In conjunction with this exercise, I have students read Andrew McKinnon’s pitch for a Wittgensteinian language game and non-essentialist approach to “religion,” and another by Ake Hultkrantz which contends that the key concept in “religion” is the supernatural. Because both articles deal with notoriously tedious definitions and theory, there have been complaints about how much time is spent on these matters. Like Justice Potter Stewart and porn, students sense they know “religion” when they see it.

Because spending the first week of class delineating the Western history and genealogy of “religion” is not an option, I’ve been searching for a solution and seem to have found one. A recent article by Jason A. Josephson, “The Invention of Japanese Religions,” makes most of the needed theoretical points simply by telling the story of how “religion” has been rendered in Japan. My sense is that students would prefer reading a concrete historical narrative or an actual case that deals with the category-concept of “religion.”

Josephson argues that the Japanese lacked not only a word but also an idea of “religion” that corresponded to the Western construct, so it had to be invented. During the late 1800s there was considerable debate about how “religion” should be rendered in Japanese:

Japanese intellectuals and policymakers proposed over half a dozen possible translations for “religion.” When faced with the European term, even Japanese scholars educated abroad had to go searching for equivalents, and they proposed several different contenders and tried to hang different understandings of religion upon them.

It seemed that “religion” could be a type of education, something fundamentally un-teachable, a set of practices, a description of foreign customs, a subtype of Shinto, a near synonym for Christianity, a basic human ethical impulse, or a form of politics (among other possibilities). This is clear evidence that it is glib to talk of Japanese religion projected back through the centuries.

What is more, not only did Japanese intellectuals produce different terms for “religion,” they also debated which indigenous traditions and practices fit into the category. It was not clear to them what religions there were in Japan. The sole “religion” on which everyone could agree was Christianity. More than anything else, this clearly demonstrates the foreign nature of the category.

This is a nice contribution from Josephson, whose “When Buddhism Became a Religion” I’ve long admired. I wanted to assign that article for my course last year but we simply ran out of time and never arrived at Buddhism in Japan.

Reference:

Josephson, Jason A. (2011). The Invention of Japanese Religions Religion Compass, 5 (10), 589-597 DOI: 10.1111/j.1749-8171.2011.00307.x

When fully modern humans left Africa around 75,000 years ago, they almost certainly carried some form of shamanism with them. It is even possible that humans they encountered along the way — those whose ancestors had left Africa during earlier migrations (such as Neanderthals and Denisovans) — were shamanic. We know that some of these encounters involved genetic mixing; they also probably involved ritual mixing. Indeed, having sex with different looking and sounding strangers may have been richly imbued with ritual.

Whatever the case, one thing is certain: wherever humans went, so too did shamanism. It is found throughout Africa, Near East, Europe, Asia, Oceania, Australia, Arctic, and Americas. If you look at any map which shows migration routes from Africa and colonization of the world, the map shows not just the movement of people over tens of thousands of years: it also shows the spread of shamanisms.

All humans were hunter-gatherers and shamanic until the advent of agriculture some 12,000 years ago. But wherever agriculture takes hold in any kind of intensive way, shamanism is transformed into something that looks more like what we today call “religion.” It becomes, in other words, more organized, systematic, and doctrinal. The primacy of individual supernaturalism, a hallmark of shamanism, gives way to collective supernaturalism or formal religions.

In isolated areas where foraging and small-scale horticulture persisted for longer periods of time, so too did shamanism. Traditional shamanism exists today primarily in small-scale societies such as those found in the Amazon and New Guinea. As an ancient practice which many deem to be closer to the “primordial supernatural source,” it is hardly surprising that it has been appropriated and commodified for global use. Commercial neo-shamanism thrives in places like New York, Paris, and Tokyo.

Traditional shamanism was not, however, wholly replaced by Neolithic religions created to meet the needs of agricultural and large-scale societies. As Robert Bellah frequently observes when discussing the history of religions: “nothing is ever lost.” There is in other words a bit of shamanism in all religions today. Ideas about souls, spirits, gods, other-worlds, after-lives, possession, prophecy, and divination were all developed within shamanism and existed for many thousands of years before the earliest religions formalized and systematized them.

