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On Sunday, January 20, 2007, Tony Yengeni, former Chief Whip of South Africa's governing party, the African National Congress (ANC), celebrated his early release from a four-year prison sentence by slaughtering a bull at his father's house in the Cape Town township of Gugulethu. This time-honored African ritual was performed in order to appease the Yengeni family ancestors. Animal rights activists, however, decried the sacrifice as an act of unnecessary cruelty to the bull, and a public outcry ensued. Leading figures in government circles, including the Minister of Arts and Culture, Pallo Jordan, entered the fray, calling for a proper understanding of African cultural practices. Jody Kollapen, the Chair of the Human Rights Commission, said: “the slaughter of animals by cultures in South Africa was an issue that needed to be dealt with in context. Cultural liberty is an important right. …”
That the sacrifice was defended on the ground of African culture was to be expected. More surprising was the way in which everyone involved in the affair ignored what could have been regarded as an event of religious significance. Admittedly, it is far from easy to separate the concepts of religion and culture, and, in certain societies, notably those of pre-colonial Africa, this distinction was unknown. Today in South Africa, however, it is clearly necessary to make such a distinction for human rights litigation, partly because the Constitution specifies religion and culture as two separate rights and partly because it seems that those working under the influence of modern human rights seem to take religion more seriously than culture.
It is awe inspiring to be with you in this sacred place (Swift Hall) at this sacred time (Wednesday noon) engaged in sacred ritual (eating and talking). I am pleased to count myself among those who, nearly four decades ago, liberated this room from exclusive use by faculty, enabling all members of the community to gather for a common meal and common reflection thereby creating, at least in intention, a sacred people. Some traditions are worthy of preservation.
I would speak with you this noon about the profession I have pursued since leaving this Hall almost three decades ago: the profession of education. My remarks are occasioned by a Supreme Court decision announced on June 24, 1988, Kadrmas et al. v. Dickinson Public Schools et al. (North Dakota). Under North Dakota law, certain school districts are permitted to charge a fee for transporting pupils to the public school from outlying areas. The Kadrmas family, whose annual income at the time of the trial was at or near the poverty line, protested the fee they were charged, basically on the grounds of the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. The majority of the Court rejected the Kadrmas family's claim. Although the argument, set forth by Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, contained many complexities pertaining to a long line of arguments about the Equal Protection Clause, I would focus on one strong and near determinative pronunciation that she makes: that the Supreme Court has never “accepted the proposition that education is a ‘fundamental right,’ like equality of the franchise.” That is, there is no constitutional right to education.
When I was a child my family had a cabin in the southern Sierra Nevadas. A rocky, snow-fed creek ran at the edge of the property and often, when it wasn't warm enough yet to wade, my brother and I would guide board boats down the small cascade above our “beach,” trying to find a path through the rapids that wouldn't capsize our crafts. To do so, we had to learn the easiest paths through the white water, but also had to judge the hidden turbulence under the seemingly still waters in the various pools and eddies along the way. To me, this childhood practice provides a perfect metaphor for the genealogical work of Michel Foucault, work that enriches our understanding of the modern world by following, not the mainstream of historical landmarks, but rather the hidden textual currents that only reveal the full force of their power much further down the stream of time.
The role of Islam in the politics of Muslim-majority countries has attracted a plethora of scholarly research over the past two decades that generally refers to this phenomenon as political Islam. Much of the focus of this body of literature is concerned with the reconciliation of Islam and democracy. In recent years, the leading scholarship in this field has attempted to anticipate the future of political Islam and the prospect of post-Islamism. Asef Bayet's work on post-Islamists examines various social movements in the Middle East, arguing that Muslims have made Islam democratic by how they have defined Islam in respect to their particular socio-political contexts. However, others have expressed pessimism about the extent to which domestic conditions in Muslim-majority countries and external geopolitical factors will allow the development of an Islamic democracy. Abdelwahab El-Affendi, for instance, sees four main options for Islamists: full revolutionary takeover of their respective countries; completely withdrawing from political office to become Islamic interest or pressure groups; building broader coalitions while maintaining their ideology; or radically restructuring in order to emulate the model of Turkey's Justice and Development Party (AKP). What is missing in this discussion is attention to the capacity of Islamic political parties to draw on Islamic tradition and evolve in response to modernity through a focus on Islam's higher objectives or a maqasid approach.
