Black Swan (dir. Darren Aronofsky, 2010). Black Swan, the negative image of Powell and Pressburger's The Red Shoes, is anchored by Portman's brilliant performance as a ballerina with a tenuous grip on reality. Director Aronofsky's abrasive visual scheme, full of jarring tonal shifts and disturbing imagery, offers unflinching insight into a fractured mind's inward gyre as it struggles to assume another identity and swirls in a sea of doubles, both real and imagined. And floating above all this is Clint Mansell's harrowing soundtrack, which itself is the double to Aronofsky's otherwise image-heavy film. The best American film of 2010. A-
The White Ribbon (dir. Michael Haneke, 2009). In this blessedly unromanticized recreation of Europe on the precipice of WWI, a series of increasingly disturbing events slowly unravels an idealistic German village. But what begins as a tentative contrast—in equally unsympathetic terms—between the lives of menial laborers and the bourgeoisie quickly shifts into a contrast between the sordid reality below the surface and the artifices people construct to obscure it (thus continuing themes Haneke has also dealt with in previous films, most notably Caché). The villagers' religion—so successful at binding them psychologically—seems wholly incapable of binding the community socially or morally. The White Ribbon is filmed in beautiful black and white by Christian Berger, whose work here is the equal of Nykvist's work with Bergman. A
February 28, 2011
February 25, 2011
Basho haiku 8
静けさや岩に滲み入る蝉の声
Stillness
penetrating the rock
sound of cicada
[Yes, this is the poem from which I stole my blog's name.]
Stillness
penetrating the rock
sound of cicada
[Yes, this is the poem from which I stole my blog's name.]
February 24, 2011
Film review: Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde (dir. Arthur Penn, 1967). Taking its cue from the stylish individualism of the French nouvelle vague, when Bonnie and Clyde was released in 1967, it looked like no other American film released before it. Despite its importance to film history, however, Bonnie and Clyde has also become one of the most overrated American films, burdened as it is now by the excessive mythologizing of overly nostalgic film critics. The gleeful violence and sexuality with which Penn intended to shock audiences is tame by today's standards, thus making Penn's cavalier use of both seem dated instead of subversive. Because style so uniformly usurps substance, Penn only hints at deeper connections a more profound filmmaker could have fleshed out. C
February 23, 2011
February 22, 2011
Basho haiku 6
蛤のふたみにわかれ行秋ぞ
Leaving for Futami
like a clam pulled apart
fall fades
[Still not sure about this one; I've tried to leave intact what I think is a play on the word "Futami" by adding a few words and messing with the line arrangement, which sadly compromises the conciseness of Basho's Japanese.]
Leaving for Futami
like a clam pulled apart
fall fades
[Still not sure about this one; I've tried to leave intact what I think is a play on the word "Futami" by adding a few words and messing with the line arrangement, which sadly compromises the conciseness of Basho's Japanese.]
February 18, 2011
February 17, 2011
February 16, 2011
February 15, 2011
February 14, 2011
Basho haiku 1
This week, I’ll post translations of the haiku master Matsuo Basho I did last fall under the guidance of my sensei.
年暮れぬ笠きて草鞋はきながら
Another year has passed
still wearing
traveling hat and sandals
年暮れぬ笠きて草鞋はきながら
Another year has passed
still wearing
traveling hat and sandals
February 11, 2011
A short review of Vance Randolph's Ozark Magic and Folklore
[Adapted and expanded from an in-class writing assignment.]
With this book, originally published under the less politically correct (but probably more telling) title Ozark Superstitions in 1947, Randolph characterizes the Ozarks as a terminally unprogressive region full of backward people. To do so, he selectively includes a series of deliberately silly-sounding folk traditions and adages from a handful of people in a handful of areas. How, then, does this represent the Ozarks? The short answer is that it doesn't. This is not scholarly work; it's kids' stuff. But the text is not entirely useless, for though it is utterly useless as a tool to understand the Ozarks, it tells us quite a bit about Randolph.
Trained at a major American university in the early 20th Century, Randolph would have been exposed to the Great Modernization Narrative, the one-size-fits-all myth of a single possible direction of progress from the darkness of superstition to the light of modern, secular science. This seems to have had a two-fold effect on Randolph:
1. Randolph seems to have bought in to the modernization myth. The Ozarks becomes a tool that allows him to measure his progress toward the goals of modern, secular, Western society. By presenting the Ozarks in a static, often laughably backward manner, he wants to confirm his very identity—he wants to confirm the truth of the modernization narrative.
