Short Essays OR Research Paper – 40% You may choose from two options for the final assignment(s). (Short Essays x 2, 20% each; Research Paper 40%) Due: Short Essays • • Friday October 18, 11:59pm: Essay 1: Laudato si and the Technocratic Paradigm Friday November 15, 11:59pm: Essay 2: Christianity and Food Description – You are required to write two essays based on your choice of three topics/questions listed below. Your essays should be between 15 pages and follow a general structure of EXPLAINATION, ANALYSIS, CONSTRUCTION. That is, in addition to an introduction and a conclusion, you should devote a section of the paper 1) to explaining the issue/question, why it is important, and any information you find relevant to helping your reader understand the problem and what is at stake in its exploration. This is a descriptive section, where you are simply helping the reader understand the topic under consideration by defining terms and clarifying the nature of the issue/problem you are exploring; 2) to an analysis of the problem that explores the issues involved that help you make sense of the issue and provides reasons for why someone might solve the problem in a certain way. In this section you might explore various solutions to the problem at hand and explain how each make sense of and provide a solution to the question explored, analyzing the evidence that helps you explore the issue or question at hand; 3) to constructing your preferred solution or position on the question posed. While you might express authentic doubt, you should come to a position on the topic and argue why your perspective is ideal. Evaluation – You will be evaluated based on: the presence of a clear thesis statement, grammar, style, clarity, your ability to summarize and evaluate the ideas and possibly arguments of others (including your use of appropriate textual evidence), and the depth of your constructive analysis. I have provided a rubric below. Research – You are required to have five sources in each paper. You must use some combination of books and peer reviewed journal articles (easily found in the ATLA database: http://www.kings.edu/academics/library/Articles_and_Databases/A_Z_DB ). No popular or internet sources (besides the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy) may be used! (I have attached some journal articles from this web ) The internet has virtually nothing to offer you and Google searches for information will lead to nowhere. You may count one reading from the course toward the five and if you do use the SEP that may count as one as well. Format references in footnotes, no bibliography, according to Chicago/Turabian citation style for notes (https://www.chicagomanualofstyle.org/turabian/turabian-notes-and-bibliography-citation-quickguide.html). Essay Topics/Questions – Note: you may modify the issues questions to fit your interests and concerns if you like; there is no need to approach the issues exactly as I have formulated them – use them as guides to inspire your thinking on the topic in general. Essay 1: Laudato si and the Technocratic Paradigm – Laudato si goes into much depth describing and critiquing the technocratic paradigm. In your essay, describe what precisely the technocratic paradigm is as a concept, and analyze a specific manifestation of the paradigm and how it effects society negatively—anything you like and are interested in. Finally, construct a solution to this problem in a way that promotes environmental ethics. E.g., cars running on fossil fuels could easily be replaced with electric cars, but this does not happen because of fears of corporations losing profits. The fossil fuel industry and the prevalence of automobiles using fossil fuels is an ecological hazard. Essay 2: Christianity and Food – An increasingly discussed moral issue in Christianity in light of theology, environmental ethics, and animal well-being is the issue of eating well. In light of Christian issues such as a theology of creation, environmental ethics, and animal well-being (you do not need to examine all three necessarily, but you certainly might), what would an ethical diet look like that has its roots in the Christian tradition? Note: If you like, feel free to write on a different religious tradition—whether one you practice and are more familiar with or one you simply would like to investigate further, Essay Grading Rubric Essay 1/2: Name Grammar, Style, Clarity Explanation and Analysis 2 Points 8 Points Introduction and Thesis Statement 2 Points Comments Comments x/2 x/2 Comments x/8 Grade: x/20, percentage, letter grade. Comments: Construction 8 Points Comments x/8 Due: Research Paper Description – You are required to write one research paper. Your essays should be about 15 pages and contain eight sources, but otherwise you may follow the same description above for structuring short essays. You may simply write based on one of the questions given above, (I have chosen Christianity and Food) Research Paper: Name Grammar, Style, Clarity Explanation and Analysis 2 Points 8 Points Introduction and Thesis Statement 2 Points Comments Comments x/5 x/5 Comments x/15 Grade: x/40, percentage, letter grade. Comments: Construction 8 Points Comments x/15 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 DOI 10.1007/s11089-014-0605-5 Hoagies and Tacos: Food and Men’s Unquenchable Hunger Ruben Arjona-Mejia Published online: 13 May 2014 # Springer Science+Business Media New York 2014 Abstract This paper explores the relationship between men and food. Building on James E. Dittes’s work, it suggests that men’s desire for food is indicative not only of their hunger, but also of an unquenchable sense of hope and a longing for significant relationships. Based on the insights of several biblical scholars and pastoral theologians, this paper also suggests that a greater understanding of how and why men eat can contribute to a more pertinent pastoral ministry with men. Keywords Men . Food . Hunger . Desire . Hope . Pastoral care . James E. Dittes Introduction This paper is about men and food.1 A man’s relationship with food is tolerated, often celebrated, if he works with food, as a chef. But within the domestic arena, food doesn’t seem as manly as sports, sex, or cars. In contemporary Mexican cultures, grocery shopping and meal preparation are generally understood as women’s tasks. My sense is that this is also true for many other cultures across the globe. Of course, if it is about grilling hamburgers or steaks, men are called in, perhaps because cultural scripts say that they are responsible for dealing with the dangers of fire. Following pastoral theologian James E. Dittes, I would say that this paper is “for those men for whom the shell of manliness is cracking or never did fit comfortably, for those men who are discovering that manhood is far richer than the charade of manliness” (1985, p. x). Undoubtedly, men should continue grilling hamburgers, but they can also enjoy a greater sense of wholeness by exploring the cracks in their shell of manliness. As I began thinking about men and food, I recalled a group of students at the Presbyterian Seminary in Mexico City who around midnight would sometimes jump over the front gate of the seminary to find something to eat. In that boarding school, dinner was served at 7 p.m. and 1 The relationship between men and food has not been sufficiently explored in pastoral theology. Within the wider field of religious studies, however, there seems to be an increasing interest in food studies. The American Academy of Religion, for example, has recently included several program units on food: a seminar entitled Religion, Food, and Eating in North America (2008–2012), a Religion and Food Group (2014), and a group that explores the intersection between religion, food, and migration (2014). R. Arjona-Mejia (*) Princeton Theological Seminary, P. O. Box 821, Princeton, NJ 08542-0803, USA e-mail: rubenarjona@gmail.com 298 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 the gate was locked at 10. Needless to say, by 11 p.m. these young men were starving. Happily for these students, Mexico City is the kind of place where one can always find something to eat. Twenty years later, now living in Princeton, New Jersey, I have also seen young men looking for food late at night. Both in large cities and small towns, men look for food. But it isn’t all about food. In this paper, I hope to expand upon the work of James Dittes by suggesting that men look for food not only because they are hungry, but because also their unquenchable hunger is a symbol of their unquenchable hope and their desire to develop significant friendships. Desiring God; desiring caregivers In his book Discovering a Sermon: Personal Pastoral Preaching, pastoral theologian Robert C. Dykstra explains that “our intentional efforts to make something important happen—to make ourselves fall in love, say, or even to preach a riveting sermon—often prove futile and detract from those unexpected trifles that bear far more potential for our hopes of intimacy or for tasks of proclamation” (2001, p, 3). He then suggests an alternative: “Why not begin instead by attending to what of interest just happens to us or by contemplating what intrigues us?” (p. 3). The problem with this alternative, he explains, is that adults, especially ministers, are often unable to recognize what interests them as a consequence of their own “painful childhood deprivations” and “cultural or religious conventions that equate maturity with relinquishing desire, and more expressly with renouncing childhood fascination with bodies and their many pleasures” (p. 3). To be sure, Dykstra’s insights on the significance of one’s desires and interests in writing a sermon are applicable to many other creative endeavors and are relevant to practical theology, including, of course, pastoral care (p. 2). In fact, there is a sense in which pastoral care, if it is to be effective, must emerge from the caregiver’s interests and desires. Dykstra explains this point bluntly: “Dismembered, spiritualized, or gnostic words—those that have somehow failed to emerge from the therapist’s or preacher’s [or pastor’s] own felt sense of longing or desire— will be incapable of untangling the costly attempts of others to turn their own passions into something acceptable” (p. 54). Desire as a point of departure for creative endeavors and for healing processes would seem quite inappropriate, especially for those of us who were raised in religious cultures in which desire was often equated with sin. The acceptable point of departure within some of these traditions would be Scripture. But if we consider that Scripture’s point of departure is God’s creative desire, and if the history of salvation is founded upon God’s redemptive desire, there is no reason to sustain the apparent contradiction between desire and revelation. We desire because God desired first: “We are, then, desiring beings, and it is in our desiring that we share a likeness to God, for it was God’s nature to desire us even before we desired God” (Capps 2001, p. 58). Consequently, any understanding of salvation would be incomplete if it does not incorporate the redemption of a person’s desires. Indeed, “effective healing in both psychotherapy and pastoral preaching seems regularly to depend on words that speak especially to neglected sensual interests and desires of a person’s physical body” (Dykstra 2001, p. 54). In view of my introductory remarks, my purpose in this paper is to find the kinds of words that will address neglected interests and desires. To do so, I will first attend to that which is of interest to me. I do not attempt, however, to offer a compilation of my interests and desires as if my personal experiences could offer insight into the wide array of themes that constitute