Que(er/ry)ing Christianity:
Questions, Answers, and More Questions
Christina L. Ivey
University of Nebraska - Lincoln
Caught at a divide between fundamentalist Judeo-Christian rhetoric and
secular queer discourse, queer Christians face dificult obstacles in enacting/
embodying their identity. Bohache (2003) claims that a queer Christology,
or developing a queer view of Christianity, is a potentially beneicial way to
reconcile this identity gap. To explore this claim, I demonstrate a need to also
examine the way in which a queer Christian body enacts a queer and Christian
identity by juxtaposing my own narrative as a queer Christian in a religious
setting against queer theory. Using Pelias’ (1999) guidelines for poetic essay,
I weave queer theory throughout my own story as a means to explore how a
queering of Christianity can be performed or questioned. Though many may
be uncomfortable with a dialogue that leaves nothing but questions, I ind
that those questions are what keep us revisiting these identity intersections
that are constantly in lux and encourages continuing conversations.
Keywords: Queer Theory; Christianity; Christophobia; Identity Gaps;
Poetic Essay
I identify as a pansexual who also identifies as queer. I also identify as
a Christian. Despite knowing these two things about myself, I do not know
if I embody queer Christian. Do I make these identities salient at the same
time, or do I tend to compartmentalize the two? When I realized the societal
contradiction that these two identities held, I immediately began to search
for answers. I discovered the ministry of Bishop Gene Robinson, the first
openly gay priest to be ordained by the Episcopal Church. Bishop Robinson
was featured in several documentaries that I watched as I grappled with my
queer and Christian identities. As I watched his story unfold on the screen,
I was struck by a sense of awe and envy for his ability to find a sense of
peace in his seemingly-contrary identity positions. So I was ecstatic when I
found out that he was coming to speak at a church in my town. Maybe, just
maybe, I could finally get the answers I was looking for in my own struggle
through his words and queer Christian embodiment.
There were several obstacles from the start. Before the night even
came I had difficulty tracking down information for the event. The
Christina L. Ivey is a doctoral student in the Department of Communication Studies at
the University of Nebraska - Lincoln. An earlier edition of this paper was presented at
the National Autoethnography Conference in March of 2014 at Angelo State University.
She would like to thank the editors and reviewers at Kaleidoscope for their gracious
insight and feedback, as well as Dr. Stacey Waite for her guidance and support.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Christina L. Ivey
53
website gave two separate dates and two different venues and every
time I tried to call the church, a machine answered. After leaving
several messages, I finally received a phone call an hour before his
lecture started. My partner had also rolled her ankle (which had been
previously injured), and she tripped getting out of the car when we
arrived at the church. Watching her wince with pain up each step,
I finally said, “We should just go home. You look miserable, which
makes me feel miserable for dragging you out here. It’s miserably
cold. We’re miserably tired. Maybe this is all a sign we aren’t
supposed to be here anyway.”
“You know you’re supposed to be here.”
Yes, I did have the feeling that for some reason we were supposed to
be there. But what was that feeling? How did I know I was exactly
where I was supposed to be at that moment, even though everything
around me told me that I didn’t belong?
From here, I could easily begin to debate whether or not the “feeling”
I had was a direct connection to my spirit (or even the Holy Spirit), or
whether I was having a common déjà vu experience that was drawing me
to the church that evening. Through this paper, I demonstrate a need to
examine the way in which a queer Christian body (body here referring to
my actual, physical body) enacts their queer and Christian identities by
juxtaposing my own narrative within a religious context with queer theory.
Bohache (2003) suggests that it is imperative that Christology be queered,
as well as queried, in order to question hetero-patriarchal complexities.
My hope is that this piece will add to the conversation by both queering
Christianity and asking for more queries on the subject. I envision this
project to be similar to Alexander (2003) work - to query queer theory in
order to revisit possibilities and limitations of its usage and investigate the
absence of certain voices in queer literature. Alexander specifically spoke
of the exclusion of voices of color, whereas I am interested in exploring
the dearth of Christian voices.1
To account for the desire to discuss the embodiment of Christian queer
identity within the rational/faith divide of the academy, I employ Pelias’
(1999) guidelines for a poetic essay. Pelias explains that a poetic essay helps
achieve an embodied performance by remaining coherent (intelligible),
1 I recognize that Christianity is not the only religion that people practice. However,
due to its cultural influence in the U.S. in general, and my life in particular, I believe
there is ample cause to interrogate its cultural logics. Furthermore, some may argue
that queer identified people should leave Christianity to pursue a spiritual life that
affirms their identity or abandon religion altogether. (O’Brien’s (2004) gives a good
summation of both sides). However, as I address in this paper, I believe that queer
theory offers methods to rupture Christianity in ways that can affirm LGBTQ
identity, and provide a discursive challenge to heterosexist ideologies.
54
plausible (credible), imaginative (literary), and empathic (respectful of
others in the work). This work can also be woven with theoretical concepts
as a means to “poeticize the theoretical and locate it in the personal” (Pelias,
1999, p. xii). Perhaps by overlaying my faith grounded questions with
rational answers, I can locate a space where the two can coexist. First, I
need to elucidate the gravity of the first obstacle proposed in my narrative:
my identity crisis.
Identity Gap: Homophobia and Christophobia
Jung and Hecht (2004) studies the gaps between personal and relational
layers of identity, as well as how individuals enact personal identity gaps.
Specifically, their study focuses on how different layers of one’s identity
function together. Often, when discrepancies occur between an individual’s
perception of herself and how others view her, a gap-like construct is formed,
representing a drive to reduce or avoid the differences in two conflicting
identities. Discrepancies stemming from this particular identity gap are
associated with feeling a lack of pride or interest, loneliness, and insecurity.
These discrepancies can develop as a result of a lack of information about
an individual, stereotypes, or other communicative factors (Wadsworth,
Hecht, & Jung, 2008).
Many queer individuals are caught in the gap between two seemingly
conflicting identities: their religious and queer identity. In the current sociopolitical climate, it is not uncommon to hear the argument that one cannot
be both queer and Christian (Karslake, 2007). Scripture is a common tool
used by Biblical literalists to justify this argument, and Leviticus 18:22 is a
popular verse used for such debate: “Do not lie with a man as one lies with
a woman; it is an abomination” (New International Version; Ivey, 2012;
Karslake, 2007). Due to dominant narratives that echo this message, many
queer and Christian individuals forsake their religious identity or their queer
identity to prevent the potential stigma of holding both identities.
Typically, when fundamentalist Christian denominations discuss issues
concerning homosexuality, they are referring to lesbian and gay individuals
within and outside of their congregations. Their rhetoric alludes to sexuality
as opposed to gender identity. Jagose (1996) states, “In emphasizing the
malleability of gender and sexuality, each has an avowedly constructionist
understanding of sexuality” (p. 60). Due to this constructionist approach, I
argue that the misunderstandings by traditional Church doctrines, regarding
queer bodies and sexuality, have led to any physical body read as non-gender
conforming—according to scripture—being the target of rhetorical attacks
from fundamentalist groups. As such, I understand that while sex and gender
should not be easily conflated, addressing the Church’s construction requires
me to address both sex and gender under the same rhetoric; therefore, I
choose to utilize the malleability of the term ‘queer’ to act as an oscillation
between the two. Here, I use ‘queer’ to refer to those bodies that are nonKaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Christina L. Ivey
55
normatively defined in their everyday, mundane performance, primarily
through disruptions of fundamentalist scripture interpretations. When I
use the phrase ‘queer theory,’ I am referring to theoretical frameworks that
are meant to describe those particular disruptions in order to engage in a
“language of critique and a language of possibility” (Alexander, 2003, p. 352).
Queer individuals that enact their Christian religious identity face what
O’Brien (2004) refers to as a “double stigma” in social interactions. In
performing her ethnographic study of, O’Brien (2004) participated in five
Pride parades from three major cities across the United States. Each parade
was as unique as the city that hosted it, with one exception:
In each case, the crowd responds enthusiastically at this
display of support and acceptance. The marchers glow in
acknowledgement. This is not what surprises me. Rather,
it is the contrast in the crowd’s response to another group
of marchers: lesbian and gay Christians. In these three
very distinct US cities I wandered up and down the
streets during each parade, watching as merry crowds fell
silent at the appearance of these marchers. Everywhere
the response was the same: silence, broken only by an
occasional boo. I was stunned. These otherwise very
‘normal’ looking but openly queer men and women were
being booed at their own Pride Parades. (O’Brien, 2004,
p. 180, emphasis added)
Bohache (2003) furthers the findings depicted in O’Brien’s work by
claiming that there is a “deep-seated feeling among many gays and lesbians
that Jesus Christ is not an option for them,” or a condition he refers to as
“christophobia” (p. 12). This christophobia is not only evident in the example
provided by O’Brien (2004), but also seen in queer literature/media as well
as the “I’m going to hell anyway, so I’m going to have a good time doing it”
mentality prevalent in queer youth (Bohache, 2003, p. 13). To Bohache, the
fear of eternal damnation and oppressive church experiences lead to queers
abandoning Christianity.
