The Goddess: from Mother to Other

[Feel free to ignore this opening paragraph, it’s mostly scenic, but may help to frame my aversion for Kinsley’s treatment of the genders.] I went the Hamilton escarpment on Saturday to enjoy what few lingering summer moments we had left in the nurturing energy of Mother Nature. There were five of us total, three males, one female, and myself. Kevala (the only biological female) expressed her deep appreciation for the fact that I was able to get the day off work and join them, thereby affording her periodic refuge from “being alone with the boys”. I am not sure if it’s because of my orientation (for those of you know don’t know, or haven’t guessed, I’m gay), or because of my individual sensibilities, but she sees me as different from the other guys, and I have to say that for the most part I agree with her. There were times when “the guys” would carry on about one subject or another and Kevala and I would, with a single glance, convey to each other an amusement and confusion that we alone shared. The exchange carried with it the certainty that a) we’ll never understand the intrigue of Suject X and b) they’ll never understand our lack of interest. Suffice it to say that I often find myself able to identify with females (though not exclusively). As a result, my closest circle of friends consists of males and female alike. However, there were many times throughout the trip when we we divided differently. For example, the rest of us could not relate to Kevala and Davis’ unique views on being in nature (about which I can elaborate at another opportunity for this interested), thus relegating Kevala to the realm of the “other”. Clearly, the boundaries between interpersonal interactions need not crudely adhere to gender distinctions, but this is merely one variety. Being made to awkwardly maneuver between the innumerable gender-based protocols and distinctions pervading our society, I shudder at the thought of having to do so, too, in the study of the history of religion. Perhaps there is no way around it, but I don’t like the approach taken by David Kinsley in “Women’s Studies in the History of Religions”. There is much about this article which I find problematic, but I must find the strength to curtail my ranting to a somewhat-coherent, profanity-free critique. I shall therefore confine my discussion to the examples Kingsley incorporates from the Hindu religious tradition. This is a tradition with whose scholarship I am most familiar. Further, I have benefited from the insights of several Hindu practitioners, of various ages, cultural backgrounds, and walks of life – male and female alike.

According to Kinsley, Women’s studies devastatingly reveals the extent to which the study of the history of religions falls short of its own non-parochial, unbiased, all-inclusive mandate (2). He brings to our attention our limited focus, centered around the religious expressions of man-kind, not human-kind. If the history of every culture is “patriarchal, sexist, androcentric, and often misogynistic” (4), to what extent can the “female perspective” aid in our understanding of that history? If, for example, women were barred from a specific ritual, then what can women tell of the ritual in question? How can one study a sexist phenomenon in a non-sexist manner? Perhaps it is my androcentric Western bias speaking, but I wonder, to what extent can scholars emphasize study women’s religion if religion itself was primarily a male-dominated sphere throughout history? If religious writings are androcentric, and the institutions are androcentric, and expounders, virtuosos, and leaders are all men, then how would studying the ‘feminine perspective’ assist in understanding the history of a tradition? If imams, rabbis, priests, pandits, etc. were primarily (or exclusively) male, then how does one possibly avoid a non-androcentric understanding of history? Would Kinsley have us believe that women have always been on equal footing in the history of religion, and that it is only modernity which relegates them to the status of the other by denying them their equal contribution to the teachings and shaping of religious history?

Kinsley makes grand claims and sweeping generalizations about the history of the study of religion, e.g., that scholarly attention paid to initiatory rites was limited to male initiation rites, or that the study of goddesses was marginalized and treated as a separate section that the study of the ‘gods’ (3). To which scholars, to which studies, and to which traditions does Kinsley refer in order to bolster his sweeping charges of the study of religious history? Let us examine some of his examples and assess the extent to which they pertain to the broad themes he paints at the outset of his paper. As mentioned before, due to the limits of space, and of my own area of study, I will direct this cross-examination based upon the ‘evidence’ Kinsley draws from Hindu thought and practice. Kinsley cites the example of the two sixteen-century Indian poet-saints Surdas and Mirabai to illustrate two divergent gender perspectives within the tradition. Mirabai was a highly atypical individual by all accounts. She was a mystical poet-saint who was known for sacrificing all social connections and responsibilities in order to glorify the name of her beloved deity, Krishna. How many woman did the same? How many reports do we have of similar women? It seems questionable to use her as an example of the types of religious activities that Hindu women typically partake in. She surely may not be regarded as a spokesperson for a specific subculture common to Hindu women at the time. Mirabai is celebrated throughout the tradition for her independent conviction againt social pressures, all in the name of sacred devotion. She is, in essence, an anomaly with respect to ‘women’s religion’. She is, however, an aspect of the rise of devotionalism as a means of salvation on the Indic subcontinent at the time. Also, the fact that her remarkably life and story survive attests to the fact that historical women are in fact studied. I personally learned about her in both my History of South Asia class in addition to my Intro to Hinduism class.

