Sandor Goodhart

In the interest of moving conflict resolution toward reconciliation, theorists have turned to René Girard whose understanding of scapegoating and imitative desire acquires special importance. But Girardian thinking offers no unique ethical solution, and so theorists have turned to Emmanuel Levinas for such an account. Four ideas especially from Levinas appear helpful: his criticism of totality (and, concomitantly, his substitution of the idea of the infinite); the face as an opening (or gateway) to the infinite; the Other (or other individual) and my infinite (or unlimited) responsibility toward her (or him); and language as the dire as opposed to the dit, the saying (or “to say”) as opposed to the said, as one modality in which this openness to the other individual takes place. Combining Girard’s analysis of the sacrificial with Levinas’s analysis of the ethical may offer conflict resolution theorists an account as thoroughgoing and as old as Biblical scripture, and one to which, in the interest of moving toward reconciliation, they would do well to pay heed.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Violence and Difference. Girard, Derrida, and DeconstructionSandor GoodhartViolence and Difference. Girard, Derrida, and Deconstruction, by Andrew J. McKenna; 238 pp. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1992, $15.95 paper.McKenna’s book is disturbingly intelligent. I have the impression in reading it that there is nothing that has not crossed the author’s mind regarding contemporary theory, that here is a book of inquiry and thought in the grand tradition of European letters. I am also struck by how few books there are of this high quality, either on Derrida’s work or Girard’s, a lament which is also one of the book’s subtexts.McKenna’s expressed goal is to engage Jacques Derrida’s work with René Girard’s. The project is certainly overdue. Both writers have been working for a long time now on structures of exclusion and victimage, Derrida at the level of language, writing, and signifiers, Girard at that of cultural anthropology and institutional formation. Neither has fully acknowledged—let alone engaged—the other. Girard is almost entirely absent from Derrida’s writing, appearing in the convoluted context of a review of a book by Derrida’s student, Lacoue-Labarthes, containing an essay on Girard’s reading of Plato. Girard repeatedly cites Derrida’s treatment of the theme of the scapegoat and of the supplement—for example, in “Plato’s Pharmacy” (“La pharmacie de Platon”)—largely ignoring Derrida’s primary concern, his critique of philosophic essentialism.McKenna sets out less to right these “baleful circumstances” than to explore them. Through a highly diplomatic “shuttling back and forth between Girard’s and Derrida’s contribution” to our understanding of the foundational occlusionary mechanisms of language and the social, McKenna lays out, definitively in my view, the case for their similarities. But equally evident throughout these chapters both to the reader and McKenna is the “logic of [a] preference” which becomes explicit only in the concluding chapter when he turns to the question of the sacred.For, in McKenna’s view, what Derrida and deconstruction has resisted throughout is its own implication in the very logic of totalization it everywhere exposes, ironically by way of its very persistent and totalizing appeal for dismantling such logic. Derrida’s “systematic indisposition” is “permanent,” “structural,” and “crippling,” “frustrating” its best insights by participating in an antitranscendentalism as old as romanticism and which alone escapes detection, although it licenses the suspicion of all discourse. Deconstructing all philosophy after Plato as literature, Derrida succeeds ironically only in waging Plato’s own battle, recreating the same rigorous synchronic antithesis (philosophy/literature) which is already the stake of Platonic idealism if in reverse polarity.The difference is decisive. Deconstructing philosophic language as writing, metaphor, signifier, text, Derrida repeats the “sacrificial scenario” of philosophy [End Page 252] itself. Mistaking the symptom (the “crisis of all cultural signs”) for the cure, constituting itself as an impossible demand for a “total” or metalinguistic account, deconstructing all language as difference, deferral, or “differance,” deconstruction defers finally to the very representational strategies it exposes. It scapegoats and retrieves in marginalized form the absolute in the face of the antisacrificial staging of truth that great literature posits. What begins as a critique of the widespread “symmetrical allergy to the sacred and to signifiers” concludes on one hand with an exposition of the mechanism of sacralization, and on the other with a via negativa hardly distinguishable from the tradition it opposes, a hypersensitivity to language which may be only the latest version of a transcendental skepticism which has a long and distinguished history in the West, perhaps the history of philosophy itself.One may disagree with McKenna. In fact, in a curious way, not to do so would be to betray the book’s polemical challenge, that we develop a positive knowledge of culture as the product of questioning and examination. But one would be hard put to find a more penetratingly thoughtful study of its topic. It is an example of the practice of intellectual activity at its finest. In an age of mindless epigonism, here is a book about such dangers whose spirit of critical thinking we would do well to emulate.Sandor GoodhartWhitman...