2. Yet Randolph also presents himself as a romanticist, a nostalgic imperialist of archaic culture, who desires more than anything to preserve the perceived purity of a vanishing primitive society. In this model, the Ozarks becomes a victim of modernization. After all, how is it possible to be “pure” when modernity (in the form of technology and science) is slowly but irrevocably encroaching, threatening a foundational change in the way lives are lived? Randolph's obsession with purity borders on the pathological. I am convinced that a psychological reading of his life and work would be revealing, but I unfortunately do not have the adequate training or time to commit to an exhaustive approach.
Even if we could overlook the inaccuracies of Randolph's scholarship and his obvious biases, Randolph's writing is not particularly good. He essentially offers a mind-numbingly repetitive catalog of smugly written anecdotes and possibly made up traditions with few attempts at structure, transitions, or coherence. The chapters are roughly arranged by topic or theme, but they never read like more than a random series of loosely-linked recollections. It doesn't matter from what page the reader starts, because the book, quite simply, doesn't go anywhere. Is this Randolph's attempt at mimicking the Ozarks' ostensibly static culture? Or is it merely more evidence of Randolph's inadequacy as a writer, thinker, and scholar?
Since the academic value of this work is dubious at best, Randolph's work has been roundly criticized by contemporary scholars. Among them is Brooks Blevins, the leading scholar in Ozarks studies today, who in his book Hill Folks presents a more nuanced view of a region and people attuned to their own patterns of change; he shows that the Ozarks has constructed a unique identity through both its internal dialectic and its external relations with other regions. Finally, Blevins demonstrates quite convincingly the biases of pseudo-scholars like Randolph who use the Ozarks as a mirror to reflect their own modernist concerns about progress and purity.
With this book, originally published under the less politically correct (but probably more telling) title Ozark Superstitions in 1947, Randolph characterizes the Ozarks as a terminally unprogressive region full of backward people. To do so, he selectively includes a series of deliberately silly-sounding folk traditions and adages from a handful of people in a handful of areas. How, then, does this represent the Ozarks? The short answer is that it doesn't. This is not scholarly work; it's kids' stuff. But the text is not entirely useless, for though it is utterly useless as a tool to understand the Ozarks, it tells us quite a bit about Randolph.
Trained at a major American university in the early 20th Century, Randolph would have been exposed to the Great Modernization Narrative, the one-size-fits-all myth of a single possible direction of progress from the darkness of superstition to the light of modern, secular science. This seems to have had a two-fold effect on Randolph:
1. Randolph seems to have bought in to the modernization myth. The Ozarks becomes a tool that allows him to measure his progress toward the goals of modern, secular, Western society. By presenting the Ozarks in a static, often laughably backward manner, he wants to confirm his very identity—he wants to confirm the truth of the modernization narrative.
2. Yet Randolph also presents himself as a romanticist, a nostalgic imperialist of archaic culture, who desires more than anything to preserve the perceived purity of a vanishing primitive society. In this model, the Ozarks becomes a victim of modernization. After all, how is it possible to be “pure” when modernity (in the form of technology and science) is slowly but irrevocably encroaching, threatening a foundational change in the way lives are lived? Randolph's obsession with purity borders on the pathological. I am convinced that a psychological reading of his life and work would be revealing, but I unfortunately do not have the adequate training or time to commit to an exhaustive approach.
Even if we could overlook the inaccuracies of Randolph's scholarship and his obvious biases, Randolph's writing is not particularly good. He essentially offers a mind-numbingly repetitive catalog of smugly written anecdotes and possibly made up traditions with few attempts at structure, transitions, or coherence. The chapters are roughly arranged by topic or theme, but they never read like more than a random series of loosely-linked recollections. It doesn't matter from what page the reader starts, because the book, quite simply, doesn't go anywhere. Is this Randolph's attempt at mimicking the Ozarks' ostensibly static culture? Or is it merely more evidence of Randolph's inadequacy as a writer, thinker, and scholar?
Since the academic value of this work is dubious at best, Randolph's work has been roundly criticized by contemporary scholars. Among them is Brooks Blevins, the leading scholar in Ozarks studies today, who in his book Hill Folks presents a more nuanced view of a region and people attuned to their own patterns of change; he shows that the Ozarks has constructed a unique identity through both its internal dialectic and its external relations with other regions. Finally, Blevins demonstrates quite convincingly the biases of pseudo-scholars like Randolph who use the Ozarks as a mirror to reflect their own modernist concerns about progress and purity.
