Method and Theory in the Study METHOD

&THEORY in the
of Religion (2018) 1-7 STUDY OF
RELIGION

brill.com/mtsr

Theory in Distress? On Being ‘Critical’

with Everything

Nickolas P. Roubekas
Department of Religious Studies, University of Vienna
nickolas.roubekas@univie.ac.at

Abstract

‘Religion’ is often, if not always, deemed a rather problematic category by critical theo-
rists, who urge scholars to be more attentive to the genealogy and history of the cat-
egory. As part of the review symposium of Theory in a Time of Excess (2016), this review
essay argues that ‘theory’ itself could be deemed problematic if we wish to be con-
sistent in adopting such a critical stance, which can lead to several dead-ends when
excluding other theoretical options and possibilities.

Keywords

‘theory’ – postmodernism – Ancient Greece – belief – God(s)

Ever since its inception, the North American Association for the Study
of Religion (NAASR) has prided itself on focusing in a non-confessional,
scientific, and theoretically and methodologically pluralistic approach to the
phenomenon of ‘religion.’ Its alter ego within the North American context,
the American Academy of Religion (AAR), more often than not—at least as
the main themes of the latest AAR annual meetings clearly indicate—keep
subscribing to a sui generis understanding of religion, linking it to a broader
humanism reminiscent of the crypto-theological phenomenology of previous
decades. Having now entered its fortieth year, NAASR has been functioning as
a distinctive scholarly collective voice, promoting a rather different approach
to the academic study of religion. In many respects, the volume at hand con-
stitutes this ‘new turn’ that NAASR is taking, a turn that has obvious merits but,
also, as I will argue, some pitfalls.

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The volume opens with Aaron Hughes’ introduction (1-10), who apart from
being the editor of this volume is also the co-editor of NAASR’s academic
periodical Method & Theory in the Study of Religion and was Vice-President
of the association at the time of writing. Hughes sets the scene to the reader
by concisely and clearly explaining the impetus behind this volume; in a few
words: nowadays, almost everyone working in the field claims to be doing the-
ory, whereas what one virtually encounters is but a field that is not “critical,
self-reflexive, interested in the genealogy of the terms, and engaged in the anal-
ysis of social actors and social facts” (1). Moreover, Hughes rightly points out
that theorists are often accused of not being able to read the material under
examination in their original language (i.e., source problem) and of not know-
ing particular traditions (i.e., specialization problem) (3). For Hughes, theory
means ‘critical theory,’ that is, “engaged in the systematic rethinking (i.e., theo-
rization) of an object of study—in our case ‘religion’—as opposed to its fur-
ther reification” (2). Hughes’ call for such a critical approach as the appropriate
way to do theory is, more or less, espoused by the vast majority (but not all) of
the contributors in this volume.
After a reprint of Martin Luther and Donald Wiebe’s piece on the twenty
years of the establishment of NAASR (both being, with E. Thomas Lawson, the
founders of the association) (13-18), the volume continues with a very inter-
esting and highly profitable set of papers and responses: four main topics (by
scholars working in history of religions, literary theory, cognitive science, and
philosophy), each receiving a number of responses followed by the replies of
the main authors.
I find all papers very interesting and thought-provoking. Many authors
endorse the ‘critical theorizing’ promoted here and seem to be supporting the
postmodernist view that is apparently the most cherished one as it becomes
obvious in Hughes’ introduction and Russell McCutcheon’s afterword (191-202);
however, I remain skeptical of such a one-sided approach. Both Hughes and
McCutcheon argue, inter alia, about the need for scholars of religion to be
interested in the genealogy of their terms (1) and to historicize the category
religion (195)—both ‘deriderata’ of such ‘critical theorizing’ and lying at the
very crux of theorizing about religion. Being myself a student of dead religions
(particularly, of Greek and Roman antiquity), I am intrigued by such an exer-
cise, although I do have my reservations. For example, the two major recent
publications on this (see Nongbri 2013; Barton & Boyarin 2016) have received a
lot of praise by scholars sharing the importance of such an exercise. Although
I have my objections (see Roubekas 2017), I would like in the remaining of this
review to apply this exercise to the very term highlighted in the title of this
volume: ‘theory.’ This choice is twofold: First, I do think that theorists need

