribution possible, then a positive finding would make the attribution of religious belief problematic by its nature. 3.4

BEHAVIORALAUTONOMY

Much of the point of the notion of belief is to rationalize action, to make perspicuous its intentionality, its goal-directedness. The idea is that, in order to view persons as acting intentionally, we require insight into what they believe they are doing. Taking this general line in the Elementary Forms of Religious Life, Durkheim gives "The Elementary Beliefs" expository priority over "The Principle Ritual Attitudes." Recently, however, the tide in ritual studies seems to be running against Durkheim, denying the rationalizing connection he saw between belief and action. I shall not try to characterize what is obviously a complex literature, but rather will mention four studies that seem to be at the center of much current discussion. Frits Staal has staked out the most radical ground in his recent, Rules Without Meaning: Rituals, Mantras and the Human Sciences. Based in part on evidence from biological and evolutionary theory, Staal concludes that the rituals he has in view are like birdsong: structured, to be sure, but without aim, meaning, or goal. 24 In Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice, Catherine Bell comes to what is, for our purposes, a similar conclusion. For her, "the traditional associaLion of belief and ritual is ... challenged by growing evidence that most symbolic action ... can be very unclear to participants." She cites a range of an""Staal, Rules Without Meaning, 440. See also, "The Meaninglessness of Ritual," Numen 26/ 1 (1975): 9.

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thropological evidence for the conclusion that, "religious beliefs are relatively unstable and unsystematic for most people."25 To the extent that this is so, we cannot then appeal to them to make sense of the associated ritual activity (that is, we cannot see it as ritual action, as intentional). Even those who place ritual in a cognitive context do not do so by appealing to the notion of religious belief. Thus, Jonathan Z. Smith argues only for a "rectification of the old theory of the emptiness of ritual, not its outright rejection."26 Indeed, Smith finds much to like in the "old theory": It correctly refuses to understand ritual as "congruent with something else -a magical imitation of desired ends, a translation of emotions, a symbolic acting out of ideas, a dramatization of a text, or the like." At first glance, E. Thomas Lawson and Robert N. McCauley's Rethinking Religion seems to reach back to Durkheim, for it defends a cognitive "competency" approach to ritual acts, one which draws on the participant's religious "conceptual scheme." But Lawson and McCauley do not explain ritual activity by appealing to the participant's religious beliefs; in fact, they are not even "committed to the view that the relevant cognitive processes must involve either the conscious or the unconscious manipulations of tokens of sentences from natural languages.''27 I take it that this effectively cuts belief out of the explanatory picture. All four of these studies fail to see religious belief as rationalizing - as explaining, as making intelligible-ritual activity. My claim is that this failure exerts an eliminativist pressure on the very notion of religious belief, for it is a beliefs connection to behavior that separates it from mere lip service. A natural reaction to this claim would be to insist that much religious activity just obviously is explained by appealing to a paired religious belief (really, a complex of beliefs, desires, and so on). This is the intuition with which I began-and, in some measure, it must be well-founded. But there is an important range of cases where this reaction, while perfectly natural, is mistaken. In his, Remarks on Frazer's Golden Bough, Wittgenstein tries to delimit just this range. 28 Thus, he is struck by how 25 Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 183, 184. 26 Smith, To Take Place, 103; next quotation, 109. 27 Lawson and McCauley, Rethinking Religion, 86. 28 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Remarks on Frazer's Golden Bough, (ed.) Rush Rhees, (trans.) A. C. Miles, (rev.) Rhees, (Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey: Humanities Press, Inc., 1'fl9), 4. British copyright, Retsford, Nottinghamshire: Brynrnill Press Ltd. For the German: "Bemerkungen uber Frazers The Golden Bough," Synthese 17 (1967): 233-53. For discussions of causal relevance see, Davidson, "Freedom to Act," in his Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), 78, 79; Frederic Schick, Understanding Action (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 42-6; and Dretske, Explaining Behavior, Ch. 4.

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open the practice of voodoo seems to be to simple belief/desire explanation: The practitioner desires to hurt the victim and sticks a knife through a picture of him, apparently in the belief that he will thereby hurt him. Wittgenstein seems willing to grant both that the belief describes the behavior it causes and even that it plays a causal role in bringing about the behavior. But he wonders whether the belief has caused the behavior in the right way. He refuses to grant the content (roughly, the linguistic meaning) of the religious behavior (that a knife can cause harm at a distance) direct causal relevance to the (apparently paired) ritual behavior. Within the religious studies community, this issue has recently been raised in a related context. In his more recent, Drudgery Divine, Smith considers "the possibility of a comparative inquiry in which the coexistence of early Christianity and the other religions of Late Antiquity within the same geographical and temporal spheres constitutes, from the point of view of both method and theory, a distraction.''29 In Smith's example, we may be distracted by the fact of spatial and temporal proximity. In ours, we imagine a belief which both causes and rationalizes the activity in question-but which activity we should not on those grounds see as intentional. Where Smith talks of distraction, we may speak of seduction. If separable for purposes of analysis, in the actual course of interpretation these four (and related) considerations interact in ways so complex as to be unsystematizable. Thus, Wittgenstein's hesitation seems to be linked to the issue of rationality (in the above sense). Or again, we may decide that, rather than attribute agregious error, we ought rather to view a piece of behavior as non-intentional. On the other hand, doubts about semantic content may be over-ridden should an important insight come with viewing a certain activity as causally connected to the (heretofore) doubtful content. Then again, compelling enough semantic doubts can prevent questions of rationality and intentionality from ever arising. And, even with semantic content in hand, we may come to regard it as irrelevant or uninteresting should the pathological, non-rational cause of an activity become suitably apparent. Whatever the details of their interaction may be, these four (and related) considerations have apparently combined to prevent the notion of belief from assuming a central place in our understanding of religion. I think that this-rather than an outbreak of scholarly deafness-is why much of the religious studies community seems to have turned its back on religious belief.

29 Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 115.

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CONCLUSION

Eliade is well-known as a champion of irreducible religion, but we may wonder if this is so. The question arises when we reject Churchland's overriding allegiance to the unity of science, so that non-reducibility no longer entails elimination. (I leave it open whether it should be rejected.) At first glance, this rejection may seem to aid Elide's cause, since the non-reducibility he seeks is now no longer suicidal. But how are we to purchase this irreducibility?30 The problem stems from what I have called Eliade's anti-reductionist eliminativism-his suppression of the foundational role of religious belief in religious experience. The problem is that what are now widely regarded as the most promising arguments for the irreducibility of the human sciences to their hard, nomological kin, depend on the holistic nature of the propositional attitudes31-precisely what Eliade's stance tends to eliminate. Thus, we may imagine someone arguing as follows: The reductionisms worth res1stmg are those typified by Churchland 's "completed neuroscience." But then we in religious studies had better stop arguing that we have a distinct methodology, autonomous from those of the established human sciences (the ones in the long quote from Eliade, above), one that cannot be reduced to theirs. For theirs involve in some measure the

Daniel Pals has recently suggested that the purchase is axiological and pragmatic in nature: 'The nonnegotiable core of biological theory is that living organisms require more explanation than is available solely through physics. The study of religion would seem to require the same." ("Reductionism and Belief: An Appraisal of Recent Attacks on the Doctrine of Irreducible Religion," Journal of Religion (1986): 26). In !his passage, Pals seems to presuppose an account of physical reduction on which the reduced theory or phenomena disappears; the idea seems to be that reduction threatens the "more explanation" that biology has to offer. Irreducibility is then purchased on the wager that this "more" is or will be worth preserving. Here I just want to point out that this account of physical reduction is contentious. On one current, alternative portrayal, reduction is "the explanation of phenomena at one level of analysis by setting out the mechanisms which produce it at a lower level" (David L. Hull, "Informal Aspects of Theory Reduction," in (ed.) Elliot Sober, Conceptual Issues in Evolutionary Biology: An Anthology (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1984), 475, as cited in Justin Schwartz's excellent, "Reduction, Elimination, and the Mental," Philosophy of Science 58/2 (1991): 208; for parallel analysis, see William Wimsatt, "Reductive Explanation: A Functional Account," in Sober, Conceptual Issues in Evolutionary Biology), 447-508). Thus, Mendelian genetics maintains its interest (is not eliminated) because its units of explanation have had their molecular mechanisms uncovered (because they have been reduced). On !his account of reduction, there is no "nonnegotiable core" and so no irreducibility to be purchased. 31 For example, see Wilkes, "The Relationship Between Scientific Psychology and CommonSense Psychology"; Daniel C. Dennett, The Intentional Stance (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1987); and, for Davidson's "anomalous monism," see, "Mental Events," "Philosophy as Psychology," "The Material Mind" and the related essays in, Essays on Actions and Events. For a review and critique of the current literature on holism, see, Jerry Fodor and Ernest LePore, Ho/ism: A Shopper's Guide (Cambridge, Mass.: Basil Blackwell, 1992), esp. 16ff. 30

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investigation of the propositional attitudes (beliefs, desires, etc.) embedded in their objects of study (How did they come to be held?, Are they justified, rational?, What structural or functional roles do they serve?, etc ... ), exactly the thing that prevents nomological reduction.

This sort of position depends on a variety of suppositions that I have left undeveloped. 32 But it seems to me very likely that the variety of anti-reductionism worth wanting in religious studies depends on recognizing the presence of (religious) belief in a way that Eliade's brand of anti-reductionism precludes. Of course merely wanting to recognize the presence of religious belief does not guarantee that there is anything there to be recognized. We may agree with Bell that the position of religious belief is unstable. But to her empirical findings, we may add that religious belief is subject to a variety of eliminativist pressures that arise internally, pressures that remain even when we presuppose an unbiased account of religious experience and a sober endorsement of folk psychology. The historical roots of this internal instability are well-documented: By dissolving the very notion of invisible, intelligent power the radically reductionistic and eliminative work in the study of religion was accomplished long ago by Hume and Kant, and probably long before them. This dissolution has made it difficult for much of what we call religious belief to satisfy our ordinary standards of semantic content, truth, rationality and explanatory power. Where they arise, these difficulties only reflect the truism that no belief can survive for long without its object.33

32 For example, Davidson's version of the argument seems to require some form of the so-called principle of charity (see references in note 31). 33 Charges of what Proudfoot calls "descriptive reductionism" do not apply here, for the difficulties I refer to arise in trying to identify the belief (as discussed in section 3, above). Because they would have to presuppose that identification is unproblematic, accusations of interpretive distortion would be misplaced.

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CHAPTER FIVE

MUST PROFESSORS OF RELIGION BE RELIGIOUS? COMMENTS ON ELIADE'S METHOD OF INQUIRY AND SEGAL'S DEFENSE OF REDUCTIONISM

Thomas A. Idinopulos The reading of Robert Segal's essay, "In Defense of Reductionism," evoked in me an old anxiety not felt since I began teaching at Miami University twenty-five years ago. 1 At that time we who taught in the Department of Religion were faced with difficult questions from our colleagues about the appropriateness of such a department in a tax-supported, public university. Those questions: Why teach religion in a secular university? Does the study of religion really warrant a separate department? Couldn't religion be studied just as well, or even better in departments of psychology, of sociology, and of philosophy? What are the special credentials which attach to a professor of religion that differ from the credentials of any social scientist who takes a professional interest in the study of religion and offers courses based upon his research? And always one question (sometimes muted for the sake of politeness): Do professors of religion actually endorse religious belief and promote the practice of religion while camouflaging their beliefs under the rubrics of objective inquiry and detached teaching "about religion"? The questions had point. It was a fact that in my own department all of us professors had taken our doctoral degrees not from departments of secular graduate studies (history, psychology, philosophy, sociology, anthropology, etc), but from divinity schools or the graduate level extensions of divinity schools. In 1966, when I began my teaching at Miami, the doctoral degrees of Miami's religion staff, included the University of Chicago, Boston, Yale, and Harvard Universities-all of which institutions in their religious studies programs were and still are rooted in Protestant church traditions. To our number a year later was added a Jesuit priest, whose doctorate was awarded by the Catholic University of Louvain, Belgium. 1 Robert Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Ll/1. pp. 97-124.

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Looking back on this array of decidedly non-secular doctorates I can recall the feeling of anxiety whenever our university colleagues challenged the propriety of an independent religion department in an otherwise secular state university. The responses we gave to their questions usually shifted attention from our own academic training to the subject matter of religion itself. We argued that religion was a discrete phenomenon and therefore a unique subject matter that deserved the special study accorded by a separate university department. None of us challenged the right of psychologists, sociologists, and anthropologists to study religion. But we were at pains to argue that where the social scientific disciplines studied "aspects" of religion, only a religion department could do justice to the study of religion in its totality, wholeness, and uniqueness. But when we were pressed to defend the particular methods of religious study separate and distinct from the methods of psychology or sociology or history I cannot recall the description of any specific method. In place of method we invoked a trinity of prestigious scholars-Rudolph Otto, Jocahim Wach, Mircea Eliade. In our minds these authors had set forth ideas about the distinctive or unique character of religion. For that reason we were convinced that our own academic department was the only place in which religion's "unique meaning" could be studied and taught, however much religion might be investigated by other university disciplines. Today I don't feel any the less anxious about my department and discipline of religious study when I encounter the penetrating and provocative analysis of reductionism set forth by Professor Segal. And while I disagree with much that Dr. Segal has said, I greatly admire the boldness with which he has stated his case for reductionism and against Eliade's method of studying religion. One particular statement in Segal's essay focuses attention on the major question of personal religious belief as presupposition to the study of religion. "If in actuality only a believer can appreciate religion in a believer's own

terms, then many academic interpreters and their audiences cannot. Moreover, even if all interpreters and their audiences were believers, religion in its own terms would remain a problematic subject of inquiry, not because it would still elude appreciation but because the acceptance of its truth would be prerequisite to that appreciation. " 2

What I have learned from Professor Segal's essay is that the central questions about the nature of religion and the study of religion have not

2

Ibid., p.113.

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changed over the years. At the heart of any social scientific or so-called reductionistic account of religion is the questions of religion's uniqueness. Is religion a unique phenomenon or is it not? While there is no simple answer to that question, I would think that if religion is a unique phenomenon then reductionism as the conversion of religious meaning into socio-psychological meaning is an invalid conversion. If however religion is found to be not unique, then the only meaning religion can have is the one that takes place precisely through the conversion of the social scientists. Clearly Eliade took his stance on the side ofreligion's uniqueness and against reductionism. He did so not because he was able to demonstrate religion's uniqueness but because his intuition of religion's abiding power and mystery could allow for no other conclusion. There is little in Segal's essay to indicate what he things about the question of religion's uniqueness and what he ultimately understands by reductionism as a method for analyzing religion. For my own part I should say that the type of analysis which identifies correlations between religious behavior and socio-psychological behavior is not ipso facto reductionism. No one who appreciates the complex, interwoven patterns of meaning in religious behavior should view as reductionistic the books of Max Weber or Gordon Allport or Peter Berger or Robert Bellah or Erik Erikson or Norman Cohn. They should not because the all-important matter of religion's transcendent reference-the source of its uniqueness -is not denied or dismissed in any of their accounts of the social-psychological context of religious behavior. Who then are the reductionists? I would not quarrel with Segal's naming of several nineteenth century luminary anthropologists (Frazier, Tylor, et. al.) However he makes no reference to the vastly more powerful reductionistic outlook represented by Marx and Freud, and their philosophical father, Ludwig Feuerbach. In their writings religion's transcendent reference is acknowledged as a compensatory mechanism in human terms but rejected a priori as a unique reality and meaning. 3 These authors went far beyond the recognition of correlations between religious behavior and socio-psychological behavior to assert the "real causes" of religion. These causes were found to be the negative human circumstances of misguided idealism (Feuerbach), obsessional neurosis (Freud), and material exploitation (Marx). I should like to suggest that in this double movement -the assertion of religion's negatively human causes 3 See Ludwig Feuerbach, The Essence ofChristianity, Karl Marx's essay, "Bruno Bauer and the Jewish Question," and Sigmund Freud's The Future of An Illusion.

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and the simultaneous a priori dismissal of religion's transcendent reference-we have the substance of reductionism. However, it seems that Robert Segal has a somewhat different understanding of reductionism. For him the key to reductionistic analysis of religion is not the position taken on uniqueness and transcendence but rather achieving a correct view as to what religious practices actually mean. It is Segal's contention that religion, according to a social scientific analysis, cannot mean something "religiously," Presumably the social scientist will provide us with some other, non-religious meaning of religion, although Segal never tells us what that meaning is or could be. One of the most intriguing aspects of Professor Segal's defense of reductionism is his argument that only a "believer" can appreciate and understand the uniqueness of religious meaning, and for that reason every "believer" must reject the sort of reductionistic analysis of religion that ignores or denies religion's uniqueness. Here Segal fashions a sharp distinction between "believers" who accept the reality of the divine or the sacred, and "non-believers" who must reject that reality. It seems that the distinction between believer and non-believer is all-important to him. For it is on the strength of this distinction that Segal: (1) categorizes Mircea Eliade as a "believer" and defender of religion's uniqueness, and (2) defends reductionism against Eliade's strictures against reductionism. An just here I should say again that Robert Segal arouses in me the old anxiety about teaching religious studies in a state university. For if he is right in supposing that the defense of religion's unique meaning must flow from the prior position of "belief," than the state university teaching of religion in a separate department is compromised as non-objective, personal, and confessional. If, however, Segal is not correct in supposing that "belief' is presupposed in affirming religion's uniqueness of meaning, what then is the basis of affirming that uniqueness of meaning? To put the question more directly: Must a professor of religion be religious in order to study and teach religion as the bearer of a unique meaning? We can shed some light on that question by taking a close look at Eliade's method of inquiry. I will do that before responding more directly to Robert Segal's challenging remarks about Eliade and reductionism. MIRCEA ELIADE's METHOD OF RELIGIOUS STUDY

Anyone familiar with Eliade's most widely read books-Patterns in Comparative Religion; The Myth of the Eternal Return; Sacred and Profane; Myth and Reality-will recognize that Eliade was not content

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merely to describe the function of religion in human society. Empirical or historical or phenomenological accounts of religion are preliminary stages towards the goal of understanding religion's meaning. I doubt that anyone can finish any ofEliade's books mentioned above without feeling that in the midst of all the information and description set forth, the aim of these books is to penetrate to the deeper level of religion's meaning. Eliade did not merely describe religion; he sought to interpret its meaning and thus to understand it. That "understanding" Eliade in company with Wilhlem Dilthey, Rudolph Otto, and Joachim Wach was prepared to call Religionswissenschaft, a German word rendered ambiguously as the "Science of Religion."4 We should take the English word "science" here lightly and think of Religionswissenschaft as an empirically or historically based scrutiny of religion's essential meaning. Thus Religionswissenschaft has as less the force of science than of wisdom. Today we would call Religionswissenschaft a philosophy of religion, where the word philosophy refers to the discovery of essential or universal meanings. Eliade's method was influenced by Religionswissenschaft to the extent that it utilized history and phenomenology in order to discern universally intelligible patterns of religious meaning in human life. It is precisely because of the universality of the intelligible pattern that Eliade is convinced that comparative religious study is necessary and valid. 5 Further Religionswissenschaft understands religion's meaning to be intimately connected to meanings that are moral or aesthetic or psychological or social or political. One of the main takes of Religionswissenschaft is to provide a coherent and lucid account of the religious fact as it appears within the wider social context. For, according to Eliade, there is no "pure" religious fact. It is a primary assumption of Religionswissenschaft (certainly it was Eliade's assumption) that human beings have a predisposition to religion.

4 Mircea Eliade, The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969, pp. 1-36. For a full discussion of Religionswissenschaft, see Joachim Wach, Introduction to the History of Religions, New York: Macmillan, 1988, p. 86, Understanding and Believing: Essays by Joachim Wach, Joseph M. Kitagawa, Editor, New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1968; The Comparative Study of Religions, New York: Columbia University Press, 1958. 5 In Eliade' s method of study it is the perpetual interplay of fact and concept that yeilds religious meaning. This point is put more abstractly by Adrian Marino, 'The works of Mircea Eliade are full of ... morphologico-typological schemas having to do with symbols and rites of rebirth, initiation, the experience of mystic light, etc." I could not agree more with Marino's conclusion: "What most interests Eliade is not morphological analysis per se, but the discovery of 'structure,' 'structurally coherent whole,' structural differences (sacred-profane, the typical example) ..." "Mircea Eliade •s Hermeneutics," Imagination and Meaning: The Scholarly and Literary Works of Mircea Eliade, Norman J. Gorardot and Mac Linscott Ricketts, New York: The Seabury Press, 1982, p.46.

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Homo religiosus is not an empty slogan. The reason for this is that religion provides answers to the most fundamental questions of human living: Who am I? Where is my place on earth? Why do I suffer and die? What is the purpose of my life? What will happen to me after death? Thus religion arises out of feelings about ultimate reality. No scholar of our time more assiduously practiced Religionswissenschaft than Mircea Eliade, because no scholar was more concerned to understand the relationship between religion, the human being, and ultimate reality than he. We see Eliade's preoccupation with these connections in the glossary of terms he compiled to carry out his analysis of the religious structure of meaning: sacred, profane, cosmos, history, eternal return, repetition, archetype, paradigm, and celestial model. The words name concepts and the concepts are intended to clarify the meanings embedded in the religious practices of archaic societies. It is part of Eliade' s methodological assumption that archaic religious meanings are not private, regional, parochial, or esoteric meanings but that taken together they form a universal statement about reality. There is an archaic ontology which endures and is seen through history. This ontology connects archaic man to the ancient Israelites, and thence to medieval and modern Christians. It is a continuity so great that Eliade could confidently reject secularity as an authentic meaning and point to camouflaged religious meaning within modern secular acts and expressions. 6 Nowhere did Eliade make clearer the application of Religionswissenschaft than in his little book The Myth of the Eternal Return. Let us take note of its opening lines: "This book undertakes to study certain aspects of archaic ontology-more precisely, the conception of being and reality that can be read from the behavior of the man of the premodern societies. " ... the symbol, the myth, the rite, express, on different planes and through the means proper to them, a complex system of coherent affirmations about the ultimate reality of things, a system that can be regarded as constituting a metaphysics. It is, however, essential to understand the deep meaning of all these symbols, myths, and rites, in order to succeed in translating them into our habitual language. "It is useless to search archaic languages for the terms so laboriously created by the great philosophical traditions: there is every likelihood that such words 6 "As Andrew Greeley remarks, 'one need merely visit the annual automobile show to realize that it is a highly ritualized religious performance. The colors, the lights, the music, the awe of the worshippers, the presence of the temple priestesses (fashion models), the pomp and splendor, the lavish waste of money, the throning crowds - all these would represent in any other culture a clearly liturgical service'." Mircea Eliade, Myth and Reality, New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1963, p. 186; passage cited from Andrew Greeley, "Myths, Symbols and Rituals in the Modem World," The Critic, vol. XX, no. 3 (December, 1961, January 1962), p. 62.

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as "being," nonbeing," "real," "unreal," "becoming," "illusory," are not to be found in the language of the Australians or of the Mesopotamians. But if the word is lacking, the thing is present; only it is "said"-that is, revealed in a coherent fashion-through symbols and myths. If we observe the general behavior of archaic man, we are struck by the following fact: neither the objects of the external world nor human acts, properly speaking, have any autonomous value. Objects or acts acquire a value, and in so doing become real, because they participate, after one fashion or another, in a reality that transcends them. Among countless stones, one stone becomes sacred-and hence instantly becomes saturated with being-because it constitutes a hierophany, or possesses mana or again because it commemorates a mythical act, and so on. 7

As his words make clear Eliade saw his scholarly task as the deciphering of the ontological meaning contained in the symbolic or mythic expressions of religion. In order to carry out that task competently he was required to assume that the religious expression was not a human self-expression, a mirror. In other words, religion is about "something" felt to be, thought to be, believed to be external to the religious subject. Stated differently, religion is the outward expression of an internal relationship between the human and the divine, a relationship mediated to human beings through feeling, action, and thought. To understand this relationship we must speak of two ofEliade's most important ideas: the sacred and history. Religion is about the sacred and about history. Religion comes into being both as a response to the evocative power of the sacred and as a way of overcoming the "terror" of history. Here is what Eliade writes, "The primitive who sees his field laid waste by drought, his cattle decimated by disease, his child ill, himself attacked by fever or too frequently unlucky as a hunter, knows that all these contingencies are not due to change but to certain magical or demonic influences, against which the priest or sorcerer possesses weapons. Hence he does as the community does in the case of a catastrophe; he turns to the sorcerer to do away with the magical effect, or to the priest to make the gods favorable to him. If the intervention of priest or sorcerer produces no result, the interested parties recollect the existence of the Supreme Being, who is almost forgotten at other times, and pray to him by offering sacrifices. 8

Eliade's point is clear. Pain and suffering only become tolerable to archaic man when they acquired a religious meaning. Thus history becomes tolerable only when it is penetrated by the sense of eternity. But the overcoming of history by religion was not limited to archaic peoples. ' Mircea Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return, (Princeton: Princeton Unive1sity Press, 1991), pp. 3-4. 8 Ibid., pp. 96-97.

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This pattern of religious meaning is universal. Eliade discerned the pattern in both Hebrew scriptures and Christian piety. He writes: "In the Israel of the Messianic prophets, historical events could be tolerated because, on the one hand, they were willed by Yahweh, and, on the other hand, because they were necessary to the final salvation of the chose people. 9

When the Messiah comes, the world will be saved once and for all and history will cease to exist. 10 Messianic beliefs in a final regeneration of the world themselves also indicate an antihistoric attitude. 11 "Christianity translates the periodic regeneration of the world into regeneration of the human individual. But for him who shares in this eternal nunc of the reign of God, history ceases as totality as it does for the man of archaic cultures, who abolishes it periodically."12

It also follows in Eliade's analysis that archaic man could only have a perception of the sacred and the eternal realm because he also believes himself to be in relation to eternity. That relation is an internal relationship of feeling, action, and thought, a relationship which finds its most outward, visible, and dramatic expression in religion. The shaman, priest, or other teller of sacred stories about the gods can only tell his stories because he believes that he is communicating with the gods, that the gods and he are in touch in some mysteriously but deeply felt way. As Wach noted, the intensity of this feeling is one of the hallmarks of religion. 13 But it is always present when religion is present. That felt relationship is the root of a more complex vision that directs human life. Eliade understood that the religious man will take a wife, build a house, make love, raise children, eat, sleep, go to war, make peace, and prepare for death out of that felt relationship to the gods, and what he believes they expect of him. It was obvious to Eliade that there would be no symbol or myth if there were no relationship between religion and the gods, no connection between the religious subject and the eternal realm. Myths are possible because the subject first feels the sacred reality, and then imagines, thinks, acts in connection to a mysterious, partially perceived and partially unperceived reality that transcends him. Is there such a reality? No one can answer that question. What we can say is that the religious person lives his life, recites his myth, and teaches that myth to his children in Ibid., pp. 106-107. Ibid., p. 107. " Ibid., p. 111. 12 Ibid., p. 129. 13 Wach, The Comparative Study of Religions, pp. 35-36.

9

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the confidence that the myth is not essentially about himself but actually about the gods who in dramatic and subtle ways have made their presence known to him. Now it was certainly part of Eliade' s task in applying Religionswissenschaft to symbols, myths, and rites to take full account of the dimension of the transcendent. Not to have done so would have been to have distorted precisely the data of religion. The concept of the transcendent does justice to the ontological structure of religion. For if the core of religion consists of a felt relationship between the religious subject and the divine "other," then a concept is required to clarify the object-side of that relationship. Eliade, following Durkheim, found that concept in the sacred, more precisely in the sacred-profane dialectic. 14 If there is a weakness in Eliade 's use of the concept of the sacred, it is the absence of any clarification of the epistemological character of the sacred. I am puzzled by this. How do we gain knowledge of the sacred? Eliade seems to think that the sacred can be known a posteriori, through examination of data; but it is far from clear that the sacred can be inferred from data. The sacred also has the characteristics of the a priori, that is, concept inherent to the human mind that structures and provides coherent meaning to experience. Here Eliade's sacred closely resembles the idealistic presuppositions of Rudolph Otto's idea of the Holy. So the obvious question has to do with the relation of a posteriori to a priori aspects of the sacred. 15 There is another question: If in Eliade's thought the sacred is both a quality manifested in all religions and a substantive reality that transcends religions and history, then how are we to understand the relationship here between quality and substance? I cannot explain the absence in Eliade's writings of epistemological clarification about the sacred. I can only guess that Eliade wanted to avoid the interminable debates over method that would have kept him from precisely the empirically based, comparative task of religious study 14 "The division of the world in!o two domains, the one containing all that is sacred, the other all that is profane, is the distinctive trait of all religious thought." Emile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, New York: The Free Press, 1965, p. 52. " Mac Linsott Ricketts has suggested the connection between a priori and a posteriori elements of the sacred by commenting on Eliade's notion oftransconsciousness: "It appears that Eliade, by his concept of the transconsciousness, is trying 10 establish on a firmer basis the a priori category of the Holy of Rudolph Otto. Ot!o's concept rested on Kantian pre-suppositions, that prior to experience there are certain categories of the mind which predetermine, in forms common to all men, the way experience is organized (time, space, etc.). Jung's archetypes resemble these also, but Eliade wishes to designate a mental structure or capacity set apart from all others, one which comes into play only in religious experience." Cited in Guilford Dudley III, Religion on Trial: Mircea Eliade & His Critics, Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1977, p. 64.

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which was his passion. Certainly the concept of the sacred was necessary to that task. But any too thoroughgoing philosophical scrutiny of the sacred would have created unwanted problems. It was enough for Eliade to apply the concept of the sacred to the data of religious experience and leave epistemological questions to others. We can now discuss Eliade's specific criticism of "reductionism." Let us begin by considering several of his statements quoted from that small volume of essays, The Quest. " ... the scholar has not finished his work when he has reconstructed the history of a religious form or bought out its sociological, economic, or political contexts. "16 " ... by studying the religious expression of a culture, the scholar approaches it from within, and not merely in its sociological, economic, and political contexts"17

Favorably comparing the historian of religion with the critic of literature, Eliade has this to say: " ... from a certain point of view, the aesthetic universe can be compared with the universe of religion. In both cases, we have to do at once with individual experiences (aesthetic experience of the poet and his reader, on the one hand, religious experience, on the other) and with transpersonal realities (a work of art in a museum, a poem, a symphony, A Divine Figure, a rite, a myth, etc.). Certainly it is possible to go on forever discussing what meaning one may be inclined to attribute to these artistic and religious realities. But one thing at least seems obvious: Works of art, like "religious data," have a mode of being that is peculiar to themselves; they exist on their own plane of reference, in their particular universe. 18

Reading these statements makes it unmistakably clear that for Eliade "reductionism" is to be distinguished from the empirically based study of religion that recognizes correlations between religious behavior and socio-psychological behavior. No correlation should obscure the uniqueness of the religious phenomenon, nor hide its sacredness, nor obscure its creative expression of the transcendent. Eliade illustrates his point with the millenarian movement. "Few religious phenomena are more directly and more obviously connected with socio-political circumstances than the modern messianic and millenarian movements among colonial people (cargo-cults, etc.). Yet identifying and analyzing the conditions that prepared and made possible such messianic movements form only a part of the work of the historian of religions. For these movements are equally creations of the human spirit, in the sense that Eliade, The Quest, p. 13 Ibid., p. 3. 18 Ibid., pp. 5-6. 16 17

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they have become what they are-religious movements, and not merely gestures of protest and revolt-through a creative act of the spirit."19

The quotations above make it abundantly clear that Eliade viewed reductionism as working a lie on religion by attributing its cause to something other than religion. Religion is irreducible because it has an essence, an intelligible structure of meaning (call it "the sacred") which does not allow equation with or confusion by secondary social or psychological manifestations. 20 ROBERT SEGAL' S CRITICISM OF ELIADE IN BEHALF OF REDUCTIONISM

At the outset I want to say that in my opinion Segal misses his target by first offering a distorted picture of Eliade, and then criticizing that picture rather than the actual ideas held by Eliade. As the prime example of distortion consider the following statement from Segal: "It is surely not accidental that Eliade is widely regarded as at once one of the leading contemporary interpreters of religion and one of the leading defenders of its irreducibility. For by its irreducibility he means the inability to understand religion in other than its own terms, by which he means the terms of believers themselves. "21

Reflecting on this passage I find myself challenging Mr. Segal's reading of Eliade' s methodological intention. Certainly it was Eliade' s intention to understand religion in its own terms, as a unique experience, practice, and meaning, which must be distinguished from such other human practices as politics, economics, and social organization. However, it is misleading to suppose, as Segal does, that Eliade understood religion in "the terms of believers themselves." The word "terms," as used by Segal is ambiguous and misleading. Eliade made it very clear that the central ideas he employs to discuss religion ("sacred," "profane," "return," "repetition," "paradigm," "history") are his own ideas and not those of

Ibid., p. 6. Penner and Yonan are technically correct that reduction does not negate ''phenomena, data, or the properties of the phenomena," because reduction, as practiced by scientists, has as its sole purpose: "to offer adequate theoretical explanations and to provide for the continued progress of scientific knowledge." However, it is not scientific reduction that Eliade opposes but social scientific "reductionism" which dismisses by fiat the transcendent reference of the religious phenomenon. This dismissal is common to Feuerbach, Marx, and Freud; it can also be found in Eric Fromm's writings on religion, including The Dogma of Christ (1963). Hans H. Penner and Edward A. Yonan, "Is a Science of Religion Possible?" Journal of Religion (April, 1972) pp. 130-131. 21 Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," pp. 97-98. 19

20

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believers. Eliade spoke his own language, not the language of archaic man. 22 Nor does Eliade suppose that his ideas can somehow magically catapult him into the mind of believers such that he can understand religion in "the terms of believers themselves." He could not do so even if he wanted to do so. For Eliade understood that the act of interpretation is greatly different from the act of belief. Moreover, the act of interpretation relies not on religious belief itself (the inward and mysterious vision) but rather on the outward, symbolic practices and expressions of belief. These expressions are to be found in the rite, the symbol, and the myth. Eliade did not pretend to any "insider's" view of these forms. He took them for what they were: formal expressions of religious sentiment, whose meaning required interpretation. Perhaps one could say that rites, symbols, and myths when taken together constitute "terms of believers themselves." Eliade seems to suggest something of this when he writes: "I do not mean to deny the usefulness of approaching the religious phenomena from different angles, but it must be looked at first of all in itself, in that which belongs to it alone and can be explained in no other terms.' 723 Here again Eliade's methodological stress is on the unique and integral character of religion, not on the "believer's own view of religion," whatever that phrase (Segal's phrase) could mean. It is sometimes overlooked by critics of religious scholarship that believers do not explain themselves because it is not their nature to do so. To repeat, believers do not have "terms," any more than discus throwers, ballerinas, and cobblers have "terms.'' Eliade understood and accepted the obvious: religion comes into view as praxis, a way of leading one's life that affects emotions, actions, and thought. What Eliade continually points to is the uniqueness of the religion's praxis. It is because of religion's uniqueness, and for no other reason, that he makes a distinction between contemporary interpreters of religion who respected that uniqueness and their nineteenth century predecessors who ignored it. He writes: "Unlike their (nineteenth century) predecessors, who treated myth in the usual meaning of the word, that is, as "fable," "invention," "fiction," they (modem interpreters) accepted it as it was understood in the archaic societies, where, on

Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return, p.3. Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, New York: World Publishing Meridian Book, 1972, p. xiii. 22

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the contrary, "myth" means a "true story" and, beyond that, a story that is a most precious possession because it is sacred, exemplary, significant. " 24

To carry out his task Eliade the scholar relied on reports, studies, and books of all types. He understood that the recorded date of religious practice can prove bewildering unless concepts are developed that can illumine the written records, showing patterns, providing coherence, expressing meaning. Concepts not "believers" were Eliade's daily preoccupation, and (to use Segal's expression) the secret to "the popularity of his position." In the light of what I have said I find it strange for Mr. Segal to assert that Eliade somehow "exceeded" the archaic "believer's point of view" and interpreted religion arbitrarily because he (Eliade) was limited to "sacred texts" and had no way to consult the point of view of what was in fact a "dead religion. •,:zs If we can believe the research of contemporary anthropologists, archaic religion is not dead in Australia, the Amazon rain forest and other places. Moreover, it is certainly not true that Eliade supposed he could go beyond the text to fathom the mind of archaic man. Eliade made the common sense assumption made by all scholars of religious society-that in the prayers, stories, ceremonies, gestures, and actions of a people, one can find a reliable statements-a text, so to speak of how that society understood itself in relation to beings or powers believed to be transcendent and sacred. The real challenge was interpreting the meaning of that text. It is not necessary (perhaps even unreliable) for any scholar to rely on consultation or interviews of religious peoples, living or dead. For what counts is not what is said to the interviewer but the whole range of the religious life understood as a unique phenomenon. Our critic Robert Segal also introduces unnecessary confusion when he approaches the important concept of the sacred in Eliade's thought. This is what Segal writes, "Eliade clearly exceeds and probably even violates the conscious view of most believers: in regarding the sacred phenomena of all religions as manifestations of an impersonal sacred realm beyond all gods; in interpreting the exclusive aim of all religions as a return spatially and temporally, to that sacred realm; and above all in considering the sacred phenomena of individual religions to be only instances of universal religious phenomena-for example, considering specific trees to be only instances of the Cosmic Tree."

24 25

Eliade, Myth and Reality, p.1. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," p. 98

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Segal goes on to say: "Presumably, many, if not most, believers postulate no impersonal sacred realm beyond all gods, deem the aim of religion more or other than a return to that realm, and above all consider only their own religion true. Eliade 's equation of his own interpretation of religion with the believer's point of view therefore becomes arbitrary. •026

We must agree with Mr. Segal that "believer's postulate no impersonal sacred beyond all gods." And so, too, would Eliade agree. The concept of the sacred in Eliade's thought does not postulate some sort of impersonal heavenly realm. That concept recognizes a pattern of meaning-the transcendent dimension-within the data. For that reason the sacred is presumed to be a necessary structure within the religious phenomenon. Nothing in Eliade's writing suggests that the concept of the sacred resembles Plato's Forms, in relation to which sensory particulars are adumbrations or pale imitations. The sacred is not greater in reality and fuller of meaning than any of its concrete manifestations. Despite the uncertainty of quality and substance in Eliade's sacred, that concept will not allow for a separation of being and manifestations. And unlike Plato's Forms, the sacred cannot be known through education of the rational faculties. Finally, the Cosmic Tree to which Segal refers is in Eliade's analysis a patterned meaning within religious experience of trees, not a superior metaphysical being which overshadows ordinary trees which happen to be worshipped. If religion has meaning, and if that meaning is patterned, and further if Eliade through concepts such as the sacred accurately recognizes the patterned meaning, then it is not correct of Segal to say that Eliade has "equated" his interpretation with the "believer's point of view." To repeat what I said earlier, Eliade cannot know what the "believer's point of view" is; but he can through interpretation seek the meaning of expressed religious experience. And that is what he has done. If the sacred is not a necessary or inevitable concept for interpreting religion, then a better reading of the data than Eliade's should yield some other concept to take the place of the sacred. It ma be evidence of the weakness of his position that Segal nowhere suggests how religion can be more adequately interpreted without the concept of the sacred. His criticism of Eliade' s method seems tactical, formalistic, without commitment to any proposed alternative way of viewing religion. He is content to scrutinizing what he takes to be the logical errors ofEliade's statements, and let it go at that. But is that enough? I will come back to that question. 26

Ibid.

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Nowhere does Segal's formalism show up more clearly than in his defense of reductionism, which is much less a defense than another logical exercise to strike in countering Eliade's non-reductionism. 27 When we finish reading Segal's arguments we are left in ignorance as to what he actually means by reductionism and who, besides Marx and Freud, he would place in that camp. On the question of reductionism versus non-reductionism, it matters greatly to Professor Segal if the interpreter of religion happens to be a believer or non-believer. He argues that a believer must accept the nonreducibility of religion, and a non-believer must accept reductionism. 28 The difference lies in the object of belief - the divine. Non-reductionists accept the divine; reductionists must reject it. It is not insignificant that Segal leaves unanswered the question of his own belief or non-belief, and does not tell his readers if the divine holds any meaning for him. My own sneaking suspicion is that his positivistic temperament not only prevents him from accepting any concept of the divine, or any idea it would seem to him that does not stand in one-to-one correspondence with sense-perception. That being so I cannot understand how he would presume to interpret religion from the standpoint of the highly generalized, often abstract ideas of psychology and other social sciences. I must confess that until I read Mr. Segal's essay I did not know that recognition of the divine required belief and than non-belief barred one from that recognition. I had always thought that the divine was a concept about the meaning of religious practice, a construct which clarified the objective pole of the bi-polar relationship in all reported religious experience. Moreover, I had always thought that the divine was a concept which could be usefully employed by any student of religions, believer or not. Certainly the books of Eliade are read with profit by any number of students who profess little or no objective belief in a transcendent realm of gods or God. Eliade's writings, which rely on concepts of the divine or the sacred, seem to convey meaning to believers and non-believers alike. If we were to follow to the extreme the logic of Segal' s argument, then we would have to tag every college course on Eliade's thought, "For Believers Only." And if we dared do that we who teach religion in a public university would soon be out of business. Here it is useful to return for a moment to the question I asked at the beginning of this essay: Must a professor of religion be religious in order to study and teach religion as the bearer of a unique meaning? I should

27 28

Ibid., pp. 109-116. Ibid., pp. 109-112.

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now answer that question by saying that belief or unbelief of the professor is irrelevant to the act of teaching religion. For what the professor actually teaches is not religion per se but books about religion, i.e. how to understand what books assert about religion. In the process of achieving that understanding critical judgements must be made about the relative worth of differing accounts of religion. Eliade's books, stressing the concept of the sacred, may or may not prove illuminating in that critical judgement. If they do prove illuminating it will not be because of the prior condition of belief, but more likely because of that critical judgement which finds Eliade's account of religion more convincing or compelling that other accounts. There are of course no definitive tests of "convincing" and "compelling," as there are no definitive tests of the reality of the sacred. All that one can do is to read Eliade's books about religion and compare them to other books to decide whether or not the concept of the sacred sheds light on the data of religious experience. The question to be asked of Segal at this point is how would he presume to study religions without a concept of the divine or sacred? Could he carry out the reductionistic agenda without losing sight of the religious subject matter? Is the non-acceptance of the divine an a priori or formal condition of every so-called reductionistic analysis of religion? In contemplating those questions we should acknowledge that even Segal would allow that the overwhelming number of social scientific students of religion today do not cleave to a nineteenth century positivistically oriented view of religion. 29 When Segal argues that a reductionistic interpretation of religious phenomena is the only one possible for a non-believer, we might ask what that interpretation could be? It is a question he avoids but not without hinting at an answer. He writes that a nonbeliever "can appreciate the secular functions of religion for the believer-for example, the serenity or the security religion provides. Perhaps he can appreciate as well a secular origin of origin for the believer."30 It is clear from this statement that Segal is no more willing to recognize religious experience as integral and authentic than were Feuerbach or Marx or Freud. But there is a vast difference between those thinkers and Robert Segal, a difference that cannot be hidden by appeals to reductionism or shared doubts about the divine. Feuerbach, Marx, and Freud analyzed religion in behalf of powerful statements about past human failings and future human possibilities. Their respective atheisms sprang from idealistic visions about human life. 29 30

Ibid., p. CJ7. Ibid., p. I 00.

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Their historicism was not cheaply purchased; nor did they come easily to their doubts about eternity or a heavenly transcendent being. When I compare Robert Segal's defense of reductionism to the positions on religion taken by Feuerbach, Marx, and Freud, I do not find in Segal a statement about what went wrong in human life because of religion and what could go right by replacing religion with another value. I find nothing to persuade me that reductionism is "superior" (Segal's word) to non-reductionism. If we are to accept Segal 's argument that reductionism is a "superior" mode of analyzing religion, we need to know something about the kind of new and more authentic human life that results from that analysis. Without some statement about human value we are left wondering if Segal's reductionism is anything more than a logical maneuver to counter the ambiguities of a non-reductive account of religious meaning. Let us hope our colleague and friend Robert Segal comes forth with just such a vision of human life that constitutes a true defense of reductionism, showing us how reductionism should guide our study of religion.

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MIRCEA ELIADE AND THE BATILE AGAINST REDUCTIONISM Wayne Elzey

One of the intriguing features of the current discussion of reductionism is the way in which metaphors of conflict and battle sometimes shape our understanding of the relationship between reductionistic approaches to religion and those that claim, like Mircea Eliade's, to be non-reductionistic. In a recent and valuable survey of the literature, Daniel Pals used words such as "attacks," "quarrels," "triumph," "enemy," "assailants" and "assault," "strategy," "jousting," "overthrown," "defending," "threat," "danger," "surrender," "draw fire," "spell doom," "die struggling'' and "demolition."1 In this symposium, Robert Segal drew a picture of two opposing camps of scholars, the "religionists" and the "reductionists." The religionists, Segal argued, have resorted to various "strategies" in order to "fend off threats" from the reductionists, sometimes going so far as to embrace them as "comrades in arms." In a different way, Charles Long also related the issue of reductionism to the struggle between two groups, the colonizers and the colonized, and to the colonizers' reductive intellectual conquests achieved through a new constitution of the concepts "science," the "human" and "religion." Construing the debate over reductionism in terms of martial metaphors provides a helpful model for thinking about Eliade's work in relation to reductionistic theories of religion in the social sciences. But it also tends to produce a truncated view of Eliade's thought and probably of that of some of the major reductionists as well. The question I want to pose in response to the topic of the symposium and the two papers is this: How did Eliade himself understand the relationship between his theories of religion and those of individuals he and we label "the reductionists"? I will suggest that there are at least four ways of answering the question. One of these answers underlies Robert Segal' s interpretation and critique of Eliade's work. A second reflects some of Charles Long's methodological concerns. Another possible answer to the question im1 "Reductionism and Belief: An Appraisal of Recent Attacks On the Doctrine of Irreducible Religion," The Journal of Religion (1986), 18-36.