the field of pastoral theology. Rather, I will focus on contemplating a few elements of my own trajectory with the hope that in reflecting on these, I will be able to offer a few words of Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 299 wisdom capable of helping others untangle some of the difficulty involved in turning passions and desires into acceptable and life-giving forces. Men look for food A few weeks ago, I found myself interested in something apparently insignificant that happened to me. As I was driving from Princeton Seminary to my home, I turned the radio on and I heard the following affirmation: “Women look for retail therapy; men look for food.” I have no idea who said this or why she said it, but I immediately realized that those words were of interest to me and so I had to write them down before I forgot them. As soon as I parked my car, I wrote down those words: Women look for retail therapy; men look for food. I could have dismissed these sentences on the grounds that they appear to express sexist and essentializing ideas. Instead, I decided to write them down and not renounce the possibility of finding some truth through them. Since I am a man, I found myself especially interested in the second part of the sentence: men look for food. Do men look for food? Does this imply that women do not look for food or that men desire food more than women do? Having had a baby girl and a baby boy, I would suggest that at least from the point of view of the nursing infant, I see no difference between the desire of a hungry baby girl and that of a hungry baby boy. When I think of my teen years in the dining hall of the Presbyterian Pan American High School in Kingsville, Texas, I honestly could not say that my male classmates desired food more than the girls did. Every Wednesday we were served Mexican tacos for lunch. Sara, who was to become my wife years later, was always very hungry because of all the exercise she did. To this day, she recalls with a certain pride how she could eat as many as 20 tacos on any given Wednesday! Of course, the reality of this boarding preparatory school 50 years ago is not the common panorama of teenage girls in the contemporary United States or of much of the world. When it comes to food and women, we cannot longer pretend to see no difference. Do men look for food more than women do? Do men desire food more than women do? A feminist perspective Emilio, my 10-year-old boy, loves Wendy’s hamburger called the Son of Baconator (Wendy’s, of course, also offers the Baconator, a bigger hamburger for those with fatherly hunger). Interestingly, these hamburgers were not christened by Wendy’s marketers the Daughter of the Baconatoress and the Baconatoress. A Daughter of the Baconator hamburger would not sell, perhaps because the marketing assumption is that daughters and mothers would rather eat a salad or a chicken sandwich. As I said before, this paper is about men, and as pastoral theologian James E. Dittes explains, “The starting point for men is men, just as the starting point for women has been women” (1996, p. xi). However, because the affirmation that men look for food may be interpreted as implying that women do not look for food or that they do so with less desire, before I go on with my reflection on men and our desire for food, I think it is important to offer a few reflections on women and their desire for food. In her book The Fat Jesus: Feminist Explorations in Boundaries and Transgressions, British theologian Lisa Isherwood contends that “women are groomed to be nurturers and not to expect nurture” (2007, p. 99). This seems to be true across many cultures, even in seemingly progressive Western cultures. Within the Mexican context, the most common expectation is that women should prepare and serve meals before they can eat. It is usually the mother, with the help of her oldest daughter, who prepares 300 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 and serves meals. This practice, certainly not limited to the Mexican context, has significant implications for the nurturing of women. First, an obvious consequence, especially in contexts of poverty, is that women will simply not eat or will eat less because food is scarce and priority is given to children and men. Secondly, some women may end up eating less as a consequence of the cooking process itself. Because the smells of foods can partially satisfy the desire for food, cooks often claim that after cooking they are no longer hungry or that their desire for food has decreased. I have often heard my mother say that she enjoys food more when someone else has prepared the meal. Thus, it isn’t that women have less desire for food but that their “desires are taken over by society and moulded to fit what best suits the overarching patriarchal model” (Isherwood 2007, p. 97). The understanding of women as nurturers is not, of course, the only strategy of patriarchy to control and mold women’s desires. From a very early age, girls receive the message that in order to be beautiful they have to be thin. As a consequence of “the media bombardment of their psyches,” women often seek to reshape their bodies at any cost (Isherwood 2007, p. 115). Many of them will eventually reach the ideal of having a slim body, “but the ideal has to be maintained through an eating disorder because the female body is not mean to be devoid of fat and angular” (p. 115). At this point, Isherwood explains, women experience a profound contradiction: “they have transformed themselves into objects of desire and at the same time they believe they have control” (p. 115). But because women do not actually have power and their needs remain unmet, they will often seek reassurance in the advice of experts who will tell them what and when to eat (p. 115). Given this context, it is true, women do not look for food (or at food) in the same way that men do. As Isherwood puts it, “Women around the world, either through dieting cultures or because of the unequal distribution of food, are every day the ones who do not get enough” (p. 134). Interestingly, women find in shopping an apparent way to reclaim their subjectivity and connect with their desires (Young-Eisendrath 1999, p. 137). The problem is that “women are not in control of either the fashion industry or other large retail enterprises” (p. 138). Furthermore, in exerting their subjectivity through consumer choice, “women are often buying those things that make them more desirable as objects of the male gaze” (Isherwood 2007, p. 116). Consequently, while shopping helps women escape from the “resentment of having given personal control to others,” it fails to wholly reclaim their subjectivity (p. 116). Polly Young-Eisendrath, a psychologist and Jungian psychoanalyst, argues that, in order to reclaim their subjectivity, women must resist the double bind of female beauty, that is, of being either the “dreaded hag” or the “dangerous muse” (1999, pp. 51–52). She also contends that women must be willing to experiment in order to escape the “dictates of our skinny cultural muse” and develop “new ways of seeing and new images of being female”: Most important, clothing, makeup, and public demeanor must no longer be translated automatically so that patriarchal stereotypes abound: the fact that she’s wearing bib overalls does not mean she’s lesbian. The fact that she doesn’t shave her legs does not mean she’s a feminist. The fact that she’s wearing panty hose does not mean she’s a housewife. The fact that she’s decorated with makeup and jewelry does not mean she’s “cheap’ or some other version of slut. The fact that she’s wearing high heels does not mean she wants men to look at her legs. . . . Being alert to the many, varied ways that women can dress and be and act ensures that we do not automatically see a woman’s expression of herself as a sign of a pat identity according to patriarchal rules. (p. 53) From a theological perspective, Lisa Isherwood refers to the “erotic Christ” as someone who “does not restrict and deny bodily feelings but rather embraces and expands them” (2007, p. 116). This erotic Christ sets women free to reclaim their desires and enlarge them. In other Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 301 words, this Christ “enables women to find their subjectivity” and “live more fully in their skins” (p. 119). In terms of our discussion here of women and food, Isherwood invites us to imagine a Jesus that violates the Hollywood standards of beauty. She invites us to imagine and reclaim “the Fat Jesus.” Among the several implications of reclaiming this Fat Jesus, Isherwood refers to the political implications as follows: The Fat Jesus compels us to demand fairer production policies, better quality food, more equitable distribution and enough food on all tables, food that we eat with passion, with joy, with embodied pleasure, not praising God for his blessing and then binning it! The Fat Jesus does not wish us to control our desire for food but rather to passionately engage with a desire for the world to eat and to celebrate the life that is enhanced through his abundance. (p. 134) Don Rubén When I read about eating “with passion, with joy, with embodied pleasure,” I immediately thought of my father, Don Rubén. The Spanish prefix don is commonly used as a form of respect to address men, particularly older men. Don Rubén, my father, had an excellent appetite. My mother used to scold him because a couple of hours after dinner he would come back to the refrigerator to get a snack. Whenever he got too tired of my mother’s reprimands, he did what many men do in a city like Mexico. In popular colonias (neighborhoods) one can find a convenience store on almost every corner, and somewhere along every block, one can always find a food stand that sells all kinds of food, from tacos and quesadillas to seafood. During his last years, Don Rubén had no problem in confessing to my mother that on the way home he had stopped to eat something. When I was in my early 20s, my father suffered a heart attack (As I’ve thought about it, I’ve recognized several factors that contributed to his condition, including lack of exercise, financial stress, economic stress, and other physiological elements unknown to me). After several days in the intensive care unit, my father got well, but the doctor explained that his heart would never be the same and that he had to modify his diet. My mother gladly decided to help by preparing low-fat and low-sodium food. Within a few weeks, however, my father felt better, and little by little he went back to his previous diet. When my mother questioned him, he offered a blunt response: “Even if I live less time, I want to be able to eat whatever I desire, what I really like.” That was my father’s choice. Was it a wise choice? Was it the right choice? My father lived ten more years after his first cardiac crisis, but I have often wondered if he would still be alive if he had followed medical recommendations more closely. Men look for food. Don Rubén certainly did; he always looked for food, and he ate with passion, with joy, with embodied pleasure. In Driven by Hope: Men and Meaning, pastoral theologian James E. Dittes invites “each man to find his ways re-deemed as rightfully a man’s ways – and even as God’s ways, too” (1996, p. x). In this paper, I want to accept this invitation on behalf of my father. My father’s appetite was rightfully his way, and following Dittes, I would claim that his way was also God’s way. Men want James E. Dittes contends that men are endowed with “an unquenchable hunger” and “an unquenchable hope” (1996, p. 9). Dittes explains that in opposition to Sigmund Freud, who 302 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 thought that “a real man doesn’t ‘want’ or that a real man, if he does find