In All Things

Cambridge, MA. I was glad to read Jim Martin's post on the likely beatification and canonization of Pope John Paul II and Mother Teresa. We may, as he suggests, rejoice at such a prospect, and I have indeed admired Mother Teresa for a very long time.

     But when Jim concludes by saying, "As I've said before, if John Paul and Mother Teresa aren't canonized then no one should be!" — I would add, I cannot think of a better American saint for our times than Dorothy Day, founder of The Catholic Worker movement and newspaper along with Peter Meurin. Just to read her journals - The Duty of Delight (so wonderfully edited by Robert Ellsberg) convinced me - again - of her lifetime of true, deep, realistic holiness. That she and her best followers were/are not eager to see her canonized — too easy for the rest of us — doesn't take away from the fact that she is a truly great saint. Indeed, this wise distance from the protocols of canonization strengthens the case for her exceptional holiness.

     So I happily emend Jim's statement to read: "Let John Paul and Teresa and Dorothy be canonized together on the same day!" But then, I realize as I write this that one could add Archbishop Romero and a host of other women and men who lived and died as Catholic saints while witnessing to truth and justice... But saint-identifying isn't exactly my expertise, so I'd better stop here.

Cambridge, MA. When I wrote last, about the value of more rather than fewer religious images in our lives, I cited my essay, “Goddess in the Classroom.” Then it occurred to me that I’ve said little about my teaching this semester, even my current course on Hindu Goddesses and the Blessed Virgin Mary — which intellectually at least brings goddeses into a Harvard classroom, along with Mary. But teaching is extremely important to me; like anyone worth the title of teacher, much of my joy finds its source in the classroom amidst the learning that takes place day by day, and not in the swirl of political and ecclesial news around us,— when fascinating students read fascinating texts and we all engage in fascinating discussions. So in this entry and the next, I will report on my current courses.
     My lecture course this semester is indeed, “Hindu Goddesses and the Blessed Virgin Mary.” Though I’ve taught it before, this time around it is a complement to my 2009 spring course, “God Hindu and Christian.” I knew from my visits to India and years of study that one of the distinctive features of Hinduism is the fact of goddesses and religious traditions oriented to female deities. These religious have been practiced for a very long time and — unlike goddess cults in many parts of the world — have been lived in continuity and with a long paper trail: there are very many texts about Hindu goddesses, narratives, rites, and hymns, and images abound everywhere. So the first dimension of my course is to read three great hymns in praise of important goddesses, to get clear on what it means to believe in and worship a goddess.
     In this, I am drawing on my 2005 book, Divine Mother, Blessed Mother: Hindu Goddesses and the Blessed Virgin Mary, in which I study the three hymns and commentaries on them. Using my book, we read the Sri Guna Ratna Kosa of Parasara Bhattar (13th century), the Saundarya Lahari attributed to Sankara (8th century), and the Apirami Antati of Apirami Bhattar (18th century). These hymns respectively praise the Goddesses Sri Laksmi (the auspicious, eternal consort of Narayana), Devi (“the Goddess,” a supreme Goddess, yet associated with Siva), and Apirami (the “beautiful one,” consort of Siva). Much of the course is simply a reading of the hymns, since this is the necessary ground for comparative theological work. Studying such hymns, prayers in direct address, is also a powerful theological event, for study draws us in as we read the hymns, and opens us to their spiritual meaning.
     A second part of the course is to reconnect with the Catholic Christian tradition by attention to the Blessed Virgin Mary: not a goddess, to be sure, but that superlative woman of the Catholic piety who stands in an extraordinary position in the Catholic and Orthodox traditions. To balance the goddess hymns, we read three Marian hymns, the Greek Akathistos (6th century or so), the medieval Stabat Mater, and the Tamil Mataracamman Antati (19th century) hymns that give voice to key dimensions of Marian wisdom. Here too, reflection on the hymns was indispensable. Although Catholic tradition of course does not give us a way to worship Sri Laksmi, Devi, and Apirami, the Marian hymns and their piety offer by way of resemblance a mirror in which we who are not Hindu take seriously the wisdom of traditions that do praise superlative feminine persons. When we return to Mary after learning from the Goddesses, our Marian devotion will be different, richer, and more captivating of our minds and hearts as well. In fact, Mary turns out to be a quite popular figure in the Harvard classron, and we’ve still not gotten to Pope Pius IX’s dogmatic declaration on the Immaculate Conception.
     Our use of my book is supplemented by additional hymns, Biblical and papal teachings on Mary, several articles by feminist writers such as Carol Christ and Julia Kristeva, David Kinsley’s Hindu Goddesses, and books by theologians George Tavard (The Thousand Faces of Mary) and Elizabeth Johnson (Truly Our Sister). We take feminist questions about the divine very seriously — taught elsewhere in many courses — but our distinctive goal in this course is to learn from Hindu traditions how to think newly and freshly about God and our images of divine reality, and how to see anew Mary in Catholic tradition.
     The class is a reasonable size, just under 25, mostly graduate students. Some are Catholic, most are from a wider variety of other Christian denominations. A few are more closely aligned with Hindu traditions and quite comfortable with goddess worship. (A small group gathers to sing hymns to both the goddesses and Mary before class; while I’ve not joined them, I admire their commitment to draw the course into their practice.) We mix well in the classroom, and never has a class passed without some excitement and good discussion.
     The mix of the course is thus quite extraordinary: some wonderful Hindu and Christian texts read by a great group of students, as we discuss a wide range of issues about scripture, our images of God and humanity, and what to make of the varied religious experiences of the human race. Harvard is not the place wherein to reach single, definite conclusions about truth, but I think that this learning across religious boundaries does open us to truth, to Truth. By studying the traditions of the goddesses and Mary together, we understand both more clearly; those of us who are Catholic at Harvard find ourselves brought closer to devotion to Mary, who holds her own in every discussion. The goddesses too fare well, though each of us has to make up her or his own mind on how to appropriate these goddess traditions.
     I hope all this all makes sense; I realize that for some of you reading this, it will make little sense to reflect on Mary and Goddesses together; some may think it impossible, or at least a very bad idea. So post some questions and comments if you wish.
     Next week, I will write about my seminar on the great Hindu theologian Sankara’s reading of the Brhadaranyaka Upanisad, which we study alongside St. Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Moses.