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plies that functionally, at least, Eliade's treatment of religion is itself reductionistic. Segal' s answer to the question came when he quoted and interpreted a key statement in Patterns in Comparative Religion. A religious phenomenon will only be recognized as such if it is grasped at its own level, that is to say, if it is studied as something religious. To try to grasp the essence of such a phenomenon by means of physiology, psychology, sociology, economics, linguistics, art or any other study is false. 2

The important word here is the final word, "false." Segal took the word "false" to mean "futile." Thus, to try to grasp the essence of religion through, say, economics, is futile. Segal argued that according to Eliade the social sciences do try to grasp the essence of religion through economics, sociology or psychology, and that doing so is an exercise in futility. Segal' s answer to the question of what sort of relationship Eliade saw between his theory of religion and those of the reductionists is simply "none at all." Since the reductionists missed altogether the irreducibly religious nature of religion, Eliade (according to Segal) maintained that the treatments of religion in the social sciences neither helped historians of religions, nor hindered them, nor challenged them. Thus, Segal argued, Eliade sought to "neutralize" the social sciences by asserting that the fields of the religionists and social scientists have different subject matters, ask differing questions and thereby "run askew" of one another. Segal takes the position, then, that Eliade' s theory of religion aimed at being literally non-reductionistic. Reductionistic theories of religion were irrelevant to the study of religion because they missed the distinctively religious essence of religion. In addition, Segal would have to attribute to Eliade the belief that either position, Eliade's or those of the reductionists, could exist independently of the other, since that was the substance of Eliade' s strategy for neutralizing the social sciences. Segal went on to argue that Eliade and the reductionists did, in fact, ask the same questions about the origin, function, meaning and truth of religion but that they gave "contrary answers." Both cannot be right. Either might prove to be right in the future, perhaps. But, according to Segal, whatever the outcome, Eliade's strategy for neutralizing or avoiding the challenges of reductionism is negated. A second way of interpreting the passage Segal quoted from Patterns in Comparative Religion lies closer to Charles Long's methodological 2 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, trans. Rosemary Sheed (Cleveland: The World Publishing Company, 1963), p. xiii.

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view about reductionism's possible affinity with a "discourse of difference," where the differences that bring a culture or a people to the attention of the investigator are not simply formed from the point of view of the intellectual problematic; they are more often than not the nuances and latencies of that power which is part of the structure of the cultural contact itself manifesting itself as intellectual curiosity. In this manner the cultures of non-Western peoples were created as products of a complex signification.3

Eliade's assertion that to try to grasp the essence of religion by means of economics, psychology or sociology is "false" could be interpreted to mean that it is humanly and morally wrong-not just logically and methodologically wrong-to have done so and to continue to do so. Read in this way, Eliade's theory of religion is not simply non-reductionistic. It is overtly anti-reductionistic. It is not an attempt to avoid or evade the challenges of reductionism and it is more than just a protest against the irrelevancy of the social sciences which (in Segal's interpretation of Eliade) had no adequate methodological tools for interpreting religion. If we read Eliade in this way, his theory of religion loses the independent, timeless and utterly contextless stature it assume in Segal's interpretation. If Eliade intended a genuinely anti-reductionistic theory of religion, a large part of the significance of that theory lies in its relationship to reductionistic treatments of religion that existed and were widely accepted as the proper ways to go about the study of religions. Had such theories not existed or, more importantly, had the Western cultural outlook from which those theories arose not existed, then Eliade might not have felt compelled to write many of his books and articles. Taken as an anti-reductionistic theory of religion, Eliade could not have intended it to be a strategy for neutralizing the social sciences. It might have been a strategy for undermining or dethroning them. More likely, it was a strategy for humanizing them. In the preface to Myths, Dreams and Mysteries, Eliade wrote that one day the West will have to know and understand the existential situations and cultural universes of the non-Western peoples; moreover, the West will come to value them as integral with the history of the human spirit and no longer regard them as immature episodes or aberrations from an exemplary History of Man-a history conceived, or course, only as that of Western man. 4 3 Charles H. Long, Significations: Signs, Symbols, and Images in the Interpretation of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), p. 5. 4 Mircea Eliade, Myths, Dreams and Mysteries: The Encounter Between Contemporary Faiths and Archaic Realities, trans. Philip Mairet (New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1967), p.9.

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Reading Eliade as an anti-reductionist, does not impute to him the motive of trying to avoid the challenges of the social sciences. It probably does mean that he felt little need to get into theoretical disputes with social scientists. Reductionistic theories of religion missed the irreducibly religious, that is, the maturely and authentically human essence of religion as it existed in non-Western cultures. As Long noted, "the stylization of discourses of difference operated simultaneously as the basis for description as well as the source of critical principles for the new understanding of man," an understanding in which homo religiousus appeared as childish or irrational. Eliade's view of the relationship between this theory of religion and those of the reductionists can be understood in a third way. His statement to the effect that to try to grasp the essence of religion through sociology or economics is "false" might be understood to mean that it is sterile and unfruitful for us to do so. In his essay, "Crisis and Renewal" Eliade observed that it seems to me difficult to believe that, living in a historical moment like ours, the historian of religions will not take into account the creative possibilities of their disciple. How to assimilate culturally the spiritual universes Africa, Oceania, Southeast Asia open to us? All these spiritual universes have a religious origin and structure. If one does not approach them in the perspective of the history of religions they will disappear as spiritual universes; they will be reduced to facts about social organizations, economic regimes, epochs of precolonial or colonial history, etc. In other words, they will not be grasped as spiritual creations; they will not enrich Western and world culture-they will serve to augment the number, already terrifying, of documents classified in archives, awaiting electronic computers to take them in charge. 5

Reading Eliade in this fashion calls attention to the kind of audience he believed he was addressing. It was, to a large extent, the same audience that defenders of the sui generis nature of religion had been addressing for a century and one half, the cultured despisers of religion. Unlike the earlier audiences, however, most ofEliade's audience no longer had nay choice but to exist in a desacralized cosmos and to be irreligious themselves. The archetypal "modem man" addressed so often in Eliade's writings was, he said, "the one who has no faith.' 06 In his essay, "A New Humanism," Eliade argued that a proper, appreciative understanding of past and foreign religions could be a major source of creative renewal for Western culture-in the visual arts, in lit-

5 Mircea Eliade, "Crisis and Renewal," in The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1969), pp. 70-71. 6 Myths, Dreams and Mysteries, p. 236.

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erature, philosophy and education-practically everywhere, it would seem, except in organized religion. He also proposed in the same essay that such a creative renewal could lead, hopefully, to the emergence of a "new humanism." He wrote that "by attempting to understand the existential situations expressed by the documents he is studying, the historian of religions will inevitably attain to a higher knowledge of man. It is on the basis of such knowledge that a new humanism, on a world-wide scale, could develop."7 The argument that it is the historical fate of organized religions to be replaced by some form of universal "humanism" and that they study of religion will play a leading role in that transition, is an old and familiar argument. It is the argument advanced, in one form or other, by the classical reductionists-Feuerbach, Marx, Tylor, Frazer, Durkheim and Freud. Religion here is not an end in itself. It is a means to a higher end, a "higher knowledge of man." It is not irreducible nor is it a permanent and essential part of human culture. Religion is reducible to the higher historical goal to which it leads, the emergence of a universalistic, humanistic culture. What was at stake for all of these scholars, including Eliade, was far more than developing a logically consistence, accurate and defensible method for interpreting religious beliefs and behaviors, as much of the debate over reductionism and religious studies currently assumes. What was at stake was the reformation and transformation of human culture. Eliade's audience, as he saw it, was both disadvantaged but also uniquely privileged. For the most part, they had no choice but to live in a desacralized world. They could not physically go back to the past nor could they take up permanent residence in existing religious societies and villages. Yet, in another way, they were privileged. Their privilege was that they, as no people before, could assimilate in their culture and in a creative way, the spiritual universes of all other known peoples. They could do so in their art, their literature and philosophies, and through the study of non-Western cultures. And they could also do by reading works of imaginative religious fiction, works such as Patterns in Comparative Religion and Cosmos and History. There is a fourth way of viewing the relationship Eliade saw between his theory of religion and those of the reductionists. Religious phenomena, Eliade observed, must always be understood in at least two quite different contexts.

7

Mircea Eliade, "A New Hwnanism," in The Quest, p. 3.

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In sum, a religious phenomenon cannot be understood outside its "history," that is outside its cultural and socioeconomic contexts. There is no such thing as a "pure" religious datum, outside of history . . . . But admitting the historicity of religious experiences does not imply that they are reducible to nonreligious forms of behavior. Stating that a religious datum is always a historical datum does not mean that it is reducible to a non-religious history, for example, to an economic, social or political history. 8

Here Eliade argues that: 1) religion cannot be understood outside its historical and social contexts; and, 2) that religion cannot be understood only within those contexts. To say, then, that to try to grasp the essence of religion by means of sociology or economics is "false" may be taken to mean that is not going to work unless it is part of a much larger project. Explanations of religion regarded as reductive are not "false" in the sense of being "all wrong." ("A religious phenomenon cannot be understood outside its cultural and socioeconomic contexts.") Rather, reductive treatments of religion produced only incomplete, partial or even trivial understandings of religion. If Eliade thought such was the case, he was not just trying to neutralize or to humanize the social sciences, nor was he attempting to make them culturally more creative. He was attempting to make them culturally more creative. He was attempting to enlist them as junior partners in a grand program ofreligious studies in which the history ofreligions would play the leading role. The leading role was assigned to the history of religions because that discipline alone had developed the proper context for understanding religious phenomena. The contest was an irreducibly religious one, in Eliade' s case, a systematic morphology of religion. The effect ofreading Patterns in Comparative Religion is that, in fact, Eliade has avoided reductionism. In that book, Eliade surveys an enormous amount of information from a wide and diverse number of sources. These include the scriptures and religious texts of various traditions, missionary and travel reports, historical accounts both ancient and modern, and works by social scientists situating the information in its historical and social contexts. Having surveyed this information, Eliade appears to encounter again and again certain recurring ideas and themes, and always in a fragmentary form. These fragmentary ideas are found in every kind of religious phenomena-myths, burials, buildings, superstitions, doctrines, rituals, and so forth. They appear as hints and nuances and often in a dim and partial way.

8

Ibid., p. 7.

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By an apparently exhaustive survey and comparison, out of these bits and pieces Eliade discovers a few forms, archetypes or pure possibilities. These relate almost always to the natural world-the sky, sun, moon, earth, water, vegetation, etc. None of these archetypes exists in its full form in any historical religious community or tradition. Eliade has already shown us that in his survey. Eliade then arranges these ahistorical forms or archetypes morphologically, moving from the abstract to the concrete, from the simple to the complex, and from the sky to the earth. The morphological pattern is itself ahistorical and non-evolutionary. and, as noted above, none of the archetypes fully exists in any historical society or religious tradition, past or present. The reader (or at least this reader) comes away with the impression that reductionism, at least of the projectionist and/or evolutionary variety, has been avoided. Since the forms and their organization in the book do not exist except fragmentarily in any society, the systematic arrangement of them in Patterns cannot represent the projection of any society, or such at least is the impression left in reading the book. Then, in Cosmos and History, a much shorter book, Eliade organizes the archetypes and patterns chronologically, beginning with archaic peoples and ending with modern, Western culture. The forms are arranged historically and treated functionally. By means of the process noted above-survey and generalization from concrete examples-Eliade shows that the function of religion is to abolish profane time and history. According to Eliade, religion has functioned in this manner historically in four or five distinct ways. The impression left on the reader is that the essence of religion really is something irreducibly and uniquely religious in two basic senses. First, by definition, wherever one encounters evidence of a form or archetype there one finds religion. The form or archetype may be discovered in some "religious" phenomenon-in an African rite, an ancient Mesopotamian myth or in the description of a Vedic altar. Or it may be discovered in a dream or in a modern novel or in the insignia of a motorcycle gang. It doesn't matter. Wherever it is found, there one finds the irreducibly religious content of religion. Secondly, wherever and whenever individuals and communities find ways of escaping or abolishing time, there and then, by definition, one finds the irreducibly religious function of religion. It may be in an archaic world-renewal ceremony, or in yogic meditational disciplines. But it also may be discerned in a family vacation to Disney World, in the act of reading a book or, as Eliade said, simply in "killing time." It doesn't matter.

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When individuals and societies behave in these ways they are behaving and functioning religiously. Thus, the impression is that Eliade has described the irreducibly religious nature of religion. Formally, of course, a non-reductive morphology has no special relationship with a religious subject matter. Presumably, botanists, sociologists or home economists could construct comparable non-reductive morphologies in their own disciplines. And if they did, they likely would regard Eliade's morphology of religion as being as irrelevant, inhuman, unfruitful and trivial (i.e., as reductive) with respect to their subject matters as Eliade regarded the theories of social scientists with respect to his. As aggressively orthodox, fundamentalist Eliadian, for example, might insist to a nutritionist that the mountain of evidence surveyed proves that the proper diet for aboriginal Australians consists of a few morsels shared ceremonially one each year, while for the Christian the proper diet is a wafer and glass of wine taken each week on Sunday morning. Such meals are proper, the Eliadian might insist, because they are ritual re-enactments of the paradigmatic meals of the sacred ancestors in Australia and Jerusalem, respectively. For the modern, undernourished Eliadian, the proper diet doubtless would be a library full of books on nutrition, in imitation of his or her exemplary ancestor, Mircea Eliade. Confronted with such an argument, the nutritionist might respond, reasonably enough, that the Eliadian had missed the irreducibly nutritions nature of nutrition. One might suppose that the nutritionist would respond in the same way to social scientists who claimed to have understood the essence of nutrition but who had looked only at the economic or political or psychological causes and consequences of food consumption. They, no less than the Eliadian, would have missed the sui generis nature of nutrition qua nutrition and be guilty of reductionism. In one sense, however, the study of religion does seem to be a special case. The classical reductionists who remain the most challenging for the study of religion-Feuerbach, Marx, Freud and Durkheim-predicted that if their theories of religion were widely accepted as being true, directly or indirectly those theories would cause religious beliefs to disappear from human societies. Each of these men predicted that a partial and indirect form of human self-consciousness (religion) would be replaced by a direct and full form of human self-consciousness (some form of "science"). This is reductionism with a vengeance. It is comparable to a nutritionist arguing that his or her revolutionary theory of nutrition will have the effect of doing away with the need for eating food that is nutri-

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tious. In the context of the Humanities, this form of reductionism would be comparable to literary critics asserting that their theories of literature will result in causing authors to cease writing plays, novels and poems, while simultaneously liberating the public from the need to read and enjoy them. With the possible exception of some forms of therapeutically oriented analytic philosophy,9 no field of study in the Humanities other than religious studies has had to confront, time and again, the argument that the consequence of understanding its subject matter is the dissolution of that subject matter. Feuerbach, Marx, Freud and Durkheim did not claim that religious beliefs would disappear because people would recognize that religion originated and persisted because of some error, irrationality or mistake that we now are aware of and can avoid. Believers' ideas about their own beliefs and their interpretations and defenses of those beliefs, (i.e., theology) did originate in a mistake, these men argued, but not religion itself. Moreover, each of these men saw himself as carrying out and completing, in the context of modem culture, the essential task originally begun by religion, that of the birth and development of a full, universal, human self-awareness. Since they regarded themselves as being faithful to religion's original and essential intention, none likely would have accepted the label "reductionist." Feuerbach, for example, wrote that the

Essence of Christianity "contains and applies in the concrete, the principle of a new philosophy ... Yes it contains that principle but only by evolving it out of the very core of religion, (and) ... being evolved from the nature of religion, it has i itself the true essence of religion,-is, in its very quality as a philosophy, a religion also."10

Did the reductionists reduce religion to some aberrant, embryonic or childlike stage of culture and reason, instead of granting it a unique and essential place in human life as Eliade is said to have done? Two brief examples may be illustrative. On the first page of The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, Emile Durkheim, by most accounts a reductionist, promised that his book would "lead us to an understanding of the religious nature of man, that is to say, to show us an essential and permanent aspect of humanity." 11 [my em-

See, for example, B. A. Farrell, "An Appraisal of Therapeutic Positivism," Mind (1946). Ludwig Feuerbach, The Essence of Christianity, trans. George Eliot (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1957), pp. xliii-xliv. 11 Emile Durkheim, The Elem£ntary Forms of the Religious Life, trans. Joseph Ward Swain (New York: The Free Press, 1965), p. 13. 9

10

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phasis] Some four hundred and fifty pages later, Durkheim had proven to his satisfaction that religion is a permanent and essential aspect of humanity, as essential to modem societies as to ancient and primitive societies. In the intervening pages, Durkheim showed that religious beliefs represented a disguised and indirect form of social knowledge. The advancement of social knowledge now is best left to the direct and systematic investigations conducted by the social sciences. By the conclusion of the book, Durkheim was left in the position of an unbeliever convinced that religion is a permanent and essential aspect of humanity and must remain so. What was left for modem unbelievers was a collective religion, cutting across all sectors of society. But it was a "religion" devoid of any cognitive content and consisting of a yet-to-be-defined cult of yetundeveloped rituals that hopefully again would produce those collective religious feelings of effervescence on which social cohesion and purpose depended. 12 By contrast, a leading defender of the irreducible nature of religion, Mircea Eliade, recognized the unique, secular basis of modem Western culture and traced it to the importance the West accorded to profane time or "history." Collectively and ritually, at least, history could no longer be abolished or transcended as it had in the religious societies. Eliade maintained, nonetheless, that the "the 'sacred' is an element in the structure of consciousness and not a stage in the history of consciousness. "13 Religion was thus an essential to modem humans as to archaic humans. What form would religion take in modem society? In archaic and primitive religions this "other" was some form of nature, the archetypal constitutions of "the human" outlined in Patterns. "The encounter with the 'totally other'," Eliade wrote, "whether conscious or unconscious, gives rise to an experience of a religious nature." For "the man of modem societies, living in a desacralized cosmos," it may be equally possible that the attraction of the unconscious and its activities, the interest in myths and symbols, the fascination with the exotic, the primitive, the archaic, and encounters with the "others," with all the ambivalent feelings they imply-that all this one day may appear as a new type of religious experience. 14

Ibid., p. 475. Mircea Eliade, A History of Religious Ideas. Vol. 1: From the Stone Age to the Eleusinian Mysteries (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1978), p. xiii. 14 Mircea Eliade, The Two and the One, trans. J.M. Cohen (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1969)), pp. 11-12. 12 13

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What remains "for the man of modern societies" is a form of religion devoid of any collective cultic and ritual behavior, a ''religion" that exists almost wholly within the imagination and reveries of an international class of widely-read, cultured and literate individuals. I'm not sure which of these two positions, Durkheim's or Eliade's, is less reductive or more reductive than the other. Each seems to be reductive and non-reductive in ways that are opposite of the other. But they do not seem to stand over against each other in the simple adversarial relationship that the metaphors of battle and conflict lead us to anticipate. It is ironic that just as social scientists turn appreciatively to what Clifford Geertz referred to as "analogies drawn from the humanities"-games, texts, dramas-in order to better understand social life, 15 we in religious studies sometimes turn to the social analogy of war between two hostile groups, one made up of social scientists, to better understand the challenges posed by reductionism. Further, by making it appear that reductionism is a threat originating from a source external to humanistically-oriented religious studies, the metaphors of battle and conflict deflect attention away from the form of reductionism that has had the greatest impact on the emergence and development of the discipline of religious studies in the United States. In that context, the most unrelenting, influential and heavy-handed reductionists in this century were not the social scientists. They were the staunchly Christian, neo-orthodox theologians, biblical scholars, social ethicists and church historians, who reduced all forms of human, cultural religion to idolatry. Social scientists, whether classical or contemporary, have not approached their study with the assumption that "religion qua religion is naturally idolatrous," 16 or that "no religion is true," 17 or even that "holiness provokes idolatry," 18 while at the same time exempting from the same judgment some privileged, anti-idolatrous and irreducible forms of biblical faith. And none have lumped together, as Reinhold Niebuhr did, "all the idolatrous religions of ancient history, including

15 Clifford Geertz, "Blurred Genres: The Refiguration of Social Though," in Local Knowledge: Further Essays in Interpretive Anthropology (New York: Basic Books, Inc., Publishers, 1983), p. 19. See also Victor Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1974), pp. 23-59. 16 Reinhold Niebuhr, 'Toe Peril of Complacency in Our Nation," Christianity and Crisis (February 1954), p. 2. 17 Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics. Vol. 1: The Doctrine of the Word of God, trans. G. T. Thomson and Harold Knight (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1956) p. 325. 18 Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology. Vol. 1: Reason and Reservation, Being and God (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1951), p. 216.

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both primitive polytheism and the imperial religions of Egypt and Babylon, and (in more artificial terms) of Rome."19 The effect of this theologically-based reductionism on the study of religions was exactly the reverse of that originating in the social sciences. In the 1950's, Claude Levi-Strauss observed that "it seems that during the past twenty years anthropology has increasingly turned from studies in the field of religion," and he traced this declining interest to the influence of the classical reductionists in the social sciences.20 By the way of contrast, when Sydney E. Ahlstrom looked back on the 1930's and 40's he saw a renaissance in religious studies, attributable in large measure to "neo-orthodoxy's deep respect for the scientific scholarly and artistic achievements of men" and its "major contributions to the critical study of the scriptures, the sociological understanding of religious institutions, and the historical enterprise as a whole."21 This renewal of interest in religion appeared initially in Protestant seminaries and divinity schools and then in secular colleges and universities in the 1950's and 60's whose faculty in newly established departments of religious studies were (and still are) drawn largely from men and women educated in seminaries and divinity schools. Finally, and quite apart from the methodological issues raised by social-scientific forms of reductionism, those of us in religious studies should remember that the battles between Eliade and the social scientists were almost completely one-sided ones. It was Eliade who protested, again and again, what he saw as the shortcomings of social-scientific approaches to the study of religions. For the most part, the social scientists ignored him or dismissed his writings as a trivial annoyance-"Sermons By A Man On A Ladder." Much the same situation continues in the "debate" (still largely one-sided) over reductionism. But, given the marginal place of Departments of Religious Studies in most universities, it is

19 Reinhold Niebuhr, The Self and the Dramas of History (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1953), p. 63. At the same time, a distinction should be made between these theories of religion and the intended application and function of these theories. Clearly, Niebuhr did not intend such a theory of religion to be used reductively with respect to the religions of "the others" in order to expose their idolatrous character of to demonstrate the superiority of the Christian ''faith," much less the superiority of the Christian "religion." He wrote that "however wide and deep the differences which separate the Christian view of life from that of Greek tragedy, it must be apparent that there are greater similarities betwen the two than between either and the utilitarian rationalism that has dominated contemporary culture." Beyond Tragedy: Essays in the Christian Interpretation of History (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1937), p. 165. 2°Claude Levi-Strauss, "The Structural Study of Myth," in Structual Anthropology, trans. Claire Jacobson and Brooke Grundfest Schoepf (Garden City: Anchor Books, 1967), p. 202. 21 Sydney E. Ahlstrom, A Religious History of the American People, Vol. 2 (Garden City: Image Books, 1975), p. 441.

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comforting and reassuring for professors and students in religious studies to listen as scholars such as Robert Segal discuss the issue of reductionism in terms of a long standing, ongoing battle with the social sciences. And the reassurance remains constant whether we win or lose. Paraphrasing Lao Tzu, the greatest calamity is not to lose a battle. The greatest calamity is to attack and find no enemy. By imagining a continuing struggle between religious studies and the social sciences, we can be encouraged that someone is taking us seriously, even if that someone is mostly only we ourselves.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

REDUCTION WITHOUT TEARS Ivan Strenski

1. AVOIDING THE TRUTH-TRAP "Reduction" and "reductionism" are terms originating in the sober field of philosophy of science. These terms apply to theories about theories and conceptual change, and thus have to do with a theory about explanation.1 But quite another mood prevails in the study of religion, where "reduction" is an all-purpose pejorative and boo-word. Thus, in characteristic style, Eliade lashes out at "the audacious and irrelevant interpretations [sic] of religious realities made by psychologists, sociologists, or devotees [sic] of various reductionist ideologies.' 92 More recently, Robert N. Minor, for example, claims that students of religion "are suspicious of any possibility of reductionism that may reduce the religious person's understanding to other categories.''3 Reeking of fideism, these views declare that religious faith must be kept sacrosanct, must be protected from being "reduced," and thus diminished, in any way. Such apologetic attacks on reduction invite attack themselves. What is fortunate, however, is that otherwise thoughtful critics of anti-reductionism, like Robert Segal, fall into the theological trap of the anti-reductionists, and perpetuate their wrongheaded intellectual agendas. This Segal does by assuming, along with the anti-reductionists, that the central issue in the reduction debate is (or should be) the question of the truth of religious claims, or that this discussion should turn on the question of the epistemological status of the native's (believer's) point of view. 4 To wit, this leads Segal into, what I take to be well-formed, but misguided, discussions about the possibility or impossibility of a believer being a reductionist or a sceptic being an anti-reductionist. (In Segal's view, both are

1 See Lome L. Dawson's useful discussion of kinds of reduction in his Reason, Freedom, and Religion (New York: Peter Lang, 1988), 161-79. 2 Mirca Eliade, "Crisis and Renewal," The Quest: History and Meaning of Religion (Chicago:

University of Chicago, 1969), 70. 3 Robert N. Minor, "Conclusion," Modern Indian Interpreters of the "B hagavadgita", Robert N. Minor, ed. (Albany: SUNY Press, 1986), 226. 4 Robert Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 6-8.

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impossibilities. 5) What it means to be a believer means to take religion as real in all relevant respects, for example, function, origin and source, as Segal tells us. What kind of believer would see religion as an illusion!? Similarly, to be a non-believer means that one assumes the opposite. Thus how could a non-believer remain so, if they felt that religion were real in the relevant senses? But before tackling the principal mistake of taking this line in the first place, let me show how Segal's way of putting of the problem leads him into intellectual deadends. Both Segal's believer/anti-reductionism and skeptic/reductionist linkages are faulty. First, believers may very well be reductionists; indeed some actually need to be! Barthians routinely reject "religion" in favor of the "Word," and are perfectly content to 'reduce' it to whatever one would like. The more religion is humiliated, in fact, the better, since for Barthians "religion" is the human attempt to grasp deity, to promote salvation by human doing. The same might also be said of Advaitin Hindus for whom "religion" (each particular darshana) is maya, and thus subject to relativizing comparison with 'true' non-dual experience. Then what of theological liberals who look on ('reduce') 'religion' to morality? They are certainly still believers, but ones who have cheerfully made of 'religious' belief what many would call a 'reduced' form. Second, as for skeptical anti-reductionists, their number is equally great. Anyone who uses the term 'religion' to stand for something discernible in culture is in a way an anti-reductionist, since they accept that there is something substantial enough in this phenomenon to permit talking about an 'it.' All that is required for being so is the conviction that we live in a world where social forms get reified. Thus Louis Dumont admits as much in accepting that the social world in the modem period in the West is divided into realms such as politics, religion, art, economy, etc.6 But Segal's biggest mistake is to have taken up with the agenda dictated by the anti-reductionists in the first place. Segal gets led down this road because he has unwittingly perhaps taken for granted the terms of the argument about reduction from the anti-reductionist apologists. Where Segal goes wrong is in accepting that questions of the truth of religion or believer's point of view are or ought to be paramount in discus5 Robert Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Corifrontation (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 20-6.

• Louis Dumont, "Religion, Politics, and Society in the Individualistic Universe,"

Proceedings of the Royal Anthropological Institute for 1970 (London: Royal Anthropological Institute, 1971): 31-41. "Preface," (to the French Edition of Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer) Studies in Social Anthropology, John Beattie and R. Godfrey Lienhardt, eds. (Oxford: Oxford University, 1975), 328-42.

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sions of reduction. Segal accepts their use of reduction as normative, then simply inverts their priorities. But, given the collapse of the believer/anti-reductionist etc. dichotomy, I want to ask why should we play this theological game at all? Why fall into the truth-trap-the 'trap' of considering question about reduction in religious studies because they are questions about ultimate truth? Why not simply dump the entire agenda of theological discussion ofreduction? I say this not because I think the truth of religious claims is never an issue here, but rather because it is not an issue of paramount concern to the scientific study of religion, any more than the 'ultimate reality' of politics itself or the truth of liberalism or fascism are paramount concerns of political scientists. We should instead lay out an agenda about reduction which speaks to the concerns of the scientific and humanistic study of religion, rather than to the concerns of its theological propagation or dismissal. This paper is devoted to showing what such a new agenda for discussing the notion of reduction would look like. 2.

REDUCTION

Is ABOUT CONCEPTUAL CHANGE

In its home context in the natural sciences and philosophy of science, "reduction" names a process by which concepts and theories from one domain change by being logically and/or conceptually subsumed by"reduced to"-those of another. While it is true that all academic disciplines are to an extent jealous about intrusions onto their 'turf, ' 7 theoretical and conceptual change are taken more in stride than in the perhaps more fragile domain of the humanities. In the sciences, where in part a belief in the unity of nature prevails, conceptual changes come and go like the weather. Indeed part of the progress of knowledge amounts to being able to see the same 'thing' or 'nature' in a variety of different 'ways,' under different conceptualization. "Reductionism" is thus the obverse of the view that theories are a priori "autonomous" and immune to the subsumption by other theories. "Reductionism" thus rejects the claim that phenomena can forever and always be explained in their own terms alone (whatever that means) in favor of the view that they can (and, sometimes, out to) be explained in terms which are not first sight proper to them (as we conceive 'them'). Thus when biological phenomena are

7 Here we would do well to recall that the attack upon the validity of claims about Cold Fusion was led by physicists. Whatever else their failings, Fleischer and Pons had the misfortune of being chemists, and thus appearing as intruders into the domain of physics.

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reduced to chemical phenomena, some part, at least, of biological theory has been reduced to chemical theory, some biological explanations have been reduced to chemical one. In general, this is seen as marking real progress because a single theory is now seen capable of including more data under its explanatory umbrella. Like riding a well-planned subway system, we do not, as it were, need constantly to change 'trains' and transfer to different 'lines' to complete our journey successfully. One line will take us there directly. 2.1 Reductions: "Kinds" and "Directions" Yet in speaking ofreductionism en bloc, I risk underplaying the variety in "reductionism" itself. Let me correct this. There are, in fact, several classes of reduction, many with surprising characteristics, and further many subclasses of the primary classes. The primary classes can be organized under the following scheme: these are the "kinds," "directions" and "interpretations" of reductions. Of "kinds" there are two. One speaks, first either of "homogeneous" kinds of reductions, as between theories within the same domain of knowledge, such as between different systems of theories of astronomy, or say between Durkheim's two theories of religion. 8 Second, one may speak of "inhomogeneous" kinds of reductions, such as between theories across presumed different domains of knowledge. These reductions are those which not only produce the conceptual change of homogeneous reductions, they but also reduce theories previously thought to cover qualitatively different domains. The inhomogeneous reduction of biology to chemistry, for instance, connects theories with domains thought to be radically different up to that moment. So also might Durkheim's so-called sociological reduction of religion qualify as "inhomogeneous." Then, one may consider the two directions of reduction. In "microreduction," wholes are explained in terms of parts, e.g. if biochemistry explains cell division, microbiology is reduced to biochemistry; in "macroreduction" wholes explains parts, e.g. if general systems theory explains human behavior without remainder, it "reduces' psychology to itself. Here also all theories of religion which try to ground the essence of religion in religious experience, say, over against religious institutions, would qualify as cases of micro-reduction. Done in reverse, theories of religious institutions which promised to be able to subsume religious experience would qualify as cases of macro-reduction. Finally, reductions •w.S.F. Pickering, Durkheim's Sociology of Religion (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984), Chapters 3-5.

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may be "interpreted" in at least three ways, although we will only treat two here. 2.2 "Interpretations" of Reductions: By Deduction First, reduction by "deduction" or "derivation" names a logical operation by which the theorems of one theory are logically subsumed by those of another, such as in attempts to derive mathematics from logic. Thus Kenneth Schaffner, presenting Ernest Nagel's views, argues that in reduction by deduction the basic terms and entities of one theory are related to the basic terms and entities of the other theory . . . And the axioms and laws of the reduced theory are derivable from the reducing theory. 9

The reduced theory thus becomes a special case of the reducing theory, which in turn provides a logically broader and more powerful etiological vantage point. Consider Nagel's example of the reduction of thermodynamics to statistical mechanics. Here the concept and phenomena of "temperature" are explained in terms of the energy of large numbers of discrete particles, rather in terms of the concept of "heat." This signals that the laws of thermodynamics can be deduced from the laws of statistical mechanics-from the laws governing the motion of large numbers of discrete molecular particles, if one can also go further and identify "temperature" with "mean kinetic energy of molecules." I see no instances of this 'interpretation' of reduction in religious studies, simply because theories in the social or psychological sciences have not achieved the degree of formalism allowing them rigorously to 'reduce' or 'derive' anything at all! 2.3 "Interpretations" of Reductions: By Replacement10 The second "interpretation" of reduction-"reduction by replacement"contrasts sharply with this. Here we have the wholesale dismissal of one theory and the substitution of another. Such reductions are assumed, for instance, by attempts to replace mentalist psychology with brain-state materialism. Transition from one theory to another produces a "complete Kenneth Schaffner, "Approaches to Reduction," Philosophy of Science 34 (1967): 138. We can also identify a third and final interpretation of reduction-"reduction by approximate deduction"-which is in a way a compromise between the first two interpretations of reduction (Kenneth Schaffner, "Approaches to Reduction," Philosophy of Science 34 (1967): 138.) But for our purposes, we can ignore this class, and proceed directly to the matter of the bearing of these distinction upon our central discussion. Thus, three "interpretations" can, in theory, be instantiated across two "kinds" and two "directions" of reduction. In all, therefore, twelve logically possible combinations of reductions can be generated. 9

10

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replacement" of the ontology and, perhaps, of the formalisms of the old theory by the new. Knowledge grows discontinuously, in leaps, not cumulatively by accretions. Paul Feyerabend argues in this vein that one cannot strictly derive thermodynamics from statistical mechanics. Derivation or deduction requires linking key terms like "temperature" with "the mean kinetic energy of molecules." But this cannot be sanctioned because, as it is argued, the two concepts belong to incommensurable fields of discourse. Feyerabend notes that in the case of the succession of statistical mechanics over thermodynamics ''replacement rather than incorporation ... or derivation ... is seen to be the process that characterizes the transition from a less general theory to a more general one.11 So different is from reduction by deduction, that reduction by replacement might be considered a rejection of reduction itself. this is partly so because Nagel's reduction by deduction is a feature specific to a positivist view of theories. 12 If, as Eliade and others do, one rejects positivism, it is only natural that one would reject one of its key operations, namely reduction. Reduction by deduction is how one would expect to interpret theory change, given a positivist interpretation of theories-if we looked on theories primarily as sets of sentences arranged in deductive order. Such a view of theories is held by Nagel. But if we supported a view like that of the Oxford philosopher of science, Rom Harre, we would contend that theories are essentially pictures of inner nature of things "and that the existence of a deductive system among the conditional propositions which describe the possibilities of change for that structure is not essential."13 One would expect this theory of theories to reflect the fact that theorems are less important than theoretical ideas or models. Like Feyerabend, one would conceive theoretical change-reduction-as getting a new picture of things. With Feyerabend, our attention would focus on the paradigm, the central concept of a theory.

3.

MIRCEA ELIADE, REDUCTIONIST •.. (BY REPLACEMENT)

One unanticipated benefit of this scheme is locate and thus better understand Mircea Eliade's situation in the reductionism quarrel. Straightaway we can see that the sort of reduction stirring his rage is reduction by re-

11 Paul Feyerabend, "Explanation, Reduction and Empiricism," Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science Vol III, H. Feig! and G. Maxwell, eds. (Minneapolis: University of

Minnesota, 1962), 78. 12 Ivan Strenski, "Reductionism and Structural Anthropology, Inquiry 19 (1976): 78-80. "Rom Harre, The Philosophies of Science (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970), 15.

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placement. This is so because it has, as Feyerabend notes, ontological implications. Eliade's way of protesting reduction is to assert that our documents . . . constitute ... so many creations of the human mind . . . . We do not have the right to reduce them to something other than what they are, namely spiritual creations. 14

Eliade of course blatantly begs the question here, since it is the very identity of so-called religious phenomena which is in question. If I am right about the intellectual history of the notion of religion, it has shifted several times in the last hundred years already. Reduction has been a way of life for all serious thinkers about religion, as each one in tum has pushed an older conception ofreligion aside for their own. But, as much a part of this moving history of the concept of religion as Eliade himself is, Eliade slams the door shut on possible competitors to his own 'spiritualist' position. Instead, he just insists on the identity of religious phenomena by appeal to "what they are ...." But "what they are" is or should be an open question; Eliade's anti-reductionist (by replacement) stance rejects alternatives out of hand. This is so even if the alternatives are "homogeneous" one, since for Eliade the concept of religion is fixed once and for all. He thus assumes that what it means to 'reduce' "spiritual creations" is to replace their spiritual nature with something else-to treat "them as other than what they are" [sic]. And, he will have none of it! Putting his case positively, Eliade tells us he wants a study of religion in which religion is "looked at ... in itself, in that which belongs to it alone and can be explained in no other terms." 15 Thus, in Eliade's view, to take a 'reductive' approach to religion, changes the way we classify reality, since we don't "look at" religion "in itself' [sic]; furthermore, doing so makes claims to explain the nature of that reality in some "other" than religious "terms." Thus what Eliade fears is the 'replacement' of "the" [sic] religious view of the world, a wholesale profanation and descralization. He fears religion may be shown to be false. But what he fears is the replacement of the particular religious picture to which he is devoted by some other non-religious 'picture.' Ironically enough we can also see that Eliade is himself a major offender to his own announced anti-reductionism. He is equally reductionist (by replacement}--as at least one writer has noted with perhaps a

14 Mircea Eliade, "Prolegomenon to Religious Dualism: Dyads and Polarities," The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1969), 132-3. 15 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion [1949], Rosemary Sheed, trans. (London: Sheed and Ward, 1958), xi.

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differently nuanced meaning than my own. 16 First, against so-called scientific theories of religion, Eliade rejects all explanations of religion which do not reflect their "spiritual nature" (whatever that means), as he states above. This is, on its other side, a substitution or replacement of them by an approach which he believes is truer to their "spiritual nature." Recall Eliade's earlier words about "the audacious and irrelevant interpretations of religious realities made by psychologists, sociologists, or devotees of various reductionist ideologies.17 If an interpretation is charged with being "irrelevant," we are invited to replace it with one which is assumed to be 'relevant.' Second, against other academic explanations of religion, Eliade tries to replace all other definitions and theories of religion by his well-known interpretation of data in terms of their reflection of transcendental archetypes. Archetypal analysis replaces all others; archetypal analysis (micro-)reduces (by replacement) individual, historically specific data to the status of epiphenomena of the divine archetypes. Creative hermeneutics is after all a "total hermeneutics," "the royal road" for the study of religion. 18 Third, although many commentators take Eliade at his word (in places) and assume that he speaks from the native's point of view, 19 his general theoretical ambitions are quite opposed to making the native's (religious) point of view normative. He cannot accommodate the range of diversity among religious 'natives,' nor is he finally willing so to do. "It does not matter in the least," says Eliade beginning his dismissal of any Dilthey-like advocacy of the native's point of view, "whether or not the 'primitives' of today realize that immersion in water is the equivalent both of the deluge and of the submerging of a continent in the sea .... " What matters for Eliade is to replace all others. To wit what matters is that both "immersion" and "deluge" symbolize the disappearance of an 'outworn form' in order that a 'new form' may appear. Only one thing matters in the history of religions; and that is the fact that the immersion of a man or a continent, together with the cosmic and eschatological meaning of such immersions are present in myth and ritualthe fact that all these myths and rituals fit together or ... make up a symbolic

16 Adrian Marino, "Mircea Eliade's Hermeneutics," Imagination and Meaning, Norman Girardot and MacLinscon Ricketts, eds. (New York: Seabury, 1982), 44. 17 Miricea Eliade, "Crisis and Renewal," The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1969), 70. 18 Mircea Eliade, "Crisis and Renewal," The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1969), 57, 62. 19 Robert Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 11 and passim.

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system which in a sense pre-existed them all. We are therefore ... quite justified in speaking of . . . the symbolism expressed in the subconscious and transconscious activity of man. 20

Instead, Eliade proposes nothing less than a total theory of religion, and thus one which replaces old meanings with (his) new ones. "Creative hermeneutics"-the "royal road of the history of religions,"21 the crowning level of Eliade's method-is a "total hermeneutics." At the very minimum this involves "being called to decipher and explicate every kind of encounter of man with the sacred, from prehistory to our day ,''22 This 'totalizing' ambition explains why in the end, Eliade does not care what the 'natives' say or think: he cares about replacing previous views with his own. 23 Thus when we put Eliade's talk against reduction into the context of conceptual change by way of reduction by replacement ironically, we see Eliade really does not oppose reductionism in itself. He is quite prepared to replace non-religious and religious accounts of things by his own religious one, like any good anti-positivist might. Eliade just objects to those reductions which threaten the protective cocoon he wants to throw round his 'history of religions'! 4.

REDUCTION:

No BUSINESS OF CRY BABIES

From this survey of what real reductionism means, we can see how nuanced and sophisticated a matter it is, how rich in logical possibilities for relating theories to one another it is. The issue of 'diminishment' or humiliation never comes into it. Students of religion have not even begun to explore these. Thus they have not understood the many shifts we have seen in our basic understanding and conceptualization of religion. What do these shifts amount to, in terms of their being changes in theories of religion? Are they all "homogeneous"-all really changes within the same broad category? Or are they "heterogeneous," and thus imply that some real break has occurred in the way religion has been conceived and lived? Are they reductions to be interpreted as "deductions"? For in20 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion [1949], Rosemary Sheed, trans. (London: Sheed and Ward, 1958), 450. 21 Mircea Eliade, "Crisis and Renewal," The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1969), 62. 22 Mircea Eliade, "Crisis and Renewal," The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1969), 57. 23 For a detailed discussion of this program see Ivan Strenski, Four Theories of Myth in Twentieth-Century History (London and Iowa City: Macmillan and Iowa University Press, 1987), 118-22.

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stance, in the recent history of the West, religion as having to do with beliefs and rituals, has gave way in part to religion as morality (nineteenth century liberalism). Then again religion as morality gave way to something having to do with the sacred, in the wake of the First World War. These all have to do with fundamental conceptual shifts, with changes that can well be called reductions. I propose that instead of using the term "reduction" as a pejorative, nor even with Segal, instead of using it as having to do with the truth of religious claims, we simply conform our usage to that which has been formed by the philosophy of science. In this way, we can put changes in scientific theories, and thus learn something in the process about conceptual and theoretical change. Such a set of reductions by replacement can be charted in Durkheim's changing conceptualizations of religion. Beginning perhaps from his own Jewish background of religious life where ritual and belief were central, Durkheim moved to a position he shared with the liberal Jews of his day in "Continuing the Definition of Religious Phenomena," (1899). 24 There religion was reduced to "morality." Finally in The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (1912), Durkheim defines religion in terms of the "sacred," thus "reducing morality "by replacement" with the "sacred." Further, for example, if I am right in characterizing the threatened reduction in religious studies as a "reduction by replacement," do we find similar fears among, say, biologists facing reduction to chemistry as students of religion have felt over against the social sciences? If entire paradigms or conceptualizations are replaced, so also is the pertinence of certain perspectives, such as, say, a religious one-whatever that might be. This may or may not involve an impoverishment of things, but it certainly changes them and how they are identified. Is the situation in all cases parallel between such threatened reductions by replacement in religious studies as in other disciplines? Thus despite the real risks of reconceptualization, we must resist looking on reduction like our cry-baby colleagues in the study of religion. Reconceptualization also promises renewal and revival-as past conceptual changes in the study of religion already have, for example, the shift from morality to the sacred as a key element in defining religion. Discussions of "reductionism" need to become more than wails of woe. "Reductionism" must thus become more than a vague pejorative and emotive term, reflecting anxiety about academic "turf' and the adequacy of a dis-

24 See the discussion of Durkheimian scholarship in relation to liberal Judaism in France in my forthcoming The Time of 'Sacrifice' (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1992).

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cipline' s ability to account for a range of phenomena in its own precious, particular and unique way. We have to begin accepting conceptual change as a normal part of trading in the world of knowledge. An added bonus of this view is that if 'religion' can be reduced (by replacement) to something else, so also can those other 'things' be reduced to religion. It is now commonplace to read in works of political science references to religious notions such as 'myth' and 'ritual.' With the fall of the Communism in the Soviet Union, somehow its cultic, dogmatic and numinous dimensions stand out even more clearly than before. 25 Even in economics, books with titles such Spencer Pack's Capitalism as a Moral System are now appearing. 26 5. WHERE THERE'S 'SMOKE,' THERE'S Pouncs It is critical to understand that beneath the imprecision and heat of such attacks on "reductionism" by students of religion there are real conflicts about how things should be explained. Left to themselves, disciplines like academic departments often ignore each other. But once the desire to establish conceptual order in favor of one theory over another is set into motion, the issue of reduction arises. For instance, psychologists might wish to establish the power of their methods of explanation over non-psychological religious explanations of mystic trance. Religious (whatever that means here) accounts of mystic trance would then be subsumed to more general psychological ones by first showing that religious explanations were either special cases of more inclusive psychological ones ("inhomogeneously replaced" en bloc by psychological ones. This brings us to the practical and political value of the rhetoric of reduction, which is the same issue as the assertion of autonomy. 5 .1 The Uses of Autonomy

I do not think that autonomy is some a priori absolute truth about the disciplines or their subject-matters. Academic disciplines change, as do their subject matters. But we should not be so naive as to imagine that autonomy is invoked or reductionism resisted innocent of crass considerations of academic politics. In these days of financial crises in the university, it is not cynical to conclude that whenever someone trumpets the special status of their particular academic field, we can be pretty sure that 25

William Pfaff, "Workers of the World ... Forgiveness," Los Angeles Times 28 August 1991:

26

Spencer J. Pack, Capitalism as a Moral System (Brookfield, VT: Edward Elgar, 1991).

B7.

