Religion and Organization Theory 9781781906927, 1781906920, 9781781906934, 1781906939

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RELIGION AND ORGANIZATION THEORY

RESEARCH IN THE SOCIOLOGY OF ORGANIZATIONS Series Editor: Michael Lounsbury Recent Volumes: Volume 25:

The Sociology of Entrepreneurship

Volume 26:

Studying Difference between Organizations: Comparative Approaches to Organizational Research

Volume 27:

Institutions and Ideology

Volume 28:

Stanford’s Organization Theory Renaissance, 1970
2000

Volume 29:

Technology and Organization: Essays in Honour of Joan Woodward

Volume 30A: Markets on Trial: The Economic Sociology of the US Financial Crisis: Part A Volume 30B: Markets on Trial: The Economic Sociology of the US Financial Crisis: Part B Volume 31:

Categories in Markets: Origins and Evolution

Volume 32:

Philosophy and Organization Theory

Volume 33:

Communities and Organizations

Volume 34:

Rethinking Power in Organizations, Institutions, and Markets

Volume 35:

Reinventing Hierarchy and Bureaucracy
From the Bureau to Network Organisations

Volume 36:

The Garbage Can Model of Organizational Choice
Looking Forward at Forty

Volume 37:

Managing ‘Human Resources’ by Exploiting and Exploring People’s Potentials

Volume 38:

Configurational Theory and Methods in Organizational Research

Volume 39A: Institutional Logics in Action, Part A Volume 39B: Institutional Logics in Action, Part B Volume 40:

Contemporary Perspectives on Organizational Social Networks

RESEARCH IN THE SOCIOLOGY OF ORGANIZATIONS VOLUME 41

RELIGION AND ORGANIZATION THEORY EDITED BY

PAUL TRACEY University of Cambridge, UK

NELSON PHILLIPS Imperial College Business School, UK

MICHAEL LOUNSBURY University of Alberta, Canada

United Kingdom
North America
Japan India
Malaysia
China

Emerald Group Publishing Limited Howard House, Wagon Lane, Bingley BD16 1WA, UK First edition 2014 Copyright r 2014 Emerald Group Publishing Limited Reprints and permission service Contact: [email protected] No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without either the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying issued in the UK by The Copyright Licensing Agency and in the USA by The Copyright Clearance Center. Any opinions expressed in the chapters are those of the authors. Whilst Emerald makes every effort to ensure the quality and accuracy of its content, Emerald makes no representation implied or otherwise, as to the chapters’ suitability and application and disclaims any warranties, express or implied, to their use. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-78190-692-7 ISSN: 0733-558X (Series)

ISOQAR certified Management System, awarded to Emerald for adherence to Environmental standard ISO 14001:2004. Certificate Number 1985 ISO 14001

CONTENTS LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

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ADVISORY BOARD

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PART I: INTRODUCTION TAKING RELIGION SERIOUSLY IN THE STUDY OF ORGANIZATIONS Paul Tracey, Nelson Phillips and Michael Lounsbury GOD ON MANAGEMENT: THE WORLD’S LARGEST RELIGIONS, THE “THEOLOGICAL TURN,” AND ORGANIZATION AND MANAGEMENT THEORY AND PRACTICE Bruno Dyck

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PART II: STUDYING RELIGION AND ORGANIZATION AT THE MICRO-LEVEL RELIGION IN ORGANIZATIONS: COGNITION AND BEHAVIOR Gary R. Weaver and Jason M. Stansbury MYTHS TO WORK BY: REDEMPTIVE SELF-NARRATIVES AND GENERATIVE AGENCY FOR ORGANIZATIONAL CHANGE W. E. Douglas Creed, Rich DeJordy and Jaco Lok

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PART III: RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONAL FORMS AND PRACTICES ORGANIZATIONAL FORM, STRUCTURE, AND RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONS C. R. Hinings and Mia Raynard PASTOR PRACTICES IN THE ERA OF MEGACHURCHES: NEW ORGANIZATIONAL PRACTICES AND FORMS FOR A CHANGING INSTITUTIONAL ENVIRONMENT Marvin Washington, Harry J. Van Buren III and Karen Patterson

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PART IV: RELIGION AND INSTITUTIONAL THEORY DIVINE INSTITUTION: MAX WEBER’S VALUE SPHERES AND INSTITUTIONAL THEORY Roger Friedland PRODUCTIVE RESISTANCE: A STUDY OF CHANGE, EMOTIONS, AND IDENTITY IN THE CONTEXT OF THE APOSTOLIC VISITATION OF U.S. WOMEN RELIGIOUS, 2008
2012 Simona Giorgi, Margaret E. Guider and Jean M. Bartunek SERVING TWO MASTERS: TRANSFORMATIVE RESOLUTIONS TO INSTITUTIONAL CONTRADICTIONS Rich DeJordy, Brad Almond, Richard Nielsen and W. E. Douglas Creed THE INSTITUTIONAL COMPLEXITY OF RELIGIOUS MUTUAL FUNDS: APPRECIATING THE UNIQUENESS OF SOCIETAL LOGICS Jared L. Peifer

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Contents

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PART V: RELIGION AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE AND THE CHURCH: BUILDING ADAPTABLE ORGANIZATIONS Paolo Parigi

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ORGANIZING BELIEF: INTERFAITH SOCIAL CHANGE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE RELIGIOUS-ENVIRONMENTAL MOVEMENT Dina Biscotti and Nicole Woolsey Biggart

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Brad Almond

Department of Management and Marketing, Texas A&M University
Central Texas, Killen, TX, USA

Jean M. Bartunek

Carroll School of Management, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA, USA

Nicole Woolsey Biggart

Graduate School of Management, University of California, Davis, CA, USA

Dina Biscotti

Department of Sociology, University of California, Davis, CA, USA

W. E. Douglas Creed

College of Business Administration, University of Rhode Island, Kingston, RI, USA

Rich DeJordy

D’Amore-McKim School of Business, Northeastern University, Boston, MA, USA

Bruno Dyck

I.H. Asper School of Business, University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada

Roger Friedland

Department of Accounting and Management Control, HEC, Paris; Department of Media, Culture and Communication, New York University, New York, NY, USA

Simona Giorgi

Carroll School of Management, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA, USA

Margaret E. Guider

School of Theology and Ministry, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA, USA ix

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

C. R. Hinings

School of Business, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada

Jaco Lok

Australian School of Business, University of New South Wales, Sydney, NSW, Australia

Michael Lounsbury

School of Business, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada

Richard Nielsen

Carroll School of Management, Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA, USA

Paolo Parigi

Sociology Department, Stanford University, Stanford, CA, USA

Karen Patterson

Anderson School of Management, University of New Mexico, Albuquerque, NM, USA

Jared L. Peifer

Department of Management, Baruch College, New York, NY, USA

Nelson Phillips

Imperial College Business School, Imperial College London, London, UK

Mia Raynard

Department of Strategic Management and Organization, School of Business, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada

Jason M. Stansbury

Business Department, Calvin College, Grand Rapids, MI, USA

Paul Tracey

Judge Business School, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, UK

Harry J. Van Buren III

Anderson School of Management, University of New Mexico, Albuquerque, NM, USA

Marvin Washington

School of Business, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada

Gary R. Weaver

Alfred Lerner College of Business, University of Delaware, Newark, DE, USA

ADVISORY BOARD SERIES EDITORS Michael Lounsbury Associate Dean of Research Thornton A. Graham Chair University of Alberta School of Business and National Institute for Nanotechnology, Alberta, Canada

ADVISORY BOARD MEMBERS Frank R. Dobbin Harvard University, USA

Howard E. Aldrich University of North Carolina, USA

Royston Greenwood University of Alberta, Canada

Stephen R. Barley Stanford University, USA

Mauro Guillen The Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania, USA

Nicole Biggart University of California at Davis, USA

Paul M. Hirsch Northwestern University, USA

Elisabeth S. Clemens University of Chicago, USA

Brayden King Northwestern University

Jeannette Colyvas Northwestern University

Renate Meyer Vienna University of Economics and Business Administration, Austria

Barbara Czarniawska Go¨teborg University, Sweden Gerald F. Davis University of Michigan, USA

Mark Mizruchi University of Michigan, USA

Marie-Laure Djelic ESSEC Business School, France

Walter W. Powell Stanford University, USA xi

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Hayagreeva Rao Stanford University, USA

W. Richard Scott Stanford University, USA

Marc Schneiberg Reed College

Haridimos Tsoukas ALBA, Greece

PART I INTRODUCTION

TAKING RELIGION SERIOUSLY IN THE STUDY OF ORGANIZATIONS Paul Tracey, Nelson Phillips and Michael Lounsbury ABSTRACT Despite its central importance in nearly all societies, religion has been largely neglected in the study of organizations and management. In this introduction to the volume on religion and organization theory, we argue that such neglect limits unnecessarily the relevance and scope of organization and management theory (OMT) and that there is therefore great value in connecting organizational research with a deeper appreciation and concern for religion. We begin by speculating about some of the reasons why organization and management theorists are hesitant to study religion, and go on to discuss some nascent points of contact between religion and OMT. We conclude with a discussion of the articles in this volume, which represent an attempt to remedy this unfortunate blind spot within OMT scholarship. Keywords: Religion and organization theory; religion and management; religious organizations

Religion and Organization Theory Research in the Sociology of Organizations, Volume 41, 3
21 Copyright r 2014 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0733-558X/doi:10.1108/S0733-558X20140000041009

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Our motivation for this volume was sparked by the simple observation that while religion plays such an obvious and prominent role in virtually every society and economy, organization and management theorists have largely ignored it. This is true both with respect to the study of religion in secular organizations and the study of religious organizations themselves. Indeed, a recent review of the management literature from 1950 to 2011 by Tracey (2012) identified just 86 papers across 21 of the main management journals that engage to greater or lesser degrees with the notion of religion. We find it puzzling and unfortunate that management scholars have so studiously avoided one of the most pervasive influences on organizations. While the implicit assumption in organization and management research is that religion has only marginal relevance for contemporary organizations, there is arguably only one part of the world in which such an assumption might hold sway
namely Western Europe
some of whose constituent countries have been described as “post-Christian” societies. Even in this context, however, it is hard to sustain the argument that religion is irrelevant. Indeed, two of the editors of this volume live in the United Kingdom, and we have often been struck by the relatively high profile occupied by religion in the media and popular press. In fact, at the time of writing debates about gay marriage, gay ministers in the Church of Scotland, women priests in the Church of England, and attempts to deport alleged Islamic “hate preachers” feature prominently in media discourse. It is important to note that there has been some significant research on religion and organization. In the sociology of religion, scholars such as Mark Chaves and Melissa Wilde have studied religion through the lens of institutional theory and social movement theory, drawing on a set of assumptions about culture and the social environment that is consistent with mainstream thinking in organization theory (see, e.g., Chaves, 1996 and Wilde, Geraty, Nelson, & Bowman, 2010). And in organization theory itself, there has also been a small number very important contributions, some of which were written by authors featured in this volume (e.g., Bartunek, 1984; Creed, DeJordy, & Lok, 2010; Dyck & Wiebe, 2012; Hinings & Bryman, 1974; Weaver & Agle, 2002). These contributions notwithstanding, we believe there is a clear case for greater attention and focus on the study of religion by organization and management theory (OMT) researchers. Our sense is that our view is widely shared, but that many scholars are reluctant to work in this area because they are skeptical that journals will want to publish papers on the topic and are nervous about how business school Deans will react given the current drive toward the alignment of teaching and research (Tushman &

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O’Reilly, 2007). Others may feel that religion is a personal matter and not an appropriate topic for academic study and publishing. We believe that such concerns are misplaced. First, we think that the study of religious organizations may generate significant novel insights on a range of topics and issues
such as identity, culture, and motivation
with clear relevance for organizations of all kinds. Second, organizational members do not set aside their religious beliefs and practices when they become organizational members, and in the United States there is evidence of religious practices becoming formalized in corporate settings (Tracey, 2012). More broadly, we believe that part of the intellectual project of management research involves building knowledge about social and behavioral processes in all kinds of organization; a sole focus on commercial organizations is incompatible with such an endeavor. The remainder of this volume introduction is structured as follows. We begin by discussing some of the causes of the current lack of attention to religion in OMT. While our points in this section are somewhat speculative, we believe it is useful to start a discussion that will hopefully inspire a wider conversation on this topic. Second, we explore some of the areas where a nascent connection between religion and OMT already exists. Our intention here is to point to some of the “low hanging fruit” with the potential to augment significantly existing streams of research. Finally, we discuss each of the articles that are included in this volume and highlight the contributions that they make toward a fuller understanding of religion and organization.

BARRIERS TO THE STUDY OF RELIGION IN OMT While we believe there is a strong rationale for organization and management scholars to engage more deeply with religion, we also think it is important to consider the reasons why OMT scholars have not engaged sufficiently with religion to date. In this section, we focus on three possible explanations that we have encountered, and argue that none should stand in the way of future research on religion in our field.

Religion as a Private Affair One significant barrier to the study of religion in OMT arises from the view that religion is a private affair. Interestingly, this belief emanates from an

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important societal change that occurred during the transition from premodernity to modernity in the West. As part of this fundamental shift, religion was split from government and business and came to be viewed as a private activity. The result was that religion was no longer bound up, at least in a formal sense, in the workings of important public institutions. Even the ancient universities, founded by popes and kings to train lawyers, doctors, and priests and modeled on monasteries, found themselves increasingly secular and disconnected from the religions that played such an important role in their creation and management. This was undoubtedly related to the rise of Protestantism in Europe and North America, but was also part of the move toward more rational forms of organization (Weber, 1978/1919). Thus, while religion has retained a profound influence in most contemporary societies, in the West at least, the nature of this influence has changed. And, as religion became separated from government and business, individuals
including researchers from the OMT community
were perhaps left with a sense that it is not appropriate to talk about religion while participating in the public sphere. It is surely ironic that while religion plays a central role in Weber’s (1978/1919) explanation of the rise of modern capitalism, the intellectual descendants of Weber quickly expunged religion as an explanatory category in the study of organizations due to the very processes that Weber describes. The upshot is that a field founded partly on a concern for religion as a central social force has, paradoxically, abandoned its study.

The Importance of Religion in Contemporary Societies A second explanation for the paucity of work on religion and organization is the myth of the declining importance of religion. As mentioned above, there has been an officially sanctioned separation of church and state in Western societies, and this is often taken as the starting point for secularization theory. But the main claims of secularization theory go well beyond the idea that the scope of religious authority no longer reaches into government and commercial institutions (Swatos & Christiano, 1999). Indeed, the central claim of secularization theory is that the influence of religion on all aspects of social life has long been in decline, that people are essentially less religious than they used to be (i.e., that they engage in fewer religious practices and their behavior is less influenced by religious beliefs than hitherto), and that this process of decreasing religiosity continues apace (Gorski & Altinordu, 2008). Berger (1967) described this as a “secularization of

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consciousness” which is rooted in the production in the West of “an increasing number of individuals who look upon the world and their own lives without the benefit of religious interpretations” (pp. 107
108). Secularization theory has been criticized on two main grounds (Stark, 1999). First, it assumes that there was in the past a period in history when the world was filled with sacred people. And yet, in the United States church attendance has more than trebled in the last century and a half and even in Europe there has been “no demonstrable long-term decline in … religious participation” (p. 254). Second, in additional to statistical data, levels of subjective religiousness remain remarkably high in both the United States and Europe. As Stark notes, “to classify a nation as highly secularized when most of its inhabitants believe in God is absurd” (p. 254). The result is that secularization theory has struggled to retain intellectual credibility in the sociology of religion, with Peter Berger (1997), one of its most articulate proponents, subsequently distancing himself from the theory. If one accepts the position that religion in much of the world is more, rather than less, important than it used to be, then the reluctance of management and organization theorists to engage with the topic of religion is surely even more disconcerting.

Not an Appropriate Object of Study A final explanation for religion’s marginal place in OMT is the apparent belief that religion is not an appropriate object of scientific study. From this perspective, the study of religion is not something that “serious” scholars would engage in, nor is it amenable to systematic analysis in any case. While sociologists (see Clarke, 2008 for an overview) and psychologists (see Paloutzian & Park, 2005 for an overview) seem to have little problem with the idea of religion as a core social phenomenon, organization and management theorists seem uncomfortable with the idea. We believe that this discomfort parallels the discomfort that researchers feel for a range research topics including emotion, envy, love, and even family (to the extent that the mainstream research community seems unwilling to accept as legitimate the study of “family business”). The reasons for this are complex, but we believe they are rooted in the very foundations of the field. More specifically, both the theory and practice of management are rooted in notions of rational choice and an associated set of neo-economic assumptions about human behavior and preferences (Shenhav, 2002). Anything that makes individuals act in a seemingly

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irrational way undermines the assumption that human action is predictable, which strikes at the core of OMT as it is currently constituted. Think for example, of the often-reported actions of organization members who break rules and endanger their careers due to a workplace infatuation. Anyone who inhabits a university has seen this happen with faculty
student relationships that threaten careers and marriages. Yet, organizational members make seemingly irrational choices to enter into these relationships only to regret their actions and end up asking themselves “what was I thinking?” The best defense for OMT scholars faced with irrationality in the decision making of organizational members has been to ignore the aspects of organizational behavior that don’t fit with their defining and legitimating assumptions. In this process, religion has, unfortunately, been consigned to the category of phenomena that we know to be critically important to organizations from our personal experience, but that do not appear prominently in our theories. While the three barriers outlined above have served to prevent the inclusion of religion in the study of organizations, each of them is easily refuted and fails to stand up to even moderate examination. We are therefore hopeful that opening up a broader discussion about religion and organization can function as a catalyst to bring together interested researchers and rehabilitate the study of religion in OMT.

FRAMING THE STUDY OF RELIGION IN OMT While there has been a general failure to include religion in the main currents of OMT, there have been attempts to link the two. Moreover, there are a number of theories in management where we believe the connection with religion offers particular promise for future research. In this section we briefly sketch out three topic areas where there is already a connection of some sort between religion and OMT, and where we believe there is significant opportunities to advance theorizing. The three areas discussed here are not, of course, meant to be exhaustive, but are designed to illustrate the potential of religion as a topic in OMT research. Identity and Religion Perhaps the research area in OMT with the most obvious connection to religion is identity. Research on identity has a long history, with writings

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on the topic beginning with the ancient Greeks. It has become one of the most influential concepts in social science and occupies an important place across many different literatures (see Stryker & Burke, 2000). At its core, the literature on identity focuses on how individuals and groups of various kinds answer two fundamental questions: “who am I?” and “who are you?” Both of these questions are concerned intimately with religious beliefs and the membership of religious organizations. It is unsurprising, therefore, that religion plays a central role in discussions of identity across the social sciences, with OMT a notable exception. The concept of identity appears in OMT in a number of related but distinct versions applied at different levels and based on understandings of identity drawn from different areas of social science. In our discussion here, we will consider three distinct levels of analysis
individual identity, organizational identity, and collective identity. Interest in identity among OMT scholars begins at the individual level. OMT researchers generally view individual identity as some combination of who an individual is from the perspective of a group and/or how an individual defines him or herself. For example, social identity theory, one of the dominant perspectives on identity in OMT, conceptualizes individual identity as the combination of a personal identity made up of idiosyncratic elements such as abilities, interests and psychological traits, and social identity made up of salient group classifications (Ashforth & Mael, 1989). In work on individual identity in the psychology and sociology literatures, religion is understood to be one of the key defining categories through which people understand each other and themselves. Religion is universal (even agnostics and atheists are identifiable groups due to their beliefs about religion) and knowing what faith someone belongs to is intrinsic to knowing who they are in much of the world. The importance of religion to individual identity is perhaps illustrated most obviously by the ubiquitous nature of religious conflict through time and across space. From the Crusades in the Middle Ages to present-day Myanmar, enduring and intractable conflict between religious groups has been the global norm. The profound and enduring nature of these conflicts suggests that religion is a fundamental source of identity with unique dynamics that require special consideration and theorizing. We therefore believe that OMT scholars interested in individual identity have much to gain from including an explicit connection to religion in their theoretical and empirical work. Identity is also an important concept at the organizational level of analysis. From this perspective, an organization’s identity is understood as those organizational attributes that members perceive as central, enduring,

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and distinctive (Albert & Whetten, 1985). An organization’s identity provides a framework for members’ interpretations of events and therefore influences their subsequent action. Organizational identity helps members relate to the context within which they act and to make sense of organizational events (Fiol, 1991). Dutton, Dukerich, and Harquail (1994) argue that a desirable organizational identity influences the degree to which members identify with the organization, assimilate its core values, and accept its goals as their own. In a similar vein, Gioia and Thomas (1996) argue that decision makers’ perceptions of organizational identity affect sensemaking processes as it defines the context for issue interpretation. Religion has not featured prominently in the study of organizational identity to date, but there are two obvious ways in which it is clearly important. First, religious organizations such as Catholic schools and Islamic banks are defined fundamentally by religious beliefs and adhere to principles and structures associated with them. However, the identity of religious organizations is not defined exclusively by religion. For example, the educational mission of Catholic schools is fundamental to their identity. Yet little is known about the relationship between religion and other aspects of identity in religious organizations. Second, religion plays an important part in the organizational identity of many nonreligious organizations due to founder effects or the religious beliefs of organizational members. But the role of religion in shaping organizational identity in nonreligious organizations has so far largely been ignored by organization theorists. The third stream of literature focusing on identity in OMT explores collective identities, or identities that “encompass multiple organizations” (Wry, Lounsbury, & Glynn, 2011, p. 449). Examples identified in the literature include social enterprise versus traditional charities (Tracey, Phillips, & Jarvis, 2011), classical versus nouvelle cuisine French restaurants (Rao, Monin, & Durand, 2003), and industrial versus craft brewers (Carroll & Swaminathan, 2000). While a relatively recent development in OMT scholarship, this area of research is growing rapidly and connections to other theoretical perspectives, such as institutional theory, are increasingly apparent. We believe that collective identity, like social and organizational identity, is often intimately connected to religion. Thus, religious organizations that belong to the same category tend to share a sense of common identity. From this perspective, religious organizations construct their identities not only in relation to other organizations of the same type, but also by emphasizing differences from organizations that are members of other categories. For example, at the core of the identity of evangelical churches is a belief that they represent a kind of Christianity that engages directly with the

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Holy Spirit and is filled with great energy, joy, and hope. However, part of their identity work also involves distinguishing themselves from other more conservative churches that are often viewed, from an evangelical perspective, as staid.

Institutional Theory and Religion From rather modest beginnings in the 1970s, institutional theory has become the dominant theoretical perspective in OMT.1 Broadly speaking, institutions are defined as conventions that are self-policing (e.g., Douglas, 1986), and institutional theory, by extension, is the study of these conventions. Within the tradition of new institutional theory, institutions are defined more specifically as “historical accretions of past practices and understandings that set conditions on action” through the way in which they “gradually acquire the moral and ontological status of taken-forgranted facts which, in turn, shape future interactions and negotiations” (Barley & Tolbert, 1997, p. 99). Central to institutional theory in OMT is the idea of an organizational field defined as “those organizations that, in the aggregate, constitute a recognized area of institutional life: key suppliers, resource and product consumers, regulatory agencies and other organizations that produce similar services” (DiMaggio & Powell, 1983, p. 143) and that develop mutual awareness, and see themselves as part of the same community and involved in a common enterprise (Scott, 2001). These groupings of organizations are important as they share sets of institutions including practices, organizational forms and, most importantly for us here, institutional logics (Thornton, Ocasio, & Lounsbury, 2012). Institutional logics are symbols, ideas and taken-for-granted rules that shape cognition, emotion, and action by furnishing “assumptions and values, usually implicit, about how to interpret organizational reality, what constitutes appropriate behavior, and how to succeed” (Thornton, 2004, p. 70). In particular, they provide social actors with formal and informal rules of action and interaction, cultural norms and beliefs for interpretation, and implicit principles about what constitute legitimate goals and how they may be achieved (Thornton & Ocasio, 1999). Building on Friedland and Alford (1991) and Thornton (2004), Thornton et al. (2012) provide a typology of seven ideal typical institutional orders and logics: the market, the corporation, the professions, the state, the family, community, and religion. In contradistinction to the

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emphasis on homogeneity and taken-for-grantedness in the new institutionalism, the institutional logics perspective emphasizes struggle, conflict, and change rooted in the fact that many institutional fields are characterized by the coexistence of multiple different institutional prescriptions (e.g., Kraatz & Block, 2008; Lounsbury, 2007; Pache & Santos, 2010; Reay & Hinings, 2005). For organizations, this often leads to a situation of “institutional complexity” as they try to cope with and manage divergent interests, goals and practices rooted in multiple institutional logics (Greenwood, Raynard, Kodeih, Micelotta, & Lounsbury, 2011). Hospitals and health care organizations (Reay & Hinings, 2005), arts organizations (Alexander, 1996), and non-profit and social organizations (Tracey et al., 2011) are all examples of organizations facing institutional environments that exert multiple and potentially conflicting institutional demands. Yet as far as we are aware, there are no studies in institutional theory that consider competing institutional demands with respect to the logic of religion (but see Greenwood, Diaz, Li, & Lorente, 2010 and the extensive work of Roger Friedland
e.g., Friedland, 2002, 2009). Given the role of religion in contemporary societies, outlined above, this is surprising. For example, Tracey (2012) notes that Islamic banking combines the logic of the market with the logic of religion, and represents an intriguing object of study for institutional theorists. Specifically, in order to overcome the areas of conflict between Islam and markets, Islamic financial institutions work according to four basic principles
paying interest is not allowed, risk and reward must be shared, speculation is not allowed, risk is only allowed when information is shared
each of which is derived from the Quran and Sunna (Di Mauro et al., 2013). This has led to the development of a series of innovative practices that have allowed Islamic banks to circumvent the problems faced by many Western banks since the 2008 financial crisis. These and other organizational contexts where the logic of religion meets other institutional logics, including other religious logics, offers significant potential to enrich the study of institutional complexity and the dynamics of society and economy.

Stigma, Organizations, and the Study of Religion A final area of research in OMT that we believe could benefit from connecting with religion pertains to stigma. There is a long tradition in social psychology and sociology of studying stigma at the individual level of analysis, much of which is anchored in Goffman’s (1963) seminal work on “the

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management of spoiled identity.” For Goffman, stigma is a distinguishing mark that indicates that a person has an inferior moral status. This “mark” might relate to physical characteristics, deviant behavior, or group membership. More recently, organizational researchers have sought to conceptualize the notion of stigma at the organizational level. Devers, Dewett, Mishina, and Belsito (2009, p. 157) define organizational stigma as “a label that evokes a collective stakeholder group-specific perception that an organization possesses a fundamental deep-seated flaw that deindividuates and discredits the organization.” Interestingly, with some important exceptions (e.g., Hudson & Okhuysen, 2009; Sutton & Callahan, 1987; Vergne, 2012), there has been surprisingly little empirical work on stigma at the organizational level, and here we believe the connection with religion offers important opportunities. It is notable that sociologists of religion have taken an interest in the notion of stigma, but they appear to focus on the individual-level effects of belonging to a faith or religious organization that is stigmatized. For example, Iannaccone (1992, p. 272) posits that “[e]fficient religions with perfectly rational members may … embrace stigma, self-sacrifice, and bizarre behavioral standards” in order to “screen out people whose participation would otherwise be low,” while Cline and Ferraro (2006, p. 271) speculate that religious organizations may “provide a ‘religious haven’
a consoling and welcoming setting for people who are … seeking protection from social stigma.” It would be fascinating to examine the relationship between stigma and religion at the organizational level. Specifically, what are the effects of stigma on religious organizations with respect to, for example, access to resources, organizational identity, and relationships with stakeholders? Answering these questions has the potential to push the boundaries of both OMT and the study of religion. It would also be interesting to study the experiences of individuals who are members of stigmatized religions within secular organizations. For example, it had been reported that Muslims in the United States have experienced significantly increased discrimination in the workplace since 9/11, but the voices of the Muslim minority do not feature prominently in mainstream organizational research.

THE ARTICLES INCLUDED IN THIS VOLUME This volume of Research in the Sociology of Organizations contains 11 articles that we believe push forward our understanding of religion and

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organization in important ways. The article by Bruno Dyck provides a valuable review of the management literature on religion. Intriguingly, however, rather than focusing on how management and organization theory might lead to a better understanding of religious organizations, Dyck focuses on how an analysis of the world’s largest religions
Buddhism, Christianity, Confucianism, Hinduism, and Islam
can augment management theory. In other words, “management theory and practice are the dependent variables” (p. 5). Dyck concludes that his analysis of the “spiritual turn” has three main implications for management research. First, research on spiritual practices, such as prayer, meditation, and mindfulness, is particularly valuable because it highlights the effects of these practices on the individuals who perform them. Specifically, such practices often stimulate individuals to act as agents of organizational and social change. Second, the spiritual turn may provide the basis of more radical, and indeed interesting, theories of management which moves beyond the basic assumptions that private organizations exist to maximize returns for shareholders. Finally, the spiritual turn suggests the need to develop a deeper and more fundamental understanding of ethical behavior. Part II of this volume contains two articles that consider religion and organization at the micro-level. In the first of these, Gary Weaver and Jason Stansbury focus on the relationship between cognition and behavior. Their extensive and insightful review uses social identity theory and schematic social cognition as overarching frameworks to make sense of the study of religious behavior in organizations. As well as identifying a range of situational influences on the development of religious identities, schemas, and scripts, the authors identify five broad categories of influence on individual behavior in organizations where religion plays a key role: job attitudes, ethics, decision-making, emotions, and counterproductive behaviors. Weaver and Stansbury conclude by suggesting that, while their analysis is focused at the individual level, linking the micro-level factors identified in their review with social processes at other levels of analysis represents an important next step. Douglas Creed, Rich DeJordy, and Jaco Lok also focus at the individual level, but take a very different tack from Weaver and Stansbury. Specifically, their article is concerned with how cultural resources that are embedded in religion help individuals who work in industrialized societies to narratively construct their sense of self. They focus specifically on the use of “redemptive self-narratives,” which both facilitate identity construction and provide the basis for action and decision making. To illustrate their arguments, the authors focus on the fascinating career narratives of a

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retired Episcopal Bishop and a high profile CEO. While the authors are careful to point out that the availability of redemptive self-narratives do not in themselves enable agency of the sort exhibited by their two cases, they do provide a powerful basis for action. This is an absorbing article, one that shows the value of studying the intersection of religion and organization theory. Part III of this volume contains two articles that focus on religious organizational forms and practices. C. R. Hinings and Mia Raynard focus on three fundamental questions. First, are religious organizations different from other kinds of organizations? Second, what factors lead to any differences and/or similarities? And third, are religious organizations different from each other? The authors conclude that religious organizations do indeed differ from other organizational forms because the former are rooted in belief systems that are theological. They also assert that there are substantive differences between different kinds of religious organizations because of variations in theological belief systems. Interestingly, however, Hinings and Raynard also point to similarities between religious and other types of organizations, and between different kinds of religious organizations: ultimately, they suggest, all organizations face pressures to adopt particular highly legitimate templates and practices. This article is invaluable in laying out the core mechanics underpinning religious organization, and pointing to core issues at the religion
organization theory interface that deserve greater attention. Marvin Washington, Harry Van Buren III, and Karen Patterson focus on a particular organizational form
the megachurch
which they define as Protestant churches whose average attendance is more than 2,000 people. Drawing on a preliminary analysis of a database of more than 1,400 US megachurches, the authors identify some of the key characteristics of megachurch pastors, who the authors argue face the crucial task of balancing the competing demands of their denominations on the one hand and their local church members on the other. From this perspective, megachurch pastors are “institutional leaders” who sustain their churches through the telling of stories and more specifically the production of texts such as books. Focusing on 19 pastors who have written bestselling books, the authors make a series of intriguing points about the nature and purpose of these texts which sheds significant light on the megachurch as an organizational form. In Part IV we have four articles that are connected in the sense that they use institutional theory to make their arguments, albeit in very different ways. Roger Friedland draws on Max Weber’s theory of value spheres to

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present a “polytheistic sociology of religious life.” His article has three aims. The first is to outline Weber’s theory of value spheres, which Friedland views as a form of religious sociology. The second is to explain the role of “loving and loved divinity” in Weber’s value spheres. In doing so, Friedland highlights that from a Weberian perspective love is “an essential constituent of institution,” even in apparently rationalized domains such as mass politics. The final aim of the article is to articulate the implications of Weber’s thinking for the study of institutions. Friedland suggests that “the interlocked Weberian troika” of God, love and erotics opens up a range of new directions and possibilities for institutional theory. This is a fascinating (and unconventional) piece of work from the pioneer of what has arguably become institutional theory’s most influential concept: the institutional logic. The article by Simona Giorgi, Margaret Guilder, and Jean Bartunek offers a very different take on institutional theory to Friedland, but one that is no less valuable or interesting. The authors are concerned with the following research question: “how do actors manage attempts at change projects by more powerful others within the same institution … when exit … or open opposition … are not considered viable options?” To answer this question they draw on a study of the 2008
2011 Apostolic Visitation of US women’s religious, which had its roots in concerns on the part of the Vatican that Catholic sisters had been unduly influenced by the relatively liberal attitudes and values of the society to which they belonged. The authors find that institutional resistance should not be viewed simply as a reaction to change, but rather as an active process that involves significant emotional and identity work. This article not only sheds light on the dynamics of religious organization, but also makes an important contribution to institutional theory, which has tended to underplay to role of power and resistance. Rich DeJordy, Brad Almond, Richard Nielson, and Douglas Creed use religious research universities as their empirical setting. Theoretically, the authors are concerned with how tensions between competing institutional logics can be managed. To explore this issue they present a stylized history of Baylor University. Their analysis shows how the University responded over time to the pressures exerted by multiple institutional logics. Importantly, they identify a novel way through which conflict between institutional logics can be resolved, one that differs from the kinds of resolution identified in the literature to date. Specifically, the authors suggest that the adoption of a superordinate logic through a dialectic process of conflict resolution has the potential to overcome tensions between logics

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and at the same time produce transformational change. Like the previous contribution by Giorgi and colleagues, this is an important article not only because it sheds light on an organizational form that has received limited attention, but also because it offers news insights on a significant theoretical puzzle in the institutional literature. The fourth article in the religion and institutional theory section is by Jared Peifer. As with DeJordy and Colleagues, Peifer is concerned with how organizations respond to competing institutional logics. The empirical context that he uses to examine this issue is religious mutual funds (Catholic, Muslim, Protestant, and nondenominational Protestant), which operate at the intersection of the logic of religion and the logic of finance. Using interviews with 31 employees (or “fund producers”) as well as a content analysis of material published by religious mutual funds, the author identifies two forms of symbolic boundary work
boundary blurring and boundary building
enacted by religious fund producers, and conceptualizes the conditions under which institutional complexity is likely to endure. Interestingly, no significant differences in boundary work were identified between funds operated by different religious traditions. This research is particularly stimulating because of its explicit focus on the logic of religion, and because its analysis is comparative across different religions and denominations. Part V of this volume is concerned with religion and social movements, and contains two captivating empirical articles. The article by Paolo Parigi examines how an organization was able to promote institutional change from a central field position by drawing on the legitimacy of local religious movements. The organization in question is the Catholic Church. The movements are the supporters of candidates to sainthood who used miracles to mobilize local communities. The institutional change is the move from early to modern sainthood. The period of study begins in the midsixteenth century and ends in the mid-seventeenth century, which captures the period of the aftermath of the Protestant schism. Drawing on Vatican archives of a special commission with responsibility for developing rules to adjudicate between miracles performed by candidates for sainthood, Parigi shows how the Commission was able to help heal the wounds within the Catholic Church by approving those miracles that forged ties between individuals spanning status and kinship boundaries. Finally, the article by Dina Biscotti and Nicole Woolsey Biggart examines two organizations located at the intersection of the environmental and religious fields. The two organizations
Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation
are conceptualized as institutional entrepreneurs that draw

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on instrumental rather than substantive forms of rationality in an effort to embed environmentalism within the field of religion through efficiency programs. The authors find that Club Ecofaith and EcoFaith Federation face similar legitimacy challenges and deploy similar legitimating strategies to overcome them. Interestingly, both organizations sought to position practices designed to protect the environment as fundamentally religious, and indeed incorporated environmental consumption practices into their ministry. Their success has led secular environmental organizations to take note of their persuasive strategies. While Biscotti and Biggart’s context and timeframe are clearly very different to those of Parigi, their findings are no less compelling.

CONCLUDING COMMENTS In this introduction to the volume on religion and organization theory, we have sought to accomplish three goals. First, we have argued that OMT has much to gain from a more explicit engagement with the role of religion in organizations, and have sought to dispel concerns about the appropriateness of religion as a research topic. Second, we have pointed to some streams of research that we believe have particular potential for connecting religion and OMT and have suggested some possible topic areas. Finally, we have introduced the articles that make up this volume and have described the contribution of each of them. Combined, we believe that the articles that we have assembled constitute an important step toward a fuller engagement with religion on the part of organizational researchers.

NOTE 1. For example, more than 40% of the submissions to the Organization and Management Theory Division of the Academy of Management in 2013 were identified by the author(s) as institutional theory.

REFERENCES Albert, S., & Whetten, D. A. (1985). Organizational identity. Research in Organizational Behavior, 7, 263
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Alexander, V. D. (1996). Museums and money: The impact of funding on exhibitions, scholarship, and management. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Ashforth, B. E., & Mael, F. (1989). Social identity theory and the organization. Academy of Management Review, 14(1), 20
39. Barley, S. R., & Tolbert, P. S. (1997). Institutionalization and structuration: Studying the links between action and institution. Organization Studies, 18(1), 93
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762. Chaves, M. (1996). Ordaining women: The diffusion of an organizational innovation. The American Journal of Sociology, 101, 840
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281. Creed, W. E. D., DeJordy, R., & Lok, J. (2010). Being the change: Resolving institutional contradiction through identity work. Academy of Management Journal, 53(6), 1336
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83). Bingley, UK: Emerald Group. Friedland, R., & Alford, R. R. (1991). Bringing society back. In W. W. Powell & P. J. DiMaggio (Eds.), The new institutionalism in organizational analysis (pp. 232
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Gioia, D. A., & Thomas, J. B. (1996). Identity, image, and issue interpretation: Sensemaking during strategic change in academia. Administrative Science Quarterly, 41(3), 370
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85. Greenwood, R., Diaz, A. M., Li, S. X., & Lorente, J. C. (2010). The multiplicity of institutional logics and the heterogeneity of organizational responses. Organization Science, 21(2), 521
539. Greenwood, R., Raynard, M., Kodeih, F., Micelotta, E. R., & Lounsbury, M. (2011). Institutional complexity and organizational responses. Academy of Management Annals, 5, 317
371. Hinings, C. R., & Bryman, A. (1974). Size and the administrative component in churches. Human Relations, 27(5), 457
475. Hudson, B. A., & Okhuysen, G. A. (2009). Not with a ten-foot pole: Core stigma, stigma transfer, and improbable persistence of men’s bathhouses. Organization Science, 20(1), 134
153. Iannaccone, L. R. (1992). Sacrifice and stigma: Reducing free-riding in cults, communes, and other collectives. Journal of Political Economy, 100(2), 271
291. Kraatz, M. S., & Block, E. S. (2008). Organizational implications of institutional pluralism. In R. Greenwood, C. Oliver, K. Sahlin, & R. Suddaby (Eds.), The Sage handbook of organizational institutionalism (pp. 243
275). London: Sage. Lounsbury, M. (2007). A tale of two cities: Competing logics and practice variation in the professionalizing of mutual funds. Academy of Management Journal, 50(2), 289
307. Pache, A. C., & Santos, F. (2010). When worlds collide: The internal dynamics of organizational responses to conflicting institutional demands. Academy of Management Review, 35(3), 455
476. Paloutzian, R. F., & Park, C. L. (2005). Handbook of the psychology of religion and spirituality. New York, NY: The Guilford Press. Rao, H., Monin, P., & Durand, R. (2003). Institutional change in Toque Ville: Nouvelle Cuisine as an identity movement in French Gastronomy. American Journal of Sociology, 108(4), 795
843. Reay, T., & Hinings, C. R. (2005). The recomposition of an organizational field: Health care in Alberta. Organization Studies, 26(3), 351
384. Scott, W. R. (2001). Institutions and organizations. London: Sage. Shenhav, Y. (2002). Manufacturing rationality: The engineering foundations of the managerial revolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stark. (1999). Secularization, rip. Sociology of Religion, 60(3), 249
273. Stryker, S., & Burke, P. J. (2000). The past, present, and future of an identity theory. Social Psychology Quarterly, 63(4), 284
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228. Thornton, P. H. (2004). Markets from culture: Institutional logics and organizational decisions in higher education publishing. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

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Thornton, P. H., & Ocasio, W. (1999). Institutional logics and the historical contingency of power in organizations: Executive succession in the higher education publishing industry, 1958
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843. Thornton, P. H., Ocasio, W., & Lounsbury, M. (2012). The institutional logics perspective: A new approach to culture, structure, and process. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tracey, P. (2012). Religion and organization: A critical review of current trends and future directions. Academy of Management Annals, 6(1), 87
134. Tracey, P., Phillips, N., & Jarvis, O. (2011). Bridging institutional entrepreneurship and the creation of new organizational forms: A multilevel model. Organization Science, 22(1), 60
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97. Weber, M. (1978/1919). Economy and society. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Wilde, M. J., Geraty, K., Nelson, S. L., & Bowman, E. A. (2010). Religious economy or organizational field? American Sociological Review, 75, 586
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463.

GOD ON MANAGEMENT: THE WORLD’S LARGEST RELIGIONS, THE “THEOLOGICAL TURN,” AND ORGANIZATION AND MANAGEMENT THEORY AND PRACTICE Bruno Dyck ABSTRACT This article reviews research published in secular management journals that examines what the world’s largest religions (Buddhism, Christianity, Confucianism, Hinduism, and Islam) say about management. In terms of how religion informs management, the literature identifies two basic means: (1) written scriptures (e.g., Analects, Bible, Quran) and (2) experiential spiritual practices (e.g., prayer, mindfulness). In terms of what religion says about management, the emphasis tends to be either on (1) enhancing, or (2) liberating mainstream management. Studies based on scriptures typically either enhance

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or liberate management, whereas empirical research based on spiritual disciplines consistently point to liberation. Implications are discussed. Keywords: Religion and management; world religions; Max Weber and the Protestant ethic; spiritual practices and mindfulness; spirituality and management; the theological turn and management

INTRODUCTION The goal of the present article is twofold: to review the secular management literature with regard to what five leading world religions say about management, and to draw out implications for future research in the area. Worldwide interest in religion is strong and growing. Approximately 80 percent of the world follows one of the five leading religions examined in this article
Buddhism, Christianity, Confucianism, Hinduism, and Islam
and this number is expected to grow to about 85 percent by 2050 (Johnson, 2010; see also Kriger & Seng, 2005). Interest in spirituality and religion varies within countries; for example, in the USA over 50 percent of Americans pray more than once a day outside of formal religious services (Vitell, Paolillo, & Singh, 2006). Although interest in religion and its implication for management is growing (e.g., Chan-Serafin, Brief, & George, 2013; Dyck & Wiebe, 2012; Tracey, 2012), the study of the influence of religion on management theory and practice is not particularly well developed. “Even though religion plays a significant role in the lives and interactions of individuals, societies, and nations, the management field has only lightly and narrowly explored how religion’s influence manifests in the workplace” (King, 2008, p. 214). This article reviews the secular management literature that looks at how religion can and has influenced management theory and practice. By way of introduction to the article, the review identifies three overarching themes that help to understand this literature. First, the five religions share in common some sort of understanding of a deity, divine being or transcendent other. Thus, in shorthand the article is entitled “God on management.” Second, the articles tend to focus on one of two “means” by which religions have something to say about management: (1) written scriptures (e.g., ancient writings and holy texts), and (2) experiential spiritual practices (e.g., prayer, meditation, mindfulness). Finally, in terms of what the articles say, about half (45 percent) of the articles argue that religious ideas enhance mainstream management theory and practice, and the other half

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(55 percent) argue that religion calls for new liberating, radical forms of management. The remainder of the article is divided into four parts. The first part draws from classic arguments by Max Weber through to the current “theological turn” to describe the relevance and importance of the present article, and presents a 2 × 2 conceptual framework that will guide the subsequent presentation. The second part describes the methodology used to select studies for the current study. The third part describes how the articles in the study fit into the 2 × 2 framework, and the final part describes implications for future research.

FROM MAX WEBER TO THE “THEOLOGICAL TURN” It is helpful to start by clarifying what literature is not being reviewed here. This article will review research that examines the effect of “religion” or “God” on management, not vice versa. As a result, the research reviewed here differs from most of the studies that look at religion published in leading management journals (e.g., Administrative Science Quarterly, Journal of Management Studies, Strategic Management Journal), which tend to focus on how management theory and practice influence or promote a better understanding of religion and religious organizations (cf. Tracey, 2012). For example, Bartunek (1984) and Bartunek and Ringuest (1989) use organization theory to describe changes in a Roman Catholic Women’s order; Miller (2002) uses strategy theory to look at religious organizations; Dyck and Starke (1999) use EVLN theory to describe the formation of breakaway congregations; Stanley (1981) uses religious organizations to illustrate aspects of dissent theory; Weaver and Agle (2002) use symbolic interactionism to understand the relationship between managers’ religious identities and ethics; Kieser (1987) describes how medieval monasteries illustrate the negative feedback loops associated with the iron cage; Nelson (1993) examines organizational outcomes of three multinational churches to explore the relationship between Weber’s three types of authority, organizational form, and societal environment; and King and Haveman (2008) examine the antislavery movement using theory from social institutions and communications networks (noting how the theological beliefs of religious groups influenced whether or not they supported abolition). Some articles refer to how traditional religious ideas have been integrated into conventional theory, including analysis of how

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contemporary work organizations are adopting roles and attributes once performed by religious organizations (Bowles, 1989), how excellent companies are much like successful religious sects (Soeters, 1986), and how a religious tone helps to strengthen corporate cultures (Ackers & Preston, 1997, who question whether this it is ethical for a business organization to claim the “soul” of its members). As a whole, such studies may be enriching for both theory development and practice, but they place little emphasis on examining how religion informs management theory (and they rarely refer to a deity). In contrast, rather than describe how management theory can inform and improve our understanding of religious organizations and issues, this article focuses on research that describes how religion can inform management theory. In other words, in the studies reviewed here management theory and practice are the dependent variables. Such a focus is entirely consistent with both the history of our academic discipline, and with the “theological turn” taking place among leading philosophers. In terms of the historical foundations of organization analysis, ever since Max Weber (1958/1903) wrote his classic The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, there has been widespread agreement among scholars that conventional management theory and practice were initially underpinned by a particular, long-since secularized, religious moral-point-of-view (e.g., Dyck & Schroeder, 2005; Golembiewski, 1989; Herman, 1997; Hershberger, 1958; Jackall, 1988; Nash, 1994; Naughton & Bausch, 1996; Novak, 1996; Pattison, 1997; Pfeffer, 1982; Redekop, Ainlay, & Siemens, 1995). Weber noted that the hallmarks of this conventional approach
namely, its emphasis on individualism and materialism
had long lost their grounding in religious forces (e.g., Weber, 1958/1903, p. 72) and had encaptured society in an “iron cage.” What is of particular importance for the present article, but has often been overlooked is that Weber, though agnostic, argued that escape from the materialistic-individualistic “iron cage” demanded a radical approach to management based on “a great rebirth of old ideas and ideals” or “entirely new prophets” (1958/1903, p. 182, see also pages 277
278; see also MacIntyre’s (1981, p. 263) similar argument that overcoming “bureaucratic individualism” requires new and “doubtless very different” prophets). Thus, already a century ago Weber (1958/1903, pp. 181
182) pointed to the merit in re-embracing the theological in order to escape the iron cage. He argued that mainstream approaches to management and organization theory were destined to fail due to their inherent lack of ultimate meaning (“the pursuit of wealth, stripped of its religious and ethical meaning, tends

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to become associated with purely mundane passions, which often actually gives it the character of sport”) and due to ecological concerns (the iron cage would need to be replaced once “the last ton of fossilized coal is burnt”). As he put it, of this secular materialistic-individualistic iron cage it can truly be said: “Specialists without spirit, sensualists without heart; this nullity imagines that his has attained a level of civilization never before achieved [emphasis added here].” Taken together, Weber points to the horizontal dimension of the 2 × 2 conceptual framework (see below) that will be used to review the literature, namely, the question of whether religion is being used to (1) support conventional management theory versus (2) point toward a qualitatively different kind of management theory. Today Weber’s ideas about the importance of the theological
that is, the merit in studying “God on management”
are perhaps most evident in the “theological turn” manifest among leading philosophers in continental Europe. In simple terms, the theological turn points to the value of developing social theory on the assumption that there is an altruistic god, even if one believes that such a god does not exist (Hodge, 2007, p. 175; “Post-metaphysical thinking should be open to learning from religion and at the same remain agnostic,” Habermas, 2005, cited in Harrington, 2007, p. 54). In general terms the “theological turn” can be seen as having two characteristics (the following discussion draws from Dyck, 2013). First, even if I as a scholar do not believe in a deity or some transcendent other, if other people experience God as a real phenomenon, then this already makes the phenomenon of a deity worthy of study. To pretend otherwise is to suggest that my life experiences are complete and more true than the experiences of others. By way of analogy, just because I have never experienced what it is like to be “in love” does not mean that being “in love” is not real or worthy of study. Second, even if we were all to agree that there is no loving God (or even if we are all undecided), there still may be merit for purposes of theory development to assume that there is. According to some leading phenomenologists it is difficult to theorize about altruism in the absence of an altruistic deity because, without a benevolent and loving God, everything can be reduced to self-interested behavior, or at best enlightened self-interests. Thus, the theological turn enables humankind to conceive of, imagine, and theorize about concepts like altruism and genuine benefaction, concepts that have proven difficult to conceive within the conventional instrumental management paradigm (e.g., Ferraro, Pfeffer, & Sutton, 2005, p. 14). The theological turn opens the door to the possibility of altruism and other

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ideas that are impossible within a secular paradigm based on consequential utilitarianism and rational choice theory. For example, a theology premised on the idea of a benevolent God is able to conceive the lure of altruism being more powerful than the lure of profits (Godbout & Caille´, 1998, p. 15). In short, the theological turn permits the development of management theory and practice that takes into account messages from a deity (Weber, 1958/1903, p. 182) that lie outside of secular paradigms (e.g., see Simmons, 2008, pp. 919
920). This assumption of a loving deity represents a shift in the basic fundamentals of building social theory. By way of illustration, note the implications of such a theological turn for everyday relationships and actions. As Simmons (2008, p. 920) describes, because of the theological turn we can see God looking at us “in the face of the other” (Levinas), to see God humbly hoping for our “works of love and justice” (Derrida), and to hear God calling to us “in the voice and touch of the Other” (Chre´tien). These basic observations and orientations result in concepts and ideas that are inconceivable from a secular worldview. As Juergen Habermas (1991, p. 79) notes: “intuitions which had long been articulated in religious language can neither be rejected nor simply retrieved rationally” (cited in Harrington, 2007, pp. 46
47). Simmons continues: For Marion, God is the absolutely self-given pure gift of love. This gift is not presented with the expectation of payback (i.e., according to an economic logic), but instead is an-economic. It is pure givenness (donation) without return. Henry claims that according to Christianity all humans exist in the condition of being “sons” of God according to the “truth of life.” This status requires a radical rupture of the power-relations that obtain according to the objectifying tendencies constitutive of the “truth of the world.” In pure life, as sons, all beings are constituted in their relation to God/Life as such and not according to their socio-economic, gendered, raced, sexed, identity. This is not to say that these identity markers are not radically important, but merely that in relation to God, our relations to others are bathed in the light of otherservice and not self-interest. Similarly, Lacoste proposes a “kenotic treatment of the question of man” in which the self is established precisely in its being dispossessed from itself. This dispossession is a fundamental challenge to all egoism and arrogance. Overcoming these self-interested dispositions is hard work and Lacoste contends that our task is to live towards the “kingdom of heaven” in which the relation of self, God, and others is able to come into absolute harmony. (Simmons, 2008, p. 919; italics in original)

Perhaps it should not come as a surprise that leading luminaries in management are echoing Weber’s emphasis to turn toward theology to develop qualitatively different kind of management theory. For example, in a recent article Gary Hamel (2009) describes a veritable who’s who of management

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scholars and practitioners who met to discuss how to escape “Management 1.0” (the conventional approach that has characterized the past century or more) and to invent “Management 2.0.” It is striking that these management leaders too point to the merit in looking to “theology” to develop Management 2.0 (Hamel, 2009, pp. 93, 94). The growing interest in the areas of spirituality and religion among scholars and in the general public is also evident in the Academy of Management’s “Management, Spirituality and Religion” interest group, started more than a decade ago. The promise of such a theological approach, which we might call a “theology of management”
or more provocatively “God on management”
is evident in the articles of the five leading world religions reviewed here. Each of these religions has some sort of understanding of a divine being or a “higher power”
for example, Skanda, Yahweh, T’ien or Shangdi, Vishnu, and Allah
which for the sake of simplicity will here be subsumed under the general heading of “god.” Of course the goal in this article is not to argue that there is a common understanding of God shared by these religions, for clearly there are important differences. The article is entitled “God on management” as a shorthand way of saying that each of these religions has some sort of an understanding of a deity that has implications for management theory and practice. Before proceeding to the next section, note that the literature is not blind to the observation that the question of God on management can have a dark side, and that history shows that negative things can occur when people genuinely (though perhaps wrongly) believe themselves to be acting according to their understanding of God’s will (e.g., Chan-Serafin et al., 2013; Lips-Wiersma, Dean, & Fornaciari, 2009). This is not the place to address these concerns, except to say that just because these dangers are real does not means that we should stop studying what God says about management. Analogously, just because it can be dangerous for people fall “in love” with others does not mean we should stop doing so (but we should not do so recklessly). Common Themes across the Literature: A 2 × 2 Conceptual Framework Although this was not apparent prior to the study, during the course of analyzing the literature two key dimensions emerged that were helpful for categorizing the articles. These two dimensions give rise to the 2 × 2 conceptual framework, shown in Fig. 1, which will be briefly described in order to facilitate the presentation of the review.

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How God speaks to management

via scriptures

scriptural enhancement

scriptural liberation

via spiritual practices

spiritual enhancement

spiritual liberation

enhancement of mainstream

liberation from mainstream

What God says about management

Fig. 1.

God on Management: Four Quadrants to Review the Literature.

First, as indicated on the vertical dimension of Fig. 1, the review showed that the articles tended to focus on one of two “means” by which religions have something to say about management. The first way is via ancient writings and holy texts. Bartunek (2006) poetically talks about the “word” of scripture becoming the “flesh” of management practices. The religious scriptures in the literature are typically ancient written texts about or by “prophets” (literally “messengers of God”) or particularly wise religious gurus and leaders. These texts include the Dhamma or Vinaya Pitaka, Christian Bible, Analects, Bhagavad Gita, and the Quran. For simplicity, these are called religious “scriptures” (Fig. 1). In the sample of articles reviewed here, scriptures were the most common means through which religion had something to say about management (about 80 percent of the articles). The second way that religion talks to management is via a variety of experiential spiritual practices
such as prayer, meditation, and mindfulness
that are designed to help followers live according to the ways of their religion (about 20 percent of articles). In Fig. 1 these are placed under the general heading of “spiritual practices.” Note that these spiritual practices have a first-hand experiential quality, compared to what may be seen as a more second-hand quality associated with the writings of prophets. This simple dichotomy
scriptures versus spiritual practices
is consistent with the larger literature that identifies five core dimensions of religiosity (Stark & Glock, 1968). An emphasis on scriptures overlaps with intellectual and ideological dimensions (knowledge of doctrine, beliefs about God), whereas an emphasis on spiritual practices overlaps with experiential and ritual dimensions (communication with a divine power, religious sacraments). In terms of their implications for management, both the scriptural and the spiritual include a consequential dimension (connecting religious and work-related religious beliefs, practices, and experiences).

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Engaging meaningfully with these dimensions promises to “provide management researchers with an important opportunity to move work in this area forward” (see also Bre´chon, 2007; Tracey, 2012, p. 26). Note also how the idea of spiritual disciplines as used in this article is not inconsistent with how the management literature describes spirituality, which is generally understood to have three core dimensions: (1) connectedness with some kind of “higher power;” (2) a holistic integration of different aspects of life; and (3) and a sense of growth and direction (Ashforth & Pratt, 2003; Tracey, 2012, p. 29). Where the vertical dimension in Fig. 1 refers to how God speaks to management (i.e., via scriptures versus spiritual practices), the horizontal dimension refers to what God says about management. Consistent with Weber’s observations noted earlier, the articles can be divided into two groups. About half of the articles argue that religion enhances mainstream management theory, and the other half argue that religion offers liberation from and an alternative to mainstream theory. First, the articles that argue religious ideas are basically supportive of conventional management theory and practice often offer ways to improve it or make it more ethical or honest. In Fig. 1 these are called “enhancement” articles because they support the status quo, and provide a moral and religious basis with which to understand and improve mainstream management. Many of these articles argue that it was not only the “Protestant ethic” that is consistent with conventional approaches to business management; other religious traditions offer similar foundations and support for the status quo. Second, slightly more than half of the articles argue that religion calls for radical new forms of management that transform conventional emphases on self-interests and financial wealth maximization (iron cage). In Fig. 1 these are called “liberation” because they support alternatives to mainstream management (e.g., as called for by Hamel, 2009; Weber, 1958/1903).

METHOD Three different steps were used to search for and identify articles for this review. The first step involved searching for terms like “religion/religious” in leading journals in the organization sciences (Academy of Management Journal, Academy of Management Review, Administrative Science Quarterly, Journal of Management, Journal of Management Studies, and Organization Studies). This yielded a total of 39 articles, of which 17

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articles had only a passing emphasis on religion of religious concerns (e.g., several survey-based studies reported that they had controlled for religion). Of the remaining 22 articles, most were articles that used conventional organization and management theory to analyze religions and religious organizations (rather than vice versa). The second method step involved a larger group of 32 journals (see Table 1) and a broader group of search words related to the world’s largest religions: Buddhism (which has about 470 million followers); Chinese folk religion (about 460 million followers; the focus in this study was on Confucianism), Christianity (about 2.3 billion adherents), Hinduism (about 950 million followers), and Islam (about 1.6 billion followers) (figures taken from Johnson, 2010, p. lix). Of course, limiting our sample to these five meant excluding other influential religions (e.g., Sikhs with 25 million followers, Judaism with 15 million followers and of clear importance to the religious heritage of both Islam and Christianity). For each of the five religions in our study, a Research Assistant used EBSCO to search for the name of the religion, its key sacred texts, and its key exemplars and primary leader(s) and god(s) (see Table 2). This resulted in 83 articles that had a relatively strong focus on religious issues. When sorted among the five religions, Buddhism was the primary focus in 7 articles, Christianity in 46 articles, Confucianism in 21 articles, Hinduism in 1 article, and Islam in 4 articles (with the remaining articles focused on multiple religions). Interestingly, there were studies within each religion along both dimensions of how God speaks to management (scripture, spirituality) and what God says about (enhancement, liberation) (the one exception being the lack of a specific study of Hinduism and “spiritual practices”). Of the articles collected by this method, 50 were published in an ethics journal (Journal of Business Ethics, Business Ethics Quarterly), 11 in a practitioner journal (Harvard Business Review, California Management Review, Sloan Management Review), 7 in a teaching journal, and the remainder in more general management journals. The third step was to specifically search for additional “spirituality” research, in particular studies that provided empirical data regarding the effects of using disciplines like mindfulness, prayer, and meditation. This included undertaking more general searches using Google Scholar, using search terms like “prayer or meditation and management or business,” which brought to 11 the number of “spiritual practices” studies relevant to this study. While the search was not exhaustive, enough articles were reviewed to be fairly confident that the four-part framework shown in Fig. 1 provides

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Table 1.

List of Journals for Second Phase of Literature Review. Journal Title

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Academy of Management Journal Academy of Management Review Academy of Management Executive (Perspectives) Academy of Management Learning and Education Accounting, Organizations and Society Administrative Science Quarterly Business Ethics Quarterly California Management Review Christian Scholars Review Harvard Business Review Human Relations Human Resource Management Journal of Applied Psychology Journal of Biblical Integration in Business Journal of Business Ethics Journal of Business Venturing Journal of Management Journal of Management Education Journal of Management, Spirituality and Religion Journal of Management Studies Journal of Management Inquiry Journal of Organizational Behaviour Journal of Religious Leadership Journal of Small Business Management The Leadership Quarterly Long Range Planning Management Science Organization Science Organization Studies Organizational Behaviour and Human Decision Processes Sloan Management Review Strategic Management Journal

an appropriate way to categorize this literature. By way of quick overview, articles in the “scriptural enhancement” quadrant basically show how religious writings support and enhance the mainstream management theory and practice. Research in the “scriptural liberation” quadrant uses religious writings to critique conventional management theory and provide a foundation for developing alternative theory. Studies in the “spiritual liberation” quadrant describe how the practice of spiritual disciplines results in liberation from mainstream management. And the final quadrant,

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Table 2. Religion Buddhism Christianity Confucianism Hinduism

Islam/Muslim

Keywords/Search Terms Used in Second Phase of Literature Review. Exemplar Buddha, Siddhartha, Gautama, Siddhattha, Gotama Jesus, Christ Confucius Krishna, Brahma, Shiva

Mohammed, Muhammad, Muhammed

Sacred Texts/Scripture, etc. Dharma, Dhamma, Buddhism, Buddhist Christian, Bible, Gospel, Kingdom of God Analects Bhagavad, Gita, Mahabharata, Gitopanishad, Yogopanishad, Veda, Vedas, Upanishads, Hindu Koran, Qur’an, Quran, Alcoran, Sunnah

“spiritual enhancement,” is for research that shows how spiritual practices support and enhance conventional management theory and practice. The next section will review the studies found in each of the four different quadrants in turn, presenting in alphabetical order each religious tradition and the research associated with it. Of course, in any review of the literature such as this there is need to summarize arguments and thus lose some of the subtleties of the original articles, but below is an attempt to briefly present the articles in terms of the 2 × 2 framework.