Cambridge, MA. You will have heard by now about how the European Court has decreed that crucifixes in Italian classrooms are illegal, a violation of the rights of those who wish not to be confronted with such religious symbols. The debate is a fascinating one: that the Court should interfere in local affairs, as it seems often to do; that some Italians at least argue that the crucifix, of all symbols, is cultural and not religious; and that many still think that it does Christianity a service to have on display only the symbols of the Christian faith; some Christians seem genuinely clueless as to why anyone would object to a crucifix in front of them. Jim Martin has already brought to your attention the Vatican reaction — or lack thereof — to the decision, though the sources indicate that there is real displeasure or at least regret in the Vatican at this development.
     The specific issue will take some time to resolve, surely, but it reminds me of debates we had at Boston College over the years, precisely on this issue, crucifixes and other Christian symbols in the classroom: I recall more or less heated debates on the matter in the 1980s, and 1990s, and early this year, long after I shifted from BC to Harvard, the matter arose again, this time by a determined effort to have crucifixes or other Catholic Christian symbols in every classroom.
     My own position, back to the 1980s, was that we should avoid, on Catholic university campuses, a bland secularism that erases all religious symbols or reduces them to cultural relics, but also an exclusively Christian set of symbols of religion that makes all else invisible. The faculty and student body on our campuses are religiously diverse; the curriculum includes courses on and references to many different religions; the library is full of books about different religions, including the sacred scriptures of different faiths; most Catholic campuses provide proper spaces for worship in accord with other traditions. That the visual art on campus should be only Christian, or indeed Catholic Christian (as a crucifix usually is), seems too narrow, a deficit of spiritual imagination. We do best, I suggest, when we make our religious diversity visible and more prominent as a real part of our lives. To see Hindu and Buddhist symbols on a Catholic campus, for instance, is not a doctrinal claim, but a reminder of the diversity that our universities have opted for, chosen, fostered, for decades, and a respectful recognition of the religious heritage of those we have welcomed into our midst. To have only Christian symbols might give the appearance of a uniform Catholicism that wants other religions to be privatized and invisible — and none of us profits from this “erasure” of the other. And would not fearing the visibility of other religions underestimate the ability of our faculty and students to notice differences - or the power of the crucified to make himself known even to those who have both eyes open?
     So it would be good in this country, and indeed in Italy, for religious communities to work together to make prominent the images and practices of the religions present in any given locale. Let there be more such symbols in educational institutions, so that having seen this diversity with our eyes open, we can meditate on what we see, and decide what it means for us.
     I cannot help but call your attention to a short reflection I wrote during one of those controversies at BC some decades ago, my little essay charmingly called “Goddess in the Classroom.” It in turn recalls a pivotal moment in my own formation, when I was teaching in Kathmandu in 1974. I’m not sure the issues, or the answers, have changed much in 35 years.