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budget allocations and FIB are at stake. But there is nonetheless some good news for antireductionists-news which merits raising a cheer now and then for the resistance of religious studies to reduction by competing disciplines. Although autonomy is asserted for the political reason of fighting the 'turf war,' its assertion also has certain strategic purposes in the world of ideas. Aside from considerations about protecting FIB, claiming that a discipline, subject or phenomenon is autonomous, helps both define and focus attention. Consider Robert N. Minor's concluding remarks into a collection of essays on interpretations of the Bhagavad Gita. Although Minor begs the question of what religion is (and therefore is guilty of "reducing" someone's notion of religion to his own), he does usefully exemplify the utility of focusing attention in certain ways arguably called religious. Thus Minor expresses at one and the same time a concern for demarcating a particular academic discipline's 'turf as well as a decision to focus intellectual attention in a certain way: The authors of these essays are from departments of religious studies who are interested in studying religion as religion, as the study of the ultimate concerns of human beings. They are suspicious of any possibility of reductionism that may reduce the religious person's understanding to other categories. 27

In this sense, consider how impoverished our understanding of modern Iran would be had Shi'a religiosity not been appreciated at least partly in religious terms. How much richer is our understanding Shi'a martyrdom, for example, when we locate it within the context of the particular history of Shi'a Islamic religion in Iran, and further within the broader set of martyrdom provided by the comparative history of religions. Such understanding comes only when forget about the issue of truth, and instead we focus on religion as some special category of thought and culture, as some sort of thing-in effect insist on its autonomy. When we insist that there is some real enough thing called "religion,'' we are at least insisting that it has a history and structure as "real" as things such as "politics," "art," "the economy," "sexuality" and so on. Now, none of these may really be autonomous, either; but that casts them and "religion" adrift in the same lifeboat, so to speak. So, insisting on the autonomy of religion at least lets us define and focus on domains of life that might get missed otherwise. We must of course not insist on a priori absolute autonomy. We could use a relative autonomy-one which recognizes that all disciplinary divisions are somewhat provisional and strategic, that the lines drawn be2"Robert N. Minor, "Conclusion," Modern Indian Interpreters of the "Bhagavadgita," Robert N. Minor, ed. (Albany: SUNY Press, 1986), 226.

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tween phenomena are done primarily for the sake of convenience. And, best of all, this helps us avoid the 'truth-trap,' and all those interminable arguments about the transcendental reality of religion. The cultural reality of religion has made work enough for us all. When we have finished with that, perhaps the transcendental will have its day. While raising a cheer for autonomy, it is equally well to bear in mind that the kind of autonomy propagated by the Eliade school has only made matters worse for an effective assertion of autonomy for the study of religion. Eliade misstated the case for autonomy by exaggerating religion's purity and independence from the secular domain, as for instance when he says that in the history ofreligions, religion is "looked at ... in itself, in that which belongs to it alone and can be explained in on other terms."28 Further by locating essential religiousness in a transcendental world unassailable ahistorical and acultural archetypes, he guaranteed that many students of religion would ignore history and culture insofar as politics, economics, culture, and any other non-religious domain was concerned. What other effect would Eliad's reference to "the audacious and irrelevant interpretations [sic] of religious realities made by psychologists, sociologists, or devotees [sic] of various reductionist ideologies,''29 be likely produce? The sacred quest for these absolutely autonomous Eliadean archetypal patterns in religious data led to a kind of symbolic analysis of religious materials as if the symbols arose from and trafficked in a world beyond the human realm. No small wonder then that news about the religious dimension of the Iranian revolution was delivered by scholars from departments of political science or history, when students or religion should have been in the forefront. Thus, in exaggerating claims of autonomy, Eliade ironically caused the study of religion to miss a unique opportunity to assert itself.

28 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion (1949], Rosemary Sheed, trans. (London: Sheed and Ward, 1958), xi. 2 ' Mircea Eliade, "Crisis and Renewal," The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1969), 70.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

BEYOND THE SCEPTIC AND THE DEVOTEE: REDUCTIONISM IN THE SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF RELIGION Dona.Id Wiebe

Robert Segal has recently argued that the only proper scientific study of religion is a reductionistic one. 1 His defense of reductionism in the study of religion is salutary in light of assumptions sometimes made by those who insist that the study of religion is a distinct and autonomous discipline.2 And Segal's choice of Eliade as exemplar of "nonreductionism" as foil to his own argument is, I think, beyond criticism, for Eliade is, without question, one of the major influences on the academic study of religion. Despite an essential methodological agreement with Segal regarding the role of explanation and theory in the study of religion, I find myself forced to dissent from an important, even if largely hidden, element of his argument. He argues, it seems to me, for the a priori validity of a reductionist account of religious phenomena and in doing so himself adopts, although in a negative register so to speak, the same stance as that of the nonreductionists. On the metaphysical issue at stake in religious claims he comes down firmly on the side of the sceptic and against the devotee. And like his opponents, he does so without benefit of logical assessment or philosophical argumentation. "Whether or not reductionistic interpretations themselves preclude the reality of God," he writes, "nonbelievers by definition do not accept that reality and so cannot employ interpretations which presuppose it."3 But in proceeding in this fashion Segal attempts to prove more than ne needs to prove in his defense of reductionism in the study of religion; all he need have shown is the possibility of reductionist accounts ofreligions and not their necessity. Consequently, I will suggest that the establishment of a framework for the scholarly and scientific study of religion requires neither a defense of the devotee over against the sceptic nor vice versa, but rather merely an agreement that 1 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 51, (March 1983), pp. 97-124. 2 I have discussed !he reasons in Donald Wiebe, Religion and Truth: Towards an Alternative Paradigm for the Study of Religion, (The Hague: Mouton Publishers, 1981). 3 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," p. 116.

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methodological assumptions in such a study prescind that metaphysical debate altogether. There is no question in my mind that Segal is right to attack the uncritical assumption of the existence (not merely "reality")4 of the transcendent referents of religious discourse (belief) and symbolic import of ritual and moral behaviour that is espoused by Eliade and other like-minded students of religion. Such accounts of religion obviously adopt the stance of the devotee as over against the sceptic on the metaphysical issue, for example, of the existence of the gods. Phenomenological accounts that "take religion seriously" in the sense of interpreting religious "religiously," therefore, only fulfill their appropriate academic role by providing (or attempting to provide) the outsider (nondevotee) with the meaning of religion to or for the believer. This constitutes the "descriptive" aspect of the study of religion which is entirely unproblematic as long as it is not assumed to constitute the sum and substance of the scientific study ofreligion.5 It is for this reason that Segal is right to insist that what is right/true for the believer or devotee is not necessarily right or true per se. 6 Thathe is right to argue against Eliade-would be to confuse understanding religion with endorsement. But Segal himself, as it will soon become apparent, is guilty of a similar confusion, for he seems to me to imply that, since Eliade's argument fails, it must be the case that religion is necessarily false and therefore necessarily requires a reductionistic account in order to make sense of it. He writes: "If Eliade fails to prove that a nonreductionistic interpretation is alone proper, he also fails to prove that for a nonbeliever, it is even possible."7 From showing the inadequacy ofEliade's nonreductionist account of religion Segal seems to conclude not only that nonreductionistic accounts are not necessary but that they are not even possible; at least they are not possible as explanatory, scientific accounts of the truth of religion although they may do as descriptions of the meaning of religion for the devotees. As he puts it, "a reductionistic

• For a further discussion of the meaning and import of this distinction see Ninian Smart, The Science of Religions and the Sociology of Knowledge, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973). 5 I have argued against such a "descriptivism" elsewhere; see Donald Wiebe, Religion and Truth, (Mouton, 1981). 6 It is important here, however, to recognize that the phenomenological injunction that the student of religion ought to operate by the principle that ''the believer is always right" is (or at least ought to be) purely a methodological rule and not a philosophical doctrine that requires a priori acceptance. See W.B. Kristensen, The Meaning of Religion, Tr. by J.B. Carman, (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1960). 7 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," p. 109.

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interpretation of religious phenomena is the only one possible, at least for a nonbelieving interpreter."8 The meaning of Segal' s attack on Eliade and others and the full meaning of his own alternative theoretical framework for the study of religion are obscured somewhat by his use of reflexive language. Segal himself complains that there is a great deal of ambiguity in the language of students of religion when attempting to set out the aims of their study. Nonreductionists, he points out, use a reflexive language that allows them to focus their attention on understanding what religion means to or for the religious believers themselves instead of focussing on "understanding religion in general." That is particularly the case with historians of religion, comparativists, and phenomenologists. The nonreflexive use of language, on the other hand, is concerned with the "real" or "objective" meaning of religion in itself and so ought to supersede what we might refer to as the subjective quality of "reflexive understanding." Thus, according to Segal, "[t]he issue is whether the true meaning of religion is its conscious meaning for believers.' 19 And that it is, he insists, Eliade (and my implication all nonreductionists) fails to show. Consequently, Eliade ought to recognize the possibility of an alternative framework for the understanding of religion that does not make an a priori assumption of the identity of the "true meaning" of religion and the "conscious meaning of religion for believers.'' Implicit in this argument lies an assumption on Segal's part that there is an asymmetry between his defense of reductionism and Eliade's defense of nonreductionism. Segal suggests that nonreductionist accounts of religion are possible only for devotees (since sceptics, unlike the devotees, see that the true meaning of religion is not the conscious meaning it has for devotees), whereas reductionist accounts are possible for both devotees and sceptics (because devotees, presumably, can be helped to recognize not only the distinction perceived by the sceptic but the truth of the sceptic's alternative explanation). That is, I would maintain, the burden of his argument against Eliade and for the superiority of reductionism, despite his rather surprising suggestion, in the final paragraph of the essay, that "reductionistic interpretations may be impossible for believers."10 Yet all of this is, in one sense, jettisoned by Segal's own use of reflexive terminology-by limiting his defense of reductionism to its use only by "nonbelievers" (sceptics). If taken seriously, such a suggestion

Ibid., p. 109. Ibid., p. 103. 10 Ibid., p. 116.

8 9

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would, surely, make a mockery of his attack on Eliade and the nonreductionists and would amount to a rejection of his central claim concerning the superiority of the questions of the "real truth" of religion as over against the merely "conscious meaning" it has for the devotee. Furthermore, Segal's concession here to the devotee is really too little; for, psychologically, reductionistic interpretations of religion are necessarily impossible for the devotee in the same sense that nonreductionistic interpretations are necessarily impossible for the sceptic. The psychology of commitment, so to speak, must be the same for the devotee as it is for the sceptic. Despite the ambiguity of some of his remarks that is created by his use of a reflexive mode of speech, Segal's argument in structure and intent is primarily logical rather than psychological. That argument amounts to the claim that it is impossible for nonbelievers to explain religious phenomena in religious terms and also that it is unnecessary for anyone to do so. It is both possible and necessary for nonbelievers and permissible for anyone to explain religious phenomena in the nonreligious, reductive terms of the social sciences. In contrast to Segal, however, I have already intimated that a defense of reductionism in the study of religion need not assume such an asymmetry; it need only be shown to be a possibility both for devotees and for sceptics. Such an argument would deliver all that Segal needs in order to bring about the broadening of the program of research for students of religion that he seeks while avoiding unnecessary "political wrangle" within that body of scholars over a stronger and much more "threatening" argument. It would, however, have the (for Segal) undesirable effect of allowing, by a kind of parity of argument, nonreduction as a possible form of explanation and theory to which both devotee and sceptic would have to be open in principle. Segal' s case for reductionism, therefore, is simply too tight. It now remains for me to show how in this way Segal jeopardizes the initial purpose and intent of his argument against the nonreductionists. There is no question that Segal is right to claim that reductionist interpretations of religions are the only ones possible for sceptics (nonbelieving interpreters) if they are to remain nonbelieving interpreters. However, this argument cuts both ways: the opposite holds for the devotees if they are to remain believers. It is strange, therefore, to hear Segal castigate Eliade for his supposedly question-begging procedures: "All he does is continually assert ... that reductionistic interpretations of religion are either irrelevant or secondary because they skirt the conscious, irreducibly religion meaning of religion for believers. But he thereby begs, not answers, the key question: whether the conscious, irre-

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ducibly religious meaning of religion for believers is the true meaning of religion, which means the true one for them."11 This is a restatement of an earlier attack on Eliade to be found in Segal's review of his Occultism, Witchcraft and Cultural Fashions: Essays in Comparative Religions: "Eliade's arguments are dubious. To assert that religion is irreducible because it is irreducible for believers is to beg, not answer, this question raised by psychology, sociology and other disciplines, that is, whether the conscious meaning of religion for believers is its true meaning."12 Surely, there is no difference of structure here in his argument for reductionism that maintains that the study of religion must be reductionistic because for the sceptic religion must be nothing but yet another mundane social phenomenon. Indeed, this is simply to reiterate a point made long ago that too much sociology of religion is undertaken as a 'sociology of error' which accepts quite uncritically enormous metaphysical assumptions. 13 In this respect Segal's naturalism is not simply a "methodological atheism" a la Peter Berger but an atheism tout court. 14 Thus Segal too begs all the important questions for there are no persuasive a priori reasons, other than nonreductionist explanations of religions themselves, given to show that scholars ought to remain nonbelieving interpreters of religion. A further problem in the reductionist position here concerns Segal's objection that those who attempt to provide a nonreductionistic understanding of religion take on the character of the devotee in that they limit themselves to using concepts indigenous to the community studied. According to Segal, their use of indigenous concepts and categories indicates that there theories ofreligion presume a prior "religious understanding"-a kind of knowledge of religion from the inside that (illicitly) illuminates their so-called scientific theories. Their talk of understanding religion should, he therefore insists, be seen as, or taken to mean, "endorsing" or "reduplicating" the religious belief. He writes: "Would not a believer say that to appreciate its meaning is to accept it? How then, can a nonbeliever profess to be appreciating its reality for a believer without accepting it himself?" 15 Understanding differs from endorsement, then, u Ibid., p. 103. Robert A. Segal, Review of M. Eliade's Occultism, Witchcraft and Cultural Fashion: Essays in Comparative Religions, Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, Vol. 16, (1977), pp. 332-33. 13 Ian Hammett, "Sociology of Religion and Sociology of Error," Religion, Vol. 3, (1973), pp. 1-12. 14 On the matter of "atheism" in Peter Berger and its relevance to religious studies see Ninian Smart, Sociology of Religions and the Sociology ofKnowledge: Some Methodological Questions, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973). 15 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," p. 110. 12

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by implication, only if interpretations of religion are provided in terms of concepts not indigenous to the religious community. But if the only concepts the sceptic can use in understanding religion are external to the religious discourse of the studied community while the devotees' understanding is entirely in terms of concepts that are internal to that discourse and community, then, surely, the two discourses are incommensurable. But if they are so, then it would seem that understanding religion would be incompatible with scepticism. 16 Consequently, if "apostasy" must be a possibility for the devotee, as it must be (or at least, in the reflexive mode, could be) according to Segal, so than "going native" must be a possibility for the sceptic. However, Segal could hardly accept such a reductio; nor does he really espouse such a position in the final analysis of his argument. Not only are the two sets of discourse: "talk of the gods" and "talk about the talk of the gods" commensurable for him, they are incompatible: "Those [social scientific] explanations, as rival ones to God, do challenge the reality of God". 17 The scientific student of religion does in fact understand the "religious claim" as a meaningful epistemic utterance and rejects it, not only on the grounds of psychological difficulty of achieving the "mind set" of the devotee but chiefly on logical and epistemic grounds. The logic however is circular, for Segal merely reiterates his earlier truism here, namely, that the nonbeliever must, if (s)he is to satisfy the devotee, imagine a belief which (s)he not merely does not have but, by virtue of being a nonbeliever, logically cannot accept. He writes: "The nonbeliever, it is taken for granted, wants to understand religion in the believer's own terms. The problem is that he logically, rather than psychologically, cannot, and all the open-mindedness, sincerity, and will power he can muster are therefore to no avail." 18 Segal's language here is confusing, however, for he mixes, quite uncritically, the psychological validity of his reflexive language with logical validity but refuses to allow the devotee to do the same. His intention in this somewhat muddled talk is, nevertheless, quite clear. He means to suggest that religion is simply false and therefore needs explaining in terms of concepts that have a reality not present in religion/religious concepts. But that suggestion is a cavalier adoption of rather momentous philosophic conclusions without the benefit of philosophical argument (even by way of authority). It is 1• This is argued by D.Z. Phillips, "Faith, Scepticism, and Religious Understanding," in his Faith and Philosophical Enquiry, (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1970), pp. 13-33. 17 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," p. 116. "Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," p. 112. See also footnote number 25 on page 118.

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arguable, I would think, that the claim that all religions are false is intuitively obvious or that it even possesses an initial plausibility that would justify the stance Segal takes. This is especially so in light of the development of so-called compatibility systems in the major world religious traditions, although space does not permit elaboration of that matter here. 19 A methodology so presumptuous, suggest, is hardly likely to gain support in the community of scholars to which it is directed, nor do I think it should. An argument for the possibility of reductionism, on the other hand, would make substantially the same assumptions, but wittingly so and on methodological grounds only and not on metaphysical/philosophical grounds that are still open to debate. 20 It is important in this regard, I think, to emphasize a point of which Segal is aware but misses, perhaps, the full significance. He knows that naturalistic social scientific theories are not only numerous but that they ar often mutually exclusive in their accounts of the same phenomena. Furthermore, their logical and scientific status is often in serious question (e.g., functionalism) or the evidence in their favor rather weak and unconvincing. Certainly, here and in much of his earlier work he admits that they are partial and inadequate. Now, none of these characteristics appear to be grounds to inspire a prolonged espousal of and use of such theorizing. Using the terminology of recent discussions in the philosophy of science one might even plausibly suggest that we have here an unmistakable indication of a "degenerating paradigm shift" and that we ought therefore to give up the "naturalistic paradigm" and either forgo explanatory/theoretical accounts ofreligion altogether, as does Donald L. Dougherty in his "Is Religious Studies Possible?", for example, or to seek for radically new types of explanations and theories-perhaps even nonreductionistic ones. 21 I find the former suggestion unacceptable, as, I think, would Segal, but some support for the latter claim might be provided that could have an initial plausibility even for him. Such support might be found in several sources. First, it could be argued that the extraordinary quality of the religious phenomena provided, so to speak, by historians

19 An elaboration of the argument implicit in this claim can be found in Donald Wiebe, "Science and Religion: Is Compatibility Possible?", Journal for the American Scientific Affiliation, Vol. 30, (1978), pp. 169-76. 20 I have in mind here the counterintuitive moves in the methodology of P. K. Feyerabend, Against Method: Outline of an Anarchistic Theory of Knowledge, (London: New Left Books, 197 5). I have attempted to spell out the implications of such a methodology for religious studies in Donald Wiebe, Religion and Truth: Towards an Alternative Paradigm for the Study of Religion, (The Hague: Mouton Publishers, 1981). 21 Interesting suggestions that show some sympathy for such an argument can be found in Donald Crosby, Interpretive Theories of Religion, (The Hague: Mouton Publishers, 1981).

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and phenomenologists calls for extraordinary explanations if they are to be fully understood. M. Slote's "Religion, Science and the Extraordinary," for example, provides some, even if not wholly persuasive, grounds for such a move. 22 Secondly, it appears that we might well be able to argue coherently for the possibility of the inclusion of nonnaturalistic assumptions in what has thus far been conceived to be an exclusively naturalistic enterprise. Some suggestions of that order can be found, for example, in R. Morris's "The concept of the Spiritual and the Dilemma of Sociology," Daniel L. Hodge's "Breaking a Scientific Taboo: Putting Assumptions About the Supernatural into Scientific Theories of Religion," and W.R. Garrett's "Troublesome Transcendence: The Supernatural in the Scientific Study ofReligion."23 On the pluralistic methodological grounds of which I have spoken above, such possibilities must be taken seriously in light of the present difficulties of the purely social scientific accounts of religion. If there is even a reasonable possibility that such counterinductive procedures might prove true, and I think there is, then rival religious (nonreductionistic) explanations that provide a more persuasive account of religious phenomena than do present naturalistic accounts might be forthcoming and may even prove their worth if given the "breathing space" they require in order to "generate" the evidence needed to persuade. Further, and despite Segal's comments on Verstehensmethode and the study of religion, the philosophical arguments in favor of the autonomy of the Geisteswissenschaften may yet undermine the strict naturalism (materialism?) of Segal's position. This debate is far from over, as Segal admits, and, should the assumption of the unity of the physical and social sciences be undermined, there would be further solid grounds for the student of religion to seek for nonreductionistic explanations. (This is not the place to take up that debate, however; but whether such "Verstehensmethode explanations" would be nonreductionist in the sense required by Eliade's theory of religion is not a foregone conclusion.) Finally, the philosophical argument in favor of a radical distinction between faith and the "cumulative tradition•>24 would, if sound, under22 Michael A. Slote, "Religion, Science and the Extraordinary," in his Reason and Scepticism, (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1970), pp. 188-215. 23 See Rudolph Morris, "The Concept of the Spiritual and the Dilemma of Sociology," Sociological Analysis, Vol 25, (1%4), pp. 167-73; Daniel L. Hodges, "Breaking a Scientific Taboo: Putting Assumptions About the Supernatural into Scientific Theories of Religion," Journal of the Scientific Study of Religion, Vol. 13, (1974), pp. 393-408; W.R. Garret, "Troublesome Transcendence: The Supernatural in the Scientific Study of Religion," Sociological Analysis, Vol. 35, (1974), pp. 167-79. 24 Wilfred C. Smith, The Meaning and End of Religion, (New York: Macmillan, 1962).

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mine Segal's position radically. Since it is a position widely adopted, Segal, it seems to me, needs to argue its inadequacy and not simply assume it. To conclude this brief response to Segal's paper, I must reiterate that I am in sympathy with his intention to defend reductionism in the study of religion. Unlike Segal, however, I do not see reductionism as the only possible approach to the scientific and scholarly study of religion-not even for the sceptic, the nonbelieving interpreter. Even they need to be willing, I have suggested, to move in counterinductive and counterintuitive ways when well-trodden paths seem to lead nowhere. Furthermore, I do not, at least for the present, see the reductionist approach in the study of religion to be superior in every respect to the nonreductionistic one, although it has some peculiar advantages that must not be ignored. Indeed, I think the reductionist approach shows a great deal of promise for the future of the academic study of religion.

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POSTSCRIPT: ON METHOD. METAPHYSICS AND REDUCTIONISM An essential weakness of my "Beyond the Sceptic and the Devotee: Reductionism in the Scientific Study of Religion" is the fact that the title of the essay promises more than it delivers. Whereas the title suggests the elaboration of a fully developed understanding of the notion of reductionism and the way it functions in the natural and social sciences, including the study of religion, in point of fact, I concern myself essentially with a critique of Robert Segal's "In Defense of Reductionism." Nor is this the only problem with the essay, as is clear from Segal's critical response to it in the reprinting of his essay in Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation. 1 Given these acknowledged shortcomings it might well be asked why I have allowed the essay to be reprinted here. The reasons are simple. First, and foremost, I think that within the structure of my critique of Segal's defense of reductionism I not only outline a less confusing, and less polemical, approach to the topic but I also suggest more persuasive lines of analysis. Republication of the essay with additional comment here will allow me to bring that into clearer view. Furthermore, although I have much sympathy with Segal's criticisms of my essay, for the most part his critique consists of objections to what he claims are misconstruals of his position and attempts to clarify the intentions of other claims in his defense of reductionism which leave untouched the essential correctness of the central argument of my essaywhich I admit is largely implicit-in support of reductionistic approaches to the study of religion and religions. Though I cannot here provide a full elaboration of that implicit argument, I can at least show what kind of framework is required for its proper discussion and delineation. And, finally, it seems to me that there is room for disagreement with several of the objections Segal raises against my treatment of his views, the discussion of which may help clarify the nature of the reductionism in the study of religion each of us supports. I shall begin my supplementary comments to "Beyond the Sceptic and the Devotee" with Segal's criticisms

1 Robert Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), pp. 5-28.

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for that seems to me the easiest entry point to a complex debate of an obviously elusive subject,2 and then proceed, in reverse order, to elaborate on the other reasons given for reprinting the essay here. Segal summarizes his response to my critique in eight brief statements to which I shall make reference, by number, below. Whether Segal actually claims intellectual superiority for reductive over nonreductive analyses in Religious Studies (claim 1), or that reductive analyses alone are proper in the academic study of religion (claim 6) or that a reductive approach to the study of religions constitutes a (Lakatosian) progressive research program (claim 8), or that religion is false (claim 4), or that nonbelievers can never become believers and vice versa (claim 7), are matters of interpretation. Though it is not possible to enter into a lengthy exegetical exercise here neither is it really necessary since Segal's disclaimers, so it seems to me, are not even justifiable in terms of the expressed intent of his essay. Indeed, some of his criticisms here seem internally incoherent-his claim regarding the truth or falsity of religion, for example (claim 4). Denying that he ever claimed religion to be false, he nevertheless also admits that reductive analyses of the object of religion, which he sees as permissible, assume the falsity of religion. Nor is this the only point at which this problem of consistency emerges as will soon become evident. With respect to the question of the superiority of reductive analyses, for example, it seems to me that the asymmetry he establishes between reductive and nonreductive accounts of religion with respect to their acceptability to believers and nonbelievers (claim 1) amounts to more than a mere practical superiority, which notion in any event, unfortunately, is not clearly analyzed. The practical advantage that one does not have to be a believer to accept reductive analyses ofreligion surely constitutes an intellectual superiority over nonreductive analyses in that it requires the adoption of fewer arbitrary assumptions. Reductive analyses, that is, would not contravene the principle of Occam's razor as nonreductive analyses appear to do and that, in my opinion, constitutes a kind of intellectual superiority. Segal's denial that reductive analyses alone are proper in the academic study of religion (claim 6) is similarly odd. If Segal does not claim that reductive analyses alone are proper, in the sense Eliade claims nonreductive analyses alone are acceptable, he seems to imply that reductive and nonreductive analyses are complementary. But on the face of it, those kinds of analyses are mutually exclusive. Given Segal's assumption (in 2 For comment on the elusiveness of this problem see I. Stenski, "Reductionism and Structural Anthropology," Inquiry, Vol. 19, 1982.

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claim 2) that believers, like nonbelievers, could accept reductive analyses of the origin, function and meaning of religion, but, unlike nonbelievers, not of the object of religion, some complimentarity between reductive and nonreductive analyses is possible, but only for the believer. Segal gives no indication as to how it might be possible for the nonbeliever to accept both reductive and nonreductive analyses of religion. Furthermore, Segal also notes (in claim 2) that the falsity of religion is assumed not only in reductive analyses of the object of religion but also in similar analyses of its origin, function and meaning. After this admission it is difficult to know what Segal's claim that all other reductive analyses "are open to believers as well as nonbelievers" really amounts to. That Segal denies having claimed that reductive analyses are adequate (claim 8) is also somewhat odd, and especially so in his denial that the reductive approach to the study of religion constitutes a (Lakatosian) progressive research program. Without such claims his "defense" of reductionism is, I think, incredibly weak. Yet he seems to want to argue the matter more forcefully in that he maintains that he had argued for the necessity of reductive analyses whereas I had argued only for the possibility of reductive analyses (claim 3). The only way in which he can reduce the tension between these claims is to insist that his strong argument regarding the necessity of reductive analysis applied only to the nonbeliever. Such relativization of the force of his argument, however, greatly reduces the methodological significance of his defense of reductionism for the student of religion, for methodological injunctions cannot be held to apply differentially to believers and nonbelievers. In the two remaining criticism Segal spells out, the issues in question are essentially concerned with whether or not believers and nonbelievers can understand one another and come to adopt (convert to) one another's positions (claims 5 & 7). Neither of the criticisms, however, really affects the point I made in "Beyond the Sceptic and Devotee" to the effect that there is no essential asymmetry in the relationship of the believer (devotee) to reductionistic explanations and the relationship of the nonbeliever (sceptic) to nonreductionistic explanations. As long as each wishes to remain what (s)he is--devotee or sceptic-neither can accept a form of analysis that denies or assumes what cannot, by virtue of their commitments, be either denied or assumed. But the point of the debate over reductionism is methodological rather than psychological, and the point of my argument was, and still is, that the student of religion must, ideally speaking, bracket all questions of commitment and advocacy on entering the profession and therefore is, as an academic student of religion, neither a believer (devotee) nor a nonbeliever (sceptic).

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So much by way of direct comment upon Segal's specific criticisms of "Beyond the Sceptic and the Devotee." It remains now for me to clarify the central thrust of my critique of his defense of reductionism and the nature of the support I was attempting to provide him. It is clear to me that, in part, my response to Segal was not only critical and analytical but also an attempt to respond to a political problem, namely, the vehement opposition to all reductionist approaches to the study of religion by the majority of students of religion presently working within the field. It seemed to me at the time that if an argument for the possibility of reductionistic approaches to the study of religion would, to use Segal's phrase, "spawn the open competition between nonreductive and reductive analyses" I envisioned (claim 3), then there was no need to irritate unnecessarily the majority of the students of religion by arguing for the necessity of such a reductionism. Though I still hold to that political sentiment, if that is what it is, it seems to me now, as will soon become apparent, that only such a reductionistic framework is appropriate for the scientific study of religion. On this score I am in agreement with Segal, although I would still put the matter differently than does he. I would not, that is, differentiate believer from nonbeliever but rather talk of rules of method that would apply to all students ofreligion indifferently. Though I would not deny that many of the reductionistic explanations and theories of religion that have been proposed are weak and unconvincing, I do not think nonreductionistic theories can be adopted without simultaneously abandoning that naturalistic framework within which modern western science finds its home. 3 Consequently I now reject the following claim I espoused in "Beyond the Sceptic and the Devotee": "On the pluralistic methodological grounds of which I have spoken above, such possibilities (i.e., of nonreductionist theories of religion) must be taken seriously in light of the present difficulties of the purely social scientific accounts of religion."4 A nonreductionistic account ofreligion may in fact be true but that does not mean that it would therefore be a scientific account of religion. To maintain that would just be too bad for science, so to speak, would no doubt be on the mark in one respect, but it is also precisely the point I am trying to make here, namely, that the nonreductionistic account

3 I have argued this, indirectly, in several places including my 'Toe Failure of Nerve in the Academic Study of Religion," Studies in Religion, Vol. 13, 1984; pp. 401-422 and 'Toe Academic Naturalization of Religious Studies: Intent or Pretence?", Studies in Religion, Vol. 15, 1986; pp. 197-203. I also adverted to it in two essays published in Religion, "Explanation and the Scientific Study of Religion," Vol. 5, 1974: pp. 33-52 and 'Theory in the Study of Religion," Vol. 13, 1983; pp. 283-309. • See above, p. --. (In original it is on p. 163)

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would be accepted on other than scientific grounds. The significance of this matter will become clearer, I think, in the comments to follow. Another aspect of my critique of Segal concerned the degree of confusion he created by his use of a reflexive language of "believers" and "nonbelievers." As I pointed out in my original critique, he unnecessarily complicates, and therefore obscures, his argument by failing to distinguish matters of logical and methodological validity from those of psychological validity. Surely his concern in defending reductionism ought to have been with questions of methodology that apply to all academic students of religion whether or not they are believers-whether, that is, they are sceptics or devotees. Instead of focusing attention on the 'logic' of the study of religion, however, Segal chose to concern himself with an account of the psychological states of believers and nonbelievers with respect to their responses to reductionistic accounts of religion; adjudicating when and why the believer or nonbeliever is justified in the position each adopts. And in doing that he has, in effect, involved himself, at least to some degree, in a metaphysical debate. In focusing upon purely methodological issues in my critique, I argued that the academic student of religion escapes such metaphysical involvements and therefore stands beyond both the sceptic (nonbeliever) and the devotee (believer) in not having to plump for either one position or the other. Unfortunately, I myself crossed the boundary into the metaphysical realm, I think, in my response to the partiality and weaknesses of reductionistic theories of religion; in suggesting that those limitations permit the scientific student of religion to espouse, scientifically, nonreductionistic explanations and theories. It is obvious, however, that such an intellectual move would in fact push the student beyond scientific modes of argumentation that rely on the positive testing of hypotheses and into the vaguer realm of philosophical and metaphysical argumentation. The student of religion who finds the latter kind of argumentation persuasive, that is, would have abandoned the presumptions that make scientific thought what it is. I now, consequently, no longer find myself in disagreement with Segal who, as it seemed to me then, saw "reductionism" as the only acceptable framework for the academic study of religion. And his rejoinder, unfortunately, appears to undermine his original defense of reductionism which was, in my opinion, headed in the right direction. In making this claim about the essentially reductionistic character of the scientific study of religions it will, no doubt, be argued that I have again jumped into a metaphysical argument, even if the argument is wholly implicit. I would dispute the claim, however, on the grounds that the naturalism that scientific thought presumes is a methodological natu-

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ralism and not a substantive metaphysical claim. However, this matter cannot be argued at length here. 5 To some extent, my differences with Segal emerge because of a lack of clarity as to what exactly each of us means by "reductionism." This becomes obvious in light of Segal's denial that he ever claims "that nonbelievers alone can accept reductive analyses of the origin, function, or meaning ofreligion" (claim 2). Segal claims, that is, only to have argued "that nonbelievers alone can accept reductive analyses of the object of religion," although he admits that he has since come to see that the falsity of religion may be implied as much by the former reductive analyses as by the last. My only concern, on the other hand, was with explanations and theories of religion that accounted for religion in nonreligious terms which, therefore, appear to 'reduce' the gods (the supranatural) to something more mundane-Le., that appear to 'explain away' religion in terms of 'things' not religious. It is this aspect of reductionistic theories of religion that accounts for the broad appeal that attacks on reductionism have had amongst students of religion and not the logical and technical problems connected with issues of intertheoretical change and theories about the growth of knowledge connected with such change. It is especially significant in this regard that Segal should have assumed that I would see such noncognitivist philosophers of religion as R. B. Braithwaite and D. Z. Phillips (claim 2) as believers and, therefore, as nonreductionists in their understanding of religion. The 'intentionalist theory' of religion for example, if I may so refer to Phillips's theory, though intended to save religion from a reductionistic explanation-hence Phillips's title: Religion Without Explanation 6-is nevertheless itself reductionistic in that it assumes that the Foci of attention of the devotee, (i.e., the transcendent religious realities to which the devotee devotes him/herself), need only be intentional realities and need not exist outside of the beliefs and ritual behavior of the community of devotees. But the devotee believes in the extra-mental and extra-social existence of those realities (even if they don't really so exist) and, therefore, is as much affected by Phillips's theory as by that of Freud or Durkheim. Wayne Proudfoot puts the matter correctly and forcefully: "Phillips erroneously attributes to the subject of an experience or belief an indifference with regard to the existence of the object of that experience or belief that is an appropriate stance for the analyst. If accurate, this move would protect religious belief from the results of inquiry, but it does not adequately capture the role of those be5 I have discussed this matter in other essays to which I have referred in note 3 above. • D. Z. Phillips, Religion Without Explanation, (Oxford: Basic Blackwell, 1976).

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liefs in the religious life."7 Phillips, consequently, provides a reductionistic account of religion at the level of description even those he does not 'reduce' religion by explaining it-i.e., by 'explaining it away' in nonreligious terms. A final, brief, comment on this matter is called for. It appears that the central concern on the part of most opponents of reductionism is a religiotheological one. It is not an interest in the meaning of "reduction" in philosophy of science debates, or the technicalities of homogeneous or inhomogeneous intertheoretical reductionism or the like, upon which they focus their attention. Their concern is with the implications that a reductionist account of religion holds for the devotee. And until that theological-or at least crypto-theological-matter is cleared up, no genuine clarification of the function of "reductionism" in the scientific study of religion is likely to occur. This is not simply to ignore Proudfoot's claim that warnings against (i.e. the attacks against) reductionism derive from a genuine insight on the part of its critics-namely, that there is a failure on the part of the student of religion to comprehend descriptively the nature of a religious phenomenon when there is a "failure to identify an emotion, practice, or experience under the description by which the subject identifies it." 8 Both Segal and I would agree with Proudfoot not only that the student of religion must distinguish descriptive reductionism from explanatory reductionism but also that descriptive reductionism is unacceptable. We would agree with Proudfoot, that is, that "[t]o describe an experience in non-religious terms when the subject himself [herself] describes it in religious terms is to misidentify the experience, or to attend to another experience altogether."9 But that is not to accept a religious explanation or theory of religion that may somehow be implied in the description of the experience by the subject of the experience; accepting the description is not the same as endorsing it and all that it implies, nor does it preclude an alternative explanation of what is described. Proudfoot, no doubt, is on the mark in suggesting that some students of religion will fail to note the difference between descriptive and explanatory reductionism and so assume that the student of religion must participate in and endorse the experience that is under scrutiny but this, as he is fully aware, is no justification for a rejection of explanatory reductionism. To apply what is appropriate criticism of descriptive reduction-

7 Wayne Proudfoot, "Religion and Reduction, Union Seminary Quarterly Review, Vol. 37, 1981-82, pp. 13-25; p.22. 8 Ibid., p. 16. 9 Ibid., p. 16.

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ism to all reductionist analysis of religion, I suggest, indicates the presence of a lingering religio-theological bias. 10 I think it should be noted here that not all students of religion who oppose reductionism are necessarily defending a religio-theological agenda. Daniel Pals, for example, argues strenuously that his opposition to the reductionist approach to religion is more concerned with salvaging the discipline that it is with promoting religion. Admitting that religious believers would find reductionist theories of religion disturbing because they undermine their beliefs, he argues that scholars like R. Otto and M. 10 Daniel Pals, it should be noted, seems to suggest that explanatory reductionism may well involve a descriptive reductionism. In a discussion of why religious believers would find reductionist theories disturbing he points out that it is simply because what they believe religiously stands in contradiction with the explanation. lbis may also be a part of what bothers the scholar-if the scholar is a believer-but in addition, he argues, the scholar would claim such an account scientifically problematical. With reference to the work of R. Otto and M. Eliade he writes: " ... as scholars they may also be disposed to reject religious reductionism for the same reason that biologists might oppose physical-chemical reduction. They might simply feel that such explanation furnishes an inadequate description of the things under study; it misses crucial features of religion as we commonly experience it. To use a distinction found in some of the scientific literature, believers oppose 'ontological reductionism,' the reduction of their beliefs to something other than the result of their free personal assent to truth. Scholars oppose 'theoretical reductionism,' the claim that religion can be explained without any help from theories unique to the field of religious studies." (in his "Reductionism and Belief: An Appraisal of Recent Attacks on the Doctrine of Irreducible Religion," The Journal of Religion, Vol. 66, 1986; pp. 18-36 - p. 23.) lbis passage, unfortunately, is rather confused for in comparing physical-chemical reduction to religious reduction Pals seems to believe that theoretical discussion of the reduction of organismic biology to molecular biology and so, in effect, to the physical-chemical level of scientific discussion implies that descriptive accounts of the molar behavior of organisms is no longer acceptable. That, it seems to me, is simply absurd. The molecular biologist describes the object of explanation in the same fashion as the organismic biologist although s/he does not use the same conceptual framework for explaining the behavior described. Furthermore, Pals confuses here the concern with descriptivo-or ontological, as he prefers to call it-reductionism with intertheoretical reductionism which does not help in seeking a resolution of our differences regarding the value of reductionistic approaches to the study of religious phenomena. E. H. Pyle in "Reduction and the 'Religious Explanation; of Religion," (Religion, Vol. 9, 1979; pp. 197-214) raises a criticism of a different order which seems to transcend all such religiotheological concerns. Like Pals, Pyle has developed his argument with reference to the biological sciences and the notion of teleological and teleonomic behavior. He argues that a frontier between two domains of explanation can be defined by whether or not the concepts of purpsoe and teleology are or must be employed. In biology and psychology, he argues, such teleology is necessary and therefore demarcates these sciences from those upon which they rest, namely, physics and chemistry. With the extension of this notion of teleology, he thinks it possible that a domain of explanation peculiar to the study of religion and religions might well be defined. He writes: ''Extend this (notion), and we have the concept of a purposiveness which is not that of any individual human or group of humans, nor that a living organism or collectively of such organisms. This might be exemplified by the notion of a more-than-human quasi-purposer ... (or) as the purposiveness of a wider collectivity, involving humans and their non-human environment, loosely indicated by some such phrase as 'cosmic purposiveness'" (205). Pyle admits that such a description might still appear theological or metaphysical but argues that it need not. I can not here submit his claims to critique. I do wish to point out, however, that contemporary environmental science and its concerns for the 'teleology' of ever more complex ecosystems might with more justification be seen as the science envisioned by Pyle than is 'Religious Studies.'

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Eliade would have additional non-religious reasons for such opposition, namely, that such an approach to the study of religion would in effect undermine that study as a separate discipline. He writes: "So far as it claims to be an independent discipline, then, the study of religions does face at least a potential threat from reductionist theories. The reduction of biological explanations to physical-chemical ones would not put an end to living organisms, but it might well put an end to biology, at least as a separate science. Similarly, reducing faith solely to the interaction of psyche and society need not spell doom for religion, but it might well bring the demise of Religonswissenschaft."11 However, I find this kind of argumentation entirely wanting, but because I have given attention to its weaknesses elsewhere I shall not elaborate here. I wish to note here simply that even if that were the case, that does not constitute grounds upon which one can reasonably preclude reductionist explanations for its presumes that our present disciplinary arrangements in the university are somehow sacrosanct. Pals seems to espouse a kind of essentialism here which insists that if there exists a discipline within the university context there must be a reality outside the university to which it conforms. 12 Such a position is also utterly naive with respect to theories of the growth of scientific knowledge by means of intertheoretical reductions. LeviStrauss, for example, looked upon the possibility of such a reduction of structural anthropology to neurophysiology as an advancement of his science. For him, the present condition of his discipline was but "a period in purgatory beside the social sciences" which could be endured "because it does not despair of awakening among the natural sciences when the last trumpet sounds." 13 Similarly Alexander Rosenberg quite rightly points out that work in sociobiology should not be interrupted simple because, were it wholly successful it would preempt the social sciences. 14 It is obvious from the foregoing comments, and from the nature of the scholarly discussion on reductionism in this field of study in general, that there is as yet little convergence of opinion as to, for lack of a better locution, what is means for us as academic students of religion. What I have suggested here is that the question of reductionism has, for the most part, and often unawares, been discussed and debated as a religio-theological Ibid., Pals, p. 25. For a similar kind of argument see Klaus K. Klostermaier's, "From Phenomenology to Metascience: Reflections on the Study of Religion," Studies in Religion, Vol. 6, 1976-77; pp. 551-64 and my response to Klostermaier in my "ls a Science of Religion Possible?" (in a postscript entitled "From Metascience to Theology?") Studies in Religion, Vol. 7, 1978; pp. 5-17. 13 Quoted in Strenski, op. cit., p. 86. 14 See Alexander Rosenberg, Sociobiology and the Preemption of Social Science, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1980.) 11

12

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and metaphysical claim. I have attempted to argue, therefore, though by no means definitively, that the question should be discussed essentially as a matter of methodology. Understanding the notion of what it means to take up a scientific approach to the study of religious phenomena, that is, cannot be determined without clarifying the notion of reductionism. Many of the analyses provided to date, some of which have been referred to here, have contributed significantly to that clarification but we have more work to do before we can consider this problem properly resolved.

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WHAT IS REDUCTIONISM?

Arvind Sharma I

Scholars of religions seem to be agreed on two points regarding reductionism: that it is a pejorative term' and that it is an ambiguous term. 2 They have been in agreement on this point for some time now. Wayne Proudfoot wrote in 1985: "Reductionism has become a derogatory epithet in the history and philosophy ofreligion. Scholars whose work is in other respects quite diverse have concurred in advocating approaches to the study of religion which are oriented around campaigns against reductionism. These campaigns are often linked to a defense of the autonomy of the study of religion. The distinctive subject matter of that study, it is argued, requires a distinctive method. In particular, religious experience cannot properly be studied by a method that reduces it to a cluster of phenomena that can be explained in historical, psychological, or sociological terms. Although it is difficult to establish exactly what is meant by the term, the label 'reductionist' is deemed sufficient to warrant dismissal of any account of religious phenomena.''3 And Hans H. Penner wrote in 1989: "As far as I know, the terms, 'reduction' and 'reductionistic' are never adequately defined or explained by historians and phenomenologists who use them. Although the use of the terms is widespread in the literature on religion, reductionism is used against anyone who does not begin with the notion that religion is a manifestation of The Sacred. At best we usually find a sentence or two about the usefulness of these theories for purposes other than the study of religion. The term 'reduction,' then, is often used as a negative judgment on research in religion with which we disagree. It can also be used in order to ignore what others have written about religion.''4 Indeed although reductionism has often been 1 John Y. Fenton, "Reductionism in the Study of Religions," Soundings, Vol. 53 (Spring 1970), pp. 61-76. 2 Hans H. Penner and Edward A. Yonan, "Is a Science of Religion Possible?," Journal of Religion, Vol. 52 (April 1972), p. 114. 3 Wayne Proudfoot, Religious Experience, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), p. 190. 4 Hans H. Penner, Impasse and Resolution, (New York: Peter Lang, 1989), pp. 21-22.

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defended with vigor, 5 it has rarely been defined with rigor. This paper is an attempt to address the second of these pointsnamely, the ambiguous nature of the term. It will attempt to define it in the context of the study of religion, for which there are only a few precedents. 6

II It seems necessary, even if it may not be sufficient, to commence our investigation into the questions by first determining the most generally and widely held meaning of the term reductionism. It is naturally provided by a dictionary of the English language, such as Webster's. That good book defines it as follows: A procedure or theory of reducing complex data or phenomena to simple terms; ESP: oversimplification (materialism and idealism have been criticized as ~ s) (the phenomenalistic ~ according to which statement about objects of the physical world can be translated into statement about sense-data or immediate experience).7

The definition and accompanying description is surprisingly helpful, for it pinpoints both the purpose and the danger of reductionism. Its purpose is to make phenomena meaningful by reducing the complex to the simple; the danger is that in trying to simplify phenomena to make them meaningful, it may oversimplify them. We shall encounter both these aspects of reductionism subsequently in the more particular field of religious studies. However, one must recognize, at the very outset, that in order to understand any phenomenon it may be necessary to focus oncertain aspects of it. Such abstraction is an inescapable condition of any attempt at understanding anything and sometimes reductionism is used in this very broad sense, as a synonym of abstraction. The Concise Oxford Dictionary, for instance, defines reductionism as the "Analysis of complex things into simple constituents; view that a system can be fully understood in terms of its isolated parts, or an idea in terms of simple concepts."8 Reductionism in this sense is hardly exceptionable, but while 5 Rohen A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 51 (March 1983), pp. 97-124. 6 See Donald A. Crosby, Interpretive Theories of Religion, (The Hague: Mouton, 1981), p. 46; David R. Griffin and Houston Smith, Primordial Truth and Postmodern Theology, (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989), p. 18. 7 Philip Babcock Gove, Editor in Chief of Webster's Third New International Dictionary of the English Language, (Springfield, Mass.: G&C Merriam Company, 1959), p. 1905. 8 J.B. Sykes, The Concise O)fford Dictionary of Current English, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), p. 937.

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unexceptionable it is also vacuous, in this sense, in terms of the present debate. One must, therefore, having once recognized this usage, move quickly beyond this sense of the word, although this sense has not entirely been given up even in the study of religion. Thus J. Samuel Preus notes: "I understand reduction to mean reducing complex data or phenomena to simple terms. This covers the broadest application of the term, from its medieval usage (as in Saint Bonaventura's 'reductio of all arts to theology') to contemporary science, where it means a certain kind of explanation.''9 It is not entirely clear, however, whether this passage intends to distinguish between reduction and reductionism.

