The history of Kashgar found in Frances Wood’s The Silk Road (chapter 10), to my discomfort, is a history of Europeans. Not only is it a history of Europeans, it is part of the history of Europe in which Britain and Russia battle it out in a creation of their greater empires in an arena known as the Kashgarian empire that happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time. The Eurocentric approach suppresses any Kashgarian trace both in the attitudes and actions of different social groups, highly organized or not, as well as that of the ruling group – this prejudiced view has to be apprehended and reprimanded.

The idea of game in “The Great Game” has relevancy, at least in analogy. For example, in the game of soccer, we often talk about the opposing teams and the on-field players. Win or lose – that’s almost all of what we talk about. In a match, say between Germany and France, it doesn’t matter if it is played in Malaysia or Thailand. They spectators, comprising of either Malays or Thais, does not even matter. So is it the case for the referee, except that once every now and then, the losing team gets to write its version of match highlights, in which the referee is blamed for making a wrong decision. Our vision of only the teams and its prominent players have blinded us to the agency of the referee and the spectators, as well as the agency of the pitch maintenance crew. We could go further, but this will suffice for my argument.

Suppose we take Germany and France as Britain and Russia, Malaysia (or Thailand) as Kashgar, the referee as the ruler of Kashgar, and the spectators as varied residents of Kashgar, we will realize that we missed a whole lot of internal dynamics in which agents with different ideologies other than the teams struggle to suppress, dominate, or even persecute others. In our definition of game, or at least what it is today, we have a complexity of elements and dynamism.

To add things to complicate this further. How many of these people in Kashgar are Kashgarians? Do they have a cultural or religious identity that experiences a tension with that of Kashgar. How about those who work for the British and the Russians? How about the Chinese and the Chinese town in Kashgar? How do they view each other? Do they aspire to become one or the other? How were the British and the Russians perceived? What are the economic interests involved? ….. Yet all we have is a European physical description of Kashgar, which in some sense, defines the West. But the matter is not solved by me writing my own history of Kashgar for I would be writing from my (conscious or not) ideological position.

I hope that it is sufficient to lead you to think that a more current task of a scholar (of Central Asia) is to include these complexity into the history of Kashgar. Simplistic histories are easily manipulated and used for political interests.

In “The Clash of Ignorance,” Edward Said attempted to convince his reader that Samuel Huntington’s thesis that the fundamental source of conflict in the post 9/11 “new phase” of global politics would occur between a handful of “civilizations” characterized by different cultures in “The Clash of Civilizations?” is ideological and serves to defend the superiority of the West rather than to critically understand the socio-political phenomena at hand. Using the case of Huntington’s perceived conflict between the West and Islam, Said questions Huntington’s portrayal of the two “civilizations” as the fight between good and evil in which the good is called to maintain its superiority to evil. Huntington conceives of the West and Islam as closed homogeneous entities while totally ignoring the internal dynamics and plurality within each “civilization.”

Said’s article could be placed to good use when we think of it in relation to  our roles as students. First, there  is a difference between critically studying a thing and speaking for a thing. Studying a thing critically requires us to break down larger concepts to identify the complexity and study the power relations within the concept. Second, rather then hiding behind the walls of “non-ideological” scholarship, it serves us better to be aware of our ideologies in arguing for our theses. No scholarship  is purely non-ideological, but working under the assumption of “non-ideological” scholarship can sometimes blind us in our capacities as scholars and have us not critically examine the concerned thing.

In the section on the spread of Islam in World Religions, two things interests me. First, Mahmoud Ayoub challenges the image of Islam I have, which is dominated by Orientalist discourse and successes of the ideological battle between the United States and Middle-Eastern Islamic countries. Some of the most regions in which Islam entrenched itself were not due to Islamic conquest and the forceful implementation of Islamic elements, but to missionary successes and unintended spread through settlement of Muslim traders. Moreover, Muslims were not shown to be culturally void due to the demands of Islam; there are several periods in different locations in which Islamic culture, philosophy, and science were much sought after by non-Muslims from the region. Second, in dividing the spread of Islam into geographical rather than chronological units, I am able to see that Islam is not homogeneous and the academic study of Islam has to contextualize to derive islams from a single entity, Islam. Overarching concepts are not as useful if we want to study the specific socio-economical and political conditions that marks each Islamic community in its growth.

A good question to ask when we are confined to our warm homes while the crazy Toronto wind takes the streets is: How would this course be conducted if “religions,” as it appears in the course title, is taken in the singular rather than the plural? The title assumes that religions are distinct from each other and thus religions are taught one after another. More interestingly, do you realize that when we read about these different religions in the Silk Road, we use studies of these religions in other geographical area and possibly over a different time? For instance, when Zoroastrianism is introduced, it has to be introduced as a essentially Persian religion that moved eastwards etc…. What if Zoroastrianism is not seen as anothe religion in the Silk Road, but as how the beliefs of a people has changed over time? In other words, what if we teach elements of Zoroastrianism as part of a continuum of a single Silk Road religion, and discard all the other stuff (e.g. comes from Persian, core beliefs – as evident in Christianity, core beliefs are not always shared…)?

