Ralph Waldo Emerson carries ritual prayer within him; Philip Larkin prefers silent solitude within an empty church. Unlike the medieval weepers, whose interior ...
EPILOGUE Toing and Froing the Social Don Handelman
Understandably, one would think, the social is the heartland of ritual studies. What is ritual, if not the Durkheimian effervescence of the social? Still, a number of the essays in this volume move towards the borders of the social. Perhaps this has occurred because the contributors were asked to think of ritual in its own right, thereby freeing them from the so deeply embedded anthropological stricture that ritual is social because it must be attached to, relate to, or service some group. Ritual is created by groups and expressive of groups, otherwise it is insignificant. This complicity of ritual and groupness implicitly demands that rite have meaning or function for the social, the raison d’être of ritual’s existence. Thus, the structures, dynamics, and processes of ritual are immediately oriented to the social. Rarely considered is that taking this tack eliminates other possibilities in which thinking on ritual ignores the borders of the social. Nonetheless, if ritual is (though I am less than certain of this) the great generating ground of the human phantasmagoric, as I think Bruce Kapferer argues, then insisting that this ground must be utterly social denies (again) the essential phenomenality of ritual phenomena. I argued in the introduction that the constitution of phenomenon qua phenomenon should have a central place in ritual studies. Protecting the phenomenality of ritual insists, as I tried to show, that it should be possible to avoid committing the analysis of a particular ritual to meaning/function even before one grasps just what its shape implies. But this requires that we begin analysis with the phenomenality of the phenomenon itself, and not with its surround. If form is to exist in and of itself, to whatever degree, minimally, maximally, with whatever qualities, it must have integrity—completeness or wholeness, as its Latin root intimates. The degrees and qualities of completeness of the ritual phenomenon constitute its phenomenality, giving to it textures and rhythms of phenomenal reality. The emphasis I put on the form and forming of phenomenality is an attempt to avoid prejudging what any given ritual is about (if it is about anything that may be specified) but also to refrain deliberately from defining the term ‘ritual,’ since monothetic definition insists on exact distinctions of the either/or variety. Social Analysis, Volume 48, Issue 2, Summer 2004, 213–222
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Speaking of degrees of self-closure and integrity is a way of trying to avoid the overreification of ritual phenomena while insisting on their phenomenality. Now, it is easy for me to write of degrees and qualities of curvature as indices of the complexity of self-organization that a given ritual develops or evolves, while claiming that complexity effects what participants are able to do through that ritual form, and, too, what ritual form is able to do through its own dynamics—yet so what? In terms of their possible application, these ideas are vague, loose, seemingly bearing little relevance to the practice of ritual. Nonetheless, these ideas are terms of reference, a way of thinking that is distinct from those usually used to conceptualize and think about ritual. Whether this way of thinking makes any difference to the study of ritual is not for me to say. However, this perspective does tell anthropologists and others that unless they put aside the conventional toolkits of the ritual trade, they will continue to reproduce rituals as qualities of the known, and these may well be very distant from the possibilities generated by conceptualizing ritual as the creative grounds of the phantasmagoric. The creative grounds of the phantasmagoric open to the imaginal, to the imaginaries through which worlds are made, but no less to how worlds are changed, together with the living. In this collection, ritual as virtuality, creating worlds through its own interior dynamics (Bruce Kapferer); suffering that is greater than meaning, enfolding God, the source of meaning (Don Seeman); shutting out the social and the intimate, infoliating, turning to God (Piroska Nagy); Robert Innis’s discussion of Michael Polanyi’s work of art and intimate, thin ritual; Michael Houseman’s creation of ritual, intended to enfold the social within itself, thereby effecting perception of the social through rite; finding and reconciling with the lost soul part, existing in a timeless cosmic fold (Galina Lindquist); Orokaiva thinking about what sort of ritual will work to engage people feelingly with Christianity (André Iteanu); the multiple invisible presences of the Kardecist cosmos (Sidney Greenfield); the playful opening of previously nonexistent folds of virtual space within ritual (André Droogers)—before all else, these are acts of imagining integrity through the social into its own beyonds, where, when, human completing and completeness are formed and destroyed. These acts of imagining open the social to the creation of formations that enfold and infoliate the social in myriad ways, remaking, limiting, generating it through itself. These sorts of imaginings in relation to the social have clustered primarily in and around what we call ‘ritual.’ Ritual becomes the imagining of the social, but through ritual, not through the social. Regardless of the aspects of ritual that the contributors address, they all relate to these through a ritual imaginary—the capacities of rite to imagine otherness, other-where, otherwhen, through its own self-organizing media and their originary grounds. Ritual self-forming and self-organizing of rite are done always through a ritual imaginary. Ritual in its own right recognizes that the comprehensiveness and usage of the imaginary vary with the integrity of self-organization that particular rites enable and accomplish. Simplistically (but recognizing this), the greater this integrity, the greater the autopoietic autonomy of the rite from its
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social surround. It is these self-organizing qualities of phenomena that give them relative freedom towards the social. In turn, these qualities enable studies of ritual in its own right to border the social.