Cambridge, MA. Here is Mr Manohar’s latest entry to our conversation, following upon my recent reply to him. The following are his comments, with my additions clearly marked and italicized:
    “In this post, I wish to consider two difficult issues – dialogue and the proselytizing imperative, and a Hindu understanding of ‘mediation through Christ’. A few of you have already alluded to the proselytizing imperative of Christianity in your comments; this argument has its adherents, it has its detractors even within Christianity, it predisposes dialogue to familiar arguments and responses, it disturbingly evokes the past, and in the mundane grunge of the present, it creates stereotypes along with the attendant inhumanity, sentimentality and unintelligent characterization of the other’s theology and scholastic traditions. These are important issues.
“However, I seek to also understand the nature of dialogue, when this proselytizing imperative and the response to it are explicitly not the defining motives. Behind this proselytizing imperative is the Christian understanding and expression of salvation, in particular when one is not explicitly united with the ‘Body of Christ’. Fr. Clooney referred to the fact that here ‘salvation is mysteriously mediated through Jesus Christ’. In this post, I seek to understand this a little, in Christian terms but informed by my Hindu pluralism. (Fr. Clooney, could you please comment along the way, as you see fit? Comment: I will add just a few! FXC)
     “There are many articles and scholarly works on the effects of proselytizing – both during colonial India and since. Fr. Clooney asks, “Is the problem that too much interreligious learning is Christian-initiated, with too much of a bad history of colonialism in the background?” There is this, but there is also the fact that much of dialogue, in routine daily life when it occurs, is dominated by the undercurrent of conversion. Ultimately, such dialogue where the argument and response is predetermined, is boring and perhaps counterproductive. One of the persistent effects of such proselytizing appears to be progressive secularization and abandonment of religious traditions. Comment: As you know, Mr. Manohar, I live and work here in the United States, where the situation is different from that in India. Although I visit frequently, I cannot comment on how dialogue is carried out in particular places in India. But here, where I am stressing interreligious learning of a deeper sort, I do not see that the effort to convert is dominant; nor, if the learning is real, is the result predictable. FXC.
     “We know the motives of this kind of dialogue, but what are the meaningful motives for a dialogue where conversion is definitely not the motive? I can think of a few: Our children routinely encounter other religious traditions, how are we to educate them in respectful ways, without reducing the traditions of the other to literature or culture bereft of piety? When children question us about conflicting practices (cremation vs. burial), how should we answer intelligently regarding the other? How are we to recognize equivalent symbolism? Comment: These are important reasons for interreligious learning, and Catholic documents too have stressed the value of learning about our neighbors, and learning better to live as neighbors. As believers, how are we to understand together the validity of particular doctrines, and learn how to discern the essential aspects from the accidental ones?  Such an encounter calls for the revival and appreciation of scholastic traditions of both religions. Comment: Yes! This deeper learning, which requires study, is very important! But it takes work, on both sides, and does not lead to any predictable conclusions. Even as we engage in this study, however, our ideas are subtly changed, because we are learning to think in new ways. FXC.
     “Many Hindus are tentative about such dialogue, in part because of how they see the Christian understanding of salvation. Fr. Clooney mentioned that “in recent decades the Church has made it clear that God’s salvation is available to all, and does not teach hell or damnation for non-Christians. Yes, that salvation is mysteriously mediated through Jesus Christ”. (While this may be true, the letter from the ‘Sacred Congregation of The Holy Office’ regarding Leonard Feeney still appears to see this salvation in a limited way – available only because of the other’s ‘invincible ignorance’.) As a Hindu, how am I to understand this mediation? Comment: This was an important period in Catholic thinking about other religions, and indeed the time when we rejected the idea that non-Catholics all go to hell. Damnation for all non-Christians is not a Catholic doctrine. But the Church has also learned a great deal in the 50+ years since then; and I grew up in a post-Feeney Church where interreligious respect was becoming an ordinary part of the Catholic way of life. FXC.
     “But I next turn my attention to a letter by then Cardinal Ratzinger, where he explains things this way: ‘Christianity must always remember that it is the religion of the ‘Logos.’ It is faith in the ‘Creator Spiritus,’ in the Creator Spirit, from which proceeds everything that exists. Today, this should be precisely its philosophical strength, in so far as the problem is whether the world comes from the irrational, and reason is not, therefore, other than a ‘sub-product,’ on occasion even harmful of its development or whether the world comes from reason, and is, as a consequence, its criterion and goal. The Christian faith inclines toward this second thesis [over against a first thesis, earlier in the Cardinal’s document, favoring reliance on reason separated from faith], thus having, from the purely philosophical point of view, really good cards to play, despite the fact that many today consider only the first thesis as the only modern and rational one par excellence. However, a reason that springs from the irrational, and that is, in the final analysis, itself irrational, does not constitute a solution for our problems. Only creative reason, which in the crucified God is manifested as love, can really show us the way. In the so necessary dialogue between secularists and Catholics, we Christians must be very careful to remain faithful to this fundamental line: to live a faith that comes from the ‘Logos,’ from creative reason, and that, because of this, is also open to all that is truly rational.’ Thus Cardinal Ratzinger. Comment: This is  vastly important, and I am glad you have picked upon the Pope’s remarks: There is no radical opposition between faith and reason, and we do no service to the faith by refusing to be open to learning; and we do no favor to learning by disconnecting reason and Logos. But this is a venerable Indian teaching too: study, learning, asking honest questions — are all religious activities. I see no reason to do this only within the bounds of my own religious tradition. FXC.
     “We can also refer to St. Augustine where is he says: “the very thing that is now called the Christian religion was not wanting amongst the ancients from the beginning of the human race, until Christ came in flesh, after which the true religion, which already existed, began to be called ‘Christian’.” Comment: This is representative of a long Christian tradition, that the truth of Christ is as old as the world, and it should open our minds. But I do not see a necessary dichotomy, as if the arrival of the true religion is also a declaration that all other religions are false religions. By the way, see the recent volume, Augustine and World Religions, edited by Brian Brown, John Doody, and Kim Paffenroth. FXC.
     “To me, in light of these two positions, mediation through Christ, is not about the historical accidents, but of the eternal essence of Christ as Logos, as when he says in John 8:58, “Before Abraham was, I am.” This is something that resonates with me as a Hindu, as a refrain heard several times in many Hindu texts. Fr. Clooney, am I reading these texts too conveniently seek a pluralism?” Comment: To be honest, I do not think the Catholic tradition separates history and the eternal; in Christ they have come together. But you are right, the Christian tradition does not reduce the work of God to what has happened at certain moments in history. There is an eternal truth and wisdom to God’s work in the world, and no one can say that God does not work elsewhere, among other peoples. FXC.
     Closing Comment by Frank Clooney: Such is our Hindu-Christian conversation for now, unless you, the reader, pose some burning questions we cannot resist. But we will surely return to conversation after some time. I would like to thank Mr. Manohar for his willingness to take the time to write so thoughtfully in this way.