When I approach the topic on Dunhuang, I’m perplexed by whether the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas, the old Dunhuang settlement in ruins, or  the relatively new Dunhuang settlement should be given more attention. Do the Caves really belong to Dunhuang in livelihood? Or do they relate to Dunhuang only in geography? In chapter 7, Woods tell us that there existed a LAGRE community of monks who lived not in the old settlement, but in a series of smaller caves next to the Caves. Given their size, could they have enjoyed a relatively independent communal life? But then, we do have the romanticized image that monks who live next to Buddhist sites are commonly involved in the maintenance and operation of the site. There are, of course, always monks who we imagine (whether true or not) engaged in “religious activities.” But could these monks be soldiers?

Things do get tricky when we consider the old settlement; as mentioned above, how much independence from the ”Buddhist activities” of the Caves should we attribute to it? The general image that we have is that “Chinese” settlers in Dunhuang are soldiers; it was a military garrison in the Han, Tang, and Qing. Even Abbot Wang was a soldier. Other than periodic “Chinese” rule, we also have periodic “Tibetan” rule. The composition of Dunhuang under the Tibetans and other rulers are, unfortunately, left out of Wood’s chapters and the Dunhuang research project. As a student of religion, we should consider if this Sino-centric model serves us best, especially when it has the tendency to give us a stable and one-sided picture of life in the old Dunhuang settlement. But if we step away from a historical view and imagine how a life of sixty years in Dunhuang would be? – It is quite possible for us to create a picture of such a person’s life from a Sino-centric model, isn’t it?

It’s funny that even with a “homogeneous” body of soldiers in Dunhuang, our study is not made easier. What do soldiers in China believe in? Do they believe in what their commanders believe in? Do they believe in a derivation of Buddhism (as a pure form)? Do they believe in “popular religions”? Or do they believe in anything that comes along the way? While they is the image out there that soldiers at war seek protection from deities (in this case, Buddhist), how do we reconcile this with the portion of survivors of the Holocaust who lost their belief in one?

I didn’t know if we have to submit a blog entry this week because most of you did not upload one. Nevertheless, I shall upload one so that I would not end up with both a blog and a paper due next week.

How many of you have read introductory material to Buddhism? For the few that I have read, it seems like there are two “paradigmatic” ways to approach the topic: 1) Divide Buddhism into the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, and 2) divide Buddhism into the different “Vehicles.” While some scholars questioned if we should use X, Y, Z terms to talk about a religion because the followers themselves do not use them, it seems that we also have to ask the opposite question, should we talk about a religion outside of the limiting concepts used by members of the religion?

Donald Lopez presents his chapter on “Buddhism in Practice” from Asian Religions in Practice using the first division above. Thq question we should ask is: Why do we need a new introduction if we are structuring our work in the same old manner and no significant findings have emerged for “Early Buddhism”? Given that what we have here is an introduction, the grand narratives presented will more or less be the same as those in other introductions.

In short, I do not think that the endeavor to write introduction is a total waste of time; rather, the challenge for scholars is to find new ways to look at the same things.

After reading Zorastrianism, I am left wondering how many “ancient” religions are concerned with the notion of purity. Hinduism has been conceived as a centrifuge, filtering out individuals into social strata like particles according to their purity. For Zorastrianism, we have something that works quite differently; impurity is like dirt that one is susceptible collecting to when coming to physical contact with something dirty. A possible reason that I believe scholars would have come up with by now is that of hygiene or health.

The above, however, seems stale to me and in need to revitatlization. The idea centrality of purity to a religion such as Zorastrianism places the former on an essential pedestal; purity is good, it’s what they want, and it’s essential to the religion. Well, maybe purity is really important, but have we, in all of our emphasis and attention, made it more important than it seems, such that we deprive the individuals in Zorastrianism of agency? If we begin our study with professional undertakers, we would find a dynamism of agency. There is constant resistance from these “Zorastrians” against the dominance of the their identity as impure in the long run. What I mean is that purity is not the Zorastrian formula to life, such that everyone practices purity acts out of tradition or belief. On the periphery, we have acts of resistance, acts that threaten the centrality and accepted dominance of the discourse of purity. It is here that we, as students of religion, would like to begin our study, the challenge the old ways of looking at things.

 

As students of Religion, a relevant question to ask is: When we approach a group of elements we call a religion (as distinct from another), how do we know that we are studying the “right” elements?

In a politicized study of religion, is it valid for us to assert that we can avoid a comparative study? Most likely, no… at least for Edward Said. That is, if we look at, say, the study of Asian religions as a Orientalist discourse. Many of our study of religion appear to us as well-intentioned. However, the second meaning of Orientalism as a style of thought based upon an ontological and epistemological distinction made between the Orient and the Occident, is one that most of us are guilty of. If we look at studying religion academically either as an undergraduate or a graduate student, we have to declare a stream or an area of specialization, such as Islamic studies or Buddhist studies. Although some programs allow us to challenge this notion of difference, that the most common way we can speak about what we want to do in the study of religion involves using this language, we are far from freeing ourselves from the shackles of Orientalism.