This process of incorporation and domestication did not completely subsume shamanism. Strands of shamanism persisted in more traditional forms, especially in rural areas, and elements of it continued to be practiced at the margins under different names: oracles, mediums, healers, diviners, psychics, seers, clairvoyants, sorcerers, and witches. Within more established religions, people who privileged and cultivated the shamanic substrates of those traditions are known as mystics, sages, gurus, prophets, and saints. Shamanism runs as deep as it does wide, and a splendid book on the shamanic aspects of Christianity is begging to be written.

While waiting for this genealogy of shamanic Christianity, it may be less threatening to trace the transformational course of shamanic practice in Japan, where supernatural syncretism has long been the norm. Where syncretism prevails, it is easier to acknowledge borrowings and debts.

In 1975 Carmen Blacker published The Catalpa Bow: A Study of Shamanistic Practices in Japan and highlighted the prevalence of Japanese “folk” beliefs that run alongside and mix with official Shinto and temple Buddhism. In “Witch Animals” (open), Blacker examines belief in animals who have spirits that can be cultivated as household guardians. This is a common idea among hunter-gatherers in general and Amerindians in particular; the latter famously sought visions to identify an animal whose spirit would become a lifelong companion and protector. In “Exorcism” (open), Blacker examines the belief that physical-mental illnesses are caused by spirit maleficence or possession, the cure for which is exorcism. Similar beliefs are found in nearly all shamanic societies, with the cure being a ritualized extraction or casting out.

Blacker is aware of these shamanic connections and suggests in early chapters (open) that Japanese “folk” practices are rooted in an ancient hunting and gathering past. That such practices have persisted is remarkable in light of Meiji period (1868-1912) efforts to modernize Japan, one programmatic aspect of which was to root out shamanic “superstitions” and create a national tradition which conformed to the Western concept and category of “religion.”

Although such superstitions were by the time of the Meiji period identified mostly with Buddhism, this had not always been the case. When Buddhists first arrived in Japan around 550 CE, they encountered an intensely spiritualized landscape that was deeply informed by indigenous Japanese shamanism. This shamanism arose in conjunction with the Jomon peoples, who hunted and gathered in Japan from 14,000-300 BCE, a spectacularly long run during which they built permanent settlements, made pottery, and developed rituals.

As Buddhism developed in Japan it did so not by displacing traditional beliefs developed over 14,000 years, but rather by incorporating and accepting them. This meant that over the centuries Japanese Buddhism developed into a distinctive amalgam described here by Jason A. Josephson:

During the Tokugawa period [1603-1868] the vast majority of interaction between priests and parishioners was for the purpose of practical, this-worldly benefits (genze riyaku 現世利益) or memorial rituals for the dead (kuyō 供養). The day-to-day life of Buddhist priests of all sects was filled with the performance of exorcisms, funerals, distributing healing charms, and spells for rain.

Many of these rituals were intended for apotropaic purposes, banishing monsters, limiting their negative effects, or transforming the curses of ancestors and kami into blessings. Hungry ghosts (gaki 餓鬼) and demons (oni 鬼 or ma 魔) were an integral part of the worldview promoted by the Buddhist establishment; and one of the main benefits of seemingly unconnected activities such as lay ordination rituals, for instance, was to manage these sorts of supernatural entities. Despite later revisionism, both demons and this-worldly magic were fundamental to Buddhism—in canonical texts and in daily practices.

While Buddhist priests were performing these ancient (shamanic) rites during the medieval Tokugawa period (1603-1868), this had not always been the case. For centuries prior, Buddhist priests had been learning this craft from female shamans known as miko. In a recent article on spirit mediums or miko in pre-Tokugawa Japan, Lori Meeks observes that miko were often ensconced in or around temples where they performed a variety of services that were much in demand but were not on official Buddhist offer:

[W]e can find many examples of miko who engaged in a variety of closely linked spiritual services, such as the transmission of oracles from gods and bodhisattvas, which was thought to occur through divine trance; channeling spirits of the dead; divine petition, which sometimes involved exorcism; fortune-telling; rituals and blessings for romantic relationships and childbirth; and physical healing.