ANALYSIS AND FINDINGS Scripture-Enhancement Quadrant The articles in this quadrant argue that modern interpretations of ancient religious writings are compatible with and serve to fine-tune conventional organization and management theory and practice. Buddhism Niles (1999) provides a good example of a Buddhist article in the scriptureenhancement quadrant, as she goes to considerable lengths to argue that the ethic of hard work is not unique to the Protestants. She provides empirical support for this by showing that the work ethic (measured via Protestant Work Ethic scales) is higher among Buddhists in Sri Lanka than among Christians in Australia. Similarly, she refers to research findings

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among Confucian, Muslim, and Hindu practitioners suggesting that “most world religions share some common work-related beliefs” (Niles, 1999, p. 858). By emphasizing the similarities among religions, a subtext of the article is that a conventional approach to management is compatible with Buddhism and with other leading world religions: “an appropriate attitude to work seems to be universal” (Niles, 1999, pp. 858
859). Piker (1993) is an excellent example of a scripture-enhancement article that explicitly shows how Buddhism’s apparent countercultural teachings can be and have been overcome. He describes how
“with the help of a little tinkering” (p. 967)
Theravada Buddhism (once “the enemy of economic development,” p. 966) has become compatible with economic development. For example, in the past few decades there has been a decline in worshipping the goddess Pattini (a loyal, supportive, and nurturant wife whose identity was configured by her husband) and an increase in worshipping the previously minor goddess Kali (“preeminently a goddess of power and effectiveness”) (Piker, 1993, p. 970). Similarly the god of Skanda
“a figure of amoral effectiveness and power”
has experienced a huge leap in popularity and become the god of the businessperson (Piker, 1993, p. 970). He also describes the development of what some of have called “Protestant Buddhism.” Far from lamenting such “tinkering” with Buddhist teachings, Piker describes these adaptations to modern-day economic realities in positive terms, arguing that they help to explain the durability of this religion over time. To support his case, Piker describes how similar adaptations within the Roman Catholic church have also helped it to adapt to contemporary economic theory and practice. A similar transformation in the interpretation of scriptures is evident in Gould (1995) who also begins by describing a series of Buddhist teachings that seem to call for the development of a countercultural approach to management, but then goes on to emphasize the compatibility between Buddhism and the conventional management theory ostensibly based on a Protestant ethic. He notes that he is “not looking at a set of ethical concerns that are much different from the Judeo-Christian tradition” (Gould, 1995, p. 63). Christianity Given Weber’s (1958/1903) argument that a Protestant ethic underpins conventional management theory, it is not surprising that many scriptureenhancement articles argue that Christian values are consistent with conventional management theory. For example, Campbell (1957, p. 44) asserts that: “the free-enterprise system most nearly complies with the religious

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principles and is at the same time the most productive.” Jones (1997) offers a review of the empirical literature on the Protestant ethic to basically support the idea that it is consistent with mainstream management theory and practice. Lee, McCann, and Ching (2003) provide examples of Christian ethical behavior, all of which would be consistent with what Westerners would think of as professional management. McMahon (1991) essentially argues that profits were acceptable to Catholics even prior to the Protestant Reformation, and Quattrone (2004) argues that the discipline of accounting was developed and informed by the Protestant Reformation and the Catholic Counter-Reformation, based on religious and economic and political and social factors, influenced by an emphasis on individualism (a Protestant invention) and holism (consistent with the traditional Catholic emphasis on the unity of the church). Equally common are articles that draw from the biblical narrative to develop principles that can be applied toward improving ethics within conventional management (Pava, 2002). For example, Jones (1976) draws practical tips for modern managers from the biblical story of Joseph and the Pharaoh; Ludwig and Longenecker (1993) use the story of David and Bathsheba to point to how to manage dangers associated with personal and organizational success; Rodgers and Gago (2006) seek to modify decision-making models to make organizations more ethical; Rossouw (1994) provides guidance on how to apply Christian ethics in the workplace (which could be used to support enhancement or liberation); Molyneaux (2003, p. 260) shows how meekness is not inconsistent with conventional management best practices; Light (2001) suggests that financial success is fine if accompanied by philanthropy; Whittington, Pitts, Kagel, and Goodwin (2005) draw leadership lessons from the Apostle Paul; and Ali, Camp, and Gibbs (2000) draw lessons from the Ten Commandments that can be applied to business (they also identify implications for Islam). Several articles draw on Catholic writings to critique and fine-tune existing business practices. In an article published over 70 years ago in Harvard Business Review, Dempsey (1937, p. 66) refers to the Pope’s 1931 encyclical on labor and capital (which essentially supports the idea of unions: “Capital cannot do without labour, nor can labour do without capital. Let them settle their differences in representative assemblies”) to remind business leaders to consider the needs of their workers because this is “worthy of consideration of thoughtful American business men [sic], who, mindful of their great responsibility, are concerned with defending our people from communistic revolution and bureaucratic evolution” (p. 66). Since then a number of articles have shown how Christian critiques of the status quo

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can be deflected or integrated into conventional organizational and management theory and practice (Childs, 1997; Ibrahim, Rues, McDougal, & Greene, 1991, p. 124; Steinfels, 1988, p. 411; Wren, 2000). Confucianism Although most of the Confucian articles fall into the scripture-liberation quadrant, there are several articles that go to considerable lengths to emphasize the compatibility between Confucianism and conventional management. Perhaps most notably, Romar (2004b, pp. 199, 208) argues that Peter. F. Drucker, “the founder of modern American management … chose Confucianism as the ethical foundation for his work.” Elsewhere Romar notes that “Confucianism is compatible with accepted managerial practices” (Romar, 2002, p. 119). Cheung and Chan (2005, p. 58) describe how the practices of CEOs following Confucian teachings “do not contradict those noted in the West.” Chan (2008, p. 351) notes that “There is no necessary incompatibility between Confucian ethics and Capitalism.” Hinduism Our search found only one article that focused on Hinduism (Barnett, 1985; other articles that refer to Hinduism include Niles, 1999, and Yong, 2008). Barnett (1985) describes how Hinduism draws attention to the foolishness of conventional business (see scripture-liberation quadrant), but rather than describe how a Hinduism model of enlightenment can help to escape this foolishness, Barnett instead seems to say that a Hindu perspective can provide spiritual meaning to conventional business. In particular, he suggests that by seeing “business life” as one of four stage in life
student, householder (includes business world), withdrawal from material world, retirement from life
business life can be viewed as a key component of one’s larger spiritual journey. “By fulfilling the role of householder, one understood and then grew beyond the pursuit of wealth and sensual pleasure” (Barnett, 1985, p. 58). Barnett suggests that the essence of “the householder model is reflected in many Western concepts” and that the four Hindu stages of life are appropriate for contemporary times because of their “compatibility with [today’s] cultural values” (Barnett, 1985, pp. 59, 62). The echo of a similar line of argument is evident in Niles (1999, p. 858) who notes that, although Hinduism is often perceived to be incompatible with conventional management (Hinduism “is irrational and lacking in the essence of the Protestant work ethic”), in actuality “the core Indian

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personality could be individualistic because the religions of India teach that ultimately salvation has to be an individual process.” Thus, overall Niles (1999) emphasizes the enhancement nature of Hinduism and on overcoming its countercultural stereotype. Islam Abeng (1997) sketches out an approach to management based Islamic ethics, showing how Islamic distinctives can be seen to enhance and be compatible with conventional management. However, Abeng (1997) also alludes to the importance of a scripture-liberation perspective by starting with a recognition of the tensions between the need for modern business and the shortcomings of capitalism: Capitalism, as the main driver of modern business today, in itself is based on a foundation which many regard as a dubious morality. Profit maximization, practiced by many entrepreneurially driven business leaders, tends to lead to unfair distribution of resources and pushes at the ethical boundaries. Nevertheless … modern society and the global world cannot deny the role of business
in leading better life for humankind. (Abeng, 1997, p. 48)

Help in resolving this tension comes from noting that Islam not only permits, but actually: encourages Muslims to do business. The prophet of Islam was himself a full-time businessman for a considerable period of time. However, contemporary Muslims find themselves confronted with serious dilemmas. Despite their active participation, they are not sure whether some of their business practices are valid or not. It is not the business per se that has confused them, but rather the brand new forms, institutions, methods and techniques of modern business. (Abeng, 1997, p. 48)

Abeng then draws from contemporary Islamic business toward identifying seven ethical principles for business people that “are all commended by the Islamic imperative” (Abeng, 1997, pp. 48, 49). While these principles may have a liberating countercultural dimension (e.g., “maximizing profits” is not listed among them), the business practices they are described to give rise to do not seem inconsistent with conventional management theory, such as: 1. Fulfillment of promises (pacts and contracts
or verbal and written) 2. Exactness in weights and measures (specifications) in all business related items including work, wages and payment, and labor movement 3. Truthfulness, sincerity, and honesty. While lying and cheating are condemned, the quality of truthfulness, sincerity and honesty is not only commended but commanded by the Quran (Quran 55:7
9 and 83:1
6)

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4. Efficiency, i.e., jobs should be carried out without any lapse or omission, with best planning and to be the best of their efficiency and competency 5. Selection of merit. The Quranic standard of eligibility is the required merit and competency for the job (Quran 28:26) 6. Investigation and verification. They are essential because they constitute a prelude for the right and ethical conduct. The Quran commands to probe and verify any given statement or piece of information before making a decision or taking any action accordingly (Quran 17:36, and 49:6). (Abeng, 1997, p. 51)

When the seven Islamic principles are applied to everyday business transactions, their countercultural edge seems to largely disappear. Indeed, Abeng (1997, p. 52) states that “competitive position is the only relevant way to measure success, and for that matter, survival in business.” “To manage competition, business leaders must be able to possess relative efficiency which, to a great extent, is a function of human resource competence. Therefore, the greatest challenge faced by business leaders today is the development, in the right direction, of human resources to alleviate the negative impact of competitive environment. At the end, this will bring wealth and prosperity to humankind which in the Islamic teaching is a noble proposition” (Abeng, 1997, p. 54). In an article that can be less ambiguously located in the scriptureenhancement quadrant, Essers and Benschop (2009) describes how Islamic teachings have changed over time to accommodate to contemporary understandings of entrepreneurial success. Finally, Wright (1981) suggests that Western business people can accommodate distinctive Islamic business practices. Summary Taken together, the articles in this quadrant use religious scriptures to enhance or fine-tune conventional management theory and practice. Given the legacy of Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, perhaps it should not come as a surprise that almost two-thirds of the articles in this quadrant are written from a Christian perspective. And similarly, in light of Weber’s work, it may not be surprising that articles from the perspective of other religions often explicitly address the (ostensibly Weberian) idea that their scriptures do not support conventional management. Moreover, about one-fifth of the articles in this quadrant are quite explicit in describing how their religions have adapted over time to become more consistent with mainstream management theory and practice. To be clear, many of the articles do not give unquestioned support to the status quo; rather, many of them critique that status quo in order to

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show how it can be improved upon. But the critique calls for “fixes” that do not call for fundamental changes to the conventional management paradigm.

Scripture-Liberation Quadrant Research in this quadrant describes how religious scriptures challenge the conventional management paradigm and point to the need to develop a radical countercultural approach to management. Buddhism Although Piker (1993) has been presented as a scripture-enhancement article, he starts his article by reviewing several studies that suggest that (traditional) Buddhist teachings are not receptive to capitalism and conventional management: Theravada Buddhism is the enemy of economic development, often for the same reasons that Weber himself posited in this connection, viz., the irreducible otherworldliness of its salvation ethic, the pervasive ostensible consequence of which is the devaluation of all things worldly, including especially economic activity. (Piker, 1993, p. 966)

Similarly, although Gould (1995) has been presented as an example of a scripture-enhancement article, he also starts his article by describing a number of ways that Buddhist teachings seem to call for the developmental of a radical approach to management. He places particular emphasis on compassion, which he describes as “intending to act in an altruistic spirit to help others” and as involving “not only not stealing wealth but [also] sharing your wealth with others” (p. 64): In Buddhism the idea of seeing everyone as one’s mother or father is a central way of extending compassion to all people. If everyone is seen this way, then we naturally feel compassion for them, much as we do for our actual mothers and fathers who bore and cared for us as children. (Gould, 1995, p. 65)

Such an emphasis on fictive kinship relationships seems to challenge basic ideas in conventional business theory that: (a) treats others as competitors, not as family, and (b) finds it difficult to theorize about altruism. Christianity Several articles explicitly draw on Weber’s framework and show how specific Christian teachings can be interpreted to lend support to either

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conventional or to radical management theory (where “radical” refers to a relative de-emphasis on materialism and individualism). For example, Dyck and Schroeder (2005) show how four biblical virtues
love, submission, obedience, and nonworldliness
have been interpreted in a way that supports the Protestant ethic view of management (Weber, 1958/1903), and how they can be interpreted differently to provide support for a radical view (empirical support consistent with this latter interpretation is found in Dyck & Weber, 2006). Dyck, Starke, and Dueck (2009) describe how the Parable of the Talents can be interpreted to lend support to either a conventional or a radical perspective. Other articles that also recognize a tension within Christianity regarding conventional versus radical management include De George who suggests that: within Christianity there has long been a tension with respect to business. On the one hand the protestant work ethic preaches diligence and thrift, and promises commensurate rewards. On the other hand the Christian message teaches that one should not pay too much attention to money, goods, and material things. (1986, p. 427)

Johnson refers to a similar tension between (countercultural) Christian teachings and conventional approaches to commercial life: Christian doctrines do, in fact, offer a [counter-cultural] perspective from which to view modern commercial life, and this perspective can make a difference in the decisions and actions of businessmen. They are relevant in that they can help him chose the “best” (not necessarily the “correct”) alternative in a given situation … Businessmen holding this [more radical] viewpoint would, for example, be less likely to commit the idolatry of worshiping the business enterprise, economic system, or career as the ultimate of existence. (1957, pp. 68, 76; emphasis in original)

Roels also reflects this tension when discussing the differences between Christians who adhere to a “prosperity gospel” approach to commerce versus those who don’t: [Some Christians] accept prosperity theology as their model for relating business and faith. They frequently state that the level of God’s blessings is directly related to the strength of one’s faithfulness. Thus, great business success and personal wealth are the results of great Christian faith and practice. Many [other Christians] are uneasy with such beliefs. (1997, p. 113)

And Van Wensven Siker (1989) describes a variety of Christian worldviews, ranging from “Christ against business” to “The Christ of Business.” Naughton and Bausch (1996, p. 122) call for a nonconventional approach to management that goes beyond the conventional and does not “reduce the meaning of management to a game or series of profit-maximizing

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techniques.” Nelson (1989, p. 209) describes how, when some religious organizations follow a countercultural approach, they become popular precisely because they challenge status quo (iron-cage-like) power structures and norms: “Moreover, the ‘anti-establishment’ posture of many religious movements sometimes leads them to select administrative forms at variance with the institutional patterns of the general society.” Plowman et al. (2007) provide an inspiring case of how “a simple act of generosity”
which challenged the status quo and garnered “criticism from surrounding businesses”
triggered the transformation of a fairly white and economically advantaged congregation into a congregation that welcomed everyone from all walks of life, including socially marginalized people who lived around its downtown location. Confucianism Nineteen of the 21 Confucian articles in our review of the literature were published in the 2 ethics journals on our list (4 in Business Ethics Quarterly, 15 in Journal of Business Ethics). The majority of these articles described differences between Western and Confucian views, including different views on intellectual property rights (Lehman, 2006), trust (Koehn, 1999, 2001), the nature of what it means to be human (Hahn, 1972), workplace rights (Strudler, 2008) and other ethical issues (Chung, Eichenseher, & Taniguchi, 2008; Dollinger, 1988), and show how cultural views may overshadow national views (e.g., Tan & Chow, 2009). Articles that note countercultural differences between Confucianism and conventional management often mention to Confucianism’s teachings against profit-maximization and self-interest seeking (e.g., Boardman & Kato, 2003, p. 323; Cheung & King, 2004, p. 258). This is evident in the following: The collectivist flavor of Confucianism clearly distinguishes it from individualist and liberalist doctrines held in the West. (Cheung & Chan, 2005, p. 51) There are many references to profit in early Confucian thought, where the central theme is the moral person seeking rightness, doing what is correct, rather than seeking profit. Fundamentally, the moral person lives by the rites, applies the golden rule and virtues and is cautious in situations of personal gain. (Romar, 2004a, p. 671) The Master said, “If one is guided by profit in one’s actions, one will incur much ill will.” (Lau 1979, p. 73) (taken from the Analects, cited in Romar, 2004a, p. 675) However grave a risk a storm at sea might pose, it is to be feared less than the risk that human greed poses. (Boardman & Kato, 2003, p. 325)

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Hinduism Barnett (1985) begins his article with a promise to escape materialism and workaholism, and with a provocative countercultural quote: “If American businessmen are right in the way most of them now live, then all wise men of the ages, all prophets and saints were fools” (cited in Barnett, 1985, p. 57; Finkelstein, 1958, p. 116). However, as noted in the earlier review of articles in the scripture-enhancement quadrant, rather than describe how a Hinduism model of enlightenment can help to escape this foolishness, Barnett instead seems to argue that a Hindu perspective can provide spiritual meaning to it. Along the same lines, recall from the scriptureenhancement quadrant that Niles (1999) makes a similar argument that, although Hinduism may at first appear to be countercultural, this is not necessarily the case. Islam Most of the articles on Islam note that it is not known for being receptive to capitalism and modern management theory: Islam has been negatively related to successful entrepreneurship. … According to Weber, Islamic societies were not able to produce “the spirit of capitalism” because of the warrior ethic, otherworldly Sufism, oriental despotism and a lack of individualism. (Essers & Benschop, 2009, p. 408) In recent times, the leaders of many Moslem nations, realizing that they cannot compete with the West or the industrialized East, have reverted to Islamic fundamentalism. … Ideologically, Islam subscribes neither to capitalism nor to communism. (Wright, 1981, p. 40) Rent seeking business practices certainly do not add value to the society. In fact, such practices which are common in developing countries, are counterproductive to both economic and social justice. (Abeng, 1997, p. 54)

As a case in point, Wright (1981) describes how Human Resource management practices based on Islamic principles contrast with conventional management theory. For Islamic managers, however, on-the-job performance is clearly of subsidiary importance; their evaluation of employees concentrates on personalities and individual circumstances. The questions going through a Moslem manager’s mind might include these:
Is the employee a nice person and do I like him?
Can I expect him to be loyal to me?
Does he need the job financially? If so, he would be a loyal worker. Also, it would please God to provide a job to the needy. (Wright, 1981, p. 36)

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Finally, Campbell (2008, p. 427) notes that traits associated with “servant leaders,” an approach to leadership originally associated “disillusionment with Western hierarchical and material social structures … are, and always have been, characteristic of Muslim leaders” (see also Abeng, 1997, p. 51). Summary As might be predicted based on Weber (1958/1903), whereas almost twothirds of the articles in the previous “enhancement” quadrant where from a Christian perspective, in this “liberating” quadrant that number drop to about one-third. Indeed, in this quadrant almost half of the articles are from a Confucian perspective. It is also striking that over one-third of the articles explicitly draw attention to the tension between the enhancement versus liberating views, in particular, that scriptures from their tradition have been used to support either. This suggests that the scriptures may be ambivalent on the topic, and/or that religious followers are unclear as to how to interpret scriptures, and/or that followers are clever enough to interpret scriptures according to their own assumptions and beliefs (indeed, recall that several articles suggest that it is a strength of religion to change in order to keep up with the times). Finally, when it comes to describing what nonconventional or radical management theory and practice might look like, most of the articles are short on specifics or have a fairly narrow focus.

Spirituality-Liberation Quadrant This quadrant includes research that shows that people who engage in spiritual practices become increasingly liberated from the materialisticindividualistic hallmarks of conventional management theory and practice. In particular, the focus is on empirical research that has measures of spiritual practices
like prayer, meditation, and mindfulness
and some measures of how these practices are associated with factors like efficiency-mindedness, financial success or materialism, and individualism or self-actualization. Buddhism Liberating and radical implications of Buddhist spiritual practices are evident in Judith White’s (1998) interview with Burma’s Nobel Peace Prize

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winner and practicing Buddhist, Aung San Suu Kyi. In the interview Suu Kyi talks about the importance of spirituality: I think no human being can do without some kind of spiritual cultivation, because there is a spiritual dimension to life. I don’t think you can deny that. Why are there religions in the world? Because there is this human need to cultivate the spiritual dimension, to go beyond the mere gratification of the body and material needs. (quoted in White, 1998, p. 292)

She emphasizes the importance of “real compassion,” which “means that you just can’t sit by and see other people suffer or sit by and not do anything about acts of injustice, because injustice makes people suffer” (quoted in White, 1998, p. 291). For Suu Kyi that means standing up for justice, even in the face of grave personal danger. It also means finding creative ways to overcome possible shortcomings of conventional business norms: “A lot of businesses are only concerned with making money. We’ve got to face that” (quoted in White, 1998, p. 293). The interview concludes by describing how consumers who have compassion can use boycotts (or buy-cotts) to pressure profit-driven businesses into supporting issues of justice. The countercultural nature of Buddhist spiritual practices is also evident in Kernochan, McCormick, and White (2007), who provide compelling first-hand accounts of the effect that practicing three key Buddhist spiritual disciplines
compassion, mindfulness, and the no-self
has had on themselves as management instructors. (They also describe how these Buddhist teachings, which may at first seem foreign to conventional ways of teaching management, are in fact consistent with the teachings from a variety of other world religions.) Putting these spiritual disciplines into practice can challenge conventional management, for example, by prompting questions such as: “which is more important
self-interest or the greater good, me or we, short-term gain or concern for future generations” (p. 65). As Westerners, we perceive ourselves as self-conscious individuals, focusing primarily on our own selves and “needs.” Much of economics, for example, views human behavior as centered on maximizing individual self-interest and thus less sensitive to others and their environment. … In the Buddhist concept of no-self, the distinctions or boundaries between the individual self and the external environment are dissolved and thus have no meaning. (p. 68)

While such countercultural views serve to change the experience in the classroom for the instructors, and presumably for the students, their effect on course content is left unspecified and left as a possible topic for future research. (Other articles on bringing spirituality in the classroom that fail

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to explicitly spell out well-developed implications for the content of management theory include Barnett, Krell, and Sendry (2000), Marcic (2000), and Pielstick (2005).) Christianity A spirituality-liberation article that explicitly examines conventional versus radical management examines data from a sample of 170 self-identified Christian managers (Dyck & Weber, 2006). The study tests the Weberian idea that managers who place relatively high emphasis on both materialism and individualism (37 managers of the 170, who are called Conventional managers) manage differently than managers who place relatively low emphasis on both these two hallmarks of Weber’s iron cage (44 Radical managers). As expected, compared to Radical managers, Conventional managers place greater emphasis on: specialization, centralization, formalization, and specialization. Also as expected, Radical managers tend to place more emphasis on sensitization, dignification, participation, and experimentation (i.e., the four parallel Radical counterparts to specialization, centralization, formalization, and specialization, as described in Dyck & Schroeder, 2005). Building further on Max Weber’s analysis, the study also examines whether spiritual practices are different for Conventional versus Radical managers. Compared to Conventional managers, Radical managers have higher “personal spiritual virtues,” a five-item measure where two items focus on prayer (“I seek God’s will through prayer,” “I am making a deliberate effort to grow into a deeper relationship with God”) and three focus on listening to voice of God at work (“At work, I consider God to be my ultimate Boss,” “I believe that God is at work in my life today,” and “My faith is the most important influence in my life”). Another study that points to a negative relationship between spiritual practices and materialism-individualism comes from Agle and Van Buren (1999), which is based on a sample of 180 self-identified Christians (a subset of 250 MBA students at a major public nonsectarian Midwestern business school). Their study finds that “religious reflection” (a seven-item scale that asks how often respondents have thought about their relationship with God, linking their faith to their work, and their responsibility to the poor) is positively correlated with “egalitarianism” (e.g., “Christians should strive for a society in which the income gap between rich and poor is narrower than it is now”) and with “faith requires works” (e.g., “It is wrong for every person to be out for him or herself”). “Religious reflection” was also positively related to respondents’ attitudes toward corporate social responsibility.

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In another article that fits in this quadrant, Wong (2008) starts by noting the tension between conventional and radical views: “The primacy of profits in the business world cannot be denied. But enshrined in the Bible are such reminders and warnings as ‘You cannot serve both God and Money’” (Wong, 2008, p. 170). The article then goes on to describe a study of Malaysian evangelical Christians in business. Consistent with the spirituality-liberation quadrant, the findings show that managers with higher scores in a two-item “religiousness scale” (Sunday service attendance and personal devotion) have lower scores as “Successful Money Achievers.” (Findings also showed that those who are more interested in money tended to be more accepting of unethical scenarios.) Despite being aware of biblical teachings about the tension between God and money, Wong seems to find the lack of empirical support for the conventional paradigm to be problematic, and the article concludes noting that: “Christianity is keen to show that Christians can be successful within the faith. The desire to succeed must not be dampened. … The difficulty is how to make money righteously, in a Christian way” (Wong, 2008, p. 189; emphasis added here). The earliest spirituality-liberation study reviewed here is by John Senger (1970), published in Academy of Management Journal. Senger (1970) begins by noting that most of the literature assumes that Christian values are compatible with conventional management: Most articles [that look at religion and management] are primarily concerned with ethics and values, with religion recognized as a fundamental source of these ethics and values. The motivational influence of religion upon the business community was recognized by Weber when he developed this theory of economic motivation in capitalistic countries based upon what he termed the Judeo-Christian ethic in which “getting ahead” in business was construed as a path to salvation. (Senger, 1970, pp. 179
180)

Though not all of the 244 American managers in Senger’s sample are Christian, Christianity is their main religious background. The study measures the emphasis each manager places on “religion” (a factor based on items measuring “worship, church and religion”) and compares this with a variety of other measures. The results seem directly opposite to what we would expect given Weber’s argument relating Christianity to the materialist-individualist hallmarks of mainstream management. Senger (1970) finds that managers who place relatively high emphasis on “religion” also place relatively low emphasis on items related to: (1) materialism (“To make the largest possible, long-run profit;” “To make a lot of money”) and (2) individualism (“To do the kind of work that will give me satisfaction;” also, consistent with a non-self-interested approach, highly religious

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managers tended to place relatively high emphasis on “To be a constructive force in the community”). Perhaps the most surprising result is that, despite their countercultural lack of emphasis on maximizing profits, these more religious managers were also more likely to be highly rated by their superiors. A study by Sherman and Smith (1984) uses a measure called “intrinsic religiosity” that includes items like: “It is important to me to spend periods of time in private religious thought and prayer;” “Quite often I have been keenly aware of the presence of God or of the Divine Being;” “The prayers I say when I am alone carry as much meaning and personal emotion as those said by me during services;” “My religious beliefs are what really lie behind my whole approach to life;” “I try hard to carry my religion over into all my other dealings in life” (taken from Feagin, 1964).1 In Sherman and Smith’s (1984) study the intrinsic religiosity scores of more than 500 respondents from a sample of 42 conservative Protestant congregations are negatively correlated with levels of organizational standardization, centralization, formalization, hierarchy, and size (akin to Dyck & Weber, 2006). Intrinsic religiosity was also positively related to integration (the amount of communication among organizational members). Taken together, these findings suggest that higher levels of spiritual practices correspond to less mechanistic organizations. Or is it the other way around, namely that organizational structure affects intrinsic religiosity? Sherman and Smith (1984) found that 41 percent of the variance in intrinsic religiosity was explained by structural variables (standardization, centralization, hierarchy, and organizational size). As Sherman and Smith (1984) allude to, it is one thing to find significant relationship between spiritual practices and management, but it is another to determine which affects which. Although longitudinal research on this topic is rare, there are several studies that provide some indication that spiritually may lead to the development and adoption of liberating management theory and practice. One of these comes from Lecourt and Pauchant (2011), based on interviews with 20 senior managers and top executives who regularly practice Ignatian spiritual disciplines. Their findings suggest that spiritual practices change managers over time, making them less materialistic and less individualistic as they become less profit-maximizing and more interested in developing human community: All the Ignatian executives that we have interviewed emphasized that for them the mission of their organization is neither on profit maximization nor on efficiency. While they take notions of profits and efficiency very seriously both are at the service of

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human development. Their spiritual life has transformed things for them. (Lecourt & Pauchant, 2011, p. 22; emphasis added here)

In the words of two of their Ignatian interviewees: My spiritual life has transformed things. My relationship to others is different as well as the relationship to my organization’s mission. Its official objective
profit and performance
is important, but it needs to be put into perspective and modified. … True performance is really the development of people, the growth of each person. (pp. 22
23) For example, recently, we had the opportunity to expand our market shares in two different counties, with the potential of very healthy profits. I refused to sign the contract because I believe we were not ready to expand internationally due to questions of human development … The decision was different for my colleagues since they were only considering the financial aspect of the opportunity. (p. 23)

Another noteworthy study with longitudinal implications comes from Gold (2010), who describes changes over time among the 750 organizations involved in the “Economy of Communion” (EOC) network associated with the Focolare (the largest lay movement in the Catholic church). When the vision for EOC was presented in 1991, it changed the way businesspeople within the Focolare movement thought about their business: it allowed them to see their economic enterprise as wholly spiritual, and their spiritual lives as manifest in economic organizations. It marked a dramatic transformation in the way that they viewed the relationship between economic life, (including work, money and the role of business) and their spiritual life. They repeatedly referred to this date as a fundamental turning point in their life. Before 1991, they regarded their economic activities primarily as a means to an end
that of making a living
controlled by external market forces over which they had little influence. … When the EOC started, they recognized the immense importance that their business activities could have by actively participating in the transformation of market structures through sharing profits and changing business practices. The transformation of existing businesses and the creation of new enterprises became their central focus, not only economically, but also spiritually. It was to become the main motivating force behind their business. (Gold, 2010, p. 121)

Gold’s (2010) research shows how, over time, this new spiritual orientation in the workplace has changed the way EOC businesses operate. Participating in EOC over time has resulted in managers implementing liberating practices, such as adopting recruitment policies that target people living at the margins of society, empowering people to make decisions throughout the business, and relating to others as “people” rather than as “task-completers.” It has also resulted in managers being more likely pay

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employees a living wage, to reduce income inequality, and to take “externalities” into account in their decisions. Members of EOC firms are less likely to see customers merely as a source of revenue to maximize profits
rather they are valued for their personal relationships. Similarly, members of EOC treat even their competitors in radical ways, as evident in the following experience told by the manager of an EOC medical supply business in Brazil: Many business have tried to copy our way of working. Our competitors are shocked by the fact that we are happy to show them how we work
and they try to do the same. They don’t manage to copy our way of working, however, because it is not a formula that says “do this” “do that” … it is a way of being, a way of acting. Last year there was a competitor who tried to attack us on every corner … creating a very difficult situation for our business. At a certain point, the law in Brazil changed and it was a very important change. In order to help this other business, we faxed the news to them. The business owner was so struck by our gesture that he not only wanted to re-establish his friendship with us, but he offered to help us in areas that we find difficult. It was through him that we had the idea of getting in a consultancy
the best decision that we ever made. That consultant was so impressed by how we run our business that he goes out of his way to help us in whatever way he can. This all started through responding to the aggression of our competitors with a different attitude. (Gold, 2010, p. 145)

Confucianism Among the articles that focus on Confucianism, Cheung and King (2004) is the most explicit in providing a sustained description of practicing Confucian principles in the workplace. Their study suggests that managers who practice Confucian principles will challenge the conventional approach to management. They not only review the ancient Confucian texts regarding profits and self-interest behavior, but they also provide historical exemplars of implementing these teachings and, perhaps most importantly, describe modern-day managers whose countercultural activities are motivated by and illustrate Confucian principles. They conclude that: An implication of this study is that, however powerful instrumental rationality may be in the business world, there is always room for resistance. … The experience of our respondents shows that to resist the powerful forces of instrumental rationality in a world where the pace of globalization gathers momentum is akin to fighting an uphill battle. Should we therefore “go with the flow,” surrender autonomy and submit ourselves to the whims of these forces? Or should we adhere to our beliefs whatever the obstacles we encounter? This is a key challenge facing every individual in modern society. (Cheung & King, 2004, pp. 258
259)

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Islam Our sample contained only one study of looking at the spirituality of Muslim managers (Ayranci & Semercioz, 2011), based on a sample of top Turkish managers (96 percent of the people in the country of Turkey are Muslim). The results show that managers’ “religiosity” scores (e.g., “I engage in religious or spiritual activities (prayer, meditation, yoga, etc.),” “I follow God,” “I feel close to God”) is related to “immateriality” (e.g., “My goals and purpose extend beyond the material world,” “My actions are aligned with my soul
my essential, true nature”). Again, this challenges conventional management. Summary Much of the ambiguity and tension that characterizes the articles that describe what religious scriptures say about management is not evident in the empirical research that examines the relationship between spiritual practices and management. Taken together, the empirical results presented here are clear and consistent: spiritual practices result in decreased emphasis on financial and individual well-being, and increased emphasis on holistic wellbeing of the collective (especially the marginalized). This is true across the different world religions where research on this topic has been published. In particular, perhaps somewhat surprisingly in light of Weber (1958/1903), about two-thirds of the articles in this quadrant were from a Christian perspective, and each suggested that spiritual practices were associated with weakened alignment with mainstream management theory and practice.

Spirituality-Enhancement Quadrant This quadrant is for research that shows that people who engage in spiritual practices become increasingly aligned with conventional management theory and practice. Again, we examined research that measured spiritual practices and had some measure of the two hallmarks of mainstream theory, namely an emphasis on material well-being (e.g., profits) and individual well-being (e.g., self-interests). Summary There is no evidence in the literature reviewed here to suggest that managers who practice spiritual disciplines
like prayer, meditation, and mindfulness
become more efficiency-minded, more profitable, more

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individualistic, or even more self-actualizing. No studies were found that demonstrated that people who are spiritually active become more aligned with conventional management theory and practice. Given the observation that about half of the scripture-based articles were in the “enhancement” quadrant and the other half in the “liberation” quadrant, one might have expected a similar distribution for articles based on spiritual practices. This simply was not the case.

CONCLUSION AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS This article has reviewed studies found in secular management journals that describe how religion can inform organization and management theory and practice. The findings, as a whole, are striking. First, the review shows that religious scriptures tend to be interpreted in two different ways with regard to their implications for management. About half of the studies interpret religious scriptures to provide support for enhancing mainstream management, and the other half interpret scriptures to call for developing a liberating radical approach to management. These divergent implications of scriptures for management may suggest that the scriptures are ambiguous or unclear, that people have not studied them carefully enough, or that people are clever enough to interpret them to say whatever they want to hear (perhaps this is not particularly surprising). Second, in light of these split findings about what is said in scriptures, it seems especially noteworthy that empirical studies that examine spiritual practices consistently point to liberation from conventional management. Not one study was found which said that managers who practiced spiritual disciplines
like prayer, meditation, mindfulness
became more inclined toward conventional management theory and practice. A third finding of note is that these similar themes and findings are evident across all of the leading world religions. Beyond these general themes and findings, the article is also important at a more broad level because of the strong support it lends to the theological turn in organization studies. The remainder of the article will provide some reflections on the implications of the theological turn for the management literature in terms of spiritual practices, the development of radical organization and management theory and practice, and meta-ethics.

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The Theological Turn and Spiritual Practices Of the two ways identified in the literature for religion to inform management
sacred scriptures versus spiritual practice
studies focusing on scriptures are about five times more frequent than studies focused on spiritual practices. This suggests that future research that focuses on religious spiritual practices
like prayer, meditation, and mindfulness
is particularly welcome (Poloma & Pendleton, 1989). Even Albert Einstein, himself agnostic, is reputed to have told a doctoral student searching for a dissertation topic to: “Find out about prayer, someone needs to find out about prayer” (cited in Nunes, 2009). Insofar as spiritual practices provide practitioners direct access to a deity or transcendent other, then this may be a particularly appropriate way of studying God on management. That said, there has been much written recently on the topic of spirituality in the workplace. However, it has been estimated that less than 20 percent of this literature actually makes reference to a deity, and much of it seeks to discover how spirituality can be used to improve profits (e.g., the so-called prosperity gospel, see also Lambert, 2009; Lynn, Naughton, & VanderVeen, 2009; Marcic, 2000; Roels, 1997). This is very different from the empirical research reviewed here, which found that an emphasis on religious spiritual practices is consistently associated with a de-emphasis on maximizing profits and an emphasis on nurturing holistic community. The theological turn would call for research on spiritual practices that takes seriously the idea of a loving God, of some altruistic “transcendent other,” of a deity that can inspire humankind to act beyond their individual self-interests. To be clear, the goal is not to study how spiritual practices can (directly) change other people or existing structures and systems. Rather, research suggests that spiritual practices like prayer have the greatest effect on the person doing the actual praying, and not so much directly on the situations or people being prayed for (which has yielded “very meager results”): “prayer was found to have pervasive effects on the emotional experience, social behavior, and cognitive appraisals of praying individuals” (Bremner, Kooler, & Bushman, 2011, p. 836). In short, it is the people who are practicing the spiritual disciplines who change, and who then act as agents of change in the socially constructed worlds they inhabit. In particular, the literature reviewed in this article suggests that research on religious spiritual practices would contribute to the development of nonconventional organization and management theory and practice, of approaches to management that liberate humankind from the materialistic-individualistic iron

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cage that characterizes the mainstream management. This sets the stage for the second implication.

The Theological Turn and the Development of Radical Management Theory The theological turn both enables and calls for the development of radical organization and management theory and practice. For proponents of the theological turn, to study “God on management” is to subvert conventional management scholarship, which is steeped in an understanding that management is primarily about maximizing financial returns for shareholders. Of course, glimpses of alternative management theories are already evident in many new literatures, from sustainable development to corporate social responsibility to social entrepreneurship to stakeholder theory. But, as Weber speculated, without being grounded in an alternative substantive rationality, all-too-often these glimpses of radical approaches have become co-opted into the conventional paradigm. So, for example, stakeholder theory has now become yet another tool to enhance shareholder profits rather than to provide an alternative theory to challenge the shareholder approach, and the majority of research in corporate social responsibility now seeks to show how it can increase profits (e.g., Margolis & Walsh, 2003). The theological turn enables and calls for more fully developing approaches to management that represent liberation from a mainstream approach. Such an approach is called for and informed by practitioners who currently engage in spiritual disciplines, and can be supplemented by religious scriptures. With regard to interpretations of religious scriptures, more effort should be invested in understanding the meaning of management at the time and context in which the scriptures were originally written, in order to understand them in situ and draw out implications for further theory and development (for a recent attempt at doing this for the firstcentury biblical Gospel of Luke, see Dyck, 2013; see also Dyck, Starke, & Weimer, 2012). Perhaps if we took the analysis of religious scriptures in their historical context with the same scholarly rigor we give to other research questions, we would find that they speak with a more consistent voice than is evident in the present literature. While it is appropriate to develop radical management theory based on particular faith traditions, scholars are also encouraged to be sensitive to similarities across traditions (and across secular ethical philosophies). Focusing on common or “universal” ethics promises to nurture cooperation and mutuality, and to limit unhealthy rivalries between differing religious understandings of the divine (de George, 1986, p. 430).

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Of course, this is not to exclude contributions to radical management theory that can come from nonreligious business ethicists. Even so, Leahy (1986) identifies at least three additional contributions that a theological turn offers compared to a research grounded in nonreligious ethics: (1) because religious ethics are typically embedded in religious practices and organizations, they inherently have a practical dimension that ethics based in philosophy often lack; (2) religious ethics draw upon the practice of moral discernment to complement the rationality common to philosophical analysis; and (3) religious ethics recognize life as ironic, and thus acknowledge tensions in human behavior rather than promote absolute pronouncements.

The Theological Turn and Meta-Ethics And third, the theological turn points to the merit in thinking more deeply about meta-ethics and the value-laden assumptions that underpin all organization and management theory and practice. As Weber reminds us, the mainstream materialistic-individualistic iron cage is not value-neutral. Indeed, several centuries ago what today would be called conventional management was itself countercultural, and shook the foundations of what it meant to be human (and what it meant to be religious). Consistent with this view, a recent study describes how the meaning of “salvation” has changed throughout the past two millennia, and how these changes were associated with and manifest in differing organizational structures and systems (Dyck & Wiebe, 2012). Once we remember that the status quo emphasis on maximizing profits is not value-neutral, we are able to consider alternative moral-points-of-view (Weber’s “substantive rationalities”) upon which to develop countercultural organization and management theory and practice (e.g., a radical Weberian “formal rationality”). A fundamental difference between enhancement versus liberating articles is in their starting point vis-a`-vis ethical behavior. Many enhancement articles seek to improve ethics within a conventional management paradigm, which they seem to accept as either value-neutral or as basically ethical. Thus, they present ways to make it is as ethical as possible to attain competitiveness, maximize profits, and to serve the interests of shareholders. While this is laudable, it does not raise the question of whether it is ethical in the first place to seek competitive advantage (a variation of monopoly?), to maximize profits (greed?), or to prioritize the financial needs of shareholders (perpetuates gap between the rich and poor?). These larger meta-ethical questions are implicitly raised in liberating articles, and need to be addressed if we are to escape the iron cage

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(Solomon & Hanson, 1983; Weber, 1958/1903). These sorts of meta-ethical issues are precisely what proponents of the theological turn welcome and embrace. For them, as for Weber, researching “God on management” is of particular value because it promises to liberate people from the grip of management theory and practice that is grounded in a materialisticindividualistic moral-point-of-view. In sum, this article points to the merit of the theological turn and studying God on management. The majority of the world belongs to one of its five leading religions, and religious scriptures and spiritual practices have and can inform management theory and practice. In particular, such research promises to develop alternative approaches to management that liberate people from the limitations associated with conventional organization and management theory and practice.

NOTE 1. “Intrinsic religiosity”
based on Allport (1959, 1963), refined by Feagin (1964), see also Allport and Ross (1967)
is one of the most frequently used constructs in the larger literature on this topic (Mirels & Garrett, 1971; Tang & Tang, 2010). Other studies using the intrinsic religiosity measure among samples which are not explicitly managers consistently show that it is negatively related to financially self-interested attitudes and behavior (see Chau, Johnson, Bowers, Darvell, & Danko, 1990; Johnson et al., 1989; Loveland, Sikkink, Myers, & Radcliff, 2005; Swinyard, Kau, & Phua, 2001; Tang & Tang, 2010; Vitell et al., 2006).

ACKNOWLEDGMENT This article benefitted from the Research Assistance of Matthew Penner, and from the encouragement and comments of Sarah Drakopoulou Dodd, Reg Litz, Kent Miller, Nelson Phillips, Fred Starke, Paul Tracey, Elden Wiebe, and an anonymous reviewer.

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PART II STUDYING RELIGION AND ORGANIZATION AT THE MICRO-LEVEL

RELIGION IN ORGANIZATIONS: COGNITION AND BEHAVIOR Gary R. Weaver and Jason M. Stansbury ABSTRACT Religious institutions can affect organizational practices when employees bring their religious commitments and practices into the workplace. But those religious commitments function in the midst of other organizational factors that influence the working out of employees’ religious commitments. This process can generate varying outcomes in organizational contexts, ranging from a heightened effect of religious commitment on employee behavior to a negligible or nonexistent influence of religion on employee behavior. Relying on social identity theory and schematic social cognition as unifying frameworks for the study of religious behavior, we develop a theoretically informed approach to understanding how and why the religious beliefs, commitments and practices employees bring to work have varying behavioral impacts. Keywords: Religiosity; organizational behavior; social identity; schema; identity salience; religious identity

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Religion influences a range of phenomena that are relevant to the workplace, from attitudes toward work in general (e.g., Parboteeah, Hoegl, & Cullen, 2009; Weber, 1992/1930) to ethical decision making (e.g., Graafland, Kaptein, & Mazereeuw-van der Duijn Schouten, 2006; Longenecker, McKinney, & Moore, 2004; Parboteeah, Hoegl, & Cullen, 2008) to organizational citizenship behaviors (e.g., Kutcher, Bragger, Rodriguez-Srednicki, & Masco, 2010), as well as counterproductive behaviors like prejudice (Hill, Cohen, Terrell, & Nagoshi, 2010). Religious leaders, religious institutions, and individual religious adherents often devote themselves to effecting change in their own lives and the lives of others (Smith, 1996, 1997). However, those efforts often amount to somewhat less than their proponents would expect, to the point that the hypocrisy of some religious adherents is often cited by nonparticipating persons as a supporting reason for noninvolvement in or objections to religion (Smith, 1997). The fact that religious identification or involvement sometimes does not fully determine the behavior of religious individuals points to what Chaves (2010) has called the “religious congruence fallacy,” that is, the common but erroneous presumption that the general behavior of religious persons will be consistent with their ostensible religious beliefs and practices. This potential for incongruence is not surprising, as much research outside of organization studies
in the sociology, psychology, and economics of religion
indicates that there are multiple and important individual and social outcomes of individuals’ religious identities, and also many contextual influences on religiously linked behavior (see reviews by, e.g., Edgell, 2012; Emmons & Paloutzian, 2003; Sherkat & Ellison, 1999). Thus religiously related behavior in organizations likely is a complex phenomenon, showing the same wide variability in origins and impact as does religion in general. Unfortunately, with some exceptions, management research generally has eschewed consideration of religion’s role in the explanation of workrelated behavior, despite a pedigree for this topic going back at least to Weber’s classic work on Protestantism and capitalism. The reasons for this inattention are matters of speculation; Weaver and Agle (2002) suggested that perhaps management scholarship had become imbued with the once taken-for-granted but increasingly contested secularization thesis, according to which religion would inevitably decline in adherence and influence in the face of modernization pressures. Although inevitable secularization has long been a meta-narrative about religion as a social phenomenon (Evans & Evans, 2008; Gorski & Altınordu, 2008), the empirical evidence for it often has been disconfirming rather than confirming (e.g., Stark & Finke, 2000). Weaver and Agle also noted an array of research challenges

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facing any scholar studying religion’s impact in the lives of individuals and in work organizations specifically. King (2008) affirmed these bases for management scholarship’s reluctance to address religion, and added that apart from Weaver and Agle’s symbolic interactionist approach, the study of religion in work organizations was largely atheoretical, and thereby faced a scientific legitimacy problem (along with an opportunity for further theoretical development). This legitimacy problem, King argued, encouraged scholars to focus on the somewhat related but nevertheless different, and less explicitly theological and more affective and attitudinal, topic of spirituality in the workplace (Hill et al., 2000). Interesting as spirituality as a topic might be, it is not the same as religion, and in work environments avoids some of the potentially problematic differences and conflicts that might attach to the more formally structured, ethically obligatory, and propositionally codified realm of much religious belief and practice. Accordingly, our goal herein is to review multiple frameworks and findings that can be relevant to understanding the impact of and influence on religion in work organizations. In particular, we suggest that social identity theory (Stryker, 1980; Weaver & Agle, 2002; Wimberley, 1989) and schematic social cognition (Gioia & Poole, 1984) can help to account for a wide range of workplace religious phenomena, including incongruence of belief and behavior. A social identity theory perspective highlights the variation among individuals in the centrality of their religions (and other identifiers) in their self-concepts, and the contingency of the expression of those identities upon a range of situational social cues. The presence of situational cues within an organization may encourage or attenuate religious cognition, affect, and behavior, with differing influences across individuals according to the centrality of religion (by itself, or relative to other identities) in those individuals’ self-concepts. Our other explanatory lens
schematic social cognition
accounts for variation in religiously linked behavior by noting the presence or absence (and richness) of mental models (i.e., schemas) that organize, label, and ascribe value to stimuli arising in an individual’s environment. Such schemas also undergird cognitive scripts, which constitute “schema-based knowledge of behavior and behavior sequences appropriate to specific organizational situations and contexts” (Gioia & Poole, 1984, p. 449). Individuals perform a given script when a pattern in the flood of stimuli to which a person is exposed corresponds to a prototype held in that person’s memory; the script then identifies what is expected to happen in the prototypical situation, including the appropriate actions for the focal person. Scripts may be acquired through practice, or through observation, particularly the observation of

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role models. Put simply, an individual with more, and richer, religious schemas and scripts is likely to identify more opportunities to think, feel, and act in religiously informed ways, and organizational contexts (both work organizations and religious organizations) can selectively encourage (or discourage) those behaviors by generating or amplifying (or undermining or contesting) shared schemas and scripts. In what follows we (1) briefly delineate the phenomenon of religion from related concepts (e.g., spirituality); (2) summarize three widely used scholarly approaches to religion, all of which share a common interest in religion as a sometimes malleable source of identity and basis for cognition and sensemaking; (3) focus more specifically on religion as a source of identity and shaper of cognition; (4) examine how religion, as identity source and cognition shaper, influences and is influenced by the context of work organizations, with the goal of (5) better understanding the role of religion as an influence on employee cognition and behavior.

MAPPING THE TERRAIN
RELIGION AND ITS NEAR RELATIONS Conceptualizations of religion are many. Common to many of them is the idea that religion involves attention to or a search for the sacred in the context of a usually communal way of life (Durkheim, 1995; Emmons & Paloutzian, 2003). The sacred in turn sometimes is parsed (with some circularity) in terms of “the non-rational, religious and ritualistic ways of behavior that are valued beyond whatever utility they may possess” (Nisbet, 1993, p. 6). Weaver and Agle’s (2002) account of religion and ethical behavior in organizations frames its topic in terms of religiosity rather than religion, with religiosity explicated in a multidimensional account involving identity, cognitive, behavioral, and affective role expectations, and extrinsic and intrinsic motivational stances toward those role expectations. Thus, their account is in keeping with the growing social scientific approaches to religion characterized as cultural and as lived religions (Edgell, 2012). The former of these (the cultural approach) recognizes religion as a communally rooted and thus cultural basis for identity development and sustenance, and as a venue for making sense of one’s world and engaging with it (Smith, 1996). Religion, in this sense, provides a set of cultural tools (Swidler, 2001) for understanding and navigating life and accomplishing major societal or cultural tasks. The lived religions approach

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emphasizes religion as ongoing social practices embedded in ofteninstitutionally sustained narratives which give them specific meaning and significance, both individually and socially (Edgell, 2012). In both cases, religion and its impact reflect a potential interaction between religion qua institution and religion qua life experience, without fully reducing religion to one or the other, and without limiting the institutional influences on and of individual religious practice to those institutions formally identified as religious (e.g., denominations) (cf. Cadge & Ecklund, 2007; Taves, 2009). Put differently, religion provides a kind of cultural coherence that can emerge “top-down” from elites or formal institutions, or “bottom-up” from the institutionalized elements of everyday religious practice and the way they provide cultural tools for, and are enacted and altered by, individuals in their daily lives (Edgell, 2012; Sherkat, 1997, 1998; Wuthnow, 2011). And this often structurational, sometimes contested process can be influenced by a variety of contextual factors, such that the religious and the secular interpenetrate each other (Cadge & Ecklund, 2007; Harrison, Ashforth, & Corley, 2009; Wuthnow, 1994). Religion’s near relations usually are presumed to include the ideas of the sacred and the spiritual. The “sacred,” understood along the lines of Nisbet’s observation (noted in the previous paragraph), has been treated as a central feature of religion in a wide swath of sociological theory dating to Durkheim. Taves’ (2009) recent research on sacralization characterizes it as a process in which not only particular objects but also institutions are set apart and invested with special meaning, as part of individuals’ daily efforts to construct coherent accounts of their lives. Harrison et al. (2009), in their study of the sacralization of elements of organizational identity, characterized the sacred by tracing the etymology of the term to its Latin root, “meaning to ‘set apart,’ which commonly carries a positive connotation of being worthy of respect or dedication by association with the transcendent” (Harrison et al., 2009, p. 227). Hill, Pargament, Hood, McCollough, Swyers, Larson, and Zinnbauer have described the sacred as “a person, an object, a principle, or a concept that transcends the self. Though the Sacred may be found within the self, it has perceived value independent of the self” (Hill et al., 2000, p. 64). Defining the sacred as that which is set apart as special is consistent with much current theory. The idea of sacredness also plays a role in some important current scholarship in moral psychology. Specifically, moral foundations theory incorporates “purity/sanctity” as one of several evaluative categories that humans intuitively recognize as having ethical weight (Graham, Haidt, & Nosek, 2009; Haidt & Graham, 2007). Haidt and coauthors explicate this

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in terms of an emergent evolutionary motive away from the dirty and demeaning and toward values and practices perceived as ennobling or elevating, which though rooted in a biological revulsion toward objects or practices that promote contagion of pathogens, has taken on a socialfactual significance that is not simply reducible to those evolutionary roots. Recent and growing focus on spirituality as something arguably distinct from religion has led to further proliferation of definitions and concepts, especially since spirituality is an important part of many religions and many persons’ experiences of their religions (Hill & Smith, 2010). Ashforth and Vaidyanath sketched the relation of spirituality and religion by writing that: Spirituality connotes a personal connection to something subjectively meaningful and larger than oneself … conversely, religion … tends to connote a more or less institutionalized system of beliefs and practices that address spiritual matters. Thus religion represents a more collective and fixed
or organized
response to desires for transcendence, whereas spirituality represents a more idiosyncratic and emergent response … Religion refers to a system of beliefs and practices that address fundamental questions about the meaning of life and one’s role in the world. (Ashforth & Vaidyanath, 2002, p. 360)

Ashforth and Pratt suggested that in the workplace, spirituality is composed of the dimensions of transcendence of self, holism and harmony (i.e., a sense of personal coherence), and growth (i.e., self-actualization); moreover, it should be thought of as a fluid and idiosyncratic process through which these three dimensions are fulfilled (Ashforth & Pratt, 2010). Note the absence of reference to formally or informally institutionalized religion in this account. Whether a sharp distinction between religion and spirituality is tenable is a matter of debate (Emmons & Paloutzian, 2003). Hill et al. (2000) attempted to create a unified model of spirituality and religion by noting that spirituality encompasses the “feelings, thoughts, experiences, and behaviors that arise from a search for the sacred,” and that religion encompasses spirituality and/or a “search for non-sacred goals (such as identity, belongingness, meaning, health, or wellness) in a context that has as its primary goal the facilitation of [spirituality]” along with “[t]he means and methods (e.g., rituals or prescribed behaviors) of the search that receive validation and support from within an identifiable group of people” (Hill et al., 2000, p. 66). This definition has been adopted by some subsequent authors (e.g., King, 2008) and seems to encompass the tension between religion’s standardized approaches to the sacred, and spirituality’s idiosyncrasy. For our purposes herein, we focus upon religion rather than

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spirituality because the relative specificity of belief, identification, and practice promoted by the former provide more opportunities for theorybuilding than the individually idiosyncratic belief, identification, and practice encompassed by the latter.

THEORIES OF RELIGION’S INFLUENCE ON INDIVIDUALS: A COMMON CORE Religion has been shown to impact a wide range of individual cognitions, affect, and behaviors, in a wide range of contexts. These effects are sometimes complex, as for instance an individual’s religious affiliation leads to the formation of social relationships which later provide emotional assistance or otherwise facilitate coping with stressors (Cole & Pargament, 1999; Kelly, 1995; Koenig, 1998; Murray-Swank & Pargament, 2005; Pargament, 1990; Pargament et al., 1992; Pargament, Koenig, Tarakeshwar, & Hahn, 2004). The prevalence and diversity of religious effects upon cognition, affect, and behavior, especially in light of frequent incongruence between individual outcomes and formal religious belief and practice, has given rise to a number of conceptions of the influence of religion in the lives of believers. As noted above, we have chosen to focus on the social identity approach, and its close relation, schematic social cognition. However, we also believe that it is important to note other conceptions that have gained credence in the social scientific literature. In particular, the “cultural” and “lived” approaches noted above highlight the enactment of religion on the part of individuals and groups of adherents; that enactment often occurs in contexts other than formal religious institutions, and in the case of the “lived religion” approach, can be innovative in its appropriation of both religious and nonreligious content. These are valuable for our inquiry because the workplace is usually just such a nonreligious context, and these approaches help to comprehend the adaptation of religious beliefs that adherents sometimes make in response to workplace challenges.

Identity Approaches The identity-based approach (summarized in our introductory paragraphs) emphasizes religious identity role expectations (e.g., Wimberley, 1984, 1989), and has been developed specifically for organizational contexts by

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Weaver and Agle (2002). This approach has obvious relationships to more recent identity-based scholarship on organizational behavior (Aquino, Freeman, Reed, Lim, & Felps, 2009; Aquino & Reed, 2002; Shao, Aquino, & Freeman, 2008) and to the possible role of religiously influenced institutional logics in forming the identities and practices of people (cf. Misangyi, Weaver, & Elms, 2008). Like other identity-based research, this kind of account allows for variation in the actual impact of identity characteristics insofar as contextual factors can influence the development of identities and moderate their salience at any point in time (Aquino et al., 2009; Read & Eagle, 2011; Weaver, 2006). For example, though not framed explicitly in terms of identity models, considerable research in the psychology and sociology of religion has considered the ways in which varying degrees of societal pluralism influence the vitality of and participation in religious practices (e.g., Chaves & Gorski, 2001).

Cultural Approaches An alternative perspective in the sociology of religion, rooted in older work by Durkheim (1995) and others, emphasizes religions as providing cultural tools (Swidler, 2001) for achieving symbolic and other social tasks. Discursive and other religious practices and resources provide means for achieving such ends as sacralization (the setting apart of elements of social life) (Nisbet, 1993) or political legitimation (Bellah, 1985, 1991). Such an approach is not, however, entirely distinct from identityfocused accounts, in that religion and religious narratives also can function as tools for helping to define identity (for individuals or groups), and through an influence on identity can affect other social ends such as charitable, reformist or political goals and movements. For example, despite the apparently recent, if sometimes rocky, marriage of evangelical Christianity to conservative politics in America (Woodberry & Smith, 1998), social action of some form or other has been a defining characteristic of English-speaking evangelical Christianity since its nineteenth century origins (in contrast to older and/or non-English speaking forms of Protestant Christianity); evangelicalism’s narrative of individual redemption and sanctification, and its disinterest in the institutionalized church as the focal point of religious life, provided a schematic cultural tool for seeing religious identity in terms of individual action in a societal, rather than ecclesiastical, context.

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Lived Religions Whereas the foregoing cultural approach emphasizes broader religious norms and narratives that can influence individual behavior, the “lived religions” approach (Edgell, 2012) is a more “bottom-up” approach that considers how religious practices and beliefs are adapted by people in their particular situations, which sometimes might reference conventional institutionalized religion, but other times be distinct from it, or reflect the influence of other, nonreligious situational factors. This approach, in effect, treats religion as a practical activity on its own, valuable for navigating life and malleable in the hands of persons, and “not coterminous” with either institutional religion or pure religious experience (Cadge & Ecklund, 2007; Edgell, 2012, p. 13). Importantly, however, this practical activity can have strong impacts upon people, creating “deep, durable schemas and dispositions to act” (Edgell, 2012, p. 15), affecting a person’s abilities, goals and values (Winchester, 2008).

A Common Core: Identity, Schematic Cognition, and Scripted Behavior All three of these perspectives are linked, however, by the way in which they see religion embedded in persons’ identities through cognitive schemas and behavioral scripts (or what Edgell refers to as “dispositions to act”). But they address different elements of that process of embedding and influence. The more top-down, cultural approach in effect considers the way religions, like institutional logics, create repertoires of cognition and behavior for individuals to adopt (either consciously, as in a conversion event, or unconsciously, in the case of taking for granted the religious outlook of one’s youth or peers). But cultural and institutional influences are not determinative; individuals can borrow from them syncretistically and piecemeal to achieve individual and social ends, and so the “bottom-up” lived religions approach emphasizes that process of navigating and negotiating life via the resources religion provides. But in each case the end result is an influence on individual identities and the internalized cognitive schemas and emotional and behavioral scripts that help to constitute a person’s sense of “who I am” and “what is expected of me,” and thus provide an influence (among others) on individuals’ behaviors.1

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RELIGIOUS IDENTITY, COGNITION, AND BEHAVIOR In what follows we outline a broad theoretical approach to understanding how religion relates to behavior, emphasizing the role of religion in generating schematic/scripted thinking and action, and including identity as a category of cognitive schema. Following that, we look at multiple implications of this general account for particular types of behavioral phenomena in organizations. We begin by summarizing some of the general features of religion and its link to behavior as indicated across the different approaches noted above: that religions, and religious identification, define affective, cognitive, and behavioral expectations for people; that religious identification has affective, cognitive and behavioral impacts that range beyond the formal religious role expectations proffered by religious institutions and the actors who play important formal roles within those institutions (e.g., clergy); that individual adherents can be active agents in the development, explication and implementation of their own religious commitments; that therefore there is a potentially recursive relationship between macro-sociological logics of religion (and the resources created by and supportive of those logics) and the actions and thinking of practitioners of particular religions; and that religious actors will not only reflect the influence of religion on them but will, in effect, use religion to accomplish ends within the social contexts in which they live and work. The common theme through all of this is the link of religion to identity, and the manifestation of that link through schematic cognition, scripted behavior, and negotiated degrees of conformity to (and sometimes changes in) religious role expectations. Table 1 lists some representative studies considering religion’s relation to cognition, affect, and behavior, and thus indicates the wide range of impacts religion can have.

Religious Identity, Identity Salience, and Behavior Identity often is characterized as being a deeply embedded sense of self linked to some set of identifiable behaviors (Erikson, 1964). Identities are relatively deep and enduring cognitive structures embodying an internalized set of traits, alongside more surface level, visible behaviors that manifest those underlying traits (Aquino & Reed, 2002; Reed & Aquino, 2003). Aquino and Reed describe these two sides of identity as “internalization” and “symbolization.” Although their focus is on moral identity, one can

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Representative Empirical Studies of Religious Influences upon Cognition, Affect, and Behavior. Cognition

Ability to cope with cognitive complexity Attitudes against risk Deference toward authority Framing of suffering Moral identity Perceived value dissimilarity Prejudice

Pancer, Jackson, Hunsberger, Pratt, and Lea (1995) Liu (2010); Miller (2000) Blogowska and Saroglou (2011) Shweder et al. (1997) Vitell et al. (2009) Cunningham (2010) Hill et al. (2010) Affect

Emotional regulation Gratitude Hope Humility Self-worth

Hill and Hood (1999); Smilde (2007); Stark and Glock (1968); Watts (1997); Winchester (2008) Emmons and Paloutzian (2003); McCullough, Emmons, and Tsang (2002); Winchester (2008) Koenig, McCullough, and Larson (2001) Winchester (2008) Schieman, Bierman, and Ellison (2010) Behavior

Charitable giving Coping (Functional and Dysfunctional) Forgiveness Humility Inhibition of deviance Modesty Risk aversion Temperance

Peifer (2010); Winchester (2008) Pargament et al. (1992) Emmons and Paloutzian (2003) Emmons and Paloutzian (2003), Winchester (2008) Carpenter and Marshall (2009), Tittle and Welch (1983); Welch et al. (1991) Winchester (2008) Liu (2010); Miller (2000) Smilde (2007), Winchester (2008)

find similar internal/external distinctions in studies of the way religion plays a role in people’s lives (e.g., Smilde, 2007; Winchester, 2008), focusing on cognitive schemas (i.e., internalization as part of the self) and external behaviors that, in Aquino and Reed’s terms, symbolize the identity. Importantly, the external side of this can be a venue of negotiation in which religion is used as a tool for accomplishing social acts, rather than merely as reflecting deep cognitive frames and attendant dispositions to action and affect. Internal and external elements of identity do not necessarily cohere in all situations. With regard to religion specifically, some research has identified how varying mixtures of internal cognitive

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commitment and external behavioral observance occur. For example, a demographic study of “fuzzy fidelity” in Europe by Storm (2009) finds that alongside the presence of individuals who identify with a religion and also engage in visible actions harmonious with that religion (e.g., formal participation in it), many individuals also display either “believing without belonging” (i.e., cognitive internalization without behavioral manifestation) or “belonging without believing” (i.e., clear behavioral manifestation without cognitive commitment). Identities, including religious identities, typically are formed through life experiences in interaction with other persons. Thus it is no surprise that various elements of role theory (Katz & Kahn, 1978) and social structural symbolic interactionism (Burke, 1980; Hoelter, 1985; Stryker, 1980; Stryker & Serpe, 1982), along with social identity concerns generally, have figured in efforts to understand the development of and behavioral implications of religious identities (e.g., Cunningham, 2010; King, 2008; Vitell et al., 2009; Weaver & Agle, 2002; Wimberley, 1984, 1989). Through these interactions individuals learn the cognitive (belief-oriented), affective, and behavioral expectations attendant to particular religious frameworks, whether through informal encounters with others, formal intra-religious teaching, religious proselytization, or from larger cultural/social influences of particular religious institutional logics. Key to understanding the varying impact of religious identity, and the potential divergence of internalized and externally symbolic elements of that identity, is the process by which identities
religious and other
vary in salience over time. Role expectations from different aspects of a person’s life (e.g., parent, employee, citizen, religious believer, etc.), whether manifested in cognitive, affective or behavioral ways, can conflict. Situational factors can make one or another identity more or less salient from time to time. Thus identities, including religious identities, can be positioned in salience relationships (Davidson & Knudsen, 1977; Hoelter, 1985; Stryker, 1980; Stryker & Serpe, 1982). Stronger identity salience, ceteris paribus, will lead to greater conformity to the expectations that go along with a particular identity, including religious identity (Weaver & Agle, 2002; Wimberley, 1989). Organizational contexts, however, provide multiple influences on identity, leading to variation in religious identity salience (Weaver & Agle, 2002) and to potential tension and conflict among the varied social identities that individuals (alone and collectively) bring to the workplace (Chrobot-Mason, Ruderman, Weber, & Ernst, 2009). And if we recognize that identity is not a unitary notion but multidimensional, with the potential for divergence between cognitively internalized and

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externally symbolized religious identity (as in the case of “fuzzy fidelities” (Storm, 2009)), the sources and nature of variation in identity-driven religious practice become even more complex than simple variations in salience.

Religiously Formed Schemas and Scripts Religions often include behavioral guidelines or requirements (Glock, 1959, 1962; Glock & Stark, 1965; Stark & Glock, 1968; see also Verbit, 1970), and so stronger levels of self-identification with a religion should, ceteris paribus, lead to behavior more in conformity to those particular guidelines and requirements (e.g., Batson, Schoenrade, & Ventis, 1993). The “ceteris paribus” clause in the foregoing sentence, however, should be read in a very expansive way; much can influence and intervene in the process, as will be discussed later. Moreover, religions vary in the extent to which they make aspects of an adherent’s religious status (e.g., institutional rank, life after death, etc.) dependent upon one’s behavior in the present. Thus particular religious beliefs, to the extent they form a salient part of one’s identity, might make behavior in accord with religious guidelines more or less relevant religiously, thus affecting the formation of intentions to act in accord with those guidelines. Religious beliefs, and the language in which they are framed, can generate cognitive schemas; people steeped in a particular religious tradition and in its beliefs have access to a particular way of framing experience (e.g., “natural disaster” vs. “act of God,” or suffering vs. cleansing, Shweder, Much, Mahapatra, & Park, 1997). Such variance in available religious schemas can yield differences in awareness (e.g., of ethically pregnant situations); for example, Weaver and Agle (2002) suggested that someone steeped in Roman Catholic teachings about fair prices and fair wages might see an ethical issue in certain business practices where someone else might simply see “what the market will bear” (p. 83). Affective role expectations are also common in religions
for expressions of guilt, shame, hope, joy, empathy, etc. (cf. Haidt, 2003; e.g., Tangney, Stuewig, & Mashek, 2007; Watts, 1997). Such affective states can affect perception and scripted behavior (Oatley, 1992; Phelps, 2006). Religiously generated affect thus could affect the development of intentions to address an ethical problem (e.g., motivation by moral anger), or generate a more honest assessment of one’s own moral failings (Dobson & Franche, 1989), or make one more aware of and responsive to morally laden situations due to feelings of guilt over prior moral failures.

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Along with affective role expectations, religious participation can bring with it behavioral scripts; religious discourse often takes narrative form, and those narratives often are structured around particularly hallowed religious actors and their deeds. Thus, Weaver and Agle argued that religious adherents have access to a set of behavioral scripts that can lead directly to particular behaviors, even without mediating steps such as conscious judgment formation. Importantly, religiously generated schemas can be deeply entrenched, not only supporting forms of religiously influenced action but themselves being supported by religious practices (Winchester, 2008).

Breadth and Malleability of Religious Identity, Schemas, and Scripts The cognitive, affective, and behavioral influences noted above can also have broad effects, as religious practices (i.e., behavior) can reinforce cognitive and affective states (Bandura, 1986), even encouraging a deeply entrenched habitus (Bourdieu, 1977; see Asad, 1993; Mahmood, 2005; Winchester, 2008). So although ritual behavior might seem narrowly focused and distinctively religious in its ends, it can serve to reinforce some of the cognitive or affective aspects of religious self-identification, making it more likely that they influence behavior. Participation in group ritual also enhances identification with the group, and this kind of binding can further enhance religious identity and its salience at a given point in time (cf. Haidt, Seder, & Kesebir, 2008). Weaver and Agle (2002) argued that religious devotionalism, even if private, can help to entrench cognitive and affective religious role expectations, thus indirectly having behavioral impacts. Similarly, expectations for particular religious experiences sometimes can extend in influence beyond the narrowly religious, as when individuals experience all of life as sacred in some way
seeing work as a calling, for example (Davidson & Caddell, 1994). Notions of the sacred are closely linked to ideas of purity, and thus the sacralization of phenomena
such as employment relations and work organizations (Harrison et al., 2009)
likely leads to greater sensitivity to and behavioral response to perceived violations, or profaning, of more sacralized aspects of life, leading in turn to efforts to purify such profaned venues (Harrison et al., 2009; Weaver & Brown, 2012). Attention to particular practices of work-faith integration indicates how malleable conventional formal characterizations of religion are. Some effort has focused on the ways by which individuals bring their religious

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commitments into play in the workplace (notably by Miller, 2007, but also see other treatments of faith-work integration, such as Lynn, Naughton, & VanderVeen, 2009, 2011; Nash, 1994; Nielsen, 1996). (This work to some extent parallels the earlier work on dimensions of religious role expectations conducted by Glock & Stark, 1965). Thus, Miller identified four forms of work-faith integration and adaptation among people of varying western and nonwestern religions: an ethics-oriented form of religiously inspired behavior at work; an expressive form of religious behavior at work (e.g., talk about one’s religion or religious outlook with co-workers); an experiential form (e.g., meaningfully interpreting one’s work experience in religious terms, such as being a divine calling or a form of divinely expected service); and an enrichment form (whereby religious involvement leads to workplace adaptation, as when religion provides strength for coping with workplace stress, or defines work as an opportunity for personal spiritual/ religious growth). Each of these specific forms of work-faith integration can be seen as involving one or more of experiential (e.g., religious action or emotion oriented, as in the case of Miller’s “expression” or “ethics” categories), belief related (e.g., interpretive schema oriented, as in the case of Miller’s “experience” category, which he frames in terms of beliefs about the meaningfulness or value of one’s work), or quasi-private practices (e.g., accepting work stressors as religious growth opportunities, as in the case of Miller’s “enrichment” category”). In accordance with the “lived religions” approach we described earlier, religious adherents can be active agents in the construction of forms of religious expectations and practices. For example, schemas encouraged by membership in a particular religion nevertheless might be applied or acted upon in somewhat different ways by individuals in their various situations. The religious schemas themselves might be as likely to be revised or influenced by an individual’s work experiences as work experiences might be perceived or reinterpreted in light of those schemas (Cadge, Levitt, & Smilde, 2011). Thus, dichotomies of sacred and secular, and assumptions that influences flow from religious institutions to religious individuals rather than vice versa, are problematic. Religious adherents, for example, can use their “secular” settings for constructing particular, perhaps idiosyncratic forms of religious practice and engagement, and in the process create new understandings of or approaches to religion (see, e.g., Cadge’s studies of religiously negotiated behavior in academic medical centers, summarized in Cadge et al., 2011; see also Smilde, 2007; Winchester, 2008 for additional examples of this kind of “lived religion” process).