This collection of essays focuses on sacrifice in the context of Jewish and Christian scripture and is inspired by the thought and writings of Rene Girard. The contributors engage in a dialogue with Girard in their search for answers to key questions about the relation between religion and violence. The book is divided into two parts. The first opens with a conversation in which Rene Girard and Sandor Goodhart explore the relation between imitation and violence throughout human history, especially in religious culture. It is followed by essays on the subject of sacrifice contributed by some of the most distinguished scholars in the field, including Bruce Chilton, Robert Daly, Louis Feldman, Michael Fishbane, Erich Gruen, and Alan Segal. The second part contains essays on specific scriptural texts. The authors explore new ways of applying Girardian analysis to episodes of sacrifice and scapegoating, demonstrating that fertile ground remains to further our understanding of violence in the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. "In increasing numbers, scholars are turning to the mimetic theory espoused by Rene Girard in their research for answers to key questions about religion and violence. For the first time, the editors of this volume place in conversation with each other scholars who, from the perspective of Christian and Jewish traditions and scholarship, engage from the perspective of mimetic theory the sacrificial and antisacrificial features of ancient Judaism and early Christianity and explore their subsequent trajectories." --_Martha Reineke, University of Northern Iowa _

In the interest of moving conflict resolution toward reconciliation, theorists have turned to René Girard whose understanding of scapegoating and imitative desire acquires special importance. But Girardian thinking offers no unique ethical solution, and so theorists have turned to Emmanuel Levinas for such an account. Four ideas especially from Levinas appear helpful: his criticism of totality (and, concomitantly, his substitution of the idea of the infinite); the face as an opening (or gateway) to the infinite; the Other (or other individual) and my infinite (or unlimited) responsibility toward her (or him); and language as the dire as opposed to the dit, the saying (or “to say”) as opposed to the said, as one modality in which this openness to the other individual takes place. Combining Girard’s analysis of the sacrificial with Levinas’s analysis of the ethical may offer conflict resolution theorists an account as thoroughgoing and as old as Biblical scripture, and one to which, in the interest of moving toward reconciliation, they would do well to pay heed.

The contribution of this book to the field of reconciliation is both theoretical and practical, recognizing that good theory guides effective practice and practice is the ground for compelling theory. Using a Girardian hermeneutic as a starting point, a new conceptual Gestalt emerges in these essays, one not fully integrated in a formal way but showing a clear understanding of some of the challenges and possibilities for dealing with the deep divisions, enmity, hatred, and other effects of violence. By situating discourse about reconciliation within the context of Girardian thought, it becomes clear that like Peter who vowed he would never deny Jesus but ended up doing it three times any of us is susceptible to the siren call of angry resentment and retaliation. It is with a profound awareness of the power of violence that the emergence of mimetic discourse around reconciliation takes on particular urgency."

To read literature is to read the way literature reads. René Girard’s immense body of work supports this thesis bountifully. Whether engaging the European novel, ancient Greek tragedy, Shakespeare’s plays, or Jewish and Christian scripture, Girard teaches us to read prophetically, not by offering a method he has developed, but by presenting the methodologies they have developed, the interpretative readings already available within (and constitutive of) such bodies of classical writing. In The Prophetic Law, literary scholar, theorist, and critic Sandor Goodhart divides his essays on René Girard since 1983 into four groupings. In three, he addresses Girardian concerns with Biblical scripture (Genesis and Exodus), literature (the European novel and Shakespeare), and philosophy and religious studies issues (especially ethical and Jewish subject matters). In a fourth section, he reproduces some of the polemical exchanges in which he has participated with others—including René Girard himself—as part of what could justly be deemed Jewish-Christian dialogue. The twelve texts that make up the heart of this captivating volume constitute the bulk of the author’s writings to date on Girard outside of his three previous books on Girardian topics. Taken together, they offer a comprehensive engagement with Girard’s sharpest and most original literary, anthropological, and scriptural insights.