Cambridge, MA. I had intended not to blog on another topic until after Mr. Manohar and I finish our first round of exchanges in Hindu-Christian understanding, but can’t help making this brief entry today — in light of the just passed feast of Diwali, and NPR’s report this morning on the schism in atheist circles. In the light of Diwali, Atheism seems a bit dated.
     I was remiss in not mentioning Diwali earlier. It is one of the most joyous festivals in the Hindu calendar, a feast of light and hope, the triumph of light over darkness, a time when families gather together and rejoice in their blessings: something like Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or both. See the Vatican greeting for Diwali (Deepavali) and, indeed, President Obama’s greeting for the same occasion.
     As for the atheist schism, you can check out the story at Morning Edition for October 21, but the gist of it is that Atheists are now more clearly disagreeing with one another on how to relate to believers. The Old Atheists aimed to work together with religious believers in a rational and calm way, even while questioning the plausibility of belief and the need for it. By contrast, the New Atheists are aggressive, confrontational, and want to make it clear that they do not respect religious belief at all, and indeed are committed to undercutting it, since a world without religion will be a much better world. So today’s Atheists seem to be arguing among themselves over the very soul of Atheism.
     What strikes me — reflecting on this Atheist schism in the light of Diwali — is that we — all of us — are now in a new situation, beyond the neat divisions of the 20th century. Those of us who are believers with commitments in specific religious traditions, who still adhere to the Truth of our Faith, are increasingly able to respect and even celebrate God’s presence in other religious traditions. Truth opens doors, not only closes them. While our commitment to Truth entails hard questions and issues not easily resolved, it no longer entails polemic or abuse toward our religious neighbors. Even a deep-rooted monotheistic faith, such as that of my Roman Catholicism, need no longer be taken as ambitioning a radical exclusion of the Other, and not even a smug and mindless condescension toward other religions. The Vatican can send to Hindus everywhere best wishes and blessings on Diwali, and mean every word of the congratulations, without embracing relativism.
     So in this better light, it seems that the Old Atheism is more relevant than the New Atheism, but that Atheists of all kinds need to be adapting to today’s new religious situation. Theism isn't quite what it used to be, so Atheism will have to adjust. Like any of us who belong to (overly) rationalized traditions, the Old Atheists need to stretch their ways of thinking about human experience and the spiritual dimension of our lives; but if NPR is right, these Old Atheists have the advantage of remaining committed to conversation in the 21st century, and we all can dialogue about theism and atheism in this new situation. Ironically, it is the New Atheists who in writing, speeches, and simple human interaction, seem to wish to cling to the worst polemical and exclusivist tendencies of the 20th century and before. The least we can ask of the New Atheists, if they remain zealous in their mission, is first to study in depth the religions they wish to attack, to listen before speaking, and then to take into account the new and diverse world of religious interrelatedness that is primary today. That is, simply to pay attention to the world we actually live in, where interreligious exchange is far more dominant than interreligious violence. Those New Atheists who attack religion harshly and by way of caricature, as if we believers have not moved on to new ways of understanding and sharing our beliefs, end up themselves exposed as holdovers from the 20th century.
     And, belatedly, Happy Diwali to all!

Cambridge, MA. In the last entry in this blog, Mr. Murali Manohar offered some very thoughtful and perceptive reflections on interreligious learning, definitely worth your reading. So please read his remarks before proceeding with this entry. Here I take up just a few of his major points. First, one clarification: While I do think and write and indeed live as a Roman Catholic, I do not speak for the Church in any official sense, nor even for most Catholics. I speak rather as one Catholic who has devoted much time and energy to reflecting on Hinduism, and writing from that experience. But this is not to say that the Catholic context is unimportant. It helps me do what I do. In recent decades the Church has made it clear that God’s salvation is available to all, and does not teach hell or damnation for non-Christians. Yes, that salvation is mysteriously mediated through Jesus Christ, but it is, really, for all. The intellectual tradition of Catholicism is actually open, curious about the world around us, and even a believer’s mind does not merely stop at particular religious borders. As a Jesuit, I have been taught to find God, to expect to find God, everywhere, including in religions other than my own. But now for some brief comments in response to Mr. Manohar, as just one Catholic respondent:
     1. Mr. Manohar writes, “What of deeply religious people who don't care about theological dialogue? Are they just unenlightened laggards?” I agree that there are people, deeply religious, who are not interested in interreligious learning; there is no reason to be condescending toward them. It is only when people state that there is nothing to be learned from other religions that I question them back, since often we work with stereotypes about the other, and find excuses not to learn. But if a person simply chooses not to undertake interreligious learning for personal reasons, I respect that choice.
     2. “How should we articulate the value of dialogue to the individual, beyond platitudes and appeals to social goodwill, so that we may sincerely seek to be enriched by the engagement of such religious people in theological dialogue?” I can think of at least three answers. First, learning interreligiously is like other learning; being religious is no reason not to learn, to become wiser as we get older, and it would be most odd to learn in every area of life except religion. Second, being-Christian does have an outward push to it: go to all nations — and if we go, we cannot go simply to teach without learning, talk without listening. Are there no good Hindu reasons for learning from people in other religious traditions? Third, many people, myself included, have found that this learning can be liberative, life-giving, able to help us to see and understand our own faith anew, as we see it through the eyes of another tradition. Isn’t it possible for a Hindu to profit on a deep spiritual level from another religion?
     3. “What is it of value that we seek to learn, that is to be found from the other, if our own system is complete and adequate?” One model for interreligious learning is motivated by dissatisfaction, a sense that something is missing from what I have. Mr. Manohar is quite right — I can be perfectly happy in my own faith, finding the truth full there, and interreligious learning would be difficult if it meant dishonoring the truth of my own tradition. But I do not believe that God wants us to close down our minds and not keep learning; nor do I believe that all of us have to “stay home” and learn only from our own. Truth does not begrudge truth; learning newly does not dishonor the truth we hold.
     4. “Many learned scholars are content to stay away from any such theological dialogue – for fear of superficiality and distraction.” Yes indeed! It is hard enough to study one’s own religion in depth, and learning across religious boundaries is very demanding. But if it is worthwhile and important, surely some of us must try!
     5. How far should interreligious learning go? Here Mr. Manohar asks a series of wonderful questions: “Should dialogue go just as far as far as joint study? As neighbors and friends we often participate in the religious festivals of each other. Should this be the boundary of dialogue, where we are comfortable with each other’s customs? What of visits to the other's place of worship - beyond the initial novelty of how the other prays, is it anything other than a tourist attraction or a political statement?” This is a difficult set of questions. On the one hand, traditions obviously have their limits and do not want outsiders intruding on precious places and rituals, nor do they wish to see words, images, and acts sacred to their own tradition used trivially by others. But on the other, it is hard to draw a firm line, as if to say: learn, but do not empathize; understand, but keep your distance; study texts that have spiritual value, but keep away from the spiritual practice.
     6. "What about praying like the other?" Here too, I agree that prayer is not a matter for casual borrowing; but I also do not think it bad if there happen to be some people of another religion who pray somewhat as we do, somewhat near to us, yet differently enough. I would not mind a Hindu coming to Sunday Mass or saying the rosary, even if she or he did so clearly from an enduring Hindu perspective. But Mr. Manohar, what do you think? Is the problem that too much interreligious learning is Christian-initiated, with too much of a bad history of colonialism in the background? Mr. Manohar will respond in the next entry. As always, reader comments welcome!