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Identity Salience Variation and the Moderation of Religious Influence Even deeply embedded religious identities, and their attendant schemas, scripts, and role expectations, can vary in salience, with that variation in turn having implications for behavior and cognition. All else being equal, greater religious identity salience should lead to behavior, thought and affect more in harmony with the role expectations attached to that identity, and with the cognitive schemas and behavioral scripts characteristic of that religious stance. Given identity’s strong tie to the depth and frequency of interaction with others, it’s not surprising that the kind of religiously based or religiously identified relationships a person has influences the degree to which that person’s religion affects behavior (e.g., Welch, Tittle, & Petee, 1991). But context influences not just the content of identities but also identity salience. For example, the absence or dissolution of competing, secular outlooks can render religious categories more salient (Tittle & Welch, 1983). Weaver and Agle (2002) noted a number of ways in which organizational context can influence religious identity salience. For example, formal and informal organizational commitments can compete with religious commitments, leading to greater salience for one’s organizational identity and attendant roles than for religious identity and its roles. Deeper and more widespread interpersonal commitments based on organizational identity likely will make that identity more salient and influential; in that case, even if religious identity remains influential to a degree, it might only be so with regard to relatively private religious phenomena (such as religious reinterpretations of the significance of one’s work, or religious coping behavior in response to workplace stressors). Weaver and Agle argued that, paradoxically, organization members in higher status positions would be less likely to act on religious identity despite having more formal power to do so, given how much the identities of high organizational status persons are linked to their organizational positions. (Reed, Aquino, & Levy (2007) later found this situation to hold in the different context of moral, rather than religious, identity.) In addition, Weaver and Agle noted that the strength of organizational cultural norms and presence of co-religionists can influence religious identity salience, and that religious behavior by an individual can contribute to changing cultural norms or to the revealing of otherwise closeted co-religionists, thereby reinforcing an organizational context conducive to further increases in religious identity salience.

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ORGANIZATIONAL INFLUENCES ON RELIGIOUS IDENTITY, SCHEMAS, AND SCRIPTS The result of the foregoing review of theory and research on religion’s relationship to cognition, affect and behavior should indicate that there are multiple routes to and influences on what Chaves calls “religious congruence”
that is, congruence of a religion’s formal and informal role expectations to any individual adherent’s behavior, cognition and affect. More importantly, however, there are multiple means by which congruence can “fail” or get redirected, or even changed in meaning, as both individual actors and their larger social settings jointly influence the perception, interpretation, and working out of religious expectations. Organizational contexts have considerable influence upon the schematic cognition, identities, and scripted behaviors of their members, and on the process of sensemaking in the face of conflicts and ambiguities affecting favored schemas and scripts. Thus, organizational contexts should affect, and be affected by, the religious schemas, scripts and identities that employees bring to the workplace. Fig. 1 illustrates, at a high level of generality, the relationships among religious identity and related schematic cognitions, and behavior in organizations.

Organizational Context (e.g. Presence of Coreligionists in the Workplace)

Identity Salience

Cognitions and Behaviors in Organizations

Religious Identity & ReligiouslyFormed Related Schematic Cognitions

(e.g. Favorable Attitudes toward Work, Risk Aversion, or Destructive Conformity)

Fig. 1.

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Variation in Identity Salience, Schemas, and Scripting Prior research has proposed or identified a number of contextual influences upon religious behavior in the workplace, particularly relationships, practices, and symbols. Table 2 summarizes a number of empirical findings regarding those influences, as well as some possible future research, as will be discussed below. Weaver and Agle (2002) proposed that (a) the number and importance of an individual’s commitments to other employees who are invested in an organization’s dominant ethos will likely increase that individual’s subscription to that ethos, whereas commitments to co-religionists in the workplace will enhance the salience of an individual’s religious identity; (b) a strong organizational culture is likely to crowd out competing values, whereas a weak or fragmented one creates opportunities for individuals to use alternative schemas, including religion, to give consistency to their experience, and (c) the presence of material symbols or other artifacts of religious culture may signal an individual’s religiosity to others, prompting those others to treat that individual differently according to their religion; such symbols may also remind individuals of their own identities, thereby triggering relevant scripts and schemas (Weaver & Agle, 2002). These three points are also reflected elsewhere in the literature; similarly to the first point above, Chaves (2010) theorized that religiously formed thought and action will be more likely when individuals submit to the social control of a community of co-religionists in which they are embedded. Similarly to Weaver and Agle’s second point above, Ashforth and Pratt theorized that working for a directive organization (Ashforth & Pratt, 2010) might also trigger or encourage reliance upon religiously formed scripts and schemas. Limited empirical research also has been consistent with some of these ideas. Lynn et al. (2011) found that an organization’s size reduces individuals’ agreement with a set of survey items measuring the presence of religious schemas pertaining to work; this is consistent with Weaver and Agle’s theory, insofar as a larger workplace is likely to entail more commitments to a larger and more diverse array of fellow employees (thereby diluting relations with co-religionists). Peifer’s (2010) finding that the propensity of individuals in Christian congregations to donate a larger proportion of their income to the church is predicted by their sense of solidarity with the church (and with the self-reported importance of their religion to themselves) also is consistent with the theory: stronger connections with co-religionists increase the salience of religious identity, which

Do workplace reminders of religious identity (e.g., religious clothing, devotional activities, etc.) prime religious scripts and schemas? Does intra-organizational support for religious expression facilitate activation, enactment, and retention of religious scripts and schemas? Does less organizational use of religious language diminish the salience of religious identity for organization members? Does expression of some religion in the workplace prime schemas and scripts for that religion alone, or for all religions represented in a given workplace? Is religiously formed behavior subject to positive, or negative, ampliative spiraling? Are boundary-spanners who face equivocality or conflict with religious schemas and scripts influenced to enact or discard religious schemas based on organizational sensegiving? Do religious individuals engage in tempered radicalism in order to maintain their religious identities in ambivalent or hostile organizations? Are religious schemas reinterpreted in the event that organizational sacralization is contested?

Potential Organizational Influences Upon Religious Behavior

Pratt (2000) Lynn et al. (2011)

Lynn et al. (2011)

Representative Empirical Studies of Organizational Influences upon Religious Behavior.

Coreligionists and religious practices in the workplace increase agreement with workplace-related religious schemas Organizational sensebreaking and sensegiving inculcates religious schemas Organization size reduces agreement with workplace-related religious schemas

Table 2.

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in turn promotes beliefs and behaviors that are consistent with that identity. Pratt (2000) found that well-defined patterns of sensebreaking and sensemaking among Amway distributors (affiliates of a network marketing company) incorporated significant religious content, and resulted in many Amway distributors adopting religious beliefs, as might be expected in a strongly religious organizational culture. Lynn et al. also found that religious sermons and classes in the workplace, spiritual disciplines including prayer and meditation, and mentors and role models in the workplace all increased agreement, which also seems consistent with Weaver and Agle’s theory in that relationships with co-religionists, and the presence of religious cultural artifacts, should increase the salience of religious identity. Religious relationships, practices, and symbols also can function as psychological primes, reminding individuals of the relevance of certain schemas and scripts at a particular point of decision making, and increasing the salience of a religious identity in a particular situation. Carpenter and Marshall (2009), for example, found that even for self-identified Christian individuals with high intrinsic religiosity, priming by reading Bible passages increased behavior that accorded with their own statements of the moral course of action in a variation on the dictator game. In general, then, workplace reminders of religious identity, be they religious clothing, sacred texts, devotional activities, religious language, or religiously identified relationships, all remind participants of their religious identities and attendant cognitive scripts and schemas, and thereby prompt religiously congruent cognitions and behaviors. Not all possible contextual influences on religious schemas and identities have been supported clearly in the empirical literature. Lynn et al. (2011) found that contextual factors including the number of hours worked (which presumably create conflicts with religious activities and the roles that those activities express) and professional status (and the autonomy that is presumed to be its corollary) had no effect upon individuals’ agreement with their survey items measuring the presence of religious schemas pertaining to work. Chaves and Gorski (2001) found that religious pluralism (measured as the diversity of religious affiliations reported in a geographic area) does not consistently bolster religious participation (as in the case of the nations of Northern and Western Europe during the Reformation, or in the United States in recent history), but rather that it sometimes coincides with diminishing religious participation (as is the case in Northern and Western Europe, and Canada, today); the same mixed results might hold for the diversity of religious expression in large work organizations. In the

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workplace, pluralism will not necessarily prompt or suppress religious belief or behavior, nor will individuals who enjoy greater autonomy necessarily think or act in more religious ways.

Sensemaking and Religious Schemas As noted earlier, contextual influences on religiously formed behavior can be understood within a schematic framework of social cognition that is familiar to scholars of organizational behavior, including script processing (Gioia & Poole, 1984) and sensemaking (Maitlis, 2005; McKee, Mills, & Driscoll, 2008; Weick, 1979; Weick, Sutcliffe, & Obstfeld, 2005). Automatic script processing corresponds to the internalized and habitual responses that lend themselves to religious congruence. Moreover, corresponding religiously scripted behavior can further entrench religious frameworks and identity, as behavior and cognition mutually reinforce each other. But religious scripts often can be narrow in scope, resisting applicability beyond conventionally defined religious venues and situations. These habits are generally narrow in their scope, pertaining primarily to cognition, affect, and behavior in explicitly religious contexts (Chaves, 2010), and extensions outside of the scope of the religious contexts in which they are forged can be difficult. Thus, Darley and Batson (1973) found that seminarians on their way to make a presentation on the parable of the Good Samaritan (i.e., about helping an injured stranger in need) were no more likely than peers in a control group to help a moaning person slumped on the side of the path (the exact situation captured in the Good Samaritan story). However, such extensions beyond conventionally religious settings are not impossible, and in fact depend on the generality of the habits inculcated. Winchester (2008) found that Muslim converts at an Islamic center in Missouri described their progressive adoption of the habits of a “good Muslim,” like Ramadan fasting or dressing modestly, as being self-reinforcing practices that changed their thinking, feeling, and acting toward a range of life situations. In general, then, although quasireligious categories of thinking and acting might be transferable to organizational contexts (e.g., “servant leadership,” “stewardship”), this is not guaranteed, and likely will depend on the extent to which the organizational context is supportive of such transference, providing triggers for religious schemas and scripts, and legitimating their applicability when triggered. Thus, the salience of a person’s religious identity is contingent upon a number of situational factors.

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Scripted behavior and schematic thinking is not always straightforwardly automatic, however. In particular, where a less-than-typical set of stimuli problematizes automatic performance of a script, sensemaking occurs (Weick et al., 2005). Sensemaking describes the social-cognitive response of an individual or a group of individuals to a situation of equivocality, in which the available information may be plausibly interpreted as many (or no) recognized patterns. Recognition that the situation is an exception, and requires something other than an automatic response, is met with some interpretation of the available information: it is assimilated to available schemas. One of those schemas is then selected and shared, either by performing an associated script, or by discussing it with others. If that schema is not disconfirmed by its own consequences, then it is retained for further action. Moreover, sensemaking often is retrospective; individuals are often concerned with justifying their own actions and beliefs, such that they are motivated to remain consistent with past statements (Weick et al., 2005). And the influences on sensemaking are varied
prior experiences and familiarity with a present situation type; communication quality among persons involved in a sensemaking episode; stress or other aspects of the sensemaking situation; relationships with others, etc. (Weick, 1993). But in general, the confirmation or disconfirmation of religious scripts and schemas through commitments to co-religionists, or to other organizational members who subscribe to the organization’s dominant ethos, respectively (Lynn et al., 2011; McKee et al., 2008; Weaver & Agle, 2002), suggests that sensemaking occurs when individuals are faced with the opportunity to respond to equivocal situations using religious (or nonreligious) schemas or scripts. Religious schemas and scripts are retained if they win the confirmation of significant others, and jettisoned if they do not; thus, the salience of a person’s religious identity in a given situation is contingent in part upon the social feedback its enactment receives.

Organization Level Processes Organization level phenomena
such as organizational cultural norms, language, and formal policies
clearly can influence the likelihood that religious behaviors are manifested in organizations and thereby have further social cognitive influences on individual members’ behaviors. But such contextual influences on religious behavior in organizations can be recursive, reinforcing certain organization-level tendencies that are

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supportive or not vis-a`-vis religious identity and schemas. Scheitle’s (2009) study of the organizational self-descriptions provided in tax forms of Christian nonprofits receiving government funding offers an example of this kind of process. He suggests that although the introduction of government funding coincided with a shift away from religious language over time for only an insignificant number of organizations, there was some reason to suspect that for some religious nonprofits, self-imposed limits on explicit religious identity, the professionalization of management, and access to government funding formed a web of mutual influences. If normal processes of institutionalization hold, then as some (perhaps high-profile) organizations adopt particular stances vis-a`-vis religious identification, it will become increasingly normative for others to do so as well. But because language is important as a means of constructing, transmitting, and making salient religious identity (Wuthnow, 2011), if a religious organization engages in less use of religious language, the salience of religious identity for its members (and for other social actors influenced by the organization) should decrease in turn.

FUTURE RESEARCH ON ORGANIZATIONAL INFLUENCES UPON RELIGIOUS EXPRESSION Theories of schematic social cognition can be used to explore a number of workplace identity-construction phenomena relating to religion. It is likely that religion in the workplace is enacted on an ongoing basis, and therefore that the relationships reviewed above are dynamic rather than static. Future research may examine the progressive influence of various predictors of religious manifestation and expression, and the recursive effects of religious manifestation and expression themselves. Moreover, an especially interesting subset of religious dynamism includes the problematization and adaptation of religious identity in the organizational context. Religious individuals may face situations in the workplace in which the salience of their religious identities, and/or the applicability of their existing schemas, are equivocal. Locally novel responses that change the terms of religious manifestation and expression in the workplace are therefore also interesting topics for future research, especially as they illuminate both the lived nature of religion and the potentially surprising influence of religion upon other organizational phenomena through sensemaking, tempered radicalism, or even moral imagination.

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Ampliative Spiraling of Religiosity The potential for visible manifestation and expression of religious outlooks to increase the salience of religious schemas and identity could, in theory, lead to situations of ampliative “spiraling” of religiously formed behavior in the workplace. That is, some initial degree of religious expression could enhance the salience of religion, leading to greater levels of religiously formed behavior by individuals, leading to further increases in salience, and so on. Thus, religiously expressive workplaces might not be static phenomena, but rather dynamic with regard to variation in the extent of religion’s influence on workplace behavior. Similarly, restraint on manifestations and expressions of religion might reduce salience, thereby making actively religious behavior less likely, thereby further reducing salience, and so on. An interesting open question in this regard, however, is whether religious identity salience is increased by exposure to any kind of religious expression in the workplace, or rather, exposure only to religiously similar outlooks; that is, does some degree of open manifestation of a particular religion (e.g., the presence of Christian devotions, Bible study groups, or even chaplains in some workplaces, or the presence of Hindu or Sikh religious attire, symbols, and dietary practices in other workplaces) render religion more salient for all religious employees in the organization, or only for those who share the openly manifested religion? And does it matter whether the expressed religion is presumed to be majority or minority status, or supported (or not supported) by powerful organizational actors? Do highly frequent expressions, or high levels of diversity of religious expression, enhance religious salience or instead serve to trivialize religion in some way?

Triggers of Intentional Religious and Nonreligious Sensemaking Chaves (2010) argued that behavior might be more congruent with religious belief if individuals intentionally consider the implications of their beliefs. But what kinds of situations encourage that kind of intentional attention? Will religious individuals be more likely to behave according to their beliefs when faced with the kinds of equivocal situations that encourage active sensemaking (Weick et al., 2005), thereby leading to the selection of religiously informed scripts? Or will the ambiguities and tensions that prompt sensemaking lead organization members away from religious frameworks of thought and action? Boundary-spanners in certain organizations may

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frequently face such opportunities for sensemaking, because their own work presents them with considerable equivocality. Many organizations are explicitly religious, particularly in the education, health care, and media/publishing sectors, and some expend considerable resources socializing their new members (Ashforth & Pratt, 2010; Pratt, 2000). Other organizations succeed in sacralizing themselves or their purposes, often without reference to any theology (Harrison et al., 2009). Therefore, the common adversarialism of work in collections, labor relations, or the office of the general counsel may all provide rich sites for the study of such sensemaking, especially in light of differences in organizational sensegiving; of particular interest may be the extent to which schemas and scripts anchored in an extraorganizational religious commitment are retained in the face of pressing task needs and institutionalized norms. Religious individuals working in billing for a religious hospital, who may regularly pray “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,” may experience considerable cognitive dissonance over the decision to turn medical debts over to a collections agency; their resolution of that tension may illustrate the factors influencing the retention (or nonretention) of religiously grounded schemas over others. Such tensions point to the value of considering how the workplace itself provides a venue for renegotiating and reinterpreting the tenets of one’s religious identity, such that influences proceed not merely from religions to the workplace behavior of their adherents, but from the workplace, through employees, to the beliefs, structures, and practices of their religions (Cadge et al., 2011).

Tempered Radicalism The experiences of tempered radicals (Meyerson, 2001; Meyerson & Scully, 1995) may also provide clues to the maintenance and adaptation of religious identity in unreceptive organizations. “‘Tempered Radicals’ are individuals who identify with and are committed to their organizations, and are also committed to a cause, community, or ideology that is fundamentally different from, and possibly at odds with, the dominant culture of their organization” (Meyerson & Scully, 1995, p. 586). The tension between their personal and professional identities can enable them to be both productive members of their organizations, and constructively critical advocates of change; however, it can also cause stress and frustration, and eventually prompt those individuals to disregard one identity or the other. Individuals with strong religious commitments, who feel that those commitments are

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not respected or welcomed in their workplaces, may engage in a number of techniques for maintaining the salience of their religious identities inside and even outside the workplace (depending on the degree of role or identity conflict they experience). For instance, some devout Jews, Muslims, or Christians working for some media production companies may experience some tension over perceived involvement in entertainments portraying morally dubious practices (e.g., sexual objectification, drug use, etc.). Such persons, however, could simultaneously anchor their personal identity and cope with the stress of the tension they experience by forming relationships and networks with like-minded co-religionists, either within or outside of their employer or industry. They also might formulate creative strategies for bringing their religiously rooted schemas to bear in a secular workplace, thereby exercising moral imagination (Werhane, 1999). Alternatively, they might engage some techniques for reducing the salience of their religious identities in the event of unwanted conflict; the neutralization technique of “balancing the ledger” (Anand, Ashforth, Joshi, & Martini, 2004) might employ charitable donations outside of the workplace to offset socially damaging behavior within it. These tensions may even exist in relatively religious organizations, if tempered radicals experience their religious identity in a digressive form from the dominant one. Research on religious tempered radicals may illuminate (a) the maintenance of sacred identities in the face of disconfirming sensegiving, (b) the moral imagination (Werhane, 1999) that importing schemas and scripts from another identity entails, (c) or the justifications that are offered when deviant behavior is problematized. Again, religion in the workplace constitutes a setting characterized by negotiation, interpretation and innovation
as religion is understood as a “lived” phenomenon (Edgell, 2012).

Contested Sacralization When organizations attempt to sacralize some aspect of their identity, culture, or strategy (Harrison et al., 2009), that ascription of transcendent meaning may be contested. Harrison et al. (2009) suggest that sacralization is legitimated with reference to the organization’s institutional environment, but the legitimation offered by that environment may not necessarily be univocal: religious institutions may object to the sacralization of brands or the construction of a cult-like corporate culture (Collins & Porras, 1994), while shareholders, customers, and activists may object to the incorporation of religious or quasi-religious symbols or values into a secular

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organization. For instance, Trijicon Incorporated for many years subtly inscribed Christian scriptural references onto the gun sights that it supplied to the militaries of the United States, United Kingdom, New Zealand, and Australia; when the practice became public knowledge in 2010, the Military Religious Freedom Foundation, the Interfaith Alliance, and the Muslim Public Affairs Council vocally objected, and the American military immediately ordered the references removed from existing and future gun sights (Eckholm, 2010). In general, stakeholders’ objections may result in encapsulated sensemaking on the part of organization members, or the disaffiliation of members who disagree with the organization (Pratt, 2000). But, contestation over organizational sacralization may also provide opportunities for organization members to reinterpret the content and meaning of the values promoted by religious and other institutions, effectively adopting altered or new religious schemas and scripts, and changing the meaning of their own religious identity. Exploring the reconciliation of competing construals of the sacred may illustrate the conditions under which differing bases of institutional authority prevail vis-a`-vis the use of religious schemas in organizations, and further illuminate sensemaking and perhaps moral imagination in the workplace.

RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES ON BEHAVIOR IN ORGANIZATIONS Just as situational influences in the workplace can affect the manifestation and expression of religious identity in the workplace, the role expectations and scripted behavior embedded in a religious identity can have multiple kinds of influence on the behavior of individuals in organizations. Here we focus on five broad categories of influence that have received some degree of empirical attention (job attitudes, ethics (and related phenomena), decision making, emotion, and counterproductive behaviors), and in the context of presenting each we also offer suggestions for future research. These are summarized in Table 3.

Job Attitudes Parboteeah et al. (2009) found that a sense of obligation to work, like that posited in the Protestant ethic (Weber, 1992/1930). and more recent “work

Advocacy for prosocial change Conflict rooted in values differences Destructive conformity Organizational citizenship behaviors Risk-aversion

Reduction of stress and burnout Sense of belonging Sense of purpose

Reduced job satisfaction in the event of values conflict Whistle-blowing intentions

Nielsen (1996) Chrobot-Mason et al. (2009) Pratt (2000) Kutcher et al. (2010) Hilary and Hui (2009), Kumar (2009), Kumar et al. (2011)

Behavior

Kutcher et al. (2010) Pratt (2000) Pratt (2000)

Affect

Martin (Forthcoming)

Davidson and Caddell (1994), Kutcher et al. (2010), Parboteeah et al. (2009), Weber (1992/ 1930), Yousef (2000) Cunningham (2010)

Graafland et al. (2006), Longenecker et al. (2004); Parboteeah et al. (2008)

Cognition

Representative Empirical Studies of Religious Influences upon Cognition, Affect, and Behavior.

Attitudes against organizational misbehavior Favorable attitudes toward work

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Are the virtues (e.g., compassion or forgiveness) encoded in many religious identities, schemas, or scripts expressed through virtuous behavior in the workplace? Do religious identities, schemas, or scripts promote safety behavior and other rule compliance, perhaps by minimizing risk-taking, or by inculcating self-control? Do religiously directive organizations, or those organizations located in more-religious geographic areas, experience diminished innovation? Do religiously directive organizations, or those organizations located in more-religious geographic areas, experience stronger safety climates? Do religiously based resilience or sense of security cause complacency?

Behavior

Do religious schemas promote antipathy toward persons, entities, or activities in the workplace dubbed "impure" or "unclean"? Do religious schemas and scripts enhance resilience? Does the presence of coreligionists in the workplace increase resilience?

Affect

Does religiosity reduce turnover intentions? Do religious schemas facilitate the reframing of “dirty work“ to overcome occupational taint? Do religious schemas prevent incumbents of “dirty jobs” from taking action to ameliorate or destigmatize their work? Do religious schemas promote acquiescence to illegitimate workplace authority?

Cognition

Potential Religious Influences Upon Cognition, Affect, and Behavior

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as calling” writings, is present in all major religions (see also Yousef (2000) for information on the Islamic work ethic). Using World Values Survey data from over 62,000 respondents in 45 nations, Parboteeah and coauthors found that higher reported levels of religious belief and observance, aggregated to the national level, separately predicted higher individual-level senses of work obligation; this result held regardless of the religiosity of individual respondents, suggesting that religion as a cultural institution influences individual workplace attitudes, effectively normalizing particular views of work. This means that the impact of religion on organizational behavior sometimes might be direct, via the religious commitment of individual employees, while other times it might be mediated through more general, extraorganizational societal processes and thereby affect even nonreligious individuals in that society. At an individual level, however, Kutcher et al. (2010) similarly found that among American respondents from a variety of religious affiliations, affective organizational commitment and job satisfaction were predicted by the strength of religious belief, selfreported religious practice, and intrinsic religious motivation. In general, religion often appears to encode schemas in which diligent work is valued, and the more personally or contextually accessible those schemas are (i.e., the stronger the salience of religious identity), the more valued diligence is likely to be. Insofar as this holds, research also should consider other potential implications of religiously induced organizational commitment and job satisfaction, like turnover intentions. The impact of religious identities, and their attendant schemas and scripts, that encode work obligations
perhaps especially scripts that encode service to others, humility, and magnanimity
may be especially important for individuals engaged in “dirty work” (Ashforth & Kreiner, 1999; Ashforth & Vaidyanath, 2002). Religious schemas and scripts may provide such individuals with the reframing and cultural tools needed to overcome threats to their identities through physical, social, and moral taint, and demeaning interactions. These schemas and scripts may function all the more powerfully in religiously directive organizations (Ashforth & Pratt, 2010) that employ a number of dirty workers, like many hospitals and hospices, or the janitorial services business of ServiceMaster Corporation (whose corporate mission includes the “foundational” admonition to “honor God in all we do”). Of course, the organizational reinforcement of these religious scripts and schemas may have disadvantages as well as advantages: while they enable workers to maintain relatively positive self-schemas while performing dirty work, they may also forestall action to redesign these jobs. Religiously induced job satisfaction,

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in effect, can have varied implications
from encouragement of a high commitment, high performance workplace to acquiescence in dysfunctional management practices. Which it will lead to, under what circumstances (both religious and organizational), is a topic for future research on religion’s impact in organizations.

Organizational Ethics and Prosocial Behavior As noted earlier, ethical attitudes are an area in which religious congruence might be expected to have an important impact, due to the emphasis upon ethics promoted by many religions (Herman & Schaefer, 2001). But many studies have found null, weak, or mixed impacts of religiosity upon selfreported work-related ethical attitudes and behavior, generally using student samples and a wide variety of measures of religiosity (summarized in Weaver & Agle, 2002). For example, Longenecker et al. (2004) investigated the correlation of religiosity and ethical attitudes using a sample of over 1,200 managers and business professionals from across the United States; they found that while self-reported religious affiliation (e.g., “Protestant”) did not predict the assessed ethicality of a series of vignettes, respondents who indicated that their religion was at least moderately important to themselves were more ethically conservative than their “low” or “no importance” counterparts. But as Weaver and Agle’s (2002) analysis indicated, it is likely that linkages of religious identities and schemas to ethics outcomes in organizations inevitably reflect the moderating roles of religious identity salience and other factors that affect the accessibility of workplace-relevant and ethics-relevant religious schemas and scripts. Also of interest regarding ethics, however, is the fact that some forms of religion (e.g., certain fundamentalisms) are associated with particular (specifically, deferential) attitudes toward authority (Blogowska & Saroglou, 2011). Unquestioning obedience to authority has been associated with higher levels of unethical behavior in organizations (Trevino & Weaver, 2003). But respectful consideration of authority itself also can be seen as a moral good by people (Haidt, 2003). As a result, religious identities and schemas can present new ethical issues and perspectives in organizations not only directly, through the obvious ethical content of religious teaching, but also in terms of the kinds of moral intuitions they encourage in their adherents (e.g., respect toward authority or hierarchy). Anthropologically, moral intuitions toward a sense of the sacred, or toward sanctity, also are closely aligned with concerns for one or more culturally specific conception

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of purity, thus yielding a kind of ethics-relevant concern on the part of pious employees that might be far removed from ordinary questions of organizational ethics. Yet such concern is not inconsequential in organizational life; ethical conflict or tension can arise due to differences regarding the need for “purity” in the workplace and related reactions of disgust toward the impure
whether purity is understood (for example) in terms of eschewing vulgar language, on one hand, or in “cleansing” an organization of individuals who sully the image of the organization (e.g., an abusive supervisor, or a self-dealing and aggressively competitive employee) (Weaver & Brown, 2012). In short, the potential impact of religious identity and schemas
and the moral outlooks they encourage or incorporate
can extend beyond the “obvious” application of explicit moral principles to organizational or marketplace ethics. More generally, recognition of religion’s impact on organizational behavior requires considering a potentially wider range of not only ethical beliefs but also ethically relevant emotions in organizations
whether respect and deference toward authorities, or disgust and cleansing of the vulgar, or the avoidance of certain activities (e.g., investment in “sin stocks”). And insofar as not all employees, religious or nonreligious, will display the same degree of religious identity salience, or will share (or have triggered) these attitudes, the potential for ethical conflict and tension is clear
even though that conflict might proceed at intuitive, “gut” levels rather than at any level of explicit, rationally focused ethical debate. Related to ethics, prosocial workplace behaviors may be influenced by religion as well. Brotheridge and Lee (2007) theorized that because of ubiquitous religious exhortations to prosocial behavior, religiosity would predict individuals’ engagement in organizational citizenship behaviors, particularly when those individuals showed high intrinsic and low extrinsic religious motivation. Kutcher et al. (2010) found that intrinsic religious motivation did in fact predict self-reported OCBs, as did their other measures of religiosity. Whistle-blowing is another prosocial workplace behavior, though empirical evidence on the impact of religiosity upon whistle-blowing is scarce: one vignette study of whistleblowing intentions among undergraduates showed null results (Martin, forthcoming). Chen, Eisenberger, Johnson, Sucharski, and Aselage (2009) found that perceived organizational support, including support from one’s manager, leads to extra-role behavior; perhaps the influence of religiosity upon prosocial workplace behaviors, especially risky ones like whistle-blowing, is moderated by perceived organizational support. The organization’s openness to religious expression may be an especially important element of perceived organizational support, if some schema

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or script from an individual’s religion prescribes prosocial behavior, or if an individual’s sense of religious identity motivates prosocial behavior and is made more salient by the organizational context. Kutcher et al. (2010) found that perceptions of the workplace’s openness to respondents’ religious expression did in fact predict OCBs. Religious scripts and motivations for prosocial behavior would seem to translate well to the workplace, especially when welcomed as such by the organization. Future research on the influence of religion upon organizational behavior also should address the burgeoning field of positive organizational scholarship. As an extension of positive psychology into organization studies, positive organizational scholarship investigates individual and collective phenomena that contribute to the well-functioning of people and organizations. This work includes a number of phenomena that have historically been called “virtues,” like compassion, forgiveness, courage, and resilience, and virtues such as these have been argued to be linked to identity (Weaver, 2006). Peterson and Seligman (2004) claim that their review of the doctrines of world religions reveals that all agree on a set of universally admired virtues, which Peterson and Seligman then elaborate in considerable psychological detail. Lilius, Kanov, Dutton, Worline, and Maitlis (2011) note that compassion in particular is featured in a number of religions’ responses to suffering; religious schemas may influence compassion in the workplace by facilitating the noticing of suffering, by strengthening relationships among individuals, and by providing cultural resources for engaging people who are suffering. Worthington et al. (2010) argue that a religiously based relationship between people, or beliefs about a religiously inspired imperative, may promote forgiveness in the workplace, but a feeling of sacrilege can prevent forgiveness. Although religious beliefs and affects may often support a range of virtuous behaviors, the problem of limited congruence is likely to make relationships between religion and virtue complex.

Decision Making Some empirical research has shown linkages from individuals’ religion to their business related decision making in contexts not necessarily or directly linked to ethics and virtue as conventionally understood. Stances toward risk in workplace decision making also can be influenced by religion (and willingness to take risks also can be related to matters of ethics). Liu (2010) found that religious affiliation among Taiwanese did not predict

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self-reported risk-taking propensity, but that the frequency of attendance at religious services did. Using World Values Survey data, Miller (2000) found that religious affiliation, the importance of religion, and frequency of attendance at religious services all predicted risk aversion in the United States, Italy, and Turkey, but not in Japan or India. Theoretically, attenuation of the agency problem that results from stronger work obligations (noted above in the “job attitudes” section) would mean that in morereligious locales, organizations can be expected to employ flatter organizational structures, award higher fixed salaries and smaller incentivecompensation packages, and take smaller business risks, resulting in slower growth (Carlin & Gervais, 2009). Hilary and Hui (2009) found that in American counties with a higher ratio of religious adherents to total population, firms do in fact accept lower degrees of risk exposure and realize slower growth. Similarly, Kumar, Page, and Spalt (2011) theorized that on the basis of historic antipathy toward gambling among Protestants, financial decision makers in areas with stronger Protestant (vs. Roman Catholic) influences would be more conservative in their investments, regardless of the faith of the particular decision maker. Empirically, Kumar et al. found that in American counties with a higher ratio of Catholics to Protestants, small and midsized institutional investors are more likely to hold stocks with low prices and high volatility (i.e., “lottery stocks”); firms are more likely to offer broad-based employee stock option plans; stock price appreciation on the first day of trading following an initial public offering is higher for firms located in these counties; and the discount placed on lottery stocks is greater for firms located in these counties. It appears that available religious schemas pertaining to risk-taking (and perhaps the potential receipt of gain without visible effort, as in the Weberian Protestant work ethic) affect appetites for risk, most strongly for religious adherents, but also for nonadherents (as noted as well, above, regarding job attitudes among nonadherents in religious cultures). Thus, contextual factors that render religious identity more salient can have decision making impacts that range beyond obviously religious matters. In practices other than investment and compensation decisions, one can ask whether this reduced risk tolerance means that more religious individuals, or those who participate in religious activities in the workplace, or those who decorate themselves or their workspaces with religious symbols, might, ceteris paribus, be more likely to follow safety rules and other standard operating procedures (and be less likely to innovate). Intrinsic religiosity positively predicts self-control (as found by Vitell et al., (2009)), which in turn predicts rule-following (Tyler & Blader, 2005); however, extrinsic

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religiosity negatively predicts self-control (Vitell et al., 2009). Religiously directive organizations (Ashforth & Pratt, 2010), or organizations located in more-religious areas, may also experience stronger safety or less innovative climates (Zohar, 1980, 2003) due to the greater accessibility of riskaverse schemas. Of course, these inclinations do not occur in a vacuum; risk-averse reluctance to engage in certain behaviors could be moderated by the sense of long-term security or complacency that religions often provide to their adherents.

Stress and Workplace Affect Kutcher et al. (2010) found that their abovementioned measures of religiosity all reduced both stress and burnout in the workplace; however, religiosity did not moderate the relationship between stress and burnout, suggesting that religiosity helps workers to reduce their stress levels and therefore their rates of burnout, but does not help workers to cope with higher stress levels (Kutcher et al., 2010). In addition, conflicts between deeply felt religious role expectations (as embodied in religiously generated behavioral scripts) and work-related role expectations can enhance, rather than reduce, experienced stress (Exline & Bright, 2011). More generally, religion has been found to increase older adults’ sense that they matter, an important psychosocial resource that was bolstered all the more for lowstatus individuals (Schieman et al., 2010). The fact that religion is well-known to have powerful affective effects for adherents in religious roles or contexts, as discussed above (Edgell, 2012; Emmons & Paloutzian, 2003), suggests that the potential exists for religion to magnify or introduce affect in the workplace, as well as suppress certain affects as Kutcher et al. reported. However, individuals are often adept at managing their responses in order to conserve scarce emotional and other resources: Cameron and Payne (2011) found that individuals felt less compassion in the face of widespread suffering when they expected to be asked for donations, or when they were instructed to manage their emotions. Thus, religion may provide important affective resources and cultural tools for enhancing resilience and a sense of security in the workplace (Caza & Milton, 2011), perhaps all the more so within workplace networks of co-religionists. However, religious individuals may or may not be more likely to display compassion or forgiveness, if they resist their own scripts that encode costly obligations. Resilience and security conceivably could foster complacency as well. Just how religious schemas and identities work

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themselves out in this regard likely will depend on the process by which religious adherents negotiate and make sense of the meaning of their religious commitments in the lived context of the workplace, in light of other influences on their overall sense of identity and sensemaking process.

Organizationally Counterproductive Behaviors Much of the empirical research reviewed above has highlighted positive outcomes, leaving ample opportunities to investigate more problematic effects of religious identities and schemas (when activated, or perhaps when not activated as well). Some of these may include outright discrimination or harassment on the part of religious employees against others (Day, 2005; Day & Greene, 2008), a loss of cohesion between adherents of one religion and other employees (Chrobot-Mason et al., 2009; Mentzer, 2002), the stress of intrapersonal or interpersonal religious struggle in the workplace (Exline & Bright, 2011), the costs of accommodation of religious practices (Polley, Vora, & SubbaNarasimha, 2005), or the use of religious pretexts to avoid performing appropriate work roles (Lips-Wiersma, Lund Dean, & Fornacieri, 2009). The impact of religious fundamentalism upon prejudice seems to be partially mediated by need for cognition and preference for consistency (Hill et al., 2010), while the impact of fundamentalism upon prosocial behavior seems to be moderated by the threat that the behavioral target’s identity poses to the individual’s worldview (Blogowska & Saroglou, 2011). Although theorists have posited a number of likely workplace conflicts between religious individuals and others, to our knowledge relatively little empirical work has been done on the subject, possibly due to the difficulty of collecting data on such a sensitive topic. Moreover, not all potential negative outcomes stem from some sort of religious conflict: destructive conformity may also result from religious attitudes and behavior in the workplace (Polley et al., 2005; Pratt, 2000; Salvador et al., 2007), sometimes leading to a loss of perspective due to the discouragement of alternative expressions (Ashforth & Pratt, 2010). For example, Weaver and Brown (2012) argued that if organization members view certain practices or outcomes as essentially sacred or pure, they might be more willing to engage in any means to achieve that outcome (including manipulative organizational politics), or, alternatively, be reluctant to resort to any means that might sully the sacred purity of the desired outcome. Religious identities, schemas, and scripts also can be used to increase managers’ control, not only over workers’ behavior, but also over their cognitions and affect, and

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even over their relationships with significant others in nonwork life roles, enabling organizations to instrumentally abuse workers (Ashforth & Pratt, 2010; Lips-Wiersma et al., 2009; Pratt, 2000). Thus, religious belief and behavior in the workplace poses potential issues, whether or not it results in conflict.

CONCLUSION The study of religious behavior, affect, and cognition in the workplace has potential implications across fields. Scholars of the sociology and psychology of religion may find the context of the workplace to be especially interesting, because it challenges the expression (or not) of religious identities, cognitions, affects, and behaviors in ways that more traditionally religious contexts (e.g., congregations) generally do not. Religious congruence (Chaves, 2010) in the workplace, where alternative scripts and schemas abound, may indicate especially strong effects of predictors or moderators. Moreover, the particular contents of religious cognitions and affects may have important effects on ethical behavior, personal and organizational resilience, the management of diversity, and group cohesion. And although our approach has been predominantly “micro” in focus, we recognize that religious institutions proffer their own, and contribute to other, larger institutional logics that influence the cognition and behavior of individuals, and that individual religious adherents thus can become the means by which larger religiously informed logics can influence organizational practices. Thus religiously influenced intraorganizational behavioral processes also might owe some of their origins to extraorganizational factors, and in the long run religion’s intraorganizational impact in turn can influence organizational environments as the actions of religious adherents in the workplace influence the actions their organizations take on their environments. Thus, our “micro” treatment of the topic should be considered in the context of other, more cross-level approaches to religion in organizations. The workplace may also highlight processes of religious identity construction or priming that are obviated in more traditionally religious contexts, while religion in the workplace may showcase phenomena that are expressed more subtly in other realms of organizational behavior. Carpenter and Marshall (2009) have shown that priming increases the behavioral congruence of religious beliefs about ethics; further research on

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the endogenous aspects of a situation that prompt a recognition of equivocality and the selection of a religious schema on the part of an individual may enrich the literature on religious decision making, especially if those aspects of the situation are mediated or moderated by aspects of the person. Moreover, the sensemaking that occurs over the introduction or contestation of sacred schemas may illustrate the social construction of the sacred itself. Identifying the social determinants of the ascription of sacredness to a schema will contribute to literatures on the sociology of the sacred, organizational identity, and sensemaking. Moreover, identifying the social determinants of the retention or disposal of sacred schemas, or of the sacredness of schemas, when they are contested would also contribute to all three literatures. Ascertaining whether certain schemas that are ascribed transcendent value in and of themselves get preferential treatment in sensemaking processes would contribute to the literatures on sensemaking and moral imagination (Werhane, 1999), as would discerning how those schemas get and lose that status. One potentially productive tension that scholars should bear in mind is between instrumentality and authenticity. Research that highlights the positive or negative outcomes of religion for organizations inescapably adds to the case for or against religious expression within organizations. While such findings may inform managers and management scholars who desire to enhance the efficiency and effectiveness of organizations, it is important to remember that religion is a human phenomenon that is in many cases deeply and intrinsically important to its participants. Co-opting or suppressing religious cognitions, affects, or behaviors for the benefit of the organization risks violating the sense of sacredness held by those participants (Lips-Wiersma et al., 2009). Moreover, because of its roots in the scientific worldview of the Enlightenment, the theory and practice of management has an inescapable tendency to rationalize the phenomena within its domain (Ghoshal, 2005; MacIntyre, 1984). For example, a movement like positive psychology or positive organizational scholarship may, in its efforts to theorize and operationalize religious virtues, reduce them to something less than their meaning and nuance in the particular religious traditions from whence they come. Management scholarship (and practice) regarding religion must therefore ask itself whether its distinctively managerial outlook renders its treatment of religion necessarily incomplete, failing to capture the lived experience of religious employees, with the explanation of and cooperation with their religions becoming instead a form of reduction and cooptation unrecognizable to those employees.

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NOTE 1. Rational choice accounts of religion, which we have not mentioned yet, also argue that intentional individual decision making forms the basis of persons’ identification and affiliation with particular religions, as people seek promises of future reward that serve as compensatory fulfillments of their goals and hopes (Stark & Finke, 2000). Rational choice and “supply side” market accounts that explain choices of religion and macro-level findings about denominational success and failure (especially in situations of religious diversity and competition) have been influential in sociological and economic scholarship on religion. But such accounts are less adept at considering the functioning of religions as socially embedded (Edgell, 2006) and idealistic or moralized ways of life (Jerolmack & Porpora, 2004) rather than exercises in individual self-interest (Johnson, 2003). So we do not consider them further here.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT The second author would like to gratefully acknowledge the support of James and Judith Chambery.

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MYTHS TO WORK BY: REDEMPTIVE SELF-NARRATIVES AND GENERATIVE AGENCY FOR ORGANIZATIONAL CHANGE W. E. Douglas Creed, Rich DeJordy and Jaco Lok ABSTRACT In this article we consider how cultural resources rooted in religion help to constitute and animate people working in industrialized societies across both religious and nonreligious domains. We argue that redemptive self-narratives figure prominently in the symbolic constructions people attach to their experiences across the many domains of human experience; such redemptive narratives not only can shape their identities and sense of life purpose, they inform their practices and choices and animate their capacity for action. To consider how redemptive selfnarratives can provide a basis for agency in organizations, we analyze and compare the career narratives of a retired Episcopal Bishop and a celebrated CEO. Keywords: Identity work; redemption; agency; Ray C. Anderson

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Since Friedland and Alford’s seminal charge that the social sciences were “in the midst of a theoretical retreat from society” (1991, p. 232) there has been a growing effort to bring society
perhaps especially in terms of its cultural and symbolic constructions
back into the study of organizational institutionalism. Yet, if one accepts Friedland and Alford’s argument that the most important institutional orders of contemporary Western society include the bureaucratic state, the capitalist market, democracy, the nuclear family, and the Christian religion, then one would have to accede that the vast majority of scholars of organizational institutionalism have remained in theoretical retreat from religion, largely neglecting how religion as a macro-order is “pulled down and become[s] imbricated” within organizations and the people inside them (Powell & Colyvas, 2008, p. 278). This article explores how cultural resources rooted in religion help to constitute and animate people working in industrialized societies across both religious and nonreligious domains. We specifically focus on the role of redemptive self-narratives in enabling a sense of purposefulness and agency for organizational and social change. We argue that redemptive self-narratives figure prominently among the symbolic constructions people attach to their experiences across the many domains of human experience; such redemptive narratives not only can shape their identities and sense of life purpose, they inform their practices and choices and animate their capacity for action. Our understanding of redemption as pivotal to many agentic selfnarratives in Western organizations is rooted in William James’ seminal book, The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902/2004). In it, James argued that redemption is a common element of religious experience, across religious systems; here redemption refers to the individual’s movement from the felt experience of “wrongness,” or of falling short in some serious way, to a sense of being reconnected with a power greater than the self, which can be variously understood as God or some other superhuman force. Redemption is distinct from the perhaps more familiar concept of repentance. Repentance usually involves self-examination, contrition, and a resolution to change one’s ways, all in order to obtain forgiveness or reconciliation. Thus, many penitents likely hope that their repentance will lead to the experience of redemption, with its profound sense of reconnection to a greater life force. However, what is particularly distinctive about redemption, according to James, is its power to restructure a person’s life. Experiences of redemption can create a new “habitual center of … personal energy,” while realigning concerns and commitments and providing a new sense of life purpose (James, 1902/2004, pp. 147
148), which becomes the animating force of the individual’s agency.

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The modern-day importance of redemption is reflected in the work by McAdams (2006a, 2006b) who has found that highly generative Americans tend to make sense of their lives and their capacity for action through the use of what he calls “narratives of redemption.” McAdams has found that these narrated experiences of redemption need not be explicitly religious in form. Instead, he has identified six distinct “languages of redemption” that operate across the many domains of human experience
including the religious, intellectual, economic, political, psychological, and physical realms. Each of these languages
when employed in selfnarratives
bespeaks domain-specific “redemptive sequences” or movements on the part of the narrator “from suffering to enhancement” (2006b, p. 43). To focus on how redemption and redemptive sequences can manifest in the symbolic constructions of the self, and thereby provide a basis for agency in organizations, we analyze and compare the career narratives of a retired Episcopal Bishop and a celebrated CEO, the late Ray C. Anderson (2009a, 2009b, 2011), founder and former CEO of Interface. Our analysis is based on an in-depth interview with the retired bishop, and the CEO’s memoirs respectively. We use McAdams’ (2006a, 2006b) construct of generativity, his notion of redemptive sequences, and his typology of six languages of redemption as a basis for our analysis. Here “generativity” is defined as purposeful action for the well-being of future generations, and the emergence of individual purpose and agency (McAdam, 2006a, 2006b). Using these analytical tools, we guide the reader through a comparative analysis of how languages of redemption and redemptive sequences are manifested in the career sensemaking and capacity for action of both figures. The purpose of this comparison is to show the organizational scholars for whom we are primarily writing how similar patterns of symbolic selfconstructions manifest themselves in religious and (supposedly) nonreligious organizational domains, and how, as a result, the importance of redemption in organizations is not limited to religious organizations. We show how redemption becomes integral not only to the CEO’s leadership of his company’s efforts to become environmentally sustainable, but to his broader legacy as a leading international champion of corporate environmental stewardship. We also show how the bishop draws on languages of redemption from domains other than the strictly religious, even though he is extraordinarily adept at using the religious language of redemption. Thus our findings suggest that redemptive self-narratives can play an important role in individuals’ self-construction of generative selves not only in the

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Church and religious institutions, where it is not surprising, but also in the corporate world. Our findings also suggest that across these settings these narratives need not be explicitly religious even though redemption has its roots in religion. Indeed, we show how even the devoutly religious can increase their generativity in their organizations by drawing on nonreligious languages of redemption that operate across the intellectual, economic, political, psychological, and physical realms of human experience. Our focus on redemptive self-narratives enables us to uncover a source of endogenous agency in institutions that has thus far remained hidden. As an answer to the paradox of embedded agency, institutional scholars have emphasized the importance of the experience of institutional contradiction as a key antecedent to a shift in agentic orientation toward seeking institutional change (Creed, DeJordy, & Lok, 2010; Sea & Creed, 2002). In this article we show that the experience of contradiction is not necessary for the construction of a more agentic self; the metanarrative of redemption, common across many of the world’s religions and central to the theologies of the Abrahamic religions, offers a narrative template through which potentially any persons can reconstruct themselves to become more generative in their organization. Institutionalized conceptions of redemption
arising from religion but manifest across domains of human experience
thus provide readily accessible, legitimate ways for people in diverse organizational settings to frame, often in ostensibly secular ways, their commitments to goals that transcend the boundaries or economic mission of their organizations. We argue that change agency for the sake of the larger community or for future generations can therefore be considered a manifestation of the individual’s participation in the Western cultural project of progress and equality, a cultural project anchored in Western religious notions of salvation history (Meyer, Boli, & Thomas, 1987). This anchoring suggests that institutionalized models of career, and narratives of professional generativity, may derive from religious models of discipleship. Thus one way in which religion as a macro-order is pulled down and becomes imbricated within organizations and the people inside them is through redemptive self-narratives that enable generative agency. In the following sections we elaborate on these arguments by first theorizing the concepts of redemption and generativity based on McAdams’ work, followed by an explanation of our methods, and the presentation of our analysis. We conclude by discussing the broader implications of this study.

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GENERATIVITY AND THE REDEMPTIVE SELF Our work proceeds from James’ work on religious experience and McAdams’ (2006a, 2006b) work on the redemptive self. We also follow Bruner (1990), Giddens (1991), and others in asserting that identity formation is a culturally embedded process facilitated by the construction and internalization of self-defining life stories or “self-myths.” As employed in organization scholarship (e.g., Alvesson, Ashcraft, & Thomas, 2008; Alvesson & Willmott, 2002; Watson, 2008), the concept of “narrative identity” (Singer, 2004) highlights the centrality of narrative and self-narration in the persons’ constructing of a coherent identity; narrative enables persons to reconstruct their pasts and imagine their futures in a way that preserves a measure of coherence, purpose and meaning. Narrative identities explain who people believe they are and how they believe they came to be. Such narrative identities therefore serve to reinforce, sustain, and justify person’s commitments and aspirations: “Narrative identity provides adult life with meaning and purpose while explaining and justifying through stories the most distinctive commitments, decisions, and investments that a person makes during the adult years” (McAdams, 2006a, p. 94). For most adults, these commitments, decisions, and investments both define and subsume their organizational lives. Much of McAdams (2006a, 2006b) work focuses on the narratives of what he terms “highly generative adults.” Borrowed from Erikson (1950, 1964), “generativity” refers to a heightened concern for and commitment to promoting the development and well-being of future generations. Through a series of empirical studies, McAdams shows that highly generative Americans tend to describe their own lives through redemptive narratives that have a characteristic structure. They start with some perceived advantage or blessing, not necessarily (or even typically) in terms of material wealth, but rather a sense of being lucky or special. This is coupled with an awareness of others’ misfortune or suffering. As McAdams writes “The implicit message in the beginning of the story is clear: ‘I am blessed; others suffer’” (2006b, p. 8 emphasis in original). This serves as the narrative basis for establishing a strong belief system that serves to bolster them when faced with negative and challenging events, until such events give way to positive life outcomes through narrative movements which McAdams labels redemptive sequences. Consequently, these adults narratives culminate with a theme McAdams labels “future growth,” in which they project their lives into the future to “foresee the realization of broader, prosocial goals” (2006b, p. 68). Such generativity may find

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organizational analogs in organizational commitment, especially in affective commitment (Meyer, Allen, & Smith, 1993), organizational citizenship, and other extra-role and prosocial behaviors. McAdams’ research suggests that “when they take stock of their own lives, highly generative American adults tend to narrate them around the theme of redemption” (2006b, p. 7). This link between generativity and themes of redemption suggests the common appropriation of a metanarrative of redemption that subsumes both religious conceptualizations involving sacred processes of atonement and renewal and a variety of secular
or at least secularized
concepts captured in metaphors that translate adversity into positive developments, for example, “that which does not destroy us, makes us stronger” (McAdams, 2006b). His work shows that in life stories, redemptive sequences begin with the protagonist’s experience of an event, such as enduring the terminal illness of a loved one, which invokes a negative emotional state such as fear, guilt, shame, or despair. The negative scene, however, gives way to the experience of happiness, joy, excitement, growth, or some other positive emotional state. These people’s experiences, and their retelling of them, are cast in any of a number of culturally available, domain-specific narrative templates: Christian stories of atonement, economic stories of upward mobility, political stories of emancipation and liberation, and psychological and medical stories of recovery from illness, dependency, addiction, etc. (McAdams, 2006a). Each of these domainspecific narrative templates, which he calls “languages of redemption,” invokes cultural metanarratives arising from its respective domain of human experience that speak to the common struggles and successes associated with that domain; each domain’s pattern of movement from negative state, through struggle, to success constitutes its “redemptive sequence” (McAdams, 2006b). Together these templates offer multiple ways of capturing the idea of moving from suffering to positive life outcomes, thus positioning the narrator for greater generativity. Table 1 summarizes the six languages, redemptive sequences, their domains, and provides stylized representations of each language from McAdams’s work. Regardless of the domain, however, the idea of redemption broadly refers to the deliverance from a domain-specific form of falling short. According to William James (1902/2004), if there is a common thread to religious experiences across religious systems it is that, first, people sense something is wrong about them in their natural human state and that, second, the solution to this sense of wrongness arises through a sense of being saved through (re)connection with the higher powers, which can be variously understood as a God or other superhuman force(s). The sense of wrongness can, according to James, take a moral character and can often

Sin

Slavery

Poverty

Sickness Health Addiction

Atonement (religion)

Emancipation (political systems)

Upward Mobility (economic systems)

Recovery (medicine/therapy)

Wealth Social Standing

Freedom

Salvation

Forgiveness

“Suffering” “Enhancement”

Language (Domain)

Stories of healing 12step programs

“Rags to Riches”/ Heratio Alger

Liberation from oppression

Slave narratives

Spiritual autobiographies Conversion experiences

Exemplar

Excerpts from “The Redemptive Self” On October 10, 1821, while walking through the woods near his home, [Charles Grandison Finney] underwent a religious conversion. He emerged from the woods convinced of his personal salvation and resolved to dedicate his life to spreading the gospel. (p. 149) School administrators refuse to permit Johnson, as football captain, to walk out on stage with the homecoming queen and lead the traditional homecoming pep rally. The problem, of course, is that he is Black, and the homecoming queen is White. … In the years following, he continued to rise through the ranks in the police department. Johnson finally realized his dream and became the first African American police chief in that town. (pp. 183
184). W. Clement Stone (1902
2002), a self-made billionaire who parleyed $100 in savings into an insurance empire. (p. 120) A washed-up Wall Street trader and a hopeless drunk, Bill Wilson sat down at the bar in November 1934 to have a drink with a fellow alcoholic named Ebby. But when Ebby showed up, he told Bill he did not want to drink anymore. He had “got religion,” Ebby claimed. (p. 229)

Table 1. Six Languages of Redemption. Redemptive Self-Narratives for Organizational Change 117

Ignorance

Immaturity

Enlightenment (education/ science)

Development (parenting/ psychology)

Actualization

Knowledge

“Suffering” “Enhancement”

Language (Domain)

Stories of moral development and character building

Stories of insight and discovery Stories of growth of the mind

Exemplar

Table 1. (Continued ) In what she identifies as a significant childhood scene, Deborah learns that her inability to perform a simple task in gym class is due to a deficiency in-depth perception. The same deficiency turns out to be the reason for her bad handwriting, as well. “I wasn’t a total idiot after all,” she realizes. (p. 66) Say to them, O father, O mother, O brother, O friend, I have lived with you after appearances hitherto. Henceforward I am the truth’s. … I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. (Emerson, quoted on p. 130)

Excerpts from “The Redemptive Self”

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be experienced as having a divided self so that, in the first stage, the individual may have no sense of his real being or, more importantly, with which parts of his divided self he should ultimately identify. … but when state 2 (the state of solution or salvation) arrives, the man [sic] identifies his real being with the germinal higher part of himself; and he does so in the following way. He becomes conscious that his higher part is conterminous and continuous with a MORE of the same quality, which is operative in the universe outside of him, and which he can keep in working touch with, and in a fashion get on board of and save himself when all his lower being has gone to pieces in the wreck. (James, 2004, pp. 375
376, parentheses and emphasis in the original)

Failing to deal with this sense of wrongness or dividedness can theoretically interfere with enactment of what the individual supposes is his or her truest, although perhaps as yet unknown, vocation or life purpose. On the other hand, the experience of redemption can realign concerns and create a new “habitual center of … personal energy” and everything “has to re-crystalize about it” (James, 2004, pp. 147
148). This theorization of the linkages between feelings of falling short or dividedness, the redemptive processes of narrative identity (re)construction this can trigger, and the increased generativity this can result in, raises some interesting questions for organizational scholars. How do metanarratives of religious redemption, the various languages of redemption, and redemptive sequences inform or shape individuals’ self-narratives in their careers and organizations? In what ways might this lead to increased generativity in organizations? What are the implications of the use of redemptive languages and sequences in self-narratives for our understanding of agency, and in particular of individuals’ differential capacities for action in organizations? What are the implications for our understanding of the role of religion and religious tenets in contemporary organizational theory? After exploring these questions, we conclude by proposing that institutionalized conceptions of religious experience provide readily accessible, legitimate ways for agents to frame, often in ostensibly secular ways, commitments to goals that transcend the boundaries or economic mission of their organizations.

RESEARCH CONTEXT AND METHODS Our data comprises a published memoir and original interview data. The former is Ray Anderson’s (2009a) story of his company’s groundbreaking

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efforts to become an environmentally sustainable company, first published under the title Confessions of a Radical Industrialist: Profits, People, and Purpose—Doing Business by Respecting the Earth. In it, Anderson provides an account of his company’s and his own “mid-course correction.” For his company, that entailed transforming a carpet company effectively dependent on petrochemicals into one that will have zero carbon footprint. For himself, it entailed a personal transformation from being what he describes as a captain of industry, but a thief of his grandchildren’s future, into a climber of “Mount Sustainability.” His book is a mix of a personal history, moral challenge, and practical how-to book based on the experiences of his company. Our other data stems from the career narrative of a gay Episcopal bishop who spent nearly his entire career in the closet. It is drawn from a larger study that uses the careers on gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered (GLBT) ministers from eight Mainline Protestant denominations in the United States to explore the organizational experiences of would-be change agents in a contested institutional change process. In his narrative, the Bishop relates the various problems he encountered as he tried to serve his church with integrity while living “undisclosed”; his narrative culminates in the account of his coming out and challenging his church’s exclusion of GLBT people from the ministry. Thus, both Anderson’s memoir and the bishop’s career narrative combine accounts of personal transformations and emergent roles as would-be change agents. Attentive to the epistemological limitations of interviews (Alvesson, 2003), we adopt Mishler’s stance that “narratives are socially situated actions” (1999, p. 19), and view stories about the self as “narrative strategies for self-making” (McAdams & Bowman, 2001). Thus, we make no claim as to whether such sensemaking does or does not reflect our informant’s “authentic self”; however, we do assert it represents the informant’s efforts to make sense of himself and his career to the researcher and himself within the confines of the interview. We would argue that the same epistemological concerns and qualifications apply to the memoirist’s efforts to make sense to the reader and him or herself within the confines of a memoir. Answering calls for more analysis of “how people in organizations represent and construct their lives” (Zald, 1996, p. 254), we use inductive, thematic analysis (Mishler, 1986; Riessman, 1993), first of the Bishop’s career narrative and then of the memoir. The use of one or a small number of focal actors in narrative analysis is well-established in management research (e.g., Down & Reveley, 2009; Sveningsson & Alvesson, 2003; Watson, 2008), especially when close study of particular cases illuminate more

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general social processes (Riessman, 2008, p. 13). Through examining the bishop’s accounts of career dilemmas, we explored how he attempted to pursue his Calling in ways meaningful to him, whether in or out of the closet. Similarly, we read Anderson’s memoir with a focus on the animating forces driving what he terms “climbing Mount Sustainability.” Thus, following McAdams (2006a), our key consideration in coding for use of languages of redemption and redemptive sequences was the meaning that each narrator makes out of the events he describes, rather than what might have literally happened in the person’s life. Consistent with other interpretive research based on qualitative data (Locke, 2001; Reay, Colden-Bidle, & Germann, 2006), we moved iteratively between the data, emergent constructs, and existing theory in several phases. We began our analysis with the transcription of the Bishop’s interview. In the interview, the bishop was asked to think of his career as unfolding like the chapters of a book and to identify and name the chapters. His own chapters provided the basic structure for our constructing a consolidated self-narrative (Maitlis & Lawrence, 2007) by interweaving verbatim quotations with transitional summaries, which we encapsulate below. This stage sensitized us to the presence in his narrative of a number of potential but at times thwarted redemptive sequences, those movements from negative states to positive life outcome identified by McAdams as characteristic in the sensemaking of highly generative people. We then examined the transcript for evidence of McAdams’ (2006b) six languages of redemption, analyzing their connection to the uncovered redemptive sequences. We next analyzed Anderson’s memoir for the presence of redemptive sequences and the use of languages of redemption. Unlike the bishop’s highly personal career narrative, however, Anderson’s memoir not only provides a brief, encapsulated personal account of his career. It goes on to detail the strategic, operational, and cultural transformation of his company, culminating in his vision for the “next ascent”
a paradigm shift
and the reasons for hope. We see his book as falling into three sections: The first is an account of his youth, early career, the founding of his company, and what he refers to as his spear-in-the-chest epiphany regarding business’s culpability in destroying the biosphere and responsibility for change. The second provides a practical how-to book based on the experiences of his company. In the third section, he addresses the political, intellectual, and spiritual challenges of the necessary paradigm shift. In presenting our analysis, we employ these three sections, as we again interweave direct quotations to show his construction of redemptive sequences and use of the languages of redemption.

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Finally, we analyzed the effects of the use of redemption sequences for the positioning of the narrator as a generative protagonist in order to explore the links between the use of redemptive language in self-narratives and the propensity for generative agency. We interweave in-line quotations and a summary table to present the extremely rich accounts of our informants’ identity construction and to convey the emic “power” of their lived experiences and emotional commitments while minimizing the violence to the data (Pratt, 2008).

CASE STUDY: THE RETIRED BISHOP Here we introduce Bishop Roderick Ramsey. In this pseudonymous portrait, we cleave as closely as possible to our informant’s diction, images, and metaphors. Although we paraphrase at times to concisely present his story, wherever possible we use language and imagery stemming from his narration. We then discuss how the various languages and sequences of redemption appear in his life narrative, uncovering the great degree to which the tension between authenticity and inauthenticity informs his various framings of redemption. Indeed, for Ramsey, the felt inauthenticity that arises from living “undisclosed” and muted not only mirrors the “divided self” described by William James, but is also the core feature of the negative emotional state that McAdams points to as antecedent to the construction of a redemptive self. We conclude with an analysis of how this framing enables a form of personal generativity that has implications for organizational and/or institutional change. The story Ramsey tells divides into three parts: 1) Overview and Responsibility, 2) Self-Awareness and Healing, and 3) Authenticity and Agency.

Section One: Between a Rock and a Hard Place Roderick Ramsey is a retired Episcopal bishop who, after nearly 40 years in the clergy, came out as a gay man in the 1990s.1 His career spanned a time of great change in American Mainline Protestantism regarding the position of GLBT people in the church. After more than a decade of debate on the moral nature of homosexuality, the first openly gay person was ordained in the Episcopal Church in 1977 (although a very small number of already ordained priests had come out by that time). The Episcopal

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stance on GLBT ordination differed from diocese to diocese, however. As late as 1990, an Episcopal bishop was accused of heresy by conservatives in the church for ordaining an openly gay person. Only in 1996 did the church’s highest court rule that the ordination of GLBT persons did not violate core doctrines of the church, a decision that divided the church (Rodgers, 2011). The first consecration of an openly gay priest as a bishop occurred in 2003, an event that has triggered a schism in the Worldwide Anglican Communion, of which the Episcopal Church is part. As this brief history suggests, Ramsey’s history of being closeted while serving as a priest and later as a bishop needs to be understood in terms of decades of foment over the issue of GLBT people in the priesthood. At the time of our interview, almost a decade after his retirement, Bishop Ramsey believes that bringing together an openness about his sexual identity and his Vocation ultimately was his personal salvation. Attaining this perspective was a long time coming and entailed a long struggle. And for a long time I sidestepped [my destiny], and by destiny I mean, that we are who we are. … There’s the quotation from the Gospel of Thomas that Elaine Pagels highlighted for me, and it is, “What you bring forth from within you will free you. … What you bring forth from within you will save you; what you do not bring forth from within you will destroy you.” And I think what I’ve been discovering more and more is what I bring forth from within me, does indeed save me, and I think that’s our Calling. And so for me as a gay man, it is to bring that forth, and then discover how it is to be used.

Upon returning from WW II, Ramsey entered college with a longstanding love of the church and a clear “inclination toward being engaged in some way that contributed to other people.” Upon graduation, he enrolled in General Seminary in Manhattan, not far from Greenwich Village. He soon realized that his entire social life revolved around the gay men he met in the Village and he found himself between a rock and a hard place. … There had never been a question in my mind about my sexual identity until I hit seminary, and then somehow in seminary in that first year … I picked up the notion that, somehow, who I knew myself to be … as a homosexual person, and my sense of Calling to the priesthood, didn’t mesh. … It was in the culture around the seminary, although it was never spoken about. People would disappear.

Halfway through his first year, he severed ties with his gay circle and spent the next six months bargaining with God: “I was trying to create a quid pro quo: Okay, I’m giving myself to you. Now, clearly, you can straighten me out and get rid of this.” That summer he met his future wife, Kate; he literally saw their meeting and becoming engaged within six weeks as God’s answer to his prayers and he held fast to the belief that God

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would take care of them, although he knew something was wrong: “At that time the Episcopal Church had cannons of annulment, and grounds for annulment were ‘mistaken identity.’ Well, it was very clear to me that I was entering into this under an identity that for her was a mistaken identity; she didn’t know me and who I [was]. But I still didn’t have the courage.” In retrospect, he sees this dilemma as shaping his entire path through ministry and his unfolding response to the issues of GLBT inclusion in the life of the church.