How Social Must Ritual Be? A number of the contributions question, as I put this, how social a ritual must be in order to be ritual. Given that the grounds for a particular ritual will be social in some way, must its form be directly accountable to the social? To argue that a given ritual form need not be accountable directly to the social makes contingent upon ritual practice whether this phenomenon will have meaning and function. Meaning/function, then, is not a given that follows directly from the fact that the ritual is practiced. Questioning whether particular ritual forms must be social in their phenomenality pushes the discussion of ritual beyond the usually acceptable. In Piroska Nagy’s discussion of medieval weeping, ritual is intimate, concealed within the person, hidden from the social surround. Understood within its historical environment, this was not a solipsistic rite, simply between the person and herself. Instead, she opened within herself to the possibilities of cosmos, to God’s penetration that reorganized her from within herself. The person embodied her ritual, taking it within her wherever she went, her body becoming the interface between ritual and social surround. More generally, in Spencer Brown’s terms, these persons took both sides of the distinction between self and the social into themselves, making the social subordinate to the self, thereby opening the way to personal mysticism. For some three centuries, these persons limited the presence of the social within their intimate ritual or, perhaps more accurately, shut in the social within themselves. For people around her, the ritual dynamics within such a person were no less mysterious than are those of many other initiation rites—witness the plays on ritual knowledge between males and females in Droogers’s account of Wagenia initiation and how Houseman makes initiate knowledge, surrounded by secrecy within secrecy, a cornerstone of deliberately creating a rite of initiation. Nagy rightly writes of weeping as a lifelong intimate ritual of initiation into the mysteries of salvation of the soul. Her think-piece is a provocative challenge to the insistence of canonical anthropology that ritual be grounded in shared meaning, more of which will be discussed further on. Looking even at a reproduction of a late medieval composition, The Weeping Madonna, by the fifteenth-century Flemish painter Dirk Bouts, one is struck by the quiet composure of the weeper, her face exposed beneath her cowl, gaze averted, eyes reddened, two tears peeping from one eye, four others tracking her cheeks. Despite the interpretive comments by art historians, we do not know the interior dynamics of this madonna—we guess, at the meaning of the tears, at their function, as if meaning/function is crucial to understanding why she is weeping silently. Yet the social ‘why’ of weeping is hardly the issue here.