himself in want, doesn’t yield to it, but renounces and conquers any ‘wanting’,” men do live in want (p. 9). And then Dittes adds: “Living in want is constituent of what it means to be a man, a product of a man’s spiritual genes. Men are supposed to live in want, in deep spiritual hunger, in the shadows of their own destiny, desperately hopeful” (p. 15). In focusing on men, Dittes does not imply that women do not want. Rather, his purpose is to “clarify what special accent or spin is put on the experience of wanting by the fundamental experience of maleness” (p. 17). In his examination of how men want, Dittes tells the stories of five men. In each case he tells the story and then reflects on how “conventional wisdom” would respond to it. In each case he resists the interpretation of “conventional wisdom” and insists on contemplating more carefully each man’s ways. While none of these stories is about food, I will refer here to the fifth story, “Norman: Sex as Religious Passion.” After all, there are some similarities and connections between human sexuality and food intake. Dittes first presents Norman’s story from the point of view of Pat, his wife: One thing I especially need from Norm is what I call ‘nourishing,’ and he’s good at it. He’s wonderful at nourishing. I love him to rub my back. He can stroke gently in a way that feels very tingling, very loving, or he can dig deep with his knuckles in just the right places; that feels like he’s giving me all his best energy and attention and feels even more loving and caring than the stroking. Something else I need, which he is good at, is listening. I like to lie close and talk out the day, the things that have upset me or seemed unresolved, the parts of the day I really cherished. I like to hold them. I guess some people used to do bedtime prayers like that. But I just like to talk to Norm. He listens well and he seems to care, and he’s right there. . . . But often that’s just the problem, he’s too much there. He can’t seem to leave it at the back rub and listening. He gets turned on and wants to finish off with sex. I really like sex, too, but not all the time; why can’t touching and sharing be enough sometimes? It seems like a beast takes over the intimacy; Norm’s agenda takes over mine. Why can’t he just enjoy the intimacy of pillow talk instead of turning it into foreplay and having to bring it back down to just sex? (pp. 57–58) Dittes explains that conventional wisdom accepts Pat’s perspective; consequently, Norman, like many other men, comes to believe that his understanding of sex is “too beastly” when compared to the “higher forms of intimacy” that Pat prefers (p. 58). Men end up with only two options. Following conventional wisdom they can accept their sensuality and “not apologize for being horny,” or, in response to a new conventional wisdom, they can try to comply by becoming more “sensitive” (p. 58). For Dittes, however, neither of these options is the best. Instead of labeling sex as “beastly,” he thinks it is possible to contemplate Norman’s ways more carefully and to discover in them “the religious dimensions of sexuality, its capacity to transport and transform, to ground and to exalt life” (p. 58). And so he imagines Norman’s response: I know Pat likes to talk over the day, and I can do that, but it is always something of a drag, as in dragging an anchor. The day is done; let it be finished, not kept warmed over. . . . Bed—marriage, intimacy—is for something else, for getting out of the daily grind, for reminding yourselves that life is rich and better than what you’ve had all day. . . . That’s why the sex is so important. It’s the one thing that is special, set apart, just for Pat and me, alone and naked, the one place you can just be yourself and not have to be something someone wants you to be. You get carried away, out of this world, out of sight, transported, transcendent. But it all happens in a way that makes you feel more yourself, not outside of yourself, more rooted, more focused, less diffuse. It’s being carried away and carried back into yourself at the same time. Back to basics. It’s Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 303 ‘sacramental,’ this moment is. . . . Sex is beastly in its own way. But somehow, maybe just because it is so primitive, it’s also heavenly. It takes you back to basics, to a moment that hints at ecstasy. Back to Eden, on to Eden. (pp. 58–59) Commenting on the differences between Pat’s and Norman’s perspectives, Dittes explains that Pat aspires to “work with the ‘stuff’ of life, to shape it, like a potter the clay, like a baker the loaf” (p. 60). “From Norm’s point of view,” Dittes continues, “Pat wants to leave the dough or the clay as it is, unfired, therefore never bowl or bread” (p. 60). What would be the use of a perfectly well-formed loaf of bread without the heat of the oven? And what would be the use of an oven without anything in it? At this point, we are left with the dialectical tension between Pat’s and Norman’s perspectives: “Pat is right to prize daily life, and Norman, in his yearning for more, is right to relinquish it” (p. 60). Since Dittes is aware of this profound tension, in the second part of his book he explores different models to help men deal with it. In order to help Norman navigate his sexuality, Dittes invites him to imagine sexuality as pilgrimage. The pilgrimage metaphor sustains the sacramentality of sexuality, but it also points to a wider reality: “The language of pilgrimage can encourage Norman’s understanding of sexuality as a kind of religious transport out of dailiness, a sacred arena of blessing. It is that. But then it also reminds him that sexuality is only a shrine, a set-aside arena of blessing, not to be confused with the totality or import of life itself” (p. 107). The problem for pilgrims is that they can be so amazed by the experience at the shrine that they may forget that the pilgrimage is also meant to bring blessings home: “The pilgrim’s blessings are meant to be enablers of his life, not its master. But it is easy to get stalled at the shrine, preoccupied with possessing or being possessed by the blessings” (p. 108). What does this mean for Norman and Pat? Dittes puts it bluntly: “Norm is clear that sex can and does and should transport him and Pat into ‘another world’ and give blessing. They both find there a refreshment and enhancement that makes them feel whole and large of soul—as long as they stay naked and entwined. What does it do for the other 23½h of the day? Does Norm really try to bring the blessing home?” (p. 108). From sex to food As I suggested before, I believe Norman’s case can be helpful in my discussion of men and food. The sense of sacramentality that Norman finds in sexuality, the idea of going back to basics, and the reference to Eden can all be applied to food. In seeing, touching, smelling, and tasting food we can experience the kind of transcendence that does not alienate but helps us reconnect with ourselves, our stories, and our roots. The film Ratatouille (Bird & Pinkava 2007) is a good example of this non-alienating transcendence. In a truly sacramental scene, characterized by a sense of profound solemnity and expectation, Anton Ego, France’s top restaurant critic, comes to Gusteau’s to taste ratatouille, a special dish prepared by Remy, a young rat who has dreams of becoming a renowned French chef. The smell and taste of ratatouille evokes in Anton a sacred and happy memory: Anton the child eating at his mother’s table after a rough day. But it isn’t only about food; this food, like his mother’s food, has some kind of redemptive power, the kind of power that can transform, that can make a sad child happy again, that can “rock to the core” even France’s top restaurant critic: In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful 304 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talents, new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my distain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto, “Anyone can cook.” But I realize only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau’s, who is, in this critic’s opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more. I have included here Anton Ego’s complete review because it is a beautiful testimony of the potential of food for radical transformation. Meal and maker not only revolutionize Ego’s ideas about fine cooking, but they also modify his social and biological preconceptions; he discovers and accepts that the most valuable can come not only from the lowest social stratus but from the lowest creatures. Most significant is his recognition that “the new needs friends.” Anton Ego is willing to engage his new discovery not from the comfortable position of a critic, but from the sometimes risky position of a friend. Gender differences in appetite Conventional wisdom suggests that in addition to sex, men are very interested in eating. As Jean, a woman cited by Dittes, puts it, “Like as soon as they get their sex, it’s all over” (1996, p. 45). Perhaps a more integral perspective of this conventional wisdom would be: “As soon as men get their food and their sex, it’s all over.” Do men look for food more than women do? In a sense, as I have argued earlier, it isn’t that women desire food less than men do but that women’s desires are frequently restrained by the rules of patriarchy. But when it comes to the realm of physiology, are men hungrier than women? Several recent studies have sought to address this question. While a comprehensive examination of those studies is beyond the scope of this paper, I do want to refer to a couple of those studies just to offer a taste of their conclusions. Researchers, for example, have studied sex-based differences in the behavioral and neuronal responses to food. Researchers at the University of Colorado Denver came to the following conclusions: “Women have a much more robust neuronal response to food-related visual cues in prefrontal and parietal cortex than men, suggesting greater cognitive processing related to executive function, such as planning, guidance or evaluation of behavior. Women have a heightened satiety response to meals as compared to men, and men are more likely to overeat during ad libitum feeding” (Cornier et al. 2010, p. 543). Using visual analogue scales (VAS), another group of researchers examined the roles of age, gender, BMI (body mass index), physical activity, smoking habits, and diet/ weight concern. They found appetite differences in groups varying in relation to gender, age, smoking habits, and point in menstruation cycle (Gregersen et al. 2011, p. 5). In terms of gender, they concluded that women had “significantly higher satiety and fullness ratings than men and lower ratings of hunger and prospective consumption” (p. 4). My intention in citing these studies is to suggest that the idea of men’s “unquenchable hunger” is not only metaphorically relevant, but it does seem to be ingrained in the very nature of our desiring bodies. We can imagine the significance of these studies for health providers, Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 305 food producers and marketers, educators, and parents. What might be some implications of these findings for those interested in pastoral care with men? Re-deeming Esau’s hunger While Dittes welcomes the feminist critique that the Bible is male-biased, he contends that the male experience discerned by the feminists is not the only male experience in the Bible: “The patriarchs, like men of our time, are not just patriarchal; they are also homeless exiles and pilgrims possessed of profound faith and hope. Who is yanked into more unsettled and tormented lives than figures like Adam, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Esau, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Jesus, Paul?” (1996, p. xiii). The implication here is that biblical patriarchs, like contemporary men, deserve a fair hearing. We must resist the temptation of jumping to quick conclusions without making an effort to re-deem ways of the biblical patriarchs “as rightfully a man’s ways—and even as God’s ways, too” (p. x). The stories of many of these biblical patriarchs are related in one way or another to food. For instance, Adam got in trouble for eating of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, Noah had to bring into the ark enough food for his family and all the animals, and Moses had to negotiate with God the menus for the people of Israel! In this paper, however, I will concentrate on re-deeming Esau’s story in Genesis 25: 29 Once when Jacob was cooking a stew, Esau came in from the field, and he was famished. 