III One may begin the process of narrowing the field of inquiry by examining the role of reductionism in science, or more properly the scientific method. In a sense the scientific method as applied in the natural sciences is by definition reductive. It reduces a wide variety of data to a simple explanation: various movements of heavenly bodies are reduced to a 'simple' law of gravitation; the teeming variety oflife, seemingly endless, is reduced to the principle of evolution; all of matter itself, in the Einsteinian equation, is reduced to a form of energy and so on. There is also a more precise sense in which the term reductionism is employed in science. It is defined by Ernest Nagel in this sense as "the explanation of a theory or a set of experimental laws established in one area of inquiry by a theory usually though not invariably formulated for some other domain.''10 A typical example would be "theories or laws formulated in physics-explaining the theories of chemistry. Chemistry still exists. However, we now have greater explanatory power because of reducing theories in physics.'' 11 Penner emphasizes the fact that reduction here involves the reduction of theories to one another, not data and identifies this as a point of confusion in the discussion of reductionism in religion. These forms of reductionism are hardly objectionable; in fact, they are of the very essence of the scientific method. However, this is perhaps also where our problems start, in their own harmless way, because from its very inception the 'science of religion' adopted the paradigm provided

9 J. Samuel Preus, Explaining Religion, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), p. 9 and note 2. 10 Hans H. Penner, Impasse and Resolution, p. 22. 11 Ibid., p. 22.

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by the natural sciences for its own study of religion. 12 In the realm of natural sciences the object of study are natural or biological objects; whereas in religion the object of study are human subjects and in due course this difference in the nature of the subject-matter was destined to become consequential for the method itself13 although not everyone is equally persuaded about the significance of this difference. 14 But that would be getting ahead of the story. One must backtrack at this point to a consideration of reductionism in the realm of philosophy, before proceeding to its consideration in the study of religion. IV

The examples illustrating the use of the term reductionism provided in the inaugural citation from the Webster's dictionary were drawn from philosophy and it is to philosophy we must now turn for determining the additional meanings of the word. The first example provided therein, that "materialism and idealism have been criticized as reductionisms" may be elaborated as follows: "Let us now look at reductionism. There are of course many varieties of reductionism, such as logical, methodological, ontological, and so on. I am concerned here with ontological reductionism. Thus, in the West, a physicalistic reductionist is one who claims that all existents are reducible, without residuum, to the physical-to matter in motion; in contrast, a mentalistic reductionist is one who maintains that all existents are reducible, without residuum, to the mental-to mind. Accordingly, a former kind of reductionist is known as 'the physicalist' ('the materialist') and the latter as 'the mentalist' ('the idealist'). Someone like J.J.C. Smart and a host of uncritical philosophers of science are materialists, whereas Berkeley, Fichte, Hegel, and their followers are idealists. It needs no emphasis that mentalistic reductionism has few or no supporters among contemporary Western philosophers, while physicalistic reductionism enjoys wide support not only from the bulk of prac-

12 Eric J. Sharpe, Comparative Religion: A History, (London: Duckworth, 1986), pp. 31-32; Douglas Allen, ''Phenomenology of Religion," in Mircea Eliade, Editor in Chief, The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11 (New York: Macmillan, 1987), pp. 276, 280. 13 Wilfred C. Smith, "Comparative Religion: Whither and Why?" in Mircea Eliade and Joseph M. Kitogawa, eds., The History of Religions: Essays in Methodology, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1959), pp. 31-58; Hans H. Penner and Edward A. Yonan, "Is a Science of Religion Possible?," p. 123. 14 Th. P. van Baaren and H.J.W. Drijvers, Religion, Culture and Methodology, (The Hague: Mouton, 1973), p. 28.

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titioners of science and technology but also, strangely enough, from many self-proclaimed humanists, including philosophers." 15 It is of capital importance to bear in mind the fact that although materialism and idealism are identified as competing and rival forms of reductionism, both are illustrations of a single type of reductionism, namely, rational reductionism. The rise of philosophical phenomenology was a protest against this type of reductionism. Philosophical phenomenology, "as contrasted with most schools of philosophy, which assumed that the rational alone is real and which hence had a philosophical preoccupation with the rational faculties and with conceptual analysis," itself "focused on accurately describing the totality of phenomenal manifestations of human experience." 16 We are now beginning to approach the issue of reductionism in religious studies, for the issue arises in it chiefly in the context of the phenomenology of religion. Before that point is canvassed, however, one concept of philosophical phenomenology, namely, "transcendental reduction" must be taken into account, if only to indicate that such reduction should not be confused with reductionism. It was, in fact, intended as a method of overcoming prevailing reductionism. 17 The success of the phenomenological movement led by Edmund Husserl makes one wonder about the nature of the dissatisfaction with the prevailing reductionism and its possible relevance to the study of religion. It has been suggested that "the fundamental flaw underlying the two forms of Western reductionism is that they both are attempts to reduce all phenomena to some one phenomenon, and such attempts are doomed to failure. The reason for this is that the physical and the mental are both phenomena and there is no reason why one should regard one of them as ultimate, to which the other is to be reduced. Moreover, with respect to any phenomenon one can always intelligibly ask as to what constitutes that phenomenon and to what it is reducible."18 These points are destined to resurface in subsequent discussion.

"Ramakrishna Puligandla, "Is the Central Upanishadic Teaching a Reductionist Thesis?,"

Asian Philosophy, Vol. 1, No. 1, (1991), pp. 15-20. 16

274. 17

Douglas Allen, "Phenomenology of Religion," in The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, p. Maurice Merleau-Ponty, "What is Phenomenology?," in Joseph D. Bettis, ed., Phenomenol-

ogy of Religion, (Evanston and New York: Harper&Row, 1969),pp.18-19. 18

16.

Ramakrishna Puligandla, "Is the Central Upanishadic Teaching a Reductionist Thesis?," p.

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The phenomenology of religion must be carefully distinguished from philosophical phenomenology. 19 It was, however, influenced by it20 and according to some should be even more deeply anchored in it. 21 In any case, it is accepted on all hands that an antireductionist thrust characterizes the phenomenology of religion, a thrust it shares with philosophical phenomenology. The following assessment is representative in this context: "For now, it will suffice simply to say that we are using 'phenomenology of religion' in its 'broadest sense, including under "phenomenology" those scholars who pursue the study of structures and meanings' of religious phenomena. More that any other approach, phenomenologists have emphasized the experiential basis of religion and have attempted to describe and to systematize the basic structures of religious experiences. In describing such structures, phenomenologists of religion have attempted to approach their data in a specific antireductionist manner, and unlike the other approaches to religious phenomena, have insisted upon the irreducibility and uniqueness of the religious dimension of experience. "22 V

In order to comprehend antireductionism one would logically expect a prior understanding of what is meant by reductionism. However, given the historical context, it seems likely that we would be in a better position to comprehend reductionism once nonreductionism has been understood. Considerably terminological tangle surrounds the issue, which Robert Segal has bravely and admirably confronted. He points out: "Neither 'functional,' 'reductive,' and 'explanation' nor 'substantive,' 'nonreductive,' and 'interpretation' are in fact synonymous. 'Functional' and 'substantive' refer to definitions of religion. 'Reductive' and 'nonreductive' refer to either explanations or interpretations of religion. 'Explanation' and 'interpretation' refer to methods in studying religion." And "Because 'functional,' 'reductive,' and 'explanatory' refer to separate issues, so that a functional approach can be nonreductive, a reductive approach interpretive, and an explanatory approach nonreductive, a social-scientific approach can be substantive, nonreductive, and interpretive and so is 19 Arvind Sharma, "An Inquiry into the Nature of the Distinction Between the History of Religion and the Phenomenology of Religion," Numen, Vol. 22, No. 2, (1975), pp. 81-95. 20 Arvind Sharma, ''Towards a Definition of the Phenomenology of Religion," Milla Wa-Milla, Vol. 16, No. 8, (1976), pp. 8-22. 21 Douglas Allen, Structure and Creativity in Religion, (The Hague: Mouton, 1978), pp. 58-59. 22 Ibid., p. 59.

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far broader than religionists usually assume.''23 Segal also offers some clarifying remarks on reductionism itself: "An interpretation of religion is necessarily nonreductive only insofar as it seeks the meaning of religion, which is necessarily the believer's own. But that meaning need not be conscious, in which case there can be reductive as well as nonreductive interpretations of religion. Certainly an explanation can be either nonreductive or reductive. It can be either the believer's account of the origin or function of his or her religiosity or that of an observer. The accounts can even coincide. The distinction between reductive and nonreductive does not, then, correspond to that between explanatory and interpretive.''24 It is clear from the above that (1) the terms reductionism and nonreductionism pertain to the realm of "explanation and interpretation of religion"; (2) a nonreductive interpretation or explanation seeks the meaning of religion and (3) such meaning is "necessarily the believer's own.'' From this it follows that reductionism in religious studies refers to a mode of explanation or interpretation which does not abide by the meaning of that religion i.e. the meaning it possesses for believers. This is confirmed by Segal's remark elsewhere that "the 'meaning' of religion, taken here as the believer's reason for being religious, is, as a reason, always intentional ... ,,zs This last remark again highlights the connection between the antireductive approach, the phenomenology of religion and philosophical phenomenology, for the concept of 'intentionality' is vital to a proper understanding of the latter. 26 VI

To pause and recapitulate before proceeding further: Reductionism refers to a mode of explanation or interpretation in the study of religion which deviates from the believer's understanding of it. How important a step nonreductionism constitutes in the phenomenological method in the study of religion may be gauged from the following comments of W.B. Kristensen:

23

Robert A. Segal, "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," Zygon, Vol. 25, No. 3, (1990), p.

270. 24 2' 2•

Ibid., p. 270. Ibid., p. 271. Douglas Allen, "Phenomenology of Religion," in The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, p.

275.

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Let us never forget (he wrote) that there is exists no other religious reality than the faith of the believer. If we really want to understand religion, we must refer exclusively to the believer's testimony. What we believe, from our point of view, about the nature or value of other religions, is a reliable testimony to our own faith, or to our own understanding of religious faith; but if our opinion about another religion differs from the opinion and evaluation of the believers, then we are no longer talking about their religion. We have turned aside from historical reality, and are concerned only with ourselves. 27

The study of religion embraces the meaning of religion in two senses: a particular one and a general one. Reductionism is involved in the event of a deviation from the believer's understanding in either case. It is clear from the above citation that religion in the generic is covered by it. The same holds true of a particular tradition. Kristensen may be cited again on this point: "Every religion ought to be understood by its own adherents.''28 Kristensen even goes further and asserts that "not only 'Christianity' or any particular religion is unique, autonomous and incomparable; so too is every belief and every sacred rite.''29 If for instance, a Hindu regards the sivalinga merely as an aniconic representation of Siva then to regard it as a phallic representation would be reductive30 or to regard the eucharist as a remnant of cannibalism when it is not so for the believing Christian. While Kristensen (1867-1953) emphasized the irreducible nature of religion in the specific, the same is emphasized for religion as a generic category by Rudolf Otto (1869-1937) in his insistence on the "numinous" quality of religious experience per se. "This insistence on the unique a priori quality of the religious experience points to Otto's antireductionism. Otto rejected the one-sidedly intellectualistic and rationalistic bias of most interpretations and the reduction of religious phenomena to the interpretive schema of linguistic analysis, anthropology, sociology, psychology, and various historicist approaches. This emphasis on the autonomy of religion, with the need for a unique, autonomous phenomenological approach that is commensurate with interpreting the meaning of the irreducibly religious phenomena, has generally been accepted by the major phenomenologists of religion.''31 One again the close connection between antireductionism and the phenomenology of religion becomes evident. 27Eric J. Sharpe, Comparative Religion: A History, p. 228. 28 W. Brede Kristensen, The Meaning of Religion, Tr. John B. Cannan, (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1960), p. 6. 29 Ibid., p. 6. 30 Arvind Shanna, "Towards a Definition of the Phenomenology of Religion," p. 22. 31 Douglas Allen, "Phenomenology of Religion," in The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, p. 277.

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VII The next question which arises naturally in this context is: What degree of deviation from the viewpoint of the believer, if any, is permissible, before an explanation or an interpretation may be called reductionistic? This, it will soon become clear, is the heart of the matter. The point at which reductionism becomes just that, namely reductionism, is not when it deviates form the self-understanding of the believers in what might be called innocuous ways, it becomes reductionistic in a pejorative sense when it violates either the self-understanding of the believers or the understanding of the phenomenologists who by definition are methodologically committed to respecting the self-understanding of the believers. However, it is precisely these phenomenologists who, in their search for structures, may exceed the self-understanding of the believers but claim never to violate it. The work of Mircea Eliade (1907-1986) provides an interesting example of the point at issue. After establishing the credentials of Eliade as a phenomenologist and demonstrating how Eliade's commitment "to follow and attempt to understand an experience as it is for the person who has had that experience" respected the irreductibility of the sacred, Douglas Allen concedes that Eliade "has not provided the hermeneutic framework for perceiving the irreducible manifestations of the sacred; in doing so, he seems to adopt a phenomenological approach by focusing upon the intentionality of the data."32 The same point is made again from an opposite direction: "when Eliade examines his data, they do reveal a certain intentionality. He will attempt to recreate imaginatively the conditions for 'intentional configuration' which expresses the specific existential orientation of homo religious."33 The point may be further highlighted by the fact that phenomenologists of religion typically use historical data in place of what is called "free variation" in philosophical phenomenology to determine the essential structure, of whatever is taken to constitute religiosity. By definition one cannot question a dead follower of a religion about his or her intentionality-it has to be imaginatively invoked and there is no way of knowing whether it corresponds exactly with that of the late lamented follower. In other words, it is not so much the correspondence to the believer's understanding of the religion as its acknowledgement as the governing principle of the methodological enterprise which in practice

32 33

Douglas Allen, Structure and Creativity in Religion, p. 119. Ibid., p. 119.

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constitutes nonreductionism. Hence we may define reductionism as a mode of explanation in religious studies which attempts to grasp the religious phenomena other than on its own plane of reference, as something religious. The importance of this definition becomes clear when it is recognized that Eliade's work was in good measure a protest against the application of reductive methods to the study of religion. Although one 'need not repeat Eliade's detailed criticisms' here it is clear that the work of many phenomenologists opposed forcing 'data into unilinear evolutionary schemes.34 Eliade criticized sociologists and psychologists, while appreciating their contributions, "for reducing the meaning of religious to its sociological or psychological analysis."35 As Allen concludes: The upshot of Eliade's criticism may be expressed by the following antireductionist claim which we have frequently cited: the Historian of Religions must attempt to grasp the religious phenomena 'on their own plane ofreference,' as something religious. To reduce our interpretation of the religious phenomena to some other plane of reference (sociological, psychological, etc.) is to neglect their full intentionality and to fail to grasp their unique and irreducible 'element'-the sacred. 36

It has been observed, however, that "Eliade' s description of religious experience as expressing the sacred, to take just one example, would cause great difficulties for many believers as descriptions of their experiences, beliefs and practices.''37 In fact it has also been suggested that 'reductionistic' is "almost invariably used as a derogatory term in much of the literature on religion, where it denotes those sort of explanations that do not resort to transcendence.''38 VIII

The definition of reductionism offered earlier is therefore open to challenge, for it leaves the issue of what is religious ambiguous, and therefore leaves the definition amorphous. The fact that Eliade goes ahead to pronounce on the nature of religiosity to remove that ambiguity only compounds it. It is presumably such an understanding of reductionism, as a component of anti-reductionism, wherein either the 'religious' is left unexplained or an attempt is made to explain it intuitively which W. Brede Kristensen, The Meaning of Religion, pp. 11-15. Douglas Allen, Structure and Creativity in Religion, p. 114. 36 Ibid., p. 114. 37 Hans H. Penner, Impasse and Resolution, p. 'l'l. 38 J. Samuel Preus, Explaining Religion, p. ix. 34

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attracts criticism from those engaged in the scientific study of religion. In fact is possible to level several criticisms at the definition of reductionism attempted above at this stage of the argument. (1) What if the true nature of religion is not religious? This would mean that a phenomenological approach to the study of religions may be reduced to an exercise in self-deception for "No social scientist denies that if the true nature of religion is irreducibly religious rather than sociological, religion must be explained and interpreted religiously rather than sociologically. Nor does any social scientist deny that the manifest nature of religion is religious. None denies that believers themselves explain and interpret religion religiously. None denies that believers pray because they believe in God. None denies that believers are stirred by prayer. The issue is whether the true nature of religion is religious. The 'true' nature need not mean the sole one. It can mean the ultimate one."39 (2) In a more conciliatory tone it could be maintained that as the nature of religious is not quite clear both phenomenological and nonphenomenological approaches to the study of religion could supplement each rather instead of trying to supplant each other as it were. The price of this, on the part of phenomenology, would be to compromise its claim to primacy either in its strong version that it alone constitutes the proper study of religion or in its weak version, which regards it as only initiating rather than concluding the study of religion, so that "the task of the phenomenologist, at least in the beginning, is to follow and attempt to understand an experience as it is for the person who has had that experience."40 Here again two approaches are possible. One approach would assume that the two types of explanations, though self-sufficient, are yet compatible. This seems to be the purport of the following comment: "Contrary to Eliade, religion, like any other cultural phenomenon, can have multiple origins.functions, and meanings. Surely religion can be an origin that is partly sociological and partly religious. Even if these two origins are exhaustive, they are not necessarily incompatible. They may be merely redundant. Sigmund Freud's notion of overdeterminism is a case of redundant yet compatible origins."41 The other approach could be that the two approached are not merely compatible, they could even be complementary: "A sociological account shows that religion originates and especially functions for a social end-not that it does not originate and function for a religious end as well. In claiming that the location of a vil-

Robert A. Segal, "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," p. 265. Douglas Allen, Structure and Creativity in Religion, p. 114. • 1 Robert A. Segal, "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," p. 267. 39

40

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lage, temple, or house functions to unify a people, the social sciences do not deny that location also functions as the center of the world. The social sciences 'expose' the religious explanation as other than the exclusive or main one but not as an explanation at all.''42 After all "Whether or not, then, it is unlikely that religion will have multiple origins, it is not at all unlikely that religion will have multiple functions, of even the most disparate variety: psychological, sociological, economic, and political as well as irreducibly religious."43 Hans Penner notes the irony that in is his well-known anthology Waardenburg (1973) begins by claiming to omit 'all methodology which concerns literary, historical, sociological, anthropological and psychological research' and decides to choose "only from those methodological texts which have to do with religious subjects", yet he ends up by including "Freud, a psychologist; Durkheim, a sociologist, and Malinowski, an anthropologist.''44 If, however, we accept the possibility introduced by Robert Segal of several simultaneous explanation~ompatible or complementary-the irony identified by Penner turns into a fortunate irony. (3) The burden of proof that the nature of religion is ultimately religious now falls on the shoulders of the phenomenologists of religion, if we accept Robert Segal' s following contention: "It is a misconception of the social sciences to say that in explaining or interpreting religion nonreligiously they are denying the ultimate nature of religion. Not only might the ultimate nature of religion prove to be nonreligious, but in any case the social sciences are merely proposing that the 'ultimate' nature of religion is nonreligious. The social sciences would be denying the irreducibly religious nature of religion only if that nature had been established."45 (4) A more radical criticism is also possible if the ambiguity associated with religion is also considered accountable in terms of its transcendence. For if "the Sacred, the transcendent source of religion, the essence of religion, is not a theoretical object"46 and if this then means that "the study of religion is exempted from intertheoretical reduction,"47 then the phenomenologists of religion "cannot accuse other disciplines interested in the subject of being reductionistic. The study of religion as a science sui generis is simply incommensurable with the other sciences. Such a 'science' has nothing in common with any other discipline by which it

Ibid., p. 268. Ibid., p. 267. 44 Hans H. Penner, Impasse and Resolution, p. 16. 45 Robert A. Segal, "Misconception of the Social Sciences," pp. 265-266. 46 Hans H. Penner, Impasse and Resolution, p. 23. 47 Ibid., p. 25. 42 43

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can be either reduced or criticized ...."48 Such incommensurability, if conceded, makes Mircea Eliade's claim that it might be useful to approach religious phenomena from the different angles "of physiology, psychology, sociology, economics, literature, art, or any other study" questionable, for he also pronounces such modes of study to be "false."49 It is, however, possible to soften the blow if one maintains with Samuel J. Preus that is not "only the 'reductionists;" who "have explanations for religion, while the antireductionists modestly do not. Such is not the case. Antireductionists, rather, have a different explanation."50 This seems to accord well with Pettazzoni's observation that "the proper subject of 'sociology ofreligion' and 'psychology ofreligion but, respectively, society and the psyche."51 (5) Another problem which the ambiguity of religion presents in the context of reductionism is whether religious experience is one experience among many others or a transcendental experience above all the others. It is easy to see how this concern relates to the issue of incommensurability and difference of point (4 ), the issue of ultimacy of point (3), the coexistence of explanations of point (2) and the fundamental issue of point (1 ). IX

It is clear, therefore, that to define reductionism coherently we must define it as a mode of explanation in religious studies which attempts to grasp religious phenomena other than on its 'own plane of reference, as something religious', when so regarded by the believers. The addition of the italicized part of the statement to the definition, namely, "when so regarded by the believers" is an important insertion, for in its absence the whole can of worms of what is religious will have to be opened up, with unpredictable consequences, as demonstrated in the previous section. In this sense one may concede that "Eliade wants to deal faithfully with his phenomena as phenomena, to see just what his data reveal. What his data reveal is that certain people have had experiences which they have considered religious. Thus, the phenomenologist

Ibid., p. 25 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, Tr. Rosemary Sheed, (New York: World, 1958), p. xi. so J. Samuel Preus, Explaining Religion, p. ix. 51 Lauri Honko, Science of Religion: Studies in Methodology, (The Hague: Mouton, 1979), p. 300. 48

49

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must first of all respect the original intentionality expressed by the data; he must attempt to understand such phenomena as something religious. " 52 Defining religion in terms of what is considered religious by the believers seems to be crucial to the phenomenological enterprise and its nonreductive claim. For to define religion a priori and impose its definition on the subject-matter would also involve reductionism, perhaps of the rational type. It may be argued that phenomenologists, Eliade not excluded, have also tried to define religion though it could be claimed that they have tried to derive a definition and not contrive it. The question here is of the criterion by which an experience is to be accepted as religious-that phenomenologists may differ in the definitions of religion they frame in the light of these data does not compromise the criterion. The acceptance of this criterion has been branded as dogmatic. 53 It is possible to argue that far from being dogmatic, it is, on the contrary, if anything, pragmatic. Two issues must be clearly distinguished here: (1) what the believer regards as religious and (2) what the phenomenologist understands by religion. So long as it is the believer's belief which controls the epistemic enterprise it remains nonreductionistic but once one begins to taste the fruit of the tree of that knowledge in the form of one's own understanding of what religion is, room has been created for the danger, or shall one say temptation, for the fall into reductionism. For instance, Eliade's explication of myths and symbols as a historian and phenomenologist of religion has been hailed as a major contribution to the study of religion. In this process he has identified various structures of religious experience which may exceed the self-understanding of the believers, may deviate from historical facts as known to believers and may involve a measure of philosophical presupposition with which the believers may be unfamiliar: " ... we must remark-apart from other specific considerations of this example-that historical typology casts a doubt over one of the most alluring but dangerous hypothes·es put forward by Eliade: that is that the symbols, hierophanies and archetypes may have a kind of life of their own and in themselves, a fullness of meaning which runs through all history, even transcending the awareness their respective believers have of these archetypes. This criticism we express without denying the amazing diffusion, permanence, polyvalency and semantic, psychological and 'functional' profundity of religious symbols. So we shall have achieved two results: we shall have vindicated the rights of history, which can

52

53

Douglas Allen, Structure and Creativity in Religion, pp. 114-115. Robert A. Segal, "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," p. 226.

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concede much, but not all, to these 'symbols' which in Eliade's opinion, exercise such sovereign sway over history; and we shall have identified a postulatory aspect which governs Eliade's notion of the symbol, ofhierophanies and archetypes, and which is quite extraneous to positive research, in as much as it appeals instead to a presupposition of a philosophical nature, analogous to Otto's presupposition of the 'holy' which he says is immediately revealed as eternal, free, and absolute, by man's awareness of the contrary attributes of this world in which we live."54

X The definition of reductionism as proposed above must overcome one major challenge: That it is in itself reductionistic, among other things. These issues emerge clearly in the following account: Many critics have attacked phenomenology of religion's antireductionism, arguing that it is methodologically confused and unjustified and that it arises from the theological intention of defending religion against secular analysis. The most general criticism of this antireductionism is based on the argument that all methodological approaches are perspectival, limiting, and necessarily reductionistic. The assumption of the irreducibility of the religious is itself reductionistic, since it limits what phenomena will be investigated, what aspects of the phenomena will be described, and what meanings will be interpreted. Phenomenologists of religion cannot argue that other reductionistic approaches are necessarily false and that their approach does justice to all dimensions of religious manifestations. 55

It is important to appreciate the role of the phenomenology of religion in its proper context to avoid viewing it as an attempt to defend religion against secular analysis. It seems rather to be the case that it seeks to preserve the religious dimension in the study ofreligion in a secular world wherein religion might be in the danger of not being examined but examined away in a secular fashion. John Hick points out how a reductive "view of religion represents a logical development, within an increasingly technological society, of what has been variously called scientism, positivism, and naturalism. This development is based upon the assumption-engendered by the tremendous, dramatic, and still accelerating growth of scientific knowledge and achievement-that the truth concerning any aspect or alleged aspect ofreality is to be found by the application of the methods of scientific investigation to the relevant phenomena. God

•• Ugo Bianchi, The History of Religions, (Leiden: EJ. Brill, 1975), pp. 188-189. "Douglas Allen, "Phenomenology of Religion," in The Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, p. 283.

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is not a phenomenon available for scientific study, but religion is. There can be a history, a phenomenology, a psychology, a sociology, and a comparative study of religion. Hence, religion has become an object of intensive investigation and God is perforce identified as an idea that occurs within this complex phenomenon of religion." 56 In other words, it could be maintained that the phenomenology of religion is itself the product of a reaction to a reductive process rather than itself being a reductive process. If the nonreductionistic claims of the phenomenological method are reductive, then all methodological processes can be called reductive in the sense that any point of view may be called imperialistic, that is to say, 'all points of view are potentially imperialistic that is, all aspire to be that point of view from which one can survey the whole.' Apart from smacking of tautological vacuousness, this charge also has a phoney element in it-it is like saying that fascism, communism and democracy are all the same as all represent various forms of government. A distinction is made between those forms of government which take the will of the governed regularly into account and those which don't. Similarly, a distinction can be drawn in the study of religion between those methods which take the believer's view into account and those which don't. Similarly, a distinction may be drawn between claiming that reductionistic approaches are false and claiming that they are not held to be true by the believers, and are false only in this sense. The purpose of this paper was to answer the question: What is reductionism? Clearly once such a definition is offered, it is not necessary to debate whether nonreductionism is itself reductive. It was, however, desirable to address the issue lest it defeat the purpose of the present enterprise, namely, to clarify the terms of the debate so that both parties may engage in it to their mutual advantage and emerge from behind the smokescreens of self-righteousness. In conclusion then, the definition which this paper offers of the term reductionism in the study of religion will run as follows: Reductionism is a mode of explanation or interpretation in the study of religion or a religion which attempts to grasp religious phenomena other than on a plane of reference which is regarded as religious by the subjects of such study.

56

John H. Hick, Philosophy of Religion, (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1983),

p.87.

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HUMAN REFLEXIVITY AND THE NONREDUCTIVE EXPLANATION OF RELIGIOUS ACTION Lorne Dawson INTRODUCTION

The question of reductionism is complicated. 1 Yet my own investigations into the question of reductionism in religious studies and sociology consistently suggest that the debate can be reduced, pragmatically, to a clash of scholarly sensibilities which might be specified in terms of contrasting concerns with intelligibility and verifiability. 2 These concerns in turn are focused on a seemingly simple methodological choice: in the practice of the "human sciences" should primacy be given to the characteristics of the subject of study or should the method of study be given priority? Those inclined to a nonreductionist position favor a subject-led approach, and they seek to adapt their methods of study to the unique features of the phenomena being studied. Being scientific per se takes a back seat to rendering phenomena intelligible: comprehending the meaning of the actions under study. Those inclined to a reductionist position favor a method-led approach, and because their concern is verifiability or at least reliability, they think that the phenomena being examined should be studied in ways which accord with the standardized dictates of science. Ironically, because of a pair of limitations shared by both sides of the argument, the arguments advanced from either side of the reductionism dispute fail to be persuasive. In the first place, the conception of "scientific" explanation which the nonreductionists reject and the reductionists accept is usually unrealistically narrow. 3 But, of course, the model of science in question must be inferred, since the model(s) underlying their views tend to remain implicit. For this reason, amongst others, debates 1 See C.A. Hooker's three articles on "Part I: Towards a General Theory of Reduction," "Part II; Identity and Reduction," and "Part III: Cross-Categorical Reduction," Dialogue, Vol. 20, (1981), pp. 38-59, 201-236, 496-529. 2 See Lorne Dawson, "Free-Will Talk and Sociology," Sociology Inquiry, Vol. 55, (1985), pp. 348-362; "Neither Nerve Nor Ecstasy: Comment on the Wiebe-Davis Exchange," Studies in Religion, Vol. 15, (1986), pp. 145-151. ' Lorne Dawson, Reason, Freedom and Religion: Closing the Gap Between the Humanistic and the Scientific Study of Religion, (New York: Peter Lang, 1988).

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over reductionism in religious studies often read like feuds between "straw men." Second, the participants to these debates fail to take due advantage of theoretical developments in the social sciences (some of a quite well-established nature) which could be used to mitigate the demand for fidelity to the subject at the expense of the method or fidelity to the method at the expense of the subject. Some of the essays which Robert Segal has dedicated to the "defense of reductionism" begin to escape these limitations. 4 "Few scholars," as I have noted elsewhere, "have fought for the methodological principle of the nonreligious explanation of things religious with the tenacity and acumen of Segal." And "the daring and occasional harshness of his judgements is welcome ... as a stimulus to needed methodological debate."5 Yet in the end I must take some exception to the course he would set for the academic study of religion. Like Segal I favour the development and use of supposedly reductionistic social scientific approaches to the study of religion. But I disagree with the way he has sought to use two related distinctions which are fundamental to the conceptualization of the social sciences, namely the differentiation of "interpretations" and "explanations" and of "meanings" and "causes," to support his reductionist stance. Analyzing his discussion of these concepts and their bearing on the study of religion, I will delineate the rudiments of an alternative and less restrictive framework for the social scientific study of religion. Combining elements of rational action theory with elements of the sociology of motivation as presented in C. Wright Mills classic discussion of "vocabularies of motive,"6 I will suggest an approach to the analysis of religious action which ameliorates the reductive thrust of more traditional social scientific accounts. In his essay "In Defense of Reductionism," Segal makes one of the most extreme reductive assertions of which I am aware. Objecting to the nonreductionist agenda in religious studies, he says: ... the phenomenon which nonbelieving scholars confront (in religion) is not merely mildly alien but radically alien, so radically alien that is permits no compromise. To approach it in nonreligious terms is to approach it in ruthlessly other terms, and to approach it in its own terms is to approach it in solely

4 Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), chapters 4, 6, 7, and 10. 5 Lome Dawson, "Review of Robert A. Segal' s Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation," Journal/or the Scientific Study of Religion, Vol. 29, (1990), pp. 548-549. • C. Wright Mills, "Situated Actions and Vocabularies of Motive," American Sociological Review, Vol. 5, (1940), pp. 904-913.

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its own terms, lest the barest admission of other terms admit ruthlessly other ones. Scholars must make an either/or choice, and contemporary ones, in rejecting the choice of their predecessors (e.g. Marx, Taylor, Durkheim and Freud), are left with its opposite. 7

Contrary to Segal's claim, I do not think it is necessarily true that approaching the study of religion in nonreligious terms is to approach it in "ruthlessly other terms." Nor, conversely, does it follow that to approach religion in its own terms is to approach it in "solely its own terms," and thus seemingly to fail to "explain" it. Sometimes, I will argue, a religious action can be "explained" in largely "its own terms." But, or course, we must be operating with the right understanding of "explanation." ARE EXPLANATIONS

OF RELIGION NECESSARILY REDUCTIVE?

Segal provides us with a frank and astute assessment of the methodological inadequacy of the dominant representations of the nonreductionist approach to the explanation of religious phenomena, as found amongst historians and phenomenologists of religion like Rudolf Otto, 8 Gerardus van der Leeuw,9 William Brede Kristensen,1°C. J. Bleeker,1 1 Mircea Eliade, 12 and Wilfred Cantwell Smith.13 As he argues effectively (and hence I will not reiterate), these perspectives are largely arbitrary in nature, lack clear methodological formulation, and reduce the "science of religion" to a descriptive endeavor. Consequently, their claim to present a viable alternative to more traditional and reductive social scientific accounts of religion is not credible. 14 In passing this judgement Segal suggests, correctly I think, that the nonreductionist approach advocated by scholars like Eliade tends to more or less identify the conscious and professed claims of religious believers about the "meaning" of their religious beliefs and practices with the actual, and possible unconscious or at least latent

7 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," revised and published in Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, p. 24. 8 Rudulf Otto, The Idea of the Holy, Tr. by John W. Harvey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1917). 9 Gerardus van der Leeuw, Religion in Essence and Manifestation: A Phenomenological Study, Tr. by J.E. Turner (Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith, 1967). 10 William Brede Kristensen, The Meaning of Religion, (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1960). 11 CJ. Bleeker, "The Phenomenological Method," Numen, Vol. 6, (1959), pp. 96-111. 12 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, (New York: Meridian, 1963). 13 Wilfred Cantwell Smith, The Meaning and End of Religion, (New York: Harper and Row, 1978). 14 For a more detailed discussion of these kinds of criticism with special reference to the views of Wilfred Cantwell Smith see Lome Dawson, Reason, Freedom and Religion: Closing the Gap Between the Humanistic and the Scientific Study of Religion, pp. 151-161.

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(in the structural-functionalist sense), meaning of their religious activities. As a result, he sensibly rejects these approaches arguing that, given the findings of modern psychology, sociology, anthropology, and other disciplines, it is highly improbable that anybody knows all the possible relevant meanings of any of their beliefs and actions; and it is an empirical matter to determine, in each case, whether individuals or groups even know the primary or most significant meanings motivating their behavior.15 Segal also seems to assume, however, that the primary reason for focusing on the conscious and professed meaning of religious activities is necessarily some covert apologetic objective (i.e., to protect the integrity of the sacred). In the case of Eliade and some of the other so-called phenomenologists of religion (like Bleeker), on whom Segal concentrates, this is likely the case. It is not the case, as Segal himself notes, for such "interpretative social scientists" (to use Segal's term) as Peter Berger, Robert Bellah, and Clifford Geertz. 16 Yet these students of religious action strive to circumvent the either/or choice posed by Segal as well. In their methodological and their theoretical reflections they distance themselves from the strong reductionist view of Marx, Tylor, Durkheim and Freud. True, as Segal points out, since these interpretative scholars attribute religion to a generic human yearning for meaning (i.e., a secular end) and not the sacred in particular, in the last analysis they are engaged in a reductive analysis. 17 But does this mean that they approach religion in "ruthlessly other terms" or encounter it as a "radically alien" phenomenon? I have my doubts. The situation is more subtle and complex. Social scientists are not required, by definition, to view the object of religion, and hence religion, as radically alien. When interpretative social scientists bracket consideration of the object of religion (i.e., the sacred or the transcendent) they are not discounting, logically or empirically, its possible real role in the determination of religious action. For the social sciences, as viewed by these interpretative students of religion, are not restricted to explanations which conform to the traditional dictates of naturalism, especially as formulated by the positivist philosophical tradition. These scholars largely reject the models of science and social science which led Marx, Tylor, Durkheim, and Freud to avoid, on an a priori basis, all forms of noncausal explanations. They may be insufficiently clear about the actual grounds of their alternative positions. But,

15

Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Corifrontation, p. 13.

16

Ibid., chapter 4.

17

Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Corifrontation, p. 17.

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in giving renewed attention and prominence to the professed views of believers, and thus attracting the sympathetic attention of nonreductionist students of religion, 18 these interpretative scholars are indicating their acceptance of the claim that the explanation of social action, including religious action, requires something more than is conventionally accommodated by naturalistic views of scientific explanation. The more in question, I propose, is due recognition of the reflexive character of humans and hence some human actions. Covariations of phenomena (the essence of causal analysis after Hume) which are mediated by human consciousness frequently are subject to processes of reasoned determination, based on the scrutiny of meanings, in a way which is not true for covariations of physical phenomena that are external to consciousness. Explanations of human action must take this simple difference, and its important implications for the character of the covariation of variables detected, into account. To this end two methodological prescriptions follow: (1) to determine the degree of reflexivity associated with an action even more attention than is traditionally acknowledged in the social sciences should be given to describing and understanding the meanings of actions for believers and the reasoning processes applied by the religious to these meanings; (2) in the mean time, until a very comprehensive level of understanding is achieved, no sets of meanings (i.e., no terms of explanatory reference) can be denied potential explanatory status, including those entailing references to a culturally postulated transcendent order or dimension of reality. 19 Segal is well aware of some of what I am saying. But he pejoratively affixes the label Verstehen to these views and then delineates and criticizes an overly narrow conception of the methodological options available. Let me briefly outline some of his key arguments in this regard and then my objections to these arguments, setting the stage for the formulation of an alternative orientation.

Ibid., chapter 4. My argument for allowing references to the transcendent into the academic study of religion is presented in Lome Dawson, "On References to the Transcendent in the Scientific Study of Religion: A Qualified Idealist Proposal," Religion, Vol. 17, (1987), pp. 227-250. The limited meaning I ascribe to the phrase "references to the transcendent" is also delineated in this article on pages 228-229. Some further elaboration of the argument is provided in Lome Dawson, "Sui Generis Phenomena and Disciplinary Axioms: Critical Reflection on Pal's Proposal," Religion, Vol. 20, (1990), pp. 38-51. 18

19

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CHAPTER TEN TREATING RELIGIOUS ACCOUNTS AS EXPLANATORY

In discussing the limitations of the Verstehen approach to nonreductionist explanations in religious studies, Segal attempts to recast the traditional contrast of the Geisteswissenschaften and the Naturwissenschaften. 20 Under the traditional formulation, the study of "human action" is related to "interpretations" based on the delineation of "meanings" (i.e., purposes, motives, reasons). The study of "natural objects" is related to "explanations" based on the delineation of "causes." Segal attempts to reduce this distinction to the contrast of accounts which limit themselves to describing the conscious views of believers versus accounts which move beyond this to postulate an unconscious or latent actual meaning and source of religious beliefs and practices. He attempts to draw an exclusive linkage, that is, between "true explanations" (i.e., academically satisfying accounts of action) and "reductionistic causal accounts" of action. There are essentially two steps to his argument. First, building on the conception of causality formulated by David Hume, he notes (repeatedly) that the real difference between explanations and interpretations is that meanings are supposedly not separate from their effects. For example, he says: The real difference between explanation and interpretation is that between 'cause' and 'meaning.' Meanings as well as causes seek to account for a believer's believing and practicing what he does. But where a cause is separate from what if effects, a meaning is inseparable, in which case what it effects is really the 'expression' rather the 'effect' of it.21

Having identified the contrast of explanations and interpretations with that of causes and meanings, he cites the philosopher Donald Davidson to the effect that the distinction between meanings and causes is false, because "meanings must also be causes in order to be meanings.''22 Then Segal argues that the social scientific exponents of Verstehen do not actually treat actor's statements of the purposes and intentions (i.e., the meanings) of their actions as mere "expressions" in the first place. Rather, they treat them as a special type of cause, namely "mental causes." In which case, the explanations formulated by the interpretive social scientists (including Weber, whom Segal adds to the list) are as reductionistic as those given by Marx, Tylor, Durkheim, and Freud.23 They are all causal explanations. Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, pp. 13-18. Robert A. Segal, "Meanings and Causes: Responses to Kepnes," Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, Vol. 27, (1988), p. 639. 22 Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, p. 15. 23 Ibid., chapter 6. 20 21

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Alternatively, I would argue for another formulation of the differences between explanations focused on meanings and explanations focused on causes. The either/or in question does not boil down to a theoretical choice between mere expressions or Humean causes. Sometimes human action can be the result of following the dictates of reason. As a result, the supposed orientation of interpretative social scientists to "mental causes" may not be reductionistic, if the explanations in question hinge on reference to the reasoning processes of the actors involved. I am proposing that the either/or of expressions and Humean causes be transformed into one between explanations based on reasons and explanations based on causes. As Segal cites the philosophers Davidson, Hempel, Nagel, and the anthropologist Spiro, in favor of his view, I might cite the philosophers Hollis, Habermas, Follesdal, Skorupski, Rescher, and the sociologist Dixon in favor of mine (amongst many others). 24 The issues at stake are so vast and complex that justice cannot be done to a discussion of all the pertinent points in this limited context. It is important, however, that scholars of religion be aware of the contours of an alternative perspective within the philosophy of the social sciences to the one delineated (all too briefly as well) by Segal. I would argue that the explanation of any human action must give due consideration to the following two points: (1) the idea that, in principle, the rationality of some single act may be prior to and sufficient for explaining any generalization to be drawn about such acts-that is, the delineation of the good reasons for doing something is sometimes sufficient to fully account for anyone doing such a thing; and (2) the idea that humans have rationality as a second-order disposition: we live according to the supposition that once someone becomes aware that they have fallen into irrationality, they will endeavor to make their beliefs, attitudes and actions more rational.

24 See Donald Davidson, "Actions, Reasons, and Causes," The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 60, (1963), pp. 685-700; Carl G. Hempel, Aspects of Scientific Explanation, (New York: Free Press, 1965); Ernest Nagel, The Structure of Science, (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishers, 1961); and Melford E. Spiro, "Cultural Relativism and the Future of Anthropology," Cultural Anthropology, Vol. 1, (1986), pp. 259-286. See also Martin Hollis, Models of Man, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977); Jurgen Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action, Volume 1, Tr. by Thomas McCarthy. (Boston: Beacon Press, 1981); Dagfinn Follesdal, 'Toe Status of Rationality Assumptions in Interpretation and the Explanation of Action," Dialectica, Vol. 36, (1982), pp. 301-316; John Skorupski, "Relativity, Realism and Consensus," Philosophy, Vol. 60, (1985), pp. 341-358; Nicolas Rescher, Rationality, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988); and Keith Dixon, The Sociology of Belief· Fallacy and Foundation, (London: Routlege and Kegan Paul, 1980).

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The first point suggests, in principle (it must be stressed), that some acts do not require a Humean analysis to be explained. The second point suggests that humans are rudimentarily aware (one might say constitutively aware) of this state of affairs and they tend to act accordingly, though with varying degrees of justification (i.e., accuracy of interpretation). Such being the case, in explaining human actions social scientists are obliged to both assess the relative rationality of specific actions and determine the extent to which the actors involved are engaged in like assessments. This process of assessment is the exercise of human reflexivity, on the part of both the actor and the social scientist. To get at reflexivity, to assess the degree to which an act is reflexive, social scientists, must be preoccupied with accurately discerning and recording the actor's "definition of the situation" (to use a stock phrase from the Symbolic Interactionist tradition in sociology). 25 In the process, due respect must be extended to what sociologists call the "vocabulary of motive" which is constitutive of the actor's definition of the situation. In the context of religious actions this may mean discourse dominated by direct and indirect references to the sacred or the transcendent. These references may well factor into the "reasonable" explanation of why an action is "rational" (in a relative sense), and hence not in need of additional causal explanation. The actual ontological status of the object of religion does not factor into this assessment. As W.I. Thomas in sociology and Ninian Smart in religious studies, both stress, for explanatory purposes, its "existence" does not matter, just its "reality" for the actor. 26 Approached in this way (which may or may not be true of what Weber, Berger, Bellah, and Geertz actually do), it does not follow, as the initial quotation from Segal asserts, that to approach the study of religion in what are ultimately nonreligious terms is to approach it in "ruthlessly other terms." Nor, conversely, does it follow that to approach religion in its own terms is to approach it in "solely its own terms." To establish this point, however, we must first begin to call into question Segal' s seeming equation of causality and explanation and then begin to flesh out some of the elements of the alternative nonreductionist perspective suggested here.

25 Herbert Blumer, Symbolic Interactionism: Perspective and Method, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), chapter 1. 26 See W.I. Thomas, 'Toe Configurations of Personality" in The Unconscious: A Symposium, by C.M. Child, et al., (New York: Knopf, 1928), pp. 143-177; and Ninian Smart, The Science of Religion and the Sociology of Knowledge, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973).

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ARGUING FROM RATIONALITY

In history, economics, sociology, and daily life, we trade upon an assumed asymmetry between the explanation of reasonable and unreasonable beliefs and actions. When we are convinced that an actor has acted for good reasons we are not inclined to look for some further more definitive reason or cause for the action in question. This simple principle introduces an essential economy into the pursuit of explanations in the social sciences; it circumvents a potentially infinite regress of causal analysis. But how are we to determine when this principle is applicable? In other words, how are we to determine if a belief or an action is reasonably or rational? There are no easy answers and the application of the principle, in any particular instance, is riddled with liabilities. But there are ways available which can be applied with varying degrees of skill and circumstantial feasibility. Moreover, it should be kept in mind that the alternative, namely causal analysis, is equally subject to certain pronounced conceptual and practical limitations.27 Let us take a look at part of the conception of science associated with two of the prominent philosophers Segal cites in support of his views, namely Carl G. Hempel and Ernest Nagel. Hempel and Nagel are the chief exponents of the deductive-nomological (neo-positivist) model of science.28 A brief critique of this model, with its causal understanding of explanation, will set the stage for consideration of explanations of human actions, including religious actions, based on reasons. It will break the illusory asymmetry of Segal's pivotal distinction between explanations based on causes and interpretations (i.e., nonexplanations) based on meanings. Following David Hume, most scientists assume that experience is the key to knowledge. Inferences and generalizations about why things happen are justified only if they can be confirmed by sensory evidence. Science also assumes, however, a general order to the world, and this order is not empirically self-evident. As Hume realized, the problem of induction interferes with the assumption of an orderly world. Simple put, the problem is that no number of observation statements can themselves give rise, logically, to an unrestricted general claim about the character of the world. Observing that event Xis attended by event Yon one occasion, or

27 See Richard Taylor, "Causation," in Paul Edwards, ed. of The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, (New York: Macmillan & The Free Press, 1967), Vol. 1 and 2, pp. 56-66; Yvonna S. Lincoln and Egon G. Guba, Naturalistic Inquiry, (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1985); John D. Greenwood, "Agency, Causality, and Meaning," Journal for the Theory of Social Behavior, Vol. 18, (1988), pp. 95-115. 28 This account is drawn from Lome Dawson, Reason, Freedom and Religion: Closing the Gap Between the Humanistic and the Scientific Study of Religion, pp. 59-63.