February 10, 2011
Film reviews: Animated
The Secret of Kells (dir. Tomm More and Nora Twomey, 2009). A delightfully imaginative film, The Secret of Kells is a fictionalized account of the legendary illuminated manuscript from the 9th Century that remains Ireland's greatest national treasure. With its inventive and creative use of animation, perspective, and color, More and Twomey have created a great animated film in the tradition of Miyazaki, Norshteyn, and Ocelot with an impressive visual scheme and well nuanced storytelling to complement it, though the conclusion is regretfully a little rushed. The characters, with the understandable exception of the viking invaders, are refreshingly complex and engaging. A-.
Kirikou and the Sorceress (dir. Michel Ocelot, 1998). Kirikou and the Sorceress, Michel Ocelot's feature film debut, is a brilliant animated film that manages to capture the narrative pacing and lyrical cadence of West African oral tradition, rendered with a sophisticated and captivating use of perspective, color, and character design. Ocelot fills the film with charming details, like the jerky, robotic movement of the sorceress' fetishes, and moments of endearing tenderness, including the scene between Kirikou and his grandfather. The film's moral center, which stresses individual responsibility to the group, intelligence, and forgiveness, is (instructional) icing on the (aesthetic) cake. A.
Kirikou and the Sorceress (dir. Michel Ocelot, 1998). Kirikou and the Sorceress, Michel Ocelot's feature film debut, is a brilliant animated film that manages to capture the narrative pacing and lyrical cadence of West African oral tradition, rendered with a sophisticated and captivating use of perspective, color, and character design. Ocelot fills the film with charming details, like the jerky, robotic movement of the sorceress' fetishes, and moments of endearing tenderness, including the scene between Kirikou and his grandfather. The film's moral center, which stresses individual responsibility to the group, intelligence, and forgiveness, is (instructional) icing on the (aesthetic) cake. A.
February 9, 2011
Film review: The White Balloon
The White Balloon (dir. Jafar Panahi, 1995). Abbas Kiarostami wrote Panahi's feature film debut, which tells a charming, unembellished story of an adorable (but incredibly stubborn) seven year old girl and her quest to buy a chubby white and red goldfish whose fins flutter like it's dancing (hopefully for 100 tomans). Panahi allows the film to unfold naturally in real time, imbuing even his minor characters with a sense of humanity and complexity. Panahi's careful consciousness of economic issues, along with his penetrating insight into human beings, reveals a vital voice in contemporary cinema and in documenting Iranian history, which makes his unjust imprisonment in Iran all the more unbearable. [And like so many great Iranian films, it is nearly impossible to find without the assistance of internet databases of questionable legality.] A.
February 8, 2011
The Tragedy of the Closet Theologian: A Play
For the guy who sits in the back of my Ozarks religion class and gracelessly voices his asinine opinions about what should be done to improve the religious studies department.
Characters in the Play:
THE CLOSET THEOLOGIAN, a 20-something religious studies major at a public admissions university
ACADEMIA (personified)
CHORUS
THE CLOSET THEOLOGIAN stands at a fork in the road. On the right path stands ACADEMIA; further up the path is a secular university. On the left path, in the distance, is a seminary.
CLOSET THEOLOGIAN [troubled, confessional]: The theories class is ridiculous. Why should we study “theories of religion”? It just seems so obvious to me. I have no problem studying religion. So I don't need all these people we're reading who just talk about religion, arguing about who gets to write about it, how we should study it and think about it. Religion is just so simple, right? Religion is just the thing that gives our lives meaning, right? It's our ultimate concern!
ACADEMIA: Religion is not sui generis; it is a category.
CLOSET THEOLOGIAN [not comprehending]: One of these readings, it was written by this guy Donald Wiebe, I think. Man, I wrote so much in the margins of the textbook because I mean I disagreed with like every point the guy was making. It was like he was trying to criticize us for being religious at all; he was saying that we shouldn't study religions from a religious perspective, and that religious studies has become a front for Christian theology—as if it's bad to approach religion from a theological angle. But the whole point is that I am religious, and I want to write about my religion and talk about what good my religion has done for the world and for individual people. You know, that's what it should all be about.
ACADEMIA: The academic study of religion does not exist to defend “religions themselves” or to make the practitioners of any faith “feel good.”
CLOSET THEOLOGIAN [not comprehending, but noticeably flustered and increasingly desperate]: What should be offered as the seminar in religious studies is a class that would teach you how to practice religion. Why do we spend a week studying post-structuralism? No one can understand that stuff anyway! How can meaning be created by power?! I mean, when I read this stuff, every time I sit down with the book, I can't focus. All I can think is “shut up shut up shut up!” You're wrong! Everything these people say goes completely against everything I've ever learned in church and what my parents have taught me! So it has to be wrong!