30 Esau said to Jacob, ‘Let me eat some of that red stuff, for I am famished!’ (Therefore he was called Edom.) 31Jacob said, ‘First sell me your birthright.’ 32Esau said, ‘I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?’ 33Jacob said, ‘Swear to me first.’ So he swore to him, and sold his birthright to Jacob. 34Then Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright.2 Conventional wisdom suggests that Esau is a glutton. Several scholars have noted that the Hebrew verb used in verse 30 for eating goes beyond the mere action of eating. John Skinner (1956) explains that the Hebrew word is “a coarse expression suggesting bestial voracity” (p. 361). Victor P. Hamilton (1990) says that what Esau really wants is “to swallow it or ‘gulp it down’” (p. 182). Not surprisingly, Speiser (1964) concludes that Esau is “an uncouth glutton” (p. 195). But is Esau really a voracious beast and an uncouth glutton? One can argue that the narrative is biased against Esau. Hamilton notes, for example, that the biblical writer indicts Esau for “spurning” his birthright but he “never condemns Jacob for his modus operandi” (p. 186). Esau despises his birthright, “But what about Jacob, who spurned his brother? What about the attitude that says: ‘I will give you something if you give me something first’?” (p. 186). Instead of accepting the indictment that Esau is a voracious beast and an uncouth glutton, I want to suggest an alternative. First of all, and despite the narrator’s bias against Esau, it is fair to conclude that Esau is really hungry. Perhaps Esau has had a particularly hard day at work and hadn’t been successful in hunting anything, just like the disciples had failed to catch any fish in of the Sea of Tiberias after a night of work. But while the disciples encounter a graceful Jesus who prepares and serves breakfast for them, Esau encounters a cold and calculating Jacob who agrees to share his meal only if he obtains something from Esau first. Esau is starving; he is really hungry. But to use Dittes’s recurring question in his book Driven by Hope, “Is that all there is?” Is Esau’s hunger just hunger? Without dismissing the concreteness of his hunger, I want to suggest that Esau’s hunger is also symbolic; it transcends 2 Biblical citations in this paper come from the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV). 306 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 the arena of smell, taste, and texture. His physical hunger points to the hunger of his soul. Esau, like all men, “crave[s] ‘relationship’” (Dittes 1996, p. 75). Does he come to Jacob only seeking food? Hamilton (1990) notes that Esau comes to Jacob not from a position of authority but with a non-aggressive attitude that implies “please” or “I beg you” (p. 183). Moreover, as a skillful hunter and a cook of savory food (Genesis 25:27; 27:4), he could certainly have prepared his own meal! But it isn’t all about the food. It is about the food, but it isn’t only about the food. Perhaps Esau is seeking to reconnect with his brother as a way of deconstructing the dynamics of favoritism in his family. Esau longs for mother as much as he longs for father; after all, as psychologist Samuel Osherson (1986) reminds us, “we all struggle to come to terms with the reality of both parents, and the family climate within which we grow up is the creation of all participants, not just one parent” (p. 28, emphasis added). Having re-deemed Esau’s hunger, I now turn to the New Testament “glutton and drunkard”: Jesus. Radically inclusive commensality A discussion of men and food calls for at least a brief reference to Jesus. As we know, much of Jesus’ ministry took place around feasting tables. Like Esau, Jesus is labeled by conventional wisdom as a glutton: “For John the Baptist has come eating no bread and drinking no wine, and you say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man has come eating and drinking, and you say, ‘Look, a glutton and drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’” (Luke 7:33–34). For Jesus, it is about the food, but it isn’t only about the food. Jesus found that the table was the appropriate space to enact the radical inclusiveness of God’s love. Biblical scholar Reta Halteman Finger (2007) explains that “today, with a few exceptions, there is a high level of scholarly consensus that Jesus did practice a radically inclusive commensality as a key tactic in announcing and redefining the Kingdom of God” (p. 184). One scholar who has argued for this kind of interpretation is John Dominic Crossan. Commenting on three texts, Gospel of Thomas 14:2, Luke 10:1, 4–11, and Mark 6:7–13, Crossan (1991) says: We are still dealing with those initial three texts. And what is important now is the insistence, in all three sources, that we are not just dealing with almsgiving but with a shared table, with commensality. The missionaries do not carry a bag because they do not beg for alms or food or clothing or anything else. They share a miracle and a Kingdom, and they receive in return a table and a house. Here, I think, is the heart of the original Jesus movement, a shared egalitarianism of spiritual and material sources. . . . I cannot emphasize this too strongly: commensality is not almsgiving; almsgiving is not commensality. Generous almsgiving may even be conscience’s last great refuge against the terror of open commensality. (p. 341) This sense of terror posed by commensality generated a sense of collective anxiety among many, especially among those who felt most threatened by shared egalitarianism. For scholar Norman Perrin (1967), “to make sense of the fact of the cross” one has to understand how offensive to Jewish sensibilities was Jesus’ decision to welcome the “outcasts into tablefellowship with himself in the name of the Kingdom of God” (p. 103). Mexican theologian Pérez Alvarez (2002) puts it more bluntly: “Jesus was killed for the way he ate” (p. 42). But while Jesus’ radical commensality had sociopolitical consequences, it first affected the life of individuals. In other words, Jesus did not use bread as an instrument for political manipulation. Rather, Jesus “allows food to be the medium which transforms strangers into household members or ‘friends of the family’” (Jacobs-Molina 1993, p. 21). This “reinterpretation of the household of God permits men to perform the same roles as women and thus breaks down the traditional patriarchal family structure” (Finger 2007, p. 205). Jesus not only takes and blesses (considered male actions in Jesus’ culture); he also performs actions that were Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 307 considered female and servant actions: breaking and giving (Pérez Álvarez 2002, p. 28). And when the time comes to break and give, Jesus knows that every child counts. Jesus meets each of the children with the affection of a mother (or father!): “Come and have breakfast.” Time for dessert: suggestions for pastoral caregivers As I was about to finish writing this paper, a friend’s wife came into the study lounge with a cup of black cherry ice cream for her husband. Since she hadn’t known I was there too, she brought just one cup. Although out of courtesy I insisted she shouldn’t go back for another cup, she did. It seems to me that women know that men really like food. Pastors working with men will do well to remember that men look for food. First, men look for food because they are hungry. But it isn’t all about the food; eating is also a symbol of men’s unquenchable hope and their longing for relationships. Eating and drinking with other men can be experienced as liberating because, even if it’s just for a brief period, they are set free from imposed scripts and are called to savor life abundantly (Dittes 1996, p. 78). To be sure, there is something subversive about a group of male friends drinking, eating, and laughing together. As pastoral theologian Dykstra (2009) suggests, for Christian boys and men a “humble, human, and humane” Jesus can rightly be understood “as prime candidate and guide for subversive friendship” (p. 597). Indeed, within the context of the Gospel of John, Jesus, in opposition to conventional wisdom, prioritizes friendship over Christian discipleship, work, or any other script: “There is no greater good, no grander spiritual purpose for which to strive, than the ordinary, costly, rewarding friendship that Jesus both seeks and affords” (p. 597). Interestingly, toward the end of the Gospel of John we encounter Jesus and his friends having breakfast on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias. Could John have imagined a more subversive scene to conclude his Gospel? Jesus preparing breakfast—grilled fish and bread—for his male friends.3 In another scene of male friends sharing a meal, philosopher Susan Bordo (1994) refers to the story of a group of older black men who congregate daily at a South Side Chicago cafeteria, Valois. Commenting on the subversive friendship of these men, she says: “Here, the erotics of the gaze no longer revolve around the dynamics of ‘looking at’ or ‘being looked at’ (of penetrating or being penetrated by, of activity or passivity), but around the mutuality of truly seeing and being seen, a meeting of subjectivities in which what is experienced is the recognition of knowing and being known by another” (p. 301). Sociologist Mitchell Duneier (1992) refers to this group of black men as a “caring community” in which men sometimes dare to share their feelings for one another (p. 20). Male friends get together to eat—whether at the Sea of Tiberias or in Valois— not only because they’re hungry but because they care for each other. Men look for food because they are hungry, but their eating also symbolizes a deep desire for greater wholeness. Men want to find a way to reconnect with both mother and father. On the one hand, when men eat they are unconsciously seeking to recover the safety and happiness of the nursing infant. Psychoanalyst Erik H. Erikson (1968) explains that weaning generates a “universal nostalgia for a lost paradise” (p. 101). Speaking of the loss of paradise, the English poet John Milton (2011) says: Departure from this happy place, our sweet Recess, and only consolation left Familiar to our eyes, all places else 3 Neel and Pugh (2012) suggest that Jesus and his disciples ate tilapia that morning (pp. 217–218). See also their “Menu for a Picnic on the Beach” (p. 222). 