Expanding on this line of thought, it is our duty as the new generation of students of religion to identify where this apparent dominance (rather than complete) of the Orientalist discourse  leaves gaps. From these gaps, we find the resistance of the suppressed, or otherwise that which is viewed as alternative to our current mode in study of religion, and we want to bring that to the center, to challenge our Orientalist discourse in the study of religion.

Linking up with Said’s Orientalism,  the Orientalist discourse has not weakened as power circulates from Frances Wood to Daniel C. Waugh. The system of representation of the Silk Road is contested to the extent of whether silk was the only or main item traded (in Wood) or were elements like religion also transported. What is essentialized, however, is Road. When we talk about the Sogdians, for instance, the language of trade items and their valuation restricts us from going further. The Sogdians in Wood’s chapter 5 and Waugh’s “Introduction” to The Sogdian Ancient Letters. We cannot escape the construct of these people, semi-nomadic and having lost their homeland in Samarkand, as the timeless traveling merchants of the Silk Road.

But one might argue that in the Sogdian letters, we find evidence to attest to our conception of the Sogdians. But why have we neglected our representation of the Sogdians through letters 1 and 3, the lady in distress? Difference is the essence of the Sogdians in the Orientalist discourse. When I read letters 1 and 3, they sound to me exactly like a couple separated by distance (and all that surrounds it) as it would be today because of work or studies. However, what would be essentialized when a Orientalist studies letters 1 and 3 is the part which goes:

To (my) noble lord (and) husband Nanai-dhat, blessing (and) homeage on bended knee, as is offered to the gods. And (it would be) a good day for him who might see you healthy, happy (and) free from illness, together with everyone; and, sir, when I hear (news of) your (good) health, I consider myself immortal! (Letter 3, translated by Sims-Williams)

On a more casual note, do we seriously believe that there is no person/human under a occupation or activity like merchant or trade. What does it mean when we essentialize such elements to the identity-boundaries of a people? We miss out on all the little details; we stress the difference.

Let us figure out tentatively what the Hou Han Shu (後漢書) is.

1) The Hou Han Shu  is a grand narrative which claims truth at the expense of earlier historical records (such as the Shiji) and personal experiences (such as those of Zhang Qian and Ban Yong). In other words, where contradictory versions exist, a comprehensive account and explanation of history is provided by suppressing some local narratives . Thus, the question here is: Do we still have the suppressed local narratives? If yes, where do the discontinuities of the grand narrative lie? If not, how are we to use the grand narrative in our study of Central Asia?

2) The Hou Han Shu was written for a purpose. However, when contextualized, we see that there are different purposes at different levels. On the most superificial level, the Hou Han Shu can be said to be written for the enjoyment of the exotic of the emperor. Considering government positions, the ruler who reads it would see it as a reference for whether to open his empire to foreign trade and whether to send troops (and how many soldiers) when a war is to be waged. For the general, it serves as a map to plan his route of advancement and his initial information on the kingdom he is to claim for his empire. The advisor, on the other hand, uses it to advise his ruler on the diplomatic policies to adopt based on the historical “behavior” of the particular kingdom.

3) The Hou Han Shu is also a text structured around the “hero” explanation for causation in history. It is a history of emperors, kings, governors, and generals and they are recorded insofar that their actions have a perceived impact on the history of the “Western Regions.”

The most obvious subject matter that was left out when we place the Hou Han Shu in the context of Frances Wood’s Chapter 4 of The Silk Road is that of the “Heavenly horses.” In the census of the “Western Regions,” there was no count of horses or even “Heavenly horses.” Does this mean that Arthur Waley was right to say that the Han concern with these horses was spiritual rather than practical? Let us place this question in the context of question 2. We are told in Wood’s Silk Road that the Han realized that a smaller group of Xiongnu on Heavenly horses could wipe out an entire army of Han infantry. If so, wouldn’t it be curious that in the census, the number of infantry soldiers (since they were counted without horses) was given primacy over the number of horses? Although it seems like Arthur Waley’s argument is more worthy of consideration than when first read, it is actually quite problematic. Consider the following “hymn” taken from Wood’s Silk Road:

The Heavenly Horses are coming,

Coming from the Far West,

They crossed the Flowing Sands,

For the barbarians are conquered.

That issued from the waters of a pool. Two of them have tiger bacjs: They can transform themselves like spirits.

The Heavenly Horses are coming

Across the pastureless wilds

A thousand leagues at a stretch,

Following the eastern road.

The Heavenly Horses are coming;

Jupiter is in the Dragon.

Should they choose to soar aloft,

Who could keep pace with them?

The Heavenly Horses are coming;

Open the gates while there is time.

To the Holy Mountain of Kunlun.

The Heavenly Horses have come

And the Dragon will follow in their wake.

I shall reach the Gates of Heaven,

I shall see the Palace of God.

Consider the lines I bolded (spiritual parts) with the ones I italicized (practical parts). In his argument, Waley suppressed the practical element. What is more problematic was his total neglect of the parts on the practical. Thus, it seems that Heavenly horses are important both in spiritual and practical ways.