Undoubtedly, this phobia also stems from harms done to queer Christians
within the Church. Even the atrocities committed by the Church to nonChristian queers are a warning to queer Christians to stay silent about their
queer identity. O’Brien (2004) argues that queer individuals often fall into
an identity gap created by the two societal forces of a traditional JudeoChristian narrative and a more secular queer reaction. How then is it possible
to make sense out of this identity conundrum? Johnson (2013) claims that the
Church can be “not just a space of condemnation, but also one of celebration
and recognition” (p. 212). He further explains that many individuals will
compartmentalize their identity when hearing homophobic messages, either
by telling themselves the messages do not apply to them or by acknowledging
that everyone has their own sin (Johnson, 2008).
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Bohache’s (2003) extends the idea of compartmentalization of the
two identities by positing that within this identity gap, it could be possible
to develop an “unapologetic queer Christology,” or a Christianity created
through a queer lens (p. 16). His work on queer Christology is mainly
focused on interpretations of Christ as an example for the queer community;
a reclaiming of Christian narratives for application and appropriation in queer
lives. This approach not only addresses the homophobia in the Church, but
also the christophobia lurking in the identity gap: a potential contribution to
the self-hating queer phenomenon.
O’Brien (2004) notes that, “Christians who have acknowledged their
homosexuality do not have the luxury of semi-conscious spirituality” (p. 190).
In other words, queer Christians have to repeatedly visit the spaces of these
dual identities in order to feel fulfilled in both. I, too, have faced this desire to
frequently examine my spiritual identity; however, I am also confronted with
the problems surrounding my role as a scholar. Although there are departments
and areas of study for theology and religion, there is no denying the existence
of a rational/faith divide within academia, as well as much of society. This
divide, although not explicitly shown in scholarship, is visible in the residuals
of scholarship. For instance, while describing a moment of being asked to sing
during a Black Church service while visiting home, Johnson (2013) states,
“Given my queer consciousness as an openly gay academic, I always oblige
the request with some trepidation” (p. 212). This description is meant to draw
attention to how the identity of queer is not welcomed into a holy space; yet,
the inclusion of “gay academic” can also be interpreted as a suggestion that an
academic also makes one an outsider in the space. As a student who identifies
as religious/spiritual, I am often confronted with this outsider mentality during
seminars composed primarily of religious skeptics. As this divide seems to also
be an issue in the queer/Christian body, it is important to keep this in mind as
I tackle the task of explicating my identity, and subsequently, theorize about
the role of identity gaps.
Query #1: Why have I Strayed Away from the Church?
Sitting in the congregation, I began to analyze the interior of the
church. It was a beautiful gothic style sanctuary, with high arches
decorated with Christian symbols intermingled with geometric
designs in blue. The pews were made of a darker wood, lined up to
the left and right of the sanctuary. Hanging from the ceiling near the
pulpit was a large sign emblazoned with gold lettering. Psalm 23.
“The Lord is my Shepherd.” The atmosphere was nothing like the
mega churches I had been dragged to by friends in the South. My
partner, having been raised Catholic, leaned over and remarked at
how comfortable she felt here. “It just feels like home. Is this what
you’re used to?”
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“Not at all. When I was younger, we went to dusty backwoods Baptist
churches on Easter and Christmas. In college, all my friends went to
Evangelical mega churches so I did, too. Large theatre in the round
arenas, million dollar light systems, five thousand plus capacity...
nothing like this.”
“You seem uncomfortable. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. Why? Do I look uncomfortable?”
She paused for a moment, looking directly into my eyes, “Have you
been in a church since we’ve been together?”
I hadn’t thought about this, but no, I had not. Why?
The traditional Judeo-Christian foundation is based upon a heteropatriarchal interpretation that is often criticized for its views on gender, race,
and class. This dominant Christian ideology has been used to ostracize minority
perspectives within the religious community (Karslake, 2007; Ivey, 2012).
Historically, the genesis of ‘-ism’s (e.g. sexism, racism, and heterosexism)
stems from an absence of minority voices/perspectives, including the
heterosexism that produces anti-queer rhetoric (Bohache, 2003; Chavez,
2004; Karslake, 2007). In response to this hegemonic discourse, Bohache
(2003) claims he began to theorize about christophobia as it complicates
the notion of being in a relationship with a Christ that has been said to hate
those that do not comply with a normative gender understanding. A focus
on the relationship to Christ as opposed to an institution (the Church) sets
christophobia apart from ecclesiophobia, or dislike for the Church, and in many
ways can be more difficult to overcome. Ecclesiophobia can be addressed by
separating oneself from the Church, or finding a Church that is more in line
with a particular way of thinking of the individual. But how can one separate
Christ from Christianity? Associating those who have wronged them in the
Church with Christ creates a space where individuals (like queer individuals)
fear a relationship with someone who has caused them pain. Bohache states
christophobia is “as factually bankrupt as homophobia and just as pernicious,
for it separates many spiritually focused and religiously gifted individuals from
a path that could bring them the fulfillment they have sought and been unable
to find elsewhere” (p. 12). In order to reconcile religious identity and gender
identity, queer Christians must confront both the homophobic residuals from
the dominant Judeo-Christian narrative and the deep fear of a relationship with
Christ based on their queer identity (Bohache, 2003).
The solution seems too obvious. Of course it would make sense that
in order to be a queer Christian, one must not be afraid of either identity.
Conquering one phobia is difficult enough: but two? This seems nearly
impossible, especially for those who were raised in a more fundamentally
58
based Christian standpoint. A fear of Christ sounds almost blasphemous,
yet in some Christian traditions, a fear of God and His wrath is completely
rational and even encouraged. Is there more to a reconciliation of identity than
just grappling with the fear of each? There seems to be a social disciplining
found within phobia rhetoric. Bishop Robinson addresses this issue by stating
that one way in which queer advocates can reach fundamentalist Christians
is by stopping the use of the term “homophobia.” Instead, he proposes that
the term “heterosexism” be used. The use of “-phobia” makes the problem
extremely personal, whereas “-ism” focuses on the social. How, then, can
the idea of christophobia be addressed as a social critique as opposed to a
personal problem? Is it possible for a christism to exist in the power dynamic
of our current social system?
Query #2: Is There an Ideal ‘Queer Christian’?
Soon, the pastor introduced Bishop Gene Robinson, stating the Bishop
had spent the past thirty hours traveling due to flooding in Chicago.
As Robinson began his lecture, I could not help but be distracted
by the elderly gentlemen sitting next to us. “Oh dear Lord. A mouth
breather,” I said to myself as I used all my energy to focus on the
bishop. “Why do they always have to sit by me?”
The bishop was shorter than I thought he would be, but just as
animated as he was in all the interviews I had seen with him. This
was impressive to me, considering his lack of sleep and fatigue from
travelling. He was humorous, charming, approachable; everything
I thought he would embody. As he continued to speak, I started to
become physically uncomfortable. It had been years since I had
sat in a wooden church pew, and I did not remember them being
this rough. I wiggled, turned, and was vaguely aware that I was
frustrating those behind me that were trying to watch. “Uh,” I
internally groaned. “Do I just not have the body or patience to
sit through these things anymore? How does Robinson stay so
animated even though he’s been through so much?” My body...my
queer body...did not seem to hold a candle to his tenacity that made
up a perfect queer Christian.
Bodies, how we live them as well as how they are disciplined, are as
socially constructed as the language we use. Using a Lacanian approach to
identity, Salamon (2010) describes the body as being socially constructed
through particular procedures:
The body as it exists for me, the corps proper, only comes
to be once the ‘literal body’ assumes meaning through
image, posture, and touch. And each of these examples of
operations that constitute the body–image, posture, and
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touch – are predicated on distance. The externality of both
image and touch would appear to be obvious, as would the
distance necessary in the operations of identification and
projection. (p. 25, original emphasis) Distance, as prescribed
here, refers to the space between us and the exemplars of
the identities we wish to embody, or the reflections that are
seen by standing in front of society’s mirror.
Obtaining that identity, then, would seem as simple as reaching out
for that image, utilizing touch and posture, to perform our desired identity.
Salamon contends that it may not be that simple. She continues to explain that
if the image that we are trying to connect with is an idealized exemplar, the
distance will never be overcome due to “it’s location in the visual register”
(p. 23). The connection becomes symbolic, possibly even internalized; yet,
the individual attempting to embody the image will never be satisfied with
their own performance. It is like young children trying to mold their body
to fit the plasticity of action figures or dolls; no matter how hard they try
to modify themselves, their envisioned goal will never be actualized. To
resist this notion of identity “does not result in cultural legibility but, on
the contrary, can only come at the price of representation itself” (Salamon,
2010, p. 24). Essentially, if we cannot embody the ideal, we try to convince
ourselves that it must not exist; and therefore, stop trying to close the distance
with our preferred identity.
Perhaps what bothered me most is that I wanted to see the weak points.