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on two or two thousand occasions, does not logically assure that it will be attended by it on any other occasion. Hume and scientists after him skirt the consequences of this problem in their work by doing two things: (1) they restrict their operative assumption of order in the world to very particular relations of variables with which we are or can be well acquainted, and (2) they simply "correlate" these variables, avoiding any reference to ideas like production or necessity in drawing these "causal" correlations (though, in practice the idea of necessity tends to slip back in). It is this meagre Humean understanding of causality that undergirds neo-positivist views of explanation, like that seemingly advocated by Segal. This fact is overlooked, however, because in debates over the positivist view of science attention is turned to a simpler operational criterion of claims to knowledge: they must be testable. Philosophers of science focus on the structure of "scientific" theories and tests. In the end, though, the more fundamental issue of how are we to tell a law-like generalization from an accidental correlation remains unresolved. Yet without a solution to this problem, there is little warrant for any form of exclusive correlation of causality and explanation, and the deductive-nomological model of science falls short of providing a satisfactory resolution. It is a flawed paradigm of explanation and its limitations leave the door open for other modes of explanation which impart a different kind of regularity to the world or at least to part of the world (i.e., some types of human action). The deductive-nomological model of science was developed to overcome the limitations of the more naively inductivist views of science formulated by earlier positivists (e.g., the Vienna Circle). The model stipulates that scientific explanations should be conceived as a form of logical argument. The conclusion of this argument is a statement describing the even to be explained. The premises of this argument are of two kinds: statements of empirical laws and statements of antecedent conditions. Things have been explained when they are subsumed under a law. The link is deductive, but the epistemological commitment remains experiential, as it is the empirical law that does the explanatory work. But, of course, this delineation of "scientific" explanations assumes what most needs to be shown: how an empirical generalization can become an empirical law (i.e., the problem of induction)? To circumvent this problem, an exclusive and exhaustive dichotomy was constructed between two types oflanguages: observational and theoretical. Knowledge resides with the onotologically and epistemologically privileged language of observables. It is this language which provides the bedrock for testing the validity of competing theories. These theories,

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however, make use of theoretical terms to introduce, conjecturally, the order (lawfulness) which is not immediately given to the senses. In themselves these theoretical terms are merely "analytic truths," they are devoid of intrinsic meaning and should not be thought of as being either strictly true or false. Observation statements alone, that is "synthetic statements," are true or false. Theoretical ideas or hypotheses are tested or given synthetical value precisely by seeking to draw "correspondences" between theoretical terms and observational truths. This is done by running experiments with the intent of gathering empirical evidence which confirms "predictions" made on the basis of the theoretical idea. If the predictions are deemed well enough confirmed, then the idea or hypothesis becomes an empirical law. With the deductive application of this law, descriptions of things or events achieve the status of explanations. Under this model, that is, prediction and explanation are logically assimilated, with confirmed predictions doing the work previously associated with shear correlation. This is, of course, the way much of science proceeds (at least in design, if not practice). But there are problems with the assimilation of prediction and explanation. As I have summarized elsewhere: In spite of the prima facie sense of the putative differences between observation terms and theoretical terms (e.g.," ... is blue" and" ... is a neutrino"), skepticism prevails about the possibility of specifying the qualities of an observation statement free of all theoretical content, and in reverse, advancing analytic (terms) free of all empirical content. Therefore, it can be wondered whether it is possible to determine the parameters of a decisive test of any theoretical statement without in some measure pre-determining the results of its test. 29

In their critique of positivist micro-economic theory, Martin Hollis and Edward Nell deftly show how the process of testing any hypothesis is plagued by this problem of circularity or theoretical self-referentiality. 30 In the first place, all theoretical terms must be initially defined through the specification of some criteria of application. Yet if the criteria of application themselves are analytic, then how can they meaningfully relate the term in question to any aspect of the world? If the criteria of application are synthetic, does this not mean that the "real" meaning of the theoretical term (i.e., its factual truth) has been decided before any testing. There is no escape from this conceptual dilemma, moreover, through pragmatic

29 Lome Dawson, Reason, Freedom and Religion: Closing the Gap Between the Humanistic and the Scientific Study of Religion, p. 61. 30 Martin Hollis and Edward Nell, Rational Economic Man, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975).

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appeal to habitual or common sensical criteria, for habits too are based on criteria of some sort. It appears, then, that certain statements of classification or identification must be treated as primitively true. These primitively true or axiomatic ideas, contrary to the dictates of positivistically inclined models of science, will tend to be self-referential with regard to the conventional or pre-scientific conceptions of the world. In other words, most sciences (perhaps all?) will tend to be guided by interpretative principles that are anything but alien to the subject under study. This applies, moreover, whether we are seeking to explain the phenomena under study in terms of causal or noncausal relations. Segal's key distinction, that causes, unlike meanings, are separate from their effects, is essentially specious.31 The necessary use of ceteris paribus clauses to frame the conditions under which the test of a theory is to be decisive compounds this problem for the deductive-nomological model of scientific explanations. As Hollis and Nell observe, under the positivist agenda, for ceteris paribus clauses as well it must be possible to "decide independently of the theory whether they hold in a given case or not. Otherwise ... there will be no way of knowing whether a discrepancy between theory and facts refutes the theory or merely shows that ceteris were imparibus."32 The application of the ceteris paribus clauses, that is, needs another theory independent of the one being tested. But then this theory also needs to be tested with more ceteris paribus clauses being invoked. Without a solution to the problem of induction itself, the reversion to tests simply locks us into an infinite regress. All actual tests of theoretical ideas, then, entail working with ceteris paribus clauses preconditioned by elements of the theory under scrutiny. Further, all actual tests of theories entail working with adjusted values for the observed variables. Statistical data must be cleaned of contaminating elements, that is, to assure that the data test the specific theory in

31 Along these lines, elsewhere I have made other fuller epistemological arguments for the notion of 'rational human agency' as a primitive truth or disciplinary axiom for the social sciences (e.g., sociology, economics, political science), and 'references to the transcendent' for religious studies. In my article "On References to the Transcendent in the Scientific Study of Religion: A Qualified Idealist Proposal," Religion, Vol. 17, (1987), I propose the following on page 242: 'The concept of references to the transcendent in religious studies is on a par with the concept of rational human agency in a field like micro-economics, or even more rudimentarily the principle of lawfulness undergirding science. It is a conceptual primitive, a given, which can be systematically deleted from the analysis of religious phenomena only at the risk of losing the implicit intersubjective (though perhaps only linguistically so) base of ordinary and scholarly discourse. Only when this is appreciated will the academic study of religion be protected from the distorting effects of the covert ontological commitments of the nonreductionists or the hard reductionists." 32 Martin Hollis and Edward Nell, Rational Economic Man, p. 27.

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question and not just the application of the theory in the specific situation from which the data were drawn. Once again this involves the inquirer is assuming the correctness of some crucial aspects of the theory being tested prior to its testing and in a way which preconditions the test. Thus Hollis and Nell conclude, these and other procedural limitations suggest that the tests called upon by the deductive-nomological model of science do not confirm synthetic predictions so much as legitimate covert analytic statements. 'The test of a theory is the success of its predictions' originally seemed to say that a theory predicted an actual order of events and that a hypothesis was to be discarded when the predicted sequence failed to occur. But now it turns out that the theory is to predict not what will be observed to happen, but what would be observed, if the values of the variables were the true ones and if 'other things' were 'equal.' ... Consequently no theory can be refuted merely by showing its assumptions to be unrealistic or its predictions not to fit the facts. For predictions are standardly tested against observed values of variables in conditions where 'other things' are not 'equal.' If it further turns out that what the true values are and by how much other things are unequal depends on the theory being tested, then predictions will be standardly irrefutable. 33 Now the point of this exercise, as indicated, is neither to denigrate "scientific" explanations per se nor to displace causal analyses altogether. Rather, in the most general sense, the objective is simply to establish a level playing field for the two modes of explanation we are considering: those based on causes and those based on reasons. More specifically, I am further calling attention to the fact that Segal's stated reason for identifying explanations per se with causal analysis is without sound foundation, because in the actual practice of science "causes" are no more separate from their "effects" than "meanings" (i.e., reasons). This done, let us tum to consideration of the elements of explanations based on reasons and rationality. As Nicholas Rescher specifies, in the most elemental sense: To behave rationally is to make use of one's intelligence to figure out the best thing to do in the circumstances. Rationality is a matter of deliberately doing the best one can with the means at one's disposal-of striving for the best results that one can expect to achieve within the range of one's resources-specifically including one's intellectual resources. Optimization in what one thinks, does, and values is the crux of rationality. 34 But it is difficult to judge whether an actor has made the optimal choice in any given circumstance, since this judgement will vary with the standards 33

34

Martin Hollis and Edward Nell, Rational Economic Man, p. 33. Nicholas Rescher, Rationality, p. 1.

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brought to bear on the situation. Is the act to be judged for its logical consistency, economic efficiency, or even its beauty? As Rescher observes, "reason recognizes the utility and appropriateness of our higher (aesthetic and affectively social and even spiritual) values. The realm of rationality is as large and comprehensive as the domain of valid human concerns and interests.' 935 The identification of an act as rational, then, involves the social scientist in linking judgements of optimization to subject-specific frameworks and to their appropriate empirical indicators. In the last analysis, though, these subject-specific conceptions of rationality are anchored in some formal and universal model of rational action. Since without this common foundation the subject-specific conceptions of rational action would do little explanatory work, rather they would simply have the effect of rendering all actions rational from some perspective, conceivably even those of the seemingly insane. In a more general sense, of course, understanding itself necessitates and suggests the actual existence of such a model. If we wish to draw inferences about people's beliefs from their actions or to translate ideas from one language and culture to another, we will find ourselves imputing a certain fundamental consistency to our views of the world and those of others. 36 In effect we must first attribute a kind of common rationality to the thought of ourselves and others, if we wish to be in a position to attribute any inconsistencies or irrationality to the beliefs and actions of ourselves or others. Understanding, that is, operates through a regulative principle of rationality, and as Hollis suggests, the interpretation which best copes with the vicissitudes of the hermeneutic circle is the one which "makes the Other Mind more rational than its rivals do.' 937 This interpretative principle undergirds all communication and social interaction. 38 Recognition of this point provides epistemological justification for the two propositions outlined above, which found the alternative mode of explanation for religious action developed in this paper. Epistemologically, that is, the rationality of some single act may be prior to and sufficient for explaining any generalization to be drawn about such acts. For example, as Hollis observes: "Ibid., p. 9. 36 See Martin Hollis, Models of Man (1911); Donald Davidson, "Psychology as Philosophy," in Donald Davidson, Essays on Action and Events, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), pp. 229244; Dagfinn Follesdal, ''The Status of Rationality Assumptions in Interpretation and the Explanation of Action," Dialectica, Vol. 36, (1982), pp. 301-316. 37 Marin Hollis, Models of Man. 38 See George Herbert Mead, Mind, Self and Society, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1934) and Alfred Schutz, The Phenomenology of the Social World, Tr. by George Walsh and Frederick Lehnert. (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1967).

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... if it is rational for a chessplayer to play 30.Q-Kt3 ch for the sake of a smothered mate in five, then all rational players so place would do the same. but is not thereby true that 30 Q-Kt3 ch is played 'because' all rational players would do the same. On the contrary, all rational players would also play it because it is the best move ... The rationality of the single case is prior to and sufficient for whatever is to be said about the general. 39

Some social scientists, like Segal it seems, wrongly assume that because some of the reasons offered by actors for their actions are conditioned or even falsified by the establishment of relevant causal generalizations, all explanations in terms of reasons are only preliminary to explanations in terms of causes. 40 It is true, however, that moves on a chess board have a clarity of definition which is lacking in the ambiguous world of social interaction. But, in principle, Hollis' conclusion does hold true for the social world as well. 41 Moreover, as will be briefly argued below, the idea of "vocabularies of motives" can be used to reduce the apparent messiness of the social world in a way which conventional students of religion may not realize and certainly have not utilized. Both these considerations, the principle of the regulative role of rationality in understanding and the principle that some acts are rational prior to the derivation of any relevant causal generalizations, lead us to the second proposition undergirding the alternative approach to the "explanation" ofreligious action, namely the notion that humans have rationality as a second-order disposition. We are constitutively inclined to make our actions rational in order to be understood and to understand and guide our own actions. In other words, we are inclined to be reflexive and in the case of students of religion this inclination, given the above arguments, should lead us (including Segal) to a reasonable recognition of the possibility of explanations of human actions which are not causal (in the traditional sense). Some actions, that is, can be explained in a way which is less reductionistic, namely those which can be reasonably justified in terms of a fitting and appropriately defined subject-specific model of rationality. This is a tall order, especially with regard to religious action which is commonly, but erroneously, associated strictly with irrational behavior in our post-Enlightenment society. As already indicated, however, I have

Martin Hollis, Models of Man, p. 128. Lome Dawson, Reason, Freedom and Religion: Closing the Gap Between the Humanistic and the Scientific Study of Religion, pp. 114-124. The argument presented in this section has been previous presented in a different context and in a somewhat different fonn: See Lome Dawson, "Self-Affrrmation, Freedom, and Rationality: Theoretically Elaborating 'Active' Conversions," Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, Vol. 29, (1990), pp. 141-163. 41 Keith Dixon, The Sociology of Belief: Fallacy and Foundation, pp. 121-125. 39 40

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argued in other places for the philosophical and methodological feasibility of using the linguistic phenomenon of "references to the transcendent" to formally demarcate religious action and circumvent the problem of reductionism in religious studies. Now by treating this same phenomenon as the defining feature of the vocabulary of motive which identifies and guides religious action I wish to extend this original argument, giving it a somewhat more applied form. The phenomenon of making references to a culturally postulated transcendent order or dimension of reality may provide an appropriate focus for a subject-specific conception of rational action suited to the potential explanation of some religious actions which is nonreductive (i.e., in the traditional causal sense). But what is meant by the term "vocabulary of motive?" VOCABULARIES OF MOTIVE AND RELIGION

The heart of the argument offered in C. Wright Mills' seminal article "Situated Actions and Vocabularies of Motive" is really quite simple, but a bit counter-intuitive. Over against our habit of treating motives for action as "subjective 'springs' of action" which are somehow "fixed elements 'in' an individual," Mills proposes thinking of motives as sets of socially prescribed vocabularies for structuring the experience of certain delimited societal situations. 42 He suggests that generically motives are words imputed to others or avowed in response to questions which interrupt acts or programs of action. They are ways of making the world of human interaction understandable and predictable, because they impose a shared structure on types of interaction. They are means of social control and they are learned. (People) discern situations with particular vocabularies, and it is in terms of some delimited vocabulary that they anticipate consequences of conduct. Stable vocabularies of motives link anticipated consequences and specific actions. . .. Institutionally different situations have different "vocabularies of motive" appropriate to their respective behaviors. 43

Mills' point is that the imputation or avowal of a motive is not merely or primarily an act of description, it is an act which influences the behavior of others and the actors themselves. It provides a ready-made definition of the situation and sets in motion a certain characteristic pattern of interaction.

42

C. Wright Mills, "Situated Actions and Vocabularies of Motive," American Sociological

Review, Vol. 5, (1940), pp. 904-905. 43 Ibid., p. 906.

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The vocalized expectation of an act, its "reason," is not only a mediating condition of the act but it is a proximate and controlling condition for which the term "cause" is not inappropriate. 44 Often, if "reasons" were not given, an act would not occur, nor would diverse actions be integrated. 45

The quest for real motives behind supposed mere rationalizations is ultimately informed, Mills suggests, by an unwarranted metaphysical view. "Real attitudes" versus "mere verbalization" ... implies that at best we only infer from (the actor's) language what 'really' is the individual's attitude or motive. Now what 'could we possibly' so infer? Of precisely 'what' is verbalization symptomatic? We cannot 'infer' physiological processes from lingual phenomena. All we can infer and empirically check is another verbalization of the agent's which we believe was orienting and controlling behavior at the time the act was performed ... The "Real Attitude of Motive" is not something different in kind from the verbalization . . . They turn out to be only relatively and temporally different. 46

Mills discusses the variations of dominant vocabularies of motive across time, cultures, and topics, as well as the general trend in modern, urban, industrialized societies towards the breakdown of the traditional "compartmentalization" of stable vocabularies of motives. It is the resultant "mixed motives" and "motivational conflicts" born of the confused and competing "situational patterns" of modern societies that account for the "motive-mongering" so characteristic of our age. In the process, he notes in passing, various forms of communal and religious vocabularies of motives have been displaced by new dominant vocabularies which are largely individualistic, hedonistic, and pecuniary,47 and we might add also ones which are scientific and more specifically causal. With this information in hand, let us return to the formulation of an explanatory alternative to Segal's reductive mode. Our objective is to assess the relative rationality of a religious believer's actions in order to guage the degree to which those actions are not subject to causal, that is reductive, analysis. We can make this assessment by discerning the degree of reflexivity displayed by the believer with regard to his or her

44 Ibid., p. 907. •• Ibid., p. 908. •• C. Wright Mills, Situated Actions and Vocabularies of Motive," p. 909. An extended discussion of this type of claim is provided from a more philosophical perspective: See Lorne Dawson, Reason, Freedom and Religion, Chapters VII and VIII and for a briefer account of the kry point my article on "Self-Affirmation, Freedom, and Rationality," pp. 150-152. Those familiar with psychoanalysis will recognize this problem as Freud's struggle with the nature of "psychic reality," see my book on Reason, Freedom and Religion, pp. 303-305. 47 C. Wright Mills, "Situated Actions and Vocabularies of Motive," pp. 910-913.

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actions. To do this we must come to understand the believer's definition of the situation and interpret it in the light of some subject-specific conception of rational action. If most social action is guided by vocabularies of motive to which we are socialized, then we should expect the believer's definition of the situation to reflect some such generic religious vocabulary of motive which structures and perpetuates the believer's religious sense of reality. As such this vocabulary should also indicate the logical focus for a subject-specific conception of rational action for the study of religious action. So the key questions is: What marks off the religious vocabulary of motive? What distinguishes religious imputations or avowals of motive from their functional equivalents in other forms of motive talk? In the last analysis, I have suggested, religious talk is distinguished by some conceptual reference to a culturally postulated transcendent order or dimension. What is needed, however, is a careful analysis of religious discourse in different cultural contexts-ordinary discourse, that is, and not just religious texts. In any event, if it can be shown that a religious believer is guided in his or her actions by a self-awareness of the consequences of accepting the "reality" (in Smart's sense) of some transcendent order or dimension, then much of this or her behavior can be viewed as reasonable and in no need of further causal explanation. In point of fact, I think that this is precisely what most people do, as reflexive (i.e., reasonable) social actors, in the face of the religious actions of others. It simply can be done better, with an even greater degree of reflexivity that is, by the academic student of religious action. Of course, Segal and other may wish to question the rationality of accepting the reality of the culturally postulated transcendent in the first place, thereby denying the first premise of this alternative nonreductive mode of explanation. But such questions carry us beyond the methodologically warranted bounds of the social scientific study of religion and into metaphysics or morality. It must also be remembered that this approach to the explanation of religious action does not simply reiterate the tendency which Segal discerns in Eliade and other nonreductionists to rather naively identify the conscious and professed claims of religious believers about the meaning of their religious beliefs and practices with the actual meaning of their religious activities. In other words, critical insight is not abandoned. To the extent that a religious actor is not reflexive, grounds exist for seeing the actor's actions as less rational and hence open to some type of more conventional causal explanation (e.g., subject to the influence of unconscious impulses or blind social conditioning). But there are no good epistemological or methodological reasons, I have argued, to grant any priority or

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superiority to causal explanations of human actions (including religious actions). On the contrary, sometimes, namely when the religious actor is shown to be exercising reflexivity, a religious action can be explained reasonably in largely its own terms.

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RELIGION, EXPLANATION, AND THE ASKESIS OF INQUIRY Tony Edwards

I In The Mind's New Science, Howard Gardner describes a phenomenon he calls "the computational paradox": when we try to explain human cognition using an exclusively computational model, the noncomputational features of human cognition do not disappear; instead, they are actually highlighted. "[O]nly through scrupulous adherence to computational thinking," he wrote, "could scientists discover the ways in which humans actually differ from the serial digital computer."1 The computational paradox is actually a particular instance of a more general phenomenon, a paradox of explanation. That is, when we offer a correct explanation of a phenomenon, the result is a direct gain in knowledge; on the other hand, when we offer a mistaken explanation of a phenomenon, there remains an indirect gain of the kind Gardner observes: our "mistake" draws our attention to the very counterexamples it fails to cover. 2 Yet, if this is true, then there is nothing to fear from explanation. Moreover, there is nothing to fear from reductionist explanation. Developing and checking reductionist explanations turns out to be a no-lose enterprise: if the reduction in question is appropriate, then nothing is lost; if it is inappropriate, then there will be some remainder, some exception

This paper was first given at the annual meeting of the Eastern International Region of the American Academy of Religion on April 19, 1991. I would like to thank Bruce Alton, Mark Cladis, Dane Gordon, and Douglas Rayment for their remarks. 1 Howard Gardner, The Mind's New Science: A History of the Cognitive Revolution (New York: Basic, 1985), p. 385. 2 See Karl Popper, The Logic of Scientific Discovery (New York: Harper, 1958), and Conjectures and Refutations (New York: Basic, 1962), where this feature of inquiry is a recurrent theme. As Paul Feyerabend points out, however, the origin of this line of argument is John Stuart Mill's On Liberty, especially Chapter 2. See Paul K. Feyerabend, "Consolations for the Specialist," in Imre Lakatos and Alan Musgrave, eds., Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), p. 211; John Stuart Mill, The Philosophy of John Stuart Mill, Marshall Cohen, ed. (New York: Random House, 1961), pp. 203-248.

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to the hypothesis that will lead to its refutation. We can try out explanations with perfect freedom, even reductionist ones. 3 This is really the long and the short of the matter. Other questions about the general propriety or impropriety of reductionist agendas have to do with the institutional or personal adjustments that might be involved if some of these agendas gain favor or succeed. As such, they are questions that fall outside the scope of our concern as inquirers. If we focus only on the epistemic aspect of the problem, there is no reason a priori to exclude explanations of religion-even reductionist ones-from our ways of understanding religion. If some reductions are sound, that will be important to know. If none is, that will be important too, not least because it will help us to see more clearly how our subject differs from subjects that can be dealt with reductively. 4

3 Of course, there can be problems with an explanation other than direct counterevidence, such as the incompatibility of the explanation with other, well-established theoretical claims. Nevertheless, I wish to stress the importance of counterevidence here, both because counterevidence will suffice to call the adequacy of an explanation into question, and because, if a wellformulated explanation is unsound, then its refutation will come from counterevidence, one way or another. The scholar who opposes reductionism, therefore, need only insist on an explanation sufficiently well-formulated to indicate the kind of evidence that would falsify it, then find an example of such evidence. For extensive discussion of falsification, see Lakatos and Musgrave, Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge, especially Lakatos, "Falsification and the Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes," pp. 91-195. 4 I should emphasize that in this paper I am arguing only for the permissibility of reductionist and other explanatory efforts in the study of religion. I am not arguing that they are obligatory; l am not arguing that they are ideal; I am not even arguing that there is reason to expect that some of them will be successful. I am merely arguing that there are no good epistemic reasons for obstructing such efforts, and that it is in the interest of freedom of inquiry to give them a hearing, just as we would give a hearing to literary-critical interpretations, philosophical analyses, phenomenological descriptions, historical reconstructions, and cross-cultural comparisons. I should also note that those who argue for and against reductionism as a general "research programme" for religious studies are addressing a different issue-a question not of the permissibility of reductionism for some researchers, but of its desirability as an agenda for us all. That is not my concern here. Hence the laissez-faire Popperian-even Feyerabendian--quality to my argument. Nevertheless, my argument does contradict Daniel Pals's position, which holds that nonreductionism is axiomatic for religious studies as a whole. See Daniel L. Pals, "Is Religion a Sui Generis Phenomenon?", Journal of the American Academy of Religion, vol. 55, no. 2 (Summer 1987), pp. 259-282. See also Robert A. Segal and Donald Wiebe, "On Axioms and Dogmas in the Study of Religion," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, vol. 57, no. 3 (Fall 1989), pp. 591-605, and Daniel L. Pals, Donald Wiebe, and Lome L. Dawson, "Colloquium: Does Autonomy Entail Theology?", Religion, vol. 20 (1990), pp. 1-51. On the notion of a "research programme" see Imre Lakatos, "Falsification and the Methodology of Scientific Research Programmes, in Lakatos and Musgrave, Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge.

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II

What I have said so far may seem uncontroversial. Nevertheless, some will need to hear at least one reductionist story with a happy ending before setting aside their suspicions. An instructive example can be found in the history of analytic philosophy. 5 In its early years, analysis was certainly reductionist: the meaning of a sentence was "nothing but" the part, if any, that would fit the sentential calculus. As a result, metaphysical statements were regarded as "literally meaningless," theological expressions were viewed as "nonsense," and value judgments were taken to be merely "emotive.''6 In contrast, recent work on metaphor can serve as the happy ending. Religionists have been relieved to learn of the importance of metaphor in the sciences and elsewhere. Literal meaning is no longer paradigmatic; religious expressions are no longer "vacuous" or "logically odd." Rather, they are metaphorical-and this, we now believe, is a high calling. It may seem strange to suggest that these two developments are related dialectically, as cause to effect. Yet they are. Gardner's characterization of the computational paradox could be used mutatis mutandis for philosophical analysis in its early years. "[O]nly through scrupulous adherence to literal meaning," he might have said, "could philosophers have discovered the ways in which metaphor is indispensable to human cognition." The parallel is no coincidence: both the computational and literalist paradoxes are instances of the paradox of explanation. Of course, analytic philosophers aren't the only ones who have discovered the importance of metaphor, and some of the others have known it for a long time. By the early Sixties, however, the sciences and the humanities were polarized: to insist on the cognitive importance of metaphor was to lay oneself open to charges of special pleading and obscurantism. 7 It took a philosopher with the analytic credentials of Max Black to make metaphor respectable in both cultures. Black's work on his Companion to Wittgenstein's Tractatus had shown him that there were basic images and metaphors that governed

5 Toe account that follows focuses on explanations of meanings rather than on explanations of events. Similar accounts can be given for the latter. See Wesley C. Salmon, ''Four Decades of Scientific Explanation," in Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science, XIII: Scientific Explanation, Philip Kitcher and Wesley C. Salmon, eds. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,

1989), pp. 3-219. • See A.J. Ayer, Language, Truth, and Logic (New York: Dover, 1946). 7 See C.P. Snow, The Two Cultures, and A Second Look (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959, 1964).

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Wittgenstein's early thought. 8 He wrote in his introduction to the Companion to the Tractatus, Of strict argument, there is very little in the book. Wittgenstein occasionally uses informal argument to clinch a point, but his main insights are presented dogmatically. A sympathetic response calls for a willing suspension of disbelief in the visual metaphors ('pictures' Wittgenstein later called them) which lend those insights their force and their support. Among the most important of these metaphors are those I shall call the rrwsaic, the chain, the logical network, the picture, and the mirror. The baldest summary of Wittgenstein's conception might run as follows: Reality ('the world') is a rrwsaic of independent items-the 'atomic facts'; each of these is like a chain in which 'objects' (logical simples) 'hang in one another'; the objects are connected in a network of logical possibilities ('logical space'); the simplest 'elementary' propositions are pictures of atomic facts, themselves facts in which names are concatenated, and all other propositions are truthfunctions of the elementary ones; language is the great mirror in which the logical network is reflected, 'shown', manifested. If we add the notions of names deputizing for objects, of logical propositions as limiting cases of contingent propositions, and the pervasive notions of logical form and of essence, we shall have a serviceable list of Wittgenstein's chief leitmotifs. 9

Wittgenstein was aware of these metaphors himself. Yet, as he indicates in "A Lecture on Ethics" and in his conversations with Waismann, he believed that genuine similes and metaphors were reducible to prose, and therefore concluded that the irreducible extensions of meaning necessary to his own negative metaphysics were mere "nonsense."10 Black disagreed: "These dismal reflections are premature," he wrote. 11 "Wittgenstein is trying out a new way of looking at the world, which forces him to twist and bend language to the expression of his new thoughts." 12 Black's concluding summary is worth quoting at length: I have been arguing that a metaphysician is a man who is trying to enlarge and extend the given concepts of science and ordinary life in a way which will allow him to arrive at a more extensive, a more penetrating, and in some way more fundamental, view of the universe. In pursuing this aim, he proceeds by analogy and metaphor. He breaks through the bounds of the logical syntax he inherited, but without discarding all the linguistic principles in a single fell swoop. His adherence to some of the antecedent rules of logical syntax pro-

• Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, trans. by D.F. Pears and B.F. McGuinness (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961); Max Black, A Companion to Wittgenstein's Tractatus (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1964). • Black, Companion, p. 3. 10 Wittgenstein, "A Lecture on Ethics," in Philosophy Today: No. 1, ed. by Jerry H. Gill (New York: Macmillan, 1968), p. 11; Friedrich Waismann, "Notes on Talks with Wittgenstein," in Philosophy Today: No. 1, p. 19. 11 Black, Companion, p. 379. 12 Black, Companion, p. 386.

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vides him with guarantees that his use of the new and only partially understood concepts shall be sufficiently systematic to render logical inference and elaboration possible. If the fullest examination of the new system of thought uncovers no internal contradictions, the philosopher will have managed to introduce a new language and a new way of looking at the world. But if the outcome is negative and the original attempt has in the end to be abandoned as abortive, it by no means follows that the metaphysical innovator was engaged in a futile and self-condemned enterprise. If this were the correct verdict then much of the most valuable and radical conceptual changes in scientific thought would equally have to be condemned as nonsensical in a pejorative sense of that word. For clarity arrives at the end of a conceptual investigation, not at its beginning. And if all were clear at the outset, there would be no point in the investigation. 13

What then was the problem with the Tractatus, and why did Black and Wittgenstein see it differently? Very roughly, it was this: Wittgenstein rightly held that logic could be applied to propositions with reliable results only if propositions were literal; and it seemed therefore that propositions were meaningful only if they were literal. Yet in the proposition, "Propositions are meaningful only if they are literal," the use of "meaningful" is an extension of ordinary usage. In short, the proposition seems to be metaphorical, therefore nonliteral, and therefore meaningless by its own criterion. It seemed that the propositions of the Tractatus could not live up to their own standards. Accordingly, Wittgenstein concluded that the Tractatus was nonsense--nonsense of a surprisingly instructive kind, but nonsense nonetheless. 14 Black, on the other hand, saw these features more dialectically. as a reductio ad absurdum that revealed the importance of metaphor-to Wittgenstein's work, to his own, and to philosophy and the sciences as well. Through scrupulous adherence to a promising reductive strategy, Black had been brought face-to-face with a remainder that was irreducible. This, in tum, led him to some of his own most important work. He finished the Companion to the Tractatus in 1962. In the same year he published the seminal essays, "Metaphor" and "Models and Archetypes," in his collection Models and Metaphors. 15 In the latter essay, he made his first, tentative presentation of his theory that scientific models are articu-

Black, Companion, p. 386. Perhaps Wittgenstein found it difficult to accept a major role for metaphors because he associated them with Otto Weiningees notion of "henids." See Ray Monk's recent biography, Wittgenstein: the Duty of Genius (New York: Free Press, 1990), pp. 21-22, 379. 15 Black, "Metaphor," in Models and Metaphors (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1962). 13

14

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lated metaphors. ago:

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The following passage was written nearly thirty years

When the understanding of scientific models and archetypes comes to be regarded as a reputable part of scientific culture, the gap between the sciences and the humanities will have been partly filled. For exercise of the imagination, with all its promise and its dangers, provides a common ground. If I have so much emphasized the importance of scientific models and archetypes, it is because of a conviction that the imaginative aspects of scientific thought have in the past been too much neglected. For science, like the humanities, like literature, is an affair of the imagination. 17

Black saw that in order to heal the rift between scientific and humanistic cultures it was not necessary to curtail or deprecate either of them. Rather, the rift could be mended by working on the fundamentals of cognition that were common to both. In Black's development we can see how in this century philosophical analysis has passed quickly through Thomas Kuhn's stages of revolutionary science, normal science, and into a phase of revolutionary science again. 18 The "normal-scientific" achievements under the literal reduction have been impressive, and have set a standard of clarity to other disciplines as well. And the "revolutionary-scientific" breakthrough into metaphor, far from being an ironic reversal at the expense of philosophy, looks more like a vindication of it, for it suggests that the literal reduction belongs to a self-corrective discipline that now enjoys the benefits of both literal and metaphorical analysis. Thus, Black's work illustrates the no-lose character of reductionist bids for explanation--the gains that come when a reduction is successful and the gains that also come when it fails. And the ending, it would seem, has been happy even by the standards of those who fear reductionism. From Black's insights have grown valuable works by Mary Hesse, Ian

1• At this time, Black used the term "archetype" to refer to a type of model "where we have, as it were, an implicit or submerged model operating in a writer's thought." This, he noted, "is close to what Stephen C. Pepper meant by 'root metaphors."' (Models and Metaphors, p. 239. See Stephen C. Pepper, World Hypotheses (University of California Press, 1942), pp. 91-92.) Later Black seems to have dropped the term "archetype." referring simply to "models" of different kinds. In "More About Metaphor," he writes: "I am now impressed, as I was insufficiently so when composing Metaphor, by the tight connections between the notions of models and metaphors. Every implication-complex supported by a metaphor's secondary subject, I now think, is a model of the ascriptions imputed to the primary subject: Every metaphor is the tip of a submerged model." In Metaphor and Thought, ed. by Andrew Ortony (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 31. 17 Black, Models and Metaphors, p. 243. 18 Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1970).

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Barbour, Paul Ricoeur, Richard Rorty, Sallie McFague, Mary Gerhart, Allan Russell, and others. 19 Of course, few endings are final, and in the 1990s we seem to have moved quickly into a new reduction, with metaphor as the omnivorous new paradigm. I would suggest, however, that this reduction is no more to be feared than the literal one. If there is nothing wrong with it, then that will be good to know; if there is something wrong with it after all, then that, too, will be good to know. Either way we will have learned something. III Once we appreciate the paradox of explanation, we see that, along with our other ways of understanding religion, we can pursue reductionist explanations without prejudice to the truth. 20 On this view, if a strategy succeeds in revealing the truth, then we should accept it; if a strategy fails, then we should not. This is the askesis of inquiry: to let the better argument decide the question-for the time being. 21 There is a kind of faith in this, a faith that may be difficult to share. In letting the chips fall where they may, we are assuming that whether reductionist strategies succeed or fail, we have nothing to lose. If something we believe is refuted, then it was false, so we haven't lost anything. 19 Mary Hesse, "The Explanatory Function of Metaphor," in her Revolutions and Reconstructions in the Philosophy of Science (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980); Ian Barbour, Myths, Models and Paradigms (New York: Harper and Row, 1974); Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1978); Richard Rorty, Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), Sallie McFague, Metaphorical Theology (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1982); Mary Gerhart and Allan Russell, Metaphoric Process: The Creation of Scientific and Religious Understanding (Fort Worth: Texas Christian University

Press, 1984). It may be worth noting in passing that Hesse uses Black's theory of metaphor to respond to, and bridge, the incommensurability that was identified by Kuhn and Feyerabend, and adumbrated in the work of Mill and Popper. 20 I use italics here to emphasize that this type of theoretical work is mere! y one enterprise in which we should be engaged. 21 There is a place for tenacity, however. As Feyerabend puts it, "It seems, then, that the interplay between tenacity and proliferation which we described in our little methodological fairytale is also an essential feature of the actual development of science. It seems that it is not the puzzlesolving activity that is responsible for the growth of our knowledge but the active interplay of various tenaciously held views. Moreover, it is the invention of new ideas and the attempt to secure for them a worthy place in the competition that leads to the overthrow of old and familiar paradigms. Such inventing goes on all the time. Yet it is only during revolutions that the attention turns to it. This change of attention does not reflect any profound structural change (such as for example a transition from puzzle solving to philosophical speculation and testing of foundations). It is nothing but a change of interest and of publicity." In 'The Consolations of the Specialist," in Lakatos and Musgrave, Criticism and the Growth ofKnowledge, p. 20'J. See also Lakatos, op. cit., pp. 136, 173-180.

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This, of course, is a little like saying, "The good man can't be harmed." The good man is slandered, robbed, beaten, even killed, and yet (we blithely insist) "He hasn't been harmed." Likewise when we say we haven't lost anything as the result of the success or failure of a reduction: a scholar may lose time, a research grant, his reputation as a scholar, his research paradigm, his conviction that his cultural background is superior to others', his belief that the issues of his generation are important ones-he may even lose his faith. It seems strange to say that he "hasn't lost anything." Yet however important these losses may be in other respects, within the askesis of inquiry they really are nothing: they cannot override considerations of evidence and argument; they simply do not count. In the askesis of inquiry the only loss that counts is a loss of the truth. 22 Yet although this is correct, it also shows that the askesis of inquiry is actually a relatively narrow frame of reference-an ivory tower, in fact. For the "askesis" consists in prescinding from many of the interests that matter to us most. In addition to our interest in the truth, we also have interests in goodness, beauty, run, health, happiness, and community. There is a real possibility that inquiry-especially reductionist strategies of inquiry-will harm these other interests. In short, the problem of reductionism solved by the paradox of explanation is not the only problem of reductionism we have to face. It is not that reductionism threatens the truth, but that reductionism, like other agendas of inquiry, threatens our other interests, interests that cannot be ignored. Thus, the anti-reductionist is right in a way: there is something to be feared from reductionism. He is wrong, however, in thinking that this is because reductionism somehow falls outside the scope of honest inquiry. For reductionist agendas are a form of such inquiry-an aggressive form of it, perhaps, but a form of it nonetheless. And from this it follows also that the anti-reductionist is not the only one who has reason to be nervous. Much as we stand to gain, we all have something to lose from disciplined inquiry. What we stand to lose, how we might lose it-these are questions that deserve extended sociological answers. For present purposes, an insight

22 "[H]owever humble the sphere of her rule, yet at least, while within that sphere, criticism is subject to no intrusion and oppressed by no authority. She moves on her path unheedful of the warning, unheedful of the clamour, of that which beyond her realm may be or may call itself religion and philosophy; her philosophy and her religion are the realization and fruition of herself, and her faith is this, that while true to herself she can never find an enemy in the truth." F.H. Bradley, Collected Essays, I. Quoted in Van A. Harvey, The Historian and the Believer (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1966), p. x.

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of Richard Rorty' s will serve to bring the issue into focus. Rorty suggests that there can be hann merely in being redescribed: [M]ost people do not want to be redescribed. They want to be taken on their own terms-taken seriously just as they are and just as they talk. Toe ironist tells them that the language they speak is up for grabs by her and her kind. There is something potentially very cruel about that claim. For the best way to cause people long-lasting pain is to humiliate them by making the things that seemed most important to them look futile, obsolete, and powerless. 23

Rorty's point holds, not only for the ironist, but for the inquirer as well. Anyone who inquires successfully into the lives of others has the power to redescribe them. Inquiry is threatening, then, because-and when-it is likely to issue in a redescription of ourselves or our community. Moreover, inquiry in the humanities and social sciences typically results in such a redescription: the first-person, internal, or emic vocabulary of the people studied is redescribed in the third-person, external, or etic vocabulary of those who study them. 24 Although such redescriptions need not displace the previous description, often they do. 25 Thus, we have reason to be concerned in

23 Richard Rorty, "Private Irony and Liberal Hope," in Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, p. 89. Rorty has in mind a redescription that moves from one "final vocabulary" to another. He explicates "final vocabulary" as follows (p. 73): All human beings carry about a set of words which they employ to justify their actions, their beliefs, and their lives. These are the words in which we formulate praise of our friends and contempt for our enemies, our long-term projects, our deepest self-doubts and our highest hopes. They are the words in which we tell, sometimes prospectively and sometimes retrospectively, the story of our lives. I shall call these words a person's final vocabulary. It is "final" in the sense that if doubt is cast on the worth of these words, their user has no noncircular argumentative recourse. Those words are as far as he can go with language; beyond them there is only helpless passivity or a resort to force. A small part of a final vocabulary is made up of thin, flexible, and ubiquitous terms such as "true," "good," "right," and "beautiful." The larger part contains thicker, more rigid, and more parochial terms, for example, "Christ," "England," "professional standards," "decency," "kindness," ''the Revolution," "the Church," "progressive," "rigorous," "creative." The more parochial terms do most of the work." 24 On the emicletic distinction, see Marvin Harris, "Emics, Etics, and the New Ethnography," in The Rise of Anthropological Theory (New York: Harper and Row, 1968), pp. 568-604. A similar distinction is developed by Ninian Smart in The Phenomenon of Religion (New York: Herder and Herder, 1973), pp. 43-44, and is discussed by Donald Wiebe in Religion and Truth: Towards an Alternative Paradigm for the Study of Religion (The Hague: Mouton, 1981), pp. 72-79. 25 By "displace" here I just mean that the new description takes the place of the old, which is no longer used, even by the people redescribed. Thus, "A has redescribed B" does not entail "B's final vocabulary has been displaced by A's." In short, redescription does not entail displacement. Note, too, that neither redescription nor displacement involves a total change of "world" or "conceptual scheme." See Donald A. Schon, Displacement of Concepts (London: Tavistock, 1963); Donald Davidson, "On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme," in Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984); also Terry F. Godlove, "In What Sense Are Religions Conceptual Frameworks?", The Journal of the American Academy of Religion, vol. 60, no. 2 (June 1984), and Religion, Interpretation, and Diversity of Belief: the Framework Model from Kant to Durkheim to Davidson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989).

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religious studies, for, except under special conditions. displacement of a sacred vocabulary is a sacrilege. It is as if, without permission, one were to tear down a neighborhood temple or church and rebuild it with different architecture a few blocks away. It is not enough to tell the people, "Look, the new one is just as good as the old one!" The point is, it is not the old one. Indeed, the threat is only slightly decreased if a religion redescribes itself-as when the Roman Catholic Mass was changed from Latin to English, or the Episcopalian Book of Common Prayer was translated into modern English. IV Thus, as inquirers, we propose redescriptions; as objects of inquiry, we resist them. This conflict is heightened when the agenda of inquiry is reductionist, because, in the humanities in general and in religious studies in particular, our myth of reductionism is that, in contrast to interpretation, in explanation the redescription of the object always displaces, and thus nullifies, its original, native description. This, I believe, accounts for the anti-reductionism of most religious studies scholars. (1) It accounts for the anti-reductionism of scholars who are religious themselves. Such scholars are always both subject and object of inquiry, even when the religion they study is not their own. Thus, any generalization about religious people is about them as well, and they therefore believe an explanation of a common religious phenomenon (e.g., conversion) would nullify their self-description along with the selfdescriptions of others. 26 (2) It also accounts for the anti-reductionism of scholars who are not religious, but who nevertheless have come to love, admire, or empathize with the religious people they study. As Aristotle said, a friend is another self; to the extent that we "go native" and befriend the people we study, we find ourselves acting in their behalf to resist the displacement of their self-description. (3) What of the religious studies scholar who fits neither of these descriptions but is anti-reductionist nonetheless? What does he have against 2• See Wayne Proudfoot's admirable Religious Experience (Berkeley: University of California, 1985), especially pp. 190-236. Here my account of redescription and displacement can be understood as including as a special case Proudfoot's emphasis on the conflict between the explanatory commitments of the believer and the researcher. The psychological core of conflictthe knee-jerk reaction of each party to the other-seems to derive from the prospect each faces of having his framework subsumed by the other's. This does not, however, seem to be an effect of explanation per se. Any impending displacement of final vocabulary will raise the same problems. Thus, fear of reductionism is sometimes expressed in terms that could also be used for a people's fear of conquest, for in either case the final vocabulary is displaced.

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reductionism? In some ways, he is the most instructive case. Religious studies is largely made up of scholars of the first two types. Accordingly, it has never developed strong explanatory traditions of its own, and has no established vocabulary for proposing explanations. This in tum means that explanatory vocabularies, if used at all, must be imported from outside, and outside vocabularies for discussing religious phenomena belong to rival communities of inquiry. If these outside vocabularies were to gain dominance, it would amount to a redescription of religious studies itself. Such verbal colonization would affect the third type of scholar no less than the first two; he fears redescription just like anyone else. Like the other two types of scholar, he shares the vocabulary of his community of inquiry, and he recognizes that an external vocabulary might displace not only that indigenous vocabulary, but also the interests that it expresses and integrates-interests with which his own personal and professional interests are deeply interwoven. Consequently, he too is an anti-reductionist. Moreover, since his anti-reductionism merely embodies the selfinterest of his community, his motive for anti-reductionism is one that is shared throughout the community. Thus it also constitutes a second and unifying motive for the first two types of scholar. There are two other motives for anti-reductionism that extend throughout the community: (4) a duty to affirm what is sacred to the common culture, and (5) a duty to protect it. 27 In the humanities in general, and in religious studies in particular, we not only inquire into cultural traditions but also selectively affirm them. There is a priestliness to our work that not only allows but requires these acts of affirmation. A comparison with music may be useful here. In music, scholars not only analyze, compare, and explain works of music; they offer them up for appreciation. In the classroom, and in scholarly articles as well, there is amid all the evidence and argument the moment when a music historian presents the object for the wonder of her audience or readership. She does not merely describe the object, she does not merely interpret the object, she does not merely explain the object-she celebrates it. She See Proudfoot, Religious Experience, p. xvif: The insistence on describing religious experience from the subject's point of view, the stress on the reality of the object for the person who has that experience, the avoidance of reductionism, and the distinction between descriptive and explanatory tasks are all important for the study of religion. Each, however, can and has been used to block inquiry for apologetic purposes. In the following chapters we shall examine the accounts that have been given and the claims that have been made for religious experience with a view toward distinguishing the genuine insights from erroneous theories and protective strategies. The notion of a "protective strategy" plays an important role throughout the book. 27

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invites wonder, admiration, "wows," "oohs" and "abs." This is not done with just one object, of course, but neither is it done with every objectthere is a canon-and the canon of such objects represents and embodies those values that define us as a culture, and thus are sacred to us. The same holds in religious studies. Just as a music historian does "music appreciation," so scholars of religion do "religion appreciation." In doing it, we serve as priests of the common culture. We even get to affirm what is sacred to us personally insofar as it belongs to this wider sense of the sacred. In joining with our colleagues to celebrate this wider sacred, we initiate students of diverse backgrounds into adulthood in the common culture, and, increasingly, into the emerging world culture as well. Yet, having this priestlike responsibility, we also have another: it is also our job to guard what is sacred to the common culture against displacement.28 As noted above, redescription of the sacred is a very touchy matter. Once it takes place, the words in which the object was sacred disappear or are no longer heard. They are replaced by other wordsunfamiliar words, without the old resonance or depth. In these new words the object remains-we are told-but it no longer seems sacred in the same way. Moreover, once the, sacrality of the object has been shown to be so readily negotiable, it may not seem sacred at all anymore. Consequently, one of our traditional tasks in the humanities has been to monitor the processes of cultural redescription very carefully, in order to see that the core values are preserved and passed on. These responsibilities to affirm and guard what is sacred to the common culture find natural expression in anti-reductionism. According to our myth of reductionism, explanation in the human sciences involves a wholesale redescription of human culture, and thus a wholesale nullification of all self-descriptions; thus, since our priestlike function is to uphold at least the core of our common self-description, we find ourselves opposing reductionism.