Ukraine's “Orange Revolution” in 2004-05 captivated an international audience. Western reporting on this “democratic moment” focused on Victor Yuschenko's eventual hard-fought victory, labeling it an indication of Ukraine's commitment to breaking ties with its Soviet socialist past and to establishing itself fully as a capitalist market economy. In the shrinking global economy, Ukraine, suddenly, was a hot commodity. Yet, in the flurry of rhetoric about a former Soviet state achieving independence and sovereignty, moving from a socialist past to a capitalist future, few seemed directly to address the issue of private property. There seemed to be very little mention, though, at least in the popular media, of the shape of a right to private property in Ukrainian law. This was surprising in view of the fact that this is a basic prerequisite to a market economy. In fact, Ukrainian law does offer some minimal guidance concerning this important concept.
Is belief a prerequisite of interpretation? Can we interpret a document if we do not believe that it has something to say to us, if we do not anticipate that we can learn from the text? Jaroslav Pelikan's assessment of the similarities and differences in constitutional and Biblical hermeneutics does not raise this question expressly, but his eloquent description of how the faithful struggle to remain true to their guiding texts inexorably leads one to question the role of belief. In this essay, I first acknowledge the unavoidable significance of belief in the elaboration of a textual tradition. Then, I argue that rhetorical and hermeneutical principles clarify the distinction between a faithful interpretation rooted in belief and the inauthentic manipulation of a text for strategic goals.
Belief fosters commitment to the text, which legitimizes and authenticates an interpreter's efforts. We readily distinguish the constitutive exegetical rhetoric that girds social life from the “mere” rhetoric employed by sophistic interpreters, characterizing the former as a vital and productive development of a tradition and the latter as a corruption of the tradition. Pelikan claims that his goal is to formulate a general methodology of faithful interpretation, but his reflections confirm that there can be no neat methodological distinction between a legitimate reading rooted in belief on one hand, and a strategic manipulation of a text designed to undermine the cause for belief on the other. Making this distinction requires a judgment that can be rhetorically defended but never methodologically justified; the faithful may prove themselves only in the “dangerous maybe” of debate and persuasion. As Gene Garver has argued, Aristotle's great advance was to show that rhetoric is an art of character and not just a matter of logic. I would add that there can be no methodology of interpretation because there can be no methodology for developing one's character.
The “remarkable phenomenon” called Scientology, and Scientologists in their capacity as such, have long complained of persecution by the German state. Their case has been put to various governmental bodies in the United States and has even resulted in attempts to have the United States Congress
deplore[] the actions and statements of Federal, State, local and party officials in Germany which have fostered an atmosphere of intolerance toward certain minority religious groups [and] express[] concern that artists from the United States who are members of minority religious groups continue to experience German government discrimination.
The matter has also been brought to the attention of the State Department. Exaggerations, such as comparisons between the current situation of Scientologists and that of the Jews in Nazi Germany, even if restricted to the situation of the Jews before the commencement of the Holocaust, do nothing to persuade one of the seriousness with which Scientology's accusations are made. Nevertheless, some lesser form of persecution or perhaps rather discrimination might lie at the bottom of these complaints.
There is, however, a functioning legal system in Germany enforcing a Bill of Rights in the German constitution, the Basic Law (Grundgesetz). That legal system might be expected to be alert to such forms of discrimination, unless of course it too is part of some grand conspiracy against Scientology. The purpose of this article is to investigate whether the legal system in Germany is treating Scientology and Scientologists fairly by considering the reported cases on these topics in Germany.
The first part of the article deals with the tension between Divine and human healing in the Bible and the Talmud. The second part focuses on the halakhic status of medical practice and, in particular, the question of whether or not it constitutes the fulfilment of an independent halakhic obligation (mitzvah) in Jewish law. Section three is concerned with the legality of coercive life-sustaining medical treatment and the role played by patient autonomy in this area of the law. The theological aspect of human healing is referred to in section four; and the fifth section is devoted to a discussion of recent Israeli cases involving coercive medical therapy and end of life issues.