308 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 Inhospitable appear, and desolate (p. 413) Upon leaving the maternal breast, the baby is forced to leave that “happy place,” that “sweet recess” after which everything else seems “inhospitable and desolate.” Perhaps this is why Anton Ego, the Ratatouille character, is always searching, looking, tasting. Like him, men look for food hoping to find that holy smell, that sacramental bite that will remit them to the signified reality: mother. But there is also a sense in which the hunger of men symbolizes their attempt to come to terms with their fathers. Men know they are hungry because their fathers, too, were hungry. And like their fathers, by eating passionately and joyously they refuse to give up hope and want no more. By plunging into the history of our fathers we can find ways to empathize with their pain (Osherson 1986, p. 206). Perhaps by focusing on their eating history we may also find ways to celebrate their desires and unquenchable hope. As with their sexuality, when men eat they are at risk of “getting stuck at the shrine” (Dittes 1996, p. 108). Pleasure can be so great that men can be “possessed by blessings,” forgetting that pilgrims are called to bring the blessings home (p. 108). If the shrine of sexuality is the bed, the shrine of food is the refrigerator. But when no refrigerator is available or the refrigerator is empty, men have to go on pilgrimage to their preferred temple. In Princeton, New Jersey, hundreds of hungry men, particularly young men, find their shrine in Hoagie Haven (Heaven!), perhaps one of the most graceful shrines available due to its affordability and its generous portions. In places like Mexico City, shrines abound. Taco stands and restaurants are available every day of the year, 24 h a day; while women are always welcome, the majority of the nightly pilgrims are hungry men. A special feature of these shrines is the blessedness of hot sauces and salsas. Men know, or at least their souls know, that hot spices make them feel good; like sex and dark chocolate, hot salsas enhance the secretion of endorphins. Perhaps it is the preaching of these secret prophetesses that makes men want to dwell more and more in those holy shrines. But as any nutritionist would remind us, too much meat, too many tortillas, too many hoagies, too many hot peppers can compromise the wellness of the body. And when the wellness of the body is compromised, so is the wellbeing of the soul. In his book Deadly Sins and Saving Virtues, pastoral theologian Donald Capps (2000) reminds us that gluttony, “an excessive, seemingly insatiable desire for food and drink,” denotes “a careless attitude toward life and beauty and a destructive attitude toward companionship” (pp. 25–26). As pastoral theologians and caregivers working with men, we will do well to affirm and celebrate the significance of food for men. But we also have the task of reminding pilgrims that the blessings of the shrine must come home. How will the “preaching of the endorphins” affect the way we live for the rest of the day? Will it help us connect with others more significantly? If we eat well and our soul is happy, life for us, and for those around us, will be lived more abundantly. What about the souls of those who prepare food in the domestic realm, usually women? My suggestion is that a sense of mutuality in preparing food would benefit both women and men. As I said before, my mother enjoys her meals much more when someone else does the cooking. She is not only relieved from the work implied in food preparation, but her hunger is preserved from the atrophying effects of food smells. On the other hand, by being in closer contact with the smells, tastes, and textures of grains, fruits, and vegetables men would also have the chance of experiencing greater closeness with the source of life—the desiring Creator. Kitchens are places where faith can be strengthened in a holistic way; one can perceive God’s love not only through word but through the awesome goodness of colors, textures, and flavors. In two churches in which I had the opportunity to minister, I was always asked by the education committee if I wanted to participate in the church’s Vacation Bible School. I always refused to teach another Bible class; instead, I always offered to conduct a food workshop Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 309 related to the general theme of the week. My purpose in offering those workshops was to help children understand that God, our Creator and Sustainer, cares about our bodies as much as God cares about our souls. We would have time to study the Bible, but we dedicated most of our time to cooking a simple but delicious dish. After summer school some children would no longer refer to me as pastor but as the “food teacher” or the “pastor who teaches about food.” Abundant life is not only about food, but abundant life is not possible without food. Caring for the body; caring for the soul I want to conclude this paper by referring to the story of Asael, a former classmate at the Theological Presbyterian Seminary in Mexico City. While studying theology, Asael got a job as a kitchen helper in a major chain of restaurants, and he eventually became a chef. After graduation I lost track of him. Recently, however, I came to know that Asael had decided to study medicine but that later on he decided to pursue a career as a nutritionist. He is now working as director of food service in a major public hospital in Mexico City. As such, he is able to provide life-giving care to patients. In the context of Deuteronomy, the affirmation “man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” implies that some hunger can make people more attuned to God’s direction. Unfortunately, this teaching has often been used not to deepen spirituality but to repress desire. But God well knows that while we are not to live on bread alone, we do live on bread. And so, the people of God are fed with manna—heavenly bread—food for the body and food for the soul. In telling Asael’s story, I’m not suggesting that all pastoral theologians should become farmers, nutritionists, or chefs, but I do think we should reflect more intentionally on the relationship between food and the care of souls. As pastoral theologian Carrie Doehring (2006) explains, “The need for interdisciplinary dialogue is especially important in a postmodern approach to caregiving, in which no single disciplinary perspective yields transhistorical universal truths about a careseeker’s suffering” (p. 168). In our case here, this implies a more intentional dialogue with such fields as psychology, nutrition, physiology, and gastronomy. It isn’t all about food, but food is a fundamental aspect of life both in its materiality and its metaphoric potential. Considering more attentively why, how, and what men eat—hoagies, tacos, and hamburgers—will help us move a step forward in caring for men more effectively. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Donald Capps and Robert Dykstra for their ongoing support and for introducing me to the work of James Dittes. I also want to thank Mexican theologian Eliseo Pérez Álvarez, who first introduced me to Jesus’ radical commensality. Finally, I want to thank my mother, Guadalupe Mejía Herrera, who has been not only my primary nourisher but my teacher in learning to savor life. References American Academy of Religion. (2014). Program units. http://www.aarweb.org. Accessed 17 Jan 2014. Bird, B., & Pinkava, J. (Directors). (2007). Ratatouille [Motion picture]. United States: Pixar Animation Studios. Bordo, S. (1994). Reading the male body. In L. Goldstein (Ed.), The male body: Features, destinies, exposures (pp. 265–306). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Capps, D. (2000). Deadly sins and saving virtues. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers. Capps, D. (2001). Agents of hope: A pastoral psychology. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers. 310 Pastoral Psychol (2015) 64:297–310 Cornier, M., Salzberg, A. K., Endly, D. C., Bessesen, D. H., & Tregellas, J. R. (2010). Sex-based differences in the behavioral and neuronal responses to food. Physiology & Behavior, 99, 538–543. doi:10.1016/j.physbeh. 2010.01.008. Crossan, J. D. 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Horizons in Biblical Theology ■ BRILL Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 ■ brill.com/hbth The Political Economy of Eating Idol Meat: Practice, Structure, and Subversion in 1 Corinthians 8 through the Sociological Lens of Pierre Bourdieu* Sung Uk Lim Vanderbilt University, Graduate Department of Religion, Nashville, TN limholylight@hotmail.com Abstract This paper intends to delve into the political economy of the symbolic practice of eating idol meat in 1 Corinthians 8 from a Bourdieuian perspective. My contention is that Paul attempts to undermine the Roman socioeconomic system by substituting a dietary habitus of abstention for a dietary habitus of consumption. In Bourdieu’s view, the Roman colony of Corinth can be seen as a religious field consisting of a conflict over different capital between the strong and the weak. Through rhetorical strategies, Paul enables the weak to subvert the hierarchical structure as embodied in the practice of idol meat consumption, while simultaneously urging the strong to surrender the claim to their authority. Thus, while deconstructing an old, colonial habitus of consumption, Paul reconstructs a new, postcolonial habitus of abstention. Keywords idol meat, political economy, practice, field, capital, habitus, (rhetorical) strategy, Roman Empire, (post)colonial, Pierre Bourdieu 1. Introduction This paper aims to revisit the symbolic practice of idol meat consumption, a dietary habitus, and its implications for the political economy in 1 Corinthians 8 through the lens of the sociological theory of Pierre Bourdieu. I argue that Paul undertakes to subvert the dominant socioeconomic system *} I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my advisor, Dr. Fernando F. Segovia, for his invaluable insights and endless enthusiasm which stimulated my scholarly interest in exploring the political economy of early Christianity. I would also like to thank the Paul and Politics section at the 2010 SBL Annual Meeting in Atlanta, at which an earlier version of this article was presented. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2012 DOI: 10.1163/1871220712341242‫־‬ 156 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 of the Roman Empire by replacing the habitus of consumption with the habitus of abstention. In Bourdieu’s terms, Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians reveals the city of Corinth as a religious field, in which there exists a struggle over (cultural, religious, and symbolic) capital between the strong and the weak. Byway of the rhetorical strategies of mimesis, status reversal, and love, Paul empowers those of lesser capital to repudiate and resist the social structure as embodied in the practice of eating idol meat, while at the same time persuading those of more capital to surrender their authority to the social order. When all is said and done, Paul deconstructs an old, colonial habitus of consumption and thus reconstructs a new, postcolonial habitus of abstention. To support this thesis, I analyze Bourdieu’s sociological theory to explore 1 Corinthians 8 for two reasons: first, because Bourdieu pinpoints an economic and religious field where social power relations and religious discourse interact with each other; and second, because Bourdieu’s work provides probably still more room for the subversion of the dominant culture, in particular, related to the symbolic practice of idol meat consumption.1 To this end, I shall offer a broad overview of Bourdieu’s main concepts such as (religious) field, (cultural, religious, and symbolic) capital, habitus, and strategy. Then I will consider the ways in which Bourdieu’s theory applies to the specific case of 1 Corinthians 8. 