Section Two: Self-Awareness and Healing For the next decade he never doubted his Calling, but nonetheless described having a long discourse with God about changing him because he had accepted that his Calling and his gayness were incompatible. Although God did not, as he put it, straighten him out, Ramsey continued to believe that somehow God would take care of him and his growing family. Then, in the early 1960s, he attended a conference on the practice of healing ministries. In a private session, he told Agnes Sanford, the “godmother of healing ministry,” his story and asked that she pray with him. I was looking for how do I open myself
to God acting in me
to cleanse me of this desire. … Well, Agnes … said two things … She said, one, “well you do know there are a lot of homosexual clergy?” … There it was. “You do know there are a lot of homosexual clergy.” Number two
more important: “And you do understand that the gifts you bring to ministry are directly related to the person you are.” And [she] was the first person who ever made a connection between my Vocation and my being, as … contributing to one another. Then she prayed with me and … her prayer was that the Holy Spirit would reach down into the deepest depths of my being and touch my spirit. And that happened. … I experienced the Spirit as I have seldom experienced the Spirit. And I was absolutely giddy walking out of her presence, but being a properly brought up person, I wasn’t going back into a group of people out of control. (Laughter) So, I went … back to my room, got down on my knees, got it all pushed down inside, and when it was all stuffed in
all this joy
I then went back into the [meeting] room.

In recalling the experience, Roderick marveled at the irony. After being “healed from any sense that this was wrong and it was horrible,” he hid it: “this was a healing conference and it would have been the most natural thing, presumably, to say, ‘Well, here it is, friends. I’ve just experienced it.’ … But I didn’t … again, I didn’t have the courage.’” It would be more than 15 years before he disclosed to his wife that he was gay and over 15 more before he fully came out to the church.

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Throughout, he was able to come up with “rationalizations, which seemed perfectly legitimate at the time that kept me from speaking more forthrightly.” At various points in the interview, however, he attributed remaining “undisclosed” to the combination of cultural forces within the church and his own particular manifestations of internalized homophobia. Nonetheless, the healing experience with Agnes Sanford remained a “pivotal point” in his mind and he strove for what he described as the level of authenticity and integrity available to him under the circumstances. … from that point on the issue was not about how I felt about myself; that was very clear. I had made a commitment in marriage, and was trying to live that out as best I could with that awareness that I had come to, with “This is who I am.” … What I tried to do in terms of my ministry, out of that awareness, was to be as honest and authentic as possible, living in this un-self-disclosed way. … So I tried to be as accessible and available as possible.

Throughout his long career, there was a tension between speaking effectively to GLBT issues and being a “good boy”
that is, finding “ways to put it aside” so his sexual orientation “didn’t become an issue” for his church or his wife and children to have to deal with publically. My motivations, I believe, were always that I was going to be as true to who I was as possible, just not in a self-revealing context. (Laughter) … It just strikes me as a kind of a crazy posture. I mean, better than others that I can think of, but
and I guess part of what I was laughing at was the fact that when you really, really try to live into that, it gets a little dicey.

Consequently, when he spoke out on issues of GLBT inclusion in the church it was always in a muted way because he always spoke as an ostensibly heterosexual ally and not from his own experience as a gay man. For example, he recalled his argument in the House of Bishops in the late 1970s regarding exclusion of openly gay and lesbian people from the priesthood: If the church is about supporting duplicity as a primary value, then we’ve found absolutely the best way of doing it. … Well, it would have been much more effective, again, if I had
at the time had the courage to say “and I want to tell you that out of my own experience,” but I didn’t.

Section Three: Authenticity and Agency In 1976, he did come out to his family, and over the next 16 years, selectively to more people in the church. Then, in early 1990s, he felt closed-door

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deliberations of the House of Bishops on GLBT ordination reached a level of vitriol and fear that he described as verging on the sick. I sat quietly through this debate in which
you know, all the kind of stuff that people say like, “I was an alcoholic, and it wasn’t until I fell into the gutter, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, and I was able to save myself.” You know, but all the kind of arguments that you hear come out of no understanding or experience and nobody wants to listen to them. … And so I sat there silently … while I watched and listened to those who tried, in their articulate voices, on our behalf, speak up and get clobbered. And … at the end of that … I was so chagrined by my behavior that I went to the Presiding Bishop and said, “You need to know who I am, and it’s not a question of whether I say something publicly, it’s a question of when and how.”

In retrospect, Ramsey felt his coming out in the House of Bishops freed him to be himself and to expand the scope of his ministry even in retirement.

Analysis: Bishop Ramsey’s use of redemptive language as a basis for increased generativity We now turn to discussing how Roderick’s career narrative deploys each of the six languages of redemption
atonement, emancipation, upward mobility, recovery, enlightenment, and development
in the service of constructing an overarching redemptive sequence, his movement from muted gay pastor, living undisclosed, to outspoken advocate for GLBT ordination. Ramsay clearly frames this movement as positioning him for greater generativity in the form of greater church inclusion. As noted earlier, according to William James (2004) a common thread across the various religious contexts and experiences is that people sense something is wrong about them. For Roderick, the sense of wrongness takes different forms throughout his career narrative: initially it is the perceived incompatibility between his Calling and his gayness, but his living nondisclosed in both his marriage and his work, and the consequent muting of his voice and dilution of his pastoral power are also examples. Given his profession as a cleric, we might expect his experience to fall primarily in what McAdams (2006b) identifies as the domain of religion
implying that we should find him using primarily the language of atonement. We actually find he uses of all six languages. Also significant is how the theme of authenticity unites his use of all six languages. This accords with James’s argument that while the sense of wrongness or dividedness can interfere with the one’ sense of true vocation or life purpose, identifying one’s “real

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being with the germinal higher part of [one]self” creates a new “habitual center of … personal energy” around which everything else may crystallize (2004, pp. 147
148). We will consider each in language in turn. Language of Atonement In theology, atonement refers to the reconciliation between human beings and God. Underlying the idea of atonement is the notion that through sin people have alienated themselves from God and that through reconciliation one can obtain salvation. Roderick’s narrative is rife with examples of attempts at reconciliation, starting with his appeals for being “cleansed” of his gay desires, continuing with his ongoing efforts at surrender to the care of God, and ultimately being “saved” by reinterpreting his Calling as “bringing forth” his gay identity and discovering how it is to be used to make a difference. The most vivid example is his confession to and prayer with Agnes Sanford, with its epiphany that his gayness needs to be understood as a gift that he brings to his career as a minister. This sets the stage for a career-long struggle to live up to the spiritual, professional, and pastoral implications of this pivotal event. Language of Emancipation We find the language of emancipation manifest in Roderick’s repeated use of images of frozenness and liberation and in his allusions to Exodus. Embedded in his emancipatory rhetoric is a depiction of the church and the larger society as responsible for inculcating a preference for silence and a coerced “duplicity as a primary value” that amounts to a sort of oppression. I think the church hasn’t gotten a hold of this yet, that by creating a context in which there is value placed on
if not repressing, at least minimizing the significance of who you are as a gay person
it stultifies and it diminishes the possibilities and opportunities of the gay person within the church, especially a ministry, but I think just generally, of becoming a fully actualized human being.

He describes many instances throughout his years of living undisclosed where he could have spoken more forcefully out of his own experience but instead “sat high and mute” because he had persuaded himself that he could not be self-revealing. He repeatedly frames what he sees as his closeted compliance as “sapping your own power and strength through this invisibility, this silence.” Thus, one of the themes he articulated in reflecting on his career narrative is the “personally debilitating consequence of silence.” According to McAdams, the language of emancipation arises out

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of the domain of political systems and not surprisingly, Roderick’s use of emancipatory rhetoric points to systemic disempowerment and oppression. After coming out, he found himself in the position to encourage more open political participation in the decision-making apparatus of the church. … happening all over … is that gay and lesbian people are stepping into leadership/ decision-making roles … we’ve always been there, but they’re doing it now in an open and out way, and there are more and more of us who are saying that we’re not going to accept this position if it means somehow denying our partner or hiding in some way, masking. And so, it’s the issue of just putting ourselves and being intentional and conscious about … [how] we have to put ourselves forward, and so in that way, we can begin to influence and shape the agenda.

Language of Upward Mobility Although the language of upward mobility is most readily associated with the move from poverty to affluence, McAdams (2006b) also describes it as a move from lesser to greater social standing. In Roderick’s career narrative, there are images of moving from marginality to greater standing and power within the denomination. We find use of this particular language of redemption and its characteristic redemptive sequence in his depictions of GLBT political presence. We now have an increasing number of openly gay deputies to the General Convention which we never had before; we have people in effective leadership roles on the Commission Committee structures nationally; we have openly out gay people on the National Church staff. … the mantra that I keep repeating here is, every year, when it comes time to make nominations, we need to be sure that there are gay and lesbian people being nominated to all the offices.

Authenticity figures in his use of this upward-bound rhetoric to the degree his depiction of expanding political participation echoes his concern for visibility and voice, and generativity for the future: “we are important to one another, and here the notion of gay family and community is important, because I think we create the space for each other.” Language of Recovery Ramsey’s frequent use of the word “healing” suggests the use of the language of recovery, which according to McAdams, arises from the medicine/ psychology domain. Indeed, we find that Ramsey distinctively deploys the language of recovery in ways that link psychotherapy, integration, and authenticity. Nearly a decade after his coming out, he was still exploring the dynamics of his long journey from “functioning in two consciousnesses,”

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through a long period of being “really out of touch with myself,” to the point where he can, through ongoing “personal work,” understand what he calls “all those years of numbing down.” A similar form of psychotherapeutic recovery is apparent in his recognition that it was his own internalized homophobia that prevented him from coming out, a recognition that opens up the opportunity to “heal” himself from being ruled by dogmatic assumptions. It is important to note that Roderick’s narrative use of “healing” is not exclusively rooted in the medical/psychological language of recovery; rather, his use of healing transcends the healing of body and mind to include healing of the soul, which is more closely linked to the language of atonement. For example, it was at a conference on healing ministries that he felt healed by the Holy Spirit from his sense that his gayness was wrong, initiating the slow reconciliation of his gay and priestly identities and thus reconciling himself with God based on what he comes to see as a new Calling. We see this healing through atonement as constituting a different healing than the psychotherapeutic realization that he needed to let go of his internalized homophobia. Thus, Roderick’s frequent use of the term “healing” reflects both the language of recovery as well as the language of atonement. Language of Enlightenment Rhetorics of discovery and growth in understanding animate a great deal of Roderick’s retrospective narration of his career, but particularly the story of the years after his coming out. … in these … eight years now … my life has just been a continual opening and growing, and not that I didn’t grow before and obviously I have that propensity towards openness because it’s been there all along. It’s just that now I find that I’m able to step into that space in a way that allows me to appropriate whatever it is that’s showing up, and use it and make the most of it.

His frequent use of tropes such as “transparency,” “opening,” and “showing up” link the movement toward authenticity, the unifying redemptive sequence of his career narrative, to agency for organizational change and collective GLBT empowerment. [You] asked how people bring about change? … it’s basically through your own personal integrity
authenticity, and it was that I began to see, in different ways, that when you’re able to be open and transparent and present to another person or group, that that is life-giving and empowering, and I think I brought that into the life of the diocese. And I think that that has continued to inform me and continues to be part of the work that I do personally.

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Language of Development Like all good narratives, Roderick’s career narrative shows development, but our analysis suggest that the most important dimensions of change in his story concern his evolving sense of what constitutes authenticity and what it implies for the scope and nature of his Calling. It is easy to imagine readers charging that early in his career, especially when he married without disclosing his gayness, he behaved unethically, was duplicitous, lacked integrity, and was perhaps nearly completely inauthentic. His narrative suggests, however, that at the time, he found some sense of authenticity and integrity in his “giving himself” to God, in his being faithful to his wife, in his pastoral ministry, and in his ongoing trust in God’s care. After his experience of healing with Agnes Sanford, he reports that a sense of commitment continued to animate his struggle. It was just, “Okay, this is who I am. Now, I need to live with this. I’ve got five kids. I have a family,” and I tried to be the
I guess the sadness of it is that I was in that mode of trying to figure out, okay, how do you be a good, straight husband? And I never had the sense of ever quite figuring it out and getting it right. But that was my commitment and that commitment went on quite a while, and then, finally, after I came out, the ground shifted.

This retrospective depiction of commitment as a form of authenticity may seem highly suspect to some readers. We have after all, seen Ramsey himself depict his early visions of a situated authenticity as a “crazy posture” and “dicey” when trying to live into it. We have heard him acknowledge the role of his own brand of internalized homophobia in helping him rationalize silence and avoid taking responsibility for his life. Nonetheless, this problematic depiction of authenticity fits into Roderick’s overarching narrative of his life as one of “ongoing convergence,” in which selfacceptance, Vocation, and solidarity with GLBT people came together. … part of my own personal evolution has been to come to that point … [where] I would be just as comfortable speaking about myself as being queer as anything else, because what I’ve come to, finally, is the sense that I can’t separate myself out from this person or that person or somebody else. We are one … .

Redemption and Generativity in the Career of Bishop Ramsey According to McAdams (2006b), the self-narratives of higher generative people typically involve the use of what he terms languages of redemption to construct redemptive sequences in which the protagonist faces a challenge and overcomes it through struggle. For Roderick, the core struggle in his

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career comprises the tension between his embracing his Calling and his prolonged dicey posturing of attempting to be as honest and authentic as possible while living undisclosed. Yet, it this very struggle
and its eventual resolution through the complex mix of redemptive movements reflected in his use of each of the languages of redemption
that lays the foundation for Roderick’s generativity. Not surprisingly, we see a preponderance of the language of atonement
seen particularly in repeated references to the Thomasian passage linking freedom and salvation to “what you bring forth from within you.” What we see in Roderick’s narrative, however, is how his recurring use of explicitly religious imagery of bringing forth is also inextricably linked to use of other languages of redemption and redemptive sequences in his transition to greater generativity, for example, the movements from undisclosed and muted to open and activist. In his career narrative, it is specifically his witnessing of those arguing for GLBT inclusion getting “clobbered” that set the stage for his “not if, but when and how” resolve, galvanizing what he sees as a more complete form of authenticity through coming out to the Church hierarchy. It was the well-being of future generations of GLBT congregants, priests and bishops that triggers and animates Roderick’s self-conscious acts of generativity
not self-awareness, which came earlier in his story, nor feelings of responsibility and commitment, which he reports were always there, nor even self-interest. In Roderick’s self-narrative, his coming out is both an instance of personal emancipation2 and a blossoming of his role as a potential agent of change as he comes to a fresh understanding of his personal Calling: “And so for me as a gay man, it is to bring that forth, and then discover how it is to be used.” His notion of using what he brings forth is at once spiritual, pastoral, and political. For example, he speaks of “stepping into” roles, that both enlighten and support the inclusion of future generations. This impetus to discover how it is used appears to be the mechanism that shifts this from a solely personal act of self-transformation to generative agency for organizational change, which Roderick repeatedly frames as creating a better space for GLBT voice and presence in the church than the one he experienced.

CASE STUDY 2: CONFESSIONS OF A RADICAL INDUSTRIALIST As with our presentation of Bishop Ramsay, here we first recapitulate Anderson’s narrative, staying as true as possible to the structure of his

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book and his words in order to show how he uses languages of redemption and a sequence of redemptive movements to construct his narrative identity and his life purpose. In terms of narrative focus, the book falls into three sections, which we use to structure our presentation of our analysis of his use of redemptive sequences and languages of redemption. In the first section, comprising the introduction and chapters 1
3, Anderson introduces himself, recalls the core character lessons of his youth and early career, and recounts the anguished decision to start his own business. In the second section, comprising chapters 4
11, he provides a practical how-to book based on the experiences of his company, InterFace. The central trope of this section is climbing Mt. Sustainability. In the third section, comprising chapters 12
16, he addresses the political, intellectual, and spiritual challenges of what he describes as the “next ascent.” We discuss in detail each of these three sections and then recapitulate his use of the languages of redemption.

Section One: Epiphany, the Dark Night of the Soul, and Embracing a New Purpose In section one, Ray Anderson makes the case that he is a bona fide captain of industry, in effect to qualify himself to speak about the “mid-course correction” in his corporate strategy (Anderson, 1998) even as he shares an apocalyptic vision and claims the role of prophetic leader. The overarching structure of Anderson’s life communicated through these chapters
from humble beginnings as a youth in rural Georgia to accomplished entrepreneur, through humbling epiphany and finally to new purpose
is one grand redemptive sequence recounted from the perspective of his new, painful awareness of biospheric degradation, climate change, and corporate culpability. If Ramsay’s history needs to be understood in the context of decades of church foment over GLBT issues, Anderson’s must be understood in the context of decades of foment over the political, economic, and commercial implications of environmentalism. Although Anderson’s career narrative is shorter and less detailed than Ramsay’s, it is likewise filled with the use of languages of redemption. Rather than being the focus of the memoir, his career narratives serves as the foundation for his accounts of a series of strategic initiatives and paradigmatic shifts that are likewise rife with redemptive languages and sequences. In the introduction, Anderson notes that “even as I write this introduction, I have not yet settled on a title. … it should somehow mention

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‘hubris.’ For there is nothing quite like staring apocalypse in the face to humble oneself or a society” (2009a, p. xiv). As noted earlier, a common thread of many religious experiences across religious contexts is that people start with a sense of wrongness or falling short (James, 2004). As Anderson’s rumination about a title suggests, his starting point is humanity’s hubris and its link to apocalypse. Apocalypse literally refers to the revelation of something hidden. However, due to the importance in the Christian cannon of the last book in the New Testament, “The Revelation to John,” also known as “The Apocalypse,” the term most commonly refers to the end of the world and to the final day of Divine Judgment. While Anderson’s chosen title does not mention hubris directly
it was first published as Confessions of a Radical Industrialist (2009a)
it does invoke recognition of wrongness and the need for reconciliation with a greater power. The title arguably harkens to The Confessions of St. Augustine, which has been an influential model for autobiographical writing in Western culture since 400 CE (Outler, 1955). Augustine’s confessions are not simply autographical, however; his goals in them transcend the recounting of his personal sins. Rather, his goals, according to his later commentary, is that The Confessions excite in the reader’s minds an appreciation of the impact of God in their lives and be resources for people to use in their own efforts to live righteously (Outler, 1955). At the end of the prologue, Anderson argues that the necessary future task for business is to lead humankind away from the “environmental abyss” (2009a, p. xvi). He continues: That is a very large burden for the institutions of business and industry to bear. This book is about lightening that burden. It offers a template for a better, more benign business model. It also makes the business case for sustainability in pure business terms.

While Anderson may claim to make the business case in pure business terms, even in this culmination of his prologue he uses images (the abyss) and rhetoric (lightened burden) evocative of notions of hell and redemption in the Christian tradition.3 The prologue frames the very task before business in terms of an overarching redemptive sequence
leading humanity away from immanent destruction to a new future. Based on our analysis, Anderson’s goals
both stated and unstated
in the first section of the book are: 1) making a business case for InterFace’s “Mission Zero,” the name given to the long-term goal of reducing the company’s carbon footprint and unsustainable use of resources to zero; 2) linking his epiphany regarding his own and business’s role in environmental degradation to a

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new responsibility for environmental stewardship and the need for a new commercial paradigm; 3) establishing credibility with the reader through relating his bona fides as a committed, successful capitalist and entrepreneur; and 4) animating the reader’s sense of agency, urgency, moral responsibility, and entrepreneurial determination. However secular these concrete goals may seem, Anderson accomplishes each of them through the use of redemptive languages and sequences. Making the Business Case Anderson does indeed deploy business terms when he points to a decade of “hard numbers”
$405 million in avoided costs
as proving that running a business in an environmentally responsible way is good for the bottom line. However, in explaining the resistance to this concrete evidence, he frames a key redemptive sequence of his narrative: moving from the wrongness of conventional wisdom to a “vast, ethically driven redesign of our industrial system” (2009, p. 5). The essence of the problem for him is that the old industrial paradigm does not work anymore: “the old rules that still drive the ‘take-make-waste’ economy that we inherited from the steamdriven days of the first industrial revolution and (many of us) unthinkingly accept as true” (2009a, p. 2, parentheses in the original). Not only do the old rules ignore the fact that “the earth is finite and fragile,” the InterFace experience shows that “taking a sledgehammer to the conventional wisdom has thrown innovation into overdrive,” and enabled InterFace to attract and retain the most talented engineers and managers; “They come and they stay, because we aren’t just making carpets. We’re making history” (2009a, p. 5). Anderson’s first crack at the business case deploys business terms, using a mix of the rhetorics of creative destruction and competitive advantage, but these are held together by what McAdams describes as the redemptive language of enlightenment, moving from the ignorance of the conventional wisdom to an ethically driven management paradigm. Linking Epiphany to New Purpose In presenting his oft-recounted epiphany in chapter 2, Anderson makes little pretense about using pure business terms, presenting the reader with a second redemptive sequence that is overtly religious in its imagery; its climax is the catalyzing of Anderson’s new life purpose as a CEO. In positioning the story, he refers expressly to Horatio Alger, presenting himself as a Georgia boy who became a captain of industry. While Anderson’s allusion to Alger and his personal entrepreneurial success is a textbook instance of what McAdams calls the redemptive language of upward mobility, it

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ironically also provides the platform for Anderson’s later sense of falling short and expressed need for redemption of some kind. When major west coast customers started asking about what InterFace was doing for the environment, the threat of losing a valued customer got his attention even though he admits that he did not understand their concerns. When asked by a group of concerned employees who were starting an environmental task force to give a speech about his environmental vision at their kick-off, he was at a loss. The trouble was, other than obeying the law, I did not have an environmental vision. In all my working life
thirty-eight years at that time
I had never given a thought to what I or my company were taking from the earth, or doing to it, except to comply with all the many rules and regulations that government agencies seemed to love to send our way. (2009a, p. 10)

Serendipitously, a copy of Paul Hawkins’ The Ecology of Commerce landed on his desk. As he read Hawkins’ book, desperately searching for something to say, the story of the complete die-off of a reindeer population, introduced onto an Aleutian island as a food source for a military installation during WW II and then abandoned, made for Anderson a frightening link between population overshoot, biospheric degradation, and population collapse. In that story he saw mirrored an apocalyptic future for humanity. “I put the book down. … It was an epiphany, a rude awakening … and the point of that story felt just like the point of a spear driven straight into my heart” (2009a, p. 13). In looking for inspiration for his speech, he had found what he termed an “indictment” of what he calls capitalism’s conventional “take-make-waste paradigm” and of himself as “a plunderer, a destroyer of the earth, a thief, stealing my own grandchildren’s future” (2009a, p. 14). Talking it over with his wife that evening did little to allay his upset: It was like being trapped in a car skidding on ice, headed straight for a cliff. You know what’s coming but you can’t turn, you can’t stop. I read the story of St. Matthew Island to her and we talked about its deeper meaning. I’m not ashamed to say that I wept. Then I went to bed, still reading, still confused, still without a vision for that speech. Then at midnight, I found something I wasn’t expecting. According to Hawkins, not only was business and industry the principal instrument of global destruction, it was also the only institution large enough, wealthy enough, and pervasive and powerful enough to lead humankind out of the mess we were making. (2009a, p. 14)

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He recognized that his own company
whose raw materials include nylon facing and polymeric backings
was the apotheosis of dependence on oil and concluded that “if a petro-intensive business like mine could start the sustainability ball rolling, the world might just sit up and pay attention” (2009a, p. 15). In effect, this personal epiphany became the foundation for his corporate mission. It was a vision. … a call to lead and a call to hope, loud and clear and powerful enough to energize a corporation and, with any luck, to start a chain reaction throughout … all industry. A vision certainly big enough to give me a new purpose in life. I got up from bed to get a glass of water and stopped in front of the mirror. I looked at myself long and hard, and I thought, Why not? (2009a, p. 15)

Embedded in Anderson’s account are several redemptive sequences, those narratological depictions of movements from negative states to positive life outcomes, including movements: from wrong-headed conventional wisdom to new commercial paradigm; from narrowly focused entrepreneurial hero cum “plunderer of the earth” to visionary corporate leader; and from petro-intensive company to green groundbreaker. Narratologically, his account of his actual epiphany comprises a redemptive sequence that follows the trajectory of what is known as a “dark night of the soul” in both the Christian tradition and literary criticism. This concept stems from the writings of St. John of the Cross (1991), a 16th century Carmelite priest and poet, and bespeaks a spiritual crisis that appears to prevent a person’s union with God, but which can actually paradoxically lead to greater unity. The trajectory can entail a loss of confidence in the spiritual disciplines, practices, or faith that have served one in life because they seem no longer to work; the consequence can at first be the devastating feeling of abandonment by or alienation from God, but can ultimately be the driver of a mystical purification of the soul and reunion with God. In Anderson’s narrative, he moves from self-satisfied captain of industry to plunderer as he recognizes the dysfunctional nature of conventional wisdom. His despair is then blunted by the notion that the principal culprit, business, is also the institutional that could lead humankind back from the abyss. His vision of petro-intensive InterFace as pioneering a new model becomes the driver of the overarching redemptive sequence of the chapter, resulting in just the sort of reorientation resulting from the paradigmatic experience of redemption described by William James where a new “habitual center of … personal energy” becomes the center about which everything must “re-crystalize” (James, 2004, p. 148).

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Building Credibility with the Reader as a Person and Entrepreneur Anderson describes the final chapter of the introductory section as a “small digression and six lessons.” Through his accounts of the character-building experiences of a boy from rural Georgia, whose step up depended on a football scholarship to Georgia Tech, and of his decision to take the entrepreneurial risk of founding a company, Anderson knits together themes of facing uncertainty, listening to one’s inner voice, having hope, and husbanding of the soul. The lessons range from never being a quitter to keeping one’s word and believing that there is always a better way. It is the sixth lesson, regarding what it takes to be captain of one’s soul, that is the most vivid in terms of his use of redemptive language. Anderson closes the chapter by recounting his anguish over the decision to quit a secure job, against the wishes of his wife, to start his own firm; he depicts the prolonged conflict over this choice as his first real crisis of identity. Recalling Henley’s familiar poem “Invictus,” which he learned as a seventh grader, Anderson writes that to be the “captain of your soul” (Henley, 1888, cited in Anderson, 2009a) one cannot take “the easy way, the comfortable, secure path” (Anderson, 2009a, p. 27). In the final paragraph, in which Anderson likens his firm to his daughters, his explanation of his commitment to transforming InterFace into a sustainable company offers a picture of generativity as framed by McAdams: “its past, its present, but also its future are all so precious to me. … I want this precocious third child to grow up healthy and strong, to thrive as a virtuoso in a healthy world where all my hopes for it can come to past” (2009a, p. 28).

Section Two: Ascending the Mountain The middle section of the book contains the nuts and bolts of InterFace’s transformation, but even in this how-to manual, Anderson employs redemptive languages and embeds redemptive sequences. Indeed, every chapter shares the same redemptive sequence from inefficient, wasteful, polluting process or division to innovative green operation. In successive chapters, he details InterFace’s efforts to reduce waste, cut emissions, reduce energy consumption and transition to renewable sources, recycle and employ cradle-to-cradle design, and cut transportation costs while transforming the supply chain. The extended trope that links the chapters is climbing the many faces of Mount Sustainability, which can be interpreted in the heroic and secular sense of making the first ascent of an unscaled peak. However, mountains figure in many of the world’s religions

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as sacred places when humans encounter the divine, receiving insight or direction. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, Abraham’s faith in and obedience to God was tested, Moses received the law, and Jesus was transfigured on mountain tops, while in recent history an emancipatory leader like Martin Luther King, Jr., used the image of having been to the mountain top to bolster the hopefulness and commitment of his people by sharing a sacred vision of the promise land. While one of Anderson’s intensions for the how-to manual is no doubt in line with the image of robust climbers and rolled-upped sleeves, several of the languages of redemption are present and they do not merely sneak in. For example, when describing the search for new tools for evaluating management choices and trade-offs, Anderson cites the inadequacies of financial measures, citing the need for what he calls “‘God’s currency,’ the nonfinancial costs and benefits that accrue to the living world as a result of everything we do to the land, sea, and air around us” (2009a, p. 32). For Anderson, becoming conscious of God’s currency is essential for taking responsibility for the world we leave to future generations. In urging the reader to join in scaling Mount Sustainability, he quotes a Scottish mountaineer, W. H. Murray. Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans; that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occurred to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. … Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now. (Murray, 1951, cited in Anderson, 2009a, p. 43)

Through using this quotation, Anderson positions his call to action at the intersection of entrepreneurship, spiritual vocation, heroic adventure, and duty. Of committing to sustainability, he continues: … the time for hesitancy and drawing back has passed. Providence and vast opportunities await us. Our grandchildren’s grandchildren demand boldness of us. Once again, it is time to stand on the edge of what might seem like a great unknown and, buoyed by vision, knowledge, hope, and yes, confidence, to begin. (2009a, p. 43)

Providence, in this context, refers to Divine guidance and care. From a religious perspective, Providence is the power that sustains humanity. Here, echoing his discussion in the preceding chapter of his anguish over whether or not to take the risk of starting InterFace, Anderson links shouldering the risk of transforming a company’s operations and the take-make-waste business paradigm to boldness, to being the captain of one’s soul, to going

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to the mountain top, and to trusting in Divine guidance, framing them all as a duty to future generations.

Section Three: Awakening the Mind and Spirit In the final section of the book, Anderson frames the demands of what he terms “the final ascent,” redesigning commerce and committing to social and economic justice. While this section also has how-to dimensions to it
including exercising leadership, changing corporate culture, fostering prosocial commitment, and combating public policies that allow externalities, false price signals, and perverse incentives
it also presents a predominant redemptive sequence expressed primarily in the language of enlightenment. For example, Anderson decries as ignorant and self-serving government that is hostile to science and political leaders who do nothing except perhaps to deliberately sow misinformation in the form of climate science skepticism. Paraphrasing Edmund Burke, Anderson argues that such inaction is all that is needed for evil to succeed: “Deliberately choosing ignorance over knowledge is evil” (2009a, p. 202, italics in the original). Thus, Anderson moves into the final section of the book with a call for honest leadership in government and business. In chapter 14, “Awakening the Mind and Spirit,” Anderson depicts two positive trends in the United States: universities are raising awareness in their students and churches are increasing seeing environmental degradation as an assault on creation, while embracing stewardship and “creation care” as spiritual duties. Anderson devotes several pages to describing how even among evangelical Christians, who are traditionally suspicious of what they see as liberal environmentalists who may worship nature more than God, there is a growing faction that sees environmentalism as congruent with biblical values and stewardship as a dimension of discipleship. Coming down on the side of “faith without works is dead,” Anderson poses in this chapter his most explicitly theological question. Alluding to the Great Commandment to love your neighbor as yourself, he writes: “our neighbors live in flood-prone lowlands and parched deserts thousands of miles away. … If we don’t care for the people, if we don’t care for the earth, how can we say we are obeying God’s commandments.” (2009a, p. 241). In the final chapter, “Every Reason for Hope,” Anderson returns to asserting his bona fides as a businessperson and entrepreneur: “I come from the private sector. My job has always been to find solutions and put

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them into practice, starting with my company.” (2009a, p. 261). He then lists what he has seen in terms of his personal transformation and the transformation of his company and employees, telling the reader what he sees from a perch more than halfway to the summit of his metaphorical mountain. Essentially writing with a prophetic voice, he both warns that our society remains in the grip of a flawed vision of reality
“our culture’s infatuation with stuff and our willful ignorance of nature” (2009a, p. 266)
and he outlines the pieces that must come together in the new paradigm. A sustainable society, he argues, will: honor the finiteness and fragility of the earth; adopt a long view that puts humanity in its proper relationship with nature; “build on the ascendancy of women in business, the professions, government, and education” as a step to appreciating the right-brain dimensions of intelligence and the human spirit; use only sustainable technologies; use ecologically honest prices; draw inspiration from nature to find innovative ways of conserving resources while addressing poverty; seek higher levels of awareness and transcendent meaning in life, “more true happiness with less stuff”; and realize that “done right, the triple bottom line of corporate social responsibility … [can] create a truly superior, totally ethical, financial bottom line
a better way to bigger and more legitimate profits, a better business model” (2009a, pp. 267
268). In his detailing these attributes of a sustainable society, he uses redemptive languages of atonement, enlightenment, emancipation, and upward mobility. At the same time, he positions all of these associated redemptive sequences in the context of a vision of a transcendent purpose, a duty to future generations. Juxtaposing the new with the old paradigm, he humorously refers to divine judgment: “What CEO really expects to stand before her or his Maker someday and talk about shareholder value? Or market share” (2009a, p. 269)? He closes the chapter with a poem written by an employee addressed to “Tomorrow’s Child,” the child that is being disserved by today’s commerce. He follows the poem with a challenge that encapsulates the post-epiphany center around which his energy and life came to be organized. “We are each part of the web of life. … We have a choice to make during our brief visit to this beautiful blue and green planet. We can hurt it or we can help it. For you, it is your choice.” (2009a, p. 272)

Anderson’s Use of the Languages of Redemption Although Anderson purports to make the case for sustainability in purely business terms, our analysis shows that even rational business cases can

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and do draw on cultural resources associated with notions of redemption. Notwithstanding his carefully recited bona fides as an engineer, entrepreneur, and CEO, his narrative reveals a complex self-understanding that has both implicit and explicit religious dimensions: a prophet warning the people by sharing his apocalyptic vision; the captain of his soul; a teacher sharing the lessons of moral character; a visionary business leader showing the way back from the precipice to an environmentally benign business paradigm; a steward of creation attending to “God’s currency”; and a fellow pilgrim going to the mountain top. Embedded in Anderson’s account are several redemptive sequences and the widespread use of several of the languages of redemption. We recapitulate those here, with references to parallel illustrations from the Ramsay’s narrative. Table 2 summaries their use of redemptive languages and sequences. The Language of Atonement The language atonement speaks to the idea of redemption through humanity’s reconciliation with God or reunion with some greater force or principle. Not surprisingly, the use of this explicitly religious language was widespread and vivid in Bishop Ramsey’s career narrative. However, its use was also vivid in Anderson’s memoir, starting with the book’s original title. In first calling it Confessions of a Radical Industrialist, Anderson not only evoked the image of a penitent, but invoked an overarching purpose that echoes a purpose articulated by Augustine in his Confessions, providing the readers with resources to use in their own efforts to live righteously. In Anderson’s self-characterization as “plunderer” and thief of his grandchildren’s future, we find vividly expressed his feelings of falling short and need for atonement. Not surprisingly this language also underpins his most important personal redemptive sequence, seen in his movement from epiphany, through despair, and ending in his midnight self-examination in the mirror when he asks “why not” as he contemplates new personal and corporate missions. In addition, not only does Anderson make extended use of a common religious metaphor, ascending a mountain, to structure both his vision and his how-to treatment of sustainability, throughout the book he makes references to epiphanies, Providence, stewardship, and spiritual awakening. He also quotes hymns and uses explicitly religious terms such as “God’s currency” in framing a new paradigm for commerce. Finally, we find an ironic use of the language of atonement in Anderson’s questions about whether CEOs before their Maker will talk of market share.

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The Language of Upward Mobility This language usually pertains to redemptive sequences showing economic success or improvements in social standing. In Ramsay’s career narrative we saw manifestations of this language in depictions of improved political standing, greater presence at the table, and increased voice in the church. Not surprisingly, we find the language of upward mobility in Anderson’s account of his humble beginnings and college years as the foundation for his becoming an entrepreneur. We find recurring images of economic success; the nuts and bolts narratives of change at InterFace all show a movement to efficient resource use, elimination of emissions, avoided costs, and increased profits. However, the import of his account’s economic redemptive sequences is qualified by his juxtapositions of the inefficiencies arising from “dishonest” prices with the notion of “God’s currency” and the “legitimate profits” of the triple bottom line “done right” (2009a, pp. 267
268). The Language of Recovery The language of recovery, which arises from the medicine/psychology domain, speaks to various forms of healing. An illustration from Bishop Ramsey’s narrative is what he sees as his becoming an authentic and actualized human being after years of compartmentalization and self-numbing. For Anderson, “the status quo is an opiate” (2009a, p. 196); echoing a phrase from the Twelve Step lexicon in his TED Talk, Anderson joked that with InterFace’s help he had become a “recovering plunderer” (2009b). Thus, one redemptive sequence framed in terms of this language is his personal movement from a habitual blind disregard for his impact on the environment to being respectful of nature; for InterFace the parallel movement is from a malignant to a benign and even healing force. The Languages of Enlightenment and Emancipation The language of emancipation (the political domain) pertains to redemption through liberation from some kind of oppression or subordination, while the language of enlightenment (the domain of science, education) pertains to redemption through some kind of discovery or growth in understanding. While there are ample distinct examples of each language in Anderson’s book, we believe it is more important to recognize how the two languages operate in a tightly linked way to present overlapping redemptive sequences. Anderson describes society both as in the grip of a benighted but widely embraced take-make-waste paradigm and as driven by our addictive, “insatiable infatuation with stuff” (2009b, p. 36, italics in the original). In his account, because we are shackled by outmoded mindsets

Sin → forgiveness, salvation

You can choose death or you can choose life, and God says, “Choose life!” And by choosing life, I mean to be as fully as I can the person I am.

… there’s the quotation from the Gospel of Thomas … “What you bring forth from within you will free you
will save you. What you bring forth from within you will save you; what you do not bring forth from within you will destroy you.” And I think what I’ve been discovering more and more is what I bring forth from within me, does indeed save me, and I think that’s our calling.

… her prayer was that the Holy Spirit would reach down into the deepest depths of my being and touch my spirit. And that happened … .

Exemplars: I was looking for how do I open myself
to God acting in me
clean me of this desire.

Redemptive sequence(s): From feeling in need of cleansing to feeling healed From “living undisclosed” to greater authenticity, life, and a renewed Calling

Atonement

SD = Religion

Exemplars of Images and Redemptive Sequences from the Interview with Bishop Ramsey

Type Source Domain (SD)

“What CEO really expects to stand before her or his Maker someday and talk about shareholder value? Or market share?” (2009a, p. 269)

“This book is about lightening that burden [of leading humanity back from the abyss]” (2009a, p. xvi)

“I put the book down. … It was an epiphany, a rude awakening … and the point of that story felt just like the point of a spear drive straight into my heart.” (2009a, p. 13)

Exemplars: “Even as I write this introduction, I have not yet settled on a title. … it should somehow mention ‘hubris.’ For there is nothing quite like staring apocalypse in the face to humble oneself or a society” (2009a, p. xiv)

Redemptive sequence(s): From indictment as a “plunderer of the earth” and to visionary CEO showing how business can lead humanity away from the “environmental” abyss

Exemplars of Images and Redemptive Sequences from Anderson’s Confessions of a Radical Industrialist

Table 2. Ramsey and Anderson’s Redemptive Sequences.

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Slavery → freedom

… there are more and more of us who are saying that we’re not going to accept this position if it means somehow denying our partner or hiding in some way, masking. And so, it’s the issue of just putting ourselves and being intentional and conscious about that in a way that … we can begin to influence and shape the agenda.

… [the church] stultifies and it diminishes the possibilities and opportunities of gay persons within the church … of becoming fully actualized human beings.

Exemplars: And so I sat there silently … while I watched those who tried … to speak up and get clobbered. And … at the end I was so chagrined by my behavior … So, it was from that point on that I began to then interface … out of the experience of being gay and saying, “I’m just not going to be this way any longer,” and making a commitment to myself that I was not going to not be self-disclosing in the future … .

Redemptive sequence(s): From disempowering duplicity and silence to voice, presence, and openness

Emancipation

SD = Political System

Exemplars of Images and Redemptive Sequences from the Interview with Bishop Ramsey

Type Source Domain (SD)

Table 2. (Continued )

“It was the entire linear, take-make-waste industrial system. Fundamentally, it was a way of thinking about the world that assumed unlimited resources, unlimited energy and unlimited space.” (2009a, p. 11)

“ … the old rules that still drive the ‘take-make-waste’ economy that we inherited … and (many of us) unthinkingly accept as true” (2009a, p. 2, parentheses in the original)

“In all my working life
thirty-eight years at the time
I had never given a thought to what I or my company were taking form the earth, or doing to it, except to comply with all the many rules and regulations that government agencies seemed to love to send our way.” (2009a, p. 10)

Exemplars: “Our culture is very much in the grip of some old, flawed views that stand in direct and violent contrast with sustainability. Flawed view that are reflected in, and fueled by consumerism, our insatiable infatuation with stuff.” (2009a, p. 36, italics in the original)

Redemptive sequence(s): From infatuation with stuff to seeking higher levels of awareness and transcendent meaning in life From unthinking compliance with old rules to new choices

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… [It]has continually created the space where others can show up.

Exemplars: And so it’s a matter of being willing to put yourself out there, and be part of stretching the envelope. … The mantra that I keep repeating here is every year when it comes time to make nominations, we need to be sure that there are gay and lesbian people being nominated to all the offices.

Poverty → wealth or social standing

SD = Economy

Redemptive sequence(s): From invisibility to open participation denominational bodies

Upward Mobility

One of my favorite passages is in Deuteronomy. … God is saying to Moses, I want you to speak to the people, and I want you to say to them that this day I give you a choice. You can choose death or you can choose life, and God says, “Choose life!” And by choosing life, I mean to be as fully as I can the person I am.

“Our companywide waste elimination measures put a cumulative $405 million of avoided costs back in our pockets. … Even better, taking a sledgehammer to conventional wisdom has thrown innovation into overdrive.” (2009a, p. 4)

“Our goal was to prove
by example
that you could run a big business both profitably and in an environmentally responsible way. And we succeeded beyond my own high aspirations.” (2009a, p. 2)

Exemplars: “ … done right, the triple bottom line of corporate social responsibility … [can] create a truly superior, totally ethical, financial bottom line
a better way to bigger and more legitimate profits, a better business model” (2009a, pp. 267
268)

Redemptive sequence(s): From Georgia boy to entrepreneur From success based on dishonest metrics to using God’s currency From business as usual to innovative overdrive

“We are each part of the web of life. … We have a choice to make during our brief visit to this beautiful blue and green planet. We can hurt it or we can help it. For you, it is your choice.” (2009a, p. 272)

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Sickness → health, wholeness

It’s just that now I find that I’m able to step into that space in a way that allows me to appropriate whatever it is that’s showing up, and use it and make the most of it.

I also was unwilling to take responsibility for my life.

I was trying to identify what I see is internalized homophobia, which was that I had this kind of group of what I looked upon as responsibilities. … I had the responsibility to children; responsibility to a diocese; responsibility to my wife, I guess.

Exemplars: And so from that point on, I’m not functioning in two consciousnesses, but I’m still also out
to a large extent, really out of touch with myself. I’ve been doing some personal work recently, and the word that has come to mind is years of numbing down.

Redemptive sequence(s): From “all those years of numbing down” and “being really out of touch with myself” to “becoming a fully actualized human being” From “internalized homophobia” to integration of identity and Calling

Recovery

SD = Medicine and/or psychology

Exemplars of Images and Redemptive Sequences from the Interview with Bishop Ramsey

Type Source Domain (SD)

Table 2. (Continued )

“Our responsibility, our charge, is to find ways to work with what we’ve been given by nature, and to emulate nature’s highly efficient ways. … We must do this because, in the long run (and perhaps much sooner than that) there is no other way.” (2009a, p. 184)

“The status quo is an opiate.” (2009a, p. 196)

“’Where will it take us?’ Almost anywhere on earth. Every creature, large and small, has a stake in this. Whether the stake flourishes and grows or withers and dies is not up to government. It is, remarkably, providentially, up to you
and me.” (2009a, p. 171)

Examples: “ … not only was business and industry the principal instrument of global destruction, it was also the only institutional large enough, wealth enough, and pervasive powerful enough to lead humankind out of the mess we were making.” (2009a, p. 14)

Redemptive sequence(s): From global destruction to leading humankind From addiction to the status quo to a new charge

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Ignorance → knowledge

SD = Education, science

Enlightenment

… I began to see in different ways that when you’re able to be open and transparent and present to another person or group that that is life-giving and empowering, and I think I brought that into the life of the diocese. And I think that that has continued to inform me and continues to be part of the work that I do personally.

… I’ve been discovering more and more is what I bring forth from within me, does indeed save me, and I think that’s our Calling. And so for me as a gay man, it is to bring that forth, and then discover how it is to be used. And you know, I find
okay, I’m a bishop. That’s not an accident. And it’s not an accident that I’m gay.

“And you do understand that the gifts you bring to ministry are directly related to the person you are.” And it was the first person who ever made a connection between my vocation and my being, as being contributing to one another.

Exemplars: … somehow in seminary in that first year … I picked up the notion that, somehow, who I knew myself to be … as a homosexual person, and my sense of Calling to the priesthood, didn’t mesh.

Redemptive sequence(s): From seeing gayness and Calling as not meshing to recognizing his gifts Recognizing new avenues for his empowering himself and others

“Once again, it is time to stand on the edge of what might seem like a great unknown and buoyed with vision, knowledge, hope, and yes, confidence, to begin.”(2009a, p. 43)

“ … striving for the top [of Mount Sustainability] will require nothing short of a vast, ethically driven redesign of our industrial system” (2009a, p. 5)

“And there was no place called ‘away’ for throwing things either. Thinking there was had put us on a collision course with two of Nature’s iron laws … . Nothing goes away … and everything is connected
that what we do to the earth, we also do to ourselves.” (2009a, p. 11)

Exemplars: “Deliberately choosing ignorance over knowledge is evil” (2009a, p. 202).

Redemptive sequence(s): From “old rules” to a new paradigm From an evil ignorance to higher levels of awareness of transcendent meaning in life

Redemptive Self-Narratives for Organizational Change 147

From immaturity to maturity

… every time in any public situation I self-identify myself, I contribute to a whole bunch of people … . The fact that there’s a bishop who speaks openly of himself as gay and keeps stepping into that and does it with joy and obviously enjoys being who he is, just makes the difference. That … seems to me the most significant aspect of who I am at the moment.

Well, it would have been much more effective, again, if I had
at the time had the courage to say “and I want to tell you that out of my own experience,” but I didn’t.

It just strikes me as a kind of a crazy posture.

Exemplars: … the issue was not about how I felt about myself; that was very clear. I had made a commitment in marriage, and was trying to live that out as best I could with that awareness that I had come to, with “This is who I am.” … What I tried to do in terms of my ministry, out of that awareness, was to be as honest and authentic as possible, living in this un-selfdisclosed way.

Redemptive Sequences: From a “crazy posture” of nondisclosure to greater authenticity From closeted “ally” to open advocate

Development

SD=Parenting/ psychology

Exemplars of Images and Redemptive Sequences from the Interview with Bishop Ramsey

Type Source Domain (SD)

Table 2. (Continued )

“‘Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.’ This is so true! Genius. Power. And yes, even magic. I know if from my own experiences, beginning with the starting of Interface from scratch, to committing it to its improbably mid-course correction twenty-one years later. … the time for hesitancy and drawing back has passes. Providence and vast opportunities await us.”(2009a, p. 43)

“It was … a call to lead and a call to hope, loud and clear and powerful enough to energize a corporation and, with any luck, to start a chain reaction throughout … all industry. A vision certainly big enough to give me a new purpose in life.” (2009a, p. 15)

“How could I be the captain of my soul and acquiesce to another person’s insecurities and fears, or to my own?” (2009a, p. 27)

Exemplars: “I didn’t know it at the time, but I was preparing myself for the work of an entrepreneur.” (2009a, p. 23)

Redemptive Sequences: From rural Georgia boy to accomplished entrepreneur to visionary leader with a transcendent moral purpose From plunderer to “captain of my soul” From CEO approaching retirement to leader with new purpose

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that we “unthinkingly accept as true” (2009a, p. 2), enlightenment and emancipation are intertwined. The key redemptive sequences communicated through his use of these languages pertains to the awakening of mind and spirit that he sees unfolding not only in his own personal epiphany, but also in universities and among Evangelical Christians. The outcome, he argues, is recognizing that we have choices
knowledge over ignorance and helping and healing over harming. The languages of enlightenment and emancipation also underpin not only much of his discussion of discovery, mindful design, and innovation at InterFace, they animate the redemptive sequence of the final chapter, “Every Reason for Hope,” which frames freedom from thrall to old paradigms in terms of embracing a new paradigm and set of practices that respect the earth. Language of Development This language addresses issues of moral development and character building. In Bishop Ramsay’s narrative, the central developmental sequence involves his evolving sense of what constitutes authenticity and what it implies for the scope and nature of his Calling. For Anderson, the story of his youth, college years, early career, and the founding of InterFace are expressly designed to show the developmental path of an entrepreneur. Presenting his bona fides is necessary to minimize the threat to his credibility posed by what business readers might see as his deviant environmentalism. But the entrepreneurial bona fides also provide the essential threads of continuity in his life story (Bateson, 2004) in a way that can make sensible the radical discontinuity of what he terms his mid-course correction. That correction is nested within the developmental arch of his metaphoric movement from boy to captain of industry to indicted plunderer and finally to guide and fellow mountain climber; in addition, the generativity of his father, his coach, and his professors that is revealed in his early story appear as seedbed for his own generativity.

Redemption and Generativity in the Career of Ray Anderson Although Ramsay’s and Anderson’s contexts are incredibility different, there is considerable similarity in their use of the diverse languages of redemption. As with Ramsay, the redemptive sequences of Anderson’s selfnarrative are directly implicated in his sense of agency and generativity. Simply framed, his self-narratives takes him from self-indictment as

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a blindly complicit plunderer of the earth, to redemption as a mobilized CEO who not only sets out to climb Mount Sustainability, but also to mark the trail for industry more broadly to do so. His repeated use of redemptive languages and sequences arising from other domains of human experience animate and amplify the overarching redemptive sequence of ascending toward the summit and propel Anderson to greater and greater agency. These diverse languages and interconnected redemptive sequences provide legitimacy, perhaps even a mandate, for his actions. Importantly, generativity infuses his action. He is motivated not by self-awareness or self-interest, but by the beliefs that business is the only institution large enough and powerful enough to address the impending environmental apocalypse and that “our grandchildren’s grandchildren demand boldness of us” (2009a, p. 43).

DISCUSSION Through the close analyses of a career narrative and a memoir, we have attempted to show how metanarratives of religious redemption and the various languages of redemption figure in the construction of the self-defining narratives or “self-myths” (Bruner, 1990; Giddens, 1991) of two accomplished leaders. Our goals have been to probe the implications of the use of redemptive languages in self-narratives for our understanding of agency, and in particular of individuals’ differential capacities for action in organizations. We find that different types of sequences of redemption bring coherence to their career narratives and animate their generativity and organizational agency. In Roderick Ramsey’s case, the presence of redemptive sequences in his identity narrative afforded him the space for what he sees as the more authentic and even joyous expression of his complex identity as a gay bishop. He comes to see his new openness as the foundation for a new Calling and a new path of change agency which he understands to be creating space for others to be authentically present in the church, thereby challenging historical patterns of organizational marginalization. For Ray Anderson, the construction of a self-narrative that moves him from entrepreneur, to plunderer, and to climber of Mount Sustainability, affords him the opportunity to be the prophet of a new business model that has the potential to lead humanity back from the edge of the abyss. His generativity arises, however, not just from his nuts and bolts presentation

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of InterFace’s transformation as a model for other companies. Instead, his use of a mix of redemptive languages brings the reader into his personal and corporate redemptive sequences, inviting them to share in his sense of wrongness and dark night of the soul and to trust in what he depicts as the role of Providence in the effort to make a different history for humanity and creation. In both cases, these leaders combine explicitly religious references with the widespread use of languages of redemption that stem from other domains of human experience. In this manner, they frame the many redemptive sequences through which they construct their increased generativity. This combined use of the many languages of redemption suggests that their redemptive effects may be cumulative and interdependent. In other words, Ramsey and Anderson’s stories fuel their increased generativity precisely because they are not restricted to the purely religious domain; instead, the narratives move across multiple domains of human experience to depict complex emancipatory journeys of enlightenment, recovery, political empowerment, and personal development. Significantly, in both cases, the narrators’ construction of redeemed selves has direct and immediate impact on their organizational practices. In other words, through the reconstruction of their organizational selves
Ramsay’s as an open, joyous, and outspoken dissident Bishop and Anderson’s as a CEO with a new life purpose
each came to see himself as capable of new ways to leave a better legacy for future generations. Thus, redemptive self-narratives may directly affect persons’ capacity for action in organizations; those who construct their organizational selves through redemptive self-narratives are likely to use their organizational roles as a platform for enacting their increased generativity. This suggests that redemptive self-narratives can become an important source of endogenous agency at the individual level of analysis that is not necessarily linked to a person’s social position (Battilana, 2006), or to the experience of contradiction (Creed et al., 2010; Sea & Creed, 2002). Rather, the likelihood of change-oriented agency is increased by the availability of redemptive metanarratives of the self, which can propel individuals to become more generative in their agentic orientation. We do not mean to suggest, however, that solely the availability of redemptive metanarratives enable agency. It may be that the recognition of the need for more generative organizational practices and the possibility of agency created or exacerbated the need for more redemptive selfnarratives. It was improving the conditions for future GLBT ministers that finally compelled Roderick to stop living “undisclosed,” and it was for his

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“grandchildren’s grandchildren” that Anderson undertook the task of challenging the flawed views that govern how industry must operate. While McAdams (2006a, 2006b) points out that highly generative adults have redemptive self-narratives, our analysis of these two narratives suggest that, at least in their organizational contexts, the desire to improve future conditions for others animated our protagonists’ journeys of redemption

CODA: THE CLAY FROM WHICH WE MODEL According to Meyer and Jepperson (2000, p. 105), the analysis of the modern system of actors
be they nation states, organizations, groups, or individuals
requires attention to “the cultural construction of the capacity and authority to act,” a capacity that arises from “the wider cultural system and can best be seen as the cultural devolution of originally spiritual agency” (italics added). Indeed, they argue our theories of social action
whether they focus on the beneficiaries of that action, the agents of that action, or its principals
will be: … greatly furthered if one starts with the matrix of Western culture and the idea that actorhood in the first place involves agentic authority devolved from a very distant and very high god. … Contemporary theorists constantly enjoin us to theorize modern society by “bringing actors back in.” … To develop such analysis … one must necessarily see modern individuals, organizations, and states as taking up standardized technologies of agentic authority, devolved from an elaborate Christian then post-Christian culture. (2000, p. 117)

This underlying spiritual/cultural matrix is little recognized, they argue, because the rationalization of nature and society has rendered religious belief systems outside “the posture of proper rational actorhood” (2000, p. 103); modern actors are to take scientific knowledge and higher abstract principles into consideration in their activities, leaving out the nonscientific or the non-rational if they are to be legitimate “carriers of [the] authority, responsibility, and capacity to act in history” (2000, p. 106). This liberal model, they assert, brings action to the fore in organizational theories that focus on agency and enacted structures while leaving under-theorized the cultural roots of the agency itself. In our cases, both Roderick Ramsey’s and Ray Anderson’s self-defining self-narratives, reveal the role of a religious metanarrative in the construction of generative agency. Roderick’s redemptive self-stories are intertwined with secularized organizational narratives of marginalization, personal

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compromise, and organizational politics. Anderson’s “business case for sustainability in pure business terms” is intertwined with symbolic constructions harkening to epiphany, apocalypse, stewardship of creation, and transcendent purpose in ways that finally cohere with obedience to a divine commandment. Together they show how issues and concerns familiar to contemporary organizational scholars
voice, meaningful work, organizational mission, and innovation
can resonate with the common arch of religious experience identified by William James (1902/2004), moving from some sense of wrongness and dividedness to some sort of connectedness with a greater truth, power, or principle. While Ramsey’s personal redemption is rooted in the theological notion that the personal truth that he brings forth from within him will save him, his organizational redemption arises from his commitment to learning how to use that personal truth in the interest of what he understands to be a more just, inclusive order for his church. His career narrative thus fuses Christian notions of redemption and service in bringing about the Kingdom of God with the modern secular principles of social progress and justice that have devolved from religious telos (Meyer et al., 1987). Anderson’s self-recognition as a plunderer and dark night of the soul become the platform from which he forges a new business model which he believes can be the basis for business being the instrument of humanity’s and the planet’s social and environmental salvation. His career narrative fuses images of entrepreneurial daring and innovation with religious notions of Providence, faith, and obedient discipleship. These examples suggest that the religious notion of redemption, on the one hand, and secular notions of organizational actorhood on the other are not as easily separable as liberal models of organizational agency would have us believe. We have shown that redemptive languages can stretch far beyond the source domain of religion itself, thus suggesting that redemptive languages can play an important role in the construction of generative selves in organizations in general. Accepting the idea that the capacity to act in history devolves from rationalized spiritual authority, whatever its source, thus implies that we must look for a sacred fingerprint on the clay from which we model our contemporary notions of agency and legitimacy.

NOTES 1. Although Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire was the first openly gay man to be elected a Bishop in the Episcopal Church in 2003 he was not the first gay Episcopal bishop. According to our informant, there were at least six closeted

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gay bishops in office at the beginning of the 1990s. In addition, the Right Reverend Paul Moore, the late Bishop of New York, and the first Episcopal bishop to ordain an open lesbian, was according to his eldest daughter, a bisexual. 2. By personal emancipation we are referring to a form of “micro-emancipation” as outlined by Alvesson and Willmott (1992). 3. “My yoke is easy, my burden light.” (Matthew 11:30)

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PART III RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONAL FORMS AND PRACTICES

ORGANIZATIONAL FORM, STRUCTURE, AND RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONS C. R. Hinings and Mia Raynard ABSTRACT Purpose
This article reviews the historical development of the treatment of religious organizations in journals centered on religion. Design/methodology/approach
The article asks four questions: (1) Are religious organizations different from other kinds of organizations? (2) What factors produce differences or similarities between religious and other organizations? (3) Are religious organizations different from each other? Findings
Differences from other kinds of organizations are based in beliefs/theology. But there is a constant concern with the bureaucratization of religious organizations as they are subject to general organizational influences such as scale and geographical dispersion. However, it is argued that these general influences emanate from belief systems. We suggest the need for a renewed attention to a comparative organizations perspective in organization theory
one that appreciates the similarities and differences between sectors and within sectors.

Religion and Organization Theory Research in the Sociology of Organizations, Volume 41, 159
186 Copyright r 2014 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0733-558X/doi:10.1108/S0733-558X20140000041013

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Originality/value
Not only are there differences between religious and nonreligious organizations, but there are also substantial differences between religious organizations. There are also similarities between religious and nonreligious organizations, as well as similarities between religious organizations. The way forward for both the study of religious organizations and organizational theory in general is to look for explanations for these similarities and differences. Keywords: Religion; organizational form; comparative organizations; bureaucracy; beliefs

In a recent survey entitled “Religion and organization: A critical review of current trends and future directions,” Paul Tracey (2012) remarked that “it is surprising that organization theorists have not explored the intersection between religion and organization in a more meaningful and determined way.” While he does not directly mention organizational forms and structures within religion as an area, he does say that religion “has such richness and diversity of organizational forms” (Tracey, 2012, p. 33) and particularly draws attention to issues of organizational control. It is our aim in this article to examine issues of organizational form and structure in religious organizations by reviewing the historical development of the field and suggesting how this is a fruitful area of research. Within the sociology of religion there has been considerable concern with religious organizations, partially through the lens of church-sect theory which has a long history (Troeltsch 1931/1911; Weber, 1958/1904; Wilson, 1959, 1970). We examine church-sect theory to a limited extent, because it is a foundational perspective within the sociology of religion. While it is essentially a theory of religious development and change, much of its content is about changes in organizational forms. Thus, we take account of what organizational theorizing has been carried out from a church-sect theory approach. Of course, there have also been studies of structural arrangements in religious organizations, outside the church-sect framing (Chaves, 1993a; Dyck, Starke, Harder, & Hecht, 2005; Hinings & Bryman, 1974; Hinings & Foster, 1973), as well as work on organizational development and change (Osborne, 1968; Schoenherr, Lawrence, & Vilarino, 1988; Woodrum, 1982), and power, authority, and decision making (Bartholomew, 1981; Chaves, 1993b; Nelson & Hiller, 1981). Our interest in religious organizational forms derives from a concern with an empirical setting where potential tensions are particularly acute.

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On the one hand, it has been suggested that religious organizations experience similar pressures to organizations located in the private, public, and not-for-profit sectors, and, on the other hand, that they are organizations where belief systems are primary. There are a number of tensions inherent in religious organizations. One is that between the religious-oriented goals and activities focused on the sacred, and economically driven activities of managing a diverse range of staff of pastors, counselors, musicians, administrators, and volunteers. On the one hand, religious organizations experience similar pressures to organizations located in the private, public, and not-for-profit sectors, such as arise from scale, resource flows, a volunteer base; and, on the other hand, they differ because of the primacy of belief systems which present an alternative set of pressures, especially in working out the relationship between beliefs, organization, and activities. There is also the tension of secularization, the debate that religious organizations have lost their status and authority in society, yet there are rapidly growing religious movements and consultants and programs on church growth. The sociology of religion has long debated the meaning of secularization (Abbott, 1988; Martin, 2005; Warner, 2010) and with it, the changing meaning of the sacred. For example, with regard to the latter, Zelizer (1989) examines the changing social meaning and structure of domestic money. She explores the limits of “purely utilitarian conceptions of market money” by identifying the extra-economic and social bases of modern money. In doing this she points to the social construction of the sacred and the profane in economic relationships. Of course, Douglas (2005) has shown how the line between the sacred and the secular is one that moves as societies change and the nature of cosmologies change. As a result of these issues and themes, there are three questions that we address in the article: 1. Are religious organizations different from other kinds of organizations? 2. What factors produce differences or similarities between religious and other organizations? 3. Are religious organizations different from each other? There is a very strong historical dimension to the study of religious organizations. The secularization debate itself is one about the history of religion within society. As a result, we reviewed the historical development of the treatment of religious organizations
focusing in particular, on articles relating to structural arrangements in religious organizations. We found 37 articles in journals concerned with religion (e.g., Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, Review of Religious Research, Social Compass, Sociology

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of Religion) and 29 papers in sociology and political science journals (e.g., Sociological Analysis, Social Forces, American Journal of Sociology). While these may not be journals to which organization scholars regularly refer, they contain considerable material on the organization of churches, social movements and the impact of religion on work, amongst other things. We outline the general themes that have emerged in the sociology of religion over the past decades to shed light on how the issue of organizational forms has been treated, particularly by tracking developments over time, from the 1960s forward. We delve deeper into the tensions that characterize many religious organizations, and their implications for organizational structure and forms. In doing this we take account of the fact that there are aspects that are unique to faith-based organizations and aspects that are common to all organizations. Finally, we discuss how further examination of organizational forms in religious organizations can provide a fruitful avenue for future research.

ORGANIZATIONAL ISSUES IN RELIGION There are two debates that have taken place concerning the structures and forms of religious organizations. One is distinctly typological (Meyer, Tsui, & Hinings, 1993), furthered through work on church-sect theory (Dawson, 2011; Wilson, 1970). The other concerns the potentially distinctive nature of religious organizations as they relate to the broader institutional environment. This debate is centered on the organizational components of religious organizations and the extent to which they are subject to the same pressures as nonreligious organizations. Hinings and Foster (1973) developed a contingency based organizational theory for churches which explicitly gives the beliefs and values of religious organizations a pre-eminent place in the causality of their model (see their Figure 3, p. 102). This argument is that the theological position of a religious organization on such aspects as the role of the priest, the emphasis, or lack of it, on engaging with social issues in the modern world, and the precepts on the distinctive nature of religious organizations would all have a first-order, primary impact on organization structure and systems. Also, the volunteer base of religious organizations has an impact on the kinds of resources at their disposal and their availability. This argument is essentially an institutional one, arguing for particular “institutionalized templates” for religious organizations with values and meanings at the center. That is, religious

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organizations are inherently different from other organizations. Religious beliefs generate distinctive structures compared to those of nonreligious organizations. Interestingly, Beckford (1985), taking up the theme of secularization, argues that it has “simultaneously eroded the distinctiveness of religious organizations and of the sociological understanding of them” (p. 126). He goes on to argue that there is “a declining sense of the distinctiveness of religious organizations as social phenomenon. They are treated little differently from other kinds of organization; and they are expected to perform like other organizations. In other words, the boundary between the sacred and the secular has been affected in fact as well as in method” (p. 133). In the historical development of the sociology of religion, the notion of organization was seen as being in opposition to the sacred nature of religion. Now these two categories are no longer thought to be opposed. In essence, Hinings and Foster (1973) and Beckford (1985) represent different, yet potentially convergent thoughts about religious organizations. On the one hand, there is an emphasis on the inherent distinctiveness of religious organizations and the ways in which they can serve as an important test bed for more general organization theories. On the other, there is the suggestion that religious organizations have become more like “regular” organizations with their distinctiveness eroding. The convergence between these two perspectives occurs when we turn this into a research question, asking “what are the differences and similarities between religious organizations” and add, “why do such differences and similarities occur?” This is echoed in DiMaggio’s (1998, p. 7) statement: “because much religious activity is institutionalized and carried out through formal organizations (e.g., churches, religiously affiliated charities, religious presses, and broadcasters), students of religion may have something to learn from the experience of their colleagues in the organizations field. Because the world of religious organizations is so diverse and because many religious organizations pursue goals and employ structures quite unlike those of the firms, service organizations, and public agencies on which most organizational research has focused, it is equally likely that organizational behaviorists have much to learn from students of organized religion.” There are suggestions that the sacred
secular divide stunts the growth of both organizational theory and the study of religion (Demerath III, Hall, Schmitt, & Williams, 1998; Demerath & Schmitt, 1998) and that there is a need for more cross-fertilization between secular organizational analysis and religious scholarship. Thus, “the arena of religious organizations is rich with distinctive organizational designs, special interorganizational

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relationships, and a large presence across the landscape of society. The field of complex organizations would be well advised to treat religious institutions more seriously, and scholars of religion would do well to study the emerging scholarship on organizations of all sorts” (Demerath & Schmitt, 1998, p. 396). To do that, successfully and systematically, organizational theorists need to have a better understanding of what issues and topics have been raised, researched, and discussed in studies of religious organizations.

RELIGION AND ORGANIZATIONAL FORMS AND STRUCTURES There has been a concern with elaborating typologies of religious organizations (e.g., Francis, 1950; Hillery, 1969; Scherer, 1988; Welch, 1977). While it has been much criticized, much of the writing about organizational forms in religion derives from church-sect theory
either directly or indirectly through the use of some of the categories or concepts related to it. Churchsect theory is actually a dynamic theory of organizational development and change and it uses this dual typology of organizational forms to summarize those changes. Two characteristics that distinguish churches from sects are that churches are bureaucratic and hierarchical (Dawson, 2011); and that their leaders typically have formal qualifications and experience (Ranson, Bryman, & Hinings, 1977). Sects, conversely, lean more heavily on charisma and informality. In addition, churches develop rituals and dogmatic statements of belief; whereas sects retain some degree of spontaneity. Much of the point-counterpoint of the church-sect distinction is about bureaucracy: “Churches develop routines and procedures … specialist qualified ministry with clearly delineated areas of authority. Thus, we have the hierarchy, differentiation and specification typical of bureaucratic organizations” (Hinings & Foster, 1973, p. 97). We can see these themes of bureaucratization and professionalization worked out in the literature of the 1960s and 1970s.