As THE CLOSET THEOLOGIAN rambles, ACADEMIA turns its back on him and enters the university. THE CLOSET THEOLOGIAN now stands alone, broken, on the verge of weeping. Finally, he turns and follows the left path to the seminary.
Enter CHORUS.
CHORUS: Here ends the tragedy of the Closet Theologian. The only contribution to the academic study of religion he is capable of making would be to abandon it. But do not mourn him; rather, mourn the world, for if the Closet Theologian is ever able to string together enough clauses into a moderately coherent series of sentences and publish a book, it will undoubtedly sell more copies than anything written by Tomoko Masuzawa, Talal Asad, or J. Z. Smith (though it will, in all likelihood, proudly but erroneously stand adjacent to them on the shelves of your local bookstore in the “religion” section—you know, the section sandwiched between New Age and Christian Inspiration, principally populated by vapid suburbanites who feel a misplaced affinity for “Eastern religions” because “Western religions” are so “intolerant” and “violent” whereas “Eastern religions” are “peaceful” and all about “living in the moment,” but whose knowledge of Buddhism, the religion they claim to practice, comes primarily from Deepak Chopra and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; yeah, that section).
CURTAIN
February 7, 2011
Film review: In the Heat of the Night
In the Heat of the Night (dir. Norman Jewison, 1967). Now a work of primarily historical importance, In the Heat of the Night offers a provocative critique of racism that still resonates with progressive sensibilities. However, I found Jewison's carefully constructed depiction of race relations in the South unsettling, but not for what I think were the intended reasons: I think the film is irresponsible in the way it essentializes the South (and, in doing so, essentializes the entire problem of racism). While racism is of course prevalent in the South, this does not make all Southerners racist, nor does it make all Northerners, with their all too often skin-deep affectation of liberalism, tolerant; racism does not exist by virtue of artificial geographical borders. Ultimately, racism is a much more complex process of othering and socio-economic exclusion than this film makes it out to be, and by criticizing the (perhaps) more overt racism of the South, it invites us to ignore the problematic instances of institutionalized racist policies in supposedly progressive parts of the country. C.
February 4, 2011
Cultural Imperialism and Native American Spirituality
Another short essay from my Native American Religions course, fall 2010, that tackles the issue of the expropriation and commodification of Native American spirituality under the auspices of American capitalism. My sources are Lisa Aldred, “Plastic Shamans and Astroturf Sundances: New Age Commercialization and Native American Spirituality,” American Indian Quarterly v. 24, n. 3 (Summer 2000): 329-52; Laurie Anne Whitt, “Cultural Imperialism and the Marketing of Native America,” American Indian Culture and Research Journal v. 19, n. 3 (1995): 1-31; a chapter from Vine Deloria's God is Red; Young’s Quest for Harmony; and a documentary called White Shamans and Plastic Medicine Men.
In this essay, I will argue that the recent trends toward the expropriation and commodification of Native American spirituality and religious culture constitute cultural imperialism. To argue this, I will first describe the shape of the commodification and expropriation of Native American spiritual concepts, symbols, practices, and artifacts; the resultant criticisms from the Native American community; and the personal rationales of the participants, both native and nonnative. Second, I will define cultural imperialism and show how it is descriptive of these recent trends. The ultimate goal of this essay is to identify the potentially harmful effects of these trends upon Native American people and cultures while still operating within a strictly academic, objective, and critical framework.
The commodification and expropriation of Native American religious culture has taken place in a variety of ways. In some cases, nonnatives are selling books and other merchandise that claim to be authentic reproductions of traditional teachings, myths, religious objects, and ritual implements (Aldred). Other nonnatives host sweat lodges, seminars, workshops, dances, and pale imitations of other traditional ceremonies, again claiming to be authentic or, if not strictly authentic, at least true to the essence of spirit of the original cultural practices (White Shamans). In both cases, concerned Native Americans argue that, by charging money and emptying the teachings and practices of contextual significance, the nonnative practitioners are compromising the essence of the practices and trivializing sacred traditions (Young 383). Nonnatives are not the only ones participating in the commodification of Native American spirituality; several Native American people have spread versions of Native culture to largely nonnative audiences. Most Native Americans are critical of these supposed “healers” and “shamans,” arguing variously that Native Americans stoop to this resort out of financial desperation (White Shamans) and work for nonnatives to the neglect of their tribal responsibilities and obligations (Deloria 252).