2. The Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu vis-à-vis Karl Marx and Max Weber In order to interpret religion in the light of economy, I will critically reexamine one of Bourdieu’s key concepts, political economy, in conjunction with symbolic practices. Bourdieu’s sociology is an attempt to explore the interplay between economy and religion, while bridging the gap between Karl Marx’s materialism and Max Weber’s sociology of religion. Simply put, Bourdieu’s political economy takes shape by navigating between the l) As a good example to utilize Bourdieu’s constructs in the New Testament, see F. Jeremy Huitín, “Bourdieu Reads Jude: Reconsidering the Letter ofJude Thorough Pierre Bourdieu’s Sociology,” in ReadingJude with New Eyes: Methodological Reassessments ofthe Letter ofJude, ed. Robert L. Webb and Peter H. Davids (London: T & T Clark, 2008), 3253‫־‬. S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 157 two theorists.2 In the first place, Bourdieu draws on the sociological theory of Marx, but only insofar as he critically modifies it. Along the lines of Marx, Bourdieu puts emphasis on the primacy of class-based conflict and hence social disparity in modern societies. Yet, he is highly critical of class reductionism in Marxist theory. Furthermore, whereas he agrees on Marx’s materialism that human consciousness roots itself in the practices of social life, Bourdieu rebuffs the classical Marxist distinction between infrastructure and superstructure. Pinpointing the complex interactions between the two terms, Bourdieu, for instance, insists vehemently that the symbolic dimension is not inseparable from the material dimension, thereby singling out its rudimentary unity of social life. Among other things, he suggests that religion as an element of superstructure does not isolate itself from economy as an element of infrastructure. This being the case, we have no choice but to look simultaneously at both the economic in religion and the religious in economics in understanding symbolic systems in social life. Turning his back on Marx’s class reductionism and dichotomous view of social life, Bourdieu relies heavily on Weber for his concept of “political economy of religion”3 in order to grapple with a materialist yet symbolic dimension of religion. As Bourdieu succinctly states, it is Weber “who, far from opposing Marx, as is generally thought, with a spiritualist theory of history, in fact carries the materialist mode of thought into areas which Marxist materialism effectively abandons to spiritualism.4‫ ״‬In sum, Bourdieu seeks to get over the seeming barrier between idealism and materialism in such a way as to merge the symbolic and material dimensions of social life. As a consequence, he fuses Marx’s concept of religion with Weber’s in a way that advances the political economy of symbolic practice through which it is possible to create an analytical grid for the study of religion in developing both materialist and symbolic approaches. Related to but distinct from Weber, Bourdieu’s sociology is keenly concerned with symbolic powers, which come to grips with the interaction 2) David Swartz, “Bridging the Study of Culture and Religion: Pierre Bourdieu’s Political Economy of Symbolic Power,” Sociofogy ofReligion 57, no. 1 (1996): 7274‫־‬. 3) Pierre Bourdieu, In Other Words: Essays Towards a Reflexive Sociology (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), 36. 4) Pierre Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1990), 17· 158 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 between culture and power. Culture itself, for Bourdieu, is an arena for social distinctions that brings forth social hierarchy and domination. What is intriguing is that Bourdieu contends that cultural practice, say, a practice of eating embodies social distinctions.5 In concrete terms, we will reexamine the political economy of symbolic practice as exemplified in eating habits, or to be more precise, a habit of eating meat sacrificed to idols in the present study. 2.1. (Religious) Field In order to explore the political economy of symbolic practice, Bourdieu advances the notion of “field‫( ״‬champ in French), an arena of struggle for the monopoly of valued resources, in which a particular type of capital is produced, exchanged, accumulated, and invested. He refers to the field as a site of production, circulation, and accumulation of competitive objects, e.g., knowledge, honor, and status to acquire power and dominance in a society. In other words, a field is a structured social space in which the existing hierarchy in power relations functions to distribute the different forms of capital. When seen from this perspective, the religious field is a site of struggle over the perceived value of resources, namely, religious capital. In effect, the religious field is replete with the competition for valued material and symbolic resources. In particular, it is the competitive struggle for the religious authority which allows religious specialists to monopolize the administration of the goods of salvation and to exercise religious power over laypersons by inculcating them with religious practices.6 Prior to the analysis of the religious field, I should note in this regard that Bourdieu does not see religion as disinterested, but is indeed interested in this-worldly affairs. For him, the main reason religion seems to be indifferent to this world is that it undergoes the process of mystification to transform this-worldly interest, whether it be political or economic, into 5) Swartz, “Bridging the Study of Culture and Religion: Pierre Bourdieu’s Political Economy of Symbolic Power,” 72. 6) Pierre Bourdieu, “Genesis and Structure of the Religious Field,” Comparative Social Research 13, no. 1 (1991): 22. S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 159 ostensibly other-worldly interest.7 Interestingly enough, such misrecognition sparks struggle in the religious field. Religious specialists conceal from themselves their own interests in the religious field by converting thisworldly competition over valued resources into an other-worldly quest for transcendence.8 Through the process of misrecognition, their economic and political interests become legitimated as divine. Here, the church and religious bureaucracy serves to legitimize and reproduce the existing social hierarchy by imposing a religious habitus upon laypeople and by inscribing the social structure into the individual body.9 Contrariwise, the prophet plays the role of calling into question a given social order by providing an insurgent vision for apocalyptic destruction and recreation. The prophet flees from the material world into mysticism or symbolism.10 Still, the prophet is doomed to become a failure in the revolutionary call on the grounds that he/she cannot give heed to his/her own interests veiled within it. In brief, Bourdieu makes sure that religion is a field of competition over valued religious resources, so to speak, religious capital that is often misrecognized as disinterested. 2.2. (Cultural, Religious, and Symbolic) Capital According to Bourdieu, capital can be defined as valued resources serving as the “social relation of power‫ ״‬such that it may become an object of competition.11 Unlike Marx, however, he does not only refer to capital as material/economic resources but also as non-material/non-economic resources. That is to say, capital, in Bourdieu’s terms, denotes whatever resources they may be either material/economic or non-material/ non-economic.12 This means that there may be other forms of capital than material/economic capital. It is important to consider nonmaterial/ 7) Hugh B. Urban, ‫״‬Sacred Capital: Pierre Bourdieu and the Study of Religion,” Method & Theory in the Study ofReligion 15, no. 4 (2003): 362. 8) Bourdieu’s concept of‘misrecognition‫ ׳‬is akin to Marx's concept of‘false consciousness.‫׳‬ But it should be noted that there is a distinction between the two concepts: ‘misrecognition‫׳‬ is a cultural construct, whereas ‘false consciousness‫ ׳‬is an ideological construct. 9) Urban, ‫״‬Sacred Capital: Pierre Bourdieu and the Study of Religion,” 363. 10) Bourdieu, ‫״‬Genesis and Structure of the Religious Field,” 37.38‫־‬ ‫ )״‬Swartz, “Bridging the Study of Culture and Religion: Pierre Bourdieu's Political Economy of Symbolic Power,” 75. 12) Bourdieu, The Logic ofPractice, 178. 160 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 non-economic capital, for instance, cultural and religious capital. Culture can be seen as capital, a valued power resource in the form of knowledge or education. Likewise, religion can be seen as capital, a valued power resource, wherein religious specialists can monopolize religious goods and services over and against the laity. As valued non-material/non-economic resources, both cultural and religious capital can be produced, circulated, consumed, accumulated, and invested for the sake of profits. In addition, symbolic capital gains its power when transformed into and mystified as a disinterested resource.13 In other words, symbolic capital goes through a stage of misrecognition, in which material/economic capital is changed into and legitimated as status or honor. What is most intriguing is that as such, symbolic capital requires a process of mystification in order to conceal the arbitrariness of the distribution of resources in a hierarchical society. Bourdieu argues that once masked as symbolic capital, material/economic resources are deemed to be “legitimate” as an indicator of their owner’s natural superiority rather than arbitrary birth or heritage.14 David Schwarz correctly notes: Symbolic capital is “denied capital”; it disguises the underlying “interested” relations to which it is related, giving them legitimation. Symbolic capital is a form of power that is not perceived as power but as legitimate demands for recognition, deference, obedience, or the services of others.15 It is striking that like other types of capital, Bourdieu understands symbolic capital to be also a product of competition between social agents.16 In this light, culture, religion, and symbol are finally recognized as capital, an object of competitive struggle. 13) Bourdieu argues that in social practices, symbolic capital goes “miscognized” as if it were disinteresting in the underlying material/economic. 14) Pierre Bourdieu and Randal Johnson, The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), 75. 15) Swartz, “Bridging the Study of Culture and Religion: Pierre Bourdieu’s Political Economy of Symbolic Power,” 77. 16) Urban, “Sacred Capital: Pierre Bourdieu and the Study of Religion,” 355. S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 161 2.3. Habitus: Individual Body vs. Social Body Perhaps the most central point in Bourdieu’s works to bridge the huge gap between subjectivism and objectivism is the notion of ‫״‬habitus.” He takes great pains to transcend the dualism between subjectivism and objectiv‫־‬ ism, which has dominated the discourse of modern sociology as well as philosophy. On the one hand, the subjectivism as espoused by the existentialist and phenomenologist sees the individual agents as autonomous and radically independent of social, cultural, or political structures. On the other, the objectivism as represented by the structuralist highlights an immutable system or structure of objective laws and unconscious rules, while brushing aside human agency. Still, it comes as no surprise that neither subjectivism nor objectivism is able to set forth the intricacies of social action. Rather than taking either of them, Bourdieu seeks to account for both individual agency and social structure through what he calls habitus. Originating in the thought of Aristotle, the concept of habitus in contemporary usage was introduced by Marcel Mauss as a notion to navigate between the individual body and the social body.17 Following in the footsteps of Mauss, Bourdieu further develops the notion of habitus as a means to inscribe or encode the total structure of the social body into the individual body by dint of physical discipline as exemplified in the military or monastic orders.18 Thus, Bourdieu construes or constructs habitus as a practical system of dispositions that leads one individual to perceive, think, and act in a certain way. One tends to take a specific disposition in correspondence to objective social structures. To borrow Bourdieu’s words, habitus can be defined simply as ‫״‬systems of durable, transposable dispositions, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures, that is, as principles which generate and organize practices and representations that can be objectively adapted to their outcomes without presupposing a conscious aiming at ends or an express mastery of the operations necessary in order to attain them.”19 Put simply, objective social structures, in the mundane 17) Marcel Mauss, Sociobgy and Psychology: Essays (London; Boston: Routledge and K. Paul, 1979), 101. 