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Note: The world after 2001 makes all of this somewhat jarring for American readers. Let me just say that the opinions expressed here are my best representation of Claude Lévi-Strauss's text. This post began many years ago as an essay response for the University of Chicago Committee on Social Thought's "Fundamentals Examination." The classicist James Redfield asked a brilliant question, and this post is a less-brilliant but no less fascinated response to the literary legacy of Claude Lévi-Strauss.
Note: The world after 2001 makes all of this somewhat jarring for American readers. Let me just say that the opinions expressed here are my best representation of Claude Lévi-Strauss's text. This post began many years ago as an essay response for the University of Chicago Committee on Social Thought's "Fundamentals Examination." The classicist James Redfield asked a brilliant question, and this post is a less-brilliant but no less fascinated response to the literary legacy of Claude Lévi-Strauss.
I—Receptivity
He who knows the masculine but holds to the feminine
Becomes
the ravine of the world
Being the ravine of the world,
He
dwells in constant virtue,
He
returns to the state of the babe.
—Daodejing 28
In the closing pages of his multi-layered anthropological narrative, Tristes tropiques, Claude Lévi-Strauss provocatively states that “the West lost the opportunity of remaining female" through its militaristic contact with Islam. He notes:
In Taxila, in Buddhist monasteries bristling with statues because of the
—Daodejing 28
In the closing pages of his multi-layered anthropological narrative, Tristes tropiques, Claude Lévi-Strauss provocatively states that “the West lost the opportunity of remaining female" through its militaristic contact with Islam. He notes:
In Taxila, in Buddhist monasteries bristling with statues because of the
influence of Greece, I was aware of the slim opportunity of
remaining united
which is open to our Old World; the schism is not yet complete.
A different
future is possible, the very future that Islam opposes by erecting
its barrier
between the West and the East, which, without it, would perhaps not
have
lost their attachment to the common ground in which their roots are set.[1]
For Lévi-Strauss, the femininity that the West has
forsaken is closely attached to the Daoist conception of receptivity. Lévi-Strauss
portrays Buddhism and nascent Christianity as quintessentially responsive
doctrines, capable of growing through contact with an other. Lévi-Strauss’s Islam, on the other hand, is the very
embodiment of Daoism’s extreme male principle—hard, unyielding, certain of
itself, and wary of contact with outsiders. As Lévi-Strauss puts it, the Arab
soul has always been associated with the qualities of jealousy, pride, and
heroism.
Far from presenting a “survey” of world religion in the
resonant closing chapters of Tristes
tropiques, Lévi-Strauss pares each complex doctrine down to its essentials,
looking not so much at the historical development of their teachings as at the
“inner core” that gives them their power. He sees in the compassion of Buddhism
and the openness of Christianity the fundamentally receptive quality of
femininity; in Islam, he perceives only self-doubt and xenophobia:
This great religion is based not so much on revealed
truth as on an inability
to establish links with the outside world. In contrast
to the universal kindliness
of Buddhism, or the Christian desire for dialogue,
Muslim intolerance takes
an unconscious form among those who are guilty of it;
although they do not
always seek to make others share their truth by brutal
coercion, they are
nevertheless (and this is more serious) incapable of
tolerating the existence of
others as others. The only means they have of
protecting themselves against
doubt and humiliation is the “negativization” of
others, considered as witnesses
to a different faith and a different way of
life.[2]
Islam is the West of the East, writes Lévi-Strauss; he
sees in the intolerance of Islam the most serious danger confronting twentieth
century Europe, particularly France. Although he never adequately explains what
be means by such phrases as “Christian desire for dialogue,”[3] or the precise
manner in which contact with Buddhism would have “Christianized us still
further and…made us all the more Christian in that we would have gone back beyond Christianity itself,[4] he
perceives an essential unity in the two that lies outside of history, outside
of time.