Native Americans have roundly criticized the commodification of their religious culture on both sides as hollow and materialistic, in the sense that the religious symbols are emptied of content and context (White Shamans). In addition, critics have argued that the nonnatives attracted to the perceived authenticity and legitimacy of these watered down teachings and practices are spiritually starved products of a postmodern, capitalist world (Aldred) whose “hunger for some kind of religious experience is so great that [they] show no critical analysis…” (Deloria 252). Participants in the commodification of Native American religion have voiced various responses to the concerns of Native Americans, which run the gamut from vacuous individualism to clever rationales for their actions. Most often, the participants appeal to the common heritage and universal applicability of spiritual teachings (White Shamans; Whitt 8). This rationale is the most important for this essay because it directly relates to Laurie Anne Whitt’s definition of cultural imperialism.
Witt defines cultural imperialism as “cultural acquisition via conceptual assimilation” whereby the marketing of Native American religion “serves to extend the political power, secure the social control, and further the economic profit of the dominant culture” (2). Intricately woven into the process of cultural imperialism is the concept of “imperialist nostalgia,” which roughly describes the way the invading culture absorbs and recreates an indigenous culture after deliberately tampering with said indigenous culture (Whitt 7). Whitt argues that by first appealing to the commonality and universality of religious traditions (thus making the teachings and practices of Native American culture absorbable by the invading culture) and then repackaging these traditions as private intellectual property (thus allowing the culture to recreate the original phenomena as something now belonging to them), the expropriation and commodification of Native American religious culture is a process of cultural imperialism (Whitt 19). I find Witt’s argument convincing for two reasons. First, the conception of religion as a transhistorical, transcultural phenomena (and, therefore, of unlimited utility and applicability regardless of social and historical context) was produced by the dominant culture in this case. This conception of religion has a distinctly Euro-Protestant flavor, and the conscious or unconscious projection of this definition of religion onto Native American traditions is imperialistic. Second, recreating these teachings and practices in a Euroamerican image and marketing them as private intellectual property for economic gain, in addition to being offensively inconsistent, secures the place of the dominant culture.
Native American tribes have historically been dynamic cultures. In this class, we have discussed numerous examples of tribes coming into contact and participating in a free exchange of ideas and concepts, which allowed different rituals and stories to adapt or be newly adopted. Yet this discursive process of cultural interaction came with one major difference from the form we see today. Pre-contact tribes interacted in a way that was communal, free, and essentially creative. The expropriation and commodification of Native American spirituality by nonnative and Native people, on the other hand, is artificial, individual, costly, and largely destructive. Instead of beautiful, dynamic developments that allow both cultures to be enriched, the imperialistic tendencies of recent trends have allowed a dominant culture to consume another culture. The perceived benefits for nonnative and Native participants in cultural imperialism pale in comparison to the confusion and pain caused to Native American people and cultures.
In this essay, I will argue that the recent trends toward the expropriation and commodification of Native American spirituality and religious culture constitute cultural imperialism. To argue this, I will first describe the shape of the commodification and expropriation of Native American spiritual concepts, symbols, practices, and artifacts; the resultant criticisms from the Native American community; and the personal rationales of the participants, both native and nonnative. Second, I will define cultural imperialism and show how it is descriptive of these recent trends. The ultimate goal of this essay is to identify the potentially harmful effects of these trends upon Native American people and cultures while still operating within a strictly academic, objective, and critical framework.
The commodification and expropriation of Native American religious culture has taken place in a variety of ways. In some cases, nonnatives are selling books and other merchandise that claim to be authentic reproductions of traditional teachings, myths, religious objects, and ritual implements (Aldred). Other nonnatives host sweat lodges, seminars, workshops, dances, and pale imitations of other traditional ceremonies, again claiming to be authentic or, if not strictly authentic, at least true to the essence of spirit of the original cultural practices (White Shamans). In both cases, concerned Native Americans argue that, by charging money and emptying the teachings and practices of contextual significance, the nonnative practitioners are compromising the essence of the practices and trivializing sacred traditions (Young 383). Nonnatives are not the only ones participating in the commodification of Native American spirituality; several Native American people have spread versions of Native culture to largely nonnative audiences. Most Native Americans are critical of these supposed “healers” and “shamans,” arguing variously that Native Americans stoop to this resort out of financial desperation (White Shamans) and work for nonnatives to the neglect of their tribal responsibilities and obligations (Deloria 252).
