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"Sumus etiam religiosi et religio nostra simplex..."
This brief sentence from one of the earliest historical accounts of Christian martyrdom is what initially formed my thoughts for the direction of this blog. The scene in the account is fairly typical for early Christian passiones. Some Christians are brought before a proconsul. And they are urged to do two things.
Saying the above quote, "We, also, are religious, and our religion is simple," the proconsul tells them that all they must do is pray for the health of the emperor and burn a little incense in order to fulfill their religious duty in the way of all good Roman citizens. There's nothing to it, and the Christians should have no crisis of conscience. Surely, their worship of the Lord Christ does not preclude the worship of other deities, not least of all their political master, Caesar. Of course, for the scholar of religion in the contemporary academy, the account is full of ironies, not least of all this kind of statement: "et religio nostra simplex." Whatever else may be implied by the proconsul's statement and demands, one thing ought to be clear: what is going on in this religious encounter is not a simple affair.
I have often thought of this scene as a sort of tableau for the nature of the study and practice of religion. With some notable exceptions, there is a tendency in the academy to wish to simplify the nature of any religion or any scene in the history of a religion or religions. We want to reduce the number of possible options for our interpretation. So, we tend to see scholars rely on a particular lens for approaching most, if not all, religious expression in the world or history, whether it is through the use of methods from phenomenology, sociology, psychoanalysis, gender theory, ritual theory, religionsgeschichte, theology, or any other approach. While the tendency I describe is not universal, there often seems to be the impression that we can actually reduce religious expression to something fairly understandable without the loss of any crucial elements. For example, Russell McCutcheon, a professor at the University of Alabama, is quick to claim that we must describe all religious expression in sociological terms. After all, he says that we cannot rationally conceive of religion in any other way.
I find much of McCutcheon's work rather admirable and bold, so I do not wish to provide a caricature of his position. His insistence on using only the sociological lens is an attempt to redescribe religious expression in a way which is manageable or conceivable. However, as he admits himself in Critics, Not Caretakers and other publications, his moves at redescription are not innocent in any way. When we wish to define or describe religion in a particular way, we are actually engaging in a political act which has wider ramifications beyond the realm of scholarly debate. Our definition of religion becomes the definition of the activity of others and for the consumption of other minds, which, in turn, enables a public discourse on religion which is committed to understanding, say, the decision of persons to enter religious community as something which is brought on by social pressures which may be described sociologically, without reference to the discourse of the particular religion they are joining. For McCutcheon, we have no need to describe or understand something like a Christian baptism in terms of the person's desire for and participation in an act which brings renewal of the soul, the forgiveness of sins, and the death of the Old and birth of the New. We are perfectly capable of understanding this action, instead, in others terms, like their submission to social pressures or an attempt at seize political power through such submission to social pressure.
I find nothing completely dubious about McCutcheon's position, particularly for those not standing within the bounds of Christian religion. It does appear, though, to succumb to this tendency towards reduction. For example, it would seem an undue abstraction to view such action solely in terms of labels and motivations which are foreign to the discourse of the religion in question. It also seems to betray a certain level of suspicion or skepticism regarding the stated motives of the person engaging in the action. Ultimately, we must ask ourselves whether we trust our own powers of interpretation and redescription over those of the person or community which we are studying. In other words, does our description always trump theirs? Or, is there some room for both descriptions? Also, in light of McCutcheon's insistence that redescription is a political act, do we want to create a public discourse on religion which does not allow for religious communities to explain their actions in their own terms? Must we insist on understanding them in another way?
As one who studies Church History, particularly (now) the Early Middle Ages, I am somewhat more sympathetic to a description of religion and religious acts which is more keenly aware of the possibilities for description or redescription which is fuller or thicker than McCutcheon's attempt, description which attempts to take into account both the explained motivations of a particular agent or community and some of the latent or implicit understandings which we can glean by examining the social situation or by deploying other methods. For example, it would be foolish to try and understand the conversion of pagans to Christianity in the Early Middle Ages and their concomitant submission to Christian baptism always as a simple attempt to seize political power or standing in their community. Doubtless, there were such motivations, at least on the part of some or of many. Yet we would be lining ourselves up on the side of the proconsul from the earlier story, saying something like "Vero, estis religiosi, sed religio vestra simplex." That is, "Really, you are religious, but your religion is simple." We would like their religion to be simple and superficial, a mere sprinkling of water or lighting of incense, the perfunctory mutter of disingenuous prayer for themselves or for their political overlord.
Yet, I think it would also be foolish to try and understand such conversions as I described them previously, solely in the terms of Christian theology. The sympathetic Church historian, theologian, or Christian believer often wishes to describe the conversion of the "barbarian" tribes of Europe only in terms of the spread of the faith or the end of pagan superstition (of which we no little), perhaps even in terms of the growing visible reign of Christ or the exile of diabolical, impostor spirits. Or, they wish to think of it in terms of the forgiveness of sins, pyschical renewal, and new creation. That is, the sympathetic historian attempts a description which is actually the mere promulgation of the viewpoint of primary, medieval sources.
I am trying to push for something a little more than either the repetition and promulgation of the medieval, ecclesiastical viewpoint or the redescription and political muzzling of such views. I would prefer if we could see early medieval conversions while using much of both approaches, indeed from all approaches and lenses. I may propose an impossible project, and I have critiqued others in the past for doing so. But, I think the approach justifies itself, at least when we consider the case I am looking at. We can confidently say that those converting from "paganism" to Christianity often were trying to gain or leverage some political capital. Early Medieval Kings would often advocate for Christian faith as a source of unity for tribes which, heretofore, had been engaged in raiding or open warfare against one another. Yet, these same converts, whether king, thane, or servant, also understood their conversion in the terms I have outlined above. They did see their submission to baptism as both political, changing the social reality for themselves and for their tribe or fledgling nation, as theological or religious, enacting the forgiveness of sins, personal exorcism, and personal renewal, and as what best might be described as theo- or religio-political, submitting to a new Lord or Judge and being transferred to a new Kingdom, i.e. that of Jesus Christ.
My main point, I suppose, in this lengthy post is to argue for something which is opposite to the view of the much-abused, aforementioned proconsul. "Religio Nostra Contortula." Our religion, and religion in general, is not simple; rather it has twists and facets which cross sociological and theological boundaries. When we study religion or the history of religion, we must remember that our categories, whether sociological, theological, or otherwise, must be malleable enough to reflect our source material. We have to resist the tendency towards reduction.
An auxiliary point, which should by now be evident to the careful reader, has to do with our public discourse on religion. One might even say that I am making a political point here. As I mentioned above, McCutcheon's attempts at redescription are not innocent. Neither, of course, are mine. By pushing for a description of religion which includes an understanding of sociological and theological factors, among others, I am attempting to outline the way I would hope we can shape the public discussion of religion. My aims also bear reference to the methods we see in theological discussion, particularly in ecclesiastical debate. Yet, I will have to write more on these issues at a later time, and I will leave with one final restatement of my point.
We cannot understand religion or religious expressions in terms which are overly simple, and we ought to have a deep, abiding suspicion for explanations of religious behavior which fail the test of sufficient complexity, whether those explanations are given by academics, politicians, members of religious communities, or some combination of all three.
After all, we, also, are religious, and our religion is not simple.