Both shrine miko and arukimiko also developed extensive repertoires of spiritual services meant to meet the needs of individual patrons: the conjuring of dead spirits, divination, love rites, and physical healing.

Although miko were tolerated, accommodated, and sometimes celebrated in medieval Japan, they were often viewed with suspicion by government officials attempting to impose control and maintain order in collaboration with more placid and malleable temple Buddhists. Miko were recognized as shamanic atavists and may have served as reminders of an unruly populace or anarchic past. The fact that miko carried drums and danced connects them directly to shamans, as does the fact they were healers.

When it comes to shamans or those who carry on aspects of shamanic tradition within larger-scale societies, the usual course is for shamanic functions to be co-opted by mainstream religious traditions or relegated to the periphery where they are denigrated as “superstition.” The latter epithet is euphemism for “supernatural beliefs not fitted within recognized religions or traditional doctrines.” From the priest to the palmist, all supernatural practitioners are indebted to the universal shaman.

References:

Meeks, Lori (2011). The Disappearing Medium: Reassessing the Place of Miko in the Religious Landscape of Premodern Japan
History of Religions, 50 (3), 208-260 DOI: 10.1086/656611

Josephson, Jason A. (2006). When Buddhism Became a “Religion”: Religion and Superstition in the Writings of Inoue Enryō Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, 33 (1), 143-168

Habu, Junko (2008). Growth and decline in complex hunter-gatherer societies: a case study from the Jomon period Sannai Maruyama site, Japan Antiquity, 82, 571-584

In “Death and Deification: Folk Cults in Hinduism,” Stuart Blackburn addresses this concern and notes it is not limited to high-caste and literate Brahmins:

As a source of Indian religious thought, death is probably unsurpassed; no matter which historical period or cultural level one chooses to examine, concepts lead to or from the problems it presents. Beneath their cosmic purposes, Vedic sacrifices were designed to ward off death temporarily and attain a full life span for men….And even the process of samsira, the foundation of Indian thought, was first understood not as a rebirth but as continual “redeath” (punarmrtyu).

In the social world, if purity and impurity have anything to do with the way Hindus perceive and organize it, death is all the more central because it is the single most polluting human experience. And even if the pure/impure dichotomy is not the organizing principle of Hindu life, an opposition between death and life may be; this is the conclusion of several important studies of Sanskrit ritual and literary texts, and one confirmed by my own work with an oral tradition…[T]he popular streams of Hinduism, no less than the high-status ones, are centered on death.

Blackburn is not alone in his assessment. In The Origins of Evil in Hindu Mythology, renowned Indologist Wendy Doniger comments: “Much — some might even say all — of Indian religion is dedicated to the attempt to achieve immortality in one form or another.”

What is up with all this death obsession? Some, such as Ernest Becker in The Denial of Death, claim that humans are universally obsessed with death and all of life is governed by our attempts to deny or thwart it. Although Becker was a cultural anthropologist, he apparently did not read much ethnography or ethnohistory. Had Becker done so (and not immersed himself in existential psychoanalysis), he would know that death obsessions are not a human universal.

We are fortunate to have a substantial ethnohistoric and ethnographic record of hunter-gatherers. Although large portions of this record remain unpublished and languish in archives, anyone who has spent much time with this record knows that hunter-gatherers do not devote much time, energy, or thought to the fact of death and death’s supernatural concomitants: afterlife and/or rebirth.

There are reasons why late Neolithic and Axial religions are so concerned with death and are sometimes characterized as “world rejecting.” There likewise are reasons why hunter-gatherers are not so concerned and their “religions” (or more aptly, supernaturalism) are characterized as “world affirming.” I have several reasons in mind but am interested in your thoughts. Any ideas?

Reference:

Blackburn, Stuart H. (1985). Death and Deification: Folk Cults in Hinduism History of Religions, 24 (3), 255-274

Jamil Anderlini of the Financial Times recently visited Shaolin for an interview with its controversial abbot, Shi Yongxin. When asked about the subservience of religion to the state in China, the abbot responds:  “Throughout history it is the same: Religion must respect the emperor, respect the government. If a religion doesn’t respect the government, it will have difficulty surviving. We have to rely on the government to publicize and promote us.” Anderlini’s impression is that the abbot sounds “like an executive from a global marketing firm.”