Native Americans have roundly criticized the commodification of their religious culture on both sides as hollow and materialistic, in the sense that the religious symbols are emptied of content and context (White Shamans). In addition, critics have argued that the nonnatives attracted to the perceived authenticity and legitimacy of these watered down teachings and practices are spiritually starved products of a postmodern, capitalist world (Aldred) whose “hunger for some kind of religious experience is so great that [they] show no critical analysis…” (Deloria 252). Participants in the commodification of Native American religion have voiced various responses to the concerns of Native Americans, which run the gamut from vacuous individualism to clever rationales for their actions. Most often, the participants appeal to the common heritage and universal applicability of spiritual teachings (White Shamans; Whitt 8). This rationale is the most important for this essay because it directly relates to Laurie Anne Whitt’s definition of cultural imperialism.
Witt defines cultural imperialism as “cultural acquisition via conceptual assimilation” whereby the marketing of Native American religion “serves to extend the political power, secure the social control, and further the economic profit of the dominant culture” (2). Intricately woven into the process of cultural imperialism is the concept of “imperialist nostalgia,” which roughly describes the way the invading culture absorbs and recreates an indigenous culture after deliberately tampering with said indigenous culture (Whitt 7). Whitt argues that by first appealing to the commonality and universality of religious traditions (thus making the teachings and practices of Native American culture absorbable by the invading culture) and then repackaging these traditions as private intellectual property (thus allowing the culture to recreate the original phenomena as something now belonging to them), the expropriation and commodification of Native American religious culture is a process of cultural imperialism (Whitt 19). I find Witt’s argument convincing for two reasons. First, the conception of religion as a transhistorical, transcultural phenomena (and, therefore, of unlimited utility and applicability regardless of social and historical context) was produced by the dominant culture in this case. This conception of religion has a distinctly Euro-Protestant flavor, and the conscious or unconscious projection of this definition of religion onto Native American traditions is imperialistic. Second, recreating these teachings and practices in a Euroamerican image and marketing them as private intellectual property for economic gain, in addition to being offensively inconsistent, secures the place of the dominant culture.
Native American tribes have historically been dynamic cultures. In this class, we have discussed numerous examples of tribes coming into contact and participating in a free exchange of ideas and concepts, which allowed different rituals and stories to adapt or be newly adopted. Yet this discursive process of cultural interaction came with one major difference from the form we see today. Pre-contact tribes interacted in a way that was communal, free, and essentially creative. The expropriation and commodification of Native American spirituality by nonnative and Native people, on the other hand, is artificial, individual, costly, and largely destructive. Instead of beautiful, dynamic developments that allow both cultures to be enriched, the imperialistic tendencies of recent trends have allowed a dominant culture to consume another culture. The perceived benefits for nonnative and Native participants in cultural imperialism pale in comparison to the confusion and pain caused to Native American people and cultures.
February 3, 2011
The Native American Church
A short essay about the Native American Church written for my course on Native American religion, fall 2010. The sources I used were from class materials, including William A. Young’s Quest for Harmony, a chapter from Emily Benedek’s Beyond the Four Corners of the World, a documentary called Peyote Road, and a powerpoints, class handouts, and notes.
Since its inception, the Native American Church (NAC), with its intrinsic connection to peyote and the burgeoning pan-Indian religious movement, has been a controversial topic among Native Americans and has attracted unwanted attention from skeptical lawmakers. To understand the pressure points of this intense debate, this essay will first show how several important historical and social shifts created space for the NAC to develop and flourish. Next, I will briefly describe the peyote ceremony as practiced by the NAC. Finally, I will describe both the major concerns of some Native Americans about the spread of the NAC and the attempts of the United States government to counteract and control the harvesting, distribution, and sacramental consumption of peyote, as well as responses to these critiques and pressures from members and supporters of the NAC.
The sacramental use of peyote can be traced back to as early as 8,000 BCE, when a handful of tribes from Texas and Mexico began using it in various ceremonies (Young 303). The practice seems to have gone relatively undisturbed and unnoticed beyond its geographical center, and it made no significant impact upon the religious makeup of other tribes until white settlers began disturbing the delicate tribal balances by forcibly removing some tribes to Indian Country and eventually sending children into boarding schools (Young 304). The resultant alienation from their original context nevertheless would have given previously unaffiliated tribes new opportunities to interact, and awareness of peyote could have spread this way. In addition to this chance transmission, charismatic activists such as Quanah Parker, who were in search of a common identity for Native American people, made conscious efforts to spread peyote awareness into Oklahoma and the northern plains tribes as a pan-Indian practice (NAC PPT, slide 4; Peyote Road).