The contribution of this book to the field of reconciliation is both theoretical and practical, recognizing that good theory guides effective practice and practice is the ground for compelling theory. Using a Girardian hermeneutic as a starting point, a new conceptual Gestalt emerges in these essays, one not fully integrated in a formal way but showing a clear understanding of some of the challenges and possibilities for dealing with the deep divisions, enmity, hatred, and other effects of violence

Möbian Nights: Literary Reading in a Time of Crisis develops a new understanding of literary reading: that in the wake of disasters like the Holocaust, death remains a premise of our experience rather than a future. Challenging customary "aesthetic" assumptions that we write in order not to die, Sandor Goodhart suggests (with Kafka) we write to die. Drawing upon analyses developed by Girard, Foucault, Blanchot, and Levinas (along with examples from Homer to Beckett), Möbian Nights proposes that all literature works "autobiographically", which is to say, in the wake of disaster; with the credo "I died; therefore, I am"; and for which the language of topology (for example, the "Möbius strip") offers a vocabulary for naming the "deep structure" of such literary, critical, and scriptural sacrificial and anti-sacrificial dynamics.

In his explorations of the relations between the sacred and violence, René Girard has hit upon the origin of culture — the way culture began, the way it continues to organize itself. The way communities of human beings structure themselves in a manner that is different from that of other species on the planet. Like Albert Einstein, Sigmund Freud, Émile Durkheim, Martin Buber, or others who have changed the way we think in the humanities or in the human sciences, Girard has put forth a set of ideas that have altered our perceptions of the world in which we function. We will never be able to think the same way again about mimetic desire, about the scapegoat mechanism, and about the role of Jewish and Christian scripture in explaining sacrifice, violence, and the crises from which our culture has been born. The contributions fall into roughly four areas of interpretive work: religion and religious study; literary study; the philosophy of social science; and psychological studies. The essays presented here are offered as "essays" in the older French sense of attempts or trials of ideas, as indeed Girard has tried out ideas with us. With a conscious echo of Montaigne, then, this hommage volume is titled _Essays in Friendship and in Truth_

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:READING HALACHICALLY AND AGGADICALLY: A RESPONSE TO REUVEN KIMELMAN Sandor Goodhart Purdue University Professor Kimelman's talk is a hard act to follow. I also find myself in a difficult situation because this is the first moment in our gathering in which someone who is genuinely from outside the COV&R group has come in to speak to us. So there is always the potential for the activation ofthe processes ofthe sacred that we know all too well. We'll try to resist that activation, however, and I will attempt to offer my response to Professor Kimelman's paper with humor, although I may not always be entirely successful in my efforts. Part I. Mandatory, discretionary, and holy warfare Professor Reuven Kimelman's paper, "Warfare and its Restrictions in the Jewish Tradition," is a testament to the author's erudition and deep knowledge ofthe Jewish tradition and in particular the Talmudic tradition on the matter of mandatory and discretionary warfare and its relation to ethical conduct. No one who reads Professor Kimelman or who hears him speak can come away without having learned something new, something that will in turn confer new knowledge in other areas and thus contribute to the overall understanding ofTorah and thereby to the goal ofthe ancient Rabbis who compiled these halachic and aggadic materials which is to see Torah as a blueprint of the world. The paper is brimming with the understanding and references appropriate to the subject matter he has chosen to examine, and from the perspective from which he has chosen to read that subject matter. But therein also lies its difficulty. The problem from my point of view is that it is difficult to see how, in the form in which I read his text two weeks ago, it has anything to say to Girardian theory, either in general, or Sandor Goodhart65 with specific relevance to this conference. Moreover, and this is perhaps more troublesome to me, steeped as his paper is within one major tradition of reading within Jewish history, namely, the legalistic tradition of Talmudic reading, it is difficult to see how his paper has anything to say to the other major tradition ofreading within the history ofJudaism, namely, the prophetic tradition. Let me elaborate. It is difficult to see how Professor Kimelman's paper has anything to say to Girardian theory in at least three different ways. (1 ) The paper seems to be largely unaware of Girardian theory and one wonders why this paper is being read here. (2) The paper seems to be largely unaware of the purpose of this particular conference, which is to think about and discuss the institution of violence read from a Girardian perspective. (3) The paper seems to be largely unaware ofthe dynamics of mimetic phenomena whether from a Girardian perspective or from any other. Rather the paper seems to be largely focused on a realpolitik of ethical life in context of mandatory and discretionary warfare as discussed in the Talmud to the virtual exclusion of the mimetic aspect of things, the political to the exclusion ofthe ethical (at least in the sense that I am going to speak about it), the public conception of the ethical to the exclusion of the personal conception of the ethical. Perhaps more troubling, however, is that the paper seems to be largely without commentary upon an alternative understanding of scriptural phenomena, which is, namely, that they are scriptural phenomena, textual phenomena, and not matters of historical reality, of what really happened, or even matters of moral reality, except as that reality passes through Scripture. As an exclusion of this scriptural dimension, and an abstraction of the issues of mandatory and discretionary warfare from their scriptural context, the paper appears to be the product of what I would call a literalist imagination and therefore potentially of theodicy. Why, then, is Reuven Kimelman here? Presumably Bob Daly has told him what this conference is to be about, that it is focused upon Girardian theory, either in general or in specific guise ofthe topic: namely, violence and institution in Judaism. Presumably, Reuven Kimelman also knows about the other tradition of Judaism beside the legalistic tradition from which he reads since he...