There is an elemental similarity in both doctrines, and
the civilizations they represent. Lévi-Strauss, like Rousseau before him,
characterizes this ahistorical similarity in strikingly temporal terms. Beyond
that, he encases his description in Christian imagery of the fall:
Mankind has made three major religious attempts to free
itself from the persecution of the dead, the malevolence of the Beyond, and the
anguish of magic. Over intervals of approximately five hundred years, it
originated in turn in Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam; it is a striking fact
that each stage, far from constituting an advance on the previous one, should
be seen rather as a regression…
Now I can see, beyond Islam, to India, but it is the
India of the Buddha,
before Mohammed. For me as a European, and because I am a
European,
Mohammed intervenes with uncouth clumsiness, between our thought and
Indian doctrines which are very close to it, in such a way as to prevent East
and West joining hands, as they might well have done, in harmonious
collaboration.[5]
Lévi-Strauss
continues:
The two worlds are closer to each other than either is to
the Muslim
anachronism. Rational evolution would have been the converse of what
actually occurred historically: Islam cut a more civilized world in two, he
states. What appears modern to it belongs to a bygone age; it is living with
a time lag of a thousand years…Islam fertilized actuality and sterilized
potentiality: it brought about a form of progress that is the reverse of
a project.
anachronism. Rational evolution would have been the converse of what
actually occurred historically: Islam cut a more civilized world in two, he
states. What appears modern to it belongs to a bygone age; it is living with
a time lag of a thousand years…Islam fertilized actuality and sterilized
potentiality: it brought about a form of progress that is the reverse of
a project.
If the West traces its internal tensions back to their
source, it will see that
Islam, by coming between Buddhism and Christianity,
Islamized us at the
time when the West, by taking part in the crusades, was
involved in
opposing it and therefore came to resemble it, instead of
undergoing—had
Islam never come into being—a slow process of osmosis with
Buddhism…
It was then that the West lost
the opportunity of remaining female.[6]
Lévi-Strauss, in the space of only a few pages, divides
the world into three major religious systems, refines their doctrines to a
limited number of key oppositions (such as masculinity-femininity, intransigence-receptivity),
denies the importance of historical change in the doctrines, and finally—in
richly historical terms—describes the relationship between all three.
The West lost the opportunity of remaining female by opposing a doctrine
that is, as characterized
by Lévi-Strauss, by its very nature insecure and
pugilistic. Opposition is a
masculine and confrontational term, used quite
consciously by the author in
this manner; osmosis is fundamentally feminine
and receptive. Lévi-Strauss
speaks of two very different kinds of change here,
and the historical necessity
of choosing one over the other has, he argues,
profoundly altered not only the
history of the West, but its religious and
(hence) cultural orientation as
well.[5]
Lévi-Strauss quite forcefully states the problem. Moreover,
he alludes to the possibility of resolution—“the schism is not yet complete; a
different future is possible. Nowhere, however, does he state explicitly what is to be done. Lévi-Strauss’s
resolution lies in the narrative of Tristes
tropiques, not at any single, definable point in the text. For a resolution
to the problem, for a return to the “natural” receptivity of the Christian
West, we must return to origins; for this return the discipline of anthropology
is an ideal vehicle.
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Notes
[1] Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques [Translated by John and Doreen Weightman] (New York: Penguin Classics, 2012), 406.
[2] Tristes Tropiques 403-404.
[3] Tristes Tropiques, 403-404.
[4] Tristes Tropiques, 403-404.
[5] Tristes Tropiques, 409.
[6] Tristes Tropiques, 408-409.
Click here for the other posts in this Round and Square series on Claude Lévi-Strauss's Tristes Tropiques:
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[1] Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques [Translated by John and Doreen Weightman] (New York: Penguin Classics, 2012), 406.
[2] Tristes Tropiques 403-404.
[3] Tristes Tropiques, 403-404.
[4] Tristes Tropiques, 403-404.
[5] Tristes Tropiques, 409.
[6] Tristes Tropiques, 408-409.
Bibliography
Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes Tropiques [Translated by John and Doreen Weightman]. New York: Penguin Classics, 2012.
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