28 I say this as a point of fact. Some may want to argue that we have no professional obligation that is as conservative as this. Yet even where the goals of education are expressly progressive, there is an understanding that nothing truly valuable should be lost in the process, and that it is our responsibility as faculty to see that nothing truly valuable is lost. Personally, I am not always happy with this responsibility, because it conflicts with the askesis of inquiry. But by the same token, I am not always happy about the askesis of inquiry, precisely because it conflicts with this other, obviously important task. If the job description were unified, things would be easier on all ofus.

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V

Each of the motives of anti-reductionism I have mentioned assume either that redescription logically entails displacement or that it causally leads to it. Yet clearly there is no entailment: if someone redescribes us, we are free to reject the new description and retain the old one. Also, in some cases we are free to accept the new description and retain the old one as well. And, although redescription can and often does lead to displacement, it need not do so. Consequently, the solution to the problem ofreductionism is to drive a conceptual wedge between redescription and displacement. Unfortunately, in religious studies and elsewhere, the wedge used has been the distinction between interpretation and explanation. 29 To put it in the terms I have been using here, this answer assumes that interpretation can redescribe without displacing, whereas explanation cannot. Thus, this solution fails: interpretation does not avoid redescription any more than explanation does. Indeed, the only distinction we need is the distinction between redescription and displacement. Nevertheless, the distinction between interpretation and explanation contains so many important misconceptions, and is such a popular way of distinguishing acceptable from unacceptable studies of religion, that I will give it detailed treatment here. When comparing concepts of interpretation and explanation, two phrases are especially revealing: "explained away" and "reduced." Granted, we do not really do away with an object when we provide an explanation of it. 30 Nevertheless, we do redescribe it, and this redescription, if it is accepted by or enforced upon the people redescribed, may remove the object as previously described from their language, and thus from their lives. If so, there is a real loss: a world in which the sacred object is described in a certain way and described only in that way gives place to a world in which (a) it cannot be described at all, (b) it can be described only in the old way together with a new way, or (c) it can be described only in a new way. Only of (b) might we say that the object-asdescribed has survived the transition, and even in that case there has been a change. Hence the expression "explained away." The same transition can be characterized as a change from a world in which sacred events are primary to a world in which these same events 29 See Wilhelm Dilthey: Selected Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), trans. H. Rickman. 30 See Hans H. Penner and Edward A. Yonan, "Is a Science of Religion Possible?", The Journal of Religion, vol. 52 (April 1972), pp. 130-131.

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are secondary and thus no longer sacred. Hence the expressions "reduced," "reductive," "reductionist," and the like. When we turn to interpretation, however, we find that it is rarely, if ever, discussed in terms of "removal" or "diminution." We do not sayexcept in irony-"He interpreted it away," nor do we speak--except in irony-of "reductionist interpretation." In other words, even though an interpretation can replace the original language of an object with an entirely new language, we not only imagine the object surviving the process of interpretation, but we also imagine it with the same status it had prior to that process. These differences between our understandings of explanation and interpretation can be explained as follows. 31 Whereas we see interpretation as an act of mediating an audience to an object, we see scientific explanation as an act of mediating an object to a framework. In interpretation, the object is the fixed point of reference; it is respected under its current description. In explanation, by contrast, the object is not the fixed point of reference; it is not respected as currently described, but only as redescribed. Also, in scientific explanation the audience is not the focus of interest to the same degree as in interpretation. When scientific explanation is further described as "reductionist," the redescription is seen as a reevaluation as well, and an unfair one. The object is seen as having been demoted relative to its original and proper frame ofreference. 32 Yet scientific explanation not only stands in contrast to interpretation; it also stands in contrast to the pragmatics of everyday explanation. Indeed, it can easily be taken as a violation of that pragmatics, and this contributes to the sense that it "does away with" or "reduces" its object. In everyday, nonscientific explanation, an explanation is given by a speaker at the request of a hearer: e.g., "What are your shoes doing on the

31 The argument that follows is informed in part by the discussion of image schemas in Mark Johnson, The Body in the Mind: the Bodily Basis of Reason, Imagination, and Feeling (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), George Lakoff, Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), and Michael J. Reddy, "The Conduit Metaphor-A Case of Frame Conflict in Our Language about Language," in Andrew Ortony, ed., Metaphor and Thought. Note, too, that I focus on our understandings of interpretation and explanation. That is, I believe it is important at this juncture in the argument to concentrate, not on how these acts ought to take place, nor even on how they actually do take place, but rather on how we think they take place. 32 I do not have in mind a complete relativity of frames of reference, nor is any such relativity presupposed. See Davidson, 'Toe Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme," and Godlove, "In What Sense are Religions Conceptual Frameworks?"

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table?''3 3 In response to such a request, the speaker "removes" an apparent anomaly by a redescription in which the speaker tells the hearer the place of the object by invoking the hearer's frame of reference: e.g., "I was about to shine them." If the hearer accepts the explanation, then she drops the former description under which the object was anomalous. 34 Several aspects of everyday explanation are noteworthy: 1. The description of the object changes from presenting its "apparent" character to presenting its "real" character. 2. The appearance of anomaly is thus "removed." 3. The object is now seen not to be anomalous to the assumed framework but instead to fit it. 4. The object is not respected as originally described; as originally described it is anomalous, and thus problematic. 5. The hearer, however, is respected; it is her commonsense background framework to which the explanation fits the object and which is used in redescribing the object. 6. The redescription displaces the prior description of the object, else the anomaly would remain. As lay people or humanists perceive it, scientific explanation is quite different. "Explanation" as used in regard to scientific work can be seen as a metaphorical extension of "explanation" as used in everyday life. Because metaphors are ambiguous, this extension leaves room for us to be uncertain about just how much of the everyday meaning of "explanation" carries over into scientific explanation. The first three changes remain; likewise the fourth: l '. The description of the object changes from presenting its "apparent" character to presenting its "real" character. 2'. The appearance of anomaly is thus "removed." 3'. The object is now seen not to be anomalous but instead to fit. 4'. The object is not respected as originally described; as originally described it is anomalous, and thus problematic. 33 On the role of why-questions in explanation, see Bas C. van Fraassen, The Scientific Image (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), pp. 126-157, and Wesley Salmon, ''Four Decades of Scientific Explanation," in MiMesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science, XIII: Scientific Explanation, Philip Kitcher and Wesley C. Salmon, eds. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989), pp. 37-47, 134-154. 34 Bas van Fraassen emphasizes that acceptance, not necessarily belief, is the positive response to a sufficient explanation. See The Scientific Image, pp. 12, 18, 201-203. Ian Hacking writes, "[l]nstrumentalism is to be contrasted with van Fraassen's view, that theoretical expressions are to be taken literally-but not believed, merely 'accepted' and used." Representing and Intervening (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 51f, 63.

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Yet, because the background framework is no longer the commonsense framework of the hearer, the object is no longer "anomalous" in quite the same sense, and likewise it is never "fitted" to the framework in quite the same sense. The framework is now a scientific theory unfamiliar to the layperson or humanist, and the object is anomalous only in the sense in which everything in the domain of the theory is anomalous until it is given a place in the theory. Thus: 5'. The hearer is not respected; it is not her commonsense background framework to which the explanation fits the object or which is used in redescribing the object; rather, the background framework is an unfamiliar, artificially constructed scientific theory. On this view, then, everything stands in need of explanation; therefore, disturbingly, every vocabulary is subject to redescription. Finally, and importantly, the sixth feature is retained despite these differences:

6'. The redescription displaces the prior description of the object, elsethe anomaly would remain. If this analysis is correct, it is easy to understand why scientific explanation would be offensive to some people: as they understand it, the object is not respected; the hearer is not respected; the speaker, though harmful, acts involuntarily; the framework is artificial; and the entire domain-the entire world as they know it-is viewed as if it were an embarrassment in need of excuse or justification. 35 To a fully initiated scientist, however, these features, left over from the metaphorical connection with everyday explanation, have all dropped away: 1". The shift from "apparent" to "real" is a metaphysical question onwhich reasonable scientists may differ. 2". The appearance of anomaly is still "removed," but is generally understood as an appearance, an anomaly, and the removal is relative to the theory under consideration. 3". Here also, the object is now seen not to be anomalous but instead to fit.

35 I recognize, of course, that further distinctions can be made between "explanation," "excuse," and "justification. My point, however, is that in everyday speech we do not distinguish these so sharply. The request for an explanation assumes either that something is wrong or that there is something the person making the request does not understand. These features carry over as "connotations" into popular and humanistic understandings of scientific explanation.

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4". The object is neither respected nor disrespected as previously described. The ordinary description of the object, if any, is not the theory-relative description under which it is anomalous. 5". The hearer is respected; she, too, is an initiate, a fellow scientist.Thus, it is as much her background framework as the speaker's that is used in redescribing the object. 6". The redescription does not displace the prior, ordinary description of the object. Nor, in many cases, does it displace the prior, technical description of the object, since solutions are only understood in relation to the problems they solve, and some redescriptions are understood as solutions.

Little wonder, then, that scientific explanation offends the layperson and the academic humanist: the metaphorical interplay between everyday explanation" and scientific "explanation" creates plenty of room for confusion and bad feeling. Because of the misunderstanding, scientific explanation not only seems more harmful than interpretation, but seems insultingly to violate the pragmatics of everyday explanation as well. If we add to this the agenda by which scientists attempt to bring all of our world under scientific laws, organize those laws hierarchically, include religion under those laws, and apply Ockham's razor to tidy things up, then antireductionism becomes an understandable response. For, because of the misunderstanding, the scientific agenda of redescription seems to be in direct conflict with the religious agenda of continuing community. Here the crucial question is whether the "removal" of the "anomaly"-for our purposes, the religious phenomenon in the domain of explanation-requires that the prior description of the phenomenon be nullified. It does not. A scientific explanation of a phenomenon need no more nullify the prior description of a phenomenon than would an interpretation of that same phenomenon. 36 (An answer to the question, "Why do bridges ice over more quickly?", will not prevent us from reminding one another, "Bridges ice over more quickly.") Moreover, adding "reductionist" only represents the decision-the separate decision-to let the redescription nullify the original description. This is neither natural nor inevitable; where it seems so, it is only the inappropriate metaphorical carryover from the "reducing" features of ordinary explanation: e.g., "Oh, that's just his wife," which minimizes the

36 This is part of the force of van Fraassen' s work. It is true that a scientific explanation involves a total redescription of the original object; but an interpretation may do likewise, as when we translate or paraphrase. We often think of interpretation as merely returning us to the phenomenon with new eyes; but an explanation, although it does more, can certainly do the same.

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anomaly even as it fits the behavior to the audience's framework; or "Oh, that's really just his wife," which emphasizes that the anomaly was merely apparent. These features of ordinary explanation are in no way entailed or implicated by scientific explanation. 37 I have spent so much time with this, our mythology of explanation, because it is really more relevant to our concern with reductionism than a more sophisticated and technical theory of explanation would be. Most of us do not know much about science; it is an "Other." a Rorschach onto which we project fears and confusions of our own. The metaphor of "explanation" supports those projections. We have thus come to understand the difference between interpretation and explanation as the difference between an approach that leaves its object intact and an approach that does not. This difference, so far as I can see, has nothing to do with scientific explanation itself, nor with the redescriptive process that takes place in science. Hence, although redesription is often understood as a conceptual displacement, the move from redescription to displacement is always a separate decision. My point, then, is that we can have a scientific explanation of a religious phenomenon and still retain the original descriptions of it; there is no need to choose between them. The scientific explanation "redescribes" the phenomenon, but it does not "displace" either the phenomenon or its previous description. Moreover. we do not have to decide which description is "more real." The impression that this question will be decided by scientific explanation is a carryover from everyday explanation, where the apparent anomaly must either be allowed to stand or be "removed," and where its allowance or removal determines whether or not the appearance is to be regarded as "real." In regard to actual scientific explanation, the question is not forced in this same way. The successful inquirer does not have to settle this question, and others need do so only if that is their personal choice or if it is in some way required by a norm of their community. Thus, the only sense in which academics face a question of whether their redescriptive explanantes are "more real" than the originally described explananda is analogous to the sense in which philosophers of science debate realist and anti-realist views of science. The work of Max Black, George Lakoff, Mark Johnson, Mary Hesse, and others suggests 37 By "implicated" here I mean features that might be inferred by the semantics of explanation when taken together with pragmatic principles such as those of van Fraassen or Paul Grice. See Paul Grice, Studies in the Way of Words (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989), pp. 3-57, and Stephen C. Levinson, Pragmatics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 97166.

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that scientific models can be construed as extended metaphors. 38 Lakoff emphasizes a basic-level of categorization from which more sophisticated forms are built up by metaphor and metonymy, including "idealized cognitive models" such as those used in science. The question, "Which is real, the basic-level description or the idealized cognitive model?", remains open. 39 Lakoff seems to come out in favor of the basic-level description, which corresponds to common sense. The philosopher of science Bas van Fraassen takes a similar view, emphasizing the constructed (though for him literal) character of scientific theory, and the reality of our commonsense understanding of the world. Thus, if we have proposed a reductionist explanation-even if that explanation has survived all challenges-we still have not settled the question of its ontological status, and we have not addressed in any way the ontological status of the other descriptions we use. These questions remain very open indeed. 40 Thus, even though explanation does not aim to direct us to the object, it leaves us free to do so, just as interpretation does. VI

In this paper, I have suggested that our ostensibly epistemic arguments about the general viability of reductionist agendas are actually motivated by political and personal concems--concems about what might happen if some of those agendas should someday succeed. I have argued that reductionist agendas do not jeopardize the truth, and that they jeopardize self-description only if (a) those redescribed interpret the proposed accounts in a way that contradicts their self-description, and only if (b) they then adopt those descriptions instead of retaining their own. For many people, I realize, reductionist agendas look like strategies designed to deprive them of that power of choice. But redescription does not entail displacement; there is scope for choice. Results in the askesis of inquiry do not and logically cannot entail decisions that would conjoin those results with conclusions based on our other, nonepistemic interests. 38 George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Uve By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); George Lakoff, Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things; Mark Johnson, The Body in the Mind: the Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination, and Reason. See also Richard Boyd, "Meta· phor and Theory Change: What is 'Metaphor' a Metaphor for?" and Thomas S. Kuhn, "Metaphor in Science," both in Andrew Ortony, ed. Metaphor and Thought, pp. 356-419. 39 Note that it also remains unclear that the question is a good one, and yet it informs the debate between realists and anti-realists in the philosophy of science, and is likely to have comparable effects in the theory of religion. 40 For a sense of the contrast, it is instructive to read Lakoffs Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things and Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation at the same time.

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If there are reductionists who believe that their work will preempt those decisions, then they are mistaken. Our freedom to redescribe others is matched by their freedom not only (a) to decide whether to accept those redescriptions but also (b) to decide whether to allow those redescriptions to replace the self-description they already have. It may seem odd to think that the question of reductionism is basically a matter of freedom, but the failure to notice this is merely a result of our having muddied the issue by treating a large number of a posteriori questions-questions about the adequacy of each and every possible explanation of religion, no less!-as if they were a single question that coukl be settled a priori. The a priori epistemic question, "Are reductionist methods appropriate to the study of religion?", is a pseudo-question that can be dissolved by reflecting on the paradox of explanation. Yet the political problem that underlies this pseudo-question is an important one: how to free academic studies of religion from obscurantism without violating the rights of the people whose lives we redescribe. As scholars, we can only be free from obscurantism if we are free to redescribe, and our redescriptive enterprise cannot begin by granting the accuracy of the self-descriptions of religious peoples. 41 Not only would this be contradictory-their self-descriptions disagree with one anotherbut this would make religious studies an "inquiry" that began by having its answers ahead of time. As such, it would be a form of "inquiry" that would have little to say, little to offer. In that case, we would do better simply to remain silent and let the people of the traditions speak for themselves. In fact, however, we have a great deal to say, and have begun to say it. In saying it, we often generalize; in applying these generalizations, we often explain; and through correcting and revising our explanations, we may someday succeed in understanding human religion. Yet this freedom to redescribe people cannot preempt their freedom to choose their own self-descriptions. Thus, although the emphasis of my argument in this paper has been to resist encroachments on academic freedom of inquiry, I would argue equally that academics have no right to encroach on the freedom of belief of nonacademics. We have the benefits of an ivory tower only because we have its limitations. It is not our business to change the world by enforcing redescriptions, tempting as that may sometimes seem.42 See Proudfoot, Religious Experience, chapters 5 and 6. We hope, of course, that the world will be better for our teaching and research, but convictions about religion can easily lead to imposing redescriptions on our students. See John Searle, "The Storm Over the University," The New York Review of Books, December 6, 1990, and Gerald Grafts response in subsequent issues. 41

42

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In religious studies, this restraint is especially important. We, above all, need the protective preserve of academia in which to do our work, for our subject matter is intimately important to nonacademics. We have a right to be protected from their interference only if they have a right to be protected from ours. Yet the way to ensure both freedoms is not to sneak political measures into our methodological slogans, but simply to identify and assert the rights of all parties. At times this may require institutional means; certainly universities should implement policies that guarantee both freedoms. In general, however, they can be maintained most effectively simply by agreeing to make them part of the ethos of our community, as an informal condition of membership. William James spoke to the heart of the matter: No one of us ought to issue vetoes to the other, nor should we bandy words of abuse. We ought, on the contrary, delicately and profoundly to respect one another's mental freedom: then only shall we bring about the intellectual republic; then only shall we have that spirit of inner tolerance without which all OUT outer tolerance is soulless, and which is empiricism's glory; then only shall we live and let live, in speculative as well as in practical things. 43

43 William James, 'Toe Will to Believe," in Louis P. Pojman, ed., Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology (Belmont, California: Wadsworth, 1987), p. 395.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

EXPLAINING, ENDORSING, AND REDUCING RELIGION: SOME CLARIFICATIONS Daniel L. Pals

Perhaps the first comment on religion and reductionism should be addressed to readers (and they are not few) impatient of "arcane, theoretical disputes. They need to know that the current, spirited debate over explanations is not some mere modem residue of medieval scholasticism; it runs to the very heart of Religious Studies as an intellectual discipline. Though not then known by the name, the current issue of reductive explanation confronted the science of religion already in its formative years. Today, after more than a century of study has passed, it has not really disappeared. Probably, it is perennial. It is true of course that not everyone likes to debate perennial questions, especially when they may tum out to be institutionally or politically contentious. And that may be part of the reason why the discussion generated by Robert Segal's provocative essay "In Defense of Reductionism"1 has been confined chiefly to those who take a special interest in questions of scholarly method. For a variety of reasons, the last quartercentury has been an era of generally good feeling in Religious Studies. On most sides in the academy, a harmony of interests has prevailed. Confessionalism has been muted and discreet; public disputes between belief and unbelief have been rare.2 In the United States, where the field has flourished institutionally, its success has been built on an intellectual axiom which parallels the American political one. Just as people who practice differing personal faiths can share a common ground of public life, so scholars of the most diverse personal persuasions can share the ground of a common intellectual discipline. Objective study and teaching

1 First published in the Journal of the American Academy of Religion in 1983, the "Defense" is reprinted, with revisions, in Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Corifrontation, Brown Studies in Religion, no. 3 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), pp. 5-36. 2 A variety of cultural and academic forces have coalesced to create this mood; among them are the shifts from foundationalism to relativism in modem epistemology, new interests in religion and the arts, a new rapprochement with social sciences, and perhaps not least, the general prosperity of Religious Studies departments in the academy as a whole.

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"about" religion, as Supreme Court Justice Arthur Goldberg stated in 1963, is a perfectly legitimate and useful enterprise. 3 But is it possible to say anything truly meaningful "about" religion, or a religion, without at the same time being driven to assume a stance either "for" or "against" it? That is really the crux of the reductionist debateand the burden of the challenge posed by Segal's arguments, not only in the "Defense," but in assorted other essays of exposition and controversy published over more than a decade and now assembled in his Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation (1989). 4 Like Donald Wiebe, his sometime ally and equally provocative Canadian counterpart, Segal thinks the clear answer to this question is: No. For him there is no comfortable "middle ground" in Religious Studies, no shared soil on which believers of differing stripes, or believers and nonbelieving scholarly interpreters, can come together to analyze and explain, while still remaining intellectual partners. As I have written elsewhere, even in critique, there is much to commend in Segal's essays. 5 They represent aggressive, singularly forthright attempts to remind everyone that perennial questions do not go away just because at the moment few people are interested in addressing them. At the same time, they tend to proceed abstractly, with a generic style and at a somewhat hurried pace, both of which make it difficult for non-theorists to assess their import. This essay, accordingly, can be of some help in the matter if read on two levels: partly as an attempt to assess Segal's views; partly also as an exercise in clarification for the non-specialist, with special reference to certain paradigmatic examples. Its thesis is fairly straightforward: The moment we look closely at specific cases of interpretation, the simple choices Segal presents us become rather more complicated than his expositions would seem to suggest. SEGAL's DIVIDE A "reduction," as anyone familiar with the current debate intuitively knows, is a form of explanation. Loosely used, the term can apply to any one explanation of a phenomenon which purports to be better than oth-

3 For a discussion of "neutrality" and the Courts Abington v. Schemp decision, which generated Goldberg's comment, see George C. Bedell, Leo Sandon, Jr., and Charles T. Wellborn, Religion in America, 2nd ed., (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc., 1982), pp. 81-84. • See n. 1 above. s Review of Religion and the Social Sciences (hereafter RSS), in Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 1, no. 2 (Fall 1989): 221-231.

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ers. 6 When successful, a reductive explanation claims to be complete, with the result that rival accounts are seen to be erroneous, and complementary or concurrent ones may be pronounced unnecessary. In more specific terms, as employed in the philosophy of the natural sciences, a reduction presumes the existence of a hierarchy-of things or theories, or both-and then seeks to account fully for those phenomena which seem to require higher theories in terms of the theories which are lower and more basic. The classic reductionist instance in the natural sciences is the attempt to reduce all biological conceptions and theories to those of physics and chemistry, or even all chemical ones to those of physics alone. 7 For the most part, Segal seems to presume this second, stronger sense of the term reduction. 8 More importantly, he employs it in a variety of places and ways to outline a critical interpretive divide. In seeking to account for religious phenomena, he contends, scholarly interpreters can opt for only one of two mutually incompatible altematives. 9 Either they explain religion non-religiously, by tracing its manifestations to underly• Some participants in the debate over religion and reductionism use the term in this broad sense; see, for example John Y. Fenton, "Reductionism in the Study of Religions," Soundings 53 (Spring 1970): 61-76. A further account of the definitional issues and varied understandings of "reduction" can be found in my "Reductionism and Belief," Journal of Religion 66, no. 1 (January 1986): 20-24. 7 In both the philosophy of science and the methodological disputes of the humanities, the meaning and import of "reduction" are much in dispute. The well-stocked bibliographies Segal appends both to the "Defense" and a number of his other essays, most notably '"The Social Sciences and the Truth of Religious Belief," in RSS pp. 83-86, offer useful introductions to these complicated debates. For a still helpful brief introduction to the types of reduction, including the distinction between ontological (reduction of things) and theoretical (reduction of theories), see A. R. Peacocke, "Reductionism: A Review of the Epistemological Issues and Their Relevance to the Problem of Consciousness," Zygon 11, no. 4 (December 1976): 307-34. • He seems content, at any rate, with imagery that places religious reasons on the surface and discovers more basic, social-scientific causes lie underneath them. See, for example, his "Addendum" to the "Defense" in RSS, p. 28. There, in response to my earlier critique, he writes of Mircea Eliade, "Not even the most uncompromising reductionist denies the putatively religious origin, function, and meaning of religion. No less than Eliade does the reductionist start at the irreducibly religious level . . . Unlike Eliade, the reductionist does not stop at the surface level." Again, in "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," Zygon 25, no. 3 (September 1990): 265, Segal distinguishes between the manifest religious nature of religion, and its (social-scientifically discerned) "true," or ultimate, nature. 9 In his most recent essay on the subject, "Misconceptions of the Social Sciences," pp. 265-69, Segal seems for the first time to move away from the assertion of this stark divide, which remains constant throughout his earlier essays. The resulting position, however, is confusing. On the one hand, he calls it a misconception to suppose that "a social scientific analysis of religion precludes an irreducibly religious one", (p. 266 [Italics removed]); yet on the other he claims, rather cryptically, that "the social sciences 'expose' the religious explanation as other than the exclusive or main one but not as an explanation at all." This is more than a little ambiguous. What precisely is the status of religious explanations after they have been social-scientifically "exposed"? Are they exposed as only apparent rather than real? As real, but simply as partial? As real, but merely as secondary? Needless to say, only when we know just what social science precludes can we decide whether religionists misconceive when they suppose it to be a threat.

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ing non-religious causes; or they explain religion religiously, and thereby theoretically assume "the standpoint of the believer."10 The former is the way of the social sciences, of psychology, sociology, anthropology, and even secular history; the latter is the way of religionists, whose ultimate aim, as it turns out, is not just to understand religion, but to embrace and defend it. Their concern is to protect belief from the threats of its socialscientific adversaries. Non-believers, on the other hand, have no choice but to turn away from the believer's stance-and toward social science. To be sure, theorists uncomfortable with these extremes like to advocate interpretive "empathy," but in fact, they delude themselves, for there is no such thing: Take the conventional statement that nonbelievers can accept, as the true meaning of religion for the believer, the reality of the sacred. How can nonbelievers accept the reality of the sacred for even the believer when they themselves refuse to accept the reality of it? . . . They can profess to "respect" the believer's point of view. But such respect is self-deceptive. One cannot respect what one denies ... Nonbelievers would be left with a meaning that they not only would have to reject but would want to reject . . . They would be left with a phenomenon ... which they had barred themselves from deciphering. 11

In brief, there are only two options in the study of religion. One can reduce; or one can endorse. Tertium non datur. Do RELIGIONISTS ENDORSE? The obvious and primary question to ask about this disjunction is: Does it stand scrutiny? More pointedly, does it survive once we descend from the realm of abstractions and look closely at actual specimens of interpretation? Is it true that religionists inevitably endorse, while social scientists inescapably reduce? Let us examine some instances and see. We can start with a case from the very beginnings of modem religious science-that of Max Muller himself. About Muller's status as religionist there can be no doubt. English-speaking scholarship regards him the patriarch of the field. When in 1870 he delivered his celebrated "Lectures on the Science of Religion," to the Royal Institution in London, he was inspired by the conviction that the age of objective discussion was already 10 Segal is of course well aware of the widely discussed distinction between ''understanding" (or Verstehen) and "explanation." But he does not regard it as a help in escaping the dilemma of his great divide. In the process of rejecting it he provides an intriguing, and substantial, analysis of the Verstehen tradition. Some of his judgments are debatable, but the issues are complicated, the bibliography lengthy, and the subject requires an article, or more, unto itself. See "Defense," in RSS, pp. 14-17. 11 Segal, "Defense," in RSS, p. 21.

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dawning. 12 "A Science of Religion," he wrote, "based on an impartial and truly scientific comparison of all, or at all events, the most important, religions of mankind, is now only a question of time." 13 The rest of his life's main labor was to be devoted to the fulfillment of this ideal. Yet at the same time, Miiller had full confidence that such impartiality held no terrors for the religiously devout: But this I will say, that, as far as my humble judgment goes, it (the science) does not entail the loss of anything that is essential to true religion, and that if we strike the balance honestly, the gain is immeasurably greater than the loss. 14

There was good reason why Millier could say this. A Kantian and a Romantic, he held that "true religion" consisted essentially of belief in God, the immortal soul, and a future retribution. He was fully confident that so far from imperilling such beliefs, his researches actually enhanced them. On a first look, then, Millier clearly seems to fit Segal's pattern. He is a religionist who in respect of three quite basic affirmations clearly endorsed religious belief. But what about his explanations of these beliefs? In the four series of Gifford Lectures he delivered between 1888 and 1892, as well as numerous other works, Millier explored the origins ofreligion. 15 He gave wide-ranging accounts of the development of these conceptions in human consciousness. He discovered them in antiquity, preeminently in his beloved Vedas; he saw them also among the Greeks; he intimated that they were universal, finding them not only among Aryans, but in other cultures from around the world; and he traced their rise to the observation of nature and constraints of language. What he did not do was what some of his readers urgently believed that he should do. He did not cite the Bible, still less any Vedic text, on the ground that it had come down as the revealed "Word of God." He did not-indeed he could not-appeal to supernatural explanations. 16 Supernatural explanation, 12 These were published in 1873 under the title Introduction to the Science of Religion, new ed. (Longmans, Green, and Co., 1882). On Muller and his theories see, among others, Eric Sharpe, Comparative Religion (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1975), pp. 35-46, and more recently, Joseph M. Kitagawa and John S. Strong, "Friedrich Max Millier and the Comparative Study of Religion," in Ninian Smart, et al., Nineteenth Century Religious Thought, vol. 3 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985), pp. 179-213. 13 Millier, Introduction, p. 26. 14 Ibid., p. 8. "The Gifford Lectures were published as Natural Religion (1888), Physical Religion (1890), Anthropological Religion (1891), and Theosophy, or Psychological Religion (1892); see Kitagawa and Strong, "Friedrich Max MUiler," p. 184. 16 Millier was of course obligated not to appeal to supernatural proofs-both by the terms of the Gifford trust and by the rules of his new science.

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however, was precisely what orthodoxy required. For certain of Muller's Victorian readers it did not take long to discern in him the voice of one who was by no means an evident friend of faith. Traditional Protestants found little to like in expositions which made no mention of Biblical revelation. Catholic spokesmen were unimpressed with interpretations that made no recourse to miracles, or explained them chiefly by explaining them away.17 From their perspectives, whatever residual theism muller had found his way to endorse was insignificant next to the supernatural essentials he had managed to reduce. So limited was the "endorsement" he gave, that to the eyes of Christian orthodoxy, this religionist might better be called a reductionist. If in some respects his interpretations embraced belief, in others of equal or greater importance they quite unmistakably did not. We can take things a step further Muller himself was a little ambivalent about what his natural arguments from the history of mankind actually proved with regard to the truth of religious beliefs. In a curious passage from Anthropological Religion-one seemingly oblivious to the genetic fallacy-he seems to say that an historical account of religion's rise can after all be "the best proof of the ... truth of the conclusions to which it has led."18 Yet this very reasoning is preceded by a significant, and more convincing, concession: All therefore that the historical student of religion maintains that he has proved is that man, being what he is, and simply using the instruments of knowledge which he possesses, cannot escape from a belief in an infinite Being, whatever forms it may assume in the historical development of the human race. 19

We can leave aside the first claim and fix for a moment on this sentence. As we look across the whole of Milller's extensive literature on religion, we find an array of essentially humanistic explanations for the origin of belief-the celebrated "solar myth," the "disease of language," the "sense of the infinite," and various other conceptions. Some of these may retain some plausibility; others have long since been exploded. But notice: despite Muller's own intimation to the contrary, none of these accounts logically entails endorsement of the truth of the beliefs they explain. Not only does Muller the religionist fail to endorse supernatural explanations of the beliefs he accepts; his own natural theories, despite his wish, fur17 On orthodox dissatisfaction and Miiller's response, including his naturalist rationalizations of miracles, see his "Preface" to the new issue of Anthropological Religion, as volume three of his Collected Works, (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1898), pp. vi-xx. 18 Anthropological Religion, p. 96. 19 Ibid.

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nish no endorsement either. Without difficulty, in fact, we can imagine a non-believing Mtiller, a subscriber to all of his theories, whose "endorsement" would consist essentially of the recognition that religion does indeed consist in three (plainly erroneous) central beliefs which seem to arise everywhere from natural human inclination. Such a person would certainly be a religionist, but his theories would plainly offer no guarantees in the way of either approving or protecting belief. In brief, we can quite easily conceive of a Mtiller manque-a religionist, yet wholly free of religious endorsement. Segal, for his part, sees things differently. When he speaks of religionists, he speaks almost invariably of Mircea Eliade. And Eliape in his view has throughout his career done little more than ingeniously plead the case of religion under the twin masks of scholarly disinterest and the doctrine of irreducibility. Segal's comments on the doyen of the discipline are strong and unambiguous: When Eliade implores fellow religionists to focus on "what a religious experience ultimately is," he is referring to the irreducible religiosity of the experience. A need for the sacred may be necessary for an experience to be irreducibly religious, but the experience is religious only when the need gets fulfilled by the presence of the sacred. The irreducible religiosity of religious experience, for Eliade the heart of religion, thus refers to the reality of the object of religious experience: the sacred. 20

Again, In opposing the social sciences, Eliade is ... committed to an irreducibly religious view-the believer's presumed one-of ... the origin, function, and meaning of religion. I argue that Eliade is in fact thereby committed to the believer's view of the object, or referent, of religion as well. I argue that he is committed to the reality of the sacred itself, not merely of the human quest for it. 21

And by extension: What is true of Eliade is, I believe, true of other historians of religions as well. They profess only to be conveying the believer's point of view, but in actuality they are endorsing it. They are therefore necessarily believers themselves. 22

The assertions Segal makes here are clear enough, but the line of reasoning they follow is less so. Let us grant that Eliade personally was a religious man; grant too that his inner motive for defending belief in the sacred as irreducible was also personally religious. Segal agrees that

"Defense," in RSS, p. 8. "Are Historians of Religions Necessarily Believers?" in RSS, p. 39. 22 Ibid., p. 41. 20

21

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these things do not matter; only Eliade's theories as a religionist do. 23 His theories, however, presume 1) that all human beings need an experience of the sacred; 2) that only an experience of an actually existent sacred reality can fulfill this need; and 3) that for believers, accordingly, this need does get fulfilled.

The second of these premises is of course the one that is controversial, for it introduces theology into theory. Now ultimately the experts on Eliade will have to decide, but it seems to me that there is ample room for doubt whether his literature ever commits him to such an axiom. Even if occasional passages may be susceptible of such readings, is it plausible to think this was their intent? In support of his view, Segal resorts to the distinctions made often in his essays between the origin, function, and meaning ofreligion. He concedes that Eliade's view of the origin ofreligion (in the need for the sacred) does not commit him to its reality. But his views of the meaning and of the function of religion apparently do. 24 With respect to the latter, the function of religion: Eliade is committed to the reality of the sacred only if he is committed to the reality of the need for it as well as of the fulfillment of that need. If Eliade is saying not that believers really need the sacred but only that they think they do, religion could succeed not by actually linking them to the sacred but only by convincing them that it had ... Nowhere, however, does Eliade characterize the need religion fulfills as less than a need actually to reach the sacred. Hence he writes ... of "religious man's desire to live in the sacred" ... , not of his desire merely to think that he has. 25

Here especially there is good reason to think Eliade is being misread. Of course he would not have written, in some second order fashion, of man's "desire merely to think that he has" reached the sacred. He wrote instead of man's real desire to reach what he thinks is the sacred. Certainly the latter is the formulation which rings true to Eliade, and it entails no theoretical endorsement of belief. Further, even if Segal's reading of Eliade were correct, to how many other historians of religion would it genuinely apply? The understanding ofreligion which underlies their daily practice

23 He concedes that Eliade's--and presumably any other religionist's--personal religious motives and convictions stand outside the question of the legitimacy of his theoretical stance. See "Robert Segal's Reply" to Eric Sharpe in Religious Traditions 11 (1988): 14. 24 On these distinctions with reference to Eliade's views, see "Are Historians of Religion Necessarily Believers?" in RSS, p. 39. He refers readers to the original "Defense," Journal of the American Academy of Religion 51 (March 1983): 109-15, for his argument that Eliade's view of the meaning of religion commits him to the reality of the sacred. 25 "Are Historians ... Believers?" in RSS, p. 40.

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runs something like this: Many human beings manifest a real need for what they perceive to be the sacred. Religion, by linking them to the sacred they perceive, seems to satisfy this need.

Surely, that is all one needs in order to claim empathy without endorsement. Apart from personal commitments, which admittedly are another issue, isn't it all that most religionists ever really presuppose? RELIGIONISTS AND REDUCTION

The qualifications that obtain whenever we speak of religionists "endorsing" religion apply somewhat similarly in the case of their stance opposing reduction. What needs to be noticed in Segal' s arguments, as often elsewhere in reductionist debate, is that a great deal is made to hinge upon some very general phrases which recur often in the discussion-phrases such as: "the standpoint of the believer," "the truth (or falsehood) of belief," and "endorsing (or reducing) religion" with the latter conceived in a broad, undifferentiated manner. Unfortunately, when we come to specific interpretive cases, these simple phrases bear a content which is exceedingly complex. In order to see this more clearly, consider another explanatory instance-this one from Freud, who unlike Muller manifested a fundamental hostility to belief. Throughout his works Freud offered various arguments against religion, some of which were decidedly reductionist, others less so. Though not really the purest instance, the central argument of The Future of an Illusion (1927) is perhaps the simplest to restate. 26 There Freud holds that the human struggle to build a secure culture in the face of a hostile nature is destined ultimately to fail. In the end, accident, disease, or death is the fate of all. Unable to face this grim prospect, immature minds create, against reason, a world of false comfort. Out of childish habit they frame the illusion of God, the supernatural Father, as ultimate security against nature's terrors. With the growth of knowledge, however, such wish-induced belief must inevitably be exposed as delusion; as that happens, the idea of God is destined to disappear. Because belief is illusion, it has no future. This argument of Freud's is Inixed in character; it appeals partly to conscious human reasons, partly to subconscious prerational childhood desires. To the degree that he emphasizes the role of elemental childish

26

.

Tr. W. D. Robson-Scott (Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Co., 1957) .

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wish over that of mature, rational agency in the framing of the idea of God, Freud can here be considered reductionist. Now it is not hard to imagine the response of the religious believer to Freud's general position. He believes God exists; Freud does not. Freud thinks religion retrograde and psychically unhealthy; he does not. Freud finds the origin of religion immature and sub-rational; he thinks it the product of responsible adult reflection. The gulf fixed between these two is indeed great; and Segal's divide is very much in place. Now let us consider the professional student of religion. On Segal's reasoning, if she is a genuine "religionist," one who approaches things from the "standpoint of the believer," she must be in fact a believer. In sympathizing with belief she has chosen, like Eliade, to endorse it. But this is just not so. We can easily imagine a certified religionist who, with Freud, denies God, but at the same time denies everything else asserted by Freud. However resolute an atheist, she can still insist that religion originates not in infantile wish, but in mature, even if mistaken, reasoning about the world. Despite her disbelief, she can deny that religion is retrograde or psychically repressive; it could after all be regarded as a therapeutic fantasy. Despite her dislike, she can concede that belief will in fact not disappear. In short, while committed to rejecting the standpoint of the believer in one respect, she is perfectly free to embrace it in others, without ever committing to belief. But why, if she is an atheist, would a religionist ever want to endorse a believer's standpoint overagainst the reductionism of Freud? Here we in some ways come to the heart of the issue. The tradition of Religious Studies, from Max Muller to the Marburg platform and beyond, has historically been that of humanistic interpretation.27 It understands religion, like law and literature and culture generally, to be a creation of conscious human intelligence, will, and feeling. It is therefore committed, axiomatically as it were, to opposing interpretive theories which denigrate, or discount, the active agency of the human mind, whether considered individually or in community. By contrast, the aims of Marx, Freud, Durkheim and much of early modem social science have been precisely the opposite. In varying degrees, their common concern has been to unearth social, economic, psychological or other underlying causes which offer better explanations than conscious human intent. As contributors to

27 I have tried to address this question at greater length in "Is Religion a Sui Generis Phenomenon?" Journal of the American Academy of Religion 55, no. 2 (Summer, 1987): 259-282. Further comment on the 1960 Marburg manifesto and the humanist tradition may be found in my "Autonomy, Legitimacy, and the Study of Religion," Religion 20 (Ja,wary 1990): 1-16.

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the larger task of understanding religion, these theories have proved themselves immensely valuable. But when any one of them claims to be complete, that is, claims to "reduce" religion to the exclusive product of sub-consciously human forces-whether material, social, or psychological-the religionist opposes them. Notice, though, that she does so not on theological grounds, because they challenge certain beliefs; but on disciplinary conceptual grounds, because they in her view fail to appreciate the indispensable role of the human agent. Regardless, then, of which side we consider-whether the religionist's "endorsement" of belief or her rejection of reduction-Segal's theological indictment comes finally to something rather like a large red herring. To be sure, in opposing non-humanist reduction, the aims of belief and the intents of religious science manage to coincide. But as should now be clear, that is fruit of coincidence, not necessity. If we look closely at the language of the recent debate, I think we can discover why this suspicion of theology in Religious Studies has arisen, and why it also persists. Like fellow theorist Donald Wiebe, Segal tends to outline his divide on the premise that interpretive stances are adopted only with reference to broad abstractions, which are to be read as unitary, indivisible things. With respect to "religion" as a whole, therefore, one can only be either "for" or "against." Since there are these two, and only two, mutually exclusive choices, interpreters then fall clearly into one camp or the other. Either there is inescapable reduction, or there is theological intrusion. But this kind of argument will work only when we refuse to attend to particular cases, and only as long as the discussion continues to be framed exclusively in generic language, where any given religion, or any given believer's self-understanding, is always a single, purely supernaturalist thing. 28 The basic facts of human religious experience suggest that almost never is this actually the case. Even in the minds of simple believers, religious systems are epistemologically complex. They blend both natural and supernatural elements in complicated ways. Distinctions need to be made between first-order beliefs, which may or may not be supernatural, and second-order explanations of beliefs, which may be either supernatural or natural as well. Consider in this connection, and as a quite familiar instance, the varied epistemological status of Christian beliefs. We can agree that faith in God is a supernatural belief; Christians, that is, assert the existence of a

28 See "Autonomy, Legitimacy, and the Study of Religion," pp. 11-14, and "Autonomy Revisited: A Rejoinder to its Critics," Religion 20 (1990): 34-36 especially. The discussion that follows reproduces some of the points made in these articles.

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supernatural Supreme Being. Neo-orthodox Christians assert that this belief is genuine only when accompanied by a supernatural explanation. It originates in divine revelation. Deist liberal Christianity-at least in its more militant form-asserts precisely the opposite. Because there is no supernatural revelation, such a belief can only be traced to the unaided natural reason of mankind-its discovery of design in the universe, or a sublime First Cause. Classic Thomist Catholicism takes still a third view. Belief in God is reached naturally by those who understand the arguments for God's existence, but supernaturally-through the Bible and the Church-by those who have neither the time nor talent for philosophy. Notice too how in the case of Deism (clearly a religion) one could provide a wholly natural account of its history and beliefs without ever violating the supernatural claim (that God exists) which forms the first article of its creed. Obviously, similar instances could be reproduced for numerous other religions that make supernatural claims, but no claim to supernatural revelation. Parallel instances of similar complexities can just as easily be found. 29 So long as these things are so, interpreters will always be faced with interpretive circumstances considerably more complicated than one which compels us exclusively either to endorse or to reduce. DOES SOCIAL SCIENCE REDUCE?

Since this volume is concerned primarily with religion and reduction, it would not here be germane to explore at length the second side of Segal' s divide: the claim that social science must inevitably reduce. Nonetheless, it may be worth the effort to add a brief, final comment on this matter as well, especially since it figures so prominently in the case against religionist endorsement. According to Segal, early social science-which includes among others figures such as Marx and Freud, Tylor, Durkheim, Malinowski, Frazer, and Jung-was not in all cases hostile to religion. Some of these thinkers actually found it culturally helpful. What they all did agree on is a certain way of explaining religion. They saw no need to account for the origin or function of religion irreducibly-that is, "from the standpoint of the believer." Historians of religion, says Segal, assume that believers

29 For example, a religion can also make a purely natural claim--say, that King David ruled in Israel--and explain it either on purely natural grounds, as arising from historical consensus that the Books of Samuel are reliable, or on the supernatural ground that the Hebrew Bible is God's inspired and infallible revelation.