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:FROM SACRIFICIAL VIOLENCE TO RESPONSIBILITY: THE EDUCATION OF MOSES IN EXODUS 2-4 Sandor Goodhart Purdue University When toward the end of his life Moses tried to stave off death, God said to him: "Did I tell you to slay the Egyptian?" (Midrash in Plaut 383) I. Education in Plato and Judaism The word "education", of course, comes from the Latin, educare, meaning "to lead out" or "to bring up," and both its Latinate morphology and the semantic value it assumes in English reflect its peculiar history. To "lead out" implies in the first place leadership, which is to say a relationship between one designated as a "leader" and another (or others) designated as the "led." The notion of leadership also entails a movement through which the leader propels the led, namely from a region designated as "inside," to another designated as "outside." Within the Western context, which is to say, within the Western European historical experience which traces itselfback through the romance language speaking countries to Rome and ultimately to Greece, the primary articulator ofthe notion of education we have inherited is, of course, Plato. Although Plato's Republic is nominally about justice, and even more specifically the "just" state, commentators have long pointed out that it is really about education (see, for example, Havelock). How shall the guardians ofthe state that we shall term "just" be educated?, Plato's interlocutors ask themselves. In this regard, of course, Plato was challenging the educational system already in place at the time at the head of which was Homer and the Homeric epics, and substituting for an older oral culture founded on an elaborate system of mnemonics another founded more decisively upon writing and the alphabet. Some have argued that in place of a aural or Sandor Goodhart1 3 hearing-centered culture Plato was inaugurating a visual or video-centric cultural organization, and much work is currently being done in this area (see, for example, Ong). What was Plato's educational solution? It was an appeal, in short, to the true, to the language of reason, and to the realm of the ontological as the context in which the true could be defined. The true, as the phenomenological tradition has taught us, may be regarded as the separation of that which has being from that which does not have being, that which only appears or seems to be from that which truly is. Reason in this context is the method or modality ofthinking by which such difference or distinction between the true and the false becomes articulated. Education may then be said to be the process by which all of this occurs, by which one learns to separate appearances from reality, the true from the false, the reasonable from the unreasonable, and thereby the process by which one avoids slavery. For at bottom the enemy for Plato remains slavery and the goal remains freedom from its ravages. Plato, for one, defines his program in specific opposition to Greek tragedy, which he takes among the species ofmimesis or of mimetic poesis that he cites to be the worst threat to his program of absolute difference. The tragic poets leave us without an antidote, he tells us, to its irresistible seductions. Even the best of us—by which he would certainly include Socrates, who has been educating these young men about the processes of education—go to the theater, follow the theatrical performance with enthusiasm, beat their breasts along with the players, and finally praise as most worthy those playwrights who most enable this enthusiasm to take place. The distinction between the true and the mimetic, between the true and the imitational or representational, between that which has being and that which only shadows being, is always on the verge of collapsing in this context. And as a consequence the only safe state, Plato tells us, is the one that excludes theatrical performance from its premises. There is no place in the present context to develop any further the complicated relationship Plato has with his predecessors, and I have hinted at this relationship elsewhere (see Goodhart 261). Suffice it to say that Plato remains in this regard the master in Western circles ofall...