Cambridge, MA. As promised in my last entry, for the next several weeks I will share this space with Sri Murali Manohar, who has kindly agreed to share with me a conversation on matters of interest to Hindus and Christians, and hopefully to a wider range of readers interested in religion today. What follows is Mr Manohar’s first entry. After a week or so, I will respond to him. We will also be watching for your comments, to see what you think. Mr Manohar writes:

     “In this post, I will present some of my questions and understanding of  two aspects of dialogue – pluralism and theological value. I will press forward with the provisional acceptance of the importance of dialogue itself, it is to discover the 'why' and 'how' that I like to dig deeper. While at it, I do recognize that there are both scholarly and visceral responses that question the importance of dialogue itself; there are those that believe that dialogue is passé and has reached a stalemate of sorts, and there are those that believe - as one of the comments, from Siva, on the introductory post shows - it is futile and perhaps even corrosive. To be sure, there is a kind of dialogue, where conversion, apologetics, or self definition is the objective. I wish to focus on different questions first.

     “Let us begin with deeply religious people. There are many deeply religious people in India who are scholars , but not in the way that western academia looks at scholarship in religion. When theological dialogue is not academic or scholarly, it usually presents itself as little more than introductions to the other, or a romanticized travelogue. What of deeply religious people who don't care about theological dialogue? Are they just unenlightened laggards? If not, why not? Popular presentations of dialogue and pluralism also assume that the reader readily accepts- or at least ought to accept  - the universal importance of  dialogue, and tend to talk down to those that don't, those whose concerns may be personal sadhana(spiritual discipline), and not dialogue.  Many learned scholars are content  to stay away from any such theological dialogue – for fear of superficiality and distraction. How should we articulate the value of dialogue  to the individual, beyond platitudes and appeals to social goodwill, so that we may sincerely seek to be enriched by the engagement of such religious people in theological dialogue?

     “Next let us consider the issue of learning from the other. What are the epistemic implications and consequences of dialogue and studying texts of the other? There are two kinds of charges that this leads to. One of need and adequacy, the other of misappropriation.

     “What is it of value that we seek to learn, that is to be found from the other, if our own system is complete and adequate? We often encounter this argument, our belief already has a privileged – if not exclusive - means of salvation, in such a situation isn't it a mere distraction to spend time studying world scripture? We also see a different form of this charge – that we tend to read a lot more into the tradition of the other than is due. Indeed, there are many that have tried a contrived higher narrative of religions, and often such dialogue is viewed with caution. One  encounters in such dialogue an  enthusiasm to show a transcendent unity of religion. There is quite a wide range of this attitude – from deeply reflective and philosophical essays where the authors freely borrow or import ideas from Hinduism to Christianity and the vice-versa (see for example works of Ananda K Coomaraswamy), to popular TV dramas where 'Om' is chanted the way Christians say 'Amen', at the end of something significant. This leads to the charge of misappropriation. How does one defend against charges of misappropriation of theologies and practice? Many Hindu's charge inculturation with such misappropriation, but even more broadly, much of the new age relativism stems from such misappropriation of theologies. 

      “And finally, how far should dialogue go? As we study texts and traditions of the other, we immediately begin to see the aesthetic, allegorical and hermeneutic aspects of that tradition. Should dialogue go just as far as far as joint study? As neighbors and friends we often participate in the religious festivals of each other. Should  this be the boundary of dialogue, where we are comfortable with each others customs? What about praying like the other? There are many charismatic preachers and gurus who include public universalistic prayer – prayers that include chants and hymns from many traditions - as part of their rituals. Is  a sincere and serious acceptance of such universalistic prayer possible in personal life? After all, prayer is one's deeply personal response or appeal. What of visits to the other's place of worship - beyond the initial novelty of how the other prays, is it anything other than a tourist attraction or a political statement? In the end, when it comes down to the individual, how is this useful to one's bhakti [devotion], upasana [meditation] or sadhana [way of spiritual practice], to one's personal spiritual discipline in one's own tradition?”

Cambridge, MA. As readers of this blog know, I am quite interested in interreligious dialogue, and in learning from Hindu traditions. I have been blessed with many Hindu friends over the years, and many of these have also challenged me and raised difficult questions that were good for me to answer. Well, now is a chance for a bit of on-line dialogue, with a new Hindu friend. One person who has commented occasionally on my posts has been simply MMK — but through off-line emails he and I have had some great conversations. It occurred to me that as a kind of experiment, we could share some of our dialogue with you. So let us introduce ourselves.