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The tears that leak from her interior are but the fluid transparencies of the feeling that fills her, utterly hidden within. Her weeping, in Levinas’s terms, as discussed by Seeman, refuses meaning, indeed refuses its consolation. Her weeping is beyond meaning, beyond function, the weeping that thereby opens to possibility, to the creative grounds of ritual, to ritual generating cosmos, here perhaps one of resurrection and salvation. Then, too, her weeping is the ground of meaning, the ground of function, a matrix of possibility from which meaning/function will take shape, but hardly reducible to this. Her creative vortex of feeling may be contained, yet never domesticated.1 Feelings, anguish amongst them, transforming being from within, open to a virtuality of possibility, as I think Kapferer argues, though which forms will emerge from potentiality arise from social and historical conditions, as he maintains. Nonetheless, whatever goes on through the interiority of these feelings never departs from, never loses, its openings to virtuality and its potentiations. This is an apposite comment for thinking on playfulness and play, as Droogers’s contribution shows—the creating of space/time folds opening within themselves into unknowns (see Lindquist and Handelman 2001), rather than the domestication and closure of play through insisting that what play does, first and foremost, is to provide metacommentaries (meaningful, functional) on the social. The actualities of any given ritual coexist with their virtual potentialities. It is not that the forming of form that is ritual-as-it-is-practiced enters into a domain of virtual possibility whenever ritual creation or creative acts within ritual occur, or when, for example, interior feeling is beyond meaning/function. Rather, the ritual and its virtualities are contemporaneous. Deleuze (Deleuze and Parnet 2002, 150–151) puts it this way: “The actual and the virtual coexist, and enter into a tight circuit which we are continually retracing from one to the other … the two [become] indistinguishable.” The relationship between the forming of ritual form and the emergence of possibility from within virtuality becomes autopoietic. This is the relationship between the emergence of play within Wagenia initiation and the ongoing rituals. This, too, is how the shaman searches for the lost soul part, and how the latter comes into existence through neo-shamanic soul retrieval. This argument parallels Deleuze’s commentaries on Henri Bergson’s theory of time. Deleuze (1991, 59) writes: “The past and the present do not denote two successive moments, but two elements which coexist: One is the present, which does not cease to pass, and the other is the past, which does not cease to be but through which all presents pass … Not only does the past coexist with the present that has been, but, as it preserves itself in itself (while the present passes), it is the whole, integral past; it is all our past [and, I add, its matrixial, combinatorial potentialities of possibility], which coexists with each present” (emphasis in the original). One can then argue, for example, that a given ritual is not out-of-time but utterly full of time, burstingwith-time, with all of the possibilities (of becoming, being, existing) that time potentially enables, and therefore bursting no less with creative potential. This, one can say, is very much a matter of the ontologies of rite, into which Lindquist begins to tap in her contribution.
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Continuing these thoughts would return us to issues of recursivity and to questions of self-organization, to whether this grasp of ritual is related to the degrees of complexity in its self-organization. Nevertheless, this kind of argument should also alter, for example, understanding of ritual liminality, as this was developed by Victor Turner—liminality less as ritual out-of-time, entering into dimensions from which time is absent or held constant, but rather liminality as ritual bursting-with-time, bursting with all of the potentialities of the forming of form. Ritual phenomena are indeed venues of creativity, as Victor Turner argued on and off, but this is less because of their liminality, as he understood this, and more because liminality is in the tightest of circuits with the virtual, so that the actual is perhaps most opened to possibility. To some extent, the issue of creativity and creation through ritual phenomena is akin to the problem of how difference and change emerge, as social phenomena organize autopoietically (Hayles 1999, 223; Mihata 1997, 33). Ritual in traditional social orders likely is a most prominent venue of phenomena privileged with cultural creation through the potentiation of the possible. In this sense, much traditional ritual is a vortex of the virtual, in the way Kapferer uses the virtual—a vortex through which cosmii are made, but no less explored in their making.2 Yet traditional rituals as venues of creativity have hardly been explored as such, nor will they be so long as there persist the obsessions with Durkheimian functionalism, with Geertzian stories that people tell themselves about themselves, with the Gluckmanian conception of ritual as social relations (Gluckman 1962), and with ritual reduced to arenas of politics and power (Bell 1992). All of these perspectives ironically deny the virtual capacities of ritual, closing the phenomenality of rite to the creative potentialities of the imaginary, of possibility. The neo-shamanic ritual of soul retrieval refracts that of medieval weeping. The soul retrieval patient must discover within himself the distinction between his self-known yet unreflective self and its split-off traumatized part, a distinction between self and