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:OBEYING BAD ORDERS AND SAVING LIVES: THE STORY OF A FRENCH OFFICER Pierre d'Elbée Société Caminno, Paris The story is told that during the Paris riots of 1 848, a military officer received an order to evacuate a certain square by firing upon the "rabble." He left the garrison with his troops and started for the square to be cleared. Upon his arrival, he took up a position with his soldiers who raised their guns to fire upon the crowd. In the profound silence that ensued, he cried: "I have received the order to fire upon the rabble; but as I perceive before me many honest people, I ask them to depart so that I may execute this order." In a few moments, the square was vacant. In circumstances such as these, a decision that saves both others and oneself is not easy to achieve. In such a repressive framework where legal violence is permitted, it is the duty of an officer to obey the order of his superiors, and when we hear or read this story for the first time, we do not see how a happy outcome is possible. The story ought to be dramatic, but what is astonishing is precisely that it is not. We expect the worst, which is what usually happens, the most optimistic among us perhaps hoping secretly for a happy end. But happy endings belong to the universe ofthe marvelous, and life does not resemble a story, as the pessimist murmurs within us. Still, it is the happy ending that in fact occurs, and our astonishment is bound to its improbability. Is it chance? Luck? Inspiration? Premeditation? No doubt there is something of all of this in the officer's decision, and his elegant intervention raises a smile in our skeptical hearts. It testifies that although not easy, one can discover a new way that responds to the secret hope of being really ourselves without getting caught within the web of necessity. Such an attractive path merits no doubt that we dwell on it a little more. 46Pierre d'Elbée Let us follow the officer and imagine we are in his place. It is clear that what is most striking in this story is the moment ofthe face-to-face between the officer and the crowd. It is worthwhile to back up a little, however. From the moment he receives his order to the moment of the face-to-face, the officer must live through some very bad moments: it is no little thing to fire upon a crowd even if legality is on our side. We all know that the worst crimes have been perpetrated under the cover of obedience. Such refuge within authority is rather a hell where one abdicates a part of oneself. The function ofan officer does not stop him from being equally a man, one with feelings, beliefs, values. He knows that the rioters, whatever their fight, cannot be reduced to the term "rabble." Rabble, "rabid," dog. These people deserve no doubt a bit more consideration than that. Who can assert that the riot does not express real sufferings, legitimate rights, slighted dignities? Who could feel comfortable executing the individual who claims his due? A praiseworthy indignation. From that point to justify an heroic ethics of non-violence, is only a small step. "No, I will not fire upon a crowd whose wrong or right deed is to be angry." The officer must undoubtedly have in mind similar thoughts. Inversely, perhaps he justifies himself by saying to himselfthat after all, the rioters disturb the public order. Ifone does not react vigorously and repressively, the riot could degenerate into a general revolution. The order is justified not only by legality but also by a morality ofthe common good. And anyway, ifhe does not empty the square by firing upon the crowd, someone else will. So he might as well do the dirty job himselfto avoid shifting the weight ofthis responsibility onto someone else. And thus, to the devil with such qualms. Life is sufficiently complicated as it is. Let us put it simply: my job as an officer is to obey orders? I obey. On...

The author’s comparative study of Genesis 22 and Sura 37 is intended to shed light on key questions arising from Girard’s own ambivalent comments on Islam and its alleged return to “archaic” religion. Goodhart’s contribution to the major task of interpreting our contemporary situation is a close comparative reading of the named texts. They share, he claims, a common trajectory of anti-idolatry and the “war against child sacrifice.” They urge us toward a new dramatic view of the akeidah, one in which “we must learn to hear commandments in quotation marks, i.e. prophetically.” The core tradition of anti-idolatry is more implicit in the biblical tradition and its commentaries but is explicitly expressed in the Qur’an. In each case, the call to “read prophetically”—“with the eyes of the prophet”—is identical.