     You know me already, I hope — Catholic, Jesuit, priest, Harvard professor. My partner in dialogue is Sri Murali Manohar. He is a Hindu in the USA, and like many of his generation in their 30s and 40s, is an engineer who has more than a passing interest in religion and the dialogue among religions. But I now turn things over to Mr. Manohar, to introduce himself:

     “My interest in dialogue is shaped by many factors - my personal background, one shaped by a religious family and a technical education, my witness to the 'religious others' characterization of aspects of Hinduism - positive and negative, my reception and response to academic scholarship of traditions, and questions about theological implications of pluralism and dialogue.

     “I seek to gain an understanding of dialogue, with concerns that are distinct from the Christian concerns and presentation of dialogue – a view of dialogue that is usually framed by Christians, where the ground rules preserve a non-negotiable place for Christ, where the emphasis significantly privileges texts, textual comparison and Christian doctrinal matter. By contrast, much of Hinduism is embodied in its domestic, oral, performative, artistic and visual representations - in addition to texts.

     “I also seek to understand the ultimate individual value of dialogue beyond its important and practical value of social goodwill. My conversations with Prof. Clooney start with these important questions that not merely theoretical, but of the sort that one encounters in very real, reflective, jarring, and comical ways in a country like India, as well as among Hindu and Christian friends in the USA.”

     This blog is the introduction, and the next will be a post by Mr. Manohar. In turn, I will respond to him, and then in the fourth, possibly final post, he will respond again to me.

     But why be a spectator only? You can help make this more interesting by adding your comments as we go along — both what you think of what we write, and the mention of issues you would like us to take up. More soon!

Cambridge, MA. We are now safely into Fall, and so it is really time to clear off my desk of books that came in during the summer: that is to say, books that were sent to me, sometimes from friends or authors I’ve known over the years, and sometimes out of the blue. In front of me right now are six books that have arrived since June. With the exception of the first two, I think most of them will be unlikely to receive reviews in America, and yet each, in its own way, is worthy of note. Cumulatively, they have an even greater impact, as it were an accidental sketch of the kind of writing and interests thriving around us today.
     While I will not attempt to review the books or give them a proper theological reading, I will introduce them briefly. You can follow up and see them (in some libraries) or purchase copies from the publishers if so inspired.
1.    Retrieving James/Jakov, the Brother of Jesus: from Legend to History. By Sean Freyne. Annandale on Hudson: Bard College, 2008. 44 pages. Professor Freyne visited Harvard for a few semesters in the last several years, and everyone here is still grateful for his presence and his scholarship. This slender volume, elegantly printed, is wonderfully instructive, pulling together both scriptural and historical/contextual information on James the Elder, a leader of the Jerusalem Church who is described in the New Testament as the brother of Jesus. It is amazing how an important figure can remain "hidden" in scripture.
2.    A Common Word and the Future of Christian-Muslim Relations. Edited by John Borelli. Georgetown University, ACMCU Occasional Papers, 2009. 112 pages. Readers will remember that in 2007 a group of Muslim scholars, from across the Islamic world, wrote A Common Word, a highly important letter to Christians, highlighting our common ground and the challenge that this commonality makes it possible and all the more necessary for Muslim and Christian scholars work together in deepening their understanding of one another’s traditions. This volume brings together seven papers from a 2008 conference at Georgetown’s Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal Center for Muslim-Christian Understanding. The essays are by Christian and Muslim contributors, and show us the important and hard work that is being done to move forward the dialogue, on a range of theological and related topics. I do hope that this book is reviewed properly in America!
3.    John Wesley and Yoga: A Cross-Cultural Study in Wesleyan Spirituality and Yoga. Rev. Naveen Rao. Jabalpur: Ravi Printers, 2003. 72 pages. Being the kind of scholar I am, and also a Catholic, it turns out that I know more about yoga than I do about John Wesley, in honor of whose bicentenary this book was written. John Wesley and his brother Charles are counted as the founders of the Methodist Christian community. As “Methodism” suggests, Wesley was attentive to the spiritual path and disciplined progress along it. Rev. Rao suggests that attention to Methodism and Yoga shows that they do share common features in their practices, regarding discipline, care for the body, and their sense of language. This is a wise approach, since religions that may seem doctrinally far apart may in fact share practices and sensitivities that can be a better starting point for dialogue.
4.    Jnanasara and Prameyasara of Arulalapperumal Emperumanar. Translated by BSS Iyengar. Bangalore: Sri Parampara Sabha, 2009. 58 pages. I have never met Sri Iyengar, but over the years he have been kind enough to send me a number of his small books, which bring forward in simple translation with clear explanation key works of poetry and theology from the classical works of the Srivaisnava Hindu tradition of south India. His goal to make sure that this important literature is available particularly to Hindus growing up in the West, or without the benefit of traditional learning. Arulalapperumal Emperumanar was a disciple of the great theologian Ramanuja. The Jnanasara (Essence of Wisdom) summarizes in 40 verses the way of life, attitudes, and devotion that characterize the true believer. The Prameyasara (The Essence of What Is To Be Known) summarizes in 10 verses the Tirumantra, perhaps the most fundamental of the mantras, prayers, of the tradition. (I wrote about it myself in my book, The Way, the Truth, the Life.) After all my years of study, I keep learning how much I do not know of other religions, even those I study!
5.    Christian Gnosis: From St. Paul to Meister Eckhart. By Wolfgang Smith. San Rafael: Sophia Perennis, 2008. 231 pages. This book came to me unexpectedly, and is nothing less than a rehabilitation of Christian gnosticism. For historical and theological reasons “gnosticism” has often had a negative aura about it — as elitist, secret knowledge that distorts the meaning of Christian — and in recent years has been rehabilitated as a suppressed current of Christian reflection. This book seeks to help us understand and appreciate gnosticism in a learned but accessible way. It offers studies of the early sources, and then Jewish and Christian Kabbalah, Jacob Boehme, and finally Meister Eckhart, focusing on the meaning of creation (and what is beyond it), and related understandings of God and the world.  
6.    Tree of Life, Mythical Archetype: Revelations from the Symbols of Ancient Troy. By Gregory Haynes. San Francisco: Symbolon Press, 2009. 345 pages. This is the largest of the books that came to me this summer, large in size of page and in number of pages. It is full of pictures and line drawings. As the title indicates, it takes the reader on an erudite journey through multiple cultural and religious sites East and West, offering insights and articulations of the sacred tree motif in ancient and more recently cultures. One cannot go back to Genesis 3 and the tree in the Garden of Eden innocently after this book, as our heads will be filled with a vast range of new images and insights.
     Enough! I am sure, to put it mildly, that this is a different collection of summer books than most theologians will find before them. Lucky them - and lucky me. Honestly, I have not read them cover-to-cover. But I do think it worthwhile to bring them before you, for two reasons. First, you may want to see out one or more of them for your own study and reading, and I think any of them will be worth the effort and cost. Second, I find the cumulative effect of this small list — a random sample as it were — simply reminds us of the great interest in religion today, the ways in which this interest is bearing fruit in very different kinds of study, and the fact that none of us can really do a good job in keeping up with it all. We — the human race — have not given up on religious learning, and are in many ways seeking to know God and the Mystery of Reality. We therefore need to focus – in our own tradition, perhaps (as I do) in two – for beneficial learning. But still, we need to know what we do not know, that we do not know it all. We do have God's Truth in the Christian Faith; yet books like this may also be our God’s way of keeping us humble, if we are willing to attention to those who do us the service of writing such worthy books.