Surdas, too represents the overarching devotionalism movement of his era. However, he, too, was a mystical poet-saint, and not typical by any stretch of the imagination. [Interestingly, I did not learn about him in our “androcentric” academic institution, so perhaps there is hope yet. I digress.] Many sung to Krishna, many dances, many offered fruits, flowers, etc., but how many partook in mystical union with the deity? How can either he or Mirabai – both purportedly in direct contact with the deity Krishna, experiencing ecstatic union with him – possibly be indicative of a respective “religious community”? Perhaps they serve to exemplify a dichotomy among male and female mystic-poets, but by what basis may we apply this dichotomy to the realm of more mundane practice? With respect to the specific difference between the them (that to which Kinsley draws our attention), specifically, that Mirabai spiritually marries Krishna while Surdas does not, women were expected to marry, while men could either marry or renounce society. Therefore it is understandable that Mirabai would regard Krishna as her husband. There was no alternative. Surdas did not need to do so. His female status (as a lover of Krishna) was implemented only whilst engaged in divine devotion to his Lord. Presumably he would regard himself as male at other times. Marriage, however, pervades all aspects of life. One remains married whether performing ritual, doing housework, etc. For him to declare a marriage between himself and Krishna, he would be thought of as married whilst engaging in mundane activities, while he was a man, not a woman. Labeling himself as a ‘wife’ of Krishna would present a logical and social tension when he returned to his inherent, mundane male persona. He could not be Krishna’s wife while he was a man. He could only temporarily be Krishna’s lover while engaging in devotional union, which is characterized by a transcendence of all qualities, including gender. Mirabai, however, was a woman at all times, and would be considered a husband-less woman if not for her cleverly self-articulated marriage to Krishna. This not only prevents her from being a social outcaste, but it bars the pursuit of other men. There is a level of practicality in the distinction of ‘lover vs wife’ which need not be representative of a larger gender-based attitude. [I wonder at the parallel in the expression “bride of Christ”: who are monks married to??] These two poet-saints are celebrated within the tradition because of the extent to which their attitudes, talents, and practices were distinct from the majority; how, then, may we elect them as paradigmatic for the male and female Hindu experience?


Let us now turn to Kinsley’s chanting example. The Devi Mahatmya is a Sanskrit text. Arguably Sanskrit Brahmanical circles are exclusively male, however, instruction in Sanskrit occurs at various secular institutions in India, and throughout the Hindu world. Furthemore, it is not a requirement that aspirants understand the text, but merely recite it. Do all Muslims understand Arabic? The vast majority of Hindu practitioners don’t understand Sanskrit. From what I understand, Sanskrit chanting is considered to have dimensions beyond the mere meaning-containment characteristic of ordinary speech. Comprehension is irrelevant to sensibilities towards vibrations, invocation, etc. My formal research of Devi worship last semester verifies this. In addition, I personally know several women (Indian, Canadians, West Indians, etc), who chant the Devi Mahatmya in Sanskrit, and don’t understand Sanskrit. Therefore, I view Kinsley’s reference to the chanting of this text at one temple (Vindhyavasini) to be highly misleading. The sect of Durga worshippers has an enormous following, male and female alike. The recitation of the Devi Mahatmya is standard practice for all devotees (male and female), regardless of their comprehension of the Sanskrit language. The chanting itself (or even the listening thereof) is considered highly beneficial. The notion that it would be “lowly, crude, and relatively ineffective” (5) because it was chanted by women seems to me a gross misrepresentation. If this was in fact the attitude at one point in time, it certainly would be the exception and not the norm among current worshippers of the Goddess. On what basis does Kinsley regard the sentiments of these anonymous “professional male reciters of the text” as paradigmatic throughout the tradition? Surely such “professionals” constitute a minute fraction of the non-professional millions who regularly recite the Devi Mahatmya.

Kinsley also cites two interpretations of the nine Durgas to perpetuate his sweeping claims. In essence, he purports a male-dominated philosophical view, and a female-dominated life-cycle view. However, I am very interested to know the demographic of the interviewees. However, how many of each gender were interviewed? Who were these “certain females”? How were they chosen? Clearly, if the study was performed on men who are educated in such philosophical principles, and taught to view all deity iconography to directly or indirectly uphold those principles, how could they help but interpret the Devi iconography thus. Further, surely women denied access to such indoctrination could not possibly hold the same view as the men who were. My study of Goddess worship last semester was centered precisely around this tension: the goddesses interpreted by practitioners as the Many versus those interpreting the goddesses as philosophical representations of the One. This dichotomy was not articulated along gender lines in my research, but rather as a function of interaction with various schools of thought. Resurrecting arguments articulated in that research would prove only tangential to this current reflection, but suffice it to say that discourse on the topic is far more nuanced than the “he thinks, she thinks” representation graciously provided by Kinsley via Hillary Rodrigues. This makes me wonder why Hinduism, for Kinsley, is so laden with “female perspectives”. Biases certainly abound, stemming from many factors, gender being no exception. However, to generalize on the basis of gender is equally irksome, whether in the name of patriarchy, or in the name of women’s liberation.