Because Native American spiritual traditions were effectively banned by the US government in the late 19th Century, the peyote ceremony spread by virtue of its intrinsic connection to Christianity and its intertribal utility (Young 305). In this sense, the development of the NAC was grounded in the need for a common expression of Native American spirituality and cultural heritage. According to Emily Benedek, “The NAC has been called…an attempt to reassert or perpetuate an indigenous culture in the face of outside pressures to assimilate” (250). In response to attempts of the US government to ban the sacramental use of peyote, the NAC was formally founded early in the 20th Century with the hope than an institutional apparatus would firmly establish peyote use as a legitimate religious practice (Young 308-309).
Typically, the peyote ceremony is conducted in a tipi or lodge, and it is always held to commemorate important life events or purify the spiritually and/or physically ill (Young 314-315). The roadman, if he accepts the sponsor’s request for a ceremony, brings various ritual implements, all of which have important symbolic associations with Native identity (for instance, the gourd rattle and water drum) and sometimes Christianity (for instance, the staff and the occasional crosses worn by the roadmen) (Young 315; NAC PPT, slides 16-19). The construction of the sacred space itself suggests a womb that will usher the participants’ symbolic rebirth and spiritual purification (Young 316; Ceremony handout). Important parts of worship include smoking tobacco, performing several prayers, consuming the sacrament, singing many songs, and a light afternoon meal the next day (Benedek 262).
Despite—or more likely because of—the NAC’s success in spreading to a surprising number of tribes, a variety of Native Americans have voiced concerns about potentially harmful aspects of the NAC. At the heart of their concerns is this fundamental question: is the NAC a new religion that would replace a member’s tribal identification, or can members of the NAC continue to practice their tribal traditions in tandem with the NAC (Young 329)? In other words, to what degree does the pan-Indian movement trivialize or overlook tribal differences, and is the blurring of tribal differences a desirable trend? The responses of members and supporters of the NAC have been diverse. One Native American, for instance, argued that the NAC’s simplicity would allow an increased accessibility to the younger generations, who seem to have decreasing interest in ancient customs (Benedek 256); so while the disregard for tribal boundaries might not be ideal, some would argue that it is a necessary resort. Others might see no difficulty in participating in a pan-Indian movement on the one hand and retaining a strong tribal affiliation on the other. In any case, this is a question that must be negotiated by the members of the NAC.
In addition to conflicts within the Native American community, the US government has also clashed with the NAC by periodically passing legislation that counteracted, controlled, or outright banned the cultivation, transportation, or consumption of peyote (Peyote Road). This pattern of behavior is based upon the assumption that peyote is a harmful hallucinogenic drug (Young 321). However, members of the NAC have uniformly claimed that peyote is not a drug that produces psychoactive hallucinations or an artificial “high,” but it is a medicinal substance that is an integral part of their religious beliefs (Peyote Road; NAC PPT, slide 11). A variety of personal testimonies and independent research similarly suggests that peyote is neither harmful nor addictive, and, if it is used properly in a ritual context, peyote can lead to a powerfully transformative experience with long-lasting positive effects (Peyote Road).
This subject presents other opportunities for research. First, further research needs to be into the NAC: for example, what kind of measures is the NAC taking to ensure for its followers a successful transition into a better, more productive lifestyle apart from the ceremonial context? Second, if peyote is defined as medicinal, this leads to another major concern: what social problems have made peyote necessary? Is the NAC taking preventative steps to purify the dysfunctional environment that creates the diseases peyote apparently treats? These issues must be engaged to ensure a coherent and complete understanding of the NAC and a vitally important aspect of American history.
Next up: Does the marketing of Native American spirituality in contemporary American society constitute cultural imperialism?
Since its inception, the Native American Church (NAC), with its intrinsic connection to peyote and the burgeoning pan-Indian religious movement, has been a controversial topic among Native Americans and has attracted unwanted attention from skeptical lawmakers. To understand the pressure points of this intense debate, this essay will first show how several important historical and social shifts created space for the NAC to develop and flourish. Next, I will briefly describe the peyote ceremony as practiced by the NAC. Finally, I will describe both the major concerns of some Native Americans about the spread of the NAC and the attempts of the United States government to counteract and control the harvesting, distribution, and sacramental consumption of peyote, as well as responses to these critiques and pressures from members and supporters of the NAC.