Perhaps, but I think the abbot sounds more like an astute historian and pragmatist. Since the rise of the Shang Dynasty in 1766 BCE, religion and government in China have been tightly linked. While some have claimed that later dynasties were essentially secular, most claims of this sort focus on Confucian legalism and court intellectuals; they minimize the large and important role that religion played in maintaining the realm and legitimating rulers.

In “The Religious Commitment: Shang Theology and the Genesis of Chinese Political Culture,” historian David Keightley explains the connections:

Shang religion was inextricably involved in the genesis and legitimation of the Shang state. It was believed that Ti, the high god, conferred fruitful harvest and divine assistance in battle, that the king’s ancestors were able to intercede with Ti, and that the king could communicate with his ancestors.

Worship of the Shang ancestors, therefore, provided powerful psychological and ideological support for the political dominance of the Shang kings. The king’s ability to determine through divination, and influence through prayer and sacrifice, the will of the ancestral spirits legitimized the concentration of political power in his person.

There were similar developments around the world, which varied according to time and place. Wherever we find newly organized or rising city-states, we find that religion is married to power. Keightly recognizes this: “There is nothing uniquely Chinese in this account so far. Religious belief has played similar roles in the genesis of other states.” While coercion can provide a measure of control in larger-scale societies, having people internalize power — or exercise “self control” — is far more effective. 

Although these kinds of arrangements eventually broke down in many parts of the world (thus setting the stage for the Axial Age), in China they were transformed and reinvigorated (in large part by Confucian ideas). There has been a great deal of continuity in China for the last 3,000 years. The names may change, but the basic ideas are incredibly resilient.

Reference:

Keightley, David N. (1978). The Religious Commitment: Shang Theology and the Genesis of Chinese Political Culture History of Religions, 17 (3/4), 211-225

These comments from Reitman caught my attention:

Scientology can be very expensive. If your goal is total spiritual freedom—a type of Nirvana—you have to do auditing (which is what Scientology counseling is called).

The path to spiritual enlightenment in Scientology is called the Bridge to Total Freedom, and you can climb it like a ladder, ostensibly acquiring more and more ability or enhancement or whatever it may be you’re going for, as you go.

The first big goal is to reach the level known as “clear,” where you’re supposed to be free of your psychological issues and psychosomatic physical issues. Free of the problems of current time, present time, this life (because they believe you’ve had many lives)—they believe all those issues are supposed to be gone.

This is a clever formula that should sound familiar to those who have studied the Axial Age. It was during this era that several sages, prophets, and thinkers responded to the obvious fact that the world can be cruel and life filled with suffering.

Seeking ways to escape and cope with these conditions, Axial thinkers variously espoused ideas proclaiming this world is not the real world and there is something better (either in another place or life). This world rejecting Weltanschauung laid the foundation for several modern “world” religions, including the monotheistic movements and Buddhism.

While I doubt that L. Ron Hubbard and Scientology “theologians” deliberately patterned their movement after Axial Age philosophies, at some level they realized the tremendous appeal such ideas have for people who are suffering from mental, physical, or social distress and are looking for solace in outer space.

If you have ever attended a Star Trek Convention, you will not be surprised to learn there are people who actually profess belief in what they call Jedi religion. They have gotten together and formed The Church of Jediism. Their beliefs sound vaguely familiar:

In Jediism, we believe in the Force. The Force is a unifying energy which exists around us, in us, and is always present. It is the catalyst for life – it is the power that keeps the universe together. The Force is not something Jedi worship, rather it is something we concentrate on, and can relate to. The Force exists in many forms, but it is not something which can be seen. It flows through everything in existence as neutral energy, and according to the way we see, treat and act in life, can change it from neutral to positive or negative Force.

We believe the mind is like a sponge. As sponges, they soak up information daily – we are constantly learning new things. But not all of this information is stored as positive thoughts. There are always negative thoughts and information which can contaminate the mind, whether that is for a short time or a life time. We believe the practice of self enlightenment helps clear the mind, rinsing the sponge of all negative thoughts. This therefore makes more room for positive thoughts, and also changes one’s thought process and ability to take in and learn more information.