18) Urban, “Sacred Capital: Pierre Bourdieu and the Study of Religion,358 ‫״‬. 19) Bourdieu, The Logic ofPractice, 53. 162 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 practices and experiences, are embodied in a way that predisposes an individual agent to durably stand, walk, speak, feel, and think.20 2.4. Strategy That having been said, it would be misleading to suppose that habitus has little to do with a subversion of dominant structures. Admittedly, habitus indicates that there exist objective social structures consisting of social rules. Even so, it does not necessarily generate social structural determinism. Overall, this means that the individual agents are not solely controlled by social structures but also have creativity to strategically manipulate them in accordance with their own interests.21 In that sense, Bourdieu envisages habitus as strategic, since for him an individual agent has the capacity to have a free choice over social actions under fluctuating social circumstances. Bourdieu and Loic Wacquant write: “Habitus is not the fate that some peopie read into it... It is durable but not eternal!”22 In Bourdieu’s view, each individual agent makes strategic decisions by manipulating social norms. As Hugh Urban aptly remarks, “human beings are strategic players who work creatively within the limits of social structures.23‫ ״‬The reason is that each individual agent takes social action with a view to maximizing that agent’s own interests strategically.24 Up to this point, I have reviewed the social theory of Bourdieu with special reference to such concepts as field, capital, habitus, and strategy. Keeping these concepts in mind, let us reconsider the political economy of eating idol meat in 1 Corinthians 8. 20) Ibid., 68. Bourdieu contends that once habitus is established within its field, there comes into being ‘doxa,’ a pre-verbal taken-for-granted truth or knowledge that arises from practical sense. 21) Urban, “Sacred Capital: Pierre Bourdieu and the Study of Religion,” 357. 22) Pierre Bourdieu and Loïc J. D. Wacquant, An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 133. 23, Urban, “Sacred Capital: Pierre Bourdieu and the Study of Religion,” 358. 24) David Swartz, Culture and Power: The Sociology ofPierre Bourdieu ( Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997), 67. S. U Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 163 3. Interpreting 1 Corinthians 8 through the Sociological Lens of Pierre Bourdieu 3.1. The Religious Field in 7 Corinthians 8 Prior to analyzing the religious field as reflected in 1 Corinthians 8, one has to understand the economic situation of Corinth at large, a conflict in which the Corinthian community is deeply involved.25 In the first century C.E., an economic boom occurred in the urban Mediterranean world, whereas an economic slump occurred in Palestine.26 After being rebuilt as a Roman colony by Julius Caesar in 44 B.C.E., Corinth became one of the developing cities in the Mediterranean basin. In regard to Corinth, the geographer Strabo wrote the following: “Corinth is called ‘wealthy‫ ׳‬due to its commerce (Geo 8.6.20).27‫ ״‬To put it more precisely, Corinth stood at a heavily traveled crossroads of trade in the Mediterranean. It was a prosperous city sufficient to attract many people—merchants, artisans, and bankers—because living or working in Corinth increased the chances of moving up socially for ambitious people seeking wealth, status, and power.28 Against this backdrop, 1 Cor 1:2627‫ ־‬hints that the religious field of the Corinthian community had a growing conflict between those of upper and lower status, because early Christianity permeated those of the lower strata more than those in the higher strata who were considered “wise, powerful, and of noble birth.‫ ״‬In this light, the following phrases—‫״‬those wise,‫“ ״‬those powerful,‫ ״‬and “those of noble birth‫—״‬are all further related to higher social status, provided that Paul is well aware of social issues.29 I am of the opinion that there was a split between wealthier, higher-status Christians and poorer, lower-status Christians, of which Paul calls the first those “strong‫( ״‬ισχυρός) and the second those “weak‫( ״‬ασθενής).30 Appar­ 25) Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting ofPauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1982), 124-25. 26) Ibid., 36. 27) All translations are mine, unless otherwise indicated. 28) Ben Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 1995), 20. 29) Ibid., 70-73. 30) Dale B. Martin, The Corinthian Body (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 69, 75. It still remains controversial whether the weak in 1 Corinthians 8 refers to Jewish believers or Gentile believers, or both. For more on this, see Hans Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians: 164 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 ently, the terms “strong” and “weak” indicate the factions within the Corinthian community.31 Here, I should bear in mind that even though those of high social status were a dominant group in Corinth in terms of power, they formed a numerical minority within the Corinthian church.32 Yet, in 1 Cor 11:22, Paul, no doubt, sides with those of low status, who “have nothing.” By the same token, he contrasts his own low social status with those of high status: “We are weak, but you are strong (1 Cor 4:10).‫ ״‬Therefore, it can be assumed that in all likelihood, the conflict in the Corinthian community derived from the desire of those of the upper strata to puff themselves up over against those of the lower strata (1 Cor 4:6).33 Keeping in mind that there was a tension between high and low status in the Corinthian community, I can revisit the issue of eating idol meat, the issue at stake in 1 Corinthians 8. When it comes to idol meat consumption, those of high status with the knowledge about the monotheistic God took a compromising position (1 Cor 8:4ff.), whereas those of low status without such knowledge took an uncompromising position (1 Cor 8:7). It should be noted, in this regard, that it is highly likely that those of high status had still many more chances to be educated and therefore attain a higher degree of knowledge than those of low status. To put it another way, degree of knowledge plays a key role in identifying the status of each group within the Corinthian community.34 In the religious context of the Corinthian congregation, the strong allowed the eating of the meat sacrificed to idols since A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, trans. George W. MacRae (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975), 147.1 am in substantial agreement with Hans Conzelmann: ‫״‬The ‘weak‫׳‬ are neither Jewish group nor any closed group at all. They do not represent a position. They are simply weak.” To be more precise, I understand the weak merely as low socioeconomic minority groups in the Roman imperial order. 31) Margaret Mary Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric ofReconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation ofthe Language and Composition of1 Corinthians (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1991), 126. The thesis is that by way of deliberative rhetoric, a rhetoric of the assembly, Paul throughout the entire letter of 1 Corinthians appeals to the unity within the church body at Corinth, with a view to ending its factionalism. On the surface it may seem plausible that Paul attempts to resolve the conflict between the divisions in the Corinthian community. But I contend that Paul subverts the socioeconomic hierarchy in the imperial structure, without necessarily urging concord in the community. 32, Ibid., 73. 33) Ibid., 57. 34) Ibid., 98. S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 165 they possessed actual knowledge that there was only one God and there was no such thing as idols in the world, not to mention meat sacrificed to idols (1 Cor 8:4ff.). On the other hand, the weak abstained from any meat sacrificed to idols since they did not have basic knowledge that it had nothing to do with idolatry (1 Cor 8: 7). By and large, the religious field of the Corinthian community had a serious split between upper and lower status with regard to the consumption of idol meat due to the difference in the level of knowledge. 3.2. Demystifying the Capital Indeed, as Bourdieu suggests, I can unveil a comprehensive analysis of all the capital—i.e., cultural, religious, and symbolic capital—interwoven in 1 Corinthians 8. First of all, cultural capital in general can be represented as knowledge or education. Specifically speaking, the cultural capital in 1 Corinthians 8 is featured with the monotheistic knowledge that “an idol is nothing in cosmos, and there is no God but one (1 Cor 8:4).‫ ״‬Drawing on such knowledge, the strong in Corinth likely had the audacity to claim that: “we all have knowledge (1 Cor 8:1).35‫ ״‬With respect to this, Dale Martin has pointed out that strong Christians expected weaker Christians to take advantage of the knowledge of monotheism and dietary restrictions.36 I find his argument plausible, but not probable, since this knowledge was not shared among all and clearly, the weak were left with little or no access to it: “However, not all possess this knowledge. Since some have become hitherto accustomed to idols, they eat food as really offered to an idol, and their conscience, being weak, is defiled (1 Cor 8:7).‫ ״‬Eventually, cultural capital becomes enmeshed in religious capital. Second of all, religious capital as Bourdieu envisions it concerns the nature of authority in a religious context. To be more precise, the religious capital in 1 Corinthians 8 relates to the authority (έξουσία) to eat meat sacrificed to idols.37 In this connection, the Greek term έξουσία in 1 Cor 8:9 35) Martin, The Corinthian Body, 70. 36) Ibid., 71. 37) I believe that for Paul, the basic meaning of συνείδησις should be understood as inner awareness or consciousness rather than conscience in a modern, psychological sense. On this, see Richard Horsley, “Consciousness and Freedom among the Corinthians: 1 Corinthians 810‫־‬,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 40, no. 4, (1978): 581. 