It is in moments of queer failure that we can see how the performance is
constructed, which helps in our own construction of performance. Alexander
(2003) elucidates the urge to witness the weakness stating, “as much
as I appreciate the performative accomplishment of good drag, and the
ephermeralized instance of the performative act of passing, I sometimes like
bad drag better” (p. 351). Ruptures act as an important moment of possibility
for individuals seeking to see themselves in the mundane performance of
others. Yes, it would seem as though Robinson typifies the ideal queer
Christian body, at least in comparison to me. Despite having different yet
similar obstacles, Bishop Robinson maintained a level of focus and energy
that I could not. Like the first query, the solution to frustration stemming
from idealizing a queer Christian seems obvious: do not idolize an individual
embodiment. True, Christians are told not to idolize anyone on Earth, but
what about the divinity of Jesus as the ideal being? How does a queering
of Christianity embodiment account for Christ’s body? Is that the preferred
identity, and if so, can we say it does not exist like Salamon suggests? In
corporeality, individuals often discipline the body at the expense of the
mind and spirit. Spirituality, however, can ask that one to ignore normative
concerns about the body for the sake of spiritual healing. Is it possible to
create an intersection of the two that is mutually inclusive of the values in
place for the body and spirit as opposed to exclusive of one or the other?
60
Query #3: Why is My Body Rejecting the Church?
I once again tried to aim all of my focus on what Bishop Robinson
was saying. He began to talk about how to approach discussions
about Biblical passages with individuals who choose to use verses to
justify their negative positions against queer individuals in debate.
He initiated by saying, “Before I even begin these conversations, I
always ask what context we are referring to when we are discussing
these verses.” He then described how he typically defends the
acknowledgement of context through an analogy of baseball. “Let’s
pretend that it’s the year 3000, and the game of baseball has long
since been forgotten. Historical archeologists have uncovered a book
published in the year 2000, in which the author describes a character
as being ‘out in left field.’ For those of us living now, we know exactly
what this means. You have a batter stepping up to the plate, so you
have a batter that is probably right handed. Chances of him hitting
it in left field are pretty slim. So, you have a person standing in left
field, out in the middle of nowhere, waiting for something that will
probably never come. Now, sure the inhabitants of Earth in the year
3000 will probably know what ‘left’ is, and they will probably know
what a ‘field’ is...but, but without the contextual knowledge of the
game of baseball, it is hard to say that they will know exactly what
the author is trying to convey.”
The subject of context always forces me to think about what baggage
we carry into conversations based on the context we are in currently.
We are in an age of Supreme Court rulings that will decide the
rights for the LGBTQ. We are in an era of Westboro Baptist Church
that celebrates the destruction of cities as God’s Will being done on
Earth. This last thought sent a wave of paranoia over me. I suddenly
had this fear that I had placed myself in a situation in which I
could be the target for some of the awful catastrophes motivated
by political ideologies that were appearing on the news. My body
became physically ill, I started to sweat, and began to exhibit anxious
gestures and body posturing. If I had been sitting further in the back
or closer to a quick exit access, I would have left my seat. “What is
happening to me?” I thought, as I quickly scanned the room looking
for others who must have also had this realization. I was nervous,
afraid, on the verge of tears...and the scariest part was I did not know
why. I could not rationally wrap my head around a logical answer.
Noticing my sudden change in demeanor, my partner placed her hand
on my knee to comfort me, and my breath began to slow down to
match hers. As a non-normative body, I could sense a moment where I
was potentially in a place of danger. It felt very intuitive; almost as if
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I was some animal being hunted and I could sense the footsteps of the
enemy nearby.
The comparison between non-normative bodies and nonhuman animal
bodies occurs often in debates about queerness; in fact, there are entire books
dedicated to the topic (e.g., Alaimo, 2010; McWhorter, 2010). The question
of “what is natural?” leads those inquiring to look at the animal kingdom
as a means of answering whether or not queer embodiment is something
that exists across species. Historically, sexologists residing in the fields of
medicine, psychiatry, and even criminology have characterized homosexual
acts as deviant as well, resulting in “popular images of homosexual and
transgender people as menacing degenerates who were due no respect,
‘therapies’ that destroyed many people’s health and lives, and public-hygiene
policies intended to eliminate or exploit sexual subcultures” (McWhorter,
2010, p. 75). Deviancy is not to be tolerated by a dominant species, and
those who are viewed as degenerates (whether for their dark skin, their dis/
abled bodies, or their sexual acts) are viewed as a toxin or hindrance to the
advancement of Homo sapiens. As such, there has existed an instinctual
yearning to purge those who represent this threat from the species altogether.
McWhorter posits, these eugenic discourses need to be challenged on both a
philosophical as well as political level, as an “evolutionary asset rather than
a sterile dead end” (p. 76).
Placed in a situation in which both identities were salient (and potentially
combative), it became clear to me that my life was potentially in danger:
the paranoia and anxiety I experienced had me absolutely convinced that
something awful was going to happen because I was in a lecture about being
both queer and Christian. Whether or not this was actually true became
irrelevant to my bodily senses; and therefore, by physiological reactions.
It was as if my body inherently knew it was given the label “toxic” and
therefore “expendable.” This led me to wonder, what does this societal/
rhetorical purging do to a queer body?
Query #4: Why am I Hearing So Many Contradictions?
When I was finally able to focus again on the lecture, Bishop Robinson
was explaining Christian scripture states that there would be periods
of struggle when taking up any cause. “We know this; this isn’t
something new. ‘Therefore put on the whole armor of God....take up
the cross and follow me.’ We’ve heard this all before.”
Yes, yes I had heard this before. Many times, actually. It was
something chanted from the mouths of babes in my youth groups,
incorporated in sermons from the large, Baptist fed ministers of my
old churches, and sweetly whispered from the loyal elderly women
who wished to provide encouraging quips to those who seemed
62
spiritually challenged. The difference is that when I had previously
heard these verses, it was usually to warn us about the “evil
homosexuals” who planned to “pervert God’s plan for marriage.”
How could the same thing be said during a speech that was supposed
to advocate for gay marriage?
Butler (1990) argues that in order to combat issues surrounding gender
identity, there needs to be instances in which individuals trouble gender.
This inversion, in the ways in which we think about and discuss gender, is
done as a means to “stir things up,” making answers not easily attainable by
applying normative theory (Bohache, 2003). In queering traditional norms,
it is important to explore ways in which to disrupt “fictive foundations,”
but it is also imperative to remain self-critical in this exploration (Butler,
1990). Because these foundations permeate most of society, it is quite easy
to fall along this normative line of thinking and rationalizing. By doing so,
we inherently limit the queer embodiment by using the same argumentation.
For example, in investigating the rhetoric of Soulforce, one of the
largest organizations geared towards the inclusion of queer individuals
in the Christian Church, Chávez (2004) uncovered a breach of queering
argumentation. She found that in response to statements made by the
Church claiming that homosexuality was unnatural, Soulforce argued that
homosexuality was indeed natural, and all LGBT individuals were born that
way. She questioned whether or not all queers are born this way (herself
included), and determined that this argumentation was problematic. She
concluded that by using biological arguments, Soulforce was accepting the
“essentialist binary opposition that being gay is either a choice or determined”
(p. 258). This is problematic on two levels: (1) It allows the Church to
parametricize or take control over how particular issues are defined within
the debate, giving them an advantage; and (2) It could potentially lead
to misrepresentation of the individuals that Soulforce claims to advocate
(Chávez, 2004). These arguments are not to take away from the experiences
of queer individuals who believe they were born queer. Just like Christians
wrongfully use the ex-gay argument indicative of religious reparative
therapy to universalize the performance of sexuality, it is wrong to limit
queer experience to being something that everyone performs similarly.
This mentality reifies dominant discourses about sexuality, perpetuating
normative disciplining of gender stereotypes (Sloop, 2004). Butler (1990)
proposes that the solution to this trap of dominant discourse is to acknowledge
the contradictions within personal politics, and realize that unity does not
necessarily mean solidarity; coalitional construction between queers should
be the goal of the movement.
Contextually, the problem of only associating God with the ‘naturalness’
of heterosexuality in these debates may stem from a literalist foundation of
Biblical principles as opposed to a more interpretivist concept of the Bible.
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A queer read of the Bible would suggest an acknowledgement of context, as
language and experience is bound within circumstantial situation surrounding
the two. Should body also be contextual? Can these contextually identified
bodies be united even if they do not represent solidarity expression?
Query #5: Should I Come Out Again?
During the question and answer period, one man disclosed that he
had a daughter who had come out as a lesbian two years earlier. He
explained that he and his wife had struggled with this, but have since
come to accept their daughter and love her for who she is. “Do you
have any advice, Bishop, for parents going through what we went
through? What would you say to parents who just found out that their
child is gay?”
“Well actually, I think I should first say that children tend to be more
comfortable coming out as gay to their parents than coming out as
religious to LGBT friends. Yes, it is a hard emotional time for children,
but it’s also important for you to take care of yourself. PFLAG (Parents,
Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) is a great resource, but
if that’s not available, make sure that you are also supported with
this. It isn’t just the child that is affected, it’s the entire family.”
I had heard about queer people being afraid to ‘come out’ as
religious to their friends through interviews with individuals
while researching for previous studies. Watching the reactions
from members of the audience, I realized that this conundrum was
something new to most everyone in the audience. I wanted him to
spend more time with this idea, to maybe talk about how he has seen
others deal with this issue. I was not happy with that just being a fact
to be tossed out and glossed over. Did I need to come out again, this
time as Christian?