Our aim is to bring all of the world’s believers in the Force together for the power of good. We will form a community that does not have bias or any type of prejudice. A community that does not reject other religions, but in fact encourages their positive teachings. It is through positivity that we shall thrive, for that is the Light side of the Force.

The Force sounds suspiciously like something that theoretical physicists study and Jedi doctrine reminds me of westernized Buddhism. The master Jedi encourages everyone to study the Star Wars movies for additional insights.

This religion will not get very far without sacred texts and I am not sure that George Lucas’ original 13 page script will work. On the other hand, Scientologists have done far more with considerably less.

Copyright Illustration by John Perlock

If you are wondering whether this is all in jest, so is a Danish scholar whose study of Jediism will appear in a forthcoming issue of the International Journal for the Study of New Religions.

What could be wrong with a large-scale movement that emphasizes meditation, morality, and mingling? Apparently quite a lot, if a recent “Photo Essay” over at Foreign Policy is any indication. The essay’s title contains all kinds of code words calculated to set off alarm bells: Close Encounters of the Buddhist Kind: An Exclusive Look Inside a Booming Multibillion-Dollar, Evangelical, Global Thai Cult.

It obviously took a bit of hard work to insert all the allusions, because this has just about everything. Far out and crazy, akin to UFO beliefs and Heaven’s Gate or Scientology (“Close Encounters”)? Check. Secretive and shadowy, but we have the Enquiring scoop (“An Exclusive Look Inside”)? Check. A dubious spiritual profiteering scheme (“Booming Multi-billion Dollar”)? Check. Enthusiastic, zealous, and irrational (“Evangelical”)? Check. Expansive, dangerous, and conspiratorial (“Global”)? Check. And the inevitable kicker, bringing to mind Jim Jones, David Koresh, and Reverend Moon: it’s a “cult.”

As if these clumsy connotations were not enough, the caption “essayist” (Ron Gluckman) absurdly trots out the Nazi analogies, complete with “scare quotes”:

Picture this: millions of followers gathering around a central shrine that looks like a giant UFO in elaborately choreographed Nuremberg-style rallies; missionary outposts in 31 countries from Germany to the Democratic Republic of the Congo; an evangelist vision that seeks to promote a “world morality restoration project”; and a V-Star program that encourages hundreds of thousands of children to improve “positive moral behavior.” Although the Bangkok-based Dhammakaya movement dons saffron robes, not brown shirts, its flamboyant ceremonies have become increasingly bold displays of power for this cult-like Buddhist group that was founded in the 1970s, ironically, as a reform movement opposed to the excesses of organized religion in Thailand.

Take cover! These mass-meditating Buddhists are poised for world domination! If Dhammakaya practitioners were carrying Mausers instead of flowers and clamoring for more meditation Lebensraum, the connection would be complete. Or not.

The photos in this feature are arresting and beautiful (excellent work by photographer Luke Duggleby), but caption “essayist” Gluckman tells us virtually nothing about Dhammakaya. It amounts to a hatchet job, which may or may not be deserved. One thing is for certain: Gluckman has not provided us with any information by which to judge the issue. His non-stop train of pejorative cliches and negative connotations speaks to an agenda. Instead of providing us with analysis, we are given only Gluckman’s judgments.

Whatever else it might be, Dhammakaya appears to be a dream come true for cultural anthropologists looking for a field site or subject. If anyone is aware of ethnographic work that situates this movement in a meaningful or informative way, please let us know. In the meantime, we can all channel our inner Leni Riefenstahl while contemplating scenes from the main temple complex:

[A]ny ability resulting from practice and cultivation could accurately be said to embody kung fu. There is a kung fu of dancing, painting, cooking, writing, acting, making good judgments, dealing with people, even governing.

During the Song and Ming dynasties in China, the term kung fu was widely used by the neo-Confucians, the Daoists and Buddhists alike for the art of living one’s life in general, and they all unequivocally spoke of their teachings as different schools of kung fu.