Bureaucratization and Professionalization In a seminal article, O’Dea (1961) suggested that religious movements start in charismatic moments and, over time, become institutionalized

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through bureaucratization because of five dilemmas that they face, namely, mixed motivation, objectification versus alienation, administrative order, delimitation, and power. The dilemmas of administrative order, delimitation, and power have very clear organizational referents. Administrative order is concerned with the requirements of large-scale management of churches. Increasing scale in a church leads to a greater administrative component (Hinings & Bryman, 1974). Delimitation is the translation of religious, supernatural messages into terms that relate to everyday events, a process of concretization that leads to the routinization of charisma. The dilemma of power deals with the extent to which voluntary adherence to a doctrine is substituted by institutionalized adherence. Thus, it has been suggested that there is continuous movement from relatively simple structures with strong charismatic elements to more complex organizational and bureaucratic structures (cf. Mintzberg, 1979). An important element in Western Christianity is the formalized and routinized administration of the means of grace, that is, the relationship between a believer and a divine being. Much of this work has emphasized the bureaucratic form of religious organizations. In his study of the American Baptist Convention, Harrison (1959, p. x) argued that “modern social organization, especially in its Western manifestations, has taken the form of the bureaucratic structure. This is true of the church as well as the state and the business organization; it is as true of the denominations with a democratic church-order as it is of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.” Similarly, the emergence and rapid growth of the early Methodist church was posited as due to the routinization of charisma and subsequent bureaucratization (Allen, 1962). At the same time, churches were influenced by societal models of bureaucracy and management that were part of general organizational development (Weber, 1949). For example, the organizational response of the Church of England to social change was influenced by the links between church and state and the organizational ideas of divergent theological schools within the church (Thompson, 1970). The idea of a strong relationship between ecclesiastical development and bureaucratic forms has been widely accepted, but a further dimension in organizational development is professionalization (Fichter, 1961; Struzzo, 1970). While agreeing that leadership in religious groups face the same issues of management and administration as nonecclesiastical organizations, Fichter (1961) drew on a distinction between professional and bureaucratic modes of adaptation. It was suggested that the Roman Catholic Church faced issues of bureaucratic adaptation because of the

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increasing professionalization of priests (Struzzo, 1970). A study of religious functionaries also showed that Roman Catholic priests saw themselves as operating in a bureaucratic environment. The Catholic episcopal system is a hierarchical and centralized one. Anglican clergy and Methodist ministers perceived less bureaucracy (Ranson et al., 1977) Thus, churches differ from each other because of their governance structure and the degree of professionalization of religious functionaries, but they are also generally subject to processes of bureaucratization.

Uniqueness and Difference What this literature of 30
50 years ago shows is a concern with issues that are central to both organization theory and the sociology of religion (as both Demerath et al., 1998 and DiMaggio, 1998 point out). On the one hand, there is the suggestion that there are certain societal processes at work that push all organizations toward similar organizational forms and processes, such as bureaucratization and professionalization. This is, of course, the stuff of early neo-institutional theory (cf. DiMaggio & Powell, 1983). On the other hand, there is the argument that religious organizations have unique characteristics, such as a belief-based purpose and a voluntary membership which means either that they develop completely different organizational forms or, that they react to overall societal pressures in ways that are dissimilar from other kinds of organizations. There is a contingency theory argument here (cf. Donaldson, 2001) as well as an institutional one. Religious organizations are subject to the pressures of scale, complexity, markets, resource flows, environmental uncertainty as contingency theory would argue. But they are also meaning-based organizations. Friedland and Alford (1991) define religion as one of the basic institutional orders of society. It is precisely this relationship between the “uniqueness” of religious organizations and the generalizing nature of organization theory that is seen by Tracey (2012), Demerath and Schmitt (1998), and DiMaggio (1998) as fertile ground for further development. This issue of the uniqueness of a particular set of organizations, in this case, religious organizations, and the generalizing nature of organization theory is a critical one (King, Felin, & Whetten, 2009). McKelvey and Aldrich (1983) took organization theory to task for treating all organizations as alike. Aldrich (2009, p. 23) says, “today we might characterize this ‘organizations are all alike’ approach as one of extreme decontextualization.” Thus, we are suggesting that researching religious organizations is

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particularly fertile ground for the comparative analysis of organizations because, prima facie, one would expect differences between religious and nonreligious organizations. There is also the rather less explored issue of sameness/uniqueness within religious organizations as a group. This latter notion is already present in church-sect theory, and in differences between, for example, Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant traditions within Christianity, as well as differences between the major world religions of Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Confucianism. In examining this issue of interreligious organizational differences, there are two avenues to be traversed. One is concerned with elaborating the elements of organizational form, such as authority, governance, formalization, etc. to see what differences occur. The other avenue deals with the characteristics of religious organizations that influence different organizational forms, some of which are generic (e.g., size), and others of which are specific (e.g., theologies).

THE UNIQUENESS OF RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONS? Tracey’s (2012) analysis of 85 papers that involve religion, published in 21 different management journals (with only 29 published in the “top” Financial Times journals) shows that very few of them are concerned with organizational form (which is a major reason why we examined nonmanagement journals). The most common topics are religion and the environment, religion, and individual behavior, and workplace spirituality. In journals that are focused on religion, there has been a much greater concern with the organization of religious bodies and the impact of social environments on religious organizations. These have been continuing themes from the 1970s until today. In particular, sociologists of religion have been concerned with the extent to which religious organizations are subject to the same social processes as all organizations, for example, bureaucratization and professionalization, or whether they represent a distinct class of organizational forms because of their anchoring in beliefs and values. Indeed, Etzioni (1961) in his classic work on organizations, classified religious organizations as normative organizations (and added that normative control usually requires higher levels of commitment from members). They use symbolic rather than physical or material means of control and members must be committed to the inherent “rightness” of the authority system.

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For many years, discussions of religious organizational forms have been seen in terms of the relationship and tensions between bureaucratization, professionalization, secularization, and integration (Benson & Dorsett, 1973; Brannon, 1971; Dann, 1976; Welch, 1977). Bureaucratization is about the development of a division of labor, hierarchy, rules, and career orientation. Professionalization emphasizes appropriate educational preparation and a vocational commitment. Secularization refers to the range of “activity spheres” in which the organization operates. And integration is the extent to which formal membership criteria become less important, removing barriers to participation. In line with similar debates in organizational theory, bureaucratic structures are seen as incompatible with the other three dimensions, yet there are pressures for all four to occur (Abbott, 1988; Scott, 1967). The argument of incompatibilities and tensions is an important one for understanding religious organizations. As so much of the literature suggests, these tensions derive from the normative and belief-centered nature of religious organizations, on the one hand, and the pressures they face from the institutional, economic, and social pressures from the societies in which they are located.

Authority and Decision Making The question of similarity or difference has been characterized as, “associations between the way various groups confessionally conceived of the Ultimate and the way these groups chose to organize and conduct themselves” (Sommerfeld, 1968, p. 178). Immediately this points to a very special characteristic of religious groups, as compared to nonreligious organizations
that is, the conceptualization of a sacred other, to whom earthly followers relate. Indeed, the issue of how one accesses God, the Ultimate, the Sacred, is a central theme for religious organizations that, it is hypothesized, has strong effects on organization. Of course, this is a language which is quite foreign to organizational theorists, although it can, perhaps, be generically captured under notions of vision and beliefs. But talking about the vision and mission of a nonreligious organization is somewhat different from the idea of a god, or sacred being (together with ancient texts) being the source of authority and of organizational forms. Central to all the debates about beliefs and organization is that of authority. This issue of the relationship of authority to beliefs, about access to a deity, has been explored by a number of writers. Indeed, it has been suggested that, “the starting point is the claim that at the heart of

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religious organization is not religion, but religious authority” (Chaves, 1993a, p. 148). In comparison between Roman Catholic dioceses and union locals, Leagues of Women Voters, and stations of a delivery company, the Roman Catholic dioceses were the most centralized (Szafran, 1976). The Roman Catholic dioceses had a centralized authority system which interestingly, priests saw as both the actual and ideal situation for all dioceses, because it was a true reflection of the belief in the theological rightness of an ecclesial, hierarchical organization. Here we see a clear difference between religious and nonreligious organizations through direct comparative work. A further important element emphasizing the differences between religious and nonreligious organizations is the role of the priesthood and the religious hierarchy in mediating the relationship between adherents and God. Because authority emanates from a divine being or beings, those who administer the relationship between that being and the “nonreligious” have a particular authority. This is rather different than authority coming from shareholders or a board. Dyck and Wiebe (2012) have developed this idea in the more overarching notion of salvation and its relationship to organizational practices. In their five phase model on the meaning of salvation over time, in phase 5 they give a special place to religious leaders who interpret, codify, and integrate teachings. They also suggest that dysfunctions may occur due to “coopting between the religious elite and the economic/ political elite” (Dyck & Wiebe, 2012, p. 305). There is a very special place in the organization for the religious leader unlike that of CEOs and vicepresidents in nonreligious organizations. The argument for the uniqueness of religious organizations also relates to decision making as an aspect of authority, again, because of the impact of their normative basis. Decision making is to be made, “in conformity to principles of scripture and on the basis of divine guidance” (Nelson & Hiller, 1981, p. 174). For religious organizations, authority is a theological concept and religious groups are often quite deliberate in their articulations about it. Religion asserts that the basis of authority is external to the social order and as such, is antithetical to Weberian rational-legal authority; and conversely, much more consonant with either charismatic or traditional authority structures (Bartholomew, 1981). Yet, the organization structure of denominations is bureaucratic. The argument about bureaucracy is essentially an institutional one
given that “[t]he people who serve in them and interact with them bring assumptions from the wider society that religious organizations can be understood in bureaucratic terms” (Bartholomew, 1981, p. 129). Thus, we see the impact of societal values

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and institutional templates on religious organizations and subsequent organizational tensions. The starting point is distinctiveness but the arrival point is that the pressures on religious organizations are similar to those on other kinds of organizations, but the outcome may well be distinctive because of balancing the sacred and the secular. However, it can be argued that religious organizations have more than one authority structure and, following Stinchcombe (1990) that the proper unit of analysis is the organizational subunit. There are parallel structures in denominations (Chaves, 1993a). At the heart of most denominations is the congregation, the local unit which has varying degrees of autonomy. One structure is that of religious authority which is internally focused on controlling access to desired ends such as God and the sacraments, the key role of a religious functionary (Ranson et al., 1977). The other structure is that of agency, where there is engagement with activities such as missions, Christian education, financing building projects, etc. In this structure the congregation represents a place of resources as these are functions that are derived from the belief system but do not involve mediation between the individual member and a sacred being. In many religious organizations, the full-time religious functionary has no training and no interest in dealing with these activities. Thus, there is an important horizontal aspect to organizational authority in terms of the relationships between these two structures, and the agency component requires much more study. This two-structure approach highlights a tension between a distinctive sacramental focus and a set of activities (businesses?) which require a more general secular and managerial focus. It suggests that religious organizations may “manage” the tensions between belief-led structures and societal-pressured structures by keeping them separate. This argument can be taken a step further with the idea of internal secularization, which is centered on the declining scope of religious authority (Chaves, 1993b). The agency structure, in effect, becomes an agent of internal secularization, decreasing the influence of religious authority and conforming more strongly to the pressures of societal organization. As a result, control changes; there is a horizontal rather than a vertical shift. Historically, discussions of authority and structure have emphasized notions of hierarchy and intercessionary structures with differences occurring in the nature of that hierarchical intermediate structure. With parallel structures, the differences concern the existence of other, horizontal areas of activity. These parallel structures produce organizational conflict and the outcomes will be influenced by the access that the competing elites, heading each of the paralleled structures, have to centralized resources.

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An important insight here, especially in relation to discussions of secularization, is that religious authority is declining even within religious organizations. It is denominations with a decentralized, more autonomous organizational form that have resisted the control shift to agency structures. The rise of consultants and schema on church growth, visioning, and marketing are examples of this (e.g., Barna, 2009; Schwarz, 1995). The attention to authority is central in the conceptualization of religious organizations because it is a theological as well as an organizational concept. From a theological point of view, the importance of authority derives from beliefs about the relationship of members to the Divine
in particular, whether it is direct or through intermediaries. From an organizational point of view, the importance of authority derives, initially, from Weberian distinctions between rational-legal, traditional, and charismatic sources and forms, such as bureaucracy, and then moves to issues of power and control.

Bureaucratization and Complexity But there has also been a concern with aspects of organizational form other than authority in religious organizations that, inter alia, examines the impact of religious beliefs, the voluntary nature of these organizations, and the general impact of bureaucracy on form. An important element in the discussion of bureaucracy throughout the 1960s and 1970s was the development of administrative specialists, something that points to Chaves (1993a) later idea of an agency structure. In a study of specialist personnel whose responsibilities were to support the main operations of organizations, growth of this component in churches was not purely a function of size, but was rather mediated by the commitment of denominations to wide or complete geographical coverage (Hinings & Bryman, 1974). This commitment to widespread coverage is fundamentally tied to the beliefs and goals of churches, together with their voluntary base. Historically, the major, mainline denominations have embraced some version of complete geographical distribution, whereas more recent (i.e., the last 50 years) religious organizations have not followed that path. Spatial distribution is, for many religious organizations, no longer something that is seen as theologically relevant. There is an issue here about the impact of scale and social pressures; in the USA, for example, religious organizations are among the largest and most extensive, and this is true for many countries. But while they have

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national scale, they operate through a large number of local units, that is, congregations. In spite of the existence of national hierarchies and formal statements of belief, “local congregations conform to the norms values and practices of the local secular community frequently in contradiction to norms set by the hierarchy” (Brannon, 1971, p. 27). They have insecure leaders who are rewarded for keeping their congregations satisfied. To that end, there is almost complete dependence on voluntary members for resources, both in terms of people and finance, to carry out tasks. As a result, national hierarchies have little basis for influencing the policies and practices of locally oriented and entrenched congregations. This suggests that these local bodies are more heavily subjected to the norms of their local social systems rather than those of their national bodies. Thus, religious organizations are not the uniform structures that they have usually been portrayed as (Dann, 1976). For example, while Weber saw the Catholic Church as an archetypal bureaucratic form, the changes that have occurred in the last century
in particular the reforms of Vatican II
have produced a much more differentiated structure. Decentralization, the emergence of a greater range of interest groups, and a greater degree of conflict, are but a few of the changes that have occurred in the last century. These changes underscore the need to see religious organizations as continually evolving
not only undergoing change, but becoming less stable in an organizational sense. This reinforces notions of parallel structures (Chaves, 1993a). Most of the work on religious organizations has examined churches and denominations that have relatively long histories. From this can come historic, taken-for-granted practices of church governance (Mutch, 2009). Historically this can produce a “culture of organization” as Mutch (2009) argues is true for Presbyterian congregations. He argues that this culture of organization was marked by a common focus on system, accountability, and recording and as such helped to produce many modern management practices. The institutional argument is twofold; first, existing practices are historically derived and taken-for-granted and, second, that these religious practices may become templates for nonreligious organizations. There are a number of interesting ideas that derive from these analyses. One is that church organizational forms are intimately connected to theological beliefs; the idea of organizational form is a theological concept (Dyck, Starke, Harder, & Hecht, 2005). Another is that, while belief is of prime importance, religious organizational forms are also related to their social and cultural context. The focus on practices of religious governance is

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important. This suggests two things: first, that there is a specific and distinct aspect to religious organization; and second, that the relationship between religious organizations and the wider society can be the source of templates for nonreligious organizations. This may, of course, point to a time when the connections between religion and business were much closer than they are today. Historically, as one of the main institutional orders of society (Friedland & Alford, 1991), religion has impacted many organizational forms. With increasing secularization not only does the impact of religion on society decline, but the impact of societal norms and practices on religious organizations increases. Much of the theorizing about religious organizations is that as they grow and mature they become more bureaucratic, a standard argument in contingency theory (Donaldson, 2001). But it has been suggested that there are religious organizations that resist the push to bureaucratization (Lindsay, 2010; Packard, 2011). In studying a religious organization called The Fellowship, Lindsay proposes the idea of organizational liminality, to describe organizations that combine institutional and anti-institutional elements. Liminality is an intentional strategy. What is interesting here is that the organization described is not a sect, denomination, or church, but a prayer fellowship for elites. It is more like a parallel structure rather than a structure of religious authority (Chaves, 1993a). As such it represents a type of religious organization that is not uncommon, but which has not been studied. There are a range of organizations within the sphere of religion that do not fit what have been the traditional distinctions used to study such organizations, for example, sect, denomination, ecclesia, independent church. It points to even greater differentiation between religious organizations. Another “nonorganization,” a religious social movement known as the Emerging Church is one that has increasingly questioned and scrutinized traditional religious authority, as institutionalized in the bureaucratic, corporate form (Packard, 2011). The Emerging Church movement has consciously attempted to eliminate such forms. It has become a home for the “dechurched” constituting a loosely coupled movement with no formal leadership, vision, or mission. In this “organization,” there is an inverted labor structure with typically prestigious positions being part-time and unspecialized positions being full time. Experience is regarded as more important than education and credentials. And the idea of a calling, so central to religious functionaries, is seen as being to a group or cause rather than by an organization. The aim, in other words, is to avoid routinization and a church-like organizational structure. As such, it is also attempting to

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come to terms with processes of secularization by making religion appealing to those with no experience of organized religion. These kinds of concepts and studies point to an area of religious life that has been little studied, those social movements and organizations that exist outside formally designated churches. Yet, throughout the history of religion there have been many of these. Within Christianity, for example, the movement to abolish slavery, the China Inland Mission, the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge, Messy Church, Red Letter Christians, and so on. They are likely to be a particularly fruitful area of study for understanding issues of organizational growth and change and the impact of belief systems on organization form.

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN RELIGIOUS ORGANIZATIONS The issue of sameness or uniqueness between religious organizations as a group is rather less explored. It is present in discussions of differences between, for example, Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant traditions within Christianity, as well as between the major world religions of Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Confucianism. When we take up the exploration of intra-religious organizational differences, we find that those features that differentiate religious from nonreligious organizations also differentiate between religious organizations. In particular, there are theological/value differences within Christianity (and any religious belief system) that have strong implications for authority and decision making, professionalization and bureaucratization, hierarchy, congregational independence, governance, and organizational forms and structures generally. Also, churches and their individual units are embedded in different sociocultural settings that impact organizational practice. As we pointed out earlier, a special characteristic of religious groups is the conceptualization and relationship to a sacred other, a divine being or beings. But the way the sacred is conceptualized is a differentiating feature amongst religious organizations and, through the more systematic theological development of this idea, fundamentally shapes their organizational forms. In particular, the way the sacred is conceptualized will strongly impact the system of authority, especially around whether the relationship of an individual to God is direct or through an intermediary such as a priest (Sommerfeld, 1968).

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Beliefs, Authority, and Decision-Making Differences An important distinction between religious organizations is the role of the priesthood and the religious hierarchy, in particular, how, if at all, a religious functionary mediates the relationship between church members and God. Mediation in the Catholic Church comes from a particular belief system that has been a historic part of both Christianity and Judaism
one that concerns the special role of priests. Indeed, one of the most important elements of the Protestant Reformation in Christianity was to draw on the notion of “a priesthood of all believers,” which effectively created direct access to God for all adherents. As Ranson et al. (1977, p. 39) put it, “unlike many occupations, the full-time religious functionary has many models of his (stet) role and position on which to draw. These models emanate from his views on a number of complex issues such as the role of the Church in the world, the nature of the priesthood, the nature of God, etc.” A key difference is that, within the Catholic and Orthodox traditions of Christianity there is an ontological view of the priesthood, whereas in the Protestant tradition there is a functional view. Catholicism’s conception of hierarchy in the church is a divine gift to Christianity
which is not merely expedient but also necessary (Pittenger, 1966). Whereas the Protestant (and evangelical) tradition emphasizes conversion, oratory, and simplicity of worship. The latter effectively leads to more congregational forms of organization, with much less emphasis on rituals and symbolism. This aspect of how far authority rests with a priesthood with a special religious status or with a wider set of congregational leaders has effects on member commitment (Hougland & Wood, 1980). In Protestant churches in the USA, the amount of control that members’ felt led to higher commitment (conceptualized as satisfaction, identification, and involvement). Specifically, whether the denomination was congregational or hierarchical
a feature related to the theological position of the organization on church governance
was important. Members in congregational forms with a “priesthood of all believers” notion of spiritual authority showed larger amounts of control. However, there were general organizational elements that had an impact on authority. Denomination size and church size impacted feelings of control in a negative way primarily because size, both locally and nationally, produced a greater degree of hierarchy, regardless of theological beliefs. This is, of course, a well-known finding in organization theory (Donaldson, 2001). These findings highlight the interaction between beliefs and scale, and between specific religious categories and general organizational ones.

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There is variation between religious organizations on the extent to which scriptures (sacred texts) are regarded as authoritative and also on the interpretation of those texts. In their study of three fundamentalist churches Nelson and Hiller (1981) found that, with a strongly articulated set of beliefs, religious legitimations were frequently invoked
such that, authority in the church comes from God and the scriptures. While, since this work, the term “fundamentalist” has acquired some negative meanings for all world religions, in the religious context, it relates to the authoritative nature of sacred texts in determining beliefs, and that they are strongly held by those in authority as well as in the general membership. There are strong differences in mainstream Christian churches between liberals and conservatives (Ranson et al., 1977; Stark & Finke, 2000) that are based in such issues as the authoritative nature of scripture and the divinity of Jesus. These differences are then worked through in organizational differences (Dyck et al., 2005). So, the institutionalized authority structures in religious organizations mobilize behavior (McMullen, 1994). The institutionalized form of authority points to differences between religious organizations. Utilizing the language of neo-institutional theory and Meyer and Rowan (1977) in particular, “the myths of apostolic succession and infallibility legitimate the institutional authority of the Pope and successive levels of bishop and priest” (McMullen, 1994, p. 712). This contrasts, for example, with the United Church of Christ’s polity, which is based on congregational autonomy
wherein the spirit of Christ guides action and the Bible is authoritative. In sum, the more hierarchical, tightly structured religious organization enables knowledge of, and behavior related to organizational norms to be more widely shared; whereas the decentralized, loosely structured church relies on the external motivation of church members to generate awareness of organizational norms. These are variations based on beliefs systems, producing organizational differences, but those differences also have similar effects to those found between any centralized or decentralized organizations. Religious organizations that normatively define themselves as churches are more ecclesial and hierarchical in authority and structure (Benson & Hassinger, 1972). Churches formalize programs and activities; they tend to have more resources for those programs. And, with their program and activity focus, they produce more formalization/ bureaucratization, larger scale, and resource dependency. Congregationally based or independent churches are more focused on strongly expressed beliefs, spiritual growth and discipleship and evangelism (Bibby, 2002). Again the differences come

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from differences in belief about authority, the role of religious functionaries and individual members, but are also impacted by scale and resources. Clearly, the issue of how beliefs impact structure is a very important one, yet there has been very little direct examination of this linkage. One of the only studies is Dyck et al. (2005) who assert that while there has been a considerable amount of research that generically accepts a relationship between religious beliefs, “surprisingly little of that research has specifically examined the relationship between the values evident in different religions and the practices of those religious organizations (p. 52).” They examine this relationship through the ideas of mechanistic and organic organizations (Burns & Stalker, 1961), drawing on the basic elements of centralization, formalization, and adherence to the status quo. They analyzed the presence of these organizational features in statements of faith, and then examined their presence in the actual organizational practices of religious organizations. They found a relationship between the content of religious statements of faith and the structure and practice of religious places of worship. What is particularly interesting and unusual about this study is that it not only covers Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant places of worship, but also, Muslim, Mormon, Jewish, Bahai, and nondenominational places of worship. Interestingly, there were key differences between, on the one hand, Catholics, Orthodox, Lutherans, and Muslims and, on the other hand, Bahai, Baptists, and Mennonite groups. The former group is more likely to be centralized, formalized, and show adherence to the status quo than the latter group. Their analysis, thus, underscores the differences between religious organizations.1 There is an idea here of structural elaboration and complexity that is important. Indeed, organization theory has shown how the elaboration of such organizational elements as specialization, formalization, decentralization take place with both increasing age and increasing scale (Donaldson, 2001; Stinchcombe, 1965). This happens with religious organizations, produced both by scale and age, but also by the organizational consequences of beliefs. Religious organizations that do not have the requisite structural elaboration have been labeled as organizationally precariousness (Dann, 1976; Welch, 1977). The defining elements of organizational precariousness are “a relative lack of diversity in organizational activities and an implicit, low degree of structural elaboration … the resource base (defined as congregation size and total financial assets) appears to be rather meager and unstable and … the central ‘paradoxes of institutionalization’ are still being resolved” (Welch, 1977, p. 132). This kind of elaboration is bureaucratic in nature, especially through formalization. For long-term survival a certain

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amount of bureaucratization is necessary. Once again there is a dual argument here, in terms of our overall questions. On the one hand, it suggests that religious organizations are subject to the same pressures as other organizations, that is, becoming more bureaucratized with scale and age. But, on the other hand, the extent to which they will become bureaucratized is also impacted and mediated by the belief system.

CONCLUSION We have reviewed the historical development of the treatment of religious organizations in journals centered on religion through the lens of three questions namely: (1) are religious organizations different from other kinds of organizations? (2) what factors produce differences or similarities between religious and other organizations? and (3) are religious organizations different from each other? As one might expect from work published in journals of religion, the starting point is definitely that religious organizations are different from nonreligious organizations and some of the literature we have reviewed supports this view. The rationale is that religious organizations are based in beliefs and that issues of organization are theological. Authority is a theological concept that relates to the nature of the relationship of a believer to the divine
in particular, whether this is essentially a direct relationship or one through an intermediary (Chaves, 1993b; Sommerfeld, 1968). Also, a range of other organizational practices are present in statements of faith (Dyck et al., 2005; Mutch, 2009) and the concept of organization itself is theological. Organizationally, Etzioni (1961) classified religious organizations as “normative” and therefore different from nonreligious organizations. However, recurring themes in these analyses are the impact of bureaucracy and the influence of societal templates of organizing on religious organizations. Beginning with Weber and throughout the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, all organizational sectors were examined in terms of the extent to which they were bureaucratized (Perrow, 1986; Pugh, Hickson, Hinings, & Turner, 1969). The bureaucratization of religious organizations is a dominant theme. A number of explanations have been put forward for this
three of which are related to classical contingency theory concepts. First, there is the impact of scale: as organizations grow (e.g., from sects to churches) they adopt greater degrees of specialization, formalization, and

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standardization. Second, geographical dispersion produces decentralization and also an increase in the administrative component of the organization (Hinings & Bryman, 1974). And third, the long history of many religious organizations (age) produces a strong institutionalization of both beliefs and practices. However, the argument is not quite straightforwardly a contingency one in that, for these organizations contingency variables (size, spatial distribution, and age) are derived from theology/beliefs as well as processes of organizational development and congregational socioeconomic circumstances. It is the beliefs of the religious organization that lead to growth or to spatial coverage (Hinings & Foster, 1973). Thus, the impact of generic contingent factors can be mediated by beliefs as well as “put into play” by them. These observations raise some interesting issues and questions for organization theory in general. For instance, if beliefs play this role in religious organizations, is there a similar situation in nonreligious organizations? Are theology and beliefs in religious organizations the same as culture, values, ethics, and mission statements in nonreligious organizations? Are mission statements the equivalent of “statements of faith”? The culture literature (cf. Hofstede, 2001; Martin, 2002) has been more concerned with outlining the best way to conceptualize and measure the concept rather than examine its relationship to organizational structure and activities. Also, do the culture and values of a nonreligious organization have the same relationship to aspects such as scale, markets, ownership
as is suggested for religious organizations? These questions, we suggest, are worthy of further examination. Another important theme, similar to that of bureaucratization, is the way in which institutional templates of society generally impact religious organizations and, vice versa. Secularization, which is such an important issue in the discussion of religion, points to a key means by which the relationship between religion and society has changed markedly (Demerath et al., 1998). While Dyck et al. (2005) and Mutch (2009) can locate their approaches in the work of Weber and his work on the impact of the Protestant Ethic on economic growth, most of the work on differentiating religious from nonreligious organizations is concerned with the impact of the secular on the sacred. The mechanisms for this operate in a variety of ways. One mechanism originates in the voluntary and local nature of churches. Those members who occupy positions on parish councils, boards of elders, boards of deacons, etc., bring with them the ideas and experiences they acquire in the secular world. Templates of “legitimate” organizational forms from business and elsewhere become part of the discussion of

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appropriate organization. Because of the supposed primacy of belief, this is an area of tension for religious organizations. A further mechanism is the active pursuit of nonreligious organizational models per se. The last 30 years, for instance, have seen a strong church growth movement, particularly within Christian churches, that has drawn on secular notions of leadership, teams, programs, etc. There has also been a growing emphasis on marketing as a means to increase membership as well as the use of consultants to advise on strategies for growth, marketing, and organization. These kinds of trends suggest the active pursuit of nonreligious templates within the religious sphere. They also underscore Chaves’ (1993a) notion of parallel structures. As religious organizations develop agency activities and structures (publishing houses, school systems, missionary organizations, music distributors, etc.), there is a much greater pressure for these to operate with templates derived from their secular counterparts. Indeed, Chaves labels this phenomenon “internal secularization.” This is a particularly important, nonstudied area for organization theory that takes us back to some classic concerns about the relationships between the differentiated components of organizations (Lawrence & Lorsch, 1967). There has also been an importation of templates of organizing that are determinedly “antiorganization” (Lindsay, 2010; Packard, 2011). While these may stem from attempts to resist typical patterns of institutionalization within religious organizations, they may also be the result of antiorganization tendencies within the wider society. As such they represent a type of religious organization that is not uncommon, but which has not been studied. They are new, emerging organizational archetypes from which we can learn much. From the viewpoint of organization theory, these kinds of developments provide a potentially exciting arena for institutional theory. Because of their basis in beliefs, religious organizations provide fertile ground for examining the diffusion and dissemination of those beliefs and the ways in which they impact practice, especially organizational form. What our review reveals is that there are a variety of organizational forms within religion, which are related to both internal and external belief systems. Examining how an important sector of society produces a variety of templates (and logics!) and manages all of them
as well as being subject to pressures from nonreligious organizations
would certainly speak to contemporary issues of institutional complexity and pluralism (Greenwood, Raynard, Micelotta, Kodeih, & Lounsbury, 2011; Kraatz & Block, 2008).

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There is a tendency in organization theory research to “overgeneralize” findings and, indeed, to search for the most general principle possible in theorizing. We suggest the need for the “rebirth” of a comparative organizations perspective in organization theory
one that appreciates the similarities and differences between sectors and within sectors. Our review of the work on religious organizations shows that not only are there differences between religious and nonreligious organizations, but there are also substantial differences between religious organizations. Our review also points to the similarities between religious and nonreligious organizations, as well as similarities between religious organizations. We believe that the way forward for both the study of religious organizations and organizational theory in general is to look for the explanations for these similarities and differences and to be truly concerned with a comparative organizations approach (King, Felin, & Whetten, 2009). There are a number of further issues that are worth mentioning, even though they have not been central in this particular article. Sutton and Chaves (2004) underline the points made here, that religious organizations are remarkably diverse in terms of beliefs and organizational forms. And they suggest that they have distinctive population dynamics, essentially through schism and merger. Schisms are a particularly important dynamic in religious organizations, something that is part of their difference (Dyck & Starke, 1999). Those schisms primarily come from different interpretations of beliefs. Thus, they are a fruitful source for studying births and deaths, especially because schisms and mergers are normative for the population. Also, there is increasing religious diversity in the United States (and indeed, in all Western countries) owing to shifts in the pattern of immigration
changing from European-based, to Latin America and Asia (Williams, 2007). There are now significant numbers of Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists in Western countries. As is apparent from the work that we have surveyed, there is a paucity of organizational research conducted outside Western Christianity (one exception is Dyck et al., 2005). There is a recognized, but unarticulated, relationship between the dominant organizational forms of civil society and those of Protestant religious organizations
particularly in the form of congregations. There is an institutional logic underlying these forms, premised on voluntarism, individual authenticity, and localism. While Islam has a congregational form through the mosque, neither Buddhism nor Hinduism do. There is a rich field of comparative organizational research waiting to be conducted here.

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In a similar vein, church-sect theory may have been an appropriate framework for explaining the evolution of European Christianity, but it does not capture the complexity of contemporary religious organization; and further, its applicability to other faiths such as Islam is not obvious (Dawson, 2011). The new religious movements that characterize the early twenty-first century partly reflect processes of globalization and secularization, and cannot be accounted for fully through the relatively simple church-sect logic (Robbins & Lucas, 2007). As with so many theories about religious organization (and organizations generally), it is “too Western” in the sense that “its roots in early Christian theology sometimes makes it inhospitable to other faiths” and that it has “a tendency to reduce every facet of society to crass organizational terms” (Demerath et al., 1998, p. ix). In conducting this review, we hoped to illuminate the many rich fields of research that could be found in the study of religious organizations. Our aim was thus aligned with increasing calls for more research exploring the intersection between religion and organization (Tracey, 2012)
as a means to leverage the potential for cross-fertilization between secular organizational analysis and religious scholarship.

NOTE 1. While studies by Dyck (1997) and Dyck and Starke (1999) also concern religious organizations, they are set within different frameworks of organization theory and no conclusions are drawn concerning the role of religion in these organizations.

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PASTOR PRACTICES IN THE ERA OF MEGACHURCHES: NEW ORGANIZATIONAL PRACTICES AND FORMS FOR A CHANGING INSTITUTIONAL ENVIRONMENT Marvin Washington, Harry J. Van Buren III and Karen Patterson ABSTRACT Megachurches represent an interesting empirical and conceptual phenomenon. Empirically, megachurches (Protestant churches with average weekly attendance of greater than 2,000 members) are growing at a time when overall church participation in the United States is steady or declining. Conceptually, megachurch pastors can be viewed as institutional leaders who attempt to reconcile new technologies and large congregations within a highly institutionalized setting. While many of these megachurches have a denominational affiliation, some do not. In this essay, we describe the literature on megachurches and offer observations about the megachurch as an institution. Drawing from preliminary analysis of a sample of over 1,400 megachurches (identified from the Hartford

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Institute for Religious Research), we also draw tentative conclusions about the characteristics of the pastors of megachurches, and one growing institutional maintenance practice: writing texts. We propose that examining megachurches can help extend the current research on institutional leadership, institutional work, and institutional support mechanisms. Keywords: Discourse; leadership; institution; megachurch; pastors; institutional leadership

Institutional environments are “by definition, those characterized by the elaboration of rules and requirements to which individual organizations must conform if they are to receive support and legitimacy” (Scott & Meyer, 1991, p. 123). Dick Scott and John Meyer’s 1991 article elaborates upon some basic characteristics of institutional environments and the organizations inhabiting them. Scott and Meyer (1991) differentiate technical environments (environments where a product or service is produced) from institutional environments (where legitimacy concerns might trump profitability issues). Although arguments have been made that all environments contain institutional and technical elements, many scholars have further elaborated upon the life-course of organizations that operate within an institutional environment. As opposed to contrasting technical versus institutional environments, Scott and Meyer create a two-by-two typology where there are environments that have strong technical and institutional environments, strong in one type and weak in the other, or weak in both. In the quadrant of strong institutional pressures and weak technical requirements, Scott and Meyer placed schools, mental health clinics, churches, and law firms. While much research has been conducted on schools (Kraatz & Zajac, 1996; Washington & Ventresca, 2008), healthcare organizations (Reay & Hinings, 2009; Scott, Ruef, Mendel, & Caronna, 2000), and law or other professional service firms (Greenwood, Suddaby, & Hinings, 2002; Suddaby & Greenwood, 2005), little research has been done using an institutional lens to examine religious organizations: “for the most part, management researchers have stubbornly refused to engage meaningfully with religion and religious forms of organization” (Tracey, 2012, p. 2). In this essay, our goal is to examine one particular type of religious organization, the megachurch, and seek to understand how that organizational type is situated within its institutional environment by institutional

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leaders. While not a new organizational form, megachurches (in some cases called gigachurches) are growing in both numbers and legitimacy. In examining this organizational form, we offer some thoughts on how an institutional analysis can inform our understanding of megachurches, and provide an example of the institutional work (Lawrence & Suddaby, 2006) being done by their leaders. In particular, we focus on the growth of the megachurch as a religious organization and one of the specific activities that leaders of such organizations practice in order to achieve one of the main types of institutional work: maintenance. A megachurch is a Protestant church with more than 2,000 members (Gilkes, 1998; Thumma, 1996). This church type is growing: “by the latest count, there are approximately 1,200 Protestant churches with weekly attendance of at least 2,000 people (Thumma, Travis, & Bird, 2005) and by every account these very large churches have proliferated in recent decades” (Chaves, 2006, p. 329). In practice, these dramatically outsized (and often wealthy) congregations represent a “new aspect of religious life in the United States and are already having a profound impact on the way in which Americans worship” (Karnes, McIntosh, Morris, & PearsonMerkowitz, 2007, p. 261). In an overview of this phenomenon, Chaves (2006) offers many contending reasons for its rise. They range from institutional entrepreneurs being “attuned to post-1970 society and culture” (339), the changing demands of “the unchurched” (337), to society’s increasing comfort with big box stores such as Wal-Mart, Best Buy, and Home Depot. While one could argue that the megachurch is not a new organizational form
there were large churches in the pre-Civil War days (Chaves, 2006)
the speed at which they are developing is noteworthy. As of 2007, there were approximately 335,000 churches in the United States and 1,250 megachurches. The weekly attendance in megachurches (4.5 million), while collectively representing less than 1% of all churches, is equal to the attendance at the smallest 35% of all churches combined. Drucker (1998, p. 169) noted that “the pastoral megachurches that have been growing so very fast in the US since 1980 … are surely the most important phenomenon in American society in the last 30 years,” a trend that has only intensified in recent years. The growth of megachurches had led most scholars of religion to argue that they represent a significant change to the institution of religion; a “marriage between the institutional church and the tent revival” (Chaves, 2006, p. 340). We draw upon Selznick’s understanding of an institution as an organization “filled with value” (1957, p. 17). We view the megachurch as an institution, and as we will argue later, the megachurch pastor is the institutional

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leader (Selznick, 1957). In addition to the notion of the megachurch as an institution, the megachurch is also influenced by broader institutions, which in religious language are called denominations. A denomination focuses on the interpretation and production of a specific religious belief system. Affiliated congregations draw upon their denominations to create or to shape their statements of belief, which in the main are mission statements. While many can think of the typical Protestant denominations of Baptist, Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist, or Presbyterian, from our own research, of the 1,200 or so megachurches in the United States, over 60 different denominations are represented. For example, the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship is a splinter group (during the late 1980s and 1990s) of the Southern Baptist Convention, which itself is a group that split from Northern Baptists in 1845 (Wilson, 2010). Denominations are often
but not always
categorized based on a fundamentalist to liberal continuum (Smith, 1990). While there are often relatively liberal congregations that are members of conservative denominations and vice versa, there is considerable evidence that denominations are distinct from each other in various ways that often map onto belief systems that are more or less conservative (Woodbury & Smith, 1998). However, denominations can be differentiated from each other in myriad ways; for example, Smith and Faris (2005) found that denominational memberships are stratified based on socioeconomic differences, and the “socioeconomic inequality evident in the American religious system appears to be patterned by theology, race and ethnicity, and liturgical style” (102). However, denominations have often split and emerged based on other historical factors, including nineteenth-century debates about slavery (Woodbury & Smith, 1998) and the practical need to organize expansion as the United States grew geographically (Loetscher, 1963). Churches thus both reflect and presage social and political developments within the wider society. While denominational governance structures seek to interpret, produce, and spread a particular belief system, there is some evidence that Americans are less attached to denominations while being well attached the particular local congregations of which they are members (Dougherty, Johnson, & Polson, 2007). While denominations are seemingly becoming more homogeneous with regard to belief systems and membership demographics, we note in the present context that the lack of connection that many US Christians feel to specific denominations may create opportunities for megachurches, especially those that wear their attachments to their denominations loosely or that are not so affiliated at all. Denominations

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still matter, but their hegemony within American religious life is increasingly challenged by the growth of alternative religious institutional types, including megachurches. While the focus of this essay is primarily on megachurches in the United States, megachurches have been growing in Korea, South America, Canada, Britain, France, Nigeria, and Australia (Connell, 2005; Warf & Winsberg, 2010; Young-gi, 2000). In the United States, megachurches are an interesting institution, given the state of religion in America. Wilson (2010, p. 62) notes that “while the population [of the United States of America] has increased from 200 million in the late 1960s to over 300 million in 2006, it seems that an equal number of Christian immigrants/converts have counterbalanced the percentage of other religious immigrants/converts.” Thus, since the 1970s, about 85% of Americans claim Christianity as their religious belief system and about 40% claim that they have attended a religious service within the past seven days, although some scholars think that number is closer to 20% (Barna, 2006) due to social desirability bias in this area of survey research. The United States is a great laboratory to study religion and religious institutions: there are numerous home-grown faiths (e.g., Christian Science, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints [Mormons], Jehovah’s Witnesses, Scientology, Seventh-Day Adventists) as well as many new immigrant religions (Warf & Winsberg, 2010). In this respect, the United States is quite different from other countries at a similar stage of economic development: “by almost every measure, the United States is the most religious rich nation in the world. Indeed, it is the only religious rich nation in the world … Americans are more religious than other wealthy, educated peoples because they live in a more open religious market, with more churches and great variety of religious perspectives competing for their devotion. With more options, Americans have blossomed into great consumers of religion” (Kohut & Stokes, 2006, p. 103). Churches in the United States are for many people their most important civic organization. Churches also promote civic virtues, community and charitable service, and organizational skills such as volunteer work and fundraising experiences (Kohut & Stokes, 2006). Religious affiliation creates social connectedness and dense social networks that allow church members to develop skills and to generate social capital. This is especially important in newly created communities; here it is the case that “in the rapidly growing suburbs and exurbs in which most megachurches are located, these ties are central to many people’s overall happiness and quality of life” (Warf & Winsberg, 2010, p. 36). While the number of traditional/mainline churches

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has consistently declined since the 1960s (Pew Research Center, 2007), in that same time, the number of megachurches has grown. In summary, we view megachurches as an institution in a field with other largely entrepreneurial institutions such as tent revivals, small “street corner” churches, as well as other institutions such as denominations, the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), the Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU), parachurch organizations, and other similar organizational types. To analyze megachurches we draw upon Selznick’s concept of organizations as institutions, as opposed to other approaches that might define institutions as a “more or less taken-for granted repetitive social behavior that is underpinned by normative systems and cognitive understandings that give meaning to social exchange and thus enable self-reproducing social order” (Greenwood, Oliver, Sahlin, & Suddaby, 2008, pp. 4
5) or as “mechanisms of stability and social reproduction” (Suddaby & Viale, 2011, p. 424). We follow Selznick’s approach, as examining institutions as organizations focuses attention on what institutions do and who actually leads them. We further posit that such an approach better captures the dynamism of megachurches than alternative theoretical frames. Our work is also shaped by preliminary analysis of over 1,400 megachurches in the United States. The Hartford Institution for Religious Research (http://hirr.hartsem.edu/) tracks data at the congregational and denominational levels. Relevant to the present analysis, this institution has collected information on all churches with a weekly attendance of more than 2,000 members. To this database, we have coded for race of the pastor, the books the pastors have written, and if the pastor has his or her own website, Facebook page, and Twitter account.

WHAT IS A MEGACHURCH? The average attendance at individual US megachurches in 2000 was 2,279. Yet, by 2005, the average attendance jumped to more than 3,500 (Chaves, 2006). The median attendance at the average church in the United States (Protestant and Catholic combined), however, is only 75 (Chaves, 2006). Table 1 provides some summary statistics on the growth of megachurches in the United States in terms of number of megachurches as a percentage of the US population. This table shows that the growth of megachurches is faster than the growth of the US population.

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Table 1.

Summary Statistics on Megachurches.

Year

Number of Megachurches

Megachurches/Million people in the US

1960 1970 1980 1990 2000 2006

10 50 150 310 600 1,210

0.13 0.24 0.7 1.2 2.19 4

Very few churches start off as megachurches. For example, “the first meeting of Lakewood Church was held in a converted feed store on the outskirts of Houston on Mother’s Day, 1959” (http://www.lakewood.cc/pages/newhere/our-history.aspx) is the beginning of the story of Lakewood Church. Founded by John and Dodie Osteen, the church grew to over 10,000 members when John died in 1999 and his son Joel Osteen became head pastor. With over 43,000 attending one of its weekly services, Lakewood Church is the largest megachurch in the United States. Now located in the former home of the Houston Rockets National Basketball Association team, Lakewood Church spent $75 million to renovate the former basketball arena. It pays $2.1 million in annual rent to the city and offers three English services and one Spanish service each week. The church, with a seating capacity of 16,000, has a family life center, bookstore, and a cafe´. Southern California offers a number of megachurch stories of its own. For example, “on Easter of 1980, Saddleback Valley Community Church held its very first public service and 205 people, most of who had never been to church, showed up” (http://saddleback.com/aboutsaddlebak/history). Saddleback Church, led by Rick Warren, has become another megachurch with an average weekly attendance of more than 22,000. Size matters in myriad ways for congregations: “We assume that by the time a church has reached this general size, it will have made changes to its organizational structure, staffing, and leadership patterns; programmatic offerings; worship forms; and physical plant that give it the full range of megachurch characteristics we use as definitive of the phenomenon” (Thumma & Travis, 2007, p. XXI). The style of worship is “characterized by contemporary praise music, led by a worship team, accompanied by orchestra, drums, and electric guitars and augmented by state-of-the-art sound systems and huge projection screens” (Thumma & Travis, 2007, p. 27). Megachurches have “removed every obstacle that keeps people from coming to the

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Christian church. Plus, they give people a feeling of anonymity. And that is particularly important to those who have been hurt or burned out in smaller churches” (Axtman, 2003). However, critics argue that megachurches have a “consumer mentality, meaning they begin with the individual and not with God and are thus accused of inverting the faith” (Thumma & Travis, 2007, p. 98). In this line of analysis, the cost of “removing every obstacle that prevents people from coming to the Christian church” is a kind of lowest-common-denominator approach to church in which the distinctive elements of Christian worship and witness are subsumed to fulfilling market expectations. Other critics compare “McChurches” to Wal-Mart (Liu, 2003; Symonds, 2005), citing their secular, if highly successful, homogenized, and unapologetic business models that succeed at the expense of smaller congregations. The business magazine Forbes has referred to mega-pastors as “essentially CEOs who successfully address many of the same issues that challenge their business brethren” (Buss, 2007). Megachurches, viewed in this way, are critiqued for having a consumerist approach to theology that is absent of the rigor and sacrifice often demanded by traditional churches, while simultaneously servicing as havens for a moral community craving for purpose in an increasingly secularized society (Twitchell, 2004; Warf & Winsberg, 2010).

GEOGRAPHIC AND DEMOGRAPHIC ATTRIBUTES OF MEGACHURCHES Where churches are located has been an issue for (and a distinctive of) US megachurches (Proctor, 2006; Stump, 2008; Warf & Winsberg, 2008, 2010). The bulk of megachurches are located in the south and west. Megachurches are predominately suburban and exurban, located in places accessible mostly (or only) by automobile, with ample parking, often near highways (Eiesland, 1997). In Southern California (Los Angeles to San Diego), there are 128 megachurches with 530,000 attendees. In Seattle there are 17 megachurches, Dallas-Fort Worth 45, Houston 42, Atlanta 36, and Chicago 36. In contrast, megachurches are absent in much of the agrarian Midwest and almost entirely so in New England (Warf & Winsberg, 2010). Megachurches have created a mega-headache for some communities. High Point Church, a megachurch with weekly attendance of more than 2,000, moved into the 423,000 square-foot former Johnson and Johnson R&D campus in Arlington, Texas in 2004. This facility now has a 5,000-seat

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auditorium, cafe´, and a school. New Life Church in Colorado Springs, Colorado, a megachurch with a weekly attendance of 8,600, includes a small hotel that allows people to take personal retreats. The traffic generation, accessory uses, and other neighborhood impacts have led some communities to attempt to regulate the placement and site standards for religious institutions. In 2000, the US Congress passed the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act (RLUIPA; see Evans-Cowley & Pearlman, 2008). This law limits the ability of local governments to regulate churches. RLUIPA provides limitations on the ability of local governments to regulate religious uses. Critics of restrictions on religious institutions argue that “there is a national movement to quash the continued growth or the concept of the megachurch … it frightens people” (Bergin, 2006, n.pag.). For example, in 2006, Palm Beach County, Florida proposed a zoning ordinance that would cap churches at 750 seats and 75,000 square feet in urban areas; 500 seats and 50,000 square feet in suburban areas, and 250 seats and 25,000 square feet in rural areas (Evans-Cowley & Pearlman, 2008). In Scottsdale, Arizona, residents expressed concern regarding the SonRise Community Church’s plans to build a religious school, complaining that traffic in the area would become excessive (Evans-Cowley & Pearlman, 2008). Megachurches are perceived quite differently, based on whether residents of their surrounding communities are members of them or not. Megachurches also present distinct demographic differences: 80% of megachurches are predominantly Caucasian, 10% are African American, 2% Hispanic, and about 2% Asian (Thumma & Travis, 2007). While African American megachurches are similar to their Caucasian counterparts in terms of being primarily located in “sunbelt” states; most African American megachurches are in urban areas, are more likely to be Baptist, and are more likely to have separate community development corporations (Ellingson, 2009). African American megachurches differ from Caucasian megachurches in that African American megachurches tend to be more engaged in credit unions, transitional housing, health clinics, and job training programs (Tucker-Worgs, 2001), thus contributing to the stock of social capital in their communities and filling gaps within traditional sources of social service and poverty alleviation.

SOCIOLOGY OF RELIGION Research on megachurches has been found in the sociology of religion literature: “in particular, megachurches offer sociologists of religion an

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opportunity to expand and refine the general thesis on the restructuring of American religion: assess the claims of competing theories of religious change and innovation; and revisit church-sect theory” (Ellingson, 2009, p. 17). In this tradition, one line of thought is to examine how the practices of megachurches differ from other church congregations, not only based upon their denominational affiliations or the lack thereof, but also based upon the ethnicity of pastors and members. There are three common explanations for the rise and persistence of the megachurch. The first is that growth is based on the ability of the megachurch leaders to provide religious “products” that are consonant with the religious interests and tastes of religious consumers. A second and related explanation draws on church-sect theory and stresses that megachurch growth is fueled by the ways in which they create a religious culture that is in clear tension with secular society (Ellingson, 2009). A third line of explanation emphasizes the organizational dynamics of megachurches that enhance their survival while at the same time bringing into question the survival prospects of the smaller churches near a particular megachurch. The organizational dynamics explanation would be consistent with how strategy scholars think of the advantages of economies of scale and scope. Megachurches, once established, continue to grow due to the failure of smaller churches that cannot offer the same services that megachurches can, or can’t offer them as efficiently. Because church income is donation driven, as people leave smaller churches, they have fewer donations, which result in fewer programs, which leads to more people leaving. Many of those who leave go to megachurches, which increase their size, leading to an increase in their donations and to more programming and so on (Chaves, 2006). Rational choice theory (Hout, Greeley, & Wild, 2001; Iannaccone, 1995) suggests that pluralism and choice leads to more religious membership and observance. In this line of analysis, the supply of religious choices will be tailored to the expectations of people who would demand them. The growth of megachurches can be understood as consistent with RCT in that their programmatic offerings
which are more numerous because of scale economies
are more consistent with the expectations of potential members. Our focus on megachurches as institutions allows us to focus on the role that the pastor of the institution plays as the institutional leader. While there is much work that examines institutions from the perspective of norms, rules, or logics (Greenwood et al., 2008), much less research examines the leaders of institutions (Washington, Boal, & Davis, 2008, but see as an exception the work of Kraatz & Moore, 2002). Understanding the role of megachurch pastor as institutional leader thus might help contribute to the broader literature on institutional development and change. The US

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religious context, precisely because it is so entrepreneurial, provides an excellent context for understanding the work of institutional leaders, of which megachurch pastors are exemplary examples.

INSTITUTIONAL WORK OF MEGACHURCH PASTORS: CREATING AND MAINTAINING CONNECTIONS A key challenge for pastors of churches is to balance the demands of their denominations with the wants and needs of the local church members. For megachurches this balance is harder to achieve due to the sheer number of members who belong to a megachurch and the lack of attachment that many members feel to denominations. Often many founding pastors bypass the denominational demands by “founding” a church that is unattached to any denomination (Willow Creek, for example). Alternatively, the pastor could make a strategic choice to de-emphasize the megachurch’s denominational affiliation. While there are many megachurches that are affiliated with denominations, we posit that megachurches tend to be nondenominational (or often loosely connected to a denomination) for several reasons. The first is that denominational attachments, as previously noted, have become weaker over time. For many potential church goers, the “brand” of a particular congregation is less important than the services
here broadly understood as not only worship, but also social activities and networks
that a particular congregation provides. In this respect nonaffiliated megachurches may be more strategically nimble than those needing to expend time and energy on maintaining connections with various denominational structures. The second reason is that while denominations provide resources, they also create constraints for institutional leaders such as megachurch pastors. Being responsive to local conditions is a key distinctive of the megachurch. There are a variety of decisions that megachurch pastors need to make: worship style, organizational structure, statements of belief, and so on. While there is some autonomy within denominations to make those decisions, it is not unlimited. Megachurch pastors may perceive that the services provided by denominational structures are not worth the loss of autonomy needed to adjust to local conditions. Finally, being freed from denominational constraints may provide more room for megachurch pastors to build their personal brands, a point to which we will return in discussing texts written by them. Here we note that institutional leadership may be harder to exercise in an environment of denominational constraint.

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One unique characteristic of megachurch pastors is that they tend to be more highly educated. From our sample of megachurches, the average megachurch pastor is male and approximately 50 years old. Seventy-two percent have a masters’ or a doctoral degree, 42% post master’s seminary degree, 31% a master of divinity degree, 18% a bachelors’ degree, 22% have bible college degree, and 10% have no degree. We think the high level of education of megachurch pastors influences their choice of practices to connect to their memberships. One-third of megachurch pastors are on TV of some sort and 44% are on the radio. One way to understand how megachurch pastors resolve the tension between denominational pressures and the needs and wants of their memberships is to view pastors as not just spiritual leaders of their congregations, but as institutional leaders (Selznick, 1957).

Pastors as Institutional Leaders It has been 50 years since Selznick published his seminal work Leadership in Administration. Many scholars have credited this work with ushering in discussions of institutions as “organizations infused with value.” However, not only did Selznick describe how organizations become institutions, he also described the characteristics of leaders of these organizations (Washington et al., 2008). After describing what Selznick means by institution, as opposed to organization, he returns to his primary objective of describing the role of institutional leaders in this process: “Most of this essay will be devoted to identifying and analyzing the chief functions of institutional leadership” (Selznick, 1957, p. 22). The institutional leader’s task is “the promotion and protection of values.” (Selznick, 1957, p. 28). By viewing pastors as institutional leaders, we view the megachurch pastor as a reconciliation between the view of megachurch pastors as entrepreneurs and the more deterministic view of megachurch pastors conforming to the pressures (or lack of pressures) stemming from their denominational mandates. Recently, authors have been calling attention to this middle ground of institutionalized action by introducing the concept of institutional work (Lawrence & Suddaby, 2006). Within analyses of institutional work, the concern is on how institutions maintain their status and legitimacy in the face of their own institutionalized environments. We argue that the megachurch pastor’s role in maintaining the legitimacy of their church’s doctrine (which may or may not be affiliated with a denomination) warrants renewed attention.

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Thus, institutional leaders hold responsibilities as “guardian” (Selznick, 1957, p. 94) with respect to the broader institution in ways that normal organizational leaders do not. As Selznick (1957, p. 4) notes: “The argument of this essay is quite simply stated: The executive becomes a statesman as he makes the transition from administrative management to institutional leadership.” We proffer that the megachurch pastor qualifies as the institutional leader in the purest sense of a “guardian” with sufficient power to “defend the values entrusted to [it]” (Selznick, 1957, p. 94). Thus, the megachurch pastor, in large part, substitutes for the institutional work that would normally be done by denominational structures and traditions. His or her legitimacy essentially makes the particular megachurch legitimate. Of course, the reverse is true as well: a decline in the legitimacy of the megachurch pastor (often occurring through some sort of sexual or financial scandal) leads to a decline in the megachurch’s legitimacy as well. Selznick suggests that leading an institution is: far more than the capacity to mobilize personal support; it is more than the maintenance of equilibrium through the routine solution of everyday problems; it is the function of the leader-statesman
whether of a nation or a private association
to define the ends of group existence, to design an enterprise distinctively adapted to these ends, and to see that the design becomes a living reality. These tasks are not routine; they call for continuous self-appraisal on the part of the leaders; and they may require only a few critical decisions over a long period of time. (Selznick 1957, p. 37)

Institutional leaders must be concerned with internal and external audiences. To internal audiences, institutional leaders communicate the values of the institution that the leaders hope permeate all members of the field. To external audiences, institutional leaders must maintain the image of the institution in order to retain legitimacy (Basu, Dirsmith, & Gupta, 1999). It is well known that agencies such as accreditation organizations face selection pressures to maintain legitimacy among their constituents (Durand & McGuire, 2005), for example. A similar dynamic exists for institutional leaders. Kraatz and Moore’s (2002) study examines the role of leadership migration in the institutional changes of liberal arts college education. They argued that except for a few theoretical statements about the role of leadership in institutional change and the rare empirical exception (Hirsch, 1986; Leblebici, Salancik, Copay, & King, 1991), the role of leadership in institutional change has been neglected in organizational research over the past 40 years. Drawing from Selznick’s statement that a critical component of institutionalization is the selection of leaders from a homogeneous pool of candidates, Kraatz and Moore (2002, p. 123) examine three mechanisms of how leadership changes lead to institutional change: (1) knowledge

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transfer and interorganizational learning; (2) introduction of new mental models and assumptions; and (3) attenuation or replacement of institutional values. Kraatz and Moore find support for their hypotheses regarding the factors that allow leadership migration to impact organizational change. Other scholars have also contributed to a better understanding of institutional leadership. In a study examining the role of CEOs, Tengblad (2004) builds upon Selznick’s conception of the institutional leader by defining the role of the CEO as managing internal and external expectations. In a replication of work by Carlson (Carlson, 1951), Tengblad observed eight CEOs for a total of 159 days. He directly followed CEOs around for 26 days (more than 300 hours) and had the CEOs conduct selfrecordings of themselves for 133 days. Tengblad focused his study on understanding how CEOs handled financial expectations. One of his key findings was the increasing use of organizational culture as a management and communication tool, noting that “messages about the desired state of affairs (formulated, for instance, as ‘ten commandments,’ ‘cornerstones,’ ‘business mission’ or ‘corporate vision’) were transmitted through booklets and brochures in most companies. During the observations, the CEOs made numerous efforts to spread these messages” (Tengblad, 2004, p. 592). Tengblad argued that the CEOs in his study often resorted to using the mission of the organization as a way of communicating related financial expectations. The CEOs did not just want to paint a “rosy picture” but wanted to demonstrate that they were doing all they could to improve their organizations’ financial outlooks. Internally, Tengblad found that the CEOs used a variety of assessments to evaluate the senior managers. These assessments created a “carrot and stick” (2004, p. 596) approach to managing internal expectations. Similar to Selznick’s original conclusions, Tengblad concluded that the CEOs in his study spent enormous energy in managing the external expectations of their organizations. However, this management process did not automatically lead to changes to the organization. We extend Tengblad’s (2004) approach to understanding what leaders do by focusing on the text that they write.

THE PRODUCTION OF TEXTS AS AN INSTITUTIONAL MAINTENANCE PROCESS We suggest that one way in which megachurch pastors tell the stories of their churches (and by extension, themselves) is through the production of texts such as books. In telling their stories, books written by megachurch

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pastors enhance their legitimacy of both pastor and church. Rao (2002) also identifies strong individuals as “evangelists” for a practice, alluding to the significance of a singular powerful actor who drives the legitimation of a practice much like a religion or ideology. Rao’s terminology most aptly signifies an important component of institutional leadership as it relates to megachurch pastors: the strong adherence to a set of principles that drive the actions of the individual. These principles (among others) serve to identify and construct the external version of a pastor
an individual who utilizes a variety of practices and mechanisms to support an individual and collective belief system. Maguire, Hardy, & Lawrence (2004) address the idea of social movement actors as institutional entrepreneurs in their work on the healthcare industry. The authors find that one of the three critical activities that institutional entrepreneurs practice is the use of discursive and political strategies to build support and legitimacy for an idea or practice. In a recent dissertation, Patterson (2007) extends the idea of institutional leader as evangelist in her examination of D. D. Palmer and his efforts to establish chiropractic medicine as a legitimate medical discipline. She examined how Palmer created Palmer Chiropractic College, and other educational and associational organizations, to gain legitimacy for chiropractic medicine. Her work shows the link between the founding of chiropractic colleges and professional associations and the growing support and cognitive legitimacy of chiropractic medicine. Further research by Hardy and colleagues (Hardy, Lawrence, & Grant, 2005) shows that the creation and ongoing production of discourse leads to a collective identity among organizations. The production of texts, then, can be identified as one of the ways in which institutional entrepreneurs achieve two of the three types of work identified by Lawrence and Suddaby (2006): creating and maintaining institutions. These findings lead us to examine how the production of texts, in this case, writing books, is utilized by megachurch pastors to create and maintain their institutional identity. A megachurch pastor’s own life story thus enters into the vision formation process along with the life story of the organization itself and its members. This would be consistent with how institutional leaders bring themselves to the institutions that they lead (Washington et al., 2008). For example, when Jack Welch was the head of General Electric, he taught a course on Leadership and Values seven times a year to high-potential middle managers. In addition, courses were taught by the vice-chairman and the CFO. In fact, corporate leaders taught 60% of the senior-level courses, with Welch often standing in front of the group (Greiner, 2002).

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Drawing from the work in institutional theory, we argue that megachurch pastors perform two tasks to maintain legitimacy for their church, which leads to increasing attendance. First, megachurch pastors can choose to connect to existing denominations or to create a new one. Consistent with the growth of megachurches has been two other phenomena. The first is the growth in the number of denominations. Some growth is due to splits within the existing denomination (such as our Baptist example earlier); however, other growth is due to the creation of new denominations. Denominations in institutional terms would represent the guiding logic of the institution (Thornton, 2002). Within the Protestant tradition, some estimate there are thousands of different denominations. These denominations tend to fall within two broad categories: mainline and evangelical. However, due to the spread of African American protestant churches separately from white US Protestant churches, some denominations could be mainline among the white churches, but evangelical among the African American churches. The second phenomenon that has evolved along with the megachurch is the rise of churches that call themselves nondenominational. Lakewood Church, for example, would be a nondenominational (also called independent) church and while offering a statement of faith on its website, does not associate with any of the established Protestant denominations. While the first task of a local church to maintain legitimacy is the choice to affiliate with a broader denomination, the second task is to connect to the membership. Pastors can choose to adopt new practices such as websites or blogs, or utilize connection practices that have been proven sources of support such as television or radio ministry as a means of broadcasting their services. However, new practices or organizational forms are often contested and surrounded by significant conflict. They can be opposed or even stigmatized by the status quo (Hudson, 2008). The challenge for the megachurch pastor as they attempt to connect to their members is to avoid the traps of becoming a Celebrity CEO (Rindova, Pollock, & Hayward, 2006). Appearing on TV, radio, or the internet could allow the pastor to connect to her membership, but it also pushes the pastor into the spotlight, which might create unwanted attention (see, e.g., the unwanted attention on Jeremiah Wright, pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ, which is a Chicago megachurch with over 6,000 members, after a YouTube post that shared his views were brought to light once one of his members
Presidential candidate Barack Obama
was questioned about his pastor’s views). While a pastor’s aims might be noble, the more successful the pastor, the more this person might be written about in the media and become

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a person of celebrity. This effect could be similar to the recent research on celebrity CEOs showing that while having a celebrity CEO does provide short-term economic benefits to the firm, over time the relationship between CEO celebrity status and firm performance is negative (Wade, Porac, Pollock, & Graffin, 2006). For the rest of this essay, we examine one of the practices that pastors of megachurches are using to maintain the connection to their membership: writing books. The enduring values, expectations, and responsibilities that maintaining coherence produces for the organization
and which are manifested in its vision
show the opportunity that institutional leadership has in defining an organization’s approach to future circumstances. Although all individual members are “coauthors” of an organization’s life story (Czarniawska, 1997, p. 14), powerful individuals, such as megachurch pastors, can produce narratives for which the rest of the organization is more of a passive audience. Control over storytelling and the way members interpret a church’s path over time allows control over the vision formation process, and should significantly influence the character and effectiveness of church’s mission. Although many individuals may possess experience relevant to the development and evaluation of past mental models of the organization, institutional leaders have a unique position from which to influence this critical feedback mechanism in the vision formation process. Leader background and experience from the past is influential in developing descriptive mental models and leader experience with those models as they confront the demands of current organizational situations that influence prescriptive mental models. Texts are one way in which language is used to blur the boundaries of organizational fields and the logics that govern them (Rao, Monin, & Durand, 2003). Language is how practices, events, values, meaning, and ideas are diffused and outcomes are measured. Changes in language or attributing status to certain types of language are a way that new practices are legitimized and logics are introduced (Suddaby & Greenwood, 2005). These changes can be purposive rhetoric or can be the natural result of existing logics that also have claim on an organizational field. Identifying the importance of texts in institutional approaches is also consistent with the new discursive approach to institutional analysis (Phillips & Hardy, 2002; Phillips, Lawrence, & Hardy, 2004). This line of research has emphasized the important role that narratives (Zilber, 2009), rhetoric (Suddaby & Greenwood, 2005), and discursive spaces (Hardy & Maguire, 2010; Maguire & Hardy, 2009) play in the creation, maintenance, and disruption of institutional arrangements.