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explain religion irreducibly religiously: as originating and functioning to link them to the sacred, which they seek not as the means to an end but as the end itself. Certainly all of the earlier social scientists ... explained religion otherwise. Religion for all of them arose to serve an economic, psychological, social, or explanatory end, not a uniquely religious one. 30

In the last generation, however, there has been a new tum. A variety of more recent figures-among them Peter Berger, Clifford Geertz, Robert Bellah, Victor Turner, and Erik Erikson-have been embraced by historians of religion as non-reductive social theorists. Like religionists, they are considerably more interested in explaining things "from the standpoint of the believer." Indeed some, such as Berger and Bellah, have publicly announced themselves non-reductionist in method and intent. They and other current social theorists seem to be moving from their side across Segal's divide.just as plainly as religionists, drawing on social sciences as supplements, have customarily made their passage across it from the other. Rapprochement, not confrontation, seems the order of the new day. Segal is not convinced. There is reason to doubt, he says, "whether recent social scientific explanations touted as nonreductive really are."31 If well-meaning but imperceptive practitioners of the trade happen to think otherwise, they are welcome to do so. But they will have to be forgiven, for they know not what they do. Says Segal, "Whatever accounts for the difference in explanations, historians (of religion) must, I assert, pronounce those of interpretive social scientists reductive."32 To be true to itself, social science must reduce. Segal's commitment to his principle, even in the face of social scientists' seemingly contrary practice, is something to be admired. But once again, the reasons provided seem less than compelling. What does he say? Where historians (of religion) attribute religion to a yearning for the sacred itself, interpretive social scientists attribute it to a yearning for, most often, a meaningful life . . . . Whatever accounts for the difference in explanations, historians must, I assert, pronounce those of interpretive social scientists reductive. 33

Again, writing of Bellah's symbolic realism, as well as of Berger and Geertz:

Robert Segal, "Have the Social Sciences Been Converted?" in RSS, p. 57. Ibid., p. 58. 32 Ibid. 33 Ibid. 30

31

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CHAPTER TwELVE Because symbolic realism seeks the meaning of religion for believers, it is for Bellah identical with nonreductionism. Whether Bellah in fact captures the believer's point of view is not, however, the issue. Whether that point of view is, as for historians of religions, irreducibly religious is. Clearly, it is not, and for the same reason that it is not for Berger and Geertz: religion is only a means, however invaluable, to a secular end. 34

These remarks are intriguing, to say the least. In the first place, if this is the distance theory must travel to save the case for reductionism, we may well ask whether the rescue is really worth the effort. Remember, the story of social science and religion begins with real and potent differences. Marx, Freud, and Durkheim offered robust theories that aggressively reduced the conscious ideas and intents of believers to mere epiphenomena churned up by powerful forces-material, social, psychic-that ultimately control consciousness. Now, however, we are in a very changed circumstance. Religion's old, feared adversaries have moved to a position where the only difference to be found turns upon a very fine distinction between two kinds of meaning: religious for religionists, secular for social scientists. Secondly, even if we concede this claim, are we not here at the end of things facing an instance of a distinction without a difference? Meaning, after all, is meaning, regardless of whether we call upon secular or sacred sources to provide it. To the historian of religion, human beings are creatures whose search for meaning does not seem to end until it reaches religion. To the newer social scientist, human beings are creatures in search of meaning, and many seem to find it in religion. There may in fact be a difference there, but for all interpretive purposes it seems to have become insignificant. Elsewhere I have tried to point out how Segal's approach to the issue of the religion and reduction is reminiscent of a soldier on the march but curiously unable to find enemies. 35 Outside of Mircea Eliade, whose status as a theoretical friend of faith is itself in doubt, not many religionists inescapably committed to endorsement can easily be found. In Segal's approach to social science, we see somewhat the same soldier, but now in search of allies. Yet instead of joining his fight, current sociology, psychology and related disciplines seem to be marching resolutely in the opposite direction. What contemporary social science offers to religionists looks a great deal more like reconciliation than confrontation. The more fully it tries to account for religion in terms of the human search for

34 35

Ibid., p. 61. Review of RSS in Method and Theory in the Study of Religion, pp. 229-230.

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meaning, the need to find a coherent ethos and world-view, the more it seems to be saying what non-reductive religionists have been saying all along. Tenacious as he may be of his theories, it is a credit to Segal' s intellectual honesty that he is always willing to bow to the facts. At the close of one of his best essays-on modem sociology of religion-he seems ready to concede this point: Even if contemporary sociologists of religion still stop short of what at least historians of religions like Eliade deem the believer's point of view, their accounts of religion are undeniably closer to the believer's presumed own than those of their predecessors. The fulfillment of an innate need for order is surely closer to the believer's own explanation of religiosity than the fulfillment of a need for a stable society. 36

In the practice of religionists the simple antinomy between religion and reduction was never wholly applicable. It is a healthy sign to observe that the simple equation of social science with reduction now grows gradually less appropriate as well. The more pronounced this move toward convergence, the less contentious the debate over reduction and religion is likely to become.

36

Segal, 'The 'De-sociologizing' of the Sociology of Religion," in RSS, p. 132.

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BEFORE "TIIE SACRED" BECAME THEOLOGICAL: REREADING TIIE DURKHEIMIAN LEGACY 1

William E. Paden We should also need to know what constitutes these sacred things .... Here we have a group of phenomena which are irreducible to any other group of phenomena. 2 -EMILE DURKHEIM

Critics have objected that the concept of the sacred as used in Eliadean phenomenology of religion is too theological and ontological to be appropriate for modern religious studies.3 They claim that the expression, "the sacred," refers either implicitly or explicitly to an a priori religious reality-to an object that is transcendent, mysterious, wholly other, unknowable, and which therefore is not ultimately an object for analysis. Thus the linchpin concept that once defined, unified, and inspired the history of religions field-that to some extent gave it a reason for existing-appears now to divide it into opposing camps. On the surface, the division seems to have something to do with those who would imply some religious privilege for "the sacred" and those who would like to abandon the term and its overtones. Because much of the current debate about the irreducibility of religion is epitomized in this question of discourse about the sacred, this essay examines some of the pre-Eliadean uses of the term among the Durkheimians, exploring how the question of irreducibility posed itself before "the sacred" became reified, and then drawing some contemporary conclusions. 1 The first version of this essay was presented at a panel for the History of the Study of Religion group at the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion in New Orleans, November, 1990, and subsequently was published in Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 3, no. 1 (Fall, 1991). 2 Durkheim, "Concerning the Definition of Religious Phenomena," in W.S.F. Pickering, Durkheim on Religion: A Selection of Readings with Bibliographies, trans. Jacqueline Redding and W.S.F. Pickering, 88. 3 For example, Hans H. Penner, Impasse and Resolution: A Critique of the Study of Religion (New York: Peter Lang Press, 1990), ch. 1; and Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, Brown Studies in Religion, no. 3 (Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 1989).

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For Durkheim, "the sacred" is not synonymous with a transcendental, mysterious, unknowable object of religious experience. It is not a term for mystery, power, force, or mana. It is not an object at all. It is certainly not divinity, nor is it something that "manifests" itself. It is most certainly not the Wholly Other. In fact, Durkheim primarily uses the term as an adjective, as in "sacred things." Here it is not a term of revelation but an index of a system of behavior and representation which follows its own rules. 4 Even apart from Durkheim's sociological explanations, it is an intelligible category of description. Yet it was not Durkheimian language which was to form the predominant model of the sacred (or the holy) in modem religious studies. Rather, this was anticipated through the work of those like the English anthropologist R.R. Marett5 and the Scandinavian religionists Nathan Soderblom and Edvard Lehmann. Whether from the anthropological or theological side, these and their descendants adopted "mana" as a prototype for "the sacred" or "the holy," making such expressions synonyms for the supernatural object to which religious behavior was the response. Thus Soderblom and Lehmann construed religion as a set of patterned responses to "the holy" and had published works on this by 1914,6 before Otto's classic-forming a trajectory that was to become the mainstream phenomenology of religion movement. It is this second, object-oriented approach to the sacred that may be called the theological or supernatural model, and might as well be called the "mana model." In it the sacred is the name for the transcendent reality to which religious experience points and to which it responds. This mana model is the one that has come under criticism. • Ian Hamnett notes that Durkheim's work anticipated structuralist approaches to "systems of symbols." See his "Durkheim and the Study of Religion," in Durkheim and Modern Sociology, ed. Steve Fenton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 202-219. From a different viewpoint, arguing the need to investigate the "sacred" as a behavioral phenomenon is W. Richard Comstock, "A Behavioral Approach to the Sacred: Category Formation in Religious Studies," in Journal of the American Academy of Religion, XLIX/4 (December, 1981), 625-643. Comstock rightly maintains that Durkheim's sacred/profane distinction refers more to the regulation of behavior than to a metaphysical dualism. ' See especially Marett's The Threshold of Religion, first published in 1909 (though containing some earlier essays) and then in successive editions; and his Encyclopedia Britannica article of 1908 on "Religion-Primitive Religion." In these writings Marett apparently becomes the first major figure outside the French school (whose influence he acknowledges) to refer to "the sacred" as the generic object of religion. 6 Nathan Soderblom, Gudstrons Uppkomst (The Origins of Religion](Stockholm: Sebers, 1914), and also his "Holiness (General and Primitive)," in J. Hastings, ed., Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, VI (1913), 731-741; and Edvard Lehmann's Swedish language textbook on the "science of religion," Religionsvetenskagen, I: lnledning till Reliaionsvetenskapen (Stockholm, 1914).

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The Durkheimian paradigm, though, sees the sacred not as a religious object but as a category of world classification and ritual behavior. And because Durkheim's le sacre belongs in a different theoretic universe than Otto's das Heilige, this has ramifications for interpreting Eliadean categories--which are under some debt to the French school-and for interpreting the reductionism issue generally. REREADING DURKHEIM ON THE SACRED

It may be hard for historians of religion to read Durkheim with fresh eyes, without the religionist frames that have pigeon-holed him and dismissed him as a sociological reductionist. While everyone knows his definitions about the polarity of the sacred and the profane, few appear to have systematically analyzed his extended terminology on this or have identified the various linguistic and conceptual matrices in which he refers to le sacre. It is ironic that so many historians of religion have ignored the Durkheirnian material, since it is precisely the French school that established the irreducibility of the category of the sacred and gave it such systematic elaboration. To begin, it is important to distinguish two different and alternating discursive contexts in the Elementary Forms: 1 the descriptive and the explanatory. 8 In the first, Durkeim is concerned to establish and describe the existence of religious facts or phenomena. Sacredness is such a fact. It is part of the special nature and structure of religious data, representation that is different in kind than other forms of valuations. But it is at a second, causalistic level that Durkheim tries to explain the data of the sacred by exposing its origins in the chemistry of collective power and symbols. Thus Durkheim's method is to first describe religion, and then explain it; first characterize religious beliefs and practices, and then show their origin; first depict sacredness as a phenomenon, and then account for it in terms of collective consciousness; first point to the nature of religious experience, and then "the reality at the bottom of the experience." While part of Durkheim's initial, formal definition is that religions are group affairs, at that early point in the book this is not yet in itself an explanation, only an ostensibly descriptive characterization. Only later in the 7 Edition used in this article: The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, trans. Joseph Ward Swain (New York: Free Press, 1%5). ' I use this distinction here in a way that is parallel to that of Wayne Proudfoot's, but somewhat broader. Cf. his Religious Experience (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 196198.

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argument will Durkheim explain how collective life is the actual source of religion. Likewise, in his first chapter on ritual (in Part III), Durkheim provides a systematic, in many ways phenomenological, account of the logic and dynamics of the sacred-profane relationship, with little mention of sociological concepts until the end of his analysis. The descriptive value of this material on the nature of incompatible worlds easily stands on its own, independent of his concluding attempts to explain asceticism in terms of the subordination of individuality to social ideals or to account for the "contagiousness" of sacredness in terms of the fluidity of collective imagination. The 1898 treatise on sacrifice by Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss had already created a prototype for analyzing the structure of a religious phenomenon prior to analyzing it sociologically. 9 The essay focused on the formal structure and processes of the ritual negotiation of sacred and profane realms, and only in the last three paragraphs did it add the suggestion that religious facts should ultimately be seen as social facts. Unlike the condescending approach of Frazerian rationalism, for Hubert and Mauss the realm of the sacred here and in other places becomes a range of material not to be dismissed as primitive but to be impartially respected and systematically investigated. Co-creators with Durkheim of the Annee approach to the sacred, 10 they wrote in a time which antedated the split between the so-called phenomenology of religion and sociology, and certainly saw themselves as general students of the "science of religious phenomena." If the essay on sacrifice represents the first nontheological, systematic use of the concept of the sacred-profane as a polarity of worlds or symbolic domains," a concept Durkheim later adopted, we should also note that the terms sacred and profane here are not intrinsically sociological and explanatory, but descriptive, structural and even emic-obviously drawn from the grammar and vocabulary of religion (like the term sacrifice) and in turn reflecting its internal behaviors.

9 Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss, Sacrifice: Its Nature and Function, trans. W.D. Halls (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964). 10 The significant contribution of Mauss and Hubert to Durkheim's concept of the sacred is carefully reviewed and assessed in Frangois-A. Isarnbert, "L 'Elaboration de la Notion de Sacre dans 'I 'Ecole' Durkheimienne," Archives de Sciences Socia/es des Religions, 42 (1976), 35-56. 11 It should be noted that W. Robertson Smith had used the phrase in his The Religion of the Semites (New York: Meridian Books, 1956; first published 1887), though not as systematically as the Durkheimians. Smith did develop a terminology about "holiness" as the concept that governs the ways gods and humans relate, and referred to holy (or sacred) places, times, persons, and so on, in a way that anticipated and no doubt influenced later phenomenological vocabularies (cf. 140ff.). Durkheimian language about the sacred was essentially continuous with Smith's, suggesting again that sacrality presents itself here in a phenomenological, descriptive mode and spirit and not just as a causalistic reduction.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN ELEMENTARY FORMS OF DURKHEIM'S CONCEPT OF THE SACRED

There are two facets of Durkheim's- tenninology to distinguish and consider here. In each, sacredness is understood as an irreducible factor in the description of religious life. In the first and widest usage, sacred objects are those that are separated from ordinary contact. In the second, "sacred and profane" are a reciprocal pair understood to represent the poles of either a separative or transfonnative process. Sacred Things. By far the most prevalent use of the term "sacred" in the Elementary Forms is not as a noun but as an adjective-most typically in Durkheim's favorite expression, "sacred things," but also in "sacred objects," "sacred beings," or the "sacred character" of a thing. Such phrases constitute the vast majority of all occurrences of the tenn. These generic expressions underscore the point that the nature of the objects that are sacred is completely incidental to the fact that they are sacred to some group. That certain things are sacred to a culture is an accessible, visible, observation of behavior; the content of what is sacred is a different matter and is "infinitely varied in relation to different periods of time and different societies ... " 12 As early as his 1899 essay, "Concerning the Definition of Religious Phenomena," Durkheim maintained that logically prior to any concept of gods is "a vast category of sacred things" which are the nuclear facts of religious life and thought. 13 In his later, fonnal characterization of religion in the Elementary Forms, the first part of the definition still keeps this tenninology, namely that a religion is "a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is, things set apart and forbidden"14 [italics added]. This adjectival usage of the tenn is central and functions to some extent independently of Durkheim's other references to the polar, dichotomous nature of sacred and profane realms. 15 Every society has certain entitites marked off with special respect and power, and religious thought and behavior construct themselves around these privileged foci. While not all religious have gods, all have systems of respect for what is sacred. The path of the monks in non-theistic Buddhism is holy ("the deliverance from suffering is a holy thing as is the Durkheim, "Concerning the Definition of Religious Phenomena," op. cit., 87. "Concerning the Definition of Religious Phenomena," op. cit., 84-87. 14 Elementary Forms, 62. 15 I find W.S.F. Pickering's analysis supportive on this point. Pickering sees that the concept of the sacred, taken by itself, has considerable use and validity apart from the difficulties summoned up in the idea of an absolute sacred-profane dichotomy. See his Durkheim's Sociology of Religion: Themes and Theories (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984), 149ff. 16 Elementary Forms, 52. 12 13

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whole of life which is a preparation for it" 17), so is a humble totemic emblem, and so may be the principle of individual rights in a secular society. The mark of what is sacred is the inviolability that surrounds it and protects its profanization, and it could easily be shown that Durkheim built his concept of sacredness largely out of the notion of taboo. 18 Here sacredness has no content of its own. It is purely relational. It is what is not to be profaned. As such, the term is metaphysically neutral. There is no ontological referent, nor are there dismissive rationalist insinuations or inflative romantic agendas. The sacred is simply whatever is deemed sacred by any group. Now if sacredness is a value placed on objects rather than a power that shines through objects because of their intrinsic, extraordinary qualities, then the difference between this aspect of the Durkheimian approach and the theological model here could not be greater. The classical, religionist model was interested in kinds of objects that mediate the sacred by virtue of their inherent form or the inherentness of the supernatural in that form. Thus the typical format of phenomenologies ofreligion is presented as an encyclopedic hierarchy of levels of objects, grouped first according to patterns in nature, e.g. sky, earth, trees, or stones, and then "higher" forms like gods. Places, objects and times were understood as "expressions" of the holy or the supernatural. In essence, sacred things in this second model are sacred because they are modes or symbols of divinity, or in the older language, forms of "apprehending the Infinite"-and not because they have been "made" inviolable by the projected values of a group. Even when Durkheim maintains the connection of sacrality and collective, totemic objects, we are in many ways still in the realm of description rather than explanation. When Durkheim says that the totemic symbol is "the very type of sacred thing" and that "it is in connection with it, that things are classified as sacred or profane," 19 and when he presents the churinga as a prime example of sacredness, he is still analyzing sacredness descriptively as a socioreligious fact rather than causally as a social product (which he will of course go on to do). One does not have to be a sociologist to make the observation that among the kinds of things "Concerning the Definition of Religious Phenomena," op. cit., 87. Durkheim could have chosen from many possible models to build his concept of the sacred, but following Frazer and Smith stuck to the notion of taboo and interdiction. It would be interesting to speculate what the Elementary Forms might have become if Durkheim had made bonding or loyalty his models, or had even fully pursued his earlier concept that religiousness is about "obligation." Moreover, when he comes to the phenomenon of collective effervescence as the typical sacred moment, Durkheim seems to really mix his schemas, as nothing could be further from taboo. 19 Elementary Forms, 140. 17

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that humans deem sacred, those that specifically represent collective identity are especially representative. 20 It is an observation about where sacredness is most intensely focused. Finally, once one has identified the existence of sacred things and the behaviors that go with them, then a basis for comparative differentiation between their contents becomes meaningful. The differences will be definable in terms of the varying cultural or religious ideals embodied in them, and Durkheim was clearly interested in the changing history of such values, just as historians of religion are. So here is Durkheim's elementary, and one might even say, commonsense, use of the adjective "sacred." Sacred-Profane as a Polarity. The second Durkheimian vocabulary about sacrality posits the polar, interdependent relationship of sacred and profane states. Critics have rightly challenged those initial statements of Durkheim's that define sacred and profane as exclusive realms.21 But the bulk of the Elementary Forms shows that there is more to this notorious dichotomy than just a static system of classification. As Steven Lukes points out, the confusion comes partly from Durkheim not having clearly distinguished between the sacred and the profane as 1) classes of things or realms, and 2) as relationships to things.22 Certainly Durkheim's characterization that religious phenomena "always suppose a bipartite division of the whole universe . . . into two classes which embrace all that exists, but which radically exclude each other,"23 can be read to imply that he is speaking of sacred and profane as fixed properties of objects. Yet throughout his book, Durkheim himself subverts his own assertions that religious worlds are forever divided by watertight dualities, showing that the profane state is subject to transformation. The profane can become sacred through rite and religious practice. Objects remain profane only as long as they have not been "metamorphosed" by "the religious imagination," and society can "constantly create sacred things out of ordinary ones."24 Sacred and profane are ultimately relative to shifting situations.

10 Recall that Durkheim's teacher, Fustel de Coulanges, had drawn attention to the sacredness of hearth fires, domestic and national altars, and tombs. See his The Ancient City, trans. Willard Small (Boston: Lee and Shepard, 1874). 21 See, for example, criticisms of the concept by W.E.H. Stanner in "Reflections on Durkheim and Aboriginal Religion," in Maurice Freedman, ed., Social Organization: Essays Presented to Raymond Firth (London: Frank Cass and Co., 1967), 217-240; and W.S.F. Pickering's swnmary of the issues in Durkheim's Sociology of Religion, chs. 7 and 8. 22 Steven Lukes, Emile Durkheim: His Life and Work (New York: Harper and Row, 1972), 27. 23 Elementary Forms, 56. 24 Ibid., 243.

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This is worked out in Book Three of the Elementary Forms and its first chapter on ritual. 25 Here we find direct development of the concept of sacralization that was analyzed in the Hubert and Mauss essay on sacrifice, where the sacred and profane were described as two worlds that it was the purpose of sacrifice to mediate, and where the devotee's ordinary, profane condition was shown to be transformed in the process. In this section Durkheim shows how the sacred-profane opposition is not just an exclusionary, static distancing but the basis of religious passage or "modification" that takes place by way of the deprofanizing of the participant. The "profane," here, is not an independent force in its own right but whatever is incompatible relative to the sacred. Durkheim thus begins to stretch the concept of taboo into the larger notion of relative incompatibility. Sacred and profane states cannot coexist at the same time. From an understanding of this incongruity, not from sociological analysis, he describes the rationale for the religious phenomena of sacred time and space, abstentions of all kinds, initiations and all systems of asceticism, renunciation and spiritual discipline. In Durkheim's hands interdiction ceases to represent savage ignorance or negative magic and becomes what could be called a basic system of religious logic. Because of their sacredness, some things-whether foods or secret knowledge-are forbidden to the profane person; but by the same token, some things because of their profaneness are forbidden to persons of sacred character. It works both ways. By construing the "forbidden" to mean "incompatible with" Durkheim has pointed the way to the study of the relativity of purity and impurity within a system, as exemplified in Mary Douglas's Purity and Danger (1966). The act of de-profanizing, which takes innumerable religious forms, is dispassionately spelled out in a way that is descriptively respectful of the nature of traditional religious behaviors. Going well beyond his Australian material, Durkheim clarifies a differentiating process or tension that is at the heart of religious life, and his vocabulary here is unreservedly emic. For example, "A man cannot approach his god intimately while he still bears on him marks of his profane life."26 A system governed by the sacred-profane dynamic ... does not confine itself to protecting sacred beings from vulgar contact; it acts upon the worshipper himself and modifies his condition positively. The man who has submitted himself to its prescribed interdictions is not the same afterwards as he was before. Before, he was an ordinary being who, for this

25

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Particularly the first two parts of the chapter, 337-356. Elementary Forms, 346.

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reason, had to keep at a distance from the religious forces. Afterwards, he is on more equal footing with them; he has approached the sacred by the very act of leaving the profane; he has purified and sanctified himself by the very act of detaching himself from the base and trivial matters that debased his nature. 27

So in spite of the language about an absolute conceptual duality, a main purpose ofreligion, by Durkheim's admission, is actually to overcome the dualism through metamorphosis, sanctification, renunciation, or even "the sanctifying power" of suffering that "ennobles the soul."28 Durkheim dwells on general examples of asceticism to illustrate the idea that holiness is the systematic rooting out of attachment to the profane world, as with Buddhist saints whose "sanctity" makes them "equal or superior to the gods."29 This is a long way from construing the sacred-profane dichotomy simply as a wooden assertion that all religious people somehow believe the universe to be statically divided or rigidly classified in two and only two parts. Anthropologists have of course found no such thing. Yet sacred life as described by Durkheim is not just a representation, but a costly act of passage. ANALYSIS AND IMPLICATIONS

I am not advocating that the concept of the sacred is the only resource for describing and understanding religion, or that it does not have its own liabilities, but only that the term is not necessarily an ontologically privileged category. The French school created a secular discourse about sacredness, yet because of the subsequent anthropological taboo on talking about this category, the quarry has gone mostly unexploited. The term "sacred" here attempts to demark a range of behavioral phenomena; it is an etic category suffused not with metaphysical but with emic grounding and resonance. Where it does not fit the data, the concept should of course be reshaped. Where Durkheim is empirically challengeable, his inaccuracies do not take away from the point that his intention was to be descriptive. And yet there is something missing from the discussion so far, for isn't Durkheim the great reductionist? Ibid., 348. Ibid., 350-355. 29 Even in earlier writings Durkheim had shown a fascination for the renunciative power of the oriental holy man and had noted the mystical capacity to abandon "the ephemeral multiplicity of things" in order to find a holy reality within through meditation. See "Concerning the Definition of Religious Phenomena," op.cit., 82-83. 27

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The Question of Explanatory Reductions. I have deliberately bracketed off what to Durkheim was the most important fact about sacredness: that it is an expression of collective power and should ultimately be explained in sociological terms. This was a legitimate theoretical move that can be argued philosophically,30 but represents a shift in level of discourse. It does not deny the fact that Durkheim has first, on another level, presented a set of data about sacrality. The famous reducer just happens to have been the one to have given us a phenomenology of the irreducible character of the sacred-penultimate to his ultimate act of explanatory reduction. Now what Durkheim as sociologue took as the source and ultimate content of le sacre is what the religious, theological phenomenologies call "the sacred" or "the holy." Durkheim did not do what Marett was beginning to do across the channel and what the phenomenologists (whether of the history of religions or the theological variety) were about to do, namely use the term "sacred" to refer to the object of religion. After all, the sacred was what Durkheim was trying to explain-and hence the reasoning would be circular. The animism and naturism hypotheses could not explain sacredness, but the totemism theory could. Collective force, the totemic principle, is what grounded sacrality. Yet Durkheim did not nominally or semantically identify "the sacred" with this force that he so passionately believed lay behind it. Rather, it is this force, or mana, that gives things their sacred character. 31 While Durkheim could not resist calling the object of religion "society," neither could the religionists resist calling the object of religion "the sacred," a gloss for the supernatural. Neither the Durkheimians nor the religionists could face the data of sacrality without an act of metaphysical reduction. By the same token, religious life for both a Durkheim and an Otto had a sui generis character. Durkheim used the expression repeatedly, especially where he was speaking of religion as a collective form, but also where he was describing the realm of the sacred as distinguished from the realm of the profane or ordinary. Both interpreters tried to show that the sacred was not just explainable in psychological categories, that it has its own mode of experience. To Durkheim, the unique character of religion obviously derived from the unique power collective authority has over 30 This point is consonant with Proudfoot's distinction that explanatory reductions are free to differ from the insider's viewpoint, whereas descriptive reductions are accountable to being corrected if they skew or omit important facts about religious experience. 31 Elementary Forms, 229. In this sense, Durkheim too employed a "mana model," but for him it was not a model for the sacred as much as it was an illustration of the religious force of society.

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individuals, a power that lifted individuals outside themselves and transported them into another realm than that of their profane existence, giving them a higher, more intensive life. In addition, we should recall that for the Durkheimians the assertion that religion (or the sacred) is social did not mean that religion (or the sacred) was not real, or that it was not religious. To reduce religion to the social was in fact to ground it in reality, as over against rationalist theories that treated religion as a conceptual illusion and as over against theological theories that made the ultimate character of religious life inaccessible and transcendental. Everything that Durkheim says about the sui generis character of social reality32 can be said about religious worlds, since for the French school religious worlds are social expressions. The worlds of collective symbols (such as religious worlds), "once born, obey laws all their own.' 033 The battle for explanatory supremacy (e.g. what does sacredness "mean" either in general or in any particular culture?) will obviously go on, and it is unavoidable that one's descriptive references to the sacred will still be governed by principles of selection related either to one's own foundationalist groundings, or, in postmodern terms, one's conversational circles. In many cases the latter will involve pedagogical situations which deal with trying to comprehend cross-cultural materials, and it is here where the analytical, neutral approach to the sacred will probably continue to have some use. In contemporary contexts, questions about the nature of sacredness will most likely have to do with a) accuracy in relation to specific cultural data, b) the possibility of descriptive limitation or distortion due to explanatory (or hermeneutical) weightings, c) the appropriateness or relativity of hermeneutical discourse and reductivity to audience purposes, and d) the historicity of the concept itself. Some Implications. Without elaborating, certain consequences seem to emerge. First, there emerges the possibility of a middle, descriptive way that does not require taking the object ofreligion linguistically or hermeneutically captive by either the theological or sociological reduction. A careful phenomenology of sacredness, geared to understanding and depicting the worlds of religious insiders, could analyze ways that cultures negotiate sacrality and profanity, and do this without implying anything about "the Sacred" as a metaphysical referent. Within a comparative, cross-

32 For many references to the sui generis character of social facts see Durkheim, The Rules of Sociological Method, Steven Lukes, ed., trans. W.D. Halls (New York: The Free Press, 1982). 33 Elementary Forms, 471.

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cultural context, this level of analysis would examine religious systems without assuming them to be either right or wrong, and sacrality and profanity (or purity and impurity) could be explored as variables between and within such systems. Sacredness would not be reduced to a single phenomenology of otherness or taboo, but would be examined for the many ways, subtle or otherwise, that it is constituted in human behavior. For example, it is not only numen, forceful to the subject, but sacer, set apart by the subject as inviolate. 34 It appears not only as "the extraordinary" but as the integrity and transformation of boundaries, the monitoring of the boundaries of culturally and religiously constituted profaneness. In such an approach there is the possibility of a metaphysically neutral but theoretic, integral, phenomenology of sacredness that seeks descriptive justice to its various subject-object relationships. Each form of cultural activity (e.g., music, dance, science) has its own way of positing the world, and the sacred-profane dynamic is no exception. Finally, uncovering the pre theological and even asociological structures of Durkheim's concept of the sacred will make it easier to detect them in Eliade, and easier to sort out the juxtaposition of neo-Durkheimian and perennialist elements in that author's complex and syncretic discourse. Because of the influence of French social anthropology on Eliade, rereading the one figure to some extent requires rereading the other, and it seems to me that much in Eliade should be understood as continuous with the wider Durkheimian tradition as conveyed in the ver-

34 The bipolarity is a distinction which corresponds to what linguists like Emile Benveniste find to be two distinct kinds of words for the sacred in Indo-European languages. The one is the "negative" type, referring to.that which is forbidden or consecrated and the other is the ''positive" type, referring to that which is filled with divine presence, e.g. weihen and heil, sacer and sanctus, yaozdata and spenta, hagios and hieros. See lndo-European Language and Society, trans. Elizabeth Palmer (London: Faber and Faber, Ltd., 1973), 445ff.

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sions of Mauss and Roger Caillois.35 While that genealogy or French connection is apparently a task yet to be worked out, I am convinced that until it is done we will make little progress in understanding in any other than a hermeneutically preferentialist way the several linguistic matrices ofEliade's notion of"the sacred," or the context of his often-quoted statements about its irreducibility. Long before Eliade, after all, it was the Durkheimians who spoke of the heterogeneity of sacred and profane modes of existence, of sacred time and space, and of how the sacred requires "dying to the profane condition." And it was they who labored to establish the way sacrality constructed worlds, worlds created out of the stuff of myth and ritual; and it was they for whom religious phenomena had to be taken as facts at their own irreducible level. The "sacred" is a term of some value in looking at how religious systems maintain their integrity, deal with profanity, and provide transcendence, and our vocabulary for exegeting the history and structure of religions worlds would probably be diminished without it. Perhaps it is a modest value, and perhaps there is less need now to overrate or overuse it. But in spite of our proclivities toward epistemic imperialism, in spite of our needs for hermeneutical loadings, it is not clear that the word must infiltrate an ontology of either the theological or sociological kind.

35 For example, the influence of Roger Caillois's neoDurkheimian synthesis, L' Homme et le Sacre (1939) (English version: Man and the Sacred, trans. Meyer Barash (Glencoe, Ill.: The Free Press, 1959)] is impressive, and anyone who thinks Eliade's notion of the sacred is closer to Ono than the French social anthropologists should reread it. Eliade's The Sacred and the Profane (1956) appears to draw liberally from Caillois's approach. For example, here are points Caillois refers to just in the first thirty-two pages: 1) the sacred is defined simply as the opposite of the profane; 2) Ono's book is mentioned appreciatively but is said not to have gone far enough; 3) the distinction of real-unreal is made; 4) it is announced that the book will isolate several constants in man's attitude toward the sacred; 5) "religious man" is referred to as a generic phrase; 6) the profane world is compared to the sacred "as nothingness is to being;" 7) the sacred is said to be "al ways more or less what one cannot approach without dying;" 8) the primordial state of chaos, fluidity, and license prior to creation is described; as are 9) the concept of the establishment of order by the ancestors; and 10) periodic regeneration; 11) "it is not merely the individual's mind that is fascinated by the sacred, but all of his being." Caillois existentializes the Durkheimians, whose work he attempts to summarize. More than them, though, he uses "the sacred" as a noun and as the object of religion, indeed as a force that alternatively preserves and dissolves life, inhibits and transgresses-allowing Caillois to speak loosely of "metaphysics of the sacred" that involves the polarity of stability and variation, matter and energy (136-138).

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REDUCTIONISM IN THE CLASSROOM

George Weckman The following are comments on the reductionism debate which grow out of the experience of teaching religion studies courses. They are also based on memories of what happened in the classroom of the University of Chicago where the anti-reductionism campaign supposedly was waged. Furthermore, they take into consideration the struggle in the United States and elsewhere to introduce departments of religion studies (not theological schools) into the universities. Most important, however, these thoughts assume that academics write for publication in ways which do not necessarily reflect their daily intellectual activity in the classroom. In the social setting of the classroom, reductionism may not appear as the kind of thing it is in some of the writing of religion scholars. The criticism of social science approaches to understanding religious phenomena may not be as chauvinistic or as exclusivistic as it otherwise seems to be. My thesis is that Mircea Eliade and others were engaged in a campaign to make room in the academy for religion studies. This had to be waged against an intellectual tradition which long had dismissed religious phenomena as subterfuges for other things. Even the University of Chicago with its Baptist background exhibited the prevailing intellectual climate of the cultured despisers of religion. The battle cry for introducing a new discipline into the academy necessarily included a critique and denigration of the current assumptions. It was not necessarily the human sciences scholars who expressed this attitude toward religion; some of them were and are moving toward a more appreciative stance. What often impeded the legitimation of religion studies was the casual opinions about religion of distinguished thinkers in other fields that had nothing to do with it. Once a battle or two was won by the inclusion of some courses focused specifically on religious materials, one could and can relax and admit the partial validity and helpfulness of the alternative approaches. Eventually one can even admit the insufficiencies and limitations of the religion studies perspective too. To the extent that the battle cry of antireductionism persists in writing and in the classroom, it is merely a call

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for the recognition and legitimation of a kind of study which does not ignore the religious imagination and rush to explore the functions or dysfunctions of religiosity. One signal passage in Mircea Eliade's program to defend religion studies occurs in the Author's Foreword to Patterns in Comparative Religion. 1 Here Eliade asserts that "the sacred" is the one unique and irreducible element in a religious phenomenon, and therefore no understanding can be complete or successful if that element is not addressed. I do not think that Robert Segal is correct when he says that "irreducibility" meant for Eliade "the inability to understand religion in other than its own terms.',z On the very page in Patterns just quoted Eliade affirms "the usefulness of approaching the religious phenomenon from various different angles." The point is: do not neglect the category of the sacred or whatever it is you identify as a unique element in religious consciousness. Some people have taken the defense of a unique or central characteristic of religion to be a defense of the truth of religion. Much of the criticism of religion studies is based on the suspicion that it is covertly theological or evangelical. Regarding the use of a term like "sacred" to name an essential but neglected aspect of religion, Hans Penner says that he is "not aware of any historian or phenomenologist of religion who would define 'The Sacred' as a theoretical term which we use to explain religion."3 Perhaps, I argue, it is not as apparent in the writing he reads as it is in the classroom. I certainly use the term "sacred" or its synonyms as part of an hypothesis about the presumptions of religious language and activity. A religious perception of the world an be described and analyzed without the assumption that it must be in anyway a true account of the world, so long is it is thought to be true by some people. Working on the theory of the reality of the sacred is not an apology for the truth of religious doctrines; rather it is an empathetic stance by which to examine the thoughtworlds of other people. Most of use who knew Eliade and read his work recognized his personal religiosity and the role it plays in some of his writing. It is embarrassing to me as his student to see how conveniently his notion of the hierophany turns out to have its "last and most perfect" form in the

1 Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, trans. Rosemary Sheed (New York: New American Library, 1958), p. xiii. 2 Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 51 (March 1983), p. 98. ' Hans H. Penner, "Accounting for Origins," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 57 (March 1989), p. 174.

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incarnation of Christ. 4 I would never make so preferential a statement in class, at least without adding some recognition of other religious categories and forms which have their most perfect examples in other religious structures and images. Certainly, Eliade is not proposing here a study based on revealed doctrines or private religious experience. He is not advocating religious conversion and commitment. He just insists that we attempt to see what appears to religious people, their "epiphanies," and that we understand that set of appearances, along with all that flows from them, in terms or categories appropriate to them. We should do this before or in addition to other kinds of analysis. This history of religions method is a kind of reduction itself, even if he would not admit it. It sorts out the data looking for indications of what people say or indicate they have seen, and selects those which have the religious characteristics of ultimacy, power, mystery, modeling of behavior, and the like. It turns out that some strange, unexpected things are religious to some people, and Eliade attempts to recover the logic or psychologic of their affirmations. The other sciences simply do not bother to do this because they are looking for another logic, i.e. ways to make sense of what those people say and do within the parameters of social science axioms of what makes sense. Reduction is an intellectual technique in every discipline and is to be condemned only when it rejects all others or pushes them too far into the periphery. As such, the method of reduction is not per se exclusivistic, but the exclusion of alternative perspectives is its frequent pernicious side-effect and its chief fault in the classroom. In scholarly writing one is regularly forced into this apparently exclusivisitic stance by the need to establish a need for one's research and interpretation. In the classroom the same scholars who write in that way are (or should be) aware of being directed toward a different audience and different goals. In this setting more tolerance of other options, even those which one considers to be flawed, is necessary and expected. Here many different systems should be examined, noting the advantages of each, even while some are recommended or underlined. One's own approach should be given a less vigorous defense, given a more pliable and impressionable audience: those who are relatively new to the material and the relevant disciplines.

• Mircea Eliade, A History of Religious Ideas: From Gautama Buddha to the Triumph of Christianity, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1982), p. 408.

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On the assumption that all scholarly methodologies are indices or programs for examining and analyzing phenomena and are therefore reductionistic, academic chauvinism is as limited and limiting as its political and religious forms. Only the pluralism of such programs saves one from the myopia and presumption of reductionism, the scholarly disease of seeing the partiality in another viewpoint without recognizing the partiality in one's own. Only pluralism preserves the secular, objective character of all study, especially of religious things. The major goal of the diatribe against social science reductionism by Eliade and his students is in this view not to be taken quite on face value. It is influenced by the dynamics of the battle of ideas in published form and by the attempt to introduce a new discipline into the academic scene. That new program is the study of religions as collections of phenomena interesting and studiable in their own terms, but not with the theological commitment of a particular religion. Eliade' s comments should be understood as part of the program to include "religious" perspectives within the realm of legitimate discourse about religious phenomena, material which in his opinion had previously been neglected or even deliberately excluded. The first of these previously missing elements in the other reductions of religion is the religious point of view itself. Although it is certainly not the only or even the primary data, the statements of religious people about their ideas and practices should be included in a study of these phenomena. This includes the naive as well as the more systematic reflections which arise within a religious group and tradition. Much religious writing and other forms of expression are unreflective exhibitions of worldviews and experiences which can be classified according to theme and related notions without assuming them to be examples of psychological, sociological, or economic patterns. At this level the description and organization of religious data is not so controversial unless one assumes that all exposure to religions is dangerous. Some have argued this for the education of children but certainly university classes are free to examine literature and data on human aberrations, fantasies, and extravagances. The more sophisticated religious materials are also valuable in the religion classroom. Theologians, the scholars or academics within their religions, themselves make reductionistic systems when they formulate doctrine derived from myth, ritual, and custom. Their contributions constitute useful data and sometimes theoretical structures can be derived from them. Some of the critique of social science reductionistic approaches is based on their neglect or dismissal of both kinds of religious statement.

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Defense of the importance of the religious voice, however, should not be thought to be a promotion of it or some kind of evangelism. When scholars of religions defend religion as a worthwhile area of study they do so much as an aesthetician argues for the importance of art in human life. Young students (and some not so young people) often ignore the role of such features or, worse, experience life without any notion of the role art or religion can play in human lives. Academic disciplines dealing with such ignorable areas are forced to promote recognition of their subjects in a way that the physicist, for example, rarely needs to do. The second missing element in the other reductions of religion is the scholarship in the religion studies field which does not merely report the data of religious people, but tries to develop structures of thought (again, inevitably reductionistic) which take seriously the unique characteristics of religious thought and activity. This was Eliade's main arena and chief contribution to scholarship. His theoretical structures and method may be revised or abandoned without denying their usefulness at one point in the history of the discipline. Thus, I admit that which Segal criticizes in saying that "Eliade clearly exceeds and probably even violates the conscious view of most believers: ... , in considering the sacred phenomena of individual religions to be only instances of universal religious phenomena."5 Only the word "only" is wrong there because of its exclusivism. In arguing for the legitimacy of this scholarly program Eliade and others may have gone overboard in asserting its special advantages or priority. The occasional need for such over-emphasis can be defended, even as a technique in the classroom. Certainly there are those people who feel instinctively that something is missing in all the other accounts of religion and they need no demonstration that a comprehensive analysis of religious materials is an appropriate endeavor. They are not necessarily religious themselves in so thinking. There are those, however, who are uncomfortable with the religious aspects of human life and do not enjoy the incorporation of this kind of analysis into the academic world. They need to be persuaded to face religious thought and behavior seriously in order that the whole of human life can be examined. If this is an apologetic it is for the serious attention and analysis that human religious concern deserves. Most people are exasperated much of the time by the religious beliefs and practices of others, and this includes religious people themselves. It takes some work to appreciate the various ways in which other people make sense of their lives and the world. The important thing to realize is 5

Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," p. 98.

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that such religious affirmations can give substance and vitality to human lives, no matter how chimerical or absurd from the observer's point of view. Religious beliefs can also produce tragic or pathetic results, but that too does not put them on a level with simple mistakes or confusions. How human beings struggle with the meaning of their lives is valuable in and of itself, no matter how unsatisfactory to their neighbors. Segal argues that one cannot appreciate or "respect what one cannot accept."6 I think that is wrong at two levels. First, it seems to me that the Western intellectual tradition has achieved a consensus about possible knowledge of reality which concludes that all our mental constructs can yield only greater and lesser degrees of probability or practicality. In an area as untestable as religious beliefs, we do not have a basis of certainty by which to dismiss them entirely, especially in the classroom where such dogmatism spells the end of the discussion. Second, as soon as the human element is introduced, the notion of respect changes, I hope. One can and should respect persons and that respect includes entertaining the reasonability of their perceptions of things. Throughout his discussion of this matter Segal makes appreciation and respect seem mechanical by subsuming them under the category of the logical, either/or. 7 My students deserve more than a flat acceptance or rejection based on my perception of the acceptability of their commitments or theories. Of course I could reject them all as the illogical, emotion-driven fools they often seem to be. (fhere is a kind of professor who seems to enjoy humiliating students.) Instead, I work at stretching the limits of my appreciation, endeavoring to expand the arena of the tolerable until that day may finally come when no student critiques my course by saying that the professor did not respect student opinions. Segal's problem here is in his assumption that the task of the social sciences is the assessment of the holders of religious belief. 8 "Assessment" applies to value judgements and it is therefore quite a delicate matter in the classroom. The professor must evaluate the student's knowledge and skill in order to assign a grade, but woe to the professor who evaluates the student's rationality or the reasonability of the student's religious or other commitments. It is better in the classroom to present the assessments of various theorists and theories, with the values upon which they are based, and let whatever personal assessment take place elsewhere. Ibid., p. 110. Robert A. Segal, "In Defense of Reductionism," pp. 110-113. ' Robert A. Segal, 'Toe Social Sciences and the Truth of Religious Belief," Journal of the American Academy of Religions, Vol. 48 (September 1980), p. 404. 6

7

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If, for example, family influence is noted as an important factor in religious affiliation, students in the class can decide individually how valuable family coherence of this kind is to them. Is it the professor's job to assess the absolute value of family association so that this factor can be ranked or dismissed compared to philosophical coherence, aesthetic satisfaction, life-styles, and the like? I think that such a position would be autocratic, almost fascist. On the other hand, certainly some charges of the cryptoreligious, ideological character of religion studies are justified. Although I have no hard evidence I suspect that there are professors who push their value systems in class, mistaking the lectern for a pulpit. We all must do some of this when it comes to the basic values of the educational system, e.g. the value of honesty and the repudiation of plagiarism. It is quite easy to go further than the academy requires and end up preaching. Outsiders to the field are justifiably suspicious. To respond to these apprehensions it is important to stress and practice agnosticism in the academic analysis of religious matters. The objects of religion study are the affirmations, conceptions, and activities of human beings. Religion studies are essentially humanistic. This agnosticism is not just a matter of not being able to know external reality, it extends to the human realms. Just as many of us have abandoned the search for the origin of religion, we have rejected the attempt to account for its very existence. Appropriate modesty of intellect extends from the mystery of ultimate causes to the mysteries of human motivations and hopes. Note that it is not now the unknowability of god or a supernatural realm but the inevitable unknowability of human aspiration which makes definitiveness impossible. To put it in more dramatic terms: the meaning of life is forever up for grabs. In this realm of indeterminacy no one systematic reduction of religious phenomena, including the ones promoted by historians of religions, arrives at the whole truth; the choices are manifold and many are mutually exclusive. To recall the example from Eliade above, incarnation may not be the most important or significant mode of sacrality or ultimate concern, but it is one among many which have been precious to millions of people. While no one feature of religions tells the whole tale, a review of many of them together can add up to a fairly satisfactory comprehension of this complex set of human activities and thoughts. Judge Learned Hand is said to have asserted that liberty is "never being too sure you're right." That applies to academic as well as civil liberty. In the United States we should be most alert to the agnosticism upon which our respect for free speech and disestablishment of religion is

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based. Even though some religious groups profess a certainty which others, religious and not, cannot affirm, the country can continue to exist only if all presumption of certainty is bracketed, privatized, and subsumed for practical purposes under the common good. It is largely accidental but disturbing that in this stress on the mystery of human religious life, religion studies scholars echo the emphasis on transcendence and mystery in many theologies. These are two related but separate assertions, easily confused. The lack of knowledge as assumed by religious people demands revelation, superior insight, or faith. The lack of clarity in religion studies calls for new theories, better correlation of approaches, and persistent attempts to comprehend the subject. Doubt is a regular feature of religious belief as well as of beliefs about the thoughts and acts of religious believers. It is also understandable that people who spend their days and nights reading religious texts and reports of religious behavior may adopt some of the terms and phraseology of this material. It is unfortunate, however, if their audiences do not hear the metaphorical character of these new usages. IfEliade or another historian of religions talks about "the sacred" one should not jump to the conclusion that a theological assertion is being made. Like any field, religion studies is criticized for its jargon and neologisms, but we may have needed even more in order to avoid this confusion. Eliade's "phany" language, except for "epiphany," was created new for the purposes of analysis, as was "numinous" and many other terms. Can a more abstract set of words help to dispel the suspicion that scholars of religion are being religious? I am tempted (and am obviously yielding) to speak of the teacher's obligation to hide or bracket his or her theoretical or religious commitment as a kind of "sacrifice." Will this word raise the charge of religiosity in the classroom? It is the poetry and rhetoric of our field to use such imagery for human feelings and attitudes. Indeed there is a similarity between the asceticism of the pious and the discipline of the intellectual, as there is also with other self-denials, e.g. athletic. Can I go so far as to suggest that a religious professor may even privately experience the sacrifice of the posture of certainty as a religious sacrifice? No, that is too dangerous; many of my readers will assume that professors are deluded if they think they can hid their religious feelings about their secular vocation. Many of us take consolation in the fact that students usually cannot figure out what the professor really believes, often assuming that it must be nothing, which is just as well. In summary, it is important to retain the tone and attitude, if not the specific method and terminology, of the religion studies field. The social

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scientists and historians simply do not give enough attention to, or develop the necessary theoretical constructs for, a sufficient consideration of religiosity. As room must be made in the academy for religion departments and courses, room must be found in our minds and the minds of our students for the temporary, theoretical acceptance or tolerance of other people's religious thought and behavior. It is ever more important to understand the religious traditions because the world is becoming more inter-connected and inter-dependent daily. Could the same intellectual attitude that dismisses religious belief as an epiphenomenon account for the ignorance of Islam which has permitted so much political miscalculation and led to so much carnage lately? Could lack of respect for religious views and religious people be related to an undervaluation of the abilities of these people in other areas, including science and warfare? Every discipline must be subject to constant scrutiny and re-examination if it is to remain viable. It is always good to re-examine one's working principles. Some systematic reductions of things religious can become so uninteresting or unfruitful that they are eventually neglected (e.g. evolutionary theories). Other positions and methods may have to be deliberately rejected should they prove confusing. The diatribe against reductionism might well be jettisoned. Eliade's terminology and method might also have to go. Many of us will still try to describe and analyze religious materials in comparable ways, as close to the religious imagination as is possible and useful. In the classroom a conscientious professor tries to touch on all the influential or illuminating contributions, often with special attention to the popular ones which tum out to be least helpful when examined fully. The strangest perspective, on the other hand, can be the most educational as a provoker of critical analysis. At the very least, then, the religion studies classes should bend over backwards in doing justice to the "reductionist" sciences and one can hope for reciprocal respect.