The sacramental use of peyote can be traced back to as early as 8,000 BCE, when a handful of tribes from Texas and Mexico began using it in various ceremonies (Young 303). The practice seems to have gone relatively undisturbed and unnoticed beyond its geographical center, and it made no significant impact upon the religious makeup of other tribes until white settlers began disturbing the delicate tribal balances by forcibly removing some tribes to Indian Country and eventually sending children into boarding schools (Young 304). The resultant alienation from their original context nevertheless would have given previously unaffiliated tribes new opportunities to interact, and awareness of peyote could have spread this way. In addition to this chance transmission, charismatic activists such as Quanah Parker, who were in search of a common identity for Native American people, made conscious efforts to spread peyote awareness into Oklahoma and the northern plains tribes as a pan-Indian practice (NAC PPT, slide 4; Peyote Road).
Because Native American spiritual traditions were effectively banned by the US government in the late 19th Century, the peyote ceremony spread by virtue of its intrinsic connection to Christianity and its intertribal utility (Young 305). In this sense, the development of the NAC was grounded in the need for a common expression of Native American spirituality and cultural heritage. According to Emily Benedek, “The NAC has been called…an attempt to reassert or perpetuate an indigenous culture in the face of outside pressures to assimilate” (250). In response to attempts of the US government to ban the sacramental use of peyote, the NAC was formally founded early in the 20th Century with the hope than an institutional apparatus would firmly establish peyote use as a legitimate religious practice (Young 308-309).
Typically, the peyote ceremony is conducted in a tipi or lodge, and it is always held to commemorate important life events or purify the spiritually and/or physically ill (Young 314-315). The roadman, if he accepts the sponsor’s request for a ceremony, brings various ritual implements, all of which have important symbolic associations with Native identity (for instance, the gourd rattle and water drum) and sometimes Christianity (for instance, the staff and the occasional crosses worn by the roadmen) (Young 315; NAC PPT, slides 16-19). The construction of the sacred space itself suggests a womb that will usher the participants’ symbolic rebirth and spiritual purification (Young 316; Ceremony handout). Important parts of worship include smoking tobacco, performing several prayers, consuming the sacrament, singing many songs, and a light afternoon meal the next day (Benedek 262).
Despite—or more likely because of—the NAC’s success in spreading to a surprising number of tribes, a variety of Native Americans have voiced concerns about potentially harmful aspects of the NAC. At the heart of their concerns is this fundamental question: is the NAC a new religion that would replace a member’s tribal identification, or can members of the NAC continue to practice their tribal traditions in tandem with the NAC (Young 329)? In other words, to what degree does the pan-Indian movement trivialize or overlook tribal differences, and is the blurring of tribal differences a desirable trend? The responses of members and supporters of the NAC have been diverse. One Native American, for instance, argued that the NAC’s simplicity would allow an increased accessibility to the younger generations, who seem to have decreasing interest in ancient customs (Benedek 256); so while the disregard for tribal boundaries might not be ideal, some would argue that it is a necessary resort. Others might see no difficulty in participating in a pan-Indian movement on the one hand and retaining a strong tribal affiliation on the other. In any case, this is a question that must be negotiated by the members of the NAC.
In addition to conflicts within the Native American community, the US government has also clashed with the NAC by periodically passing legislation that counteracted, controlled, or outright banned the cultivation, transportation, or consumption of peyote (Peyote Road). This pattern of behavior is based upon the assumption that peyote is a harmful hallucinogenic drug (Young 321). However, members of the NAC have uniformly claimed that peyote is not a drug that produces psychoactive hallucinations or an artificial “high,” but it is a medicinal substance that is an integral part of their religious beliefs (Peyote Road; NAC PPT, slide 11). A variety of personal testimonies and independent research similarly suggests that peyote is neither harmful nor addictive, and, if it is used properly in a ritual context, peyote can lead to a powerfully transformative experience with long-lasting positive effects (Peyote Road).
This subject presents other opportunities for research. First, further research needs to be into the NAC: for example, what kind of measures is the NAC taking to ensure for its followers a successful transition into a better, more productive lifestyle apart from the ceremonial context? Second, if peyote is defined as medicinal, this leads to another major concern: what social problems have made peyote necessary? Is the NAC taking preventative steps to purify the dysfunctional environment that creates the diseases peyote apparently treats? These issues must be engaged to ensure a coherent and complete understanding of the NAC and a vitally important aspect of American history.
Next up: Does the marketing of Native American spirituality in contemporary American society constitute cultural imperialism?
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