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and ought to be able to read their sources in their original language given that
many of our categories are hardly modern—otherwise, mastering our catego-
ries seems to be a futile endeavor (if at all possible); second, it appears that
most authors in the volume take theory to be different things. The latter, in
my reading at least, differs little from the problem of defining or utilizing the
category ‘religion’—an admittedly recognizable constant obstacle and focus of
most theoretical attempts stemming from postmodernist camps. In this sense,
I wish to succinctly turn my attention to a genealogy of ‘theory,’ in order to
indicate that if we wish to be methodologically coherent, then hardly any cat-
egory, noun, term, etc. that we utilize in the field is appropriate, innocent, or
legitimate: not even ‘theory’ itself, which is so precious to, well … theorists.
In his brilliant study on the Greek terms theōriā and theōrōs—the terms
from which we get the term ‘theory’—Ian Rutherford lists a series of meanings
accompanying the terms within different ancient sources: observe/observer/
observation; sightseer/sightseeing; travel on a voyage of exploration (a rath-
er rare usage); a type of magistrate understood as an ‘overseer’ (primarily in
Arcadia but also on the island of Thasos). As Rutherford argues, the common
modern meaning of the term ‘theory’ derives from another attested meaning of
theōriā, that of “ ‘philosophical contemplation’, an activity explicitly contrasted
with action or practical reasoning” (Rutherford 2013: 6). However, since we
are interested in the different meanings of our terms and how they are being
used nowadays—thus, paying attention to ‘dangerous’ anachronisms and
genealogies—Rutherford indicates that there exists yet another meaning of
the term. He offers an extremely interesting citation from the ancient lexicog-
rapher Harpocration, who in his now fragmented Lexicon of the Ten Orators
offers the following definition of the term theōrika:

The word theōroi [θεωροὶ] means not just spectators [θεαταὶ], but those
sent to the gods [εἰς θεοὺς], and they generally apply this term to those
who guard divine things [τὰ θεῖα φυλάτοντας] or care for them; for
hōre [ὢρην] means ‘care’: ‘For there is little care for quarrels and assem-
blies’’ (Hesiod, Opera et Dies 30) (Rutherford 2013: 145 n. 15).

Utilized as such, the term is etymologically linked to the word θεὸς (theos, i.e.
god) and thus the term theōriā constitutes a primarily religious term—at least
if we go with a stipulative definition of religion as belief in gods. If we also
recall that those delegations were sent by other cities to observe, participate,
and honor the various religious rituals and festivals at a specific location,
then one begins to have a broader picture of how the theōroi were conceived
in antiquity. If, however, one is sceptical about Harpocration’s usage of the

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term—considering that he compiled his Lexicon in c. the second century CE—

then a quick look at the usage of the term in classical antiquity indicates an
essentially similar meaning in that period as well.
In an inscription from second century BCE Athens, the Athenians praised
the Milesians who visited the city on a theōriā, because the leader of the em-
bassy (archetheoros, i.e. chief-theōrōs) and his fellow theōroi showed εὐσέβεια
[eusebeia], ἀρετή [virtue], and φιλοτιμία [dutifulness] towards the gods, the
Demos of the city of Athens, and their own fatherland. Similarly, in an inscrip-
tion from c. third century BCE, the Athenians praised the ambassadors sent
from Priene (located in Ionia in modern day Turkey), because “they wished
to increase the honors (τιμάς) being performed for the gods by the (Athenian)
Demos” (both examples are drawn from Mikalson 2016: 25).
As one might be able to guess, what I want to argue here is that our mod-
ern term ‘theory’ does not really function as a better signifier to be used than
the readily contested ‘religion.’ For example, as Brad Stoddard argues in the
volume, “the word ‘religion’ is an empty or floating signifier, and … people
use the word ‘religion’ as a generic term when they actually mean something
much more specific” (118, citing Nongbri). When put in this manner, I have a
difficulty coping with the call for taking ‘critical theory’ as the only appropri-
ate way to do theory (as Hughes, Merinda Simmons, and many more in this
volume argue). Because if this is the correct and only way to do theory, and
in light of our cherished genealogies, then the term ‘theory’ itself is not such
an ideal term to accompany the adjective ‘critical.’ Because from what derives
from Harpocration and the aforementioned inscriptions, to do theory (or to
be a theorist) is primarily to give the proper respect to gods. Should then one
go on and argue that theorists working in religious studies are or ought to be
religious themselves?
Although I would be interested to see what the very fact of sending am-
bassadors to another city in order to observe festivals dedicated to super-
natural entities and actively participate to those festivities constitutes to
many of the contributors to this volume—because, to me, having gods and
festivals dedicated to those gods constitutes religion no matter what the
counter-argument might be—I am also perplexed by the, more or less, hos-
tile treatment of the cognitive science of religion (CSR) within this vol-
ume. Claire White’s paper (95-114), which is an excellent introduction to
this subfield, only receives two responses. Brad Stoddard’s response (115-
120) focuses on what it means for CSR that the Templeton Foundation has
funded some but not many (as White correctly points out in her reply) proj-
ects related to CSR. Although I realize that Stoddard’s concern lies at the