self. Once this distinction is made and experienced, the difference generated by this rupture may be healed. But the struggle is primarily interior, between part-self and part-self in order to recover the whole self. The journey to healing is necessarily through the social, through shaman, through narrative, but its goal is to make the healed patient autonomous of the social in his own right. The split-off part often tears away because it has been traumatized by the social. The byproducts of the social, the sources of anguish, are concealed within the individual. The retrieval of the soul is a kind of exorcism, one which banishes these byproducts from the interior of the individual, enabling self to rejoin self and reacquire integrity. The soul retrieval narratives are not Geertzian stories of cultural reproduction, looking into mirrors, however concave, convex, telling ourselves who we are. These stories are more journeys of inner exploration, ever-shifting, everchanging, intended for and created together with individual patients who must learn to travel virtually to themselves within themselves through this neoshamanic cosmos. The narratives are undertakings of cultural creation within
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ritual, in a sense, custom-designed for each patient. Whereas the medieval weeper opened herself to God, perhaps to the known infinity of cosmos that contained her, the postmodern neo-shamanic patient opens himself to himself, to the known yet unknown within. Both the intimate ritual of medieval weeping and that of postmodern soul retrieval are concerned to create deeply interior recursivities of considerable complexity within the person, while limiting the influences of the social surround. The recursivities contained wholly within the individual are at their densest in persons who are modern individuals in the fullest sense, who understand themselves as autonomous beings in and of themselves, and who, as Robert Innis discusses, thereby contain ritual within themselves as the intimacy of selfgiving integrity, indeed, intimacy. Ralph Waldo Emerson carries ritual prayer within him; Philip Larkin prefers silent solitude within an empty church. Unlike the medieval weepers, whose interior personhood opened to and was engaged by God, these modern individuals find themselves, their self-integrities, through themselves. In their own ways, Nagy, Lindquist, and Innis (as well as others here) implicitly take issue with the pervasive tendency in anthropology to define ritual primarily in invariant, canonical, structural terms (most recently by the late Roy Rappaport [1999, 24–58]) and to call this ‘real’ or ‘authentic’ ritual (see the critiques by Handelman 1998, n.d.). Don Seeman writes of a creative ritual response that re-forms worlds during catastrophe, the response of the bereft consoling the maker of worlds, the creator, on his world gone bad, on his inability to protect his people. Again originating deep within the person, the response was still in the making, yet to surface within social practice, when the ritualist’s life was cut short. R. Kalonymos’s ritual gesture is other than meaning, writes Seeman, following Levinas’s refusal of meaning. Meaning, as Filip de Boeck and Rene Devisch (1994) accurately comment, is more in keeping with social engineering, with the notion that the world can be fixed, remade, made right. To refuse meaning, then, is often to accept reality rather than ideology—the reality, not the theology, of God the omnipotent, no less in helpless anguish than those whose lives are being murdered, God discovering his own frailty in the face of emergent processes he himself did not imagine. Of course, to refuse meaning may also be the response that rejects God the world-maker—either he cannot exist, for otherwise how could he accept the cruelty of his world, or he is indifferent, a callous creator, not deserving of his people. R. Kalonymos makes his choice, one of com-passion for his worldmaker who made him. Beyond meaning is anguish, filling being with feeling that is uncontainable just as it is inconsolable. Seeman’s understanding of Levinas, in relation to Kalonymos’s ritual response, is that of human being holding God (the alter of alters) in his arms, consoling him over the free will with which he has endowed human beings. As existence collapses, hastening entropy, what is the creator to do?3 The ritual response opens into possibility, into space/time that had not existed a moment before, creatively reshaping, remaking worlds, never done once and for all, rejecting the canonic, but closer to
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Kapferer’s position (and that of de Boeck and Devisch) of rite as world-making. Once world is created, can creation ever cease? Even in the monothetic monotheism of Judaism, this possibility of ongoing creation exists. Seeman’s essay challenges the Durkheimian ideal that ritual necessarily serves social order in the image, or, for that matter, the gestalt, of the latter. Once ritual comes into existence, it generates its own emergent dynamics. Kalonymos takes God’s perspective, or, more accurately, takes his feeling towards his beloved cosmos, his cherished people—hence the depth of God’s anguish, of Kalonymos’s compassion, even as he is destroyed. Kalonymos will die with God’s name on his lips, his death, though unwilled, thereby an act of self-sacrifice, of the generosity of feeling beyond meaning, indeed, of fellow feeling, offered freely precisely because it is other than meaning, full of what I can only call self-alterity, the self recognizing its alterity to itself (Wall 1999, 1), and so incorporating the distinction between self and other, thereby opening to otherness, one of the powerful potentialities of ritual.4 Suffering is beyond meaning precisely