Cambridge, MA. There is an unexpected and excellent reflection on prayer in today’s New York Times Magazine, Is there a Right Way to Pray?, by Zev Chafets. It is definitely worth a look, and Chafets' research speaks for itself.
     All I can do here is share with you a connection that also arises rather unexpectedly — to the 2nd reading from Sunday’s Mass today, from the Letter of James. This is a New Testament text not usually thought of as a teaching on prayer. But surprisingly, for me at least, James turned out to be giving us an excellent reflection on the subject — how to pray, why it matters and what it is for, and how we can assess our progress in prayer. (I must admit that for the sake of a coherent homily, I expanded the reading, from James 3.16-4.3, to a fuller unit, 3.13-4.10 — take a look.) I don’t write my homilies, but here is a quick summary on the main points:
     James reminds us that when we think of praying, even at the start, our prayer has already begun, since God is already at work within us: God yearns jealously for the spirit that he has made to dwell in us. (4.5; NRSV) Once we notice this, and quite apart from what methods or words we might use, prayer is always already under way, and so the dynamic of prayer is really quite simple: Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you, (4.8) or, to put it another way, Turn to God and God will turn to you. But if we are still at a loss about what to do in prayer, what then? James adds: Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you (4.10) or, more vividly, Throw yourself down before the Lord — surrender, stop worrying about how to pray — and the Lord will lift you up. I found, and hope my listeners agreed, that in this way James has caught elements very basic to prayer.
     But James does more, he reminds us how and why prayer matters. Ever insistent on a faith that gives evidence of itself in care for the poor, solidarity with those in need, James is interested not in a momentary act of social service or a brief period of concern, but in what makes it possible for someone to dare to change her or his life more deeply, becoming Christ-like, over a whole lifetime. So he says, Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom, not by a bitter envy and selfish ambition deep in your hearts. (3.13-14) He realizes that the work we do is not in itself the real measure, since we can seek to change the world out of ambition, or anger. Those are not enough, they will not last or bear lasting fruit. We can spend our lives trying to do the right thing without actually allowing our good deeds to be expressive of our deepest selves. Rather, better to act by a gentle wisdom — arising deep in a heart, in a spirit such as God has already touched. So we need to allow a change in our hearts to arise from that inner space where God is already turned toward us even as we turn toward God, as God lifts us up and sets us back on our feet.
     And how do we know if we are praying properly, to good effect? Between the passages I have already quoted, James has something to say on how we live in community. Some people thrive on conflicts and disputes, figuratively or literally committing murder, ruining the community, by partiality, hypocrisy, making enemies. I suggested at Mass that we might think of the pitfalls that occur when we use liberal or conservative ideologies as clubs to beat the community into going the way we want it to go, dividing it if necessary. Rather, if our energies and actions come from a wise heart, we become peacemakers: The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace. (3.17-18) How do we expect to change the world, devoting our lives to change, if we cannot live in peace, building peace in our communities, families, in the Church?
     As you know, I am quite interested in Hindu spirituality and its interplay with Christian spirituality. But what James is saying here seems to work on a still simpler level, since in any tradition, the same wisdom is relevant: find your heart; turn toward the God who has already turned toward you; let your community benefit from the grace arising within you; and then you can change the world. Yes, we need to admit that different traditions mean different things by “God,” but I think that otherwise James’ wisdom might be easily, widely received: first find your heart, deepened in the simple prayer that has always been going on; then make peace in your community; then reconnect with the world (from which you were never really separated, of course).
     In any case I do recommend that you look at Zev Chafets’ article — but also reflect on what James has to say, since this section of his letter indicates a very simple way of praying: a living connection to God that radiates from our hearts to our community, to our world.

Note: Three books that influenced my thinking on prayer, early on, are: Karl Rahner's Encounters with Silence, the first book I read as a Jesuit; Hans Urs von Balthasar's Prayer; and Swami Abhishiktananda's Prayer. At a more elemental level, I can add two other books: St. Ignatius' Spiritual Exercises, the school of prayer for every Jesuit starting out, and Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali, a book of poems that is itself a living prayer.

Cambridge, MA. This is the last of my five planned reflections on my trip to India, this time about my research. Thanks to everyone who has contacted me through our “comments section,” and off-line.
     While I indicated at the start that this was not to be research trip, I hope that the previous entries have shown that I learned a lot on many levels in my five weeks in India. But I did make a little progress on several research projects. First, of course, just teaching some classes at our Jesuit house of philosophy study in Chennai was educational — for me as well as the students, and so too the various lectures I gave on my Beyond Compare and The Truth, the Way, the Life. If you teach with your ears open, you learn a lot from reactions, questions, follow-up discussions. Second, as indicated in my entry on caste, I gave some lectures on the 19th century French Jesuits who came to India in the 1830s and 1840s, and how they viewed caste as a predictable human and social arrangement that would eventually give way to democracy and the nation state — perhaps for the better. This topic is a historical one, to be sure, but discussing older Jesuit attitudes to caste with fellow Jesuits, in a culture where the Church is even now still figuring out its attitude toward caste, has some real pertinence and immediate implications. The past teaches us of our future.
     Third, I made a bit of progress on my longer-term project, on the drama of the divine-human relationship in Satakopan’s Tiruvaymoli and the Song of Songs, particularly texts of divine presence and absence, coming and going, interpreted respectively by classical commentators such as Nampillai and Bernard of Clairvaux. I steadfastly read ancient and modern commentaries on song IX.9 of Tiruvaymoli, from which I quoted a verse in my pre-India entry. I have much to do on this project, but this single song is powerful: the young woman waits at home in the evening, as the sun is setting and all the signs of nature and society indicate that the cows and their cowherds are coming home — and thus too, her beloved, the divine Krsna. She is awakened, entirely alert, all senses attuned to the signs — but he fails to come. It is an exquisite exploration of expectation, uncertainty, and longing, and Nampillai explores it with great subtlety and sensitivity. Here is one more verse: Even our heart is no help now: the cows return, it is evening, / but the cowherd’s heart has turned to stone, his sweet flute pierces us; / even our friend, our helpmate, is dying right before me because of him; / is there no way to protect our precious life’s breath? It is surely hard to find his grace.
     I did not bring St Bernard along with me in my travels, but some of his sermons on the Song (also cited in that earlier entry) highlight similarly the mystery of God as one who mysteriously comes and goes, who, though omnipresent, seems absent. The bit of reading I did this summer convinces me that the theme is a fruitful one — in our world where even people of faith find God sometimes present, or absent, or puzzlingly present in other places, where God ought not be found. More on this project over the next few years…
     Fourth, I worked a bit on a modern Sanskrit-language text I had with me, a composition by a modern Catholic professor: the Thousand Names of Jesus (Jesu-Sahasra-Nama). There is a whole genre of such writing in Sanskrit, even from ancient times, that voices for a chosen deity a thousand titles indicative of her or his power and glory, best attributes, gracious deeds. Thus from ancient times we have the Thousand Names of Lord Visnu or the Thousand Names of the Goddess Lalita.
     Thus, for example, here (in translation) are the opening names in the work: The Embodied Living One / The Way / Highest / Truth / Without Form / Having a Human Form / Died on the Throne of the Cross / Christ / Came to be by the Word of God’s Messenger / the Anointed / Lord of Creation / In Form Being, Consciousness, and Bliss / God without Beginning / Omniscient / Detached / Mary’s Own Son / Word of the Father / Having a Body / Mighty in the Spirit / Calming Nature / Eternal / Everlasting / Offered as Sacrifice… As with the Hindu Thousand Name texts, one could write full commentary on Dr. Chacko's text, explicating the meaning of each of these names, one after the other.
     In a way, they are like the traditional Catholic Divine Praises (Blessed be God, Blessed be His Holy Name, Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true man, Blessed be the name of Jesus, Blessed be His Most Sacred Heart…) and other litanies familiar in Catholic devotion, though of course the Thousand Names is much longer than any of these. The style is very simple: the names are listed, juxtaposed with one another, in lines of metered verse, seemingly in no particular order, about 4 names per line (or unit known as sloka), until all 1000 names are given in some 250 sets of lines. I spoke on the phone with Professor Chacko himself, who declined to make any claims about the theology of the names or their sequence, or about comparative religious themes. He indicated simply that there is power in this praise, the reciting of Jesus’ thousand names. It seems almost as if he drew on his great learning in Sanskrit simply to string together all that he could say in naming Jesus, up to the full number of 1000.
     These names are lovely, and wonderful to meditate on one by one or simply to hear. (There are tapes and CDs of this text.) There are many interesting issues here (which I am studying for a conference paper) related to the choice of names, names common to multiple Hindu deities (and here Jesus), the combination of Biblical claims with philosophical and Hindu theological claims. But I think Professor Chacko was right, there is power simply in the utterance of such a litany, and the hearing of it is deeply salutary. In any case, I have a lot to think about, and listen to here as well, considering these thousand names alongside other Thousand-Name texts.
    Such are the bits of my research from this trip to India, specific instances of learning within what was really five weeks of multidimensional learning on all levels. Yes, I study texts, but so too, I find the culture, the people, the place so fully educational in rich and full ways. Much more to do, indeed, but always in the context of visiting so interesting a country. But as for you, my reader, be sure to visit India when you can!