For those who fall within an identity gap, the risk of ideological
clawback is high. Ideological clawback refers to how, in a culture’s yearning
to preserve certain norms, society will encourage those who fall outside the
realm of expected behavior to adhere to those norms by “clawing them back”
(or disciplining them) based upon normative rules (Dow & Wood, 2006;
Fiske & Hartley, 1978; Sloop, 2004). It acts as a nucleus, or a gravitational
pull centered in a cultural construct that attempts to keep those within the
culture orbiting around the dominate narrative. Straying too far away from
this narrative (like queer bodies tend to do) will result in a chaotic effect
within the culture.
Typically, literature published on this phenomenon demonstrates how
mass media utilizes this construct to discipline bodies that fall outside of the
64
bounds of the gender binary (Dow & Wood, 2006; Sloop, 2004), however,
this is not the only use of this concept. Queer Christians face ideological
clawback from the hetero-dominate culture, but they also face stigma and
prejudice from other queer members (Bohache, 2003; Ivey, 2012; O’Brien,
2004). Discipline at this level is due to an acknowledged vulnerability within
the culture because of the push back from heterosexism; and therefore, a
desire to protect against that pushback. A binary is still being protected,
however, as queer individuals who engage in tactics that ostracize queer
Christians are reinforcing a Christian/Non-Christian binary (Christianity is
understood here as a non queering Christianity).
When faced with multiple ideological clawbacks that arise when placed
in an identity gap, difficulties inevitably erupt. As such, it also becomes
problematic to accept representations of queer Christianity when facing
one, idealized or not; therefore, how does one achieve a relatively stasis
embodiment? Is this possible? Could creating a point of contact, such as
coming out again as a Christian, produce portrayals of possibility? As it is
imperative that a culture needs these portrayals as a means of existence, can
cultures form without them?
Que(er/ry)ing the Future
For the future of a queer Christianity, it is important to stay mobilized
in providing “subversive confusion” (Butler, 1990, p. 34). In troubling both
religion and gender, the articulation of a queer Christian identity “involves
transforming a discourse of shame and silence (with the promise of exile)
into a narrative of pride and expression” (O’Brien, 2004, p. 194). This
embodiment is imperative to excavating the intersection of homophobia
and christophobia in two ways: (1) Forcing institutions to continue “creative
dialogue with tradition and articulate discursive strategies that enable them
to retain significant (often contradictory) aspects of self while maintaining
religious commitments” (O’Brien, 2004, p. 192), and (2) Pushing for a
development of discourse in which secularized culture and religious/faith
based culture can discuss issues. As the homophobia in traditional JudeoChristian rhetoric is a prevalent problem, much is being done to address
the first concern. Bishop Robinson is an example of just one of the many
individuals speaking up for a queer narrative with Christian discourse. In
addressing christophobia, however, far less attention is being drawn to those
who are struggling with their fear of the Church. Part of the reason for the
lack of focus could be a lack of dialogue occurring at the rational/faith divide.
If two sides of an issue cannot communicate, then disputes will never be
resolved. This problem can be addressed on an academic level. As scholars,
we need to understand that religion in general, and Christianity in particular,
is a large part of many identities, and denying them access into the dusty
halls of the academy prevents many individuals from fully actualizing their
identity within their work.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Christina L. Ivey
65
By far, the most difficult part of the narrative to share was the moment
in which I was irrationally and physiologically reacting to Bishop Robinson’s
lecture (Query #3), as it demonstrated a vulnerability that is often frowned
upon by academics. Frentz (2009) argues that “expressing vulnerable feelings
is neither easy to do nor widely accepted in academia even when done well.
The canonical conventions of scholarly writing legislate against it” (p. 839).
As a result, rhetorically revisiting this part of the narrative and applying theory
creates a space in which my embodiment is threatened. Does a rational/faith
divide produce effects similar to queer Christians for those whose bodies are
labeled “toxic” to scholarly work?
Finally, it is important to continue to query this and other perceptions
of identity. As Butler (1990) notes:
This antifoundationalist approach to coalitional politics
assumes neither that ‘identity’ is a premise nor that the
shape or meaning of a coalitional assemblage can be
known prior to its achievement. Because the articulation
of an identity within available cultural terms instates
a definition that forecloses in advance the emergence
of new identity concepts in and through politically
engaged actions, the foundationalist tactic cannot take the
transformation or expansion of existing identity concepts
as a normative goal. (p. 21)
Trying to solidify an identity or provide a hard definition will lead to more
problems than it helps to solve. This is why I do not fully answer all of the
questions that arise in this piece; doing so could limit the potential of the
identities of those reading it. Questions are not something to fear, avoid, or
loathe. As evident in my responses to what I assumed were thoughtful answers
to my initial questions, inquiry only perpetuates more inquiry. I have found,
however, the act of querying has allowed me to become “more secure in my
own identification” (Alexander, 2003, p. 352). It is in the continuation of
que(er/ry)ing instances of normative discourse and the production of even
more questions that true answers will arise, be challenged, and be revisited.
Continuing to Qu(er/ry)
As my partner and I drove away, I did not feel the sense of wholeness
that I had hoped would be there. I was no closer to solving my
existential crisis; as a matter of fact, I left with more questions than
I originally had when we arrived at the church. I scanned through
my notes, thinking maybe I had accidentally written down a last
nugget of wisdom and just did not realize it would be so important
when I scribbled it down. I kept returning to the verse that Bishop
Robinson said he used when he discussed how he saw the Bible as
a teaching mechanism. “We follow Christ by using his story as an
66
experience we can parallel in our own life. So, when someone says
to me, “That’s not what the Jesus says about...” whatever, I remind
them of what Christ says in the book of John. Unlike the other three
gospels that give an account of Jesus’ life, the book of John is much
more reflective. In John 16:22, Jesus says, ‘I have much more to say
to you, more than you can now bear.’ He knew there were things yet to
come that the disciples couldn’t comprehend yet, and that they would
continue to have questions.”
Fair enough, bishop. Fair enough.
References
Alaimo, S. (2010). Eluding capture: The science, culture, and pleasure of “queer”
animals. In C. Mortimer-Sandilands & B. Erickson (Eds.). Queer ecologies:
Sex, nature, politics, desire (pp. 51-72). Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana
University Press.
Alexander, B. (2003). Querying queer theory again (or queer theory as drag
performance). Journal of Homosexuality, 45(2-4), 349-352.
Bohache, T. (2003). Embodiment as incarnation: An incipient queer Christology.
Theology and Sexuality, 10(1), 9-29.
Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. New
York: Routledge.
Chávez, K. R. (2004). Beyond complicity: Coherence, queer theory, and the
rhetoric of the “gay Christian movement”. Text and Performance Quarterly,
24, 255-275.
Dow, B. J., & Wood, J. T. (2006). The SAGE handbook of gender and
communication. Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage Publications.
Fiske, J., & Hartley, J. (1978). Reading television. London: Methuen.
Frentz, T. S. (2009). Split selves and situated knowledge : The trickster goes
titanium. Qualitative Inquiry, 15(5), 820-842.
Ivey, C. L. (2012). Me and God, we are cool: Reconciliation between religious
and sexual identity among LGBT members. Retrieved from Kansas State
Research Exchange. http://hdl.handle.net/2097/13753.
Jagose, A. (1996). Queer theory: An introduction. New York: New York
University Press.
Karslake, D. (Director). (2007). For the Bible tells me so [Documentary]. United
States: First Run Features.
McWhorter, L. (2010). Enemy of the Species. In C. Mortimer-Sandilands & B.
Erickson (Eds.). Queer ecologies sex, nature, politics, desire (pp. 73-101).
Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press.
O’Brien, J. (2004). Wrestling the angel of contradiction: Queer Christian
identities. Culture and Religion, 5(3), 179-202.
Pelias, R. J. (1999). Writing performance: Poeticizing the researcher’s body.
Carbondale, Illinois: Southern Illinois University Press.
Johnson, E. P. (2008). Sweet tea: Black gay men of the South. Chapel Hill:
University of North Carolina Press.
Johnson, E. P. (2013). After you’ve done all you can, you just stand: On queer
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Christina L. Ivey
67
performance and censorship. Text and Performance Quarterly, 33(3), 212213.
Jung, E., & Hecht, M. L. (2004). Elaborating the communication theory of
identity: Identity gaps and communication outcomes. Communication
Quarterly, 52, 265-283.
Salamon, G. (2010). Assuming a body: transgender and rhetorics of materiality.
New York: Columbia University Press.
Sloop, J. M. (2004). Disciplining gender: Rhetorics of sex identity in
contemporary U.S. culture. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press.
Wadsworth, B. C., Hecht, M. L., & Jung, E. (2008). The role of identity gaps,
discrimination, and acculturation in international students’ educational
satisfaction in American classrooms. Communication Education, 57(1), 6487.
68
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72
Special Issue Introduction:
Coming to Terms in the Muddy Waters of
Qualitative Inquiry in Communication Studies
Steven Kalani Farias
and
Hsun-Yu (Sharon) Chuang
Southern Illinois University Carbondale
sfarias@pacific.edu
When we were accepted into graduate school, we were presented with
opportunities as well as expectations. These opportunities included chances
for making a difference in the lives of others, coming to understand the details
of our social worlds a little bit better, and becoming different people through
the process. These opportunities were imbued with hopes and desires; that
is, opportunities imply accepting expectations. These expectations included
teaching, seminar reading, research, and various social-networking activities.