166 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 refers to such authority. The most important point to be noted here is that as cultural capital, knowledge (γνώσις) serves to justify the authority of the strong as religious capital. What is interesting is that in this light, consciousness (συνείδησις) as cultural capital can also be constructed as a kind of knowledge.38 Taken together, this means that those who possess the knowledge of the monotheistic God (1 Cor 8:4) and therefore have strong consciousness would insist upon the authority to consume meat offered to idols without anxiety about defilement.39 Conversely, those who have weak consciousness due to lack of this knowledge would not have such authority with fear of defilement (1 Cor 8:7,10).40 Thus, cultural capital plays a role in bolstering the legitimacy of religious capital. Last, but perhaps most importantly, what Bourdieu terms symbolic capital is closely connected to social status. In 1 Corinthians 8, symbolic capital has recourse to the status designated by the terms “strong” and “weak.” What is intriguing is that the matter of idol meat, an economic capital, is converted into the matter of social status, a symbolic capital.41 There is no doubt that idol meat was a type of economic capital in the Mediterranean basin, for meat in general was one of the scarcest and most valuable resources.42 Clearly, the two groups Paul refers to as the strong and the weak have much to do with social status in first-century Corinth, a society preoccupied with social structures and position in the social hierarchy of the Roman Empire. Throughout, Paul intends to reveal that the Corinthian Christians transform the economic problem of idol meat into the symbolic problem of status, thereby obscuring the arbitrary nature of the distribution of resources in such a hierarchical society. If this is the case, economic capital of idol meat, once disguised as symbolic capital of status, can be legitimated as indicating the competitive superiority of one’s own social group. At this point, demystifying the capital encourages us to investigate 38) Robert Jewett, Paul's Anthropological Terms: A Study of Their Use in Conflict Settings (Leiden: Brill, 1971), 408-10. 39) Richard A. Horsley, 1 Corinthians (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), 12122‫־‬. 40) Ibid., 40. 41) Mark Reasoner, The Strong and the Weak: Romans 14.1-15.13 in Context (Cambridge, U.K.; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 45. 42) Peter Gamsey, Food and Society in Classical Antiquity (Cambridge, U.K.; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 123. S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 167 the symbolical practice of eating idol meat within the social structure in the Roman Empire. 3.3. Habitus and Idol Meat Consumption For the sake of the analysis of the habitus of idol meat consumption in 1 Corinthians 8, let us handle the issue of meat consumption in general in the Mediterranean world. Not surprisingly, given its rarity in antiquity, eating meat on the part of those of lower status was a special event in the Greco-Roman world that, of course, includes the city of Corinth. As Peter Garnsey remarks, “meat was relatively expensive, and could only have been available on a regular basis to those with money to buy.43‫ ״‬For this reason, meat, in Greece and Rome, was handed out to all the people by the state or the wealthiest citizens, exclusively on ceremonial occasions like a victory day, a funeral, or religious feasts.44 Against this background, I can now look into a division within the Corinthian community between the strong and the weak in a fresh manner. Undoubtedly, the strong, i.e., those high-status Christians in Corinth, had no choice but to consume idol meat, given the significance of the sacrificial banquet as a quintessence of civic banquet, notably in a high-society dinner.45 It is worth noting that a great number of public and ceremonial events, constitutive of the life of ancient Corinth, centered around the dinner table. Then, participation in the banquet, and perhaps subsequent meat consumption was indeed important in patron relations, especially on the part of those interested in the social connections to socioeconomic superiors.46 Therefore, eating idol meat at the temple dining rooms was a proper meal to those of higher status.47 On the other hand, the weak, i.e., those low-status Christians in Corinth, had restricted access to sacrificial 43) Cf. Peter Garnsey, “Mass Diet and Nutrition in the City of Rome,‫ ״‬in Nourrir La Plèbe: Actes Du Colloque Tenu a Genève Les 28 Et 2g. Ix. 1g8g En Hommage À Denis Van Berchem, ed. Denis van Berchem and Adalberto Giovannini (Basel: F. Reinhardt, 1991), 67101‫־‬. 44‫ י‬Theissen, 12728‫־‬. 45) Gamsey, Food and Society in Classical Antiquity, 132. 46) Horsley, 1 Corinthians, 11617‫·־‬ 47) John Fotopoulos, “The Rhetorical Situation, Arrangement, and Argumentation of 1 Corinthians 8:113‫־‬: Insights into Paul's Instructions on Idol-Food in Greco-Roman Context," Greek Orthodox Theological Review 47 (2002): 177. 168 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 meals in general and meat in particular, except on the occasions of the Imperial or Isthmian Games. Peter Garnsey remarks: Already in the Hellenistic era, the social hierarchy was beginning to be reflected in the form of restricted access to sacrificial meals. This tendency is confirmed and extended under the Romans, that is, the Romans of Rome. Division of the meat after the sacrifice continues, but participation is limited to those at the top of the social hierarchy. ‘Dining rights’ (the ius epulandi publice) is a privilege for priests, magistrates and senators in general, perhaps equestrians (lesser aristocrats). Other citizens benefited from sacrifices only in so far as they could purchase the portion of the sacrificial meat released on the market; or, if they were admitted to the banquet, they sat apart from their social and political superiors, and ate less.48 There is no doubt that with the territorial expansion of the Roman Empire, the culture of Rome had a profound impact on the Roman colony of Corinth. This being the case, it goes without saying that those low-status Christians in Corinth were practically unaware of the sociocultural grammar of the sacrificial banquet, which was pertinent to those of high status. For this reason, the weak considered this type of meat to be explicitly pagan on the religious grounds that it was an ingredient used in an idolatrous festival.49 From this it follows that those of high status defended the practice of eating meat offered to idols, and at the same time scandalized (σκανδαλίζω) those of low status, who associated such meat with idolatrous worship.50 Given habitus, a system of dispositions that inscribes the social body into the individual body, the symbolic practice of eating idol meat, a dietary habitus, made the difference between the strong and the weak in the aforementioned socioeconomic context.51 As Garnsey rightly points out, ‫״‬food behavior reflects the social hierarchy and social relationships,” especially in the Greco-Roman context.52 Thus, the strong with more (cultural, religious, 48) Garnsey, Food and Society in Classical Antiquity, 134. 49) Ibid. 50) Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians, 190. 51) Martin, The Corinthian Body, 74. 52) Garnsey, Food and Society in Classical Antiquity, 108. Garnsey also notes: “The cuisines of the Greeks and Romans were markedly differentiated and hierarchical (127).” On food in the Jewish context, also see Jordan Rosenblum, Food and Identity in Early Rabbinic Judaism (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010). In Rosenblum’s view, dietary practice in rabbinic Judaism is closely connected with the construction ofjewish identity at S. U. Lim / Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 169 and symbolic) capital would adopt the hierarchical social structures symbolically internalized or embodied in the habitus of eating in such a way as to simply consume idol meat. By contrast, the weak with less capital would renounce the social hierarchy by not eating sacrificial meat. Both the strong and the weak within the Corinthian community invented different strategies for the symbolic practice of idol meat consumption and thus required different social actions within the broader socioeconomic context of the first-century Roman Empire.53 3.4. Paul's Subversive Strategy against the Dominant Socioeconomic System With a view to subverting the dominant socioeconomic system in the Roman Empire, Paul resorted to the following rhetorical strategies for a dietary habitus in relation to idol meat: rhetorical strategy of mimesis or imitation; rhetorical strategy of status reversal; rhetorical strategy of love. In the first place, Paul employed the rhetorical strategy of mimesis in order to convince the Corinthian Christians in general and the strong in partiallar to give up their privileges. It is interesting to note that he had the audacity to set himself as a model for them to imitate (1 Cor 4:16). He claimed that the Corinthians should be imitators (μιμηταί) of him in exactly the same way that he was an imitator of Jesus (1 Cor 11:1). However, it strikes us as quite ironic that Paul began his letter with a declaration of his apostolic authority (1 Cor 1:1) sufficient to urge the Corinthian Christians to mimic him and hence persuaded them to surrender their rights, just as he discarded his as a freeman by doing manual labor (1 Cor 4:12; Acts 20:34; large. In this regard, it is suggested that food serves a metonym and embodiment of identity formation. As Rosenblum notes: “Anthropologists have long noted the connection between the practice of eating certain food items and ascribed identity. Concomitant with this notion that certain foods serve as a metonym for “US‫ ״‬is the conception that eating metonymic food is a practice of embodiment. By the embodiment, I mean to suggest that tannaitic food regulations create both individual and communal bodies (i.e., identities) (45, italics in the original).‫״‬ 53‫ י‬On the resistant feature of early Christian meals to the Roman imperial rule in general, see Hal Taussig, In the Beginning Was the Meal: Social Experimentation & Early Christian Identity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009), 11543‫־‬. Related to but distinct from Taussig’s position, I argue that Paul’s vehement opposition to eating meat sacrificed idols can be characterized as anti-imperialist. 170 S. U. Lim /Horizons in Biblical Theology 34 (2012) 155-172 1 Thess 2:9; 2 Thess 318).54 As a consequence, the rhetoric of mimesis provides good ground for Paul to admonish the Corinthian Christians, notably the strong, to follow his example. In the second place, Paul devised the rhetorical strategy of status reversal in order to overturn the “normal status expectations of upper-class ideology.55‫ ״‬The purpose of Paul's rhetorical strategy of status reversal was to override the dominant ideology at large in first-century Greco-Roman culture by supporting the weak and opposing the strong. In a more specific sense, Paul's instruction not to eat idol meat was intended to undermine the ideology of those of high status. Instead, he took pains to meet the needs and expectations of those with low status, calling into question what was common practice on the part of those with high status in Greco-Roman culture.56 As he endorsed the weak, i.e., those of lower class, Paul urgently called upon the strong, i.e., those of high class, to surrender their prerogative to eat idol meat in order to come to terms with them. Paul himself took it for granted that the strong had ideological advantages (e.g., monotheistic knowledge, religious authority, and strong consciousness) over the weak such that they might eat meat sacrificed to idols. Yet in spite of all these, he challenged the position of the strong by stating that they were no worse off if they did not eat and no better off if they did (1 Cor 8:8).57 Put simply, Paul suggested that the strong should accommodate themselves to the weak by abstaining from idol meat. As such, Paul's disruptive rhetoric repeatedly turned the hierarchical position of the strong on its head.58 When all is said and done, Paul undercut the dominant ideology revolving around the consumption of idol meat. On Paul’ rhetoric of mimesis, see Elizabeth A. Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991), 21114‫־‬33; 97‫ ·־‬I...
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