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What Megachurch Pastors Write about By way of illustration, we focus on one specific type of text: books written by megachurch pastors. There is a growing and changing phenomenon of pastors of megachurches not only writing religious books, but also writing religious books that are becoming best sellers. Here we see the connection between the megachurch pastor and the success of his megachurch: “with the capacity to leverage effectively the organizational resources and technological tools of our time
through educational programs, pastoral associations, and a wealth of materials (including best sellers such as Rick Warren’s (2002) The Purpose-Driven Life)
these churches are in a position to alter the social economic, and political circumstances of the communities in which they reside” (Karnes et al., 2007, p. 261). Our concern here is that pastors of megachurches produce texts showing evidence of their organizational and management experiences, not only their spiritual concerns. This allows megachurch pastors to connect to existing supporting mechanisms (or create new ones) in an effort to connect the church’s growing membership base as well as define to an external audience the mission and character of the church. Thus, such books serve simultaneous secular and religious purposes. Table 2 presents the descriptive statistics on the pastors of the largest 20 protestant churches as measured by the Hartford Institute for Religious Research Database on Megachurches. As indicated by the data, the top 20 churches are very large (average church membership of 20,000). Many of these churches have satellite churches or multiple campuses. Out of these 20 pastors, 17 have authored at least one book, 5 have authored a selfproclaimed best seller, and 3 have authored a New York Times best seller. In addition, most of these pastors have their own website (e.g., Joel Osteen has http://www.joelosteen.com; he is pastor of Lakewood Church, which is www.lakewood.cc) on which they sell their books directly. On the uses of Table 2.

Summary Statistics of Top 20 Megachurches.

Average size of church Number nondenominational Number Baptist Affiliation Number that have authored a book Number with a self-proclaimed “best seller” Number with New York Times Best Seller Have their own website

19,954 7 7 17 5 3 8

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other social media technologies (Facebook, Twitter, blog), virtually all pastors used these technologies. This consistent output of discourse complements numerous book publications by these same pastors. In fact, many of the largest megachurches are led by people who have also penned best sellers. Out of the broader set of megachurch pastors, we have identified 19 pastors that have selfidentified their published books as best sellers. One such pastor, Reverend T. D. Jakes, whose church “The Potter’s House” has over 30,000 members, has written over 30 books. We find the co-evolution of megachurches and pastors’ writings to be a fruitful area of research to explore institutional maintenance and improvisation and modifying strategies (Battilana & D’Aunno, 2009). Our goal is to examine the books that they have written to see how has the text changed as a response to the changes of the megachurch (Table 3). Furthermore, many of the authors have a wide breadth of subjects that they write about, from the intuitive topics of religion and self-help to the Table 3. Table of Books Written by Pastors of Megachurches. Pastor Name

Church Attendance

Church Deonomination

Number of Books Written

Joel Osteen Thomas Dexter (TD) Jakes Sr. Craig Groeschel Ed Young Jr.

43,000 30,000

Nondenominational Nondenominational

Over 20 books Over 30 books

26,776 24,000

7 books 14 books

Bill Hybels Andy Stanley Homer Edwin Young

23,400 23,377 22,723

Richard “Rick” Warren Greg Laurie Joel Carl Hunter Jentezen Franklin Mark Balmer Robert Holmes Bell Jr. Max Lucado Timothy J. Keller John Ortberg, Jr. Rick Joyner Francis Chan R. Kent Hughes

22,000 15,000 12,000 10,000 10,000 10,000 8,300 4,000 4,000 2,500 2,300 2,000

Evangelical Christian Southern Baptist Convention Nondenominational Nondenominational Southern Baptist Convention Nondenominational Calvery Nondenominational Pentecostal Calvery Nondenominational Nondenominational Presbyterian Presbyterian Nondenominational Nondenominational Nondenominational

Over 50 books 16 books 10 books 1 book 1 book 1 book 2 books 2 books 2 books Over 50 books 1 book 3 books 1 book 2 books 1 book

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less obvious topics of organization and leadership. In fact many of the best sellers have several commonalities with more traditional business literature, including motivation, change, and leadership concepts. For example, books such as Courageous Leadership by Bill Hybels, pastor of Willow Creek Community Church in Chicago, IL, contains topics such as “The Power of Vision,” “Developing Emerging Leaders,” and “The Sources of Decision Making.” But these business topics are not limited to books that happen to be focused on traditional business topics. In Your Best Life Now: 7 Steps to Living at Your Full Potential, by Joel Osteen, pastor of Lakewood Church in Houston, the author includes chapters on having a vision, developing strategic goals, and setting appropriate expectations. In fact, among the pastors of the top ten largest megachurches in the United States, six of them have books with topics that include traditional business concepts. Another example of the information provided in books that speak to business rather than religious logic is the book by bestselling author, Joel Osteen, called Be a People Builder. As noted previously, Osteen is the pastor of Lakewood church in Houston, Texas, which boasts a nondenominational congregation of more than 43,000 people. This title and the information contained in the book itself are indicative of leadership, organizational behavior, human resources, or numerous other business topics. Another example of the inclusion of organizational language is Rick Warren’s The Purpose-Driven Life. Warren is the pastor of Saddleback Church in California, which has a membership of more than 30,000 people. His best seller not only discussed spiritual truths, but also discussed strategies for individuals with regard to how they can become more effective in other parts of their lives. In examining these texts, we found an overwhelming number had language that supported both a spiritual or religious logic as well as a professional or business logic. Many of the books were intended as teaching manuals meant to provide guidance to pastors or other church leaders. T. D. Jakes’ best seller, Reposition Yourself: Living Life without Limits, discusses goal-setting, careers, financial management and even branding. Ed Young’s book, Sexperiment, tries to address the notion that sexual relationships and God do not mix. Jentezen Franklin has books on subjects ranging from fasting principles to how to be the person you want to be. What we find interesting is that most of the megachurch book authors come from very large nondenominational churches. This echoes the theory that megachurches are created largely in response to a need for community, not just religion. Further, the larger the megachurch, the greater the likelihood and need for the megachurch pastor to engage in personal branding

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as a means of building the megachurch
especially as nondenominational megachurches do not benefit from the built-in legitimacy offered by established denominations. Table 4 provides summary analyses of a database of megachurches that we complied from the Hartford Institute of Religious Research (http://hirr. hartsem.edu/). The database lists the churches in the United States with an average weekly attendance of at least 2,000. Starting with this list of churches, we have searched for some additional information on the pastor and the church. Table 4 breaks down our lists of 1,254 churches by two main classifications: affiliated with a denomination or nondenominational. What we see is that those churches that identify as nondenominational are more likely to have a pastor with a college degree, write a book, and have a television show. Table 5 provides a summary analysis of that same database, but instead of splitting the data in terms of denominational affiliation, we have split the data in terms of the race (black or white) of the pastor. While it is somewhat challenging to identify the race of the pastor, we had two coders look at the picture of the pastor, read his biography, look for passages that would signal that either he was black, or if he was pastor of a “black” congregation, as well as read other available information (Wikipedia, for example) on the pastor. Table 5 suggests that black pastors are more likely Table 4.

Summary Statistics of Megachurches by Denominational Affiliation.

Variables Number of churches Size Book TV show Pastor has a degree

Affiliated with a Denomination

Nondenominational

911 3,516 42.60% 12% 30%

343 4,443 54.50% 21% 45.50%

Table 5.

Summary Statistics of Megachurches Divided by Race of Pastor.

Variables

White

Black

Number of churches Size Book TV show Pastor has a degree

1,014 3,650 42% 12% 32%

240 4,270 62.50% 25.40% 44.10%

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to write a book (as compared to white pastors) have a television show, and have a college degree. Both tables provide some insights into the types of pastors who lead megachurches and how the different internal characteristics (race) and external supporting mechanisms (denomination) are connected to the practice of writing texts.

CONCLUSION In this brief essay, our goal was to illuminate a growing organizational religious form
the megachurch
and some of the institutional elements associated with this form. This type of church is characterized as unique in terms of its sheer size, style of worship, and ancillary offerings (bookstore, cafe´, recreation facilities, etc.). In addition, we also suggest that megachurches are an interesting research location in terms of megachurch pastor characteristics, as well as the connection between megachurches and their denominational affiliations. Using insights from institutional theory, specifically the concepts of institutional leadership (Selznick, 1957; Washington et al., 2008), and institutional work (Lawrence & Suddaby, 2006; Lawrence, Suddaby, & Leca, 2009), we suggest that pastors of megachurches have adopted the practice of writing books as a way of reaffirming the megachurch organization as an institution. These books not only help a pastor to connect to his internal members, but also help the pastor communicate to an external audience. An additional insight from our essay speaks to the nature of institutional environments: namely, the connection between pastor and book writing might be influenced by the denomination of the church. We argue that the less denominational influence over a megachurch, the more likely the pastor is to conduct extra religious practices such as writing books or having a television show. We argue that the practice of producing texts is a legitimacy-seeking activity that pastors can engage in so as to appease institutional audiences and to buttress the legitimacy of the megachurch itself. A further possibility is that megachurches not affiliated with a particular denomination may have more need to communicate the values of the organization as being consistent with the values expected from churches generally, a requirement of the technical environment. While our essay represents a start to understanding megachurches and megachurch pastor activities, much more can be done. First, more research

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could be done to examine the geographical distribution of megachurches. Similar to the work that examines technology clusters (Powell, White, Koput, & Owen-Smith, 2005), we think research could examine the connection between megachurches and the different cultural regions of the United States. One could also extend this work toward a more global focus. Second, research could examine more deeply the production of the texts of megachurches. This could range from more predictive models (pastor characteristics, church characteristics) as to who writes a book, to discourse analysis of the actual texts themselves. Lastly, institutional theory would have much to say about the creation and legitimation of the megachurch itself. We started our study with the assumption that this institution is already legitimate. Similar to Washington’s work on the creation and evolution of the US Collegiate Athletic Field (Washington & Ventresca, 2005, 2008), scholars could trace the institutional-historical development of megachurches. Similar to the explosion of studies that examine sport, healthcare, or internet phenomena as a way of testing various organizational theories (Wolfe et al., 2005), we think that as an empirical setting, megachurches can extend the growing intersection of institutional work and identity (Creed, Dejordy, & Lok, 2010), institutions and emotions (Voronov & Vince, 2012) and organizational rituals (Dacin, Munir, & Tracey, 2010). While Creed’s work examined the perceived identity contradiction of being a gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender minister, examining megachurches provides a lens into understanding how pastors navigate a new identity of “Protestant Christian” for their mega-congregations. While Dacin et al. (2010) examine how rituals and traditions enable institutional maintenance work, megachurches provide an interesting setting to examine the creation and maintenance (and destruction) of extremely institutionalized rituals and traditions. While the conversation connecting emotions to institutions has mostly been conceptual or theoretical, the field of religion provides a fascinating empirical setting to examine how this connection works, is created, and potentially disrupted. Similarly, one dimension where many denominations vary is in the role of emotional expression in the church service. Thus, the variation across denominations might also be a place to explore how different institutional arrangements support or destroy “emotional work.” Lastly, the newness of the megachurch allows researchers to gather longitudinal data to test theories about institutional development and work. We encourage research that fleshes out what we know about this institutional form.

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PART IV RELIGION AND INSTITUTIONAL THEORY

DIVINE INSTITUTION: MAX WEBER’S VALUE SPHERES AND INSTITUTIONAL THEORY Roger Friedland ABSTRACT This article examines Max Weber’s theory of value spheres as a basis for a polytheistic religious sociology of institutional life. Weber’s approach implies institutional theory as a form of comparative religion. Two problems present themselves. If the values of the spheres are to be considered as “gods,” they do not align easily with Weber’s sociology of religion. Given that love was central both as a driver and a constituent in Weber’s understanding of salvation religions, it also implies that love be incorporated into our theorizing of institutional life, something entirely absent in the way we think about enduring forms of social organization. Taking the second seriously may enable us to fabricate a solution to the first. Keywords: Value spheres; Weber; institutional logic; institutional substance; religious sociology, love

Religion and Organization Theory Research in the Sociology of Organizations, Volume 41, 217
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The tomb of Cardinal Richelieu at the chapel at the University of the Sorbonne carries the material marks of warring gods hovering over the death of King Louis XIII’s first, or “prime,” Minister. The female figure at his feet, representing the worldly sciences, weeps at his passing, while the female figure at his head, representing piety, smiles at his imminent heavenly ascent. But as it happened, other more ferocious gods would later seek to efface the corporeal site anchoring this already vexing conflict. The tomb contains only the cardinal’s head as his body was disinterred during the French revolution, when this site of learning under the dual authority of crown and church
two hated powers
was closed down by the authority of the people, and the chapel transformed into a temple dedicated to a new goddess: “reason.” The revolutionaries anyway wanted to get access to the lead inside the casket for their weaponry. The body was discarded and the mummified head stolen and only returned to the casket in 1866, not a poor sign of the dualisms that oriented the human sciences for the next century. A cardinal’s hat hangs in the air by a thread over the casket.

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The divine is being instituted anew. God’s followers stand not only at the city’s gates; they occupy the rostrum, the office, and the barracks. Revelation has become a reason of state. Around the world new fusions of religion and the nation-state have emerged as bases of collective identity, governmental authority, and state law. To many they appear as the resurgence of archaic forms devoid of reason, deviations from our taken-forgranted narrative of progress and increasing individual liberty. I want rather to take them not only as an instance through which to theorize institution, but as an occasion to recognize that our historical movement may be back to the future, that institution is and has always been religious. I want you to lie down
if just for a little while
in Cardinal Richelieu’s grave, to think and feel the gods who war over your body and the meaning of your death. Over the last several years, I have tried to understand the logic of practice of social movements seeking to transform the nation-state into a vehicle of divine purpose. Rather than build from the material and political interests or value orientations of genders, classes, status groups, or communities, the social as an agonistic game between groups, I have explored these politicized religions as attempted shifts in institutional architecture, efforts to extend the institutional logic of religion into the sovereign nationstate (Friedland, 2001, 2002, 2007, 2011a, 2011b). My effort to understand politicized religions as an institutional politics brought me to Max Weber. Originally I turned to Weber because the movements I was studying
in the United States, Iran, Egypt, Turkey, Israel, and India
seemed to me thoroughly modern, not traditional, community-based reactive mobilizations, but politicized, individualist ascetic self-disciplinings that were likewise a central reference point in Weber’s sociology of religions of world-mastery. But Weber’s call turned out to be more catholic than that: It demands a rethinking of institution itself. Religion is often understood as a sociological mirror. Weber rather makes the social into a religious mirror, pointing to the religious nature of all social institutions. Weber, who famously proclaimed the modern world’s “disenchantment,” asks us to think of the social order as composed of a multiplicity of “value spheres,” each a domain of a “god.” For Weber institutions are religious in the sense that they bind their adherents through faith, sacrifice, and passion. The article first lays out Weber’s theory of value spheres, its relation to what he terms value rationality, as a kind of religious sociology, one that applies to modern science as much as it does to premodern monotheisms, to professionals as much as priests and other kinds of religious specialists. If we take Weber’s god-talk seriously,

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institutional theory becomes a genre of comparative religions, and a political one at that. Weber’s institutional polytheism requires a political account of institutional contradictions between “divine” domains, contradictions that are often latent and obscured from view. But what kind of god do we use to think institution? The second task of the article is a hypothetical exercise, exploring the ways in which Weber’s value spheres take on the character of world-mastering, salvation religions centered around a loving and loved divinity. Drawing from the prophetic, as opposed to the priestly, tradition, for Weber love was an essential constituent of institution, even in the rationalized, loveless domain of mass politics. Nor was this love neatly hived off from bodily desire; for Weber there was an erotic basis to the formation and enactment of religious values. God, love, and erotics: This interlocked Weberian troika opens up several frontiers for institutional theory. The third and final task of the article is to begin to draw out the implications of the inner architecture of Weber’s thought for thinking about institutions in general and institutional logics in particular. I argue that they point to the possibility of an institutional theory that on the one hand continues to move beyond the subject
object, the ideal
material, and transcendent
immanent dualities that have ordered social theory, and on the other, move toward the variable supplementarity of instrumental and value rationalities. Not only does such an institutionalism
by its very nature
demand a rich and robust understanding of agency, it suggests the possibility of an institutional phenomenology that is homologous to that of lovers in objectless domains far from those in which one worships a god. It also provokes the question of the conditions of possibility of such love as well as its institutionally variable necessity. It may sound like a trite confection, but I wish to argue that God and love
two categories subject to endless sociological reduction
are immanent in institution. In this article I take up Max Weber’s institutional polytheism as an exercise in religious sociology and a potential resource for a theory of institutional logic. Weber’s work implies that a theory of institution might be the basis for a religious sociology of passionate fields.

WEBER’S RELIGIOUS SOCIOLOGY OF VALUE SPHERES Translated in English as “Religious Rejections of the World and Their Directions,” Weber introduces his article as a contribution to a “typology

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and sociology of rationalism” (Weber, 1958d, p. 324). Weber used the “motives” out of which and the “directions” in which religions rejected the world as a vehicle to develop a theory of what he called the modern world’s “value spheres.” The paradox is that by examining the religious modalities of worldly abnegation Weber not only developed an institutional portrait of the world but also conceptualized that world as religious. Not unlike Martin Heidegger’s phenomenology or Carl Schmitt’s state theory, Weber used a religious rubric for understanding secular world-making. Weber paradoxically constructed the worldhood of the modern world through the divergent ways in which prophetically grounded religious communities rejected the world, a world that is itself, it turns out, thoroughly “religious” and made more so by that rejection. These religious rejections of the world follow what Weber termed a value rationality, a conscious orientation toward salvation enacted through commitment to ethical norms of universal brotherhood in opposition to the “possession of … ‘things wordly’” (Weber, 1958d, p. 328).1 Weber distinguished instrumental and value rationality, zweck and wert rationalitet respectively. Rationality refers to the actor’s subjective orientation toward the act, not the act itself. In the former, actors are instrumentally and cognitively oriented to observable external objects and persons through which they seek to serve their ends or “purposes”; in the latter they are expressively oriented to unobservable values. Instrumental rationality involves an orientation toward the constraints of an external objective world that conditions one’s success in obtaining an actor’s “own rationally pursued and calculated ends” (Weber, 1978, p. 24). Instrumental rationality entails a choice of means in order to obtain “purposes” extrinsic to those means and a reasoned, subjective assessment of the “urgency” or “marginal utility” of those purposes or ends (Weber, 1978, p. 26). Value rationality, on the other hand, involves an orientation toward an internally binding subjective value, to a “cause,” of which the act is presupposed to be an expression or “relevant” to its “possession” (Alexander, 1983, pp. 22
29; Weber, 1958b, pp. 151
154). Value rationality entails subjective judgment in the “formulation of ultimate values” and the “consistently planned orientation” of the “detailed course” of one’s actions “to these values” (Weber, 1978, p. 25).2 Rather than orientation toward the consequences of action, value-rational action is “determined by a conscious belief in the value for its own sake of some ethical, aesthetic, religious, or other form of behavior independently of its prospects of success” (Weber, 1978, p. 25). Actions are taken for their own sake because the action is

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understood to be an enactment of a value, a value experienced by the actor as though it made “unconditional demands” on him (Weber, 1978, p. 25). Instrumental and value rationality: In the former, actors are instrumentally and cognitively oriented to observable external objects and persons through which they seek to serve their own ends or purposes. In the latter they are passionately and expressively oriented to unobservable values they have internalized and in whose unconditional requirements they believe. In the former actors are oriented to observable and determinate consequences, to causal relations; in the latter to a value from which “practical stands” can “be derived with inner consistency” (Weber, 1958b, p. 151) or “a way of life” which actors presuppose has an inherent relationship to the possession of that value (Weber, 1958b, pp. 153
154). The one aligns purpose and consequences, the other value and acts: Weber thereby splits the rational pursuit of consequences without respect to value from the realization of value without regard to consequences. Value rationality is regionalized into what Weber calls “value spheres,” relatively autonomous domains of action oriented toward determinate, incommensurable, ultimate values: kinship, religion, art, politics, capitalist markets, erotic love, science. Weber’s value spheres have an institutional logic. Each value sphere, he argues, has a “logical or teleological consistency,” a consistency that exercises a “power over man” (Weber, 1958d, p. 324). The logical is driven by intellectual elaboration, whereas the teleological is located in the relationship
a “sublimation” or a “direct appropriation” Weber calls it
between practice and value, in the case of religion, for example, between magic, orgy, contemplation, asceticism on the one hand, and various religious or “holy” states on the other, which are “meant to take possession of the entire man and of his lasting fate” (Weber, 1958c, pp. 278
279). Within the redemptive logic of Christianity, one pursues a “habitude” that assures the primordial “holy” state: salvation (Weber, 1958d, p. 327). In value rationality, norm follows value. For Weber the legitimacy of the norm is derivative from the judgment of the validity of the value, with its determinate content (Weber, 1975, p. 182). Values, for Weber, are not ethical imperatives, nor are they normative demands, nor can they be derived from either of these.3 Whatever the interpretation of the basis and the nature of the validity of the ethical imperatives, it is certain that from them, as from the norms for the concretely conditioned conduct of the individual, cultural values cannot be unambiguously derived as being normatively desirable; it can do so the less, the more inclusive are the values concerned. (Weber, 1949, p. 57)

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One can deduce norms from values, but never can one derive the value of a value from the norm. Norms, practices, behavioral or aesthetic forms, are contingently and conventionally linked to values. Values are actually ideas about values, or what Weber calls “value ideas” (Weber, 1949, p. 56, 53; see also Schlucter, 1996, pp. 62
66).4 Values refer to “ultimate standards of value,” the idea of which appears to be “valid” to those who conduct their conduct according to them and to whose life they give “meaning and significance” (Weber, 1949, pp. 54
55). For Weber there is a dialectical tension between the two rationalisms: the teleological and the logical. Teleological rationalization leads to patterns of enactment, to maxims and norms, a “way of life,” presumed, by convention, to have an inherent relation to the central value. This enables and is fed by a logical rationalization leading to the absolutization of values and their autonomization from practice, the conscious elaboration of content independent of any particular organizational form or rite. Intellectual rationalization of religion, for example, not only provides “metaphysical meanings” to “religious actions” (Weber, 1958c, p. 278), it contributes to the autonomization of religious values from practice, the movement from ritualism toward “religious absolutism,” thereby undercutting the determinant content of religion’s teleological rationality. What began as sacred “conventions” are transformed into an “ethic based on inner religious faith” (Weber, 1978, p. 578). While such abstraction and autonomization of value make possible systematic deduction of norms, it also ultimately unhinges value from any determinate practice. Such systematization breaks through the stereotypization of individual norms in order to bring about a meaningful total relationship of the pattern of life to the goal of religious salvation. Moreover, an inner religious faith does not recognize any sacred law, but only a “sacred inner religious state” that may sanction different maxims of conduct in different situations, and which is thus elastic and susceptible of accommodation. (Weber, 1978, p. 578)

Indeed, Weber argues that: All sublimated relations of salvation have focused upon the meaning alone, not upon the form of the things and actions relevant for salvation. Salvation religions have devalued form as contingent, as something creaturely and distracting from meaning. (Weber, 1958d, p. 341)

The value rationality of religion thus finds its ultimate locus in the subject, in the purity of his intention, his “inner disposition,” the intensity of his investment in the value, not in any consequences of his actions (Brubaker, 1984, pp. 76
77). In religion value rationalization moves

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toward subjectification on the one hand and toward idealization on the other, toward “inward sacred values” and an absolutist abstraction of the deity, divorced from any particular regime of practice (Weber, 1958d, p. 328, 330, 341). In the arc of Weber’s historical sociology of religion value ideas ultimately marginalize the importance of particular practices, thereby subordinating the teleological to the logical, norm to value, deontology to ontology. The rational and the irrational, outward reason and inward faith, are tied one to the other. This value absolutism, this ethical intellectualism, that emerged when religion became “book-religion and doctrine” was what enabled prophets to challenge priests (Weber, 1958d, p. 351). Charisma and prophecy thus hinge on rationalization, on the autonomization of meaning from practice, from hierarchy, from organization, from power. It is the indeterminacy between value and norm that both allows for charismatic, prophetic challenge and requires inward faith. Outward rationality
in an intellectually and practically rational value sphere
contains the basis for the development of an inward irrationality, an identification with the value beyond reason, upon which it depends for its operation as an autonomous sphere (Weber, 1958d, p. 328). It is this gap between value and norm that internally
not in just in response to exogenous shock, distributive conflict or institutional failure, but within the very operation of a value sphere
also affords space for transformations in regimes of practice, for what institutional theorists might term “institutional entrepreneurship” (Battilana, Leca and Boxenbaum, 2009).5 The very lawfulness of a value sphere is constituted in such a way that affords its transformation. Not just salvation religion, but all value rationalities are religious. Value rationalities are socially grounded in “value spheres” or “life-spheres, each of which is governed by different laws” (Weber 1958a, p. 123, 1958d, pp. 323
324, 328). Judgment of the “validity of such values,” Weber writes, “is a matter of faith” (Weber, 1949, p. 55). Like Kant’s categorical imperative which rests on the autonomy of will, value rationality depends on autonomous, conscious judgment independent of its relationship to external objects, but unlike the categorical imperative, there is no rational ground for this value judgment and its universalization as law (Rutgers & Scheurs, 2006). Religious values can neither ground themselves in reason nor the senses. The value rationality of religion depends on intellectual unreason. There is absolutely no “unbroken” religion working as a vital force which is not compelled at some point to demand the credo non quod, sed quia absurdum
the “sacrifice of the intellect.” (Weber, 1958d, p. 352)

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A religious person receives the meaning of the world not through intellectual abstraction, nor through his senses, but by “reception,” by “virtue of a charisma of illumination” (Weber, 1958d, pp. 352
353). Every value sphere hinges
in its formation, its defense and extension, its differentiation and elaboration
on such irrational illumination. No value sphere can justify the ultimate value upon which it depends. Each depends on an intellectual sacrifice. This is clear even in Weber’s understanding of science. Science is a domain of apparently instrumental
or zweck
rationality, a motor of disenchantment, literally of de-magication, and calculability. Not only, Weber argues, is the scientific field rent by internal contradictions
promoting mediocrities, valuing pedagogy over the production of knowledge, a domain premised on an endless transcendence of the truth value of one’s knowledge, it cannot scientifically ground the value of science. Truth is like a messiah who, if it does not tarry, at least will never arrive. The nonscientific presuppositions of science are that logic and experimental method produce truth and that this truth is worth knowing. As Weber wrote “[S]cientific truth is only that which claims validity for all who seek truth” (Weber, 1949, p. 84). The capacity of norms, or “rules,” of scientific thought to bind one’s practice depends on that valuation. Science cannot calculate the value of calculability that it is worth knowing the laws of “cosmic events as far as science can construe them” (Weber, 1958b, pp. 143
144).6 Thus science, like all value spheres, requires an exceptional source, an enchantment, “a strange intoxication,” a devotion to a god, a faith, indeed in the case of science, what Weber calls, invoking Plato, a “mania” (Weber, 1958b, p. 136). Listen to what Socrates has to say about mania in Plato’s Phaedrus: …[S]ome of our greatest blessings come from madness, when it is granted as a divine gift. For instance, the prophetess at Delphi and the priestesses at Dodona have done Greece a lot of good
not only individuals, but whole communities
in their madness, but little or nothing when they are in their right minds. (Plato, 2002, p. 26 [244b])

Hence, a calling for science requires a passion for and a belief in the value of scientific truth, independent of its chances of realization. This passion is no mere source of legitimacy. It is critical, Weber argues, for the inspiration necessary for science to advance. “Both, enthusiasm and work, and above all both of them jointly, can entice the idea” (Weber, 1958b, p. 136). Regarding the calling for science, Weber says: “Without this strange intoxication, ridiculed by every outsider; without this passion … without this, you have no calling for science and you should do something else. For nothing is

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worthy of man as man unless he can pursue it with passionate devotion” (Weber, 1958b, p. 135). Institutions are all sacrificial orders by which we sacralize an unobservable god. Like the Greeks sacrificed to Aphrodite and Apollo, Weber argued, we moderns, too, “sacrifice to the gods,” to the “godheads” of one or another order that has won our service (Weber, 1958b, p. 148). This implies that in their respective value rationalities, the scientist, like the religious virtuoso, pursues actions for the “sake of emotional value,” transitory, subjective states of “psychic extraordinariness,” actions to which are “imputed” “metaphysical meaning” (Weber, 1958c, p. 278). Each sphere offers its own form of salvation (Bellah, 1999). Each sphere
science as much as religion
depends on determinate “revelations” of “sacred values” taken as “facts relevant for salvation and as such make possible a meaningful conduct of life” (Weber, 1958b, p. 153, 154). Like salvation, scientific truth, beauty, justice, love
all depend on “presuppositions” requiring faith. All have their distinctive “theologies” which intellectually rationalize “the possession of sacred values” (Weber, 1958b, p. 153). Value spheres are religions in the sense that institutional values function, he argues, as “gods of the various orders,” or “godheads,” which in their plurality must be considered a “polytheism” (Weber, 1958b, pp. 148
149). Weber figures these ultimate values as warring gods. “So long as life remains immanent and is interpreted in its own terms,” he writes, “it knows only of an unceasing struggle of these gods with one another” (Weber, 1958b, p. 152). This war becomes manifest as each sphere is increasingly rationalized, its value absolute, floating free of its enactments, irreducible to particular practices or maxims on the one side, and the basis of an increasingly conscious and intense interior commitment, or inner faith, on the other side (Weber, 1958d, p. 328). Presaging structuralist understandings of sign as a linguistic form whose meaning derives from systems of difference with other signs, Weber argues that these values are “formed only in the struggle with other ideals which are just as sacred to others as ours are to us” (Weber, 1949, p. 57). Indeed it is the struggle
increasingly self-aware and intellectually articulated
that facilitates the transformation of values into gods. That these values become like high gods, absolute, incorruptible, and eternal, derives from the unfolding conflict between them. It is really a question not only of alternatives between values but of an irreconcilable deathstruggle, like that between “God” and the “Devil.” Between these, neither relativization nor compromise is possible. At least, not in the true sense… . (Weber, 1949, pp. 17
18)7

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This life and death struggle between the gods has been obscured from view, Weber argues, for various reasons. First, in the past we have been “blinded” by our “allegedly or presumably exclusive orientation toward the grandiose moral fervor of Christian ethics” (Weber, 1958b, p. 149). The universalizing rationalism of Christian ethical norms made it difficult to see that any other value could rise to the status of a god. Second,“[i]n almost every important attitude of real human beings, the value-spheres cross and interpenetrate” (Weber, 1949, p. 18). There is, in human action, always an admixture of value rationalities; they come in impure fusions and mixtures. Values can recombine, thereby transforming their meaning and the practices associated with them. Erotic love, for example, moves from the eroticization of vassalage in the Christian Middle Ages to the intellectualism of salon culture in which “intersexual conversation is valuable as a creative power” (Weber, 1958d, p. 346). Weber also pointed to fusions in the alliances between “universalist mass religions” and art, each of which sought an emotional “religious experience,” or the unstable “fusion” of eroticism and mysticism (Weber, 1958d, pp. 343, 349). Not only is the primary value not always distinct, but its capacity for recomposition with others affords paths of social action that may attenuate conflict, a point developed in Boltanski and The´venot’s assertion of the situational availability of a multiplicity of “orders of worth” (Boltanski & The´venot, 2006). These combinatorial possibilities allow for institutional rationalities to change, as, for example, in the combination of social justice and expected profit as criteria of socially responsible investment in the field of French asset management (Arjalies, 2010). Third, people do not want to become aware of the irresolvable conflicts between these values, because they do
implicitly or explicitly
choose which value to serve in a world with neither the one god, nor a prophet to guide and ground that choice (Weber, 1958b, p. 153). We do not want to face up to the fact that we serve values as though they were deities, and groundless ones at that. We rather imagine that our choices are externally constrained by the causal nature of an object world. Dominant forms of instrumental rationality appear to screen operative value rationalities, enabling us to occlude value as interest. And finally, as the claim and scope of religious ethical systems have been challenged and attenuated, we moderns fail to recognize that the “routines of everyday life” are likewise grounded in their respective “gods.” Today the routine of everyday life challenge religion. Many old gods ascend from their graves; they are disenchanted and hence take the form of impersonal forces. They strive

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to gain power over our lives and again they resume their eternal struggle with one another. (Weber, 1958b, p. 149)

Whether auto-critique or not, given his predominantly objectivist reading of capitalist development, Weber is here arguing that disenchanted domains of modernity appear as impersonal forces, but in reality, operate as immanent divinities, animating the causal order of the social world. The implication, I think, is that what appear as conflicts between spheres where either instrumental or value rationality are dominant
between market and state on the one hand and religion on the other, for instance (Brubaker, 1984, p. 77)
are really still based in conflicting value rationalities.8 Weber secularized Thomas Hobbes’ state of nature
in fact a war between Christian gods
into a genuine institutional polytheism (Weber, 1958b, p. 149, 153). Weber’s pantheon is distinctive: No god is omnipotent; there is no natural hierarchy among them; they variously threaten each other with extinction. Weber’s polytheism is composed of mortal gods. There is no inherent Augustinian ordering of loves, no hierarchy and, by implication, no telos, no single redemptive logic, no providential order to history. Weber saw divinity in the social, unlike Durkheim, who saw the social in divinity. For both Durkheim and Weber, the sacred and value were understood respectively as involving an irrational passion beyond reason, exceeding, indeed undoing, the autonomous and instrumental individual. As Durkheim’s account of effervescent rite makes clear the category of the sacred has no cultural content, it being the transmuted form of the social, deriving its authority from the collectivity, known through the groups who form around it and sanction its violation (Friedland, 2005). The Weberian category of value, in contrast, has a cultural content, a substantive value with a “determinate content” which derives its authority from the will of those who value it, known through the particular discourse and practices through which it and its constituting conflict with other values is effected.

LOVE AND INSTITUTION Weber’s theory of value spheres derives both from his model of salvation religion centered around a loving God and his observation of the historical relation between modern value spheres and this salvation religion. The nature and ordering of love is elemental in both. Although Weber is known for his tragic sense of the ways in which we have stripped the world of

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magic, delivering ourselves into a calculable world of interlocked, impersonal, and rationalized structures, it is also Weber who posits, explicitly and implicitly, the sociological materials out of which we might posit the centrality of love in its manifold forms, as the ground of value formation, the phenomenological operator that allows us to understand the variegated ways in which we fabricate meaning in our object world. One must choose one’s god. Weber is insistent on this point: Individuals who aspire to human personality must serve one or another god.9 Once one realizes that one is choosing between rival deities, an incalculable choice between incalculable values, a realization Weber compares to eating the “fruit of the tree of knowledge,” one gains: …the insight that every single important activity and ultimately life as a whole, if it is not permitted to run on as an event in nature but is instead to be consciously guided, is a series of ultimate decisions through which the soul
as in Plato
chooses its own fate, i.e., the meaning of its activity and existence. (Weber, 1949, p. 18)

The outcome of the struggle between the gods hinges not on the gods themselves, but on what appears as the ungrounded will of individuals who serve them. In Weber’s pantheon human choice stands outside the reach of these gods, yet each god depends on it. Value rationalities thus depend on will, as unfathomable in the individual as it is in God, particularly the Protestant one. It is this extraordinary will, this decision on a value, and by the prophet of a new value, that is the charismatic aspect of all value spheres. Charisma is not just routinized; it is routine. Value rationality is a kind of love. Love suggests itself as a template because it is the originary core value of the religions of salvation that Weber understood as reacting and withdrawing from the world’s other value spheres into an unworldly and hence objectless domain. Salvational religions posit a single God whose human creation is understood as the primordial act of love, an unwarranted and inexplicable gift. The god of salvation religions is a god of love, indeed a personal god who is distinguished by His love. To believe in this god is to believe in a god who loves, indeed it is to believe in a love which has an eternal
if unobservable and unknowable
object. One’s love of others is an enactment of this divine love. The eternal, loving God’s omnipotent autonomy vis-a`-vis the world parallels the increasing autonomy of the value of “brotherly” love from every social distinction, including that of friend and enemy. Although love, in Weber’s understanding, is an essential element in the relationship between the divine and the human in salvation religions, there are different practices of loving which depend on the accessibility of

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the “object” of one’s love.10 Weber distinguishes between the transcendent, personal creator God who anchors salvation religions and the immanent, impersonal God who anchors mysticism (Weber, 1958d, p. 325). In the first, one is an instrument of the divine, seeking evidence through practice that one is loved by God for all time. In the second, one seeks to possess the divine in the moment, hungering for a sign that one possesses the divine in the now. Weber’s injection of love into value formation is neither, however, confined to religion, let alone Christianity. Choosing a value, for Weber, is a passionate choice; indeed it is choice for and of passion. One must, Weber argued, choose the “demon”
and here I assume Weber meant the Platonic daimon, or intermediary between heaven and earth
“who holds the very fibres of his very life” (Weber, 1958b, p. 156). A value “holds the very fibres” of one’s being: We are talking here not of an external object to which one has an instrumental relation of possession, but a value by which one is possessed. Weber’s choice of daimon here has institutional import. The “demon,” of course, was Plato’s mythological ontology of eros, the masculine love, revealed by Diotima in The Symposium, the result of reproductive coupling between a male god of plenitude and starving female human, the kind of love which could both assure material survival of a mother through her child and form the constitution of a polis, a single love’s two kinds of child, a man who could give “birth in beauty.” Value formation for Weber is likewise a mysterious love affair, inseverable from elemental bodily desires, likewise between gods and humans. There is also a conceptual kinship between value rationality and what Weber terms “affectual” action, one of his four types of social action, here action determined by “the actor’s specific affects and feeling states” (Weber, 1978, p. 25). Each
value and affect
is done “for its own sake,” the difference between them located in the former’s “self-conscious formulation” and its “planned orientation” (Weber, 1978, p. 25). Moreover, values are not simply ideas that have validity: Weber understands values as feelings, repeatedly invoking the notion of “value feelings” (Weber, 1975, p. 182).11 Indeed, in his catalogue of religious states associated with the quest for salvation, Weber argued that they were all “sought, for of all, for the sake of such emotional value as they directly offered the devout” (Weber, 1958c, p. 278). Although he excludes the “emotional contents” of value as a basis for defining a value, for making a causal interpretation, or even as an individual’s basis for engaging in social action, he recognizes that feelings are an essential basis of valuation (Weber, 1975, p. 183).12

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Finally love and its relocation across “worlds” is an essential driver in Weber’s theory of societal differentiation. It is through love that salvation religion creates an alternate world through which it masters this one by making our earthly suffering senseless. “The principle that constituted the communal relations among salvation prophecies,” Weber writes, “was the suffering common to all believers” (Weber, 1958d, p. 330). The need for theodicy is not, however, just a religious reaction to the objective fact of pain or the ethical indifference of its distribution (see, e.g., Pudsey & Symonds, 2006, pp. 136
137). It is salvation religion that constitutes its meaninglessness to which the religion itself responds. Human suffering has religious meaning because of the origins of religions of salvation, namely the relocation and apotheosis of human love. Religions of salvation posit an eternal, personal, loving
and loved
God, a love, Weber argues, that transposes and displaces the generalized material reciprocities of the sib and neighbors in times of need (Weber, 1958d, pp. 328
329). Religions that ethically rationalize human behavior originate in a “charismatic communism of love” that leaves its traces in the ethical ties between master and servant which serve as the basis of every ecclesiastic order (Weber, 1978, pp. 1187
1188). God is not, a` la Durkheim, a reflection of the power of human solidarity, but of its fragility. From the one side, worldly rationalization entails an evacuation of love in the world. “At all times and in all places,” Weber argues, “the need for salvation
consciously cultivated as the substance of religiosity
has resulted from the endeavor of a systematic and practical rationalization of life’s realities” (Weber, 1958d, p. 353). Instrumentally rational action is bound to “worldly conditions … remote from brotherliness” (Weber, 1958d, p. 339). Dominated by the rationalized, impersonal spheres of market, state and science, the world becomes increasingly loveless, and hence, in that suffering only has meaning where other humans are ethical subjects and objects of care, suffering is stripped of meaning (Weber, 1958d, pp. 354
356). Moreover, value spheres like intellectual culture, aesthetics, and erotics are exclusionary and elitist and thus likewise loveless. The “salvation” the aesthetic sphere, for example, offers from the “routines of everyday life and especially from the increasing pressures of theoretical and practical rationalism” involves a “secret lovelessness,” the displacement of moral evaluation by judgments of taste (Weber, 1958d, p. 342). From the other side, salvation religions which “conceived” the world as “the locus of undeserved suffering,” ethically reject and devalue it, and thereby relocate the meaning of suffering outside and against it in the “charisma of illumination,” in short in their faith in God’s love

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(Weber, 1958d, p. 352, 330). “The need for ‘salvation’ responds to this devaluation by becoming more other-worldly, more alienated from all structured forms of life, and, in exact parallel, by confining itself to the specific religious essence” (Weber, 1958d, p. 357). Indeed Weber argues that it is the very logic of theodicy, its rationalization, that contributes to the senselessness of worldly suffering. Neither this-worldly or otherworldly solutions to unjust suffering are rational. Not only is suffering “ethically unmotivated,” making it religiously senseless as punishment, but cosmogonies which posit a world created for the making of sin and hence suffering are ethically senseless. “A world created for the committing of sin must appear still less ethically perfect than a world condemned to suffering” (Weber, 1958d, p. 354, 357). An absolute religious ethic therefore has an immanent tendency to render the world, indeed all forms of means
ends action, as “wickedness and foolishness … permitted by God” (Weber, 1958d, p. 339). Religious rationalism produces the sense of worldly irrationality. And it is the emergence of the one God who creates the conditions in which other secular “gods” emerge, which in turn shape the trajectory of that one God. Other values become eternal values in response to the evacuation of significance of mortal life effected by religions of salvation with its timeless, loving God. But in their very eternality, their forever yet to beness, these other deities also evacuate human death
and in consequence life
of any significance, which only reinforces their religious repudiation. The meaningless of worldly death makes possible the deification of worldly values, and hence the possibility of their excess, or transcendence, relative to their instances. It is the struggle over the coffin
with which this article began
over the signification of death, that sets polytheism is motion, for it is the horizon created by eternal gods, in which one can never arrive, that makes mortal life meaningless. In a polytheistic world, as one approaches death there is no “satiation” with life, only a pitiful sense of incompletion. It is the multiple meaninglessness of death, the growing estrangement from the “kernel of life,” that makes Weberian value polytheism possible, so anxiously vibrant and acutely unstable.

POLITICAL LOVE Over and over again in his work, Weber turns to love as a template for value formation not only by the prophet of salvation religion but the

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political leader of the plebiscite. Love’s constitutive role shows itself in Weber’s distinctive “political theology.” The German legal theorist Carl Schmitt, who attended Weber’s seminar, posited a different religious foundation of the Western sovereign of the 17th and 18th centuries, built on late medieval nominalist model of the singular transcendent God, a theology that supposed God as an agent whose sovereignty over creation, his absolute powers or potentia absoluta, are neither exhausted, nor bound, by his ordained laws or potentia ordinata. Such a God, whose actions are not constrained by, nor amenable to human reason, is thus free to make the sovereign decision, the miracle, the violent suspension of law. In nominalism, the authority of the law hinges on divine will, not right reason.13 Unlike Carl Schmitt, whose political theology of sovereignty is grounded in a nominalist model of an omnipotent God who seeks to defend an existent mode of life (Schmitt, 1985), Weber centered his analysis around the charismatic political leader drawing on the figure of the prophet, the one who experiences himself called to a mission, to an ultimate end, who is able to lead because of his passion, and whose followers’ relationship to him is likewise based on passionate identification. “[T]he substance of the prophecy … is to direct a way of life to the pursuit of a sacred value” (Weber, 1958a, p. 125, 1958d, p. 327). It is not the instituted sovereign who defends a mode of life, but an emissary prophet who announces, embodies, instills, and attempts to instantiate a new mode of life, a new “valid order,” that must resist certain representation, calculable fabrication, and yet which affords the only path to subject formation (Weber, 1958c, p. 285). Not the instituted defender of the divine order, but the prophetic institutor of a new order is at the center of Weber’s political imagination. Weber understood that the decision on the state’s “cause” is supplemental to the institution, which can never found or guarantee it. Schmitt would define the state by its ends, specifically the decision on the “real enemy” (Schmitt, 1996, p. 37). For Schmitt the political decision was thus a decision on violence because it was a decision on war, a decision that can never be derived from the law. Weber found no analytic traction in the category of the enemy. For him the exceptional quality of the political decision is anterior and elsewhere: Political leaders must make value choices that no form of formal rationality can prescribe, nor can they be grounded in instrumental rationality as they are commitments to causes, not claims to causal knowledge. No value sphere can internally justify its own values. Only the prophet or “the savior,” armed with “the gift of grace,” Weber argues, can answer the question: “Which of the warring gods should we

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serve?” (Weber, 1958a, p. 79, 1958b, p. 152). Hobbes’ understanding that the sovereign must speak in the name of god has, from this point of view, a sociological warrant. Because the state cannot be defined by its ends (Weber, 1958a, p. 77), it both makes charismatic authority necessary and violence probable, particularly at their institution. It is not, as in Agamben’s political philosophy, a violent relation to bare life that is the constitutive exception, but a passionate, faith-based, and hence potentially violent, relation to value that must be both excluded and included for the state to live in history (Agamben, 1998).14 It is the making of the meaning of death, not the making dead, that is the sovereign exception. “This location of death within a series of meaningful and consecrated events,” Weber wrote, “ultimately lies at the base of all endeavors to support the autonomous dignity of the polity resting on force” (Weber, 1958d, p. 335). The political calling, Weber understood, is supplementary to the institution, something that the institution cannot secure, but upon which it depends. It is a taking of a stand that is the core of Weber’s understanding of politics as “any kind of independent leadership in action” (Weber, 1958a, p. 77). Independence here refers to the capacity to choose, aim at and seek to mobilize a following and a set of laws around an end, a “passionate devotion to a ‘cause,’ to the god or demon who is its overlord” (Weber, 1958a, p. 115). Leadership is necessarily charismatic because it can neither be derived from past practices nor from existing law.15 The political formation of value is a religious, and specifically a prophetic, process, a charismatic phenomenon (Weber, 1958a, p. 79). The state lives off of exceptional political decisions, decisions that are acts of love. The political leader loves and is loved into existence, by the passion of his cause and by the love of his followers who submit beyond reason to his call. Although Weber understood the political, and particularly the bureaucratic state, with its impersonal, power-orientation, as “in an inner tension with the god of love” (Weber, 1958a, p. 126, 1958d, p. 335, 1978, pp. 600
601), political leadership is itself a secularized love affair, as indicated by Weber’s template for the charisma of the political leader, the etymology of charis being God’s love, His bestowal of grace, of salvation, of transcendence and immortality. The truly political decision is a calling and a calling is, for Weber, akin to a mark of grace. The charismatic leader inspires “absolutely personal devotion” in that he is understood to have an “extraordinary and personal gift of grace” (Weber, 1958a, pp. 103
104, 79). He is “the root of the idea of a calling in its highest expression.” The leader is called and lives for the “cause” that has called him.16 It is the love of the

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leader and his singular embodiment of a cause
a causeless cause
that makes the institution of a new “valid order” possible. In a plebiscitarian democracy, political leadership is not enabled contractually through rational consent with the voters, but through the leader’s embodiment of a cause, “an ethical substance,” and his followers’ emotional identification
indeed “the exploitation of mass emotionality”
with him and it (Weber, 1958a, pp. 106
107, 125). The leader is loved because he is understood to love; it is this love
both subject and object
that makes him who he is. Political leadership is a love affair. The pleasures of power are not enough. A true political leader is a good lover, not one animated only by emotion and “romantic sensations” (Weber, 1958a, p. 127). Neither an emotional Lutheran, nor the mystic in possession of divinity, he is a sober, self-controlled Calvinist world-maker who understands himself as a divine tool, with the “sense of matter-of-factness, of passionate devotion to a ‘cause’” (Weber, 1958a, p. 115). He is the “mature” lover who lives his passion as “an embodied creative power” (Weber, 1958d, p. 347). Animated by love of the cause, the leader with a calling for politics is mindful of the consequences of his actions. True political passion is not “sterile excitation,” but a love that seeks to inscribe the real world in the image of the ultimately unknowable beloved (Weber, 1958a, pp. 115
116, 127). Like those inner-worldly lovers who combine erotic desire and ethical responsibility, a political calling is “given” as though it were “grace” (Weber, 1958d, p. 350). For the political leader wertrationalitat and zweckrationallitat, and the correlative ethics of ultimate ends and responsibility, are interlaced and supplemental. The institutional specificity of the political requires both passion and violence. One must love to order loves. “To take a stand, to be passionate
ira et studium
is the politician’s element, and above all the element of a political leader” (Weber, 1958a, p. 95).17 To be a political leader one must both love and be willing to fight for one’s love. Only those willing to die for their calling are able to achieve a meaningful death (Weber, 1958d, p. 335). For Weber the political decision on violence was secondary to the violence of decision, between values, between gods, and, he implied, between lovers. Weber moved effortlessly from politics to war, suggesting the homology between a defeated people like the Germans, a defeated party and finally a rejected beloved.18 The last are compared to “world views among which in the end one has to make a choice.” “Rarely will you find,” Weber wrote in this context, “that a man whose love turns from one

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woman to another feels no need to legitimate this before himself by saying: she was not worthy of my love …” (Weber, 1958a, pp. 117
118). And strikingly Weber concludes his treatment of the relation of religious ethics and politics with the following: “For sexual love along with the ‘true’ or economic interest, and the social drives toward power and prestige, is among the most fundamental and universal components of the actual course of interpersonal behavior” (Weber, 1978, p. 601). Weber intimates that erotic passion, too, has some kind of relation to the energies that animate the political direction of the nation-state.

THE EROS OF VALUE Weber’s trope of an erotic choice between two women was more than a titillation, more than a symptom of the personal drama that threatened to disrupt Weber’s own world with his wife Marianne.19 The erotic, he argued, could be its own value, with its own dignity, the service of a god. This, he understood, was not simply because modernity had made sex into profane sacrament, but because religion itself originated out of the multiform plentitude of love, to which erotic love was integral. Weber located the well-springs of religion in the solidarity of the sib, of the neighbor, in the practical love of those to whom one belongs, the original understanding of the term love (Luhmann, 2010, p. 22). But value rationality is not just constituted by love; it can be an erotic affair. Early in the last century Weber pointed to the religious significance of modernity’s transformation of sexual life, which he called “the greatest irrational force of life,” into an irrational inner-worldly salvation from the rationalization of the modern world (Weber, 1958d, pp. 343
346). In contrast to the “cycle of their existence” and “the naı¨ ve unambiguity of the substance of … life,” the moderns, Weber argued, made a “sacrament” of the “direct fusion of the souls of one to the other” (Weber, 1958d, p. 347, 356). The lover realizes himself to be rooted in the kernel of the truly living, which is eternally inaccessible to any rational endeavor. He knows himself to be freed from the cold skeleton hands of rational orders … This consciousness of the lover rests upon the ineffaceability and inexhaustibleness of his own experience. The experience is by no means communicable and in this respect it is equivalent to the “having” of the mystic … . Knowing “life itself” joined to him, the lover stands opposite what is for him the objectless experiences of the mystic, as if he were facing the fading light of an unreal sphere (Weber, 1958d, p. 347).

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Weber argued that it is this substitutability, both psychological and physiological, between eroticism and what he called “heroic piety” that makes them so antagonistic. Exclusive, subjective, and incommunicable, erotics is the inimical counter-pole of “all religiously oriented brotherliness.” Eroticism, Weber contended, negates bondage to God, brotherliness with man, and obedience to divinely revealed norms. And yet, Weber repeatedly argued, the erotic can easily substitute for the religious. For psychological reasons and in accordance with its meaning, the erotic frenzy stands in unison only with the orgiastic and charismatic form of religiosity. This form is, however, in a special sense, inner-worldly. The acknowledgement of the act of marriage, of the copula carnalis, as a “sacrament” of the Catholic Church is a concession to this sentiment. Eroticism enters easily into an unconscious and unstable relationship of surrogateship or fusion with other-worldly and extraordinary mysticism. This occurs with very sharp inner tension between eroticism and mysticism. It occurs because they are psychologically substitutive. Out of this fusion the collapse into orgiasticism follows very readily (Weber, 1958d, p. 349).

The erotic can substitute for the religious because the religious
and not just its mystical form
is erotic from the very start. “[S]exual intoxication is a typical component of the orgy, the religious behavior of the laity at a primitive level” (Weber, 1978, p. 602). “[T]here can be no doubt,” Weber wrote, “that a considerable portion of the specifically anti-erotic religiosity, both mystical and ascetic, represents substitute satisfactions of sexually conditioned physiological needs” (Weber, 1978, p. 603). Beyond the psychological commonalities of passionate union with mystical forms of religiosity, Weber also argued that both erotic ecstasy and asceticism were preprophetic techniques for manipulating the force of pleasure and pain, instrumental devices by which to generate extraordinary magical powers, to manipulate nature by means of its own force, indeed to create charisma (Weber, 1958c, pp. 271
275, 1958d, p. 327). Through his chastity, the virtuoso was able to develop “instruments for the magical control of the god” (Weber, 1978, p. 603). One engaged divine passion with one’s own passion and passionlessness. And what were these powers for? The answer was simple enough. Salvation after life, Weber argued, is merely an extension of the logic of saving life, the “sacred values” of “health, a long life and wealth” (Weber, 1958c, p. 277). Redemption is thus an intellectual outworking of the notion of “liberation from distress, hunger, drought, sickness, and ultimately from suffering and death” (Weber, 1958c, p. 280). The eternal life of the other world substitutes not just for the limited one in this world, but for one’s

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increasing distance from it. The world became meaninglessness with culture’s increasing distance from the “organically prescribed natural cycle of life” (1958d, p. 356). This life, and hence this God, is erotic. One sought in the extremities of life
in pleasure and pain
the magical means to affect a divinely given life. Orgiastic magic, temple prostitution, and cultic chastity all express this process (Weber, 1958c, pp. 271
278, 1958d, pp. 343, 348
349), and hence contra Foucault and Agamben, Weber implied that we moderns seek our truth in the erotic because our truth was always already erotic, a primal source of our own religious
magical and subsequently prophetic
powers.20 In his The Social Psychology of the World Religions, Weber’s examples
line after line
are of the ways in which man’s “quest of salvation” are “preoccupied by attitudes of the here and now” all involving erotic unions with the divine from the Hindu who seeks Bhakti, the Dervish, the “sexual and semi-sexual orgies at the wooing of Krishna” to those who seek to be “the bridegroom of the Savior.” These unions, he argues, involve “direct appropriation of sacred values.” Weber concludes: “Rationalized religions have thus sublimated the orgy into the ‘sacrament’” (Weber, 1958c, p. 278). For Weber, religion is not grounded primordially in a theodicy of suffering, but in a displacement of life, what he calls our “estrangement of lifevalue” or the “real kernel of life” (Weber, 1958d, pp. 344
345).21 One might infer then that “Jesus’ kingdom to come” was sexless derives not from the sexlessness of divinity, but from its divine monopolization, the mark, and carrier of God’s sovereignty, the eternal source of eternal life. It is their common claim to and grounding in life, an erotic life force, that makes religion and eroticism into competing domains, each offering different forms of access to a life force that exceeds our lives. There is an erotic source and charge to man’s relation to divinity in Weber’s sociology of religion, and a substitutability in his theory of value spheres. If other institutional domains are centered around their own gods, this implies that we might explore the erotics animating them as well.

GOD, LOVE, AND VALUE RATIONALITY: WEBER’S SIGNPOSTS FOR INSTITUTIONAL THEORY Weber’s polytheistic analysis of value spheres figures the task of institutional theory as a kind of comparative religion. Understanding institutional values

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as gods also suggests a consonance between the phenomenological and sociological order of theology and institutional life. The basis for this theological inheritance is not simply its once hegemonic position in the genealogy of our discourse and our secularization of its religious forms, but the ways in which, as is immanent in the work of both Emile Durkheim and Max Weber, theology was our first social theory, a theory that had a certain purchase because it captured the religious nature of social life. Their sociologies of religious life worked in part because our social was, and is, religious. Weber’s religious sociology of value spheres also offers itself as a vehicle to rethink the relation between individual and institution, and to understand
despite the routinization of practice
what makes institutions vital, ever-changing and hence enduring across time. Thinking the social through divinity, love, and eros opens a theoretical way beyond the subject
object, ideal
material dualities which order our social theories. While positing institutional spheres whose logic of operation cannot be reduced to individual instrumentalities, to institutional practice as human prosthesis, it also demands a more fulsome theory of individual action and engagement as the very condition of possibility of the operation of these spheres. It thereby helps account for why individuals enter institutional fields and how they hold them all their lives, why, in fact, many, if not most, give their lives to one or another institutional deity. What manner of deity do we worship? If we take the divine figuration of values seriously, value spheres are religions. One must then ask how Weber’s institutional polytheism aligns with his sociology of religion? The answer: It doesn’t. An immanent deity, the reader will recall, is not only associated with polytheism, but with the mystical virtuoso’s possession of the deity through contemplative or orgiastic withdrawal from the world (Weber, 1958b). Transcendent deities, on the other hand, are associated with monotheism and a universalistic, ethical world-mastery in which one seeks to be an instrument of an unknowable divine will. Immanent deities are associated with ritualism, where suffering is interpreted as the result of offenses against the rites, whereas suffering under transcendent deities is interpreted through disbelief in the “prophet and in his commandments,” as an inner failure of ethical commitment (Weber, 1958b, p. 272, 274). Immanent deities generate elitist, episodic, behavioral, and instrumental relations between humans and gods, whereas transcendent deities generate universalistic, interior, consistent, and convictional relations between the human and the divine. The attributes of Weber’s value spheres do not line up cleanly on one side or the other. Weber derived his notion of value rationality from the

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ethical commandments associated with the transcendent God of salvation religion, his exemplar of a mode of life pursued for its own sake. As they become increasingly self-conscious objects of knowledge each institutional value becomes a transcendent and eternal “object” of human love, an Augustinian divine love that one cannot lose. Through these values individuals participate in one or another institutional life force that outlives them. Yet there is no monotheism: The gods of Weber’s value spheres are polytheistic, even Manichean. In the movement from magic to religion, and likewise from immanent to transcendent deity, the divine goes from being a human instrument or possession, to the human being serving as a divine instrument. Yet each value sphere entails a “having,” an apparent “possession,” of the sacred value (Weber, 1958d, p. 328). One “has” the market’s “worldly goods,” political power, culture, knowledge, and a passionate love. These are attributes associated with immanent, not transcendent deities, with the mystic and the magician (see for instance, erotics as “equivalent to the having of the mystic” and “the immediacy of the possessed reality” (Weber, 1958d, p. 347). Each of Weber’s value spheres involves a kind of world-mastery, no matter how small the world, an attribute also associated with a transcendent deity. Institutional values are salvational gods, not in that they seek to save us from the meaninglessness of this world, but from worldlessness itself. The salvational God proper is a world-creator who affords humans the opportunity to both acknowledge His creation and participate in its perfection through the “practical postulates” of an ethical order (Weber, 1958d, p. 324). In the logic of Weber’s value spheres it is only through one or another god that each world
no matter how miniature
can be created. In that the communities of those who serve these gods seek to create worlds ordered around a particular value as the central basis of action, value spheres can all be variously considered religions of worldmastery. Value spheres entail an anti-worlding, rendering its “others” situationally inert and meaningless. Valuations, which, for Weber, are simultaneously devaluations, or anti-worlds, must necessarily take place. Those places are “worlds,” even if they are not on this earth. Immanent and transcendent, instrumental and ethical, polytheistic and monotheistic: The value spheres do not line up neatly on one side or the other. One possibility is to understand them as different kinds of gods. Another is to fall back on the impure or heterogenous admixtures of magic and ethics with which Weber characterized the history and social topography of Christianity, for instance (Weber, 1958b). Another, the one I want to explore here, to suggest that there is an inherent, ongoing oscillation,

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or even dialectic, of transcendence and immanence in each institutional sphere, one toward which Weber himself gestures
however briefly (Weber, 1958b, p. 149).

Divine Possession We must identify two, not one, moments of possession. Pushing Weber’s intellectual architecture I would argue that an institutional value operates as though it were a transcendental, eternal “subject” that can bind humans for its own sake (Weber, 1958d, p. 354). Weber’s institutional values operate as inner-worldly salvational gods, in that they are singular, transcendent sources of orientation, invoked as unobservable “subjects” who make demands, of which individuals seek and claim to be instruments. One seeks to know oneself as being loved by a god, of being its instrument. If institutional values are salvation gods in this sense, then value-rational action in a sphere is animated by and organized around the problem not of having the value, but of being had by it, of being chosen or possessed by it, not of loving the value, but of being loved by it.22 Institutional values can neither be derived from the senses nor intellectual abstraction, but they are that for which the religious man makes “himself ready for the reception” (Weber, 1958c, p. 280, 1958d, p. 353). A “religious state” is one which “is meant to take possession of the entire man and of his lasting fate” (Weber, 1958c, p. 279). Value rationality appears as an act of will, of judgment, but, in reality, it is an active passivity, of enabling oneself to be possessed, a possession over which in ascetic Protestantism
as “grace”
one has no influence.23 Even the attainment of an ethical marital love, Weber terms a “grace,” not something that redounds to one’s merit (Weber, 1958d, p. 350). Through Weber’s value spheres the world can love us in a plurality of ways. The value spheres are, in other words, sources and loci of election, even if they never measure up as “gods” to the problem of the meaning of death that first entered the world with the emergence of the eternal God (Weber, 1958d, pp. 354
356). Just as Calvin supposed that believers were elected through God’s indecipherable and irresistible grace, an election manifest in, but not derived from, their faith, an election likewise manifest in their dedication to a worldly “life task,” so Weber argued that institutional values operate as loci of election, in which most are “forced to obey,” but to which those with a calling give themselves as evidence that they have been called, indeed “a spiritual aristocracy of the predestined saints of God” (Weber, 1958e, p. 121).