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CHAPTER FIFIBEN

REDUCTIONS OF A WORKING HISTORIAN

Dan Merkur In memoriam loan Culianu One of the problems discussed by the Platonic revival of the twelfth century was whether intelligibles are as real as perceptibles. 1 Since intelligibles originate as abstractions from perceptibles, intelligibles are generalizations. They may generally be true; but they are not invariably true, as perceptibles are. Accordingly, they are not quite as real. Generalizations are inherently reductive. The more abstract a generalization, the further removed it is from perceptible reality, and the more inherently and inevitably reductive. Now what could be further removed from perceptible reality then metaphysics? And what more reductive? The Schoolmen who debated medieval Platonism were profoundly and inalienably religious. They were learned theologians, many of them of the cathedral school of Chartres. In placing their faith in a God who, in al-Sijistani's phrase, is beyond both being and non-being, medieval Platonists maintained a strict distinction between creation and the uncreate. Theirs was a negative theology. Nothing could be said of God. What could be said was necessarily not of God. Studies of religion that proceed from a perspective in negative theology are often indistinguishable from the findings of atheists. Both are unashamedly, unapologetically hard-headed about scientific materialism. References to "reductionism" as a pejorative euphemism for "secularism" accordingly betray sectarian religious prejudices. The usage may speak for some religious confessions. It does not and cannot speak for all. According to every religion, all religions other than itself are wrong. The error may be complete and irredeemable. It may be modest and forgivable. It may be explicitly condemned, or it may only be implied through a superior example. But it is always claimed.

1 David Knowles, The Evolution of Medieveal Thought, (New York: Vintage Books/Random House, 1962), pp. 108-115.

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Things cannot be otherwise. Truth claims imply untruth claims. A religion cannot maintain its own validity without disallowing alternative claims. It follows that either all religions except one are wrong. Or that all religions are wrong. At best one might argue that there is some truth in many, and perhaps all religions-than none are right, but none wholly mistaken, that each is partly true. One might then further allege that metaphysicians, or historians of religion, are positioned to assess what this cross-cultural modicum of truth might be. But this path, the path of philosophical theology, is extremely reductive. Our question is the very different proposition whether a nonreductive study of religion is possible. The claim that research is non-reductive when it adopts the perspective of believers is, I submit, a bald-faced lie. It is not possible to adopt the perspective of believers and, at the same time, to avoid the reductionism inherent in heresiology-or, if heresiology is too strong a word, let us say, untruth claims. With the notable exception of Wilfred Cantwell Smith, who long ago faced up to this problem, what historians of religion have actually doneas distinct from what we have claimed to do-is to study truth claims to the exclusion of untruth claims. "Reductionism" is avoided at the price of falsifying the interior logic of believers' own points of view. By means of "bracketing," the reductionism in which believers engage has been systematically deleted from the history of religion. Now this two is a reductionism. And it is pernicious because it is a lie. Wilfred Cantwell Smith, as I say, recognized some time ago that the phenomenological method of the history of religion misrepresents the actual positions of believers, by imposing what I-not he-might call ecumenical harmonizations in its categories of interpretations. Smith maintains that the actual positions of believers can be presented accurately only ifreligions are portrayed in dialogue. A scholarly synthesis simply wont' do. Are Smith's results valid? No. It is in the nature of human beings to engage in at least some measure of self-deception. We are all hypocrites. We all think better of ourselves than we are, and we all fail to acknowledge at least some of our faults. Our claims regarding our religions are invariably consistent with our self-deceptions. It follows that any study that is based on believers' own representations buys into believers' self-deceptions, misleading scholars and falsifying their results.

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Let us move on to Robert Segal's bete noir, Mircea Eliade. 2 In what sense did Eliade claim to be non-reductive? In what sense did he engage in a phenomenology of religion? Segal makes the point that phenomenological types are themselves reductions of believers' points of view to unconscious structures that are evident only to comparativists. To Kurt Rudolph's excellent summary of Eliade's theory system,3 let me add a few remarks on Eliade's orientation which, I suggest, was a blend, entirely typical of Parisian occultists, of modern alchemy and "Oriental" mysticism-primarily, a mix of Sufism and Hinduism. Consider the following passages from Eliade's The Forge and the Crucible. The first sentences pertain to Western European alchemy. At the operational level, 'death' corresponds usually to ... the reduction of substances to the materia prima, to the massa confusa, the fluid, shapeless mass corresponding-on the cosmological plane-to chaos. Death represents regression to the amorphous, the reintegration of chaos. 4

The same paragraph concluded, however, with an extrapolation from alchemy to the general history of religions. The alchemical regression to the fluid state of matter corresponds, in the cosmologies, to the primordial chaotic state, and in the initiation rituals, to the •death' of the initiate. 5

As every reader of Eliade must be aware, he maintained the same interpretive position throughout his corpus. He interpreted cosmologies, initiation rites, and death symbolism, wherever he found them, by interpolating their significance for modern Western alchemy. He offered an alchemical interpretation of world religions. What did Eliade understand of alchemy? His views were consistent with those of Rene Guenon, R. A. Schwaller-de Lubicz, Henry Corbin, and others belonging to, or conversant with, Parisian occultism between the world wars. Jung too shared this position in his early writings. Jung went on, however, to a deeper penetration of alchemy; but Eliade understood no more than the early Jung. Again, I quote from The Forge and the Crucible.

2 Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989). 3 Kurt Rudolph, Historical Fundamentals and the Study of Religion, (New York: Macmillan, 1985). 4 Mircea Eliade, The Forge and the Crucible, trans. Stephen Corrin (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1971), p. 153. 5 Ibid., p. 153.

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It is not possible in the space of a few pages to give a detailed description of the opus alcymicum. Nor are writers always in agreement concerning the order of operations. but it is interesting to note that the coniunctio and the ensuing death is sometimes expressed in terms of hieros gamos: the two principles-the Sun and Moon, King and Queen, unite in the mercury bath and die (this is the nigredo): their 'soul' abandons them to return later and give birth to the jilius philosophorum, the androgynous being (rebis) which promises the imminent attainment of the Philosopher's Stone. This order of operations is suggested in the Rosarium Philosophorum by a series of engravings, to the interpretation of which Jung has devoted the bulk of his Psychologie der Ubertragung. 6

Jung's Psychology of the Transference was a late contribution to his early period, when he was still working with a masculine trinity, and the term anima, "soul," referred to the masculine self-representation that might be seen in dreams, out-of-the-body experiences, and so forth. 7 Later on, when Jung came to comprehend the alchemical symbolism of the feminine, he shifted to a quaternary, used the term animus to designate what he had earlier termed anima, and referred by anima to the feminine image that represents the unconscious in dreams, visions, and other contexts. 8 Eliade did not follow Jung in this correction of his earlier understanding of alchemy. Eliade's interest was limited to the flight and return of the soul-the topic, too, of his Shamanism. 9 Eliade otherwise expressed uncertainty regarding the middle stages of the alchemical opus. The phase which follows the nigredo, that is, the 'work in white', the leukosis, the albedo, probably corresponds, on the spiritual plan, to a resurrection expressed by the assumption of certain states of consciousness inaccessible to the uninitiated . . . The two subsequent phases, the cinitritas and the rubedo ... further develop and fortify this new initiatic consciousness. 10

Eliade was on clearer ground, however, when he arrived at the end of the opus. Arguing that "the opus alcymicum had profound analogies with the mystic life. " 11 Eliade again extrapolated from alchemy to the whole of the history of religion.

• Mircea Eliade, The Forge and the Crucible, p. 161. 7 Carl Gustav Jung, The Practice of Psychotherapy: Essays on the Psychology of the Transference and Other Subjects, 2nd ed., trans. R.F.C. Hull, in the Collected Works, Volume 16 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966). • Carl Gustav Jung, Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self, 2nd ed., trans. R.F.C. Hull, in the Collected Works, Volume 9, Part 2 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968). • Mircea Eliade, Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy, trans. Willard R. Trask (New York: Bollingen Foundation/Pantheon Books, 1964). 10 Mircea Eliade, The Forge and the Crucible, p. 162. 11 Ibid., p. 165.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN We must also point out that this paradoxical ubiquity and inaccessibility of the Philosopher's Stone reminds one of the general dialectic of things sacred. The hierophanies, owing to the very fact that they manifest the sacred, change the ontological regime of things: base or significant, a stone, a tree, a stream, as soon as they incorporate the element of the sacred, become prized by those who take part in this religious experience. The alchemist's emergence on another spiritual plane, with the aid of the Philosopher's stone, may be compared with the experience of the homo religiosus who assists in the transmutation of the cosmos by the revelation of the sacred. The paradox of the hierophany consists in the fact that it manifests the sacred and incarnates the transcendental in a 'base thing'; in other words, it brings about a break in level. The same paradox is evident in the Philosopher's Stone: It is beyond the comprehension of the uninitiated, though children may plan with it or servants throw it into the streets; although it is everywhere, it is also the most elusive of things. 12

What is this "emergence on another spiritual plane" that is simultaneously a "change in the ontological regime of things"? It is, I suggest, a mystical perception consistent with Henry Corbin's presentation of the Sufism of Ibn al-Arabi. 13 The creation is a mirror in which God beholds himself. In so far as the mirror sees only itself, it has detached from God, undergone the fall, and become profane. Through mystical re-attachment to God, we, the images in God's mirror, re-acquire sanctity, transcend the world of the fall, and return to paradise. Eliade's position differed from Corbin's presentation of Sufism chiefly in its substitution of chaos for the person of God. Eliade's discussion of religious phenomena is properly understood in the context of his explicit claims regarding chaos, the religious nuomenon. Mystical assumptions made it easy to account for the sacred One and the profane Many; the sacred Many were more problematic. How may a doctrine based on a mystical return to primordial chaos account for experiences of the perceptible world that find it not fallen but hallowed? The bulk ofEliade's original theoretics-The Myth of the Eternal Return (1954), Patterns in Comparative Religion (1958), The Sacred and the Profane (1959), Images and Symbols (1961)-explicate his double-tiered theory of the sacred. For Eliade, the sacred in-itself is chaos, but it also manifests as discrete phenomena. The sacred is purusa, "spirit," but it also appears as maya, the illusion of the differentiated cosmos. The masculine and feminine unite to form a coincidentia oppositorum. These, of

Mircea Eliade, The Forge and the Crucible, p. 165. See Henry Corbin's two books on Sufism: Creative Imagination in the Sufism of Ibn Arabi, trans. Ralph Manheim (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969) and Cyclical Time and Ismaili Gnosis, trans. Ralph Manheim and James W. Morris (London: Kegan Paul InternationalIslamic Publications, 1983). 12

13

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course, are the doctrines of Hindu tantra as we find them not in India, but in their adoption by Western occultism, where they have been syncretised with the Alchemical marriage. 14 Such, at any rate, is my understanding of Mircea Eliade's ideological system. Precisely the sort of occult viewpoint that we might expect of a former Iron Guardian. The idea that it is non-reductive is quite misleading. It reduces everything to chaos. Few of Eliade's students have followed him in affirming chaos as the religious nuomenon, the "really real"; but Husserlian phenomenologism is no less metaphysical than Eliade's occult neo-Kantism. As Penner has ably demonstrated, a philosophically technical phenomenology of religion must logically follow Husserl in arriving at metaphysical idealism. 15 Segal's (1989) critique does not apply, however, to Scandinavian, Italian, and Israeli historians ofreligion who have traditionally criticized van der Leeuw, Bleeker, Wach, Eliade, and their followers for attempting, as it were, a perennial philosophy on historical principles. The debate among historians has often belabored the question of empiricism versus the "eidetic vision" of hermeneutics; 16 but the quarrel pertains also to the discipline's conversation partners. One tradition within the history of religion keeps company with psychologists, sociologists, and anthropologists. The other, which has long monopolized the American scene, instead finds common ground with theologians and philosophers. When the practice of phenomenology is approached with a philosophical assumption of empiricism or logical positivism, it emerges as a morphology or typology 17 that has its basis in the methodological premises of Max Weber. 18 Weber's concept of an "ideal type" is, of course, what Medieval Platonists meant by an "intelligible." It is a generalization, based on sense data, that seeks to identify a perceptible pattern." It is not a metaphysical entity. Its use does not constitute crypto-theology. The problems with Weber's notion of an "ideal type" are nevertheless several. There is no such thing as objective or value-free research. Ideal

Edward E. Thomas, Grail Yoga, (Hankins, NY: Grail Books/East Ridge Press, 1975). Hans H. Penner, "Is Phenomenology a Method for the Study of Religion?", BuckTU!ll Review, Vol. 18, (1970), p. 29-54. 16 U. Bianchi, C.J. Bleeker and A. Bausani (eds.), Problems and Methods of the History of Religions, (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1972) and U. Drobin, ''Psychology, Philosophy, Theology and Epistemology," in Religious Ecstasy, N.G. Holm (ed.), (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell lntemational, 1982). 17 Ake Hultkrantz, ''The Phenomenology of Religion: Aims and Methods," Temenos, Vol. 6, (1970), p. 68-88. 18 Max Weber, The Methodology of the Social Sciences, trans. & ed. Edward A. Shils and Hemy a. Finch (New York: Free Press/Macmillan Publishing Company). 14 15

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types are not self-evident, empirical, nor objective. They are constructs that are projected onto data. Subjective in origin, all ideas imply values. Conversely, all values have ideational content. 19 Moreover, it is in the very nature of ideas to misrepresent the data to which they pertain. Consider, for example, the concept "cat." In so far as mu use of the term is a generalization based on my perceptions, fantasies, memories, and traumas involving cats, what I mean when I use the term is not the same as what you understand when you read me using the term, for your understanding is a generalization based on your concrete experiences. Because our experiences differ, there is slippage between what I say and what you comprehend, with every idea that we share. It follows that no ideas express truth, that all ideas are heuristic. None have validity. Many nevertheless have value. Values arise from their functions. Generalizations-"ideal types"---can be developed on whatever principles one chooses. A typology conducted for its own sake is, at best, an idle pastime; it is otherwise a metaphysics. However, clinical Freudian studies often commence with a section entitled "phenomenology," before they proceed to a section entitled "theory." The phenomenological portion is already a selected body of data that has been organized in a manner that facilitates the inference of theoretic conclusions. In similar fashions, a typology that reflects sociological concerns may facilitate sociological theorizing, while a typology that is developed on historical principles may be helpful in doing historiography. Like the concept of non-reductive research, the conventional distinction between interpretation and explanation is based on fallacious premises in the philosophy oflanguage. As hermeneutics have taught us, all is interpretation. But all is also explanation. To interpret is to explain, to impose pattern in the hope of achieving clarification. The same argument makes nonsense of the conventional distinction between data and theory. Although the possibility that interpretation/explanation can be nonreductive cannot reasonably be maintained, what is at stake in conventional claims regarding non-reductive research is, I suggest, often a debate about causal explanations by reference to manifest and latent factors. If we are to insist on elegance in theorizing, that is, on the simplest sufficient hypothesis, whatever can be explained at the manifest level, whatever does not require the postulation of a latent level of causality, should and must be explained at the manifest level. If, for example, onto-

19

Hilary Putnam, Reason, Truth and History, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

1981).

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logical, cosmological, or teleological arguments for the existence of God were tenable, they would constitute causal explanations for religion at the manifest level of causality. Arguments that God is a psychic projection (Freud) or a symbol of social authority (Durkheim) differ not in being explanatory, but in postulating causes that are latent rather than manifest. Both orders of explanation are reductive. Both attribute perceptible pluralities to single causal factors. Social science has no monopoly on latent causality. All negative theologies and many heresiologies reject the manifest in favor of the latent. Neither has theology a monopoly on manifest causality. Not only are some psychic and social functions evident to believers, but must historical explanation proceeds at the manifest level. Change often occurs because people find change attractive. New ideas take hold, leading to new institutions. such is the history of invention and of discovery. In some cases, some new ideas are end products of psychic or social processes; and in such cases we need latent modes of explanation. My point, however, is not to privilege one sort of explanation over against another, but to insist that reality encompasses both. Historians of religion have condemned appeals to latent levels of causality as "reductive," so I suggest, not only for religious reasons, as Segal alleges, 20 but also for humanistic ones. the claims of social scientists notwithstanding, historiography is a mode of doing explanation. History may not be a complete or ultimate explanation, but social scientific explanations are still less adequate. Social scientific explanations are regularly synchronic, when reality-like history-is diachronic. Just as, in the life sciences, a variety of synchronic modes of analysis (organic chemistry, ecology, etc.) are ultimately subservient to the diachronic framework provided by evolutionary theory; so in the study of religion, social scientific explanations can never be more than partial contributions to historical explanations; for the phenomena of religion are inherently and inalienably diachronic. 21 Accordingly, social scientific explanations of religion are rightly criticized negatively for being "reductive," to the extent that they usurp the place historiography. But this is to use the term "reductive" in another sense than I have done previously. And the argument is equally valid in opposition to the synchronic character of most metaphysics and theologies.

20 21

Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confr()ntation, pp. 5-29. See Kurt Rudolph, Historical Fundamentals and the Study of Religion.

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Related objections apply to Segal and Wiebe's assertion that "not even the most dogmatic reductionist denies that to whatever extent the subject is religion, it must be explained irreducibly religiously."'22 It is inadequate to polarize the debate when it is triangular. Segal and Wiebe might reasonably maintain that to whatever extent metaphysical truth-claims are valid, they must be explained metaphysically. However, as long as the discussion pertains not to metaphysics but to religion, Segal and Wiebe are begging the question whether what is religious is necessarily metaphysical (or transcendent, etc.). It is entirely possible for there to be something that is "irreducibly religious," without there being any necessity to endorse metaphysics in studying it. (Indeed, any Theravada Buddhist, or negative theologian in the West, would be obliged to insist that such must be the case.) Consider, by way of analogy, the case of music. We may define "irreducibility" in a sense synonymous with the integrity of music qua music. Music, we would say, is sui generis, a distinctive and autonomous reality in its own right. In so saying, however, we would not be denying that there are also a physics to music, a sound perception, etc. If, in this sense of the term, one were to allow that the "irreducibility" of music necessitates an "irreducibly musical" explanation of music, the question would still have to be raised whether an "irreducibly musical" explanation would require the performance of music, or might instead consist of a discussion of melody. As a second analogy, consider the circumstance of morality and ethics. Clearly, moralists and ethicists share a common subject matter that is irreducible, integral, autonomous, etc. Both may debate whether the value-judgements are divinely revealed or humanly invented. Both engage in tasks that are variously descriptive, explanatory, and prescriptive. But where moralists are committed to particular values and therefore study morality morally, ethicists have no such limitations. In what sense may one speak of an "irreducibly religious" explanation of religion? The extreme position, which Segal and Wiebe attribute to historians of religion, is a straw man. It is inconsistent with the very practice of religion. Religions may explain themselves in "irreducibly religious" manners, but they have no such compunctions in their untruth claims regarding other religions. Indeed, it is impossible for anyone to appreciate a religion other than one's own in an "irreducibly religious" manner. Disbelief imposes a distancing, a reduction, a shift in value and

22 Robert A. Segal & Donald Wiebe, "On Axioms and Dogmas in the Study of Religion," Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 57, No. 3, (1989), pp. 591-606.

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meaning. Under the circumstances, Segal and Wiebe can reasonably maintain only the weak position, that historians' "irreducibly religious" explanations of religion may very well proceed, as do the untruth claims of religious practitioners, as accounts of metaphysics from perspectives of disbelief. What is the point of such an objection? Let me finally raise the question whether religion must be metaphysical in order to be religion. For most of human history art was regarded as having magical efficacy; it was not regarded as in the eye of the beholder. Again, morality has often been regarded as Divinely ordained, as the way the universe is constituted, etc. It has not always been regarded as a human social convention. It is at least conceivable that religion will prove to be yet another domain whose practitioners will cease making grandiose claims about the objectively given, and start making epistemically more realistic claims about the subjectively meaningful. Such a shift from ontological to epistemological convictions does not necessarily constitute a reduction of religion, in any sense offensive to believers. (Some Hindus, Kabbalists, and Protestants have already taken this step-albeit often at a risk of solipsism.) However, it does entail the irreducibility of religion not as a metaphysical, but as a humanistic phenomenon.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A DISCOURSE WITH ANGELS: LITERATURE AND RELIGION

Edward Tomarken As a student of literature invited to participate in a controversy among religionists, I am reminded that Lucifer was thrust out of paradise for speaking out of turn. But then literary critics are seldom placed in heaven; unable to escape the taint of language they are more commonly relegated to that middle place created for the castoffs of heaven and hell. Please then regard the following as the essay of an outsider in need of the indulgence of the experts in the field. My specific literacy interest became relevant to the religious question under discussion when an example was required to consider the problem of reduction, that is, does the method proposed by Professor Robert Segal result in some important aspect of religion or of the religious experience being given less significance than it deserves. At that point, I told a story about how a religious problem had arisen in my classroom during a consideration of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa, the narrative of a young woman who is raped by Robert Lovelace, a debonair aristocrat who is surprised when his middle-class victim refuses to marry him. Instead, Clarissa decides to remain single and devote herself to her religious narrative, specifically, to retelling her story-the book is almost exclusively letters written by Clarissa-in order to prevent other young women from becoming similarly victimized. On this particular occasion, the class was evaluating Clarissa from a Freudian point of view, an approach that seems to exemplify what Professor Segal means by the methodology of social science. In "Penetration and Impenetrability in Clarissa," Leo Braudy argues that Clarissa is a continuation of"The Rape of the Lock" in that the "necessary repression" of the courtship in the poem is still present in the consummation scene of the novel. Braudy feels that Richardson is continuing Pope's project: the great satirist had made clear that the problem resides not in institutions, or immoral principles but in the individuals involved. In fact, Richardson's main theme is, according to Braudy, "the efforts of individuals to discover and define themselves by their efforts to penetrate, control, and

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even destroy others, while they remain impenetrable themselves."1 Lovelace and Clarissa are, Braudy continues, equally subject to this overriding concern which manifests itself in opposite ways, the masculine and the feminine. "The fear of sexuality in Clarissa constitutes only the most obvious expression of a general fear of relationships and vulnerability that characterizes both Clarissa and Lovelace.''2 Because of the nature of their culture, the manifestation of this insecurity is sexually engendered: "To compensate for his weakness, Lovelace makes his sexuality into a weapon, and Clarissa's refusal of sexuality is the shield she fashions from the same impulses."3 For Braudy, the distinction between raper and raped is of secondary importance: "In fact both Lovelace and Clarissa act out of fear that they will themselves disintegrate if they do not first annihilate or by dying obviate the existence of others. In their search for wholeness neither will admit the need for others."4 Both are equally impenetrable because of sexual repression; the ultimate confrontation between "woman with a pen" and "man with a penis" is inevitable. Their total commitment to personal identity locks them into confrontation. "She attempts to define and regulate her sense of personal identity by what she believes to be innate principles of virtue. He attempts to rule his life in accordance with a pre-existing literary and theatrical stereotype-the "rakish annals" he so frequently invokes."5 Death becomes the only possible denouement, for "without physicality, without actuality, there are no bodies, no children, and no community.''6 Since Braudy's reading of Clarissa does not treat the rape as Lovelace's crime but as an incident that involves equal responsibility on the part of both Clarissa and Lovelace, I expected by students--especially my feminists-to oppose it as male chauvinist literary criticism. To my surprise, most agreed with Braudy, especially the feminists. As one of them pointedly, if indelicately, put it, "Braudy is right, Clarissa is too hung up about her hymen."

1 Leo Braudy, "Penetration and Impenetrability in Clarissa," in New Approaches to Eighteenth-Century Literature: Selected Papers from the English Institute, ed. Philip Harth (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), pp. 177-206, reprinted in Modern Essays in EighteenthCentury Literature, ed. Leopold Damrosch, Jr., (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 261-81. All further references to this essay will provide the page numbers from this edition. 2 Modern Essays in Eighteenth-Century Literature, ed. Leopold Damrosch, Jr., p. 269. ' Ibid., p. 269. 4 Ibid., p. 274. ' Ibid., p. 273. ' Ibid., p. 275.

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The pedagogical situation here leads to a problem of methodology. Braudy interprets Clarissa's religious scruples as a manifestation of sexual repression. In my view, however, Clarissa regards marriage as a holy sacrament, one that requires faith and love. Her unwillingness to marry Lovelace after the rape has to do not with her sense of personal identity but with her profound and enduring belief in Christianity. In short, to treat Clarissa's religion as a form of sexual repression is, in my opinion, an act of reduction. How then do I get this point across to my students? What kind of method seems appropriate? I could have proceeded empirically. After the rape, which was achieved by drugging Clarissa, Lovelace attempts another liaison with his victim, only this time with her awake and, he hopes, more cooperative. Anticipating this next stage, Clarissa find a pen-knife and manages to convince even so hardhearted a rake as Lovelace (as well as most readers) that she will stab herself rather than enter voluntarily into a sexual relationship with him. In stunned amazement, Lovelace-rather like Milton's Satan first beholding Eve-retreats. 7 This scene provides incontrovertible evidence that Clarissa is protecting something beyond her virginity in a literal sense since it occurs after the rape. Nevertheless, one could argue that in a figurative sense Clarissa still considers herself a virgin, because she was "senseless" at the moment of the rape. Moreover, to present my position "over against" that of Braudy leaves the students in the unenviable position of having to choose between two professors, two authority figures. As upper division undergraduates, they know all too well that the library is full of critics who take different and contrary positions, citing different sections of the text as evidence, particularly in Clarissa, the longest novel in the English language. A preferable pedagogical strategy, as I saw it, was to make clear to the students how they had been misled by Braudy. Instead of merely opposing my religious reading to Braudy's secular one, I wished to demonstrate how Braudy's approach precluded consideration of the religious issue. Here Foucault's concept of the "episteme" proved useful; for the present purpose the episteme refers to the fact that discourses are designed to include and exclude certain kinds of questions, as the stock market report seems appropriate language for concepts of profitability but not for those environmental conservation. 8 Identifying the kind of 7 Samuel Richardson, Clarissa, or the History of a Young Lady, (London: Everyman Library, 1959). 8 Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences, (New York: Vintage Books, 1973), p. 217.

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discourse Braudy employed might help explain why he excluded the religious question. My object was to demonstrate how Braudy was using Lovelace's discourse. Operating on the assumption that once she is physically violated Clarissa will be as pliable as the other women he has debauched, Lovelace believes that Clarissa's religion is merely what he calls "punctilio," a form of social decorum that covers up the sex drive. Braudy takes Lovelace's position to the level of criticism, interpreting all forms of opposition to sex on Clarissa's part as manifestations of sexual repression motivated by the need to prevent her individuality being penetrated. Braudy' s critique employs the discourse of the rapist. Religion is reduced by Lovelace to social decorum and by Braudy to a manifestation of sexual repression. On a physical and intellectual plane religion is raped. This position is borne out by Lovelace's behavior after Clarissa refuses to marry him and escapes his clutches. Following Clarissa's death, Lovelace does penance by allowing Clarissa's uncle to kill him in a duel, violating the provision in Clarissa's will against duelling, which she regards as irreligious. Even in his sacrificial death for Clarissa, Lovelace cannot comprehend Clarissa's religion. Once Braudy commits himself to the terms of this discourse, he also is precluded from considering in what sense Lovelace violates, not merely the sexual taboo, but also Clarissa's religion. Intelligent students immediately countered this position by pointing out that if Braudy was using Lovelace's discourse, I was merely employing that of Clarissa. True enough. But the difference is that Clarissa's discourse accounts for Lovelace in a way that lovelace's cannot account for Clarissa. She anticipates his assumption that after the rape she will agree to a sexual relationship and realizes that in the end he may attempt to do penance by dying in a duel. Lovelace, on the other hand, ends never understanding Clarissa's objections to both his actions. Lovelace lacks the conceptual ability, the terminology, to comprehend Clarissa; Clarissa's discourse encompasses Clarissa. This technique in literary theory is referred to as post-Freudian, part of a larger method called post-structuralist. Instead of treating Freud as a repository of the truth, I treated him as a truth, a person with a voice, a discourse, and placed him in a concrete, historical situation, a conversation with Lovelace and Clarissa. The father of psychoanalysis got along famously with Lovelace, so much so that both shared the same difficulty with Clarissa's religion. This technique operates on the belief that all methods or theories, those of the social scientist or of the literary theorist, are based upon ideological assumptions that are related to cultural and historical circumstances. These assumptions can often be laid bare by

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examining the kind of language or discourse employed by the methodologist in the formulation and resolution of a problem. Since all methods are limited by their cultural and historical situation, there can be no single truth: rather, one important criterion in discriminating among theories is their capacity to come to terms with otherness. Here literary theory bears upon religion and social science, particularly anthropology. In the analysis of Clarissa, I sought a method that could encompass the discourse of both Lovelace and Clarissa: Brandy's Freudian approach seemed to me flawed in its inability to comprehend the otherness of Clarissa's religion. At this point my own ideological assumptions become prominent, and it is important that they are religious and anthropological in nature. For me, religion is most essentially concerned with otherness: God, in my conception, is at the outermost limit of understanding, that which is most different from myself and my situation while still partially comprehensible to me. Moreover, I also posit a cultural assumption, a belief that virginity in eighteenth-century England had a different meaning than for twentieth-century Freudians. Braudy's position, it seems to me, exaggerated the sexual issue and minimized the religious one. The method that I used to expose this limitation is very close to the move that is made in the social sciences that Segel describes as the progression from the "classicals" to the "contemporaries." The classical social scientist would have treated Freud, like Braudy, as a repository of the truth; contemporaries would consider Freud as a form of discourse, a truth, to be placed in a larger system of discourses. Yet Segal asserts that "in actuality, 'contemporaries' account for religion as reductively as 'classicals."'9 I wish now to examine a contemporary anthropologist's analysis of classical views of religion in order to show how this social scientist's charge of religious reduction against his 'classical' predecessors is related to my literary-theoretical misgivings about the method of Braudy. In "The Concept of Cultural Translation in British Social Anthropology," Talal Asad points to the means by which anthropologists of a previous generation reduced the religion of the Berbers. 10 "It is really no great explanatory achievement for a European anthropologist to inform his agnostic and/or modern European readers that the Berbers believe in a 9 Robert A. Segal, Religion and the Social Sciences: Essays on the Confrontation, (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), pp. 109-132. 10 Talal Asad, 'Toe Concept of Cultural Translation in British Social Anthropology," in Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography, ed. James Clifford and George E. Marcus, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986).

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particular kind of direct intervention of the deity in their affairs, that they are of course mistaken in the belief, and that this mistaken belief can have social consequences. In this kind of exercise we do not learn what they believe, but only that what they believe is quite wrong."11 The problem with this method of anthropological investigation is, according to Asad, that this Berber belief is part of a text that requires translation. "But society is not a text that communicates itself to the skilled reader. It is the people who speak. And the ultimate meaning of what they say does not reside in society-society is the cultural condition in which speakers act and are acted upon." The modern European anthropologist cannot simply assume that his discourse-in this case that of the enlightened atheist-is the most appropriate one for translating, rendering understandable, Berber religion. In a section entitled "The Inequality of Languages" Asad explains that the translator needs to push "beyond the limits of one's habitual usages," a process that involves "the willingness of the translator's language to subject itself to this transforming power."12 Translation is used as a metaphor for the anthropologist's goal since "the notion of culture as text has reinforced this view of our task, because it facilitates the assumption that translation is essentially a matter of verbal representation."13 The alternative to this process whereby the translator's language is changed by what he translates is the privileged position of the host language assumed by a previous generation of anthropologists: the supposition "that translating other cultures is essentially a matter of matching written sentences in two languages, such that the second set of sentences becomes the "real meaning" of the first-an operation the anthropologist alone controls, from the field notebook to printed ethnography. In other words, it is the privileged position of someone who does not, and can afford not to, engage in a genuine dialogue with those he or she once lived with and now writes about." 14 Notice the similarity between this "contemporary" objection to the "classical" kind of anthropological translation and my misgivings about the Freudian analysis of Clarissa. Asad places the anthropologist's discourse in a textual dialogue with Berber believers in order to determine whether or not the interpretation of the religion produces significant reduction. His conclusion is not that equivalence between languages,

Talal Asad, "The Concept of Cultural Translation in British Social Anthropology," p. 154. Ibid., p. 157. 13 Ibid., p. 160. 14 Ibid., p. 155. 11

12

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perfect translation, can ever be achieved. On the contrary, translation always results in some distortion, but the point is that power or its intellectual equivalent ideology is always involved in the process. A translator may set out to mold the other, to crush difference; alternatively, he or she may be dedicated to opening our language to otherness. For the latter it will take the combined work of the religionist, anthropologist and literary theoretician to provide the basis for an interpretation of a Muslim equivalent to Clarissa that will satisfy the Berber literary critic. If the great concern to avoid reduction is now shared, as perhaps never before, by students of religion, culture and literature, does it make sense to think of the methods of the humanities and the social sciences as opposed to one another? Or is that very distinction the last vestige of the "classicals?" Here I am reminded of one of the earliest recorded conversations between angels which also involves a key distinction: "The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven" (Paradise Lost, Book I, 11, 254-55) or so Satan believes, but then he has just been ejected from Heaven and sent to Hell. 15 After such an experience even an angel can be forgiven for indulging in extremes. Nevertheless, as a literary person out of his bailiwick I cannot help but wonder if a modern-day Miltonic student of religion could include the dichotomy between the social sciences and the humanities into Satan's discourse, as an outmoded mental position that is suited to heaven or hell but not to the present, post-structuralist situation on earth. What model of the social scientific method could Segal have in mind except that old, objective, ideology-free one that has been repudiated by modern humanists and social scientists?

15

The Poetical Works of John Milton, ed. Helen Darbishire, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952),

Book I, 11, 254-255, p. 12.

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INDEX OF NAMES Ayala, F. 4

Malinowski, B. 13 Marx, K. 10, 11

Bell, C. 60-61 Bellah, R. 13, 14 Berger, P. 13, 14 Bonevac, D. 19-20 Braudy, L 230-234

McCauley, R.N. 61 Mills, C.W. 144, 158-160 Milton, J. 236 Muller, M. 186-189

Carnap, R. 21-22 Causey, R.L. 26-27 Churchland, P.M. 54-55

Nagel, E. 22-25 Nickles, T. 28 Oppenheim, P. 23, 29-30

Davidson, D. 59 Douglas, M. 59-60 Durkheim, E. 60, 90-92, 98, 104, 198-210

Pals, D. 124-125 Peacocke, A. 45-46 Penner, H.H. 128, 129, 138, 225 Proudfoot, W. 49-50

Eliade, M. 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 11, 17, 18, 51-53, 68-80, 83-91, 100-103, 108112, 135-136, 189-191, 198,210, 211-214, 222-225 Erikson, E. 13, 14

Ricoeur, P. 7 Russell, B. 20

Feuerbach, L. 90 Fodor, J. 30-35 Frazer, J. 10 Freud, S. 7, 10, 11, 12, 13 Geertz,C. 7, 13, 14 Hempel, C. 25-28 Husserl, E. 131 Jung, C. 7, 13, 222-225 Kemeny, J.G. 23, 29-30

Sarkar, S. 45-48 Schleiermacher, F. 50 Segal, R.A. 15-18, 36-42, 43-45, 7581, 82-83, 95-97, 108-116, 117-122, 140-141, 144-149, 157-160, 183-197,212,216,230,234,236 Shaffner, K. 46, 49 Smith, J.Z. 61-62 Smith, W.C. 221 Spiro, M. 9 Stich, S. 53-54 Turner, V. 13, 14 Tylor, E.B. 10, 13 Wiebe, D. 184, 193 Wilken, R.L. 56-57

Lawson, E.T. 61 Long,C.H. 82,84

Idinopulos and Yonan - 978-90-04-37884-1

INDEX OF SUBJECTS Alchemy 222-223, 225 Anthropology 5 Anti-reductionism 52-53, 63, 68-75, 84-89, 95-97, 132-134, 169-171, 211 Autonomous 43, 44 Cause 3 Eliminativism 53-58, 63 Explanation 29-30, 145-150, 174180, 187-188, 195 Polle Psychology 53-55, 57 Function 3, 7, 11, 190 Hermeneutical 208,210 Interpretation 3, 4, 67, 174-181 Irreducible 3, 44, 189, 194, 198,200, 210, 228-229

Rationality 151-158 Reduction 16, 18-30, 95, 97-100, 103-105, 191-197 Reductionism 1, 10, 11, 16-18, 43, 66-68, 75-81, 82-84, 108-116, 117-126, 127-131, 144-147, 162-168, 183, 192,211,214-215, 221,227-228 Religionists 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10, 186, 188,189,192 Religionswissenschaft 69-70 Religious Belief 50-53, 57-59, 60, 61, 62-64 Religious Experience 49-53 Religious Studies 1, 211, 218-219 Sacred 1, 7, 44, 190-191, 198-210, 224 Secular 1,7,186 Social Sciences 1, 2, 3, 10, 11, 44 Sociology 5, 18 Sui generis 43, 44

Meaning 3, 7, 10, 11, 190 Truth 3, 9, 11, 44 Nonreductive 1, 2, 6, 10, 11 Origin 3, 7, 9, 11, 190 Phenomenology 131,225 Phenonenology of Religion 131-132 Profane 201-205 Psychology 5

Idinopulos and Yonan - 978-90-04-37884-1

STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS NUMEN BOOKSERIES

4 The Sacral Kingship/La Regalita. Sacra. Contributions to the Central Theme of the v III th International Congress for the History of Religions, Rome 1955. 1959. ISBN 9004016090 8 K. W. Bolle. The Persistence ofReligion. An Essay on Tantrism and Sri Aurobindo's Philosophy. Repr.1971. ISBN 9004033076 11 E. O.James. The Tree of Life. An Archaeological Study. 1966. ISBN 9004016120 12 U. Bianchi (ed.). The Origins of Gnosticism. Colloquium Messina 13-18 April 1966. Texts and Discussions. Reprint of the first (1967) ed. 1970. ISBN 9004016139 14 J. Neusner (ed.). Religions in Antiquity. Essays in Memory of Erwin Ramsdell Goodenough. Reprint of the first (1968) ed.1970. ISBN 9004016155 16 E. O.James. Creation and Cosmology. A Historical and Comparative Inquiry. 1969. ISBN 9004016171 17 Uber Amicorum. Studies in honour of Professor Dr. C. J. Bleeker. Published on the occasion of his retirement from the Chair of the History of Religions and the Phenomenology of Religion at the University of Amsterdam.1969. ISBN 9004030921 18 R.J. Z. Werblowsky & C.J. Bleeker (eds.). Types ofRedemption. Contributions to the Theme of the Study-Conference held at Jerusalem, 14th to 19th July 1968. 1970. ISBN 9004016198 19 U. Bianchi, C.J. Bleeker & A. Bausani (eds.). Problems and Methods of the History of Religions. Proceedings of the Study Conference organized by the Italian Society for the History of Religions on the Occasion of the Tenth Anniversary of the Death of Raffaele Pettazzoni, Rome 6th to 8th December 1969. Papers and discussions. 1972. ISBN 9004026401 20 K. Kerenyi. Zeus und Hera. Urbild des Vaters, des Gatten und der Frau. 1972. ISBN 9004034285 21 Ex Orbe Religionum. Studia G.Widengren. Pars prior.1972. ISBN 9004034986 22 Ex Orbe Religionum. Studia G. Widengren. Pars altera. 1972. ISBN 9004034994 23 J.A.Ramsaran. English and Hindi Religious Poetry. An Analogical Study.1973. ISBN 9004036482 25 L. Sabourin. Priesthood. A Comparative Study. 1973. ISBN 90 0403656 3

Idinopulos and Yonan - 978-90-04-37884-1

26 C. J. Bleeker. Hathor and Thoth. Two Key Figures of the Ancient Egyptian Religion. 1973. ISBN 9004037349 27 J. W.Boyd. Satan and Mara. Christian and Buddhist Symbols ofEvil. 1975. ISBN 9004041737 28 RA.Johnson. The Origins ofDemythologizing. Philosophy and Historiography in the Theology ofR. Bultmann. 1974. ISBN 9004039031 29 E. Berggren. The Psychology of Confession. 1975. ISBN 90 04042121 30 C.J. Bleeker. The Rainbow. A Collection of Studies in the Science of Religion. 1975. ISBN 90 04 04222 9 31 C.J. Bleeker, G.Widengren &E.J. Sharpe (eds.). Proceedings ofthe 12th International Congress, Stockholm 1970.1975. ISBN 9004043187 32 A.-Th.Khoury (ed.), M. Wiegels. Weg in die Zukunft. Festschrift for Prof. Dr. Anton Antweiler zu seinem 75. Geburtstag. 1975. Is B N 90 04 05069 8 33 B.L. Smith (ed.). Hinduism. New Essays in the History of Religions. Repr. 1982. ISBN 9004067884 34 V. L. Oliver, Caodai Spiritism. A Study of Religion in Vietnamese Society. With a preface by P.Rondot.1976. ISBN 9004045473 35 G. R.Thursby. Hindu-Muslim Relations in British India. A Study of Controversy, Conflict and Communal Movements in Northern India, 1923-1928. 1975. ISBN 9004043802 36 A. Schimmel. Pain and Grace. A Study of Two Mystical Writers of Eighteenth-century Muslim India. 1976. ISBN 90 04 04771 9 37 J.T.Ergardt. Faith and Knowledge in Early Buddhism. An Analysis of the Contextual Structures of an Arahant-formula in the Ma.ijhima-Nikaya. 1977. ISBN 9004048413 38 U. Bianchi. Selected Essays on Gnosticism, Dualism, and Mysteriosophy. 1978. ISBN 9004054324 39 EE.Reynolds &Th.M.Ludwig (eds.). Transitions and Traniformations in the History ofReligions. Essays in Honor ofJoseph M. Kitagawa. 1980. ISBN 9004061126 40 J.G.Griffiths. The Origins of Osiris and his Cult. 1980. ISBN 9004060960 41 B. Layton (ed.). The Rediscovery of Gnosticism. Proceedings of the International Conference on Gnosticism at Yale, New Haven, Conn., March 28-31, 1978. Two vols. 1. The School ofValentinus. 1980. ISBN 9004061770 2.Sethian Gnosticism.1981. ISBN 9004061789 42 H. Lazarus-Yafeh. Some Religious Aspects ofIslam. A Collection of Articles. 1980. ISBN 9004063293 43 M. Heerma van Voss, D.J. Hoens, G. Mossies, D. van der Plas & H. te Velde (eds.). Studies in Egyptian Religion, dedicated to Professor Jan Zandee. 1982. ISBN 9004067280 44 P.J.Awn. Satan's Tragedy and Redemption. Iblis in Sufi Psychology. With a foreword by A.Schimmel. 1983. ISBN 9004069062

Idinopulos and Yonan - 978-90-04-37884-1

45 R. Kloppenborg (ed.). Selected Studies on Ritual in the Indian Religions. Essays toD.J.Hoens.1983. ISBN 9004071296 46 D.J. Davies. Meaning and Salvation in Religious Studies. 1984. ISBN 9004070532 47 J. H. Grayson. Early Buddhism and Christianity in Korea. A Study in the Implantation of Religion. 1985. ISBN 90 04074821 48 J.M. S. Baljon. Religion and Thought of Shah Wair Allah Dihlawf, 1703-1762. 1986. ISBN 9004076840 50 S. Shaked, D. Shulman & G. G. Stroumsa (eds.). Gilgul. Essays on Transformation, Revolution and Permanence in the History of Religions, dedicated to R.J.Zwi Werblowsky.1987. ISBN 9004085092 51 D. van der Plas (ed.). Effigies Dei. Essays on the History of Religions. 1987. ISBN 9004086552 52 J. G. Griffiths. The Divine Verdict. A Study of Divine Judgement in the Ancient Religions. 1991. ISBN 9004092315 53 K. Rudolph. Geschichte und Probleme der Religionswissenschaft. 1992. ISBN 9004095039 54 A. N. Balslev & J. N. Mohanty (eds.). Religion and Time. 1993. ISBN 9004095837 55 E.Jacobson. The Deer Goddess ofAncient Siberia. A Study in the Ecology of Belief. 1993. ISBN 9004096280 56 B. Saler. Conceptualizing Religion. Immanent Anthropologists, Transcendent Natives, and Unbounded Categories. 1993. ISBN 9004095853 57 C. Knox. Changing Christian Paradigms. And their Implications for Modem Thought.1993. ISBN 9004096701 58 J. Cohen. The Origins and Evolution of the Moses Nativity Story. 1993. ISBN 9004096523 59 S. Benko. The Virgin Goddess. Studies in the Pagan and Christian Roots of Mariology. 1993. ISBN 9004097473 60 Z.P.Thundy.Buddha and Christ. Nativity Stories and Indian Traditions.1993. ISBN 9004097414 61 S. Hjelde. Die Religionswissenschaft und das Christentum. Eine historische Untersuchung iiber das Verhaltnis von Religionswissenschaft und Theologie. 1994. ISBN 9004099220 62 Th.A. Idinopulos and E.A.Yonan (eds.). Religion and Reductionism. Essays on Eliade, Segal, and the Challenge of the Social Sciences for the Study of Religion. 1994. ISBN 9004098704

ISSN

0169-8834

Idinopulos and Yonan - 978-90-04-37884-1