This broad understanding of kung fu is a key (though by no means the only key) through which we can begin to understand traditional Chinese philosophy and the places in which it meets and departs from philosophical traditions of the West.

As many scholars have pointed out, the predominant orientation of traditional Chinese philosophy is the concern about how to live one’s life, rather than finding out the truth about reality.

Is there a kung fu of religion?  If so, it is unquestionably eclectic, inclusive, and tolerant.  My sense, however, is that any kung fu of religion would be mostly anti-metaphysical and any exclusivist religion would be outside the existential ambit of kung fu.  Verstehen Grasshopper?

Not surprisingly, this mixing included religion and Afghanistan was once home to many religions, several of which fused comfortably with one another.  Buddhism had an extraordinary presence there, as is evident from the colossal and awe inspiring temple complex at Bamiyan:

Constructed around 500 CE, the two carved Buddhas were the largest in the world and at various times over the centuries, several thousand monks lived at the complex.  Rare Buddhist manuscripts and relics were present in abundance.

In 2001, four hundred Taliban clerics — acting in accordance with their religious beliefs — declared the site and statues idolatrous and ordered Bamiyan destroyed.  Here is an explosion at the site, this one intended to kill Buddhas rather than people:

Although Bamiyan is now largely destroyed, it still attracts curious operators and spooks, as you can see here:

I was reminded of all this yesterday while reading about a Chinese mining company that is moving in on Afghanistan’s mineral wealth, and in the process is going to destroy a 2,600-year-old Buddhist monastery in Mes Aynak, south of Kabul.  Shall the destruction never cease?

I believe that it might be instructive for Americans to combine these two entities by creating a series of religious classes taught in every school between the seventh and twelfth grades. One requirement would be that those responsible for teaching a certain discipline could not belong to that belief. Christians could not teach Christianity and Jews could not teach Judaism.

But then, some of the best instruction would be left lacking if the experts in those religions were kept from instruction, you say? Well maybe, but the rudiments of religions could be taught quite effectively by those with no dog in the fight. The Bible, the Torah, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita and even the teachings of Bodhidharma and the Buddha would be required along with other religions.

Though Buddhism can hardly be called a religion (of the more than one million words attributed to Buddha, never was God mentioned once in his teachings), we would include it in our instruction because so many Americans mistakenly believe it to be a source of religious belief. Indeed, as this philosophy was being taught, perhaps those Americans who only read their Bibles might learn more so as to be informed in conversation.

On the surface this might seem to be a good idea, but further reflection reveals some real problems.  First, not one of these religious traditions exists in a singular, essentialized form, so which versions are going to be taught?  Is it going to be Protestant or Catholic Christianity, orthodox or mystical Judaism, Sunni or Shiite Islam?  Second, it would require the screening of teachers for their beliefs.  Such litmus test disclosures would have all sorts of ill effects, not the least of which is an unacceptable invasion of privacy.  Finally, Anderson himself could use an education in religion — you do not need deities to have what amounts to a supernatural tradition that can be called “religion.”

If we are going to alter the curriculum so that it addresses what we today call “religion,” a much better idea would be to require a course series tracing the genealogy of religions.  It might look like this, with each subject being a semester long class:

1. Cosmology: formation of universe, stars, galaxies, solar systems, and earth.
2. Earth History: geological history of the earth from formation through today.
3. Life History: biological history of all life on earth, from 3.2 mya through today.
4. Human Evolution: with particular emphasis on evolved aspects of brain-mind that give rise to belief in the supernatural.
5. Paleolithic Supernaturalism: covering the history and ethnography of shamanisms.
6. Neolithic Religions: covering the rise of organized religions, which coincide with the appearance of agricultural societies.
7. Modern Religions: covering the history of “world” or Axial Age religions, which includes all those in Anderson’s list.

This curriculum would be long on explanation and short on justification.  It would not linger on matters of theology or correctness, but would instead address the two fundamental questions surrounding religions:  Why do people have supernatural beliefs?  How did supernatural beliefs develop over time into religions?

A curriculum that provided students with the knowledge necessary to answer these questions would enable them to decide from themselves what to believe or not believe; or preferably, what to think or not think.