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Institutional values “call” and some individuals respond, only becoming personalities to the extent they orient their actions, and the meaning of their lives, around the substantive value of the institution. Weber’s authentic subjects, the institutional elect, the virtuosi who animate each sphere, are those who passionately, and without warrant, throw or project themselves into an incalculable institutional becoming, in spite of its procedural excesses, its distributive mistakes, the temporariness of its achievements. Indeed this passion, this love of the “irrational content” of the value is critical to the operability of the institutional logic, to its “invisible church” (Weber, 1958a, p. 117, 1958d, p. 357, 1958e, p. 110). If values are as gods and we imagine them as gods of whom one wishes to be an instrument, then the dynamic is not to possess the value as though it were an object, but to be possessed by the value as though it were a subject. We seek to be beloved by the world, a love that is given to us, even though we act as though we have taken it. If an institutional value is a transcendental god that cannot be reduced to the practices that enact it or the words that name it, that means that one can never have the value, only make oneself ready for its reception. This implies that value spheres operate through an impassioning. And it suggests that we might look to erotic passion as a way to think that reception. One would think not given that Weber reduces modern passion of nonmarital or extramarital erotics to a “brutality,” erotic love to ideology, to misrecognized instrumental rationality, the other’s body an object, a vehicle of individual pleasure. The “boundless giving of oneself” is an illusion: “[T]he most intimate coercion of the soul of the less brutal partner … . Pretending to be the most humane devotion it is a sophisticated enjoyment of oneself in the other” (Weber, 1958d, p. 348). Modernity’s erotic love becomes an idolatry, irrelevant as religion and thus for thinking about the order of other value spheres. Given the primacy of the erotic in the genesis of religion, Weber’s understanding of modern erotic love is strange, even jarring. For Weber erotic love has both nothing and yet everything in common with religion, from whence he derives their perpetual war and their tendency both to substitute and to slide one in the other. Eroticism offers us a clue as to the way in which every value sphere is objectless and in consequence simultaneously apparently loving and actually loveless. Weber talks of the “value content” of the erotic relation as a “complete unification, as a fading of the ‘thou’” (Weber, 1958d, p. 347). Erotic love, he says, is a “possessed reality” in which there is no object, no “thou,” akin to the “objectless experiences of the mystic.” Its meaning is the same, Weber argues, as one finds in a

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“charismatic form of religiosity” (Weber, 1958d, p. 349), in other words as a possession by an immanent deity, here, as he says of the salvation religionists’ view of mysticism, as a loveless order.24 The dominant forms of Christianity, in their lack of knowable object and inner lovelessness, are not so very different. Certainly ascetic Protestantism, with its transcendent and hidden deity who does not break through in holy places, saints or miracles, propounded a particularistic grace and “renounced the universalism of love” (Weber, 1958d, p. 332). It is for this reason that Weber judged Puritanism to not be a true salvation religion, in its abandonment of a personal and universal ethical relation to human suffering (Pudsey & Symonds, 2006, pp. 138
139; Weber, 1958b, p. 288, 1978, p. 1204).25 But even when one examines Christian love more generally, in the mother Church itself, in caritas as conceived by Augustine, the individual thou disappears. In Augustine’s Christian anthropology, as Hannah Arendt shows, one turns inside the self to discover one’s being whose divine source is outside. The community, as a body of Christ in “defense against the world,” is formed through the love of doubly equal others, equal in their sinful generation from Adam and in their redemption by God’s grace, an equality which is only realized in the humble turn of each isolated individual toward God (Arendt, 1996, pp. 102
106, 108). The community is not formed as a choice of singular others, but out of one’s “absolute isolation” before God (Arendt, 1996, pp. 110
111). Caritas is a necessary consequence of divine grace, each loving the love in the other potentially revealed to all (Arendt, 1996, p. 106). One must love the other because of your sameness in sin and redemption. One loves the other not for him- or herself, but indirectly as a way to love God, and as an imitation of God’s love for each of us (Arendt, 1996, pp. 110
111). One loves the created soul, the source of his true individuality, not the generated body of a mere “being of the human race” (Arendt, 1996, p. 111). “The individual is completely forgotten over this community,” Arendt writes. “The individual has ceased to be anything but a member and his entire being lies in the connection of all members in Christ. Mutual love becomes self-love, since the being of one’s own self is identified with the being of Christ, that is, with the being of the body in which it shares as a member” (Arendt, 1996, p. 109). The love that binds the Christian community is an autoeroticism of the same, “so that there shall be one Christ loving himself” (Arendt, 1996, p. 107). Augustinian Caritas is not then so different from Weber’s erotic love. One loves the love accessed through the other, not the other her
or himself. If this is a correct reading of the historically dominant form of

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Latin Christianity all value spheres are objectless and all involve a certain lovelessness toward others. One is afforded one’s subjectivity by what one loves which derivately become the basis of loving others who love these values. The love of the other is a function of the object of their common love. The solidarities of every field are based on the way in which particular values form us as subjects and put us into relation to common objects of our love. Values are manifestly not “objects.” As gods they function more like subjects that possess you, that afford your subjectivity. The gods of the value spheres are, like the Protestant God, impersonal deities whose selective indwelling in persons is beyond decipherment and human plan, no matter how rationalized its practice and knowledge. Scientific knowledge, intellectual and aesthetic culture, power, property, and erotic love appear to function like objects one can “have,” but more primordially and processually they operate like subjects who inexplicably authorize us, such that we become their instruments. Indeed it is this “election” that in part undergirded the faith of the Calvinist capitalists, dually graced by God and money. One can argue that values “take possession of the entire man,” giving a different sense of what it means when Weber invokes
and pairs
“inward sacred values” and “internal possession of … ‘things worldly …’” (Weber, 1958d, p. 328).26 Both God and market goods possess us as much as we them, or, as he says elsewhere, values “take possession of the entire man” (Weber, 1958c, p. 279). Value transcendence does not negate individual agency. On the contrary, it demands agency, improvisation, will, creativity and passion, for the individual is the critical medium through which these values are instantiated, deployed and demonstrated, evidenced and made active. The relational logic of institutional life, that one’s being is only as one turns to one or another value constituted in difference and contradiction, requires a fulsome individuality. In these moments of identification the institutional value, the outermost, becomes one’s innermost self. One does not possess as much as one allows oneself to be possessed, and thereby to become a self, what Weber called a “personality.” Institutional values operate through identification
as opposed to just an identity
that involves an implicit emptying, or kenosis, by which one brackets one’s pleasures and pains in order to become the instrument through which the value is witnessed, enacted, performed, incorporated, and objectified on this earth. Institutional values, as “gods,” operate as if they are beings not just by linguistic fiat, but because they authorize us as the social basis of our being, not that we reify social relations presumed between autonomous individuals,

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but that social relations between individuals, and hence the individuals themselves, are possible because of these values.27 We know ourselves and each other through the particularity of our service to these gods. We are given to ourselves through a call from elsewhere. Institutional logic requires sacrifice, the giving over of oneself to the service of its substance, to be its faithful defenders, its interpreters, its prophets, and avatars. What Weber calls the “gods” of the value spheres I have termed institutional “substances,” the unobservable, but essential, “value” or “object” anchoring the logic of an institutional field (Friedland, 2011a). The category derives from Aristotelian metaphysics where substance, or substantial form, is the foundation, or essence, of a thing that cannot be reduced to its accidental properties which attach to it nor to the materiality of its instances (Aristotle, 1998). For Aristotle, substance is not matter, but the form that makes matter a “this,” “that by virtue of which the matter is in the state it is in” (Aristotle, 1998, p. 167, 229). A substance exceeds its attributes, cannot be reduced to a thing’s materiality, and thus cannot be described, only pointed to and named. While the category of substance is epistemologically problematic, it captures institutional reality rather well. Like Aristotle’s soul as the substance of human, an institutional substance does not exist; it is rather an absent presence necessary to institutional life. Institutional substances are unfounded, not because they are arbitrary and misrecognized media for empowerment
they are that too, but because they depend on practices of good faith. In my own institutional logical approach, which counterintuitively has had most impact in that domain where instrumentally rational understandings of social action have primacy, namely business and management schools, I posit a regionalized order of means
ends couplets, organized around unobservable institutional substances which order practice, understood as their enactment and production, grounding an objectification and subjectification upon which that practice depends (Friedland, 2009, 2011a, 2011b). In my view institutional logics join subjects, practices, and objects into bundled sets that have an inner referentiality, a performative order, but in which the foundational object
the substance
is unobservable, while being endlessly invoked by name and enacted in practice. Thinking of institutional logic as an exercise in comparative religions helps clarify their nature and their boundaries. Institutional logics are grounded in unobservable substances, not observable objects, identifiable not where capitals lose their force, but where sacrifices are no longer offered and divinities go unworshipped. Substances, like “hidden” gods,

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are invoked by name, as though they referred to knowable objects
knowledge, love, sovereignty, property, art, nature, community.28 But a substance is not, and cannot be, an object
observable and instrumentalizable
cannot be had or even known. Substances are unknowable, not unknown “epistemic objects” (Arjalies, 2011). Substances exceed the order of exchange and theft. They possess; they cannot be possessed. They center each institutional domain. We are made and make ourselves in their image. Substances are the god-terms of institutional life. One might think of them as foundations or standards of value that approximate or mime measurelessness, that which is beyond measure, manifest in certain material practices like the gold kept in a treasury that once undergird a polity’s currency, the grand monumentality or fatal excesses of the sovereign, the rites of care, hospitality and gift-giving that bind families, the sacrifices and pilgrimages of religion, the rending ecstasies of passionate love, the endless experimental devotions to the voluminous assembly of knowledge. They are necessarily excessive terms, each heterogeneous to the other. Bataille mislocated “expenditure” in an impure sacred, in violent excesses that could not be assimilated to what he understood as commensurable objects, hence in nonproductive, in nonreproductive sexuality, in war, sacrifice and potlatch-like destructions of value, rather than as domains of divine creation, of the excess necessary to institute, to give place to new worlds, not to escape this one (Bataille, 1996). There was a reason that early states located their treasuries in their temples
Jerusalem and Athens, for example: Value had divine provenance. Gods created value and could destroy it, hence the ability of the sovereign or the deity to forgive debts, to cancel the cycle of circulation, the instrumental accumulation of accounts. Substances, like gods, give value, ex nihilo, a kind of civilizational gift-giving.29 Each god, as Weber understood, was immanently violent, whose service required a capacity to violate and void the others. Bringing alive and making dead are twinned in institutional life. Gift-giving might then be more than a misrecognized exchange, a vehicle for the pursuit of social domination: It is a human mime of divine foundation, of the way we are given by our gods, by the substances that give us to ourselves. It is a primitive mime of social formation, of the excessive love necessary to form worlds.

The Productivity of Rite Weber made a fateful analytic choice, locating value rationality not in material practice, but in the conjunction of value and commitment, sign,

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and subjectivity.30 Weber’s subordination of practice in part derives from the way he understood the development of religions of salvation, his template for value rationality. His distinction between instrumental and value rationality is a rough homologue of that between magic and religion, the latter evolving based on the charismatic gifts the prophet gleaned from the former. In magic one is oriented to compelling supernatural powers to one’s this-worldly interests, whereas religion involves an ethical stance wherein one recasts one’s subjectivity so as to approach divine intention (Gorski, 2010). The distinction of instrumental and value rationality also appears to be a secular echo of Augustine’s distinction between uti and frui, that which is loved as a means to something else and that which is loved for its own sake. Weber’s godly theory of value rationality, with his marginalization of material practice, is also modeled on his understanding of Protestantism as involving a supercession of ritual practice on the one side and the emphasis on ethical commitment to a transcendent deity independent of consequences on the other.31 Weber saw in Catholic priestly rite the residues of magical instrumentalism. Value rationality in salvation religion, in contrast, involves an intellectual rationalization of an ethic on the one side and its orientation toward “inward sacred values as means of salvation” on the other (Weber, 1958d, p. 328). An institutional substance
a “god,” or transcendental value, in Weber’s sense
requires, I would argue, not only the repeated calling out of its name, a discursive renewal of commitment and belief, a pretense that an unknowable substance functions like a knowable object, but enactment through routinized practical conventions. These are the dual sociological grounds of its eternality. Values must be simultaneously exteriorized as material practices as they are interiorized as possessions that possess their practitioners. Institutional logics presupposes an immanent, internal relation between value and practice, not as in Weber, a conscious, increasingly rationalized “deduction” of “practical postulates” (Weber, 1958d, p. 324), but a transcendence that requires immanentization as its condition of possibility. This means that unobservable substances must be transmuted into observable objects
nested and interlocked
which are the means by which practices are anchored, effected, and oriented. One, for instance, “has” property as a deed or contract, knowledge as a represented result, sovereignty as a border. Institutional logics, in other words, require a sacramental deity, both transcendent and immanent, capable of incarnation
not just in a savior’s sacred body, but in the object of the host
produced and accessed in and

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through material practice. From this vantage point, Catholic rite is not a residue of magical instrumentalism, as Weber contended, but of performative material practice that inhabits every institutional sphere, although we may fail to notice it. This transom between transcendence and immanence suggests that the material world
its objects and the practices that depend on them
is a constituent, not a substrate, of institutional life, that the materialist-idealist divide is a false, forced choice. Material practices ground values; they manifest their actionability in an object world. Substances are not objects, but they depend on them. Practices
in law, exchange, accounting
are instrumental regimes whose actionability depends on substances, substances that are ontologically subjective, but whose objectivity as social forces depends on that practice. These regimes of routinized material practices are what enable participation in these spheres to proceed without passion, without possession, as a relation to what appear to be exterior objects in all their skeletal impersonality. The transformation of the capitalist ethic into “success” values, for example, the replacement of duty to increase capital by “technical and pragmatic rules” overstates the nature of the transformation (Schlucter, 1996, pp. 68
69). Capital never ceases to be a “god”
a quality that is a quantity in all things, capable of infinite expansion and transmutation and yet determinate, finite, quantifiable expression. One misses its divinity by misrecognizing capital, or property for that matter, as if they were ontologically objective, a “thing,” a “wordly possession” or “good” in Weber’s language (Weber, 1958d, p. 332 “possession of economic goods”; 328 “external and internal possession of things worldly.”) Capital, too, is a god that has to be defended from other “gods” who threaten its existence, its reach, and its powers to make the world. The notion of institutional logic suggests that value rationality is ordinary, not as Weber thought, extraordinary, not because institutions have value beyond their effects, but because these effects depend on primordial valuations. Value rationality as absolute ungrounded belief and rationalized ethical commitment is rare; as a congeries of categorical utterance and material practices it is a commonplace. The most important “objects” or “values” of institutional life are performative, symbolically constructed, to which practices have a nonarbitrary relation. I think this is immanent in Weber’s own characterization of the charismatic quality of lineage and office (Parsons, 1963, p. xxxiv). The operation of instrumental rationality depends on a naturalized ritualism, whether accounting and contract, election, and office. Institutionalization depends on the apparent observability of value, on its objectification through practice whose order, and

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lawfulness, depends on that initial foundation. As the struggles over whether nature, scientific knowledge, a person or a fetus can be property makes clear, property’s objectivity hinges on a politico-ontological contest. Instrumental rationality always contains and conceals a value rationality, which is its foundation, an instrumental rationality that presumes causal mechanisms
taken-for-granted means
ends regularities
that naturalize the cause. Weber not only failed to understand the value rationality undergirding the operation of economic and political spheres which were at the core of his understanding of instrumental rationality (Alexander, 1983), he tended to marginalize material practice in the specification of value rationality. Indeed it is the autonomy of values with respect to practice in his theory that makes individual will so essential and provides the basis of their socially transformative potential. Instrumental rationality, which involves the manipulation of objects, is, in each domain, a vehicle for the naturalization of value rationality. Because there is always a gap between the value and its modal practices, there is necessarily a space for agency, for interpretation, for politics, let alone “entrepreneurship.” It is not just judgment, or human decision, that can reshape the divine pantheon; the refashioning of objects, of material practices, can transubstantiate a new deity onto the stage (Arjalies, 2011).32 This raises the question both of the practical specificity of substance, when variable practices may successful be taken to enact a given substance, and the substantial specificity of practices, the extent to which some practices may be incorporated into other institutional domains with little consequence to an institution’s logic. The institutional productivity of practice remains to be mapped and theorized.

The Death and Birth of Gods An institutional value is a mortal god, one that repeatedly risks death, who is forever dying, becoming inert, dead letter, only to be brought to life again as it is enacted in practice, as institutional substances are materialized through the manipulation of institutional objects: property in money and its variable accountings, sovereignty in votes and territorial boundaries, truth in visible representation, love in bedding arrangements, beauty in pictures and the filigree of gates, style as the slant of a skirt. Material objects anchor practices which materialize substances, as the observable face of the hidden god, naturalizing the ontologically subjective in the ontologically objective. The possibility of death of these gods is built into institutional

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life, not only in the perpetual demand for their instantiation, but in perpetually becoming “lit up” when they fail to refer, or even more, when their reach, their powers over the living, are contested by other deities. These are the divine politics of institution, of world-making through the death and birth of gods, their variable intercourse with and subordination of humans and each other, these daimons who can
and must in these moments
hold our “very fiber.” An institutional sociology might aspire to be a comparative religious sociology, one that is as interested as it is meaningful, the one a condition of the other. An institutional sociology can also aspire to be a passionate theory of fields. In the erotic one can discern a phenomenological template for religion, one that is, in the main, consistent with my understanding of the passion of Weber’s value rationality. Here I draw on the phenomenology of the Catholic philosopher Jean-Luc Marion, who in his “erotic reduction” seeks to give primacy to love, rather than being, as the basis of the making of a human world (Marion, 2007). Marion makes eroticization of the flesh critical to love, to an individualization through flesh and oaths received from and given to the other (Marion, 2007, pp. 126
129, 176). Erotic love is the originary experience of an intimate relationship with another who gives you to yourself only on condition that you risk yourself, that you cede your ego, at first not knowing whom you love or who you will be as you love and are loved (Marion, 2007, p. 111). As Marion points out, one only knows oneself in allowing oneself to be vulnerable to the other, not through bodies observed and penetrated, but through the giving of a flesh that allows itself to be affected. Flesh individualizes me in relation, not as a sovereign ego. Through the flesh
beyond language and reason
love requires one’s passivity, one’s lack, one’s vulnerability. Love depends on a faith without reason in the presence of the other, the other to whom one is given and who gives herself. It depends on the gap between a me and a you that can never be crossed, transcended, or fused. One could argue, a` la Weber, that the divine is a figure for the phenomenology of this love, for an excess without which we would find life not worth living, one, indeed, for which we are willing to give our lives, or, in the opposite direction, that modern erotic love is the transposition or translation of ancient religious forms into intimate life. Whatever the case I will venture that erotic love provides a cultural order of experience for thinking about possession by other “subjects,” not the transformation of position into disposition, but value into bodily life, into a corporeal form of what Weber called “personality.” There is one love. Whether via Plato’s Symposium where Socrates aligns erotic love and the formation of a polis,

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or attachment theory in which the love of a deity and a parent form from the same template, or Freud’s psychoanalytic theory in which ego formation through a mirrored body is joined to social ideals, there is a repeated claim that we think love as a primary constituent of the social. Love in this sense is being given oneself through a relation with an other, whether individual person or a collective ideal. If erotic love provides a template for thinking about institutional logics, its understanding of possession is far from Freud’s instrumentalism of erotic objects. Its movement is not from deficit to possession, to the actualization of genital masculinity as penetration and control. Institutional eroticization, the desire that variably animates its formation, its practice, its elaboration, and its defense, is both feminine and masculine, both passive and active, vulnerable and mastering, both allowing oneself to be possessed and possessing. The master is one who is mastered by the substance, the lover the one who allows himself to be touched, to be opened and penetrated, who can only be through the illusion of having, and who in that illusion covers over that he is had, a satisfied instrument. One never arrives, never controls, never dominates, because one is always an instrument as one instrumentalizes the objects which depend on the substance, which are its outer face, its skin, its immanent form. One is attached to this “other” who gives you to yourself. The attachment is the condition of one’s being, not an incidental object that one controls, but that authors one as one is authorized. There is an erotic phenomenology to institutional life, a being overcome as one comes, of being possessed as one possesses, of being authorized as one authors, of being through the ever impossible approach, not a deficit which one overcomes, an object that one does not have, and then comes to have, to dominate, to use, but an unmasterable surplus “other” that enables one to be, to come over and over again, to keep on playing the game. Institutions depend on a desire to touch the substance, to have it, in that instant, that spasm of illumination, of alignment, that is the engine of institution. Weber’s theory of value spheres suggests both the ethical and analytical damage we do when we reduce agency and politics to agonistic contests over contentless powers or a distributional conflict of the good things. It suggests that the gods cannot be reduced to just one “city” of worth. It suggests that a cognitivist social psychology can hardly be adequate. And it points to the human body
sensuous being and physical life
as the primary vehicle through which our gods must live. It is we, in our bodily lives, who love our institutional gods into life, as we are loved into life by them, and without whom we would not live at all.

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There is then a non-Kantian aspect to Weber’s value rationality, not just the passionate irrationality of will, but its nonautonomy, and its inevitable incompletion in enactment. Value rationality never completes us; it is a pleasurable agony to which we aspire over and over again, corporate titan no less than the composer, the pilgrim, the social theorist, or the cheerleader. We live for those moments of possession, returning over and over to the prospect of this be-coming. Animated by desire, it is also fraught with danger that one will be destroyed, found not worthy, able only to go through the motions, remaining untouched, untransformed, and transforming nothing. In the moment of grace or illumination the religious person becomes a new being
reborn or redeemed, as Weber glosses the “highest conceptions” of salvation (Weber, 1958c, p. 279)
temporarily aligned with something he can never secure, that will always exceed him. And it is through his rebirth that the institutional value is reproduced, brought alive once again, able thereby to call others. It is not different for the scholar who somehow etches out a new connection, espies an unseen strata of reality, the political leader who crafts a viable new vision for the nation-state, the entrepreneur who offers a new commodity, or even property, form on the market, the artist who creates beautiful forms and, of course, the lover who allows himself to be possessed by a woman (or man) who will offer him (her) the recognition and the possibility of being anew. These can all be, and indeed should be, read in instrumentally rational ways, as the control of goods
of knowledge, power, profit, art, sexual bodies
but that does not negate the other side in which one is possessed, and indeed transformed, by the value, never completed, but offered the ecstasy of new possibility, the same kind of humility of desire with which one takes and is taken by a lover or a god. Property, like a lover, offers a double possession, a desire animated by its excess to the things taken up in its sway, that it can be lost in part because it can never be reduced to those things, and thus evaporated or suspended. The pleasure is instrumental, of course, but it is also erotic and sacramental, an alignment with its absolute powers and limitless pleasures, that remakes one’s possibilities, that returns you, in the very plenitude of your instrumental capacities, to the recognition that you are not sovereign, one’s own basis, that you are still, here in this apparently disenchanted domain, seeking to worship and to be loved by a god with an afterlife. In the logic of Weber’s value spheres, value rationality and charisma are integrally linked, as the ordinary extraordinary that makes institutional logic possible. Institutions do not operate through an included exclusion of bare life, but of love, without which they would be dead letters indeed.

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NOTES 1. Indeed “the need for salvation,” Weber argues, is “at all times and in all places” the “substance of religiosity” in an increasingly rationalized world (Weber, 1958d, pp. 352
353). 2. “[W]e ascribe ‘value’ to an item if and only if it can be the content of a commitment: that is, a consciously articulated positive or negative ‘judgment,’ something that appears to us to ‘demand validity’” (Weber, 1975, p. 182). 3. Only “dogmatically bound sects,” Weber argued, are “able to confer on the content of cultural values the status of unconditionally valid ethical imperatives” (Weber, 1949, p. 57). 4. Schlucter defines Weberian value as “the conception of validity that becomes the cause of an action” (1996, p. 63). 5. This implies that constellations of discursive rationalization, practical specificity, and subjective identification will be critical determinants of the likelihood of institutional entrepreneurship. 6. The value of science cannot be derived scientifically, even as a second-order zweckrationalitat (Weber, 1958b, p. 144). “Science has created this cosmos of natural causality and has seemed unable to answer with certainty the question of its own ultimate presuppositions” (Weber, 1958d, p. 355). 7. Carl Schmitt, first termed Weber’s “legitimate” and then the “natural” son by a young Habermas, understood himself as Weber’s rivalrous heir (Engelbrekt, 2009). Is it possible that although Schmitt rejected Weber’s understanding of both law and parliament, he conceptualized the necessity of the sovereign decision on the enemy in light of Weber’s polytheism? Unlike Schmitt Weber is ambivalent about the category of the enemy. Weber was quite cynical about the state’s proclivity to fight the “real” enemy. Writing of the situation where the “social community” takes state form, he noted: “This force has inevitably bred new deeds of violence against external and internal enemies; in addition, it has bred dishonest pretexts for such deeds. Hence it has signified an overt, or what must appear worse, a pharisaically veiled, absence of love” (Weber, 1958d, p. 355). Yet he also argued in the very same essay that “[i]t is absolutely essential for every political association to appeal to the naked violence of coercive means in the face of outsiders as well as in the face of internal enemies” (Weber, 1958d, p. 334). It is Weber’s gods, not his sovereign, that evoke Schmittian political theology. Schmitt famously understood the sovereign as modeled on a God, as a political theory. He also understood values, like the sovereign, as absolute, to which one, like Weber’s notion of value rationality, is required to render unquestioned commitment. “The notion of values with which Schmitt operates,” Engelbrekt writes, “… is similar to that of sovereignty, in that any value that is given precedence becomes a priori absolute, indivisible and incommensurate with other values (Engelbrekt, 2009, p. 673). Is it possible that Schmitt relocated the sovereign decision on the enemy from Weber’s individual imperative to decide on the “devil”? For Weber these aggregated decisions were the basis of the lawfulness of the spheres; for Schmitt, the sovereign decision was the basis of the law. 8. This may be consistent with Weber’s historical generalization that the “objectification of the power structure” or the “rationalization of coercion” is

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accompanied by a “flight into apolitical emotionalism” which includes eroticism, an “acosmic ethic of absolute goodness,” and mysticism (Weber, 1978, p. 601). The relation is not clear. Weber could be pointing to the consonance between impersonal, or personless, forms of action, each organized around an inaccessible, or invisible, value. Or he could be pointing to a substitution of a re-personalization, a hyper-subjectification, in response to depersonalization, the covering over of the god that once animated state and capitalism. This would be a substitution of a personalized world for a depersonalized one, or one that hinges on an illusionary having as against a political world where there are only power mechanisms, not a leader who wields power with an ethic of conviction toward a particular value. Whatever the specification, a sociological relation is posited between value spheres which can be read as more than just an escape from rationalization. 9. Weber defines “‘personality,’ a concept which entails a constant and intrinsic relation to certain ultimate ‘values’ and ‘meanings’ of life, ‘values’ and ‘meanings’ which are forged into purposes and thereby translated into rational-teleological action” (Weber, 1975, p. 192). 10. Pudsey and Symonds systematically lay out four types of “brotherly love” in Weber’s sociology of religion, which vary in the extent to which they approximate Weber’s ideal type of a “genuine ethic of brotherliness” which includes universality of scope, face-to-face care, opposition to the worldly order against which it pursues love as an ethic of ultimate ends (2006). 11. “That which holds for the description of shades of light, tones of sound, nuances of smell, etc., also holds in exactly the same sense for the description of religious, aesthetic, and ethical ‘value feelings,’” he writes (Weber, 1975, p. 182). 12. “The relation of individuals to possible ‘values’ always implies that exclusively intuitive ‘feelings’ have been eliminated, at least to some degree, which is invariably only relative” (Weber, 1975, p. 183). 13. Yet it is this God’s very transcendental quality, his absolute freedom, that ultimately established the conditions in the West to take down kings and let the people speak. As Louis Dupre´ has shown, such a god’s absolute power became the model for the modern subject (Dupre´, 1993). On the one hand, it generated a new kind of Cartesian knowing subject whose knowledge is grounded in the certainty of his subjective representation, and on the other hand, it created a new kind of religious subject, whose salvation is justified by his own faith, a faith likewise indicated by his certainty, in other words, a Protestant. 14. For Weber, the template for value is in fact life itself (Weber, 1958d, p. 344). 15. It is found neither among bureaucrats, party bosses nor parliamentary politicians. “Conscious departures from tradition,” Weber wrote in Economy and Society, “were originally almost entirely due to prophetic oracles or at least to pronouncements which were sanctioned as prophetic and thus were considered sacred” (Weber, 1978, p. 37). 16. Although charisma inheres in the person, it cannot, as Agamben argues, be reduced to auctoritas, to the force of law or sovereign decision which emerges with the suspension or neutralization of the law. For Weber, I would argue, charisma is tied to value which must have a relation to, yet exceed, the law or norm. It is the embodiment of that “cause,” Weber argues, that makes a political leader, and hence charisma is, contrary to Agamben, “a more originary form of power” (Agamben,

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2005, pp. 83
86). For Weber, charisma aligns not with Paul, but with Calvin, for those who understand themselves as tools of these “godheads.” 17. “Devotion to politics,” Weber argues, “can be born and nourished from passion alone” (Weber, 1958a, p. 115). 18. Weber also equates a man’s erotic conquest of a woman with the “conquest of power” (Weber, 1958d, p. 345). 19. See also his invocation of choosing between a brunette and the blonde (Weber, 1949, p. 12). 20. By cutting sovereignty away from sacrifice, by refusing its theological lineage, Giorgio Agamben misses its erotics, its foundational biopolitics, its link to fertility, its jealous love, its sacrificial care. He can thus treat “anomic feasts”
Saturnalia, carnevale, charivari, rites where gender and status reversals abound
as statecentric fictions or fictio. The “‘legal anarchy’ of the anomic feasts, he writes, do not refer back to ancient agrarian rites, which in themselves explain nothing … These popular rites, he argues, mournfully parody the logic of sovereignty, the inner, unspeakable bond between an anomic sovereign and an anomic life, here an anomie defined by violence, by excision and ban. They point, in other words, to “the real state of exception” (Agamben, 2005, pp. 71
73). 21. If life is the originary template for value, and indeed the basis of divinity, it would not be surprising that we would look to sexuality for its figuration, and that woman’s body would become an Ur language by which to imagine it, and that in the Western transcript at least, its explicit theorization would be unthinkable, for men to imagine that our world be constructed through a feminine subject position, as in the shocking male pregnancy posited by Socrates, that the sacred would be so dangerous, something that can give us life and can kill us, can undo us, including the very basis of our subjectivity as men. 22. Weber sometimes elides the distinction between the two forms of possession. “Others seek to be possessed by God and to possess God, to be a bridegroom of the Virgin Mary, or to be the bride of the Savior” (Weber, 1958c, p. 278). This is doubly curious not only because possession need not be identified with mysticism and because of the disjunction in the parallelism: a groom would possess and a bride be possessed. 23. There is an inner tension here: On the one hand, one must choose, on the other hand, one is chosen. The choice depends on a will without reason, a passion, a love affair. There is an intriguing parallel between the logic of a value sphere and the way in which Christians understand God’s grace. Overpowering institutional call and individual response, or taking up, of the calling. I cannot not see the Christian parallel of a God whose bestowal of grace, whose call, is so powerful, that one cannot resist, and yet the individual who is understood to choose his faithlessness, his fallen condition through lack of faith. There are echoes of this absurd asymmetry in Weber’s polytheism
that one’s institutional salvation is not the result of one’s will, not an instrumental rationality, not a possessing, or even a “having,” while one’s lack of salvation is a result of the failure of one’s will. 24. “Mysticism is a unique escape from this world in the form of an objectless devotion to anybody, not for the man’s sake but purely for devotion’s sake … ” (Weber, 1978, p. 589).

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25. Regarding the Puritans’ “impersonal brotherliness,” Pudsey and Symonds put it this way: “Brotherly love now includes elements of hatred when the ethical concern with the suffering of every person is replaced by the elect’s sense of vocational labor and certainty of grace” (2006, p. 139). 26. It is also consistent with the thinking of David Hume for whom property “produces most commonly the passion of pride” in ourselves and “love” of another, which he considered the only just and stable basis of social solidarity (MacIntyre, 1988, pp. 294
298). 27. This is a variant of Weber’s hypothesis that human freedom depends on transcendent values, autonomous of worldly goods, to which individuals may decide to orient themselves (Alexander, 1983). 28. I have no position on how many institutional “logics” exist. Here I draw both on Thornton, Ocasio, and Lounsbury (2012) and The´venot, Moody, and Lafaye (2000). 29. Levi-Stauss argued that women were the first currency, the first basis of exogamous exchange, and hence of ever more complex forms of social solidarity. Although it is entirely speculative, if my understanding of substances is correct, then, following Weber’s historical account of the origins of religion, kinship groups are formed through gift-giving in the sense of giving the elemental givers of value. 30. Another reason this is so because of his understanding of the contradiction between political means and ethical ends in a democratic nation-state (Weber, 1958a, 1958d). The means of politics
violence, party organization, and emotional manipulation
all contravene whatever ethical commitments a political leader bring to the political arena. 31. Weber, like many historians and theorists, was incorrect about the erasure of rite and sacrament in Protestantism, particular early modern popular evangelical traditions, including Presbyterianism, Baptism, and Methodism (Schmidt, 2001). 32. Diane-Laure Arjalies, exploring the emergence of socially responsible investment, conceptualizes the trajectory of transformation as a movement back and forth from “technical” to “epistemic objects,” and the ways in which the latter “provide a medium” by which actors transform practices and hence the institutional logic of their field, here the uneasy and unstable weld of two institutional logics of capitalist profitability and “social responsibility” (Arjalies, 2011).

ACKNOWLEDGMENT My thanks to Serge Peyre of the Chancellery of the University of Paris who guided me through the site and provided me this information. In writing this article, I am indebted to actual and virtual conversations with Sarah Friedland, Damon Golsorkhi, Debra Friedland, Alistair Mutch, Brad Onishi, Michael Lounsbury, Daniel Gabay, Jeffrey Alexander, Nicolas Dromel, Patricia Thornton, Diane-Laure Arjalies, Afshin Mehrpouya, Gregoire Croidieu, and Tom Carlson. I also had the benefit of engaging audiences at the Grenoble Ecole de Management and the EM Lyon Business School who read an earlier version of this article.

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REFERENCES Agamben, G. (1998). Homo sacer: Sovereign power and bare life. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Agamben, G. (2005). State of exception. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Alexander, J. C. (1983). The classical attempt at theoretical synthesis: Max Weber. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Arendt, H. (1996). Love and Saint Augustine. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Arjalies, D.-L. (2010). A social movement perspective on finance: How socially responsible investment mattered. Journal of Business Ethics, 92, 57
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362). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Weber, M. (1958e). The Protestant ethic and the spirit of capitalism. New York, NY: Scribners. Weber, M. (1975). Knies and the problem of irrationality. In G. Oakes (Ed.), Roscher and Knies: The logical problems of historical economics. New York, NY: Free Press. Weber, M. (1978). Economy and society: An outline of interpretive sociology. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

PRODUCTIVE RESISTANCE: A STUDY OF CHANGE, EMOTIONS, AND IDENTITY IN THE CONTEXT OF THE APOSTOLIC VISITATION OF U.S. WOMEN RELIGIOUS, 2008
2012 Simona Giorgi, Margaret E. Guider and Jean M. Bartunek ABSTRACT We discuss a recent effort of institutional resistance in the context of the 2008
2011 Apostolic Visitation of U.S. women religious motivated by Vatican concerns about perceived secularism and potential lack of fidelity among Catholic sisters. We examined the process of and women’s responses to the Visitation to shed light on the institutional work associated with productive resistance and the role of identity and emotions in transforming institutions.

Religion and Organization Theory Research in the Sociology of Organizations, Volume 41, 259
300 Copyright r 2014 by Emerald Group Publishing Limited All rights of reproduction in any form reserved ISSN: 0733-558X/doi:10.1108/S0733-558X20140000041016

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At a time when the male leadership can be blamed for leading the church to a state of crisis
a time when the voices of women are needed more than ever
even the modest roles accorded to female clerics have come under attack. The specific reasons for the investigation are unclear (or, more probably, not public), but the suspicion, clearly, can be put in the crassest terms: too many American nuns have gone off the reservation.
Lisa Miller, Female Troubles, Newsweek, May 27, 2010

Keywords: Institutional change; religion; emotions; identity; Catholic Church; resistance to change

INTRODUCTION Members of institutions are not all equal in terms of power and authority. Further, while virtually all institutions are generally associated with automatic forms of regulation that define spheres of authority and enforce compliance (Jepperson, 1991; Lawrence, 2008), even when not visible (Foucault, 1977), such norms and regulations of power dynamics are even more pronounced and codified in a large, historical institution like the Roman Catholic Church. In this article we discuss an attempt by the Catholic Church to exert institutional control over women religious in the United States, outcomes of the attempt, and the implications of these for institutional theory. In addition to its rather intricate hierarchical system of pope, cardinals, archbishops, bishops, and priests, the Catholic Church has also, over the centuries, regulated the organization, lifestyle, and mission of women religious by means of obedience to superiors and church authorities, communal living in convents, identifiable habits or garb, and specified ministries. Outside of their particular religious institute, women religious have often been relegated to a supporting role of their male counterparts, as bishops were in charge of evaluating the appropriateness of women’s practices and of punishing out-of-line behavior. During the 19th and early 20th centuries, women religious in the United States found themselves in a context radically different from that of more established countries, especially in Europe. Though still under the authority and surveillance of their local bishops, they exercised high degrees of entrepreneurial creativity in the fields of health care, education, and social work, setting themselves at the service of Catholics and non-Catholics alike. Conflicts with bishops who judged these activities to be inappropriate and

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out-of-line for women religious were not uncommon. Punishments and imposed restrictions could be severe. For example, in 1845, when John Hughes, the bishop of New York, decided that the work of the Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul did not meet his needs and expectations, he demanded that the congregation’s rule be changed (Nelson, 2001, pp. 36
37). The superior of the Daughters of Charity disagreed, and this forced individual sisters to decide whether to stay in New York as a breakaway community under the Bishop’s leadership or leave New York to remain part of their original congregation. In the mid-1960s, the Second Vatican Council brought about significant changes for women religious throughout the world (Flannery, 1975). Religious institutes were invited and instructed to rediscover their founding charisms and arrive at new and renewed understandings of the unique ways with which they could contribute to the Church and society. For U.S. women religious, this ecclesiological shift toward increased acceptance of the heterogeneity present in the world Church and greater openness to the modern world, coupled with the decentralizing forces and de-Romanizing impulses of Vatican II, contributed considerably to the “translation” (Fiss & Zajac, 2004; Latour, 1987) of the historical understanding of Catholic sisters into a new and evolving understanding of women religious, engaged in diverse ministries, serving both within and beyond Catholic institutions, no longer visibly identifiable by habit, living in small communities in neighborhood apartments and houses, rather than in institutional convents. In other words, mindful of the fact that some women religious preferred to maintain, culturally speaking, a historical and traditional form of religious life, the majority embraced an increasingly modern and secularized form of religious life. In 2008, alarmed by the perceived negative consequences and untoward influences of liberal and progressive understandings of the dynamics of faith and culture in areas such as human rights, human sexuality, and feminism on women religious in the United States, the Vatican Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life announced its decision to conduct an Apostolic Visitation of religious institutes of women in the United States. At the outset of the Visitation, many sisters experienced a sense of shock and threat, since a visitation is usually initiated to correct serious neglects or abuses (Hughes, 2010, pp. 19
20). For example, in 2011, an Apostolic Visitation of major Catholic institutions was initiated in Ireland in response to the extensive sex abuse scandal there. Hence, women religious began raising questions concerning the exact nature and extent of the alleged

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transgressions that this Apostolic Visitation of sisters in the United States was intended to assess and correct. In this article we examine the process through which U.S. women religious engaged and managed the Visitation in order to shed light on the relatively understudied phenomenon of institutional resistance. Early work in institutional theory emphasized the homogenizing power of institutions and of their logics that concatenate to prescribe and proscribe actors’ behavior. A more recent stream of research, on the other hand, has brought attention to the ability of a particular category of powerful actors, institutional entrepreneurs (DiMaggio, 1988), to marshal resources in support of their projects of change and break, mold, and transform institutions. Despite recent theorizing on institutional resistance (Lawrence, 2008) and work on resistance to change within organizations (e.g., Courpasson, Dany, & Clegg, 2012), there is limited empirical evidence regarding the institutional work (Lawrence & Suddaby, 2006) that less powerful actors conduct to impose limits to or redefine power relations (Lawrence, 2008). In this article we ask: how do actors manage attempts at change projects by more powerful others within the same institution, especially when exit (Hirschman, 1970) or open opposition (e.g., Goodwin, Jasper, & Polletta, 2001) are not considered viable options? We believe that what makes this case particularly interesting is the profound involvement that women religious experience in relation to the Catholic Church
this is a calling with an expectation of a lifetime commitment that is different from the stance of most activists or organizational members, who can change jobs, choose a different target organization, or embrace another cause with typically little penalty. These actors’ deeper commitment to institutional membership opens up the possibility for an exploration of middle ground strategies of resistance, such as compromising, avoiding, and defying (Oliver, 1991), that have been so far understudied (Lawrence, 2008), hence much less understood. While the Vatican might have seen the Visitation as an opportunity to reaffirm its institutional control over a heterogeneous landscape of practices and beliefs in the United States, in this case institutional work consisted not in a counterattack, but in a subtle renegotiation of the identity, power, and location of women religious within the Church. In this article, we examine the process of institutional resistance in the context of the Apostolic Visitation of Roman Catholic Institutes of Women Religious in the United States. First announced in 2008, the Visitation was conducted over a period of three years from 2009 to 2011; it concluded in January 2012 with the delivery of a confidential comprehensive report to the Vatican Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life

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and for Societies of Apostolic life. During the course of the Visitation, national and international media (e.g., Goodstein, 2009; Stange, 2009) reinforced a broadly held perception that such a process represented an “audit” of the lives of women religious in the United States with the goal of realigning some divergent attitudes, readjusting some disputed practices, and reaffirming adherence to principles of authority and obedience through a redefinition of the role of women religious within the Church. On the basis of our investigation we will suggest that resistance is not simply a reaction to change, but an active process that hinges upon significant institutional work and that involves emotions and identity. In other words, the resisters themselves may undergo a change or transformation to cope with a potential threat. By effectively managing their emotions and without recourse to open opposition, women religious in the United States were able to develop and coalesce around a new, empowering identity, hence providing legitimacy to the heterogeneity of beliefs, values, and practices within the institution. This study contributes to work in institutional theory by shedding light on the understudied process of institutional resistance, hence by highlighting the importance of power dynamics, identity, and emotions that underpin institutions. The structure of this article is as follows: first, we will briefly review the literature related to resistance, then we will focus on the empirical setting, and finally we will offer a discussion of our findings and conclusion.

INSTITUTIONAL RESISTANCE AND CHANGE Resistance as Opposition In this study, we refer to women religious’ engagement and management of the potential change initiated by the Visitation as an instance of institutional resistance. Despite some criticism of the term itself (e.g., Dent & Goldberg, 1999), the concept of resistance has been widely studied within organizations (Ashforth & Mael, 1998; Brower & Abolafia, 1995; Hirschman, 1970) as an inherent aspect of organizational life (Mumby, 2005). Resistance has been metaphorically defined as a restraining force moving in the direction of maintaining the status quo (Lewin, 1952) and, traditionally, indicates a set of negative or, at most ambivalent, responses to change (Piderit, 2000).

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In sociology, classic work similarly captures the irreducible opposition between management and subordinates and sees resistance as the recognition of a common interest in opposition to more powerful others (Burawoy, 1982). Even when workers do not oppose management through strikes and barricades, the relationship is still assumed to be adversarial; for instance, workers adapt work schedules (Roy, 1959) and use available resources (Anteby, 2008) to pursue their own interests on their company’s time. As Jermier, Knights, and Nord (1994, p. 9) state, “the most prevalent way of analyzing resistance is to see it as a reactive process where agents embedded in power relations actively oppose initiatives by other agents.” Recent research has shown that resistance may have more profound meaning. It is frequently a response to inappropriate approaches taken by change agents, and it is sometimes helpful, not harmful, to the organization (Ford, Ford, & D’Amelio, 2008). Resisters may oppose change for positive reasons such as ethical reasons or the desire to protect the organization’s interests (Piderit, 2000). Courpasson and his colleagues (2012) take this idea a step further and argue resistance should not be thought of using an adversarial perspective; productive resistance allows less powerful members of an organization to voice alternative claims and interests that can improve management decision making and benefit the organization as a whole (Courpasson & Dany, 2009). An approach to the study of resistance as an authentic expression of concern with positive goals for the organization as a whole finds support in parallel work on creative resistance, which mostly examines the emergence of new identities that challenge the status quo (Ewick & Silbey, 2003; Thomas, 2009). An additional contribution of Courpasson et al. (2012) lies in their recognition of the active role of resisters in crafting and pushing forward their claims. In other words, the status quo can be challenged and it is not necessarily up to managers to grant concessions or accept moral gray zones (Anteby, 2008).

Institutional Resistance and Power Dynamics While research so far has identified various forces that lead employees away from supporting changes proposed by managers, whether because of irreconcilable differences in the interests of the power holders and of their subordinates (e.g., Burawoy, 1982) or because of a sincere desire to advance the organization’s goals, scholars of resistance have not fully examined the power relations at the core of resistance and the institutional

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work that goes into developing a project of resistance. Although the study of the relationship between power and institutions is still incipient, recent work offers some important insights. In particular, Lawrence (2008) identified three main dimensions of the interplay between power and institutions: institutional agency, institutional control, and institutional resistance. Research on institutional control is about the influence that institutions exert on their members. Institutions are by definition associated with the reproduction of legitimized ways of doing and thinking, hence with stability (Jepperson, 1991; Selznick, 1984/1957). Once an institution is in place, its beliefs, values, and practices guide and constrain cognition and behavior; even when the institution grants some latitude in developing strategies of action, this is still within the logics of the status quo (Anteby, 2008). Control, even when not openly exercised, is about discipline and domination (Foucault, 1977; Lawrence, 2008). Change can then emerge as the result of exogenous shocks, such as wars, changes in regulation, or new technology. Because of these external forces, the beliefs, values, and practices that preserve and maintain the institution can temporarily unfreeze, allowing for new beliefs, values, and practices to complement or replace elements of the existing cultural ground (Bartunek, 1984; Powell, 1991). Work on institutional agency that emerged in reaction to this initial emphasis on persistence and maintenance argued that new institutional arrangements can “arise when organized actors with sufficient resources (institutional entrepreneurs) see in them an opportunity to realize interests that they value highly” (DiMaggio, 1988, p. 14). Rather than struggling to introduce some form of externally mandated change (e.g., Boiral, 2007; Zbaracki, 1998), institutional entrepreneurs actively engage in collecting and mobilizing both material and symbolic resources to change existing institutional arrangements. For example, Greenwood, Hinings, and Suddaby (2002) showed how elite accounting firms pioneered and championed the introduction of multidisciplinary practice firms that combined several professions, such as accounting, consulting, and law, despite intense contestations (Covaleski, Dirsmith, & Rittenberg, 2003). In the narrative on institutional agency, a few almost heroic actors can break away from domination and control through institutional work that implies a transformation or replacement of the cultural codes underpinning any institutional arrangement (e.g., Greenwood & Suddaby, 2006; Maguire, Hardy, & Lawrence, 2004). Resistance, on the other hand, represents an engagement of both institutional control and institutional agency. It often consists in setting limits on the projects of potential power holders and has so far remained the “most neglected aspect of institutional politics”

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(Lawrence, 2008, p. 179). Oliver (1991) first discussed the wide range of potential responses to institutional pressures in which actors must engage and the distribution of such responses from the most passive, acquiescence, to the most active, manipulation. While initial work in institutional theory assumes acquiescence of institutional dopes, social movement theory offers plenty of examples of manipulation (e.g., Goodwin et al., 2001). There is, however, a dearth of research on middle ground strategies of resistance, such as compromising, avoiding, and defying. With attention to cultural codes and power dynamics, we set out to examine such middle ground strategies in the context of women religious’ engagement of the Apostolic Visitation.

METHODS Our examination is from an insider/outsider perspective (Bartunek & Louis, 1996). The first author is an academic, in a school of management. The second and third authors are academics, one in a school of theology and the other in a school of management, and members of two different institutes of women religious. The second author was vice president of her religious institute at the time the events to be discussed here unfolded. In addition, she has, for several years, taught courses on the history and theology of religious life. We collected data for this article in multiple ways. The second author provided considerable public information shared by leaders and spokespersons of religious institutes by way of correspondence and congregational publications, as well as archival information on the history of religious institutes from the past 150 years. The first and third authors conducted extensive bibliographic data searches, including Factiva searches for news articles about the Apostolic Visitation as well as searches of Catholic news sources. In addition, the authors conducted a small number of informal interviews with women serving as leaders of religious institutes.

THE APOSTOLIC VISITATION AND RESISTANCE This section begins by describing common characterizations of Roman Catholic women religious (Coburn & Smith, 1999; Fialka, 2003; Rogers,

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2011). It then takes into account some of the major social, political, and economic changes that have affected the lives of women religious during the past century, along with the evolution of institutes of women religious in the United States, the announcement and unfolding of the Visitation from the decree issued at the end of 2008 to the concluding report submitted at the beginning of 2012, the engagement of women religious with the Visitation, and some unexpected consequences of this process.

Historical Overview of the Role of Women Religious Over the course of the centuries, different models and forms of consecrated life for women emerged and evolved within the structures of the Roman Catholic Church (Cada, Fritz, Foley, & Giardino, 1985; Rapley, 2011). The origins of religious life can be traced to the ascetic and hermit experiences of “desert mothers” in the 3rd to 5th centuries (Swan, 2001). These later gave way to various forms of monasticism (e.g., Benedictine and Carthusian, from the 6th to 15th centuries; Hamburger & Marti, 2008). From 12th to 16th centuries, mendicant and evangelical forms of religious life for women emerged within the Franciscan, Carmelite, Dominican, Servite, and Augustinian traditions (Grundmann, 1995). From the mid16th century through the mid-20th century, religious congregations and societies of apostolic life for women ebbed and flowed in great numbers (Cada, Fitz, Foley, Giardino, & Lichtenberg, 1985; Wittberg, 1994). While in the history of the Roman Catholic Church there is no single “ideal type” of a woman religious or a community of women religious, the 1917 Code of Canon Law established three key vows
chastity, poverty, and obedience
and standardized essential practices regarding prayer, life in community, and an understanding of one’s mission that begins with the sanctification of the soul and finds fulfillment in a specific ministry (for two distinct views of this subject see Fiand, 2001 and Council of Major Superiors of Women Religious, 2009). The 1917 Code of Canon Law, together with existing European customs and rituals, contributed to an early-20th century understanding of the “ideal type” of woman religious as one who entered the convent, ordinarily as a young virgin, espoused herself to Christ for the salvation of her soul, and embraced a future characterized by spiritual motherhood, devotion to a life of prayer and ministry, and living a vowed life in community with her sisters. A woman religious pledged unwavering obedience

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to the church and its authorities, her superiors, and the law of her religious institute. Such obedience manifested itself in various outward visible signs, among them, the wearing of a traditional habit and veil as a sign of her consecration, along with daily adherence to the essential elements established by the Roman Catholic Church and those particular elements established by the religious institute to which a woman religious belonged. Traditionally, women religious, as brides of Christ (Sponsa Christi), while often engaged in a variety of ministries and/or missionary activities that required them to be in contact with the outside world, endeavored to keep the focus of their lives on the sanctification of their souls and those of their sisters through prayer and penance. By any definition of the term, this pattern was well institutionalized, as described by Walsh (1927) and Poage (1943) and depicted in movies such as The Bells of St. Mary’s, Come to the Stable, The Nun’s Story, Lilies of the Field, The Sound of Music, Sister Act, and Doubt (Ortega Murphy & Whalen, 2011). Ministries were often carried out in settings under the control of the local bishop where priests were present and had informal, if not formal, authority over sisters. In addition to the superiors of religious institutes, bishops or other ecclesial authorities were in charge of evaluating the lives and ministries of women religious and, if judged necessary, disciplining misconduct and correcting improper practices. An historical example of an extreme form of such institutional control (Lawrence, 2008) is found in the case of Mary Ward (Donovan, 2004; McClory, 1999), who attempted in the 17th century to found a religious institute for women, the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary, modeled on Jesuit spirituality. She designed her institute not to require cloister or a religious habit, to be governed entirely by women, to combine contemplation with good works, especially through the religious education of women. She began to establish schools and foundations, but aroused complaint from priests who “resented these bold, upstart women and their obviously dissident lifestyle” (McClory, 1999). In 1631 she was (briefly) imprisoned as a “heretic, schismatic and rebel against holy church” and her institute disbanded. Her institute survived, although it wasn’t until 1909, 269 years after Mary Ward’s death that the members of her institute were permitted to acknowledge her as their foundress. Somewhat ironically, during the time of initial modernization of religious life in 1951 Pope Pius XII honored her as an incomparable woman, and she was recently declared “Venerable” by Pope Benedict XXI in 2009; the first of three steps toward sainthood.

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Broad Social, Political, and Cultural Changes in the World and in the Church The adequacy and appropriateness of this ideal of the Roman Catholic women religious was challenged in the aftermath of the Second World War. A shift in ecclesial consciousness and sociocultural understandings about the role of women religious in the life of the Roman Catholic Church and the world was concomitant with broader societal changes that directly and indirectly affected the Church itself. These included key historical events such as the reconstruction and development of Europe, cultural and political divisions among Europeans in the wake of the Cold War, the dismantling of colonialism, the reassessment and redirection of Roman Catholic missionary efforts, and cultural shifts regarding the changing role of women in society that included a more prominent place in leadership and the professions. On November 21, 1950, Pope Pius XII issued the apostolic constitution Sponsa Christi, in which he urged religious superiors to begin the modernization of their institutes, including setting aside outmoded customs, humanizing the lifestyle, increasing attention to professional and cultural education of sisters, and modifying practices which were unhealthy for the Sisters or which potentially alienated them from others, such as the often cumbersome styles of habits (Schneiders, 2009a, 2011). In the 1950s and 1960s, momentum built toward the updating and renewal of institutes of women religious, especially in terms of greater immersion into the secular world. Church officials exhorted leaders and members of religious institutes to return to their founding charisms by asking themselves: If your founder/ foundress were alive today, what would he/she and his/her early companions be doing? In 1962, Belgian Cardinal Leon Joseph Suenens published an influential book, The Nun in the World, urging women religious not to restrict their apostolic efforts to children and the ill and dying. In addition, he noted, “an observer analyzing the part played by religious today cannot help being struck by their absence from the main spheres of influence at adult levels, spheres where they have a right to be and where their talents are called for and their presence is needed” (Suenens, 1962, p. 25). In 1962, the convening of the Second Vatican Council by Pope John XIII proved to be a watershed event in the modern history of the Roman Catholic Church as an institution (Alberigo, 2006; Kim, 1980; Ratzinger, 2009). The Second Vatican Council contributed greatly to the renewal of theology and the updating of the Church’s teachings and social attitudes.

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It initiated fundamental changes in the Church’s self-understanding in many areas, especially its engagement with the outside world (Bartunek, 1984). The traditional ideal of women religious as dutiful and submissive daughters of the Church was complemented by a new and emerging ideal of women religious as dedicated and mature ecclesial women. Following the Council, in contrast to the past, some “new nuns” came to understand themselves as disciples of Jesus, not only his spouse; they came to focus in particular on the spiritual and material welfare of others in faith and justice (cf. Guider, 1995) as well as their own individual salvation; they committed themselves to ministry and lives in community where hierarchical distance was minimized. In other words, the lives of Catholic sisters began to be shaped more by relations of mutuality and collegiality than determined by submission and permissions (Borromeo, 1968). As these forms began to change, so did the content of individual and collective understandings of what it meant to be a woman religious in the church and in the world of the 20th century.

Historical Overview of Women Religious in the United States Even prior to the Second Vatican Council, in the cultural context of the United States, modern notions of democracy, human freedom, civil rights, social equality between men and women and evolving American feminism had called into question some of the fundamental beliefs and organizing principles of classical theological, philosophical and anthropological convictions of the Catholic Church (Massa, 2010). From the start of their presence in the United States in the late 18th century, religious institutes of women took advantage of a life less circumscribed than the life of their European sisters (Carey, 2012). From the early 19th century on, many sisters and nuns in the United States, both European missionary women as well as those born in the United States, often with limited or no resources, managed to put in place many educational, health care, and social service institutions that set the benchmark for human services networks in both the public and private sectors (Butler, 2012). Further, some U.S. women religious were intent on accomplishing the Church’s expressed mission of keeping Catholic immigrants “Catholic,” by educating them, keeping them healthy, and protecting them from the seemingly hostile or indifferent American cultural context. Given this mission,

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many bishops, priests, and benefactors at times looked the other way when it came to the actions and activities of entrepreneurial sisters, the likes of which would have come under scrutiny in the European context (Carey, 2012). If it meant Mother Cabrini’s sisters would dress like Italian widows on the streets of Chicago in order to discretely care for Italian immigrants without drawing attention to themselves or their ministries, the end justified the means (Galilea, 1996). Other women religious, for the sake of the Church’s broader mission to serve humanity beyond the confines of the Catholic population, chose to engage the opportunities which religious pluralism afforded them by means of collaboration with non-Catholics. This manner of proceeding, however, did not always find favor with local bishops or some of their own sisters. Such was the case of Mother Alfred Moes, foundress of two Franciscan congregations and the founder of St. Mary’s Hospital, in Rochester, Minnesota, whose partnership with the Doctors Mayo led to the construction of a new hospital in the wake of the infamous tornado which devastated Rochester in 1883. Archbishop John Ireland of Minneapolis/St. Paul was instrumental in deposing Mother Alfred as superior general and as administrator of the hospital. The thought of a Catholic sister independently bank-rolling the building of a hospital on her own initiative and, even worse, in collaboration with Protestants, proved to be a form of entrepreneurial agency that, regardless of outcome [the world renowned Mayo Clinic], could not be tolerated by the bishop or approved of by some of her own sisters (Kraman, 1990). In the early to mid-20th century, while the Great Depression and the two World Wars affected American sisters, their anxieties and deprivations could not begin to compare with the sufferings and losses of their European counterparts. From 1918 to 1948, several factors contributed to a certain flourishing as women religious in the United States took advantage of numerous opportunities to advance their position, not only in the estimation of the Roman Catholic Church, but also society at large. The rigors of the U.S. educational system coupled with the drive for certification, professionalization, and standardization set the bar fairly high for sisters who were teachers, health care professionals, and social workers. Sisters were committed to becoming as well educated as their professional peers whether lay or clerical. Denied access to ecclesiastical degree programs reserved exclusively to priests and seminarians, they became biblical scholars, theologians, and church historians by pursuing advanced degrees in classical languages, philosophy, history, and literature at public and private universities.

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A New Cultural Landscape for Religious Life The convergence of the Second Vatican Council with the evolving cultural context of the United States led many U.S. women religious to a new awareness of their place in the modern world. For example, some believed their habits, over time, had become impediments to effective ministry. Rather than making them identifiable and accessible, the habits caused people to withdraw from the sisters, to avoid them or to make negative assessments about the degree to which they could be of service, especially to those on the margins of society. For many women religious, the veils they had once worn as symbols of their consecration and espousal to Christ no longer held the same significance; regular street clothes, a profession cross or crucifix, a gold band or silver ring, and an emblem symbolic of the religious institute were considered meaningful markers that readily identified many women religious in the American world of Catholic culture. At the same time, others continued to find religious garb important, and not at all an impediment. In 1968, the shifts taking place in Catholic culture were epitomized by a questionnaire conducted by Sister Marie Augusta Neal and distributed individually to all women religious in the United States. The questionnaire assessed the degree to which women’s religious institutes had received, interpreted and acted upon the Second Vatican Council’s mandate for renewal (Neal, 1971, 1984). The very act of taking the questionnaire was a radicalizing experience for many sisters (Vidulich, 1999) and fostered impetuses for social justice and related areas in spheres of influence well beyond traditionally Catholic contexts. For other sisters the orientation of the questionnaire did not reflect what they felt to be the most appropriate emphases for religious life. Thus, the early years of the post-Vatican II renewal found considerable differences among women religious operating out of different perspectives (e.g., Bartunek, 1984). Over the course of the next decades, growing numbers of women religious in the United States began to live in smaller communities of sisters rather than in large convent communities. Some lived alone or with one or two others in apartments that were in proximity to their ministries. Some experimented with “new forms” of religious life, while a few others founded new religious institutes. Some entered into unprecedented arenas of activity as canon lawyers, theologians, chancellors of dioceses, heads of chaplaincy for major medical centers as well as innovators in media and communications, leaders in professional societies in science, management and the humanities, directors of international human rights organizations, as

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advocates for peace-building initiatives and restorative justice. Two prime examples include Mother Angelica, the founder and director of the Eternal Word Television Network with over 21 million daily viewers (Arroyo, 2005) and Sister Helen Prejean, whose 1993 book Dead Man Walking continues to contribute greatly to national and international efforts to end capital punishment in the United States and elsewhere in the world. The minority and majority approaches to the renewal of religious life eventually came to be epitomized institutionally by two different leadership groups representing active women religious (as distinct from contemplative nuns) in the United States. The latter approach is largely representative of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR, which according to its website, represents about 80% of apostolic women religious in the United States) and the former approach is largely representative of the Council of Major Superiors of Women Religious (CMSWR, which represents most institutes not belonging to LCWR). A few institutes belong to both organizations and a few belong to neither. Both leadership groups operate under Vatican authorization and recognition, but CMSWR is more explicit about the manner in which it follows the dictates of the Church. Among the more secularized majority of women religious identified with LCWR, some figured prominently as dissenting voices and public critics of policies, practices, and teachings of the Roman Catholic Church and ecclesial authorities. Some of the controversial issues have included divorce and remarriage, the ordination of women and married men to the ministerial priesthood, ecumenical and inter-religious dialogue, human sexuality and bioethics, and, recently, the cover-up and mishandling of the clergy sexual abuse by church authorities (e.g., Bartunek, Hinsdale, & Keenan, 2006). At the same time, among the more traditional minority of women religious identified with CMSWR as well as like-minded sisters belonging to institutes aligned with the more secularized majority, some have figured prominently as charismatic leaders and spokespersons for ecclesial and social initiatives to intensify Roman Catholic identity and spiritual renewal, to promote traditional family values and strict adherence to church teachings and authority in questions of faith and morals, and most recently, to advance the New Evangelization and liturgical reforms, such as the New Roman Missal. During the past three decades, much of what was judged by reactionary forces in the church to be an imprudent and reckless dismantling of the traditional form of religious life on the part of an innovative leaders of the demographic majority became an ongoing source of consternation and disdain for some members of the church’s hierarchy in the United States and

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in Rome, for some influential leaders of more traditional institutes and for a few notable members of more moderate to progressive religious institutes. For instance, leaders such as Mother Mary Quentin Sheridan and Mother Assumpta Long were among the earliest and strongest proponents of a more traditional vision since the processes of post-Vatican renewal were set in motion over 40 years ago. Thus, in the midst of rapid, and often times controversial, social, cultural, theological, and ecclesiological changes, a heterogeneous landscape of women religious has come to be observed throughout the United States. A vital minority constituted by members of religious institutes that readily embraced and advanced a more classical, traditional, or “culturally Roman” form of religious life was represented by the beliefs, values, and practices of the CMSWR. The predominant majority constituted of members of religious institutes that readily embraced and advanced a more modern, secularized or “culturally American” form of religious was represented by the beliefs, values, and practices of the LCWR. It is important to note that the theological and cultural fault lines demarcating classical and modern forms of religious life have not necessarily mapped onto generational lines among women religious (e.g., older women as less progressive). In actuality some younger women religious have experienced a “re-enchantment” with classical forms of religious life and/or a “disenchantment with the disenchantment” of some older sisters regarding the unintended and unforeseen consequences of more modern forms of religious life. As a new generation of young “John Paul II Catholic” lay women began seeking out a new version of religious life modeled on a classical external “form” capable of holding post modern “content” (Drake, 2004), those attracted to religious life are often likely to pursue membership in more traditional religious institutes (Gary, 2011) in part because they may see more evidence in those religious institutes of spirituality, community life, prayer life, and wearing distinctive clothing.

Fidelity and the Impetus for an Apostolic Visitation Over the past four decades, more moderate and progressive institutes of women religious in the United States came under Vatican scrutiny not only for their culturally American ways, but also because of a sharp decline in the number of vowed members and the lack of new vocations. The number of women religious in the United States decreased from 180,000 in 1965 to 60,000 in 2008 (Goodstein, 2009). According to some observers, this sharp

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decline could be attributed in part to the opening up of other options for young Catholic women and girls beyond marriage and religious life and the wider availability of professional options for women. It was also attributable in part to the fact that the stigma attached to “leaving the convent” was largely vanishing, making the change culturally acceptable (Schneiders, 2009b). According to some critical observers and Vatican authorities, however, this decrease in members was a symptom of a deeper malaise, a lack of or insufficient “fidelity” (often expressed as obedience) to Church teachings and ecclesiastical authorities, which resulted in a diminishment in quality and credibility of religious life in the United States (Gorski, 2009). Although even some traditional religious institutes who were regarded as faithful to the Church and its teachings had not been successful in recruiting and/or retaining new members, fidelity to the Church was believed to ensure growth because it increased its spiritual attractiveness. Monsignor Fernando Ocariz (2011), the vicar general of Opus Dei and a Vatican expert on doctrinal issues, commented: Doctrinal teachings require of the faithful a degree of assent called “religious submission of will and intellect.” Precisely because it is “religious” assent, such assent is not based purely on rational motives. This kind of adherence … is an act of obedience that is not merely disciplinary, but is well rooted in our confidence in the divine assistance given to the Magisterium … . This obedience to the Magisterium of the Church does not limit freedom but, on the contrary, is the source of freedom.

In the estimation of certain Vatican officials and U.S. bishops, the ability of a few recently established religious institutes advancing a more traditional form of religious life, such as the Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist, the Sisters of Life, and the Franciscan Sisters of the Renewal, to recruit a few hundred young, new members from the “millennial generation” was deemed to be proof of the attractiveness and permanent validity of this form of religious life. The logic of Cardinal Franc Rode´, Prefect of the Vatican Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and for Societies of Apostolic Life, and other like-minded bishops, clergy, and religious was this: if religious life was to survive and thrive in the U.S. context in the new millennium, then greater “alignment” and control were needed to insure, not only the fidelity of women religious to Church teachings and church authorities, but also a return of a particular external form of religious life that more than 50,000 women religious had left behind 40 years ago. At a conference on religious life held at Stonehill College in September 2008 one of the presenters suggested that an

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intervention, in the form of an Apostolic Visitation, was in order. Cardinal Rode´, who is believed to have been a proponent of such an action long before the Stonehill Conference, received the recommendation. In a matter of weeks, Pope Benedict XVI formally announced the Apostolic Visitation.

The Apostolic Visitation We describe the events of the Visitation below. These events were the means through which certain forces within the Church, especially the Vatican Congregation, were attempting to reestablish direct institutional assessment and evaluation of sisters’ beliefs, values, and practices. On November 17, 2008, two months after the Stonehill Conference, Pope Benedict XVI formally approved Cardinal Rode´’s proposal to begin an Apostolic Visitation of U.S. women’s religious institutes. Mother Mary Clare Millea, a U.S. woman religious who had lived in Rome for many years, and the Superior General of the Apostles of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (whose U.S. province is a member institute of CMSWR), was appointed as Apostolic Visitor. The official Vatican decree was issued on December 22, 2008. Mother Millea wrote (Millea, 2010a, p. 10) that “in order to attain beneficial results the dialogue with the Apostolic See must begin with an honest self-evaluation of the congregation’s lived fidelity to its internal norms and to universal church law.” In Phase One of the Visitation, which spanned from March 30, 2009, to July 31, 2009, Mother Millea directly interviewed more than 127 of the general superiors of religious institutes with communities in the United States. About 50 others corresponded with her in writing. This communication took place in response to Mother Millea’s invitation. During Phase Two, which began on September 1, 2009, and extended to November 1, 2009, an Instrumentum Laboris (a working document consisting of two parts) was sent to all major superiors. The Instrumentum Laboris included a comprehensive questionnaire about the congregation’s membership, community, spirituality, mission, formation and stewardship of resources (Instrumentum Laboris, 2009). Responses to the questionnaire were completed to greater and lesser degrees by many of the leaders of the religious institutes. During Phase Three, which began in February 2010 and concluded in December 2010, about 100 institutes of women religious out of more than 400 in the United States received on-site visits from teams of visitators who had been trained, authorized, and appointed in accord with Vatican directives, including making a profession of faith and taking an oath of loyalty.

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Visited institutes were selected on the basis of “congregation size and growth patterns, principal apostolic works, and geographical location.” Phase Four began in January of 2011 and concluded in December of 2011. During this time Mother Millea collated and evaluated collected information in order to write the confidential report to be submitted to the newly appointed head of the Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life, Archbishop Joa˜o Braz de Aviz, based on her observations and findings in all phases of the process. While the Apostolic Visitation was taking place, a parallel investigation of LCWR was occurring. This parallel investigation, whose final results are not known at the time of this writing, is described in Appendix A. For many, the Apostolic Visitation and the accompanying Doctrinal Investigation of LCWR (Appendix A) were expressions of the inherent “cultural” tension between a classical “Roman” model of religious life shaped by tradition and filial obedience and an acculturated “American” model of religious life shaped by modern innovations and democratic values. According to Tom Fox, editor of the National Catholic Reporter, a liberal U.S. Catholic newspaper: There’s been a conflict going back 40 years, since the Second Vatican Council, between two models of church. One is the more conservative, traditional model, male-clergyhierarchical model; and the second has been the model of the Second Vatican Council, which stressed collegiality. And the women religious of America really embraced that, and they changed their constitutions to become more collective in their own leadership. And they really represent the forefront of this second model of church. And I think today, the older, more conservative model feels that it’s strong enough now, maybe, to rein in this last remnant of the Second Vatican Council.

The material presented to this point primarily provides an overview of the background and facts of the Apostolic Visitation. In the paragraphs below we detail, in two stages, important events that occurred in conjunction with the Visitation and the women religious’ responses to it, including both emotions and actions. Due to the very recent nature of the events, documentary evidence is taken primarily from reports and articles from newspapers, magazines, and websites.

Stage 1. Women Religious’ Responses to the Visitation: Early Emotions and Events The announcement of the Apostolic Visitation elicited a variety of emotions from U.S. women religious. Among many, there was a deep sense of uneasiness and anxiety. Some experienced uncertainty, puzzlement,

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apprehension, and sadness. For some who embraced or desired a more traditional form of religious life, the Visitation gave rise to feelings of affirmation and vindication (Weatherbe, 2009). But because of so much negative publicity surrounding the Visitation, some who supported it felt uncomfortable and hesitant to talk about the views publicly. Instead, they created an online Yahoo support group “to allow those sisters who support the Visitation to communicate with one another anonymously.” Still other women religious, particularly some from more moderate to progressive institutes, felt strong emotions of betrayal, anger, frustration, and indignation, as they questioned if the motives behind the Visitation and the investigation represented efforts to “reel in” or “cut loose” those U.S. women religious who continued to hold fast to their convictions about living in the “spirit of Vatican II” (Gorski, 2009). Some feared the worst in a state of quiet disbelief, the worst being a reemergence of the antipathies and acrimonies leading to the divisions and splits that had occurred within and among religious institutes of women in the early years of renewal after Vatican II. In recent years, many had endeavored to reinvigorate working relationships for the sake of ministry, especially in health care, human services and care of retired sisters, and to reconcile personal relationships of mutual trust for the sake of a “common witness” to religious life in the 21st century. Cardinal Rode´, in a radio interview in November 2009, reported that the Visitation was a response to concerns regarding “some irregularities or omissions in American religious life. Most of all, you could say, it involves a certain secular mentality that has spread in these religious families and, perhaps, also a certain feminist spirit” (Wooden, 2009). In the estimation of Sister Sandra Schneiders, a member of the Sister Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, an emeritus professor and distinguished New Testament scholar, who in recent years has become a foremost researcher and prolific writer on the history and theology of religious life, this Visitation broadly aimed at realigning women religious to a more conservative ideal of consecrated life. Schneiders (2009b) noted rather forcefully that: Apostolic Visitations, precisely because they imply suspicion if not guilt, are typically undertaken in regard to specific groups, e.g., a religious order, province, or monastery, a diocese, a particular pious society, or particular practices or behaviors, e.g., suspect cults or fraudulent claims of apparitions or private revelations, etc. This investigation, however, targeted indiscriminately all 60,000 or more U.S. women religious in some 400 orders […]. The current Apostolic Visitation is not a normal dialogue between religious and church authorities. It is the ecclesiastical analogue of a grand jury indictment, set in motion when there is reasonable suspicion, probable cause, or a prima facie case

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of serious abuse or wrongdoing of some kind. There are currently several situations in the U.S. church that would justify such an investigation (widespread child sexual abuse by clerics, Episcopal cover-ups of such abuse, long term sexual liaisons by people vowed to celibacy, embezzlement of church funds, cult-like practices in some church groups) but women religious are not significantly implicated in any of these.