These expectations can make navigating academia a daunting task—much
like wading through the waters of a muddy pond. We have an idea of where
we would like to go, but our progress feels murky and can require more
effort than anticipated. Worst of all, it often feels as if we are navigating
these muddy waters alone without a friend or mentor to guide us.
When we were invited to write an introduction to this Special Issue of
Kaleidoscope on the nature of qualitative research, we felt apprehension
about the prospect of walking into those murky waters again. Even though
Lindlof and Taylor (2011) note that the basic function of qualitative research
in communication studies is to “study the performances and practices of
human communication” (p. 4, emphasis in original), we find ourselves caught
in a web of opportunities and expectations when we started to write about
what constitutes the texture of our research practies. We are presented with
an opportunity to define the nature and purpose of qualitative research and
accept the expectation that we can capture the complexities that constitute its
practice. How do we offer insights into the nature of qualitative inquiry while
still respecting the voices of those that have created this space for us?
In this introduction of the Special Issue section, we include three main
sections. We first lay out definitions of qualitative research in general and
then in the communication field more specifically. Second, we offer two
major tenets of qualitative research that we believe constitute the foundation
for future scholars to follow in qualitative research. Finally, we conclude this
Steven Kalani Farias’ research interests include rhetorical criticism, philosophy of
communication, and critical/cultural studies. Hsun-Yu (Sharon) Chuang’s research
interests include intercultural/international communication, interpersonal communication,
and language, education, and communication. Both would like to thank Benny LeMaster
and Kyle Rudick for their feedback on the manuscript.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Steven Kalani Farias and Hsun-Yu (Sharon) Chuang
73
essay by offering a preview of the two featured articles in this issue as they
serve as apt examples for the understanding of qualitative inquiry we offer.
Qualitative Research (in Communication): Definitions and Tenets
Qualitative research has been discussed widely by scholars within and
beyond the communication field. Denzin and Lincoln (2005) offer a generic
definition of qualitative research: “Qualitative research is a situated activity
that locates the observer in the world. It consists of a set of interpretive,
material practices that make the world visible” (p. 3). Similarly, opposing
the positivist assumptions and quantitative research, Carey (1975) explains
that qualitative research is to “seize upon the interpretations people place
on existence and to systematize them so they are more readily available to
us. . . . [including] studying particular rituals, poems, plays, conversations,
songs, dances, theories, and myths . . . ” (p. 190). Within the communication
discipline, Lindlof and Taylor (2011) claim that the discipline “has generally
institutionalized ‘qualitative research’ as a covering term for scholarship that
views the empirical dimensions of symbolic interaction as the raw material
for documentation and reflection” (p. 12). Moreover, rather than imposing a
given understanding or theory, qualitative communication research attempts
“to engage the communication event that centers a study . . . and is responsive
to learning and innovations called forth from us, not imposed upon the focal
point of the study” (Arnett, 2007, p. 30). It is not our intention to make the
list of definitions exhaustive. However, these definitions highlight some of
the assumptions of qualitative scholars within our field, which encourages
us to build on these explanations as a framework for what we see are two
important tenets of qualitative research.
We argue that qualitative inquiry, as a mode of communication research,
focuses on communication as a constitutive process of intersubjective,
relational meaning-making. We believe this understanding of qualitative
communication research incorporates the aforementioned definitions and
offers greater complexity to notions of performance and practice (Lindlof
& Taylor, 2011). From our point of view, complexity arises when scholars
acknowledge that the performance and practice of research are not isolated,
but are both intersubjective and systematically structured. From this starting
point, we also contend that our understanding encompasses Littlejohn and
Foss’ (2011) notion of inquiry as a “systemic study of experience that leads to
understanding, knowledge, and theory” (p. 9) and of humanistic scholarship
as an endeavor that seeks “alternative interpretations. . . . largely determined
by who one is. . . . [and] especially well-suited to problems of art, personal
experience, and values” (p. 10). Because of the humanistic, intersubjective,
and systemic assumptions of these views on qualitative communication
research, such approaches are inherently different from quantitative, scientific
approaches. Below, we elaborate on the tenets of qualitative communication
inquiry as constitutive and intersubjective and relational meaning-making.
74
Communication as Constitutive
The first tenet we emphasize is that qualitative inquiry in communication
studies focuses on communication as a constitutive process. For us, this
means that communication is more than representation or a transmission
between source and audience. As qualitative researchers, we believe that
communication is a process that creates, sustains, and challenges our sense
of selves, community, and society (Charland, 1987; Fassett & Warren, 2007;
Littlejohn & Foss, 2009). To note that communication is constitutive is to
understand communication as a co-emerging act whereby our performances
and practices are produced within, and participate in producing, cultural and
political structures.
One way we can see how communication constitutes our social realities
is to look to everyday mundane communicative practices of graduate school.
In our first few semesters of doctoral studies, the traditional rituals and ways
of communication stood out among the various things we encountered; such
rituals included ice-breakers, conversations in shared offices, happy hours on
Friday, and weekends filled with grading and research. The importance of
these performances and practices were not overtly explicated to us. However,
through those rituals and communication acts, we gradually learned how we
ought to best manage our time and why it was important to get to know our
colleagues. In other words, these traditional practices lies in the constitutive
process that serves to create, sustain, and challenge our understandings of
“proper” graduate student performances. Our simultaneous participation in
both general and esoteric discourses about succeeding in graduate school
not only shaped our own communication behaviors, but also constrained our
program for future colleagues and cohorts.
To summarize this tenet, qualitative research in communication
studies takes a constitutive view of discursive interactions and iterations.
As qualitative researchers, we believe that our communication and social
worlds are co-constitutive; they shape and constrain possibilities, and thus,
communication can be used to both create and undermine powerful social
practices. This is to say that the forms and methods we use to communicate,
even about communication, can help us to better understand and articulate
the social systems we are a part of while also to aid us when thinking about
ways to alter those systems might serve to suppress and dominate alternative
forms and methods of communication. Through studying communication as
a constitutive process, qualitative communication researchers can attempt to
make their social worlds more just places to live.
Communication as Intersubjective and Relational Meaning-making
In addition to the constitutive nature of communication, qualitative
communication researchers also focus on “who” and “what” is constituted.
Hence, we focus both on the process of communication as well as the subjects
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Steven Kalani Farias and Hsun-Yu (Sharon) Chuang
75
and context of a communication event when we seek to better understand the
intersubjective and relational nature of meaning-making. Brummett (1976)
argues that all social reality and meaning is intersubjectively experienced
and produced. Building on this notion, Cherwitz and Darwin (1995) stress
that meaning is best understood as “the confluence of relationships within,
between, and among bodies. . . . ‘[B]odies’ include such phenomena as
language, objects, rhetors, and auditors” (p. 20). The implication of this tenet
is that social meaning has the propensity to constantly change as people relate
differently with one another. Thus, qualitative communication researchers
concentrate on how communication is used to build, sustain, and challenge
the intersubjective performances and practices that constitute our social
realities. Valuing these multiple and alternative understandings rather than
seeking a unified and quantifiable explanation, qualitative communication
research is particularly apt at highlighting processes and meanings of social
realities and human communication.
As qualitative communication researchers, we seek out the moments
when these multiple and alternative understandings encounter each
other. Through our practices of relating through research, we develop
intersubjective relationships with countless fellow graduate students,
conference attendees, faculty members, and so on, that serve to produce,
sustain, and challenge the academic identities we wish to craft and the
academy in which we wish to participate. Understanding communication
as intersubjective and relational meaning-making enables us to embrace
the murkiness of the academy and find agency in the choices we make
amidst the otherwise cloudy surroundings. Locating intersubjective
and relational meanings between ourselves, others, and the systems we
participate in, qualitative communication research helps us to explain our
constantly changing social worlds more holistically and from multiple
perspectives. Through these explanations, we hope to have shown why
qualitative inquiry in communication studies focuses on communication
as a constitutive process of intersubjective and relational meaning-making
and why qualitative communication researchers ought to continue focusing
on such processes, in the hope of creating a more holistically understanding
of the building blocks of social reality.
Special Issue on Methods of Qualitative Inquiry
This Special Issue on methods of qualitative inquiry features two unique
approaches to qualitative research in communication studies. The first article
challenges the concept of aesthetics in performance studies. Building on
presence and absence within aesthetic discourses as a method of performance
criticism, Mapes (2014) introduces the concept of supplemental aesthetics.
Adapting Derrida’s notion of supplement, Mapes (2014) acknowledges the
constitutive notions of supplemental aesthetics by encouraging “a dialectic
understanding of aesthetics: we make meaning by the simultaneous experience
76
of reading what is present and what is absent on stage” (p. 79). What is
more, supplemental aesthetics also methodologically advances performance
criticism by embracing an intersubjective and relational understanding of
performance “as it forces recognition of the unoriginality of ideas, asking a
performer to be held accountable for the traces or supplements draw on and
from in a performance” (p. 81). The second article pushes the Bahktinian
perspective of carnivalesque into the arena of organizational communication.