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possibility that CSR aims at justifying and scientifically establishing religion

as a human universal (not culturally, but cognitively, i.e. biologically)—
although I do not see what is the ‘danger’ with such an assertion, if not accom-
panied by a call to believe in non-empirical entities or argue about their actual
existence—White’s focus on the minimally counter-intuitive agents as central
to all so-called religions is practically a definition of religion. And although
Matt Sheedy, in his response (121-128), argues that we should not focus on
“what religions are, but what they do and are made to do” (123), I get the
feeling—if I read them correctly—that critical theory means doing our best to
argue that we do not want definitions of religion in order to be able to argue
that ‘religion’ is an empty signifier. I prefer, on the other hand, to be able to
define what is it that we are talking about, rather than simply deconstructing
my object in order to eventually cripple it. And since the ‘it’ in my previous
phrase will automatically raise the question “What is ‘it’ in this respect?,” I am
prepared to side with a clear stipulative definition of our data and categories
(see, for example, Jensen 2014: 7-9)—something that I did not find in any of
the papers in the volume at hand. On the contrary, most authors embrace the
critical stance promoted without being willing to offer an alternative to the
problem of definition.
This, I think, is even more apparent in Merinda Simmons’ paper and the
response by Thomas J. Whitley (74-79). In a rather interesting way, Whitley
asks “What happens when we move beyond Foucault?” (77)—and Bourdieu,
I should add, since his name appears far more often in the volume than that
of Foucault. This is a very significant question posed by Whitley, which, in my
reading, goes beyond Simmons’ paper and is addressed to the wider ‘critical
theory-only’ approach to religion. Unfortunately, Simmons does not reply to
his question. But I have a feeling that Whitley’s question is perhaps central
(dare I say, critical?) to the overall argumentation and goal of this volume. The
history of our field has clearly shown us that the German historical school
gave its place to the phenomenologists, who in turn lost to the historico-
comparativists and the advocates of the social scientific methods, who ap-
parently seem to struggle against the postmodernists, who will most likely be
replaced by … In other words, the ‘critical theory-only” dictum can hardly be
pluralistic enough in my view in order to be able to account for such a multi-
faceted, multi-layered, and historically rather complicated phenomenon as
is ‘religion.’ Jason Blum’s (21-31) and Matthew Bagger’s (139-149) papers, on
the other hand, point out exactly this, and they are quite severely criticized
by their respective respondents. However, I side far more with Blum—and a
tad less with Bagger—in their approaches to what it means to do theory, and

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I find their papers, along with White’s, extremely productive and representa-
tive of the richness of our field—rather than as indications of ‘bad theory’ or
otherwise.
Allow me to return to my short history of the term ‘theory.’ If one takes
Michael Altman’s response to Blum (32-36), when he argues that “[t]heory is
how we decide what our object of study is … [that is, theory being the force that]
guides the decision to pay attention to that person slitting he throat of a goat
in one part of the world and not to my neighbor skinning a deer in Tuscaloosa,
Alabama” (33), then an anticipated question arises: what makes slitting the
throat of a goat important and skinning the deer mundane? Whether we like
it or not, it is the perceived presence of something more than simply the per-
son, the knife, and the animal according to the person who slits the throat of
the goat. That ‘presence’ in the understanding of the slayer (and his audience,
if any) is a supernatural, superhuman, or minimally counter-intuitive agent
that assigns some meaning to the person performing the action and the people
observing it (the theōroi). It is not ‘we,’ the scholars, that deem such actions
‘religious.’ They are ‘religious’ or ‘special’ (to recall Ann Taves’ term; Taves 2009)
to the people performing them—and this is where Blum and I seem to be in
agreement, although I agree with the problematic usage of ‘consciousness’ as
his respondents rightly point out. The issue, however, is not whether the slit-
ting of a goat’s throat really involves God(s) but whether the act is believed
to do so. It surely does, and that is the difference between a religious and a
nonreligious act.
In conclusion, I cannot single-handedly erase the meaning of an action to
certain people in order to be ‘critical.’ Perhaps our category (‘religion’) is prob-
lematic, given its different and often contradicting utilizations, but this does
not mean that we need to go as far as to argue that “[t]theorists of religion
must let go of positivism and realism and they must embrace their construc-
tion of their own object of study” (Altman: 34). Because in the same manner,
theorists of religion need to let go of their alleged ability to critically account
about the world and embrace the idea that ‘theory,’ as my very brief genealogy
of the term indicates and if we are consistent with and dedicated to our goals,
is nothing but a religious exercise—at least according to the very people who
created the term we chose to adopt. And if this sounds absurd—which, admit-
tedly, it does!—then, I reckon, we should be more elastic and inclusive in our
approaches and with our categories, at least if we wish to be able to communi-
cate in a language that most people can follow.

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References

Barton, Carlin A. & Daniel Boyarin (2016). Imagine No Religion: How Modern
Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities. New York: Fordham University Press.
Jensen, Jeppe Sinding (2014). What is Religion? London and New York: Routledge.
Mikalson, Jon D. (2016). New Aspects of Religion in Ancient Athens: Honors, Authorities,
Esthetics, and Society. Leiden and Boston, MA: Brill.
Nongbri, Brent (2013). Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept. New Haven,
CT and London: Yale University Press.
Roubekas, Nickolas P. (2017). Review of Carlin A. Barton and Daniel Boyarin: Imagine
No Religion. How Modern Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities. Critical Research on
Religion 5 (2), pp. 217-221.
Rutherford, Ian (2013). State Pilgrims and Sacred Observers in Ancient Greece: A Study
of  Theōriā and Theōroi. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Taves, Ann (2009). Religious Experience Reconsidered: A Building-Block Approach to
the Study of Religion and Other Special Things. Princeton, NJ and Oxford: Princeton
University Press.

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