because it refuses the self-satisfaction of the hermeneutic response. When suffering is integral to the autopoietic qualities of ritual, it may well lead elsewhere—less in search of meaning, more in search of possibilities of world-making. (Can we read Nagy and Lindquist in this way?) Nagy, Lindquist, and Seeman all evoke the deep intimacy enabled by ritual modalities, between the selves of ritualists, themselves as alter, and the interiors of cosmos and its other beings. Intimacy intimates connectivity through innerness, a connectivity that itself may be feeling first and foremost. Connections through cosmic interiors of all sorts will be strongly recursive. What we call feelings seem inevitably to be recursive, which may explain to some extent how feelings are so powerful in thrusts towards self-organization. In a highly autopoietic ritual world, innerness dominates. Other contributors—Kapferer, Iteanu, Droogers, Houseman—shift us strongly towards ritual and the social, nonetheless critiquing the meaning/function paradigm of representation. Here I give particular attention to Houseman’s essay. Michael Houseman shows through his experiment that ritual makes the culture of social relationships. He has designed a ritual technology for the creation of difference and is telling us that if we insert into this design whatever distinction we desire between categories of persons, this will be turned into difference in the social relationships of persons from these categories. Moreover, these persons will carry this difference into the social surround, beyond the ritual event. As he writes elsewhere (Houseman 2002, 86), a “circular relationship” is established “between the actions the initiators [and the initiated] undertake and their ability to undertake them.” In autopoietic terms, “the components of the system, through their operations, further produce the components which constitute the system” (Kay 2001, 466). Houseman builds the distinction of gender into his ritual design and (resonating with Spencer Brown) takes both sides of this distinction into the design. Though this may seem self-evident, the incorporation of both sides of the gender distinction is precisely what enables this design to generate social differences
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between the genders. That both sides of the distinction are within the ritual makes this more autopoietic, enabling the ritual to turn the categorical distinction between genders into social difference in relatedness. In baring his ritual design, Houseman is telling us that ritual in its own right represents nothing beyond itself, and that this absence of meaning does not detract in the least from enabling the ritual to turn categorical distinction into social difference. In its own right, his ritual makes or modifies culture.5 Intriguingly, the autopoietic dynamics that Houseman arbitrarily activates pull him, their creator, into their recursion, making him more of a subjected participant, caught, if not by the seat of his pants, then close by. The kind of self-organization that Houseman puts into movement also selfproduces indeterminacy (Luhmann 1997, 363)—as the creator is drawn further into the emerging determinism of his own creation, observer becoming subject, the conditions of the ritual’s future become more opaque, more uncertain. Following on Houseman (and, to a degree, Lindquist, as well as the Orokaiva discourses with ritual discussed by Iteanu), Sidney Greenfield raises the issue of how ritual works when the participants do not share common understandings of culture, and when those who are being healed have at best only a sketchy sense of and limited feel for the cosmological premises that inform the existence of the ritual. How is it that healing proceeds? On what grounds? This issue simply is unapproachable through a culturological attitude that puts shared meaning at the forefront of comprehending ritual, though my guess is that a lot of ritual practice has not been well studied because of this approach. Greenfield chooses to enter the physiology of the nervous system in seeking an explanation for Kardecist healing in Brazil. This avenue of thinking is increasingly gaining in popularity, especially since biology (and theoretical physics) is so prominent in providing for our cosmologies. I foundered on this problem forty years ago (Handelman 1967a), and the halting explanation I offered then (Handelman 1967b) really limped, to say the least. At issue for me was a Native American shaman who had changed his healing so that its form, technics, and thematics were utterly foreign to everyone I knew or heard of whom he had treated. Nonetheless, patients of great social and cultural diversity continued to come for treatment, and his reputation only gained in stature. One could not really speak of cultural meaning or of social function. He was a recluse, issues of power were irrelevant, and he resisted representation when anthropologists and others thrust this upon him (Handelman 1993). In anthropological terms, my perception today is as opaque as it was then. In terms of this collection, I can say that he represented nothing—nothing, that is, other than the actualization of possibility, of an emerging strand of the phantasmagoric, perhaps a tight circuit between actuality and virtuality. Ritual in its own right plainly says to take the phenomenality of ritual seriously if you are interested in the phenomenon of ritual. Then study ritual through ritual, and see where this leads, whether these directions are worthwhile. Surprisingly (?), no existing avenues are shut by this approach—though they become more contingent and, thus, more open. And, after all, Calvin, the ritual expert, can always retort: “If you can’t control your peanut butter, you can’t expect to control your life.”