Pointing to the constitutive nature of such a perspective, Kolodziej-Smith
(2014) writes, “The Bakhtinian concept of carnival integrates these two
approaches, Goffman’s descriptions of social interactions between people
and Burkean interpretation of their discourse” (p. 87). The carnivalesque
perspective, posited by Bahktin and extended by Kolodziej-Smith (2014),
points us toward understanding how organizational communication also can
be understood through a constitutive and relational worldview. Together,
these articles exemplify the value of understanding communication as a
constitutive process of intersubjective and relational meaning-making for
qualitative research in communication studies due to its focus on the subjects
and practices that build, sustain, and challenge previous understandings about
these particular theoretical systems.
In conclusion, we have explicated the general definitions of qualitative
research and then delved into the two major tenets of how we understand
such inquiry in communication studies. Communication as a constitutive
process and intersubjective and relational meaning-making are two tenets
that have guided our ways when navigating the qualitative communication
research. In two of the subsequent essays in this Special Issue, Mapes (2014)
and Kolodziej-Smith (2014) both echo our tenets of qualitative inquiry in
communication studies and provide great examples of such tenets. The waters
of qualitative inquiry might just always be murky and difficult to navigate,
especially as they ebb and flow with the changes offered by researchers, new
and old; however, it is because those waters are changed through our actions
that we must continue accepting new and challenging opportunities. In doing
so, we accept the expectations that our changes open new and hopefully more
just ways of moving through these complex social systems for ourselves and
future graduate students alike.
References
Arnett, R. C. (2007). Interpretive inquiry as qualitative communication research.
Qualitative Research Reports in Communication, 8(1), 29-35.
Brummett, B. (1976). Some implications of ‘process’ or ‘intersubjectivity’:
Postmodern rhetoric. Philosophy & Rhetoric, 9(1), 21-51.
Carrey, J. W. (1975). Communication and culture. Communication Research, 2,
173-191.
Charland, M. (1987). Constitutive rhetoric: The case of the peuple Quebecois.
The Quarterly Journal of Speech, 73(2), 135-50.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Steven Kalani Farias and Hsun-Yu (Sharon) Chuang
77
Cherwitz, R. A., & Darwin, T. J. (1995). Toward a relational theory of meaning.
Philosophy & Rhetoric, 28(1), 17-29.
Denzin, N. K., & Lincoln, Y. S. (2005). Introduction: The discipline and practice
of qualitative research. In N. K. Denzin and Y. S. Lincoln (eds.), The SAGE
handbook of qualitative research (3rd ed.) (pp. 1-32). Thousand Oaks, CA:
Sage Publications.
Fassett, D. L., & Warren, J. T. (2007). Critical communication pedagogy.
Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc.
Goodall Jr., H. L. (2008). Writing qualitative inquiry: Self, stories, and academic life.
Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, Inc.
Kolodziej-Smith, R. (2014).
Lindlof, T. R., & Taylor, B. C. (2011). Qualitative communication research methods
(3rd ed.). Los Angeles, CA: Sage Publications.
Littlejohn, S. W., & Foss, K. A. (2011). Theories of human communication. Long
Grove, IL: Waveland Press, Inc.
Mapes, M. (2014).
78
Supplemental Aesthetics:
Techniques in Live Performance
Meggie Mapes
Southern Illinois University Carbondale
mmapes10@siu.edu
In this essay, I make a bid for the incorporation of the Derridian supplement
into aesthetic discourses as a means of understanding and evaluating live
performance. I call this move “supplemental aesthetics,” which, in the end,
expands the vocabulary of absence and presence. I contend that a method
of supplemental aesthetics adapts Derridian vocabulary to account for
the intertextual and multisensory experience of live performance, asking
practitioners and scholars to account for both the present and absent
aspects of staged production. Supplemental aesthetics encourages a
dialectic understanding of aesthetics: we make meaning by the simultaneous
experience of reading what is present and what is absent on stage.
Keywords: Presence; Aesthetics; Derrida; Performance Methods; Criticism
The terms presence and absence have recently surfaced as important
theoretical considerations in performance (Kilgard 15, Machon 25). In fact,
the National Communication Association’s 100th anniversary foregrounds
presence in the 2014 theme, “the Presence of Our Past(s)” (Blair para. 1),
demonstrating the current trend in communication scholarship to theorize
questions of presence. In this essay, I make a bid to incorporate Derrida’s
notion of the supplement into aesthetic discourses as a means of understanding
and evaluating live performance. I call this move “supplemental aesthetics,”
which, in the end, expands the vocabulary of presence and absence. I contend
that a method of supplemental aesthetics adapts a Derridian vocabulary to
account for the intertextual and multisensory experience of live performance
by asking practitioners and scholars to account for both the present and
absent aspects of staged production. Rather than methods that privilege
descriptions of what was merely seen, I encourage a dialectical understanding
of aesthetics: we make meaning by the simultaneous experience of reading
what is present and what is absent on stage. Such a method encourages
a language for performers and performance critics alike to examine the
happenings of conspicuous performance and challenges practitioners to
reflexively examine not only what to place on stage—what is present—but
also a recognition that absence—what is lost—is also meaningful. I begin
Meggie Mapes is a doctoral student in the Department of Communication Studies at
Southern Illinois University Carbondale. She would like to thank Benny LeMaster for
hir guidance and the Kaleidoscope staff for their support.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Meggie Mapes
79
with a summary and explanation of Derrida’s notion of supplement and
finish by articulating what a method of supplemental aesthetics looks like
and accomplishes.
Jacques Derrida articulates the supplement in his work Of Grammatology.
As a post-structural theorist, Derrida approaches texts with suspicion;
questioning what knowledge the writer/reader presumes to be present and
mapping how the text is informed by other texts (i.e., intertextuality). No text
exists in a vacuum. Such post-structural underpinnings define the supplement.
The supplement, an idea he traces to Rousseau, works both as an addition
to and substitution for. As an addition to, “the supplement adds itself, it is
a surplus, a plentitude enriching another plentitude, the fullest measure of
presence” (Derrida 146). At the same time, it functions as a substitution for,
or as he describes, “the supplement supplements. It only adds to replace. It
intervenes or insinuates itself in-the-place-of; if it fills, it is as if one fills a
void” (146). Thus the supplement—both addition and substitution—exists/
is located between presence and absence. To substitute is to stand in for,
to represent or point to an absence. Substitution mandates the original is
not present. An addition, then, brings something into presence, at times, an
excessive presence.
The supplement inherently rests on the presence of an original as to
“stand in” for or “add to” presupposes there is an original to be supplemented.
For Rousseau, such an origin exists within Nature. Rousseau’s example of
an original ideal is speech. Rousseau describes speech as the most natural
form of expression of thought. Writing supplements speech. “[Writing]
is the addition of a technique, a sort of artificial and artful ruse to make
speech present when it is actually absent” (Derrida 145). Rousseau finds this
supplement a dangerous one and prefers the more natural presence of speech.
Trifonas explains, “Rousseau thus rejected the supplementarity of writing as
a dangerous and ineffective supplement to a more immediate and, therefore,
natural or truthful form of expression, speech” (245). As this quotation
suggests, Rousseau was interested in finding the natural, the original, and
pure presence of a thing itself (in this case, through speech). Thus, given that
any supplement detracts from that origin and is only a ghostly fragment of
the origin, the supplement should be rejected.
Derrida, however, rejects the existence of an origin. To assume an origin
is to assume some sort of absolute truth or central location of knowledge.
Thus, although a supplement may exist, it does not supplement an original,
as the original is only a supplement to something else. He argues, “One
can no longer see disease in substitution when one sees that the substitute
is substituted for a substitute” (315). Speech, or linguistically based
communication, does not constitute a natural or original idea as language
was and is influenced by multiple untraceable ideas.
Given his frame, performance as a system or structure exists via the
compilation of multiple supplements, constantly evolving; maintaining
80
some traditions while shifting and modernizing as well. The supplement,
in one basic sense, adds methodologically to broader theatrical conventions
as it forces recognition of the unoriginality of ideas, asking a performer to
be held accountable for the traces or supplements drawn on (and from) in
a performance Questions, however, remain: does this mean the supplement
is everything and, if so, what is its use? Admittedly, all language is a
supplement to speech. If a supplement fills an absence via addition, all
language is a supplement as it attempts to mediate and represent truth or
reality, however futile an attempt. This realization, however, does not
preclude the use of the supplement, particularly as a method within live
performance criticism.
Identification of a supplement highlights what is absent or what the
supplement stands in for, is a substitute for. Because the supplement works
to recapture its lost origin (Singer 40), to think through “the supplement, of
supplementarity and substitution, inevitably leads to a rethinking of what
we might formerly have supposed was the non-supplementary” (Royle 62),
even if the supplement stand in for another supplement. By identifying the
supplement within performance, it becomes possible to analyze what about
the/a supplement (i.e., a given performance choice) presumes to be absent
and/or present; the act of “pointing to” the supplemental can be significant
in terms of contextualizing meaning for the show. Because “there is no
experience consisting of pure presence but only a chain of differential
marks” (Derrida qtd. in Royle 69), I argue it is useful to determine where
the chain of differential marks comes from or leads to in a performance. If
the presence of a supplement inherently points to an absence, how is that
absence made present, if at all?
Although Derrida’s supplement exists most clearly in relation to
language, I argue the supplement exists in important aesthetic ways. Machon
defines aesthetics “as the subjective creation, experience and criticism of
artistic practice” (14). Although general, I argue aesthetics constitutes the
experience of live performance holistically. When placed in relation to the
supplement, there are two major contributions I will articulate here. First,
the supplement forces us to ask difficult questions in relation to language.
Language in live performance functions aesthetically. Machon argues
how “the ‘language’ of the performing body alongside the visceral impact
of any other sensual element of the performance work is experienced by
the audience through the traces of this language in our own flesh” (6). I
argue that supplemental aesthetics asks audience members, practitioners,
and performance critics to explore questions such as whose language is
represented? What absent explanations hinder or affect accessible witnesses
of language for the audience?
Second, supplemental aesthetics contributes to non-linguistic factors
present on stage: objects, props, and the performing body. When props or
objects are used, practitioners must negotiate what function to bring forth. In
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Meggie Mapes
81
other words, do you use the object for its intended use? Do you re-imagine its
function? Thus, as an audience, we have to negotiate the prop’s present uses
and deployments on stage in light of our own conceptual understanding of its
absent semiotic history. Although such supplemental meaning making may
be inevitable, as a method, supplemental aesthetics questions the object’s use
within the contextual situation of the show. It allows questions, such as what
historical legacy is connected to the object? Is the object used in conjunction
and compliance with such historical legacy? Does the performer assume the
audience shares this history? If not, how is the object re-imagined? Does
adding new or re-imagined functions transcend the historical traces of its
“intended” use?
Performance scholar Kilgard reminds me, “Bodies are constitutive
elements in performance that may be read in multiple ways”(7). Thus,
when casting individuals within performance or acting as performance
critics, supplemental aesthetics creates a language for understanding how
the physicality of bodies have traces that performers and directors bring
present while other aspects may remain hidden or less visible. Bodies
are not neutral. Gender, sexuality, ability, and race are read through the
audience even if such elements are not explicitly staged in overt ways and as
performance scholars we must remember that “audience members are always
making meaning” (Kilgard 15). Although the ability to account for, know,
and explain all ways such meanings are made exists is an impossible task,
supplemental aesthetics, as a method, creates a vocabulary for performers
and critics to read bodies in two specific ways. First, supplemental aesthetics
asks performers and/or directors to take seriously the historical relevance
of what bodies are cast in a given performance and in what particular roles.
For example, racial differentials matter on stage, particularly in the context
of what content is present within the staged portions of the show and script.
Second, for critics, supplemental aesthetics allows the language to say,
“From my positionality, the presence of all able-bodied performers mean...”
or “Dynamics arose between two performers of different races that were not
addressed in the script itself that mattered because...” I argue understanding
the body—as itself a supplement—means asking, how does the physicality
of this particular body create additions to the script? What new meanings
might those additions make? These are questions I find necessary within
live performance and, in particular, cast performances where content may
be written before individuals are cast in certain roles.
A method of supplemental aesthetics functions dually for the performer/
director and performance critics. Expanding methodological vocabularies
for performers and critics alike encourages new and creative assessments of
how presence and absence functions in performance. I foresee supplemental
aesthetics filling such a language gap in current performance work. Pulling
from Derridian post-structural work, I argue that supplemental aesthestics
embodies the slippage that occurs between language in, and audiencing
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of, a performance. Given that live performance creates conditions for
complex resonances that are evoked (Kilgard 8), I contend supplemental
aesthetics encourages differing interpretations; however, the supplement
as vocabulary aids the critic and performer in putting into words what
was made present, what pulled their attention, how absence affects or how
objects were pulled forward, and other similar lines of thought. Machon
reminds me that immediate witnessing of a live performance creates a
“presentness” (25), drawing the audience into the ephemeral experience
of the performance. Supplemental aesthetics aids in making sense of such
inherent presentness and, similarly, how absence aids in understanding or
discussing the content of performance. Finally, I encourage new explorations
that utilize the vocabulary of supplemental aesthetics in audiencing practices
of more mundane and everyday performances. Although the vocabulary I
expand here focuses specifically on live performance, non-conspicuous and
everyday performances also summon traces of presence and absence for
the listener(s); thus, I hope such interactions are further theorized through
supplemental aesthetics.
Works Cited
Blair, Carole. “NCA 100th Annual Convention.” National Communication
Association. 2014. Web. 2 March 2014.
Derrida, Jacques. De la grammatologie [Of Grammatology]. 1967. Trans. Gayatri
Chakravorty Spivak. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1976. Print.
Kilgard, Amy. “Collage: A Paradigm for Performance Studies.” Liminalities 5.3
(2009): 1-19. Web. 2 Jan. 2014.
Machon, Josephine. (Syn)aesthetics: Redefining Visceral Performance. New York:
Palgrave, 2011. Print.
Royle, Nicholas. Jacques Derrida. New York: Routledge, 2004. Print.
Trifonas, Peter. “Derrida And Rousseau: Deconstructing The Ethics Of A
Pedagogy Of The Supplement.” Review of Education, Pedagogy & Cultural
Studies 22.3 (2000): 243.
Academic Search Premier. Web. 5 Nov. 2012.
Singer, Marc. “Recursion, Supplementarity, and the Limits of Subjectivity in John
Barth’s ‘Menelaiad’.” Kronoscope 10.1/2 (2010): 35-48. Web. 14 Mar. 2014.
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84
Bahktin and the Carnivalesque: Calling for a Balanced
Analysis within Organizational Communication Studies
Renata Kolodziej-Smith
Wayne State University
rksmith@wayne.edu
Bakhtin’s perspective and concepts have generated great interest in
American and Western European academic circles in recent years. This
review describes Bakhtin’s concept of carnivalesque and how it has been
utilized in organizational communication research. The synopsis of the
carnival application in organizational communication scholarship shows,
however, very limited usage of a Burkean approach to Bakhtinian theory.
In this paper, I call for a more balanced application of Bakhtinian carnival
concept in the organizational communication field by including both
Goffman’s and Burke’s frameworks to analyze organizational communication.
Keywords: Carnival, Theatre, Bakhtin, Burke, Goffman
Scholars from disciplines such as anthropology, linguistics, psychology,
literary studies, and social theory have uncovered and applied Mikhail
Bakhtin’s perspectives and concepts in their works. In the past 20 years,
communication scholars, particularly in interpersonal communication
(e.g. Baxter & Montgomery, 1996), and more recently in organizational
communication, have utilized his framework in their research (e.g. Beyes
& Steyaert, 2006; Boje, & Rhodes, 2006). His concepts represent “a timely
arrival at the scene of transition from modern to postmodern perspectives
in the organizational field.” (Belova, King & Sliwa, 2008, p. 494), and offer
exciting possibilities for critical-qualitative analyses in communication
studies. However, organizational communication scholars seem to be
lagging behind their interpersonal communication colleagues, who have
been exploring Bakhtin’s concepts for nearly twenty years. There are
some relatively underutilized Bakhtinian concepts that might be of interest
for critical organizational communication scholars. In this essay, I will
explore the concept of the carnivalesque from Goffmanesque and Burkean
perspectives as a medium for criticizing organizational power. I argue that
the primary benefit of this approach is to create a space for those from the
margins within corporate spaces to find, create, and/or use their voice. In
Renata Kolodziej-Smith is a doctoral candidate within the Department of Communication
at Wayne State University in Detroit, Michigan. The first version of this paper was
presented at the National Communication Association’s 96th annual convention in San
Francisco, CA (Organizational Communication Association Division). She would like
to express her sincere gratitude to Kaleidoscope’s editor Kyle Rudick for his support
and faith in this project.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Renata Kolodziej-Smith
85
order to achieve this goal, I first explicate Bakhtin’s notion of the carnival
before then showing some of the ways that organizational communication
scholars can take up this term in their own scholarship.
The Carnival
Tracing the term “carnival” through history, Clark and Holquist (1984)
argue that the carnival played a very important role in the life of European
people during the Middle Ages. In large cities, carnivals could last an average
of three months each year. As described by Clark and Holquist (1984) in a
literal sense,
At carnival time, the unique sense of time and space causes
the individual to feel he is a part of the collectivity, at which
point he ceases to be himself. It is at this point through
costume and mask, an individual exchanges bodies and
is renewed. (p. 302)
Normally dominant constraints and hierarchies were temporarily lifted
during the carnival. During this time of feasting, music, dance and street
performances, all people, paupers and upper class members interacted
(and sometimes played) together. Social class distance was temporarily
nonexistent, the poor could make fun of rich, and the rich could dance with
poor. Laughter, irony, sarcasm, and criticism of social rules and barriers
were encouraged.
Literary critics, particularly Bakhtin (1984), utilize these ideas to
argue that carnivals were not only festivities, but were also the only time
when powerless members of the society could interact as equals with the
powerful. The term carnival became prominent in literary criticism after the
publication of Bakhtin’s Rabelais and his World in 1965, now considered a
classic study of the Renaissance. In this book, Bakhtin conducted an analysis
of the Renaissance social system along with its discursive practices based
on literary work of the 16th century author Rabelais (e.g. Gargantua and
Pantagruel). According to Bakhtin (1984), Rabelais’ greatest inspiration
came from the folk humor of the Middle Ages that manifested in the social
practice of carnival. As a result, Bakhtin identified the carnival as a social
institution and grotesque realism with its irony and parody as a literary mode.
Clark and Holquist (1984) state that, for Bakhtin (1981), the carnival could
be understood:
Not (merely a) spectacle seen by the people; they live in it,
and everyone participates because its very idea embraces
all the people. While carnival lasts, there is no other life
outside it. During carnival time life is subject only to
its laws, that is, the laws of its own freedom. (Bakhtin,
1981, p. 7)
Stallybrass and White (1986) point out that by the late 19th century the middle
class had, both culturally and legally, rejected the carnival tradition. Although
86
the carnival was no longer practiced, it reemerged in the form of popular
culture. In this sense then, the meaning of carnival has transformed from its
literal sense of play and festivities on the streets to the more metaphorical
sense used by contemporary individuals.
The Carnival in Organizational Communication Scholarship
The anti-authoritarian aspects of the carnival have been used in critical
postmodern perspectives of organizational life (Boje, Luhman, & Cunliffe,
2003). Everyone can participate in the carnival, and by using the language of
irony, can criticize dominant power structures. Boje, Luhman and Cunliffe
(2003) indicate that “the field of organization studies uses ‘theatre’ as a
metaphor for organization life in two particular ways: first, ‘organizingis-like-theatre,’ and second, the more literal ‘organizing-is-theatre’” (p. 7).
Organizational communication scholars use these two approaches to portray
dominant corporate structures. The first approach, emerging from sociology
in general and the writings of Goffman (1959, 1974) in particular, uses the
theatrical metaphor to study social processes in organization, whereby the
employees are like actors who perform various roles (Morgan, 1980). The
second approach draws from philosophy, literary criticism, and Burkean
traditions. Burke believed that social action and organizing is literally
dramatic and theatrical. What differentiates Goffman from Burke is that the
former uses theatrical metaphors to explain social processes in organization
(e.g., framing, scripting, staging, and performing), while the latter focuses
on language analysis and discursive practices, which shape meaning (Boje
et. al., 2003). The Bakhtinian concept of carnival integrates these two
approaches, Goffman’s descriptions of social interactions between people
and Burkean interpretation of their discourse. According to Boje, Luhman,
and Cunliffe (2003):
Carnival is a theatrics of rant and madness seeking to repair
felt separation and alienation. It is a call for release from
corporate power, a cry of distress and repression mixed
with laughter and humorous exhibition meant to jolt state
and corporate power into awareness of the psychic cage
of work and consumptive life (p. 8).
Currently, the majority of organizational communication studies that have
utilized a Goffmanesque approach to Bakhtinian theory have a limited
view (e.g. Beyes & Steyaert, 2006; Boje & Rhodes, 2006; Rhodes, 2001).
Organizations are described from Goffman’s perspective of “organizing-islike-theatre,” that is, as stages in theatre with actors who are performing their
roles in their interactions with others (i.e., by acting or costuming). There are
powerful kings and queens (managers and supervisors) and clowns (critics
of the status quo). The emphasis in this type of analysis is on social structure
and power dominance shown through the position one occupies on the social
ladder, not through the analysis of discourses among characters.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Renata Kolodziej-Smith
87
Perhaps one of the best examples of a Goffmanesque approach to the
Bakhtinian carnival concept is presented in the study of The Simpsons
(Rhodes, 2001). Through the lenses of cultural perspective, the researcher
examines how organizational life is represented in this popular cartoon
series. Rhodes (2001) claims that “the carnivalesque spirit is alive and
well in The Simpsons and that it provides a wealth of knowledge about
contemporary understandings of work–knowledge whose laughter and
parody provide the opportunity for a compelling critique of modern
organizations”(p. 375). What Rhodes (2001) means by the carnivalesque
spirit is the way characters are presented in the cartoon, not the way they
talk. The star of the show, Homer Simpson, is presented as a bumbling,
doughnut-eating, and beer drinking buffoon—a clown role from Goffman’s
perspective, who constantly makes a parody of his employer, Montgomery
C. Burns (a king role), the owner of the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant
(SNPP), and Yale graduate. As Rhodes (2001) claims, animation/cartoon
is an ideal medium for the representation of grotesque realism because
it draws attentions to “such bodily functions through, for example, the
town drunk, Barney’s belching; Homer’s overeating and obesity; or Bart,
Homer’s son, ‘mooning’” (Rhodes, 2001, p. 378). Rhodes’ emphasis on
the importance of social positions, roles and presentation of the bodies
shows the author’s reliance on a Goffmanesque understanding of Bakhtin’s
concept of carnival. Goffman’s approach, and Rhodes in the above study,
is very metaphoric, graphic and symbolic, and focuses on analyzing visual
rather than verbal messages.
Unlike Goffman’s approach to Bakhtinian carnival, a Burkean
understanding of theory focuses on analysis of verbal messages and
discourses between actors/ characters. This perspective calls for a
closer look at the verbal script used by organizational actors. Scholars
using this approach focus on dialogue, instead of only analyzing the
appearances of actors/characters and their bodily functions. There are
many dialogues in The Simpsons between Burns and Homer that are full
of irony and sarcasm.
Burns: We don’t have to be adversaries, Homer. We both want
a fair union contract.
Homer’s brain: Why is Mr. Burns being so nice to me?
Burns: And if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.
Homer’s brain: Oh my god! He is coming on to me!
Burns: After all, negotiations make strange bedfellows.
(Burns chuckles and winks at Homer.)
(Homer’s brain screams.)
Homer: Sorry, Mr. Burns, but I don’t go in for these backdoor
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shenanigans. Sure, I’m flattered, maybe even a little
curious, but the answer is no! (Cited in Richmond &
Coffman, 1997, p. 110)
By adding a Burkean approach to the analysis of the carnival, critical
scholars might be able to discover a more complex language of power and
oppression in organizational studies. As the above dialogue shows, Homer
and Mr. Burns still retain their clown/king roles (respectively); however,
the exchange also features Homer’s over-the-top aversion to Mr. Burns’
“proposition.” His reaction reveals a deep-seated heterosexism—an all-tocommon trope in U.S. media (see Fejes & Petrich, 1993). Although Homer
may be viewed as a figure that is diametrically opposed to Mr. Burns in terms
of power, he is also the instigator of symbolic violence on LGB individuals
by showing same-sex relationships as abnormal and undesirable. A Burkean
approach to Bakhtinian theory shows how carnival language, not only bodily
performances important to Goffman, contributes to unmasking/reinforcing
systems of oppression. In other words, adding a Burkean approach can help
organizational scholars create a more nuanced approach to power dynamics
by going beyond the dichotomy of powerful/powerless.
The Bakhtinian concept of the carnival has been utilized in two ways,
Goffmanesque and Burkean approaches, however, based on the review of
studies in organizational communication field it has only received attention
in one–Goffmanesque. This short synopsis attempted to show how a
Goffmanesque understanding of organizational life might be enhanced by
adding a Burkean lens to Bakhtinian theory. It does not mean that a purely
Goffmanesque type of reading is “wrong” but rather that is limited. By adding
Burkean type of analysis critical scholars should be able to provide a more
holistic analysis of the system of dominance in society.
Conclusion
The Bakhtinian concept of carnivalesque has recently been adapted
to critical and cultural approaches, transformational leadership, change
communication, and discourse analyses in organizational communication.
Although the concept has gained increasing prominence in organization
communication scholarship, the majority of work in this area relies
on a Goffmanesque approach to Bakhtin’s work. In this paper, I have
offered that by adding Burkean analysis to this traditional approach,
organizational scholars can expand their focus beyond the powerless/
powerful dichotomy. This “balanced approach” to Bakhtinian analysis
can help create a more nuanced view of power by showing how
communicative exchanges within organizations draw upon and perpetuate
discourses beyond the immediate context (e.g., worker-supervisor
communication). Ultimately, I hope that scholars take up this balanced
approach in order to account for the visual and textual components of
organizational communication.
Kaleidoscope: Vol. 13, 2014: Renata Kolodziej-Smith
89
References
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narration and stylistic lines of transformation. The Leadership Quarterly, 17,
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Clark, K., & Holquist, M. (1984). Mikhail Bakhtin. Cambridge: Harvard
University Press.
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Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. Harmondsworth,
UK: Penguin Books.
Goffman, E. (1974). Frame analysis. New York, NY: Harper Books.
Morgan, G. (1980). Paradigms, metaphors, and puzzle solving in organization theory.
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Rhodes, C. (2001). The Simpsons, popular culture, and the organizational carnival.
Journal of Management Inquiry, 10, 374-383.
Richmond, R., & Coffman, A. (Eds.). (1997). The Simpsons: A complete guide to
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D EPA R T M EN T O F CO M M U NI C AT I O N S T U D IE S
Communication Pedagogy
Gender, Sexuality, and Communication
Intercultural Communication
Interpersonal Communication
Performance Studies
Rhetoric and Philosophy of Communication
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concentrations: Communication Pedagogy; Gender, Sexuality, and Communication; Intercultural Communication; Interpersonal Communication;
Performance Studies; and Rhetoric and Philosophy of Communication.
The graduate faculty of the Department also offers curriculum in the following areas: ethnography, conversation analysis, organizational communication, public relations, public address, and political communication.
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Department of Communication Studies
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