Under Biblical law, the victim of an assault is entitled to claim medical expenses from his or her attacker and this proviso provides the basis for the Talmudic ruling that “permission has been given to the physician to heal.” It is assumed that the Bible would not actively condone conduct which does not accord with true faith and hence, it may be inferred from this law that human healing is a religiously legitimate activity and not an act of rebellion against God.
The “[Torah] scholar” and the “scientist” thus part ways
The Torah scholar and the Jurist both supplement each other's work
At the beginning of the 1950s (or thereabouts) Rabbi Yitzhak (Isaac) ha-Levi Herzog, Ashkenazi Rabbi of the State of Israel and a researcher of Jewish law, delivered a lecture to a group of lawyers. He opened with the following comments:
Before beginning my lecture, I would like to correct an error in its title, and I would ask that the correction also be published in the press. The subject I chose to lecture on was “Knowledge and Will in Contract and Property in Mishpat ha-Torah.” The words “In comparison with English law” were added subsequently, without my knowledge. In my introduction to the second volume of my English work on Mishpat ha-Torah, I have already condemned a conspicuous proclivity in large portions of the modern literature on Mishpat ‘Ivri, to invariably search for comparisons and analogies from external sources. In essence, from an internal, spiritual perspective, such a comparison—God forbid—is inconceivable, for as the heavens are higher than the earth, so the Divine Torah granted from heaven is higher than any kind of jurisprudential system produced by human intellect and spirit. At the most, it is useful for explanatory purposes, enlisting human intellect to invoke external concepts in explaining certain concepts of Mishpat ha-Torah for those who are not conversant with classical Jewish sources, but are familiar with other legal systems. Therefore, my lecture is not devoted to comparison but rather to explanation, in other words explaining with the assistance of concepts and definitions taken from English law.
But let the brother of low degree glory in his high estate: and the rich, in that he is made low.—James 1:9-10
I am starting this paper after looking at the latest of a series of e-mails regarding people who cannot scrape up the security deposits required by the local gas company to turn their heat back on. They keep shivering in the corners of their bedrooms or burning their houses down with defective space heaters. The public agency that is supposed to relieve the poor refuses to pay security deposits, and the private charities that pay deposits are out of money. A bill that might improve matters has passed one House of the Legislature, and is about to die in a committee of the other House. I have a card on my desk from a former student I ran into the other day. She works in the field of utility regulation, and has promised to send me more e-mails on the subject. I also have a pile of student papers on whether a lawyer can encourage a client illegally in the country to marry her boyfriend in order not to be deported.
What I am trying to do with all this material is exercise a preferential option for the poor. I am working at it in a large, comfortable chair in a large, comfortable office filled with large, comfortable books, and a large—but not so comfortable—collection of loose papers. At the end of the day, I will take some of the papers home with me to my large, comfortable, and well heated house.
Since 1776 the United States has grown from a nation of relatively few religious differences to one of countless religious groups. This expanding pluralism challenges the public schools to deal creatively and sensitively with students professing many religions and none.
The following questions and answers concern religious holidays and public education, a subject often marked by confusion and conflict. Teachers and school officials, as well as parents and students, should approach this discussion as an opportunity to work cooperatively for the sake of good education rather than at cross-purposes.
School districts developing guidelines about religious holidays will want to base their policies in the shared commitment of respect for individual religious beliefs expressed in the constitutional guarantee of religious liberty. This means that public schools may neither promote nor inhibit religious belief or non-belief. Drafters of such guidelines also will want to take account of the role of religion in history and culture.
Awareness of legal issues is essential in considering religion and public education, but the law does not supply answers to every question. Within the current legal framework, schools — their boards, administrators, teachers, parents and students — must make many practical decisions regarding religious holidays. This work can be done only by showing sensitivity to the needs of every student and a willingness to steer a course between the avoidance of all references to religion on one hand and the promotion of religion on the other. For further assistance and materials, contact the sponsoring organizations listed above.