In her correspondence with fellow women religious during Phase Two of the Visitation, Schneiders urged them to answer the Visitation survey questions with restraint and caution, describing the Visitation as a “hostile move” and the Stonehill Conference as “a pep rally for those convinced they are right and can only be right if people not like them are wrong” (Schneiders, 2009c). During this time the women religious received considerable support from lay Catholics. For example, in 2009 “the Cleveland-based group FutureChurch [encouraged] Catholics to write letters testifying of their positive experiences with nuns, as well as their dismay and confusion over the investigations” (Yonke, 2009). Maureen Dowd (2009), a well-known columnist, wrote an op-ed column in the New York Times supporting the sisters and challenging the Visitation. An editorial in the National Catholic Reporter (2010) encouraged readers to “speak up for our women religious.” The magazine US Catholic (Schlumpf, 2010) conducted a survey of its readers regarding their opinions of the Apostolic Visitation. The survey indicated that 55% of the magazine readers felt that the Visitation was “insulting and unjustified.” Further, 92% of respondents felt that lay Catholics appreciated women religious laity, but only 21% felt that the Vatican appreciated them. The leaders of many of the religious institutes thought, prayed, and anguished, individually and together, about how to respond to the Visitation. LCWR helped to coordinate efforts of the leaders of member institutes to talk regularly with each other about how to respond and to gain assistance from the Resource Center for Religious Institutes (a nonprofit organization that provides consultation related to Canon Law and finance). Leaders consulted with canon lawyers as well as their local bishops for guidance and direction in providing appropriate answers to the questionnaire contained in the Instrumentum Laboris. Based on their discussions and the canonical advice received, some leaders of religious institutes decided to respond only to parts of the questionnaire. A few decided not to respond at all. Mother Millea (2010b, pp. 561
562) commented on this in a letter to the Superiors of religious institutes: When I recently met with Cardinal Rode´, he assured me that the Holy Father continues to show his interest in and support of the Apostolic Visitation. The cardinal was pleased to hear about the wholehearted and genuine responses of many congregations

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to the questionnaire. However, I also shared with him my sadness and disappointment that not all congregations have responded to this phase of dialogue with the church in a manner fully supportive of the purpose and goals of the Apostolic Visitation. He encouraged me to ask those who have not yet fully complied to prayerfully reconsider their response. I take this opportunity, then, to once again invite all major superiors who have not responded fully to the questionnaire to do so.

Stage 2. Women Religious’ Responses to the Visitation: Later Events, Emotions, and Approaches During the second phase of the Visitation, some changes in key leadership positions took place. In May 2010, the International Union of Superiors General, which is the canonically erected representative body of women religious throughout the world, elected as president an U.S. Franciscan sister, Mary Lou Wirtz. Her appointment was described as a fresh approach to building deeper and better relationships between the Vatican congregation and men and women religious (Thavis, 2011). Her election was viewed by some as an international affirmation of U.S. sisters by women religious throughout the world. On August 2, 2010, Pope Benedict XVI appointed Archbishop Joseph Tobin as Secretary of the Vatican Congregation. In an interview published in the National Catholic Reporter, Archbishop Tobin urged Rome to acknowledge the depth of anger and hurt provoked by a visitation and identified the need for a strategy of reconciliation with women religious (Allen, 2010). Finally, on January 4, 2011, Pope Benedict XVI accepted the resignation of Cardinal Rode´, who stepped down from his position as Prefect of the Vatican Congregation due to age. Archbishop Joa˜o Braz de Aviz, of Brazil, who was appointed Prefect on the same day, echoed the need to do things differently and adapt to the present time. Women religious received further expressions of support from society at large. For example, in conjunction with a national traveling exhibit on “Women & Spirit: Catholic Sisters in America,” on September 22, 2009, the U.S. House of Representatives passed by a unanimous vote a resolution honoring and commending Catholic sisters for their service and sacrifice throughout U.S. history [H. Res. 441]. In December 2010, the University of San Francisco, a Jesuit university, gave an honorary doctorate in humane letters to Catholic women religious for their contributions to the country and the church; Sister Mary Hughes, president of LCWR, accepted the degree on behalf of all religious sisters in America. In the estimation of

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some, these recognitions of the faith-filled mission and vision of generations of U.S. women religious served as timely rebukes and admonitions to those who would manipulate the Visitation to suggest otherwise. Emotions and Impacts In the aftermath of Phase Two of the Visitation, as leaders and members of religious institutes completed the process of discussing their responses to the questionnaire, sisters reported that their conversations and dialogues had brought about a greater sense of solidarity among women religious. For example, members of the LCWR Global Concerns Committee perceived that through the Visitation of U.S. women religious and doctrinal assessment of LCWR, the Holy Spirit was stirring something new by way of the many responses LCWR received from religious around the world offering support, encouragement, and prayer. The committee developed a new kind of assembly resolution, one not focused on an issue of social justice, but a resolution for LCWR to strengthen bonds among women religious throughout the world. In other words, the women religious took advantage of the Visitation as a “moment” to teach others about the nature of their lives. This teaching was reflected in how they completed the questionnaires (or not) and also in the modifications they brought about with the assistance of canon lawyers who successfully challenged the right of the Vatican Congregation to request certain information pertaining to internal life of religious institutes. Such efforts reflected a decisively “active engagement” with the Visitation rather than passive reactive resistance. During its Phase Three, the Visitation, which was conducted on-site, furthered a sense of unity and mutual regard, in part because in many instances the visits, the visitors and the visited created the conditions for facilitating “teachable moments.” For example, in an interview published in the National Catholic Reporter in February of 2011, Sister Mary Hughes, then the president of LCWR stated that: When the Apostolic Visitation was announced, it came as a shock. It sent reverberations throughout religious communities and the country. It produced a number of reactions, not all of them positive. But as women’s religious congregations accepted it would happen, they used it as an opportunity to communicate the vitality of religious life, and describe the wonderful work that is being done. Our own community was investigated. In the end, it was a moment of grace for us. Women banded together. Many of our sisters volunteered to speak. They wanted to communicate the ministries that are being done, and how they touch the lives of people today. I can’t speak for every visiting team, but we had a fine group of women [visitators]. We were very at ease with them. They did leave as our friends. (Wittenauer, 2011)

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A sister of Loretto wrote that: I must admit that I looked forward to the Vatican’s Apostolic Visitation of U.S. women religious with all the enthusiasm of a Thanksgiving traveler approaching a TSA (US Transportation Security Administration) screening. … Most of my initial anger was directed at this patriarchal church of ours. I questioned the requirement that the “visitators” had to make professions of faith and take oaths of fidelity before interviewing us and that the report to the Vatican was not to be copied to us. It sounded to me as if the judge was requiring prospective jurors to be of one mind about the verdict before being seated for the trial
as if we were going to be put through a bit of “enhanced interrogation” and forced back into a Procrustean one-size-fits-all church, Well, was I surprised! … The four women who visited us were, well, sisters. I don’t know what I had expected, but I liked them. Warm, friendly, receptive
though two wore habits, we had so much more in common with them than surface differences would suggest.

What emerged from this process of self-assessment and shared reflection was a newly found, or perhaps rediscovered, common identity. In other words, sisters took a creative tactic for dealing with the Visitation by means of respectful, active engagement, rather than acrimonious noncooperation or passive resistance, as some critics, including some bishops, had anticipated. As women religious shared deeply, not only at an intellectual level, but also at the level of the emotions and shared prayer, something profoundly inspiring occurred; the Visitation had produced a spirit among women’s orders that was the most unified in U.S. history (Allen, 2011). This emotional experience of a common spirit led to a new appreciation on the part of leaders of many of the religious institutes for the identity they hold in common as “Gospel women.” Experiencing a heightened sense of solidarity with one another, nationally and internationally, locally and globally, their consciousness, while rooted historically in the classical image of “Daughters of the Church,” extended beyond the proscribed limits of filial acceptance to an enlarged identity constructed on a timeless evangelical image of discipleship. The events that occurred, along with the sharing of religious women, had a very meaningful impact on the report of the Visitation. The Catholic News Agency reported on January 10, 2012, that “a three-year survey of women’s religious life in the United States has concluded with the filing of a final report by the Vatican-appointed Apostolic Visitator Mother Mary Clare Millea, who commented that ‘although there are concerns in religious life that warrant support and attention, the enduring reality is one of fidelity, joy, and hope’.”

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ANALYSIS AND DISCUSSION A Subversion of the Visitation’s Original Goals By the end of the Visitation, the original goals of returning to a more traditional model of woman religious that had characterized Cardinal Rode´’s approach had been, at least partially, subverted. Among these unintended outcomes, we highlight three of the most important. First, the positive, but firm opposition of several U.S. women religious led to an unprecedented voice and visibility of Catholic sisters in the media. Catholics and nonCatholics alike had more interest in and exposure to information about the historical contributions and contemporary significance of women religious in the United States. Second, attentiveness to the range and complexity of emotions associated with the experience of being visited resulted in an unanticipated “active engagement” of the Visitation process. Such engagement demanded a fundamental openness and honesty about the nature and meaning of being “Gospel women” within the pluralistic cultural context of the United States and the cultural context of the Church in Rome. The choice to creatively seek out a middle ground where the two representative and often caricatured groups of more traditional or “Romanized” women religious and the more secular or “Americanized” women religious could meet was not an option, but an imperative. Based on prior examples (such as that of Mary Ward) it seems at least possible that when the history of the Visitation is eventually (re-)written it may assess the leaders of religious institutes who shepherded the process
along with their canon lawyers
to be women who truly understood themselves as “Gospel women” and, as such, committed to communal contemplation and dialogue throughout the process. Third, the promotion to international leadership positions of American men and women, and, apparently, the report itself, provided new legitimacy to the identity, commitment, and integrity of U.S. women religious. In the final analysis, Mother Millea herself proved to be a part of this constellation. A key aspect of this identity was a heterogeneous landscape of beliefs, values, and practices that spanned the cultural, theological, and phenomenological horizon. The largely negative emotions that characterized the Visitation at the outset, while acknowledged, were put in perspective as sisters ceased to focus exclusively on what others thought about them, and instead focused on what they themselves firmly believed, valued, and practiced. They were convinced that there is far more involved in assessing

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the fidelity and quality of religious life in the United States than what can be gleaned from Vatican hypotheses regarding the decline and diminishment of the historical religious institutes and the growth and development of a few more traditional religious institutes. As Margaret Guider observed from her perspective as vice president of her congregation: The divine litmus test of fidelity is not “flourishing,” but rather, an unwavering confidence in the Providence of God, a steadfast conviction that “still God knows what God is about.” Whether in serge habits or denim skirts, in wheel chairs or on Vespas, our common and collective witness as women religious
past, present and future
constitutes far more than the sum total of prognostications about vocations, the long-term viability of our institutes and the historical significance of our respective legacies. In the words of Catherine of Siena, our vocation is “to set the world on fire”
stick matches, Bunsen burners, blow torches, bon fires, magnifying glasses in the sunlight. With regard to our presence and place in the life and ministry of the Church, we are evidence of the fact that indeed, there are as many ways as there are desires.

Resistance, Emotions, and Identity While in this article we described the different phases of the Visitation, it is also important to note that leaders of many of the religious institutes, especially those affiliated with LCWR, went through different stages themselves in their responses to the Visitation, from being initially (primarily) angry and shocked through discovering their ability to use the visitation as an opportunity in which they could express their religious identity as central actors of the Church. In addition, rather than developing an oppositional identity to the visitators themselves, U.S. women religious came to realize that they had much more in common with them than had been anticipated. It is important to consider the underlying meanings of this development. One of the ways of exploring this development is in terms of emotions. Russell (2003) and Barrett and Russell (1998), among others, have considered emotions from essentially a circumplex model of affect, in which emotions are categorized along two primary dimensions: how pleasant they are (on a scale from very pleasant to very unpleasant) and how activated they are (on a scale from very activated to very unactivated). For example, activated unpleasant emotions include anger, anxiety, and tension; unactivated unpleasant emotions indicate sadness, depression, and boredom; unactivated pleasant emotions involve satisfaction and calm; and, finally, activated pleasant emotions suggest a state of alertness and excitement.

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At the beginning of the Visitation, the feelings of many of the religious associated with LCWR fit into the activated, unpleasant quadrant, including anger and anxiety. These feelings found expression, for example, in the writings by Sandra Schneiders and by New York Times journalist Maureen Dowd. Such feelings at the time were not surprising for at least two reasons: first, visitations are generally conducted to detect and correct an abuse; second, change is often associated with considerable uncertainty and negative emotions of anxiety, threat, and fear, especially when change recipients cannot estimate the likelihood of a certain event, lack information about the situation, and cannot predict what the outcomes of changerelated decisions will be (Bartunek, Balogun, & Do, 2011). Over time, however, the activation level of the feelings diminished, especially as religious leaders had the chance to examine their situation, pray, and engage in communal contemplation and reflect with each other and with experts in the area (Sylvester & Klick, 2004). Leaders began feeling at least calm enough that they were able to discover that they had in themselves a way of responding to a “teachable moment.” Even later, several sisters, including the head of LCWR, discovered that, to their surprise, there were some positive moments associated with the visitations, that they could see the visitators
whom they had initially distrusted completely
as sisters with whom they had a lot in common. Thus, the activated dimension of their feelings changed somewhat dramatically, for at least some religious directly involved in the Visitation, over the time period. How could resistance to a perceived threat be conducted in such a positive, conciliatory tone? One possible mechanism that led to the transformation of activated negative emotions into less activated positive emotions could be contemplation. In a recent article, Gunia, Wang, Huang, Wang and Murnighan (2012) conducted a laboratory experiment in which they explored the roles of “contemplation” and conversation emphasizing moral issues (which they labeled “social contemplation”) on individuals’ moral decision making. They found that individual contemplation, by which they meant the opportunity to “think very carefully” about how they wanted to respond, led to more moral decision making. So did engagement in conversations with others who said they wanted to respond morally. Their study concluded that contemplation and social contemplation facilitate individuals’ greater awareness of their moral values and understandings. The context of the Gunia et al. (2012) study is, obviously, limited, and their definition of contemplation (three minutes to think) is not at all what most authors who have written about contemplation from a classical (St. Teresa of Avila, 1972) or modern (Laird, 2011) religious perspectives

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have described. However, in a much larger and consequential context, the leaders of religious institutes who were faced with the Visitation did pray
did contemplate
about it, both individually and together. Further, the leaders’ frequent discussions with each other, and the opportunities these discussions provided for “social contemplation,” and reflections on the moral underpinnings of any actions the leaders would take, gave the leaders considerable time to be able to act based on their moral convictions about how to respond, not just their immediate anger, and, over time, to open themselves to what the Apostolic Visitation made possible (such as teachable moments, the discoveries that the visitators were their sisters). It appears evident from the quotes from Mother Millea that she engaged in such contemplation as well. In addition to these, the consultation they received from experts on canon law gave them more confidence in how they could legitimately act. The results of these processes were that, although they were in a less powerful position than the Vatican, the leaders of the religious institutes developed a sense of moral and spiritual authority, and, in unexpected ways, subverted some problematic aspects of the Visitation. The coalescence around a new identity as “Gospel women,” reestablished a sense of unity and cohesion and at the same time rejected an attempt at placing Catholic sisters in a marginal or peripheral position. Those members of the hierarchy originally in charge of the Visitation were replaced by other members of the hierarchy who were seemingly more fraternal and culturally attuned to the realities of women religious in the United States and elsewhere. Many lay Catholics and others in the United States publicly supported the sisters. There was approbation from religious in other countries. Finally, Mother Millea commented in her final report about the “fidelity” of the sisters, the characteristic that had most been challenged. While it is highly unlikely that the processes of individual contemplation and shared contemplative discussion had these impacts entirely by themselves on the outcomes of the Visitation, we believe that they made substantial contributions to the shifts in consciousness that took place over time.

CONCLUSION In this article we set out to examine the process through which women religious in the United States engaged the Apostolic Visitation to shed light on the relatively understudied phenomenon of institutional resistance. Despite

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recent theorizing on institutional resistance (Lawrence, 2008) and research on resistance to change within organizations (e.g., Courpasson et al., 2012; Piderit, 2000), scholars have limited empirical evidence on the institutional work (Lawrence & Suddaby, 2006) that less powerful actors conduct to impose limits to or redefine power relations. Thus, we asked the question: how might less powerful actors respond to and engage a change perceived as inappropriate that is initiated by more powerful others within the same institution, especially when exit or open opposition are not viable options? Women religious’ deep commitment to institutional membership created the possibility for an exploration of middle ground strategies of resistance (Oliver, 1991) that have been so far understudied (Lawrence, 2008), hence much less understood. While the Vatican potentially interpreted the Visitation as an opportunity to reaffirm its institutional control over a heterogeneous landscape of values, practices, and beliefs in the United States, women religious’ institutional work consisted not in a counterattack, but in a subtle renegotiation of their shared identity, power, and location within the Church. This occurred at least in part as a result of their individual and shared contemplative practices (Gunia et al., 2012). It also occurred due to the help of others (e.g., lay Catholics, media) who supported their approach. As a result, a truce among American women religious and, perhaps, the Vatican, was seemingly reached that possibly could accomplish, at least for limited a period of time, a state of institutional pluralism (Kraatz & Block, 2008). In this new state, women religious who have embraced more classical forms of religious life, such as living in convents, wearing traditional habits and veils, and understanding themselves as “brides of Christ,” and women religious who have adopted newer forms of religious life, such as living outside of formal convents, wearing modest, everyday clothes, and understanding themselves more as disciples of Christ, could productively coexist. This heterogeneous landscape represented the natural evolution of the Catholic Church nationally and globally. It was the result of dramatic social and political changes in the outside world as well as of the theological changes that occurred within the Church itself after the Second Vatican Council.

The Role of the Identity of Gospel Women in Resistance While the Vatican’s decision in 2008 to assess the form of life being lived by Roman Catholic women religious in the United States may have been

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received as a welcome announcement by a few women religious who believed that a moral audit of the beliefs, values, and practices of some U.S. women religious was in order, the Visitation was perceived by many women religious as a concerted effort on the part of certain individuals in the Vatican and in the United States to place many U.S. institutes of women religious on the stand for infidelity, as attributed to and measured by decline in numbers, and declare them guilty as charged. This perceived threat based on a pre-Second Vatican Council “status quo” of filial obedience to Church teachings and authorities elicited negative emotions among many U.S. women religious who could not imagine a “back-to-the-future” return to a classical form of religious life. The Visitation and all that it symbolized led women religious to recognize the fragility of the ideological and political truce that had been implicitly reached over the past forty years among sisters of different ideological orientations. It also led them to join forces in preventing a harking back to an ahistorical, decontextualized pre-Vatican II form of religious life. Through social contemplation and the appropriation of the identity of “Gospel women,” the sisters defined an alternative strategy for participation in the Visitation
neither as passive, marginal victims under attack nor as aggressive protagonists, but as empowered actors who chose a path of “active engagement” (Lawrence, 2008; Oliver, 1991). In other words, an attempt at re-establishing traditional power dynamics on the part of some actors (those responsible for setting the Visitation in motion) led those who were being “visited” to creatively engage in a type of institutional resistance that closely resembled the institutional work of cultural entrepreneurs (Lounsbury & Glynn, 2001; Rao & Giorgi, 2006). As the Visitation unfolded in the midst of a wide range of unsettling emotions and concerns, changes occurred in top positions of international leadership at the Vatican. These changes favored a more conciliatory, rather than a confrontational stance, perhaps in part because of the actions that U.S. women religious had already taken. This furthered dialogue among gospel women and created the conditions for listening carefully to the deeply held beliefs and values that led to daily practices. Rather than posing a threat to the Vatican’s envisioned return to the status quo of fidelity and uniformity, this reality of institutional pluralism, which ranged from very traditional to very progressive, testified to the multiplicity of charisms that has characterized the Church in its long history. Thus, in one sense, it can be said that Visitation legitimized a very different image of women religious in the Church, one that was more complex, nuanced, and comprehensive.

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The Role of the Visitation in Fostering the Identity of Gospel Women In more theoretical terms, the Visitation itself represented a shock within the institution that generated negative emotions and a temporary unfreezing of the status quo. These negative emotions catalyzed women’s attention to their role within the Church; the resulting self-assessment led to a deepening, rediscovery, and new appropriation of their identity as gospel women and actions consistent with an alternative strategy of active engagement in relation to the Visitation. The new cultural toolkit
comprised an identity, language, and tactic
coupled with a political opportunity represented by a change in the elite of the Church that favored more conciliatory leaders resulted in a transformation of the original intentions of the Visitation. The Visitation then became a tool for self-reassessment, rather than a tool for evaluation meant to bring back a more uniform way of living consecrated life. Hence, the Visitation
as experienced in practice
provided legitimacy to the heterogeneity of beliefs, values, and practices of women religious in the United States. The construction of identities such as new understandings of “Gospel women” is an important form of institutional work (Lawrence & Suddaby, 2006). Through the construction of identities that draw on resonant logics or frames in society, research has shown that change agents can stimulate the acceptance of an institutional innovation (Creed, Scully, & Austin, 2002; Maguire & Hardy, 2005; Rao, Monin, & Durand, 2003; Suddaby & Greenwood, 2005). However, less work has explored how identities can also impose limits to institutional change (Marquis & Lounsbury, 2007; Meyer & Hammerschmid, 2006) or play a role in redefining the status quo within an institution (Creed, Dejordy, & Lok, 2010). Through the appropriation of their identity as “Gospel women,” women religious in the United States were able to counteract the inaccurate perception of U.S. women religious as marginal actors unable to infuse their role within the Church with prominence and centrality (Glynn, 2008; Ortega Murphy & Whalen, 2011). Identity in this context served the function not only of convincing one’s audience and resonating with its expectations and values, but also of selfhealing and transformation of the emotions and schemas associated with the relationship between the self and the institution. As Bartunek (1984) explored the challenges associated with a new understanding of the role of a religious congregation in relation to the larger world after the Second Vatican Council, in this article we showed the benefits of embracing an identity that gave sense to a perceived threat
the Visitation
and

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provided women religious with a sense of their power and purpose (we are not renegades or remnants, but central actors in the Church). By paying attention to actors’ emotions, we contribute to the understanding of resistance as an emotionally charged process (Goodwin et al., 2001; Vince & Broussine, 1996) and to an emerging interest in the role of embodiment (subjectively lived experience) and emotions in institutional theory (Creed et al., 2010). The challenges posed by the Visitation were directed to the embodied experience of the life of women religious and elicited profound emotional reactions that are beyond a purely cognitive calculation. These emotions in turn affected subsequent strategies of coping with change (Bartunek, 1984). In this article we have examined how institutional resistance, which involved the management of negative emotions and the crafting of a new identity as gospel women, enabled coping with the threat of the audit, gave voice (Hirschman, 1970), and stimulated active engagement which, coupled with broader changes in leadership, subverted in some ways the initial goals of the Visitation, altering its course and moving beyond the motives of those who originally set it in motion. Sometimes those who challenge institutional arrangements do so by creating a split identification, identification with some aspects of the institution but dis-identification with other aspects (Gutierrez, HowardGranville, & Scully, 2010). But in this case, women religious in the United States embraced an identity that placed them at the heart of the institution and justified the heterogeneity of beliefs, values, and practices as consistent with the Second Vatican Council and the diversity of charismas that has characterized religious life for centuries. Rather than saying “we believe in the Church but do not agree with all its practices,” institutes of women religious reestablished their centrality within the life of the Church. In doing so, they demonstrated that that it was not greater and lesser degrees of fidelity that differentiated women religious in the United States, but rather, the distinctive priorities and preferences of their institutes. Holding fast to their beliefs, values, and practices, they contributed to the normalization of this diversity with authenticity and integrity.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT We are very grateful to Frank Barrett, Annice Callahan, Mary Charlotte Chandler, Kathleen Hughes, Paolo Parigi, Denise Stauder, Paul Tracey,

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Andrea Tunarosa, and Jordi Trullen for their helpful comments and suggestions.

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APPENDIX A: THE “DOCTRINAL ASSESSMENT” OF LCWR In this article we are dealing only with the Apostolic Visitation of U.S. religious institutes. However, another investigation has also been occurring at the same time, and its initial results were announced in April 2012. The process for this investigation is ongoing at the time of writing this article. We will summarize it below as of early June, 2012. On February 20, 2009, running parallel to the Apostolic Visitation, Cardinal William Levada, prefect of Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, in communication with Cardinal Rode´, announced an investigation consisting of a “doctrinal assessment” of LCWR. The doctrinal assessment focused on questions regarding LCWR’s adherence to three specific areas of church teaching: the reservation of priesthood to men only, the unicity and salvific universality of Jesus Christ and the Church and the Roman Catholic Church’s teaching regarding homosexuality. This investigation also took into account LCWR’s subsequent support of comprehensive health care reform in the United States. While U.S. Catholic bishops argued that the legislation allowed for federal funding of abortions and strongly opposed it, LCWR supported it on the grounds that it would bring health care coverage to an additional 30 million people who could otherwise not afford it. In April, 2012, the Vatican published the results of this Doctrinal Assessment. In this document, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) stated that “The Holy See acknowledges with gratitude the great contribution of women Religious to the Church in the United States as seen particularly in the many schools, hospitals, and institutions of support for the poor which have been founded and staffed by Religious over the years.” Nevertheless, the CDF continued, “the Assessment reveals serious doctrinal problems which affect many in consecrated life.” In particular, The documentation reveals that, while there has been a great deal of work on the part of LCWR promoting issues of social justice in harmony with the Church’s social doctrine, it is silent on the right to life from conception to natural death, a question that is part of the lively public debate about abortion and euthanasia in the United States. Further, issues of crucial importance to the life of Church and society, such as the Church’s Biblical view of family life and human sexuality, are not part of the LCWR agenda in a way that promotes Church teaching. Moreover, occasional public statements by the LCWR that disagree with or challenge positions taken by the Bishops, who are the Church’s authentic teachers of faith and morals, are not compatible with its purpose.

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It also referred to a prevalence of certain radical feminist themes incompatible with the Catholic faith in some of the programs and presentations sponsored by the LCWR, including theological interpretations that risk distorting faith in Jesus and his loving Father who sent his Son for the salvation of the world. Moreover, some commentaries on “patriarchy” distort the way in which Jesus has structured sacramental life in the Church … (i.e. an all male priesthood).

As a result of its findings, the CDF concluded that “The current doctrinal and pastoral situation of the LCWR is grave and a matter of serious concern.” And thus, (I)n order to implement a process of review and conformity to the teachings and discipline of the Church, the Holy See, through the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, will appoint an Archbishop Delegate (J. Peter Sartain), assisted by two Bishops, for review, guidance and approval, where necessary, of the work of the LCWR. The Delegate will report to the CDF, which will inform and consult with the Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life and the Congregation for Bishops.

The mandate of the Delegate is to include the following: 1. To revise LCWR Statutes to ensure greater clarity about the scope of the mission and responsibilities of this conference of major superiors. The revised Statutes will be submitted to the Holy See for approval by the Vatican Congregation . 2. To review LCWR plans and programs, including General Assemblies and publications, to ensure that the scope of the LCWR’s mission is fulfilled in accord with Church teachings and discipline. The CDF report has received a large amount of press coverage from the moment it appeared. Some articles applauded the report. An editorial in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch (Campbell, 2012) called the report “long overdue,” and stated that “The real problem with groups like the LCWR is not their rebellion against church authority but their conformity to the spirit of the age.” Articles in the National Catholic Register, a conservative Catholic newspaper, also complimented the report. For example, Mother Assumpta Long (2012) wrote that: “It is the Church’s responsibility, assumed in love, to safeguard the beauty and gift of consecrated life at all times. This responsibility is most acute when the integrity of consecrated life begins to diminish, evidenced in this case by clear examples of dissent from the hierarchy and lack of authentic ecclesial communion.”

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However, the majority of the news media disagreed with the report. The titles of a few of the articles suggest their substance: “While schisms may come and go, feminism won’t be tolerated” (Henneberger, 2012), “Bishops Play Church Queens as Pawns” (Dowd, 2012) “Are Catholic Sisters being bullied?” (Dionne, 2012), and “The Catholic Church’s Treatment of Nuns Is Polarizing and Alienating” (Cary, 2012). Further, a number of other supporting efforts have been undertaken. An active Facebook group, “I support Catholic sisters and nuns” was constructed. Protests have taken place at a number of churches and cathedrals across the United States, including by “Occupy Catholics.” LCWR received a letter of support from 34 organizations of Protestant sisters that “was meant not as a petition, but as a theological letter” (Popovici, 2012). After a three-day meeting that included both prayer and discussion (social contemplation, cf. Gunia et al., 2012), the board of LCWR announced its response to the CDF report on June 1. Their press release said in part that The (LCWR) board members raised concerns about both the content of the doctrinal assessment and the process by which it was prepared. Board members concluded that the assessment was based on unsubstantiated accusations and the result of a flawed process that lacked transparency. Moreover, the sanctions imposed were disproportionate to the concerns raised and could compromise their ability to fulfill their mission. The report has furthermore caused scandal and pain throughout the church community, and created greater polarization.

Following this, the LCWR president and executive director met with Cardinal Levada and Archbishop Peter Sartain to address the board’s concerns. After the meeting LCWR posted a press release that said in part: “It was an open meeting and we were able to directly express our concerns to Cardinal Levada and Archbishop Sartain.” However, in an interview with the National Catholic Reporter, Cardinal Levada “said he still believes the relationship can work, but also warned of a possible ‘dialogue of the deaf’,” reflected in what he sees as a lack of movement (by LCWR) on the Vatican’s concerns. In early July, Cardinal Levada retired from his post due to age. He was succeeded by German bishop Gerhard Ludwig Mueller. It is not certain at this writing what the next steps in the LCWR doctrinal assessment will involve.

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APPENDIX B: LIST OF USEFUL WEBSITES Women Religious’ Leadership Groups www.lcwr.org www.cmswr.org

Apostolic Visitation www.apostolicvisitation.org/en/about/index.html www.stonehill.edu/x14963.xml www.apostolicvisitation.org/en/materials/decree.pdf www.apostolicvisitation.org/en/news/resources/InstrumentumLaboris.pdf www.apostolicvisitation.org/en/materials/av_phase_begins.pdf www.ncregister.com/blog/nuns_react_to_apostolic_visitation/ #ixzz1iL9NRfUd www.opencongress.org/bill/111-hr441/text ncronline.org/news/woman-religious-finds-vatican-sent-visitators-warmfriendly www.usccb.org/loader.cfm?csModule = security/getfile&pageid = 55544 twitter.com/milady654/statuses/199972765875449856 lcwr.org/media/news/lcwr-board-meets-review-cdf-report lcwr.org/media/news/lcwr-statement-meeting-cdf ncronline.org/blogs/ncr-today/vatican-official-warns-dialogue-deaf-lcwr

SERVING TWO MASTERS: TRANSFORMATIVE RESOLUTIONS TO INSTITUTIONAL CONTRADICTIONS Rich DeJordy, Brad Almond, Richard Nielsen and W. E. Douglas Creed ABSTRACT In this article, we use the case of religious research universities to explore the presence of multiple institutional logics with the potential for contradiction and conflict. In particular, building on existing research on conflicting institutional logics, we assess the most common forms of resolution (replacement, dominant logic, decoupling, compartmentalization, and coexistence) and identify the potential for a new form of resolution
a transformative outcome that resolves the conflicts through adoption of a superordinate logic. Drawing on the history of Baylor University, we illustrate different forms of resolution, proposing its most recent efforts may represent a transformative outcome. We close by presenting a model for resolving institutional contradictions which suggest some resolutions may trigger cycles of institutionalization and

Religion and Organization Theory Research in the Sociology of Organizations, Volume 41, 301
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deinstitutionalization when they are inherently unstable because they mitigate rather than resolve the conflict between institutional logics. Keywords: Institutional theory; religion; institutional change; organizational identity; contradiction

Religion motivates many of the oldest and most enduring forms of social organization known to humankind. This organization is manifested in many forms and practices, providing a microcosm of social organization that can provide insight into the nature of organizations more generally. In this article, we delve into one specific religiously infused organizational form, namely the religious research university. We chose this particular form because the plurality of missions aligned with different institutional logics (Alford & Friedland, 1991) suggests the potential for institutional contradiction (Creed & Seo, 2002). Specifically, we examine how religious universities balance logics of faith and inquiry, which coexist with, compete with, and potentially contradict with each other while both providing meaning and value to this organizational form. While the extant literature (e.g., D’Aunno, Sutton, & Price, 1991; Zilber, 2002) explicates several responses to such competing or contradictory logics, we use this setting to propose and illustrate a new, transformational mechanism based on a dialectic of institutional logics (Bernstein, 1971; Nielsen, 1996; Seo & Creed, 2002). We also contrast different transformational and nontransformational outcomes through a timeline of one organization’s history, both illustrating different forms of resolution and highlighting the dynamic and, at times, transitory nature of institutional change borne of competing logics. In doing the above, we make the following contributions to organization theory: First, we identify a new mechanism for resolving institutional logic contradictions
a transformative outcome
which highlights the potential for qualitatively different results. Second, by tracing the history of form and practice for one organization over time, we demonstrate that some resolutions to competing institutional logics may be inherently transitory in nature. Expanding on work which suggests institutions may sometimes sow the seeds of their own destruction (Pozner, Stimmler, & Hirsch, 2010), we propose that, under certain conditions, when conflicting institutional logics are not resolved in a transformative way, the underlying tension between the conflicting logics remains, eventually reemerging and facilitating a series of institutionalization
deinstitutionalization
reinstitutionalization cycles.

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Finally, we contribute to our understanding of the links between institutional logics, identities, and institutional work advanced at the microlevel (e.g., Creed, DeJordy, & Lok, 2010; Rao, Monin, & Durand, 2003), by examining the impacts of multiple identity claims embedded in conflicting institutional logics on organizations as a whole. To do this, we have arranged this article as follows: First, we review the relevant aspects of institutional theory, with particular focus on institutional logics as an orienting perspective (Thornton, Ocasio, & Lounsbury, 2012) and the work on institutional contradiction (Friedland & Alford, 1991; Seo & Creed, 2002), categorizing the nature of resolutions to the conflicting institutional logics. Next, we ground our theorizing in the empirical context of religious research universities, introducing existing work on the challenges of that setting and integrating it with institutional theory. We close this section by presenting a stylized history of Baylor University illustrating how the University has responded to the experience of multiple institutional logics over time. Our article closes with a model of resolving conflicts in institutional logics and a discussion of the implications of our theorizing for existing theory and for future research and the limitations and boundary conditions for our work.

INSTITUTIONS, LOGICS, AND CONTRADICTION Organizational institutionalism encompasses a far-reaching program of theoretical and empirical work focusing on social structures grounded in two unifying themes: (1) an attention to enduring social structures, either through examining the heroic work required to change them (e.g., Greenwood & Suddaby, 2006) or by focusing on their reproduction, legitimacy, and persistence (e.g., Glynn & Abzug, 2002) and (2) the ways social meaning and values are manifest in those structures (e.g., Glynn, 2000). Although initially focused on leaders infusing value into structures to achieve persistence (Selznick, 1957), a turn to the so-called “new” or “neo” institutional perspective shifted the focus to how symbol and meaning are manifest in structure through isomorphism (e.g., DiMaggio & Powell, 1983; Glynn, 2000) and legitimacy (e.g., Deephouse, 1996; Suchman, 1995). Research adopting this perspective paid little attention to the people embedded in these institutional arrangements, at best casting them as “cultural dopes” who passively receive the symbols and meaning systems which constitute these institutions (Hirsch & Lounsbury, 1997), at worst ignoring

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them completely. Later research has paid more attention to “inhabited institutions” and, in particular, to their inhabitants (Creed et al., 2010; Hallett & Ventresca, 2006). In both cases, however, the underlying symbols, interactions, and meaning systems are often conceptualized as institutional logics, a meta-theoretic perspective applicable across a range of institutional research (Thornton et al., 2012). Logics are defined as “the socially constructed, historical patterns of cultural symbols and material practices, including assumptions, values, and beliefs by which individuals and organizations provide meaning to the daily activities, organize time and space, and reproduce their lives and experiences” (Thornton & Ocasio, 2008). In other words, institutional logics serve as established and accepted cognitive and behavioral templates for their inhabitants. They are grounded in Friedland and Alford’s (1991) work that identified several well-established systems of meaning which continually inform and structure social life, including family, society, markets, and religion. Friedland and Alford also posited that, while different spheres of social life have these established and dominant logics, actors embedded in social structures are often exposed to multiple logics at any given time. This multiplexity of logics in overlapping or nested institutions (Holm, 1995) means that logics could contradict each other (Seo & Creed, 2002), sending conflicting or confusing signals about meaning or values to institutional inhabitants. Perhaps the first identification of such conflicting logics was Andrew Ure’s (1835) early work on the textile mills in Great Britain, though instead of “logics,” he referenced a “philosophy” that conflicted with previous thinking. In particular, the subtitle of his work, “An exposition of the scientific, moral, and commercial economy of the factory system of Great Britain” makes clear the three distinct and conflicting domains. Realizing that the presence of multiple logics provided actors embedded in these complex social structures with a choice of which logic or logics to focus on when taking action, Seo and Creed (2002) identified that this presented actors with opportunities to exercise embedded agency, giving institutionalists an opportunity to address the critique that institutional theory cast actors as passive, “cultural dopes” (Hirsch & Lounsbury, 1997). One stream of empirical work related to multiple logics examines how the presence of other logics may influence an organization’s response to an overarching and dominant logic (e.g., Greenwood, Diaz, Li, & Lorente, 2010), while treating the logics themselves as stable and the multiple logics as a source of complexity more than contradiction. Another stream of research examines the dynamics of the relationships between the logics themselves, focusing on the transitions between competing logics in a field

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(e.g., Thornton, 2001), the evolution of hybrid organizational forms reflecting the pluralistic logics (e.g., D’Aunno et al., 1991), or sustained coexistence through compartmentalization or decoupling strategies (e.g., Reay & Hinings, 2009). In both streams of research, conflicting or competing institutional logics are commonly linked to institutional change, and the presence of multiple logics is shown to have an impact on organizational form and response. Researchers have tied exposure to multiple institutional logics to a variety of outcomes, including agency (Seo & Creed, 2002), deinstitutionalization (e.g., Sahay, Saebo, Molla, & Asalefew, 2010), institutional entrepreneurship (e.g., Rao et al., 2003), institutional change (e.g., Abrahamsson & Gerdin, 2006), and identity-based forms of institutional work (Creed et al., 2010). Such outcomes are possible when inhabitants simultaneously experience multiple systems of meaning or value (i.e., multiple logics) that compete to guide aspects of their social world. When aspects of the institutional logics (e.g., values, beliefs) are salient to the identities of the embedded actors (individual or collective), such inhabitants are likely to experience the institution as highly demanding or “greedy” (Coser, 1974). As Coser (1974, p. 14) writes, members can engage in such an institution “only to the extent that they devoted themselves unconditionally to its characteristic spirit.” When an institution requires such complete, holistic, and comprehensive commitment of its members, the ability for actors to balance multiple logics is diminished, and the reality of intersecting spheres of social life increases the probability that some other aspect of life will confront and challenge at least some aspect of that dedication. For example, recent work has shown that gay and lesbian ministers experienced conflicts between their religious identity (their Calling) and their sexual identity, which created conflicts and triggered both identity and institutional work (Creed et al., 2010). While Coser’s work is primarily about the experiences of individuals embedded in “greedy” organizational institutions, his theorizing applies equally well to organizations subjected to “greedy” institutional logics. As Coser (1974) points out, various forms of religious affiliation often embody an institutional logic demanding a high degree of holistic or comprehensive commitment. This is true both for the religion’s adherents and for organizations claiming religious affiliation, although certainly to varying degrees in both cases. Therefore, translating and generalizing this to an organizational level, we expect that organizations claiming religious affiliation are also more likely to experience conflicts in institutional logics in their activities than those that do not, at least to the extent to which they consider

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that religious affiliation as a central, distinctive, and enduring aspect of their identity (Ashforth & Mael, 1989). In our case, colleges and universities whose image and identity reflect a highly salient religious affiliation are subject to the breadth and depth of demands imposed by the logic of faith that underpins religious institutions generally. These demands increase the potential to conflict with other logics strongly influencing institutions of higher education, such as the state, the market, and the academy, the lattermost being the focus of this article. In a religious university, violation of underlying assumptions embedded in the logic of religion may be viewed as running counter to that logic and therefore as illegitimate. For example, when Georgetown University (the oldest Jesuit and Catholic University in the United States) appointed Dr. John J. DeGioia as its first lay president in 2001, various stakeholders raised questions about how that decision impacted the University’s Jesuit identity (e.g., Wolff, 2001), despite Dr. DeGioia’s long-time association with the University, including having served as its Senior Vice President for a number of years before the appointment and having received his Ph.D. in Catholic intellectual thought from the University. Note, however, that such tensions do not inherently suggest an intractable or even an actual contradiction. Rather, they represent a potential perceived contradiction that might be resolved through several paths. To consider the various ways such resolutions may be achieved, we summarize a subset of work that has examined institutional conflict in Table 1. The final column in Table 1 summarizes the resolution to the conflict of institutional logics. Across the 13 articles, the most common result is the emergence a single dominant logic. This may be either with a single logic replacing the prior logic, as in the Rao et al. (2003) study of the field of French gastronomy that demonstrates that a logic of professional autonomy which includes creativity and freedom replaces the more traditional authority-based model that was steeped in rules and standards, or through a dominant logic that overrides other logics, such as in MacLean and Behman’s (2010) study of insurance sales that showed how a logic of profit/ efficiency overrode the logic of compliance, which came to be only ceremonially embraced. Together, these resolutions are present in 6 of the 13 articles we sampled. The next most common outcome is some form of coexistence, where two or more logics remain active in the organization or field. This can be achieved through compartmentalization, such as in Reay and Hinings’ (2009) study of the Alberta Health Care system where it was found that doctors continued to operate under a medical logic, while administrators

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Table 1. Article

Representative Resolutions to Institutional Conflict and Contradiction in Empirical Research. Setting

Haveman and Rao Early Thrift (1997) Industry Thornton (2002) Zilber (2002)

Higher Ed Publishing Israeli Rape Crisis Centers

Rao et al. (2003)

French Gastronomy

Briassoulis (2004)

Decertification Control & Policy Planning

Prudy and Gray (2009)

State Offices of Dispute Resolution Alberta Health Care

Reay and Hinings (2009)

Battilana and Dorado (2010) Creed et al. (2010)

Microfinance

MacLean and Behman (2010) Van Gestel (2011)

Insurance Sales

Goodrick (2011)

U.S. Pharmacists

Almond and DeJordy (2012)

Traditional Irish Music

GLBT Ministers

Public Services in the Netherlands

Multiple Logics

Resolution

Religious/Cultural & Rational/ Bureaucratic Editorial & Market

Rational/Bureaucratic replaces Religious/ Cultural Market replaces editorial

Therapeutic & Feminist

Therapeutic gains foothold, but both coexist The professional logic replaces the traditional one Political dominates, but others coexist

Traditional authority & Professional autonomy Environmental, Economic, Bureaucratic, & Political Judicial, Social Services, Bureaucratic, & Democratic Medical & Business

Development & Banking Christian value of inclusion & Societal/ Denominational heterosexism

Coexistence

Compartmentalization (individual actors embrace one or the other) Integration & combination

Range of individual solutions: Compartmentalization, coexistence and integration Regulatory Compliance Ceremonial compliance & Profit/Efficiency through decoupling State bureaucracy, All three coexist. Corporate, and Dominant logic cycled Market from bureaucracy to Corporate to Market Professional, Corporate, Profession guided by State, & Market constellation of coexisting logics Cultural Art & Symbiotic coexistence Commercial

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operated under a business logic or through more general coexistence, such as Prudy and Gray’s (2009) study of the emergence of state offices of dispute resolution, in which the preferred logic was “neutral”
which is to say that it was not dominated by any one logic, but instead sought to accommodate judicial, social service, bureaucratic, and democratic logics simultaneously. Also, Almond and DeJordy’s (2012) study of Traditional Irish Music describes a symbiotic form of coexistence in which a commercial logic both sustains and is dependent upon a logic of culture and art. These forms of resolutions were found in 6 of the 13 cases. In both the dominance and coexistence cases, the logics themselves remain effectively intact through the resolution. The final category we observed in these articles allows for the modification of logics through integration or combination. Although seen at the individual level in some aspects of the Creed et al. (2010) study of GLBT ministers, this resolution is most prominent for organizations in Battilana and Dorado’s (2010) study of microfinance institutions. These authors identify two “hybrid” strategies, apprenticeship and integration, which both support the establishment of a logic different than either of the preexisting Banking or Development logics. In addition to the various forms of resolution represented in this set of articles, we now consider the possibility of a resolution that establishes and adopts a new logic, a transformational outcome, which, unlike these prior examples, does not consist of merely retaining and redeploying one or more preexisting logics or any components thereof. We seek to extend this existing work by examining a case of transformational resolution to conflicting logics within an established field, namely religious universities, rather than in a new field, such as the emergence of microfinance with its unique organizational forms and logics. We turn now to an examination of our setting, drawing on existing literature that has examined the particular challenges of religious universities.

THE RELIGIOUS RESEARCH UNIVERSITY Until the twentieth century, or at least through the Civil War, most private American universities were religious not only in affiliation but in character as well (Himmelfarb, 1996). At present, however, only about one-third of the country’s private institutions of higher education retain religious affiliation, and Ringenberg (2006) suggests about a sixth of those retaining

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religious affiliation do so only in name. In such cases, we expect the religious affiliation is not salient to the organization’s perceived identity, and that the religious affiliation is decoupled (Meyer & Rowan, 1977) from the everyday operation of the organization. This dramatic shift toward secularism may well be viewed as a story of institutional isomorphism (DiMaggio & Powell, 1983), where a logic of a secular rationality or secular culturalism (which we use simply to mean a logic of inquiry that is explicitly detached from religious faith) achieved dominance in the field of higher education and the majority of field actors adopted the structures and practices associated with that logic in order to gain or maintain their legitimacy. Prior to the middle of the nineteenth century, there was no perceived contradiction between the logics of religion and education: they were intertwined with the common purpose of human (and moral) development, focusing primarily on issues of moral philosophy. Prior to the Civil War, most colleges and universities in the United States, including public institutions, were established by religiously motivated individuals or organizations (Ringenberg, 2006). As Himmelfarb (1996, p. 16) writes, “in colonial and pre-Civil War days, some [private universities] were barely distinguishable from seminaries.” The sentiment of higher education at this time is captured in Harvard’s early goals for higher learning: “to know God and Jesus Christ who is eternal life (John 17:3), and therefore to lay Christ in the bottom as the only foundation of all sound knowledge and learning” (quoted in Ringenberg, 2006). However, around the turn of the twentieth century, a new logic, based on a secular culturalism and precipitated by Darwinism and the widespread emergence of Enlightenment rationality, was introduced in U.S. higher education, setting up the potential for these two logics (one of moral development steeped in faith and another of secular culturalism steeped in science and rationality) to compete in providing meaning and structure to the field. From 1865 through 1900, many new universities, such as Stanford and the Universities of Chicago, Michigan, and Wisconsin, were founded, and many existing and prestigious schools, such as Yale and Columbia, established graduate and professional schools, all without funding or oversight from churches or religiously motivated patrons. Instead, these new schools, especially the graduate and professional schools, were often funded by industrialists, whose business focus aligned more closely with the rationality of secular culturalism (Ringenberg, 2006). This reinforced the separation of religion and education and bolstered the new logic of secular culturalism. The newly conflicting nature of these established logics set the stage for each college and university in the field to find its own most

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appropriate resolution, given its organizational identity and the role of religious affiliation in that identity. Many, perhaps the majority, of schools chose (consciously or otherwise) the replacement model mentioned earlier. Books such as The Scandal of the Evangelic Mind (Noll, 1995) and The Soul of the American University (Marsden, 1996) underscore the tremendous pressures toward secularism and pluralism in higher education at that time, and both Burtchaell (1998) and Gleason (1995) chronicle the decay and disestablishment of religious sentiment at many of these institutions under this logic. Prior to the Civil War, Protestant forms of higher education were conversant with, in fact equated with, the best scholarship in the West. So, when those same universities appropriated moderate forms of Enlightenment thinking through the end of the century, they did so believing that “the best of the Western intellectual tradition would always be easily reconciled with orthodox Protestantism” (Noll, 1995, pp. 2
3). As a result of this assumption, attention to the religious logic diminished, and many schools gradually embraced the secularized logic of rationality and formally eliminated their religious affiliations. This drift has resulted in the several arrangements and characterizations we see today. For example, having shifted to a secular and rational logic, many of these one-time religious schools now operate in a field where there is one dominant logic, the secular culturalism of rational inquiry, and no longer acknowledge the religious logic of faith at all. (Interestingly, many of these same schools may now operate in a different duality of logics, one that pits a logic of pure rational inquiry against a logic of the market, but consideration of this newer conflict of logics is beyond the scope of this article.) Other schools responded to the emergence of secular rationality differently and now embrace a dominant logic by engaging in decoupling and ceremonial action. These institutions formally maintain their religious affiliation and espouse a religious identity, but “have pretty much neglected their faith tradition” (Ringenberg, 2006, p. 249). Yet another group of religiously affiliated colleges and universities display a different dominance model where both logics coexist in and impact the organization structure and practices, but one is dominant. For example, Calvin College maintains and promotes its Christianity, requires faculty to sign a covenant in which they agree to religious goals, and promotes a “faith-informed” scholarship; however, research is conducted and disseminated in a manner consistent with the logic of rational inquiry of mainstream scholarship (Arthur, 2008). This is consistent with Calvinistic thought, which holds that faith is beyond reason, but reason without faith is imperfect because sin degrades the human capacity for reason, and

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consequently, “man’s mind, because of its dullness, cannot hold to the right path” (John Calvin, quoted in Snyder, 1986, footnote 9). Thus, the process of conducting research (e.g., analytic techniques, publishing process) may be guided through logics of secular rationality, but the substance
the questions asked and the pursuit of them
must be informed by a logic of faith, lest it be subverted or corrupted by autonomous reason which lacks the compass necessary to stay on the path of truth. Relegating the secular logic to the process only, and elevating the religious logic in all matters of substance, allows both to coexist, but with the religious logic being dominant. On the other hand, many colleges and universities with religious affiliations are less holistic and instead “believe it to be important for students to see the relevance of their faith commitments in each of their ‘secular’ intellectual areas” (Arthur, 2008, p. 199). This suggests another model where two logics are present, but with a more egalitarian presence in shaping the practices and structure of the university. Independent of the mechanism
one dominant logic with others still present or a more equal-influence model
the act of balancing two potentially contradictory logics suggests a coexistence resolution that requires balancing multiple logics. While the consciousness involved in such balancing acts may affect real change in the way in which values are infused into social structures, coexistence resolutions explicitly maintain a duality of meaning. Similar to the outcomes identified by both Zilber (2002) and D’Aunno et al. (1991), these outcomes do not resolve the contradictory meaning and value systems of the two distinct logics but rather establish an equilibrium condition under which they can coexist. Achieving a transformational outcome, on the other hand, obviates the need to maintain such a delicate balance because the transformation reframes the meaning system itself in a way that absorbs and reconciles both prior logics. It is important to distinguish this from a dominant logic model, such as was displayed in the relationship between religion and education prior to the Civil War. Although education, inquiry, and intellectual activity were promoted as ways to know God and Christ, they proceeded from the unquestioned religious foundation and framework of the universe and life. This is not so much a transformational synthesis of two contradictory logics but rather coexistence with a dominant logic. Religion is privileged and scientific inquiry operates within the context of that dominant logic. A more transformational outcome based on actual synthesis is evident in the twelfth and thirteenth century between Aristotelian reason-based epistemology and Muslim, Jewish, and Christian faith-based epistemology

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represented, respectively, by theorists such as Avicenna, Maimonides, and Aquinas. Some European universities such as the University of Paris and Oxford University considered reason and scientific inquiry to be instrumental and even necessary for better, fuller understanding of how faith-based truths and reason/science-based truths are in harmony. It is in this tradition that Alasdair MacIntyre (1991) promotes the complementarity of faith and reason, focusing on the “end in view” (telos) in assessing the guiding logic of higher education. Unlike coexistence models, which highlight the segregated or subservient relationship between two distinct logics, this type of transformative outcome produces a transcendent outcome that obviates the contradiction between logics, either through the identification of a single superordinate logic or through the identification of a postmodernist social constructionist epistemology. From the modernist perspective, a transformational outcome can be seen in the “God in all things,” modernist, progress/creative transformation found to different extents within the Quaker and Jesuit universities and which finds expression in various aspects of Newman’s (1852) Idea of a University and Robert Daly’s (1990) In All Things: Religious Faith and American Culture. In particular, among Jesuits, the philosophy of “God in all things” is fundamental to the Ignatian Spirituality at the core of their order and is particularly manifest in their colleges and universities. Having visited the websites of the 28 Jesuit institutions of higher education in the United States, we found that all lay claim to their Jesuit affiliation on the main home page and include the philosophy of “God in all things” in some aspect of their identity, mission, or ministry within a few links of the main page. For example, Boston College’s site describes the philosophy as follows: Ignatius was convinced that God deals directly with us in our experience. This conviction rested on his profound realization that God is “working” in every thing that exists. (This is why the spirit of Jesuit education is often described as “finding God in all things”). So, our intimate thoughts and feelings, our desires and our fears, our responses to the people and things around us are not just the accidental ebb and flow of our inner lives but rather the privileged moments through which God creates and sustains a unique relationship with each of us. How do I pay attention? By observing, wondering, opening myself to what is new, allowing the reality of people and things to enter my consciousness on its own terms. This is why Jesuit schools have traditionally emphasized liberal education, a core curriculum, and the arts and the humanities
studies that can enlarge our understanding of what it means to be human and make us more sympathetic to experiences different

Serving Two Masters: Transformative Resolutions to Institutional Contradictions 313 from our own. This happens outside the classroom too
for example, in service programs, when we enter into the lives of others. Referring to students engaged in working with the poor, Peter Hans Kolvenbach, the current leader of Jesuits across the world, has said “When the heart is touched by direct experience, the mind may be challenged to change.” The key movement that begins this process of learning and change is paying attention. (Boston College, 2012)

In this type of transformation, the concept of God is expanded to include the working of all things. Thus, all inquiries into the workings of the world
even those not informed or guided by a formalized faith framework
are inherently inquiries into the very Workings of God. What is distinctive about this type of resolution (as compared to coexistence models) is that it asserts there is literally that of God (i.e., the expanded concept of God) in all things that one can inquire into and discover and cocreate with, and that unlike with other models, faith is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for the proper execution of inquiry. Thus, in the prior model, a logic of faith operates as a constraining mechanism that prevents proper inquiry from going astray, while in this model inquiry is unbounded because God is unbounded, and all inquiry leads ultimately to God’s Workings in all things. This type of transformation is compatible with the modernist and science-based progress model where empirical, scientific inquiry drives material, political, social, artistic, and spiritual progress and development. Alternatively, a transformative outcome may be achieved through the juxtaposition of the postmodern social construction and epistemologies undergirding each of the seemingly contradictory logics. Kearney (1988, p. 365) explains: “Foucault’s [postmodern] critique finds its most cogent formulation in The Order of Things … . Here he proposes an ‘archaeology of the human sciences’ whose purpose is to reveal a ‘positive unconscious’ of knowledge. This epistemological unconscious eludes the consciousness of the scientists themselves, even though it structures their discourse from beginning to end.” In effect, Foucault is transforming understanding of the modern scientific paradigm. Instead of exploring scientific discourse from the point of view of the scientists who are speaking/writing as if it were an objective process, Foucault considers scientific discourse from the perspective of the historically and socially constructed rules and assumptions that underlie scientific processes. He notes that these rules and assumptions are themselves similar to the historically, socially constructed nature of the epistemological processes within faithbased inquiry. Both scientific and faith-based epistemological logics have important, historically, socially constructed foundations and can be so

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considered within a transformed university with a postmodern sensibility and perspective. For example, Gilkey (1993) asserts that the fundamental differences between logics of faith and secular rationality are based in each logic’s tenets with respect to the history of the physical world (divine intention vs. mundane evolution). Thus, the religious logic discounts the relevance of scientific findings around how (through evolution) because they fail to answer, or even ask, why (intention and morality)
a fundamental aspect of the religious logic’s conception of knowledge. Science also discounts religion’s focus on moral intention, as it “represent[s] only the most ephemeral of subjective preferences” (Gilkey, 1993, p. 15). Seemingly, these two perspectives compartmentalize (and marginalize) each other to unimportant matters by privileging one perspective or the other, but the identification of the conflict over the very tenets of material existence allows for at least the potential of a transformative discussion about those contradictory assumptions. Reconciling these disparate epistemologies requires first recognizing the hermeneutical nature of both science and faith, and finding common and uncontested ground across the domains. Gilkey (1993) suggests that religion has progressed further in this sphere, abandoning previous convictions and establishing a new understanding of religious truths as symbolic rather than pertaining to the physical world directly. It follows that the type of questioning of the basic nature of the religious logic necessary for transformative outcomes entails reframing the fundamental question of religious truth to one of kind: if a scientific truth is a truth about the physical world, what kind of truth is a religious truth? With that answer, it may be possible to identify a form of inquiry that simultaneously serves both scientific and religious truths. The University of Notre Dame offers a glimpse into a potentially transcendent resolution to this conflict. Explicitly claiming its Catholic identity as a source of “enduring competitive advantage,” the University’s mission statement asserts “that Notre Dame is ‘a Catholic academic community of higher learning’ and that it seeks to develop various lines of ‘Catholic thought’ so that ‘[students] may intersect with all forms of knowledge found in the arts, sciences, and professions’” (Arthur, 2008, p. 199). This concept of “Catholic thought” could represent any number of resolutions, depending upon how it is enacted. It could certainly represent a compartmentalization approach, where the University has adopted a perspective that there is a “subset” of thought, characterized by “Catholic thought,” upon which it elects to focus, thus compartmentalizing the University itself to one form of inquiry within the academy and leaving other universities to

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pursue other forms. This would be consistent with Gould’s (1997) essay on “Non-overlapping magisteria,” in which he argues that science and religion both possess legitimate authority but only within their respective domains; in this case, religion presumably has authority over “Catholic thought.” Yet this seems at odds with the subsequent phrase indicating the community should “intersect with all forms of knowledge.” It could also represent a coexistence model, where “Catholic” is truly an adjective modifying the concept of “thought”
that is, something one can think by, not only about. In this scenario, both logics exist in their original form, but the religious logic influences the way the logic of science is experienced. This comes closer to the Calvin College approach described earlier, where “Catholic” thought somehow privileges inquiry in a meaningful (and presumably superior) manner. However, it may also suggest a more transformative perspective
either a modernist superordinate logic where “Catholic thought” is an epistemological synthesis of the religious and secular approaches, distinct from each and not privileging either, which serves to inform the mission of the University, or else a postmodernist endeavor where “Catholic thought” recognizes the epistemological duality of “religious truth” and employs both to interrogate how each constructs the social world in which the University is embedded. Without a more complete understanding of the University’s enactment of that mission and the contextual milieu that gave rise to it, it is difficult to determine the substantive nature of this form of resolution. Consequently, to better examine the varied ways in which an organization may respond to simultaneous and potentially contradictory institutional logics, we turn to the history of Baylor University
which claims both an explicitly Christian identity and a focus on high-quality research
by which we will illustrate both how the school has experienced and responded to a pluralistic field and how those responses evolved over time.

A STYLIZED HISTORY OF BAYLOR UNIVERSITY The brief summary that follows is not meant to be an exhaustive and comprehensive recounting of the long history of Baylor University with equal attention to all its significant events. Rather, it is merely meant to provide a broad strikes picture sketching the University’s responses to the multiple logics of faith and secular rationality over time. It has been compiled primarily from four types of sources: (1) one author’s first hand experience

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in the Baylor University community as both a student and a faculty member, (2) a series of interviews and informal conversations with current and former University administrators and faculty conducted by this same faculty member between 2011 and 2012, (3) academic histories of Baylor specifically or religious higher education in America generally, including, for example, The Christian College: A History of Protestant Higher Education in America (Ringenberg, 2006), God on the Quad: How Religious Colleges and the Missionary Generation are Changing America (Riley, 2005), and The Baylor Project (Benne, 2007), and (4) information published on Baylor’s website (including the archives of The Lariat, the University’s daily newspaper). Baylor University was founded in 1845, the result of a vote 4 years earlier by delegates to the Union Baptist Association to establish a Baptist University in Texas. As noted earlier, the field of higher education in the United States at this time was guided by a logic that linked higher education to Christian discipleship in the form of the pursuit of the truth manifest in God and Christ, so there was as yet no conflict between logics. The logic of inquiry underlying education was just one way for people to strive to know God. At this point Baylor, like institutions of higher education more generally, was guided by the dominance model in which inquiry was subordinated to
or more precisely, inherent in
the logic of faith. This model survived through 1890, when it began to be challenged by the emergence of a secular rationality that did not view faith as a vital component of scholarly inquiry. In this same year, the head of faculty at the University of Texas denounced and called for the disbanding of denominational schools such as Baylor. His argument was that since the state had established technical and research institutions to meet the practical educational needs of the state, education such as that offered at Baylor no longer had any value: students who wanted a good education could attend a state institution, and if those students wanted religious training they could attend a church
why was a religious university necessary? From this vantage point, Baylor had become a redundant and rather embarrassing institutional anachronism. Thus
and with little effort to conceal his disregard
this same head of faculty urged schools such as Baylor to “retire to innocuous desuetude” (note 28, cited in Benne, 2007, p. 81). This public denigration of the older, faith-based institutional logic raised the salience of the conflict between the traditional logic of faith embedded in religion and the evolving logic of secular rationality embedded in the emerging academies. For Baylor University, this set the stage for what was termed an “academic shoot-out: Texas style” (1996, cited in Benne, 2007, p. 81).

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With the tenor between these institutional logics escalating and devolving from harmonious to discordant, Baylor
as did many of her sister institutions of Christian higher education
responded by taking a different tack: rather than engaging the secular academy on its own terms and demonstrating the scholarly vitality and legitimacy of a faith-based form of inquiry
which Noll (1995) and others have shown that Baylor’s “evangelical mind” was not yet equipped to do
they gradually ceded control of the classroom to the secular academies while still maintaining a Christian environment for other areas of university life. In terms of conflict resolution, Baylor’s efforts to provide “excellent education in a Christian environment” in the face of criticism from the secular academy can be characterized as a form of compartmentalization. Benne (2007, p. 81) reports that this new patterning of logics emerged at the start of the twentieth century because Baylor was “intimidated by the Enlightenment consensus that was emerging.” During this phase in Baylor’s history, the University maintained a specifically religious and denominational identity and explicitly promoted it through formal policies and programs available for its community, supporting the coexistence of both logics as providing meaning and structure to different aspects of university life: research and teaching guided by the logic of secular rationality and student life and moral development guided by the logic of faith. This new compartmentalization of logics, which came to be known as the “two-spheres” approach to Christian higher education (Benne, 2004), remained unchallenged at Baylor for almost a century. In the 1980s, however, the battle between moderate and conservative Baptists for control of the Baptist General Convention of Texas resulted in a fundamentalist turn within the Convention that Baylor feared would extend undue influence over the University (Beaty, 2007). In 1990, with all the knife’s-edge drama and back-room political intrigue of a John Grisham novel, Baylor president Herbert Reynolds instigated a charter change to mitigate the influence of the Baptist General Convention of Texas on the University’s future governance (Beaty, 2007). Given that the Convention had “owned and operated” Baylor since its founding in 1845, this was a monumental and watershed decision for Baylor (Beaty, 2007). Based on the pattern established by the many other religious schools who had similarly moved to distance themselves from their governing denominations, many people within the Baylor community feared the charter change signaled the beginning of the loss of Baylor’s Christian identity and of its inevitable drift into secularity (Beaty, 2007; Burtchaell, 1998). Without a governing denomination to protect and defend the Christian soul of the

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institution, who was there to prevent its gradually being taken over by secular elements? This fear drove the opponents and critics of the change. From the perspective of these critics, Baylor had removed the roadside safety railing so as to maneuver to avoid being struck by an oncoming truck, but in so doing increased the likelihood that it would veer off the road and drive itself over a cliff. At the very least, on the surface this charter change appeared to make the University more vulnerable to the increasing influence of the secular rationality logic. But, this is not what has happened so far. In fact, the charter change appears ultimately to have preserved the compartmentalization approach in the face of a perceived threat from fundamentalist elements
a threat that jeopardized the status or survival of secular rationality within the University. Viewed in this way, the charter change functioned as a form of institutional maintenance (Lawrence & Suddaby, 2006), specifically institutional guardianship (DeJordy, 2010). In other words, this move maintained the coexistence of both logics at a time when President Reynolds feared fundamentalist Baptist cultural sentiments threatened the logic of secular rationality that had guided certain aspects of the University for nearly a century. Having successfully fended off this fundamentalist threat, Baylor continued with the compartmentalized “two-spheres” model of Christian higher education through the turn of the present century. But, the magnitude and import of the charter change itself prompted the University community to begin to question the taken-for-granted nature of what it means to be a “religious university”
in particular one that is no longer bound by charter to a denominational community. In fact, such a change forced the community at large to consider “what Baylor is all about” and to ask, “What does it mean to be a Baptist University?” (Riley, 2005, p. 188). Riley goes on to quote Michael