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NOTES 1. This point is alluded to, but beautifully, in Edward Schieffelin’s (1976) discussions of the ritual arousal of anguish and its control, but not its assuagement, among a New Guinea people. 2. Here I emphasize traditional ritual as a venue of creativity, since I do not think that rituals associated with modern state orders have much of this capacity. See Handelman 2004. 3. Especially if evil is understood to come into existence as an emergent, and therefore indeterminate, process. Levinas (1990, 63) himself believed in “the essential possibility of elemental Evil” (emphasis in original), in the absence of alterity. 4. The pure gift comes into existence perhaps only when its giving is beyond meaning and therefore beyond reciprocity, which depends on meaning. Beyond meaning, this is also beyond the Derridean deconstruction of the gift (Derrida 1992). 5. Houseman’s approach reminds me of Tom McFeat’s (1974) creation of culture in experimental small groups. McFeat understood culture to come into existence when information-transmission in small groups began to create n+1 generations, in other words, when the next generation (in practice, the next person to join the group) took on the distinctions, differences, and values of the small group, thereby continuing these (even as they changed) through time. One can easily imagine Houseman turning his ritual design into one that deliberately creates multiple generations of initiates.
REFERENCES Bell, Catherine. 1992. Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice. New York: Oxford University Press. de Boeck, Filip, and Rene Devisch. 1994. “Ndembu, Luunda and Yaka Divination Compared: From Representation and Social Engineering to Embodiment and Worldmaking.” Journal of Religion in Africa 23, no. 2:98–133. Deleuze, Gilles. 1991. Bergsonism. New York: Zone Books. Deleuze, Gilles, and Claire Parnet. 2002. Dialogues II. New York: Columbia University Press. Derrida, Jacques. 1992. Given Time. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Gluckman, Max. 1962. “Les rites de passage.” Pp. 1–52 in Essays on the Ritual of Social Relations, ed. Max Gluckman. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Handelman, Don. 1967a. “The Development of a Washo Shaman.” Ethnology 6:444–464. ———. 1967b. “Transcultural Shamanic Healing: A Washo Example.” Ethnos 32:149–166. ———. 1993. “The Absence of Others, the Presence of Texts.” Pp. 133–152 in Creativity/ Anthropology, ed. Smadar Lavie, Kirin Narayan, and Renato Rosaldo. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. ———. 1998. Models and Mirrors: Towards an Anthropology of Public Events. 2nd ed. New York: Berghahn Books. ———. 2004. Nationalism and the Israeli State: Bureaucratic Logic in Public Events. Oxford: Berg Publishers. ———. n.d. “Conceptual Alternatives to Ritual.” In Theorizing Ritual, ed. Jens Kreinath, Jan Snoek, and Michael Stausberg. Leiden: Brill. (In press) Hayles, N. Katherine. 1999. How We Became Posthuman: Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics, Literature, and Informatics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Houseman, Michael. 2002. “Dissimulation and Simulation as Forms of Religious Reflexivity,’ Social Anthropology 10:77–89. Kay, Robert. 2001. “Are Organizations Autopoietic? A Call for a New Debate.” Systems Research and Behavioral Science 18:461–477.
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Levinas, Emmanuel. 1990. “Reflections on the Philosophy of Hitlerism.” Critical Inquiry 17:63–71. Lindquist, Galina, and Don Handelman, eds. 2001. “Playful Power and Ludic Spaces: Studies in Games of Life.” Focaal: European Journal of Anthropology no. 37. Luhmann, Niklas. 1997. “The Control of Intransparency.” Systems Research and Behavioral Science 14:359–371. McFeat, Tom. 1974. Small-Group Cultures. New York: Pergamon. Mihata, Kevin. 1997. “The Persistence of ‘Emergence.’” Pp. 30–38 in Chaos, Complexity, and Sociology: Myths, Models, and Theories, ed. Raymond A. Eve, Sara Horsfall, and Mary E. Lee. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Rappaport, Roy A. 1999. Ritual and Religion in the Making of Humanity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schieffelin, Edward. 1976. The Sorrow of the Lonely and the Burning of the Dancers. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Wall, Thomas Carl. 1999. Radical Passivity: Levinas, Blanchot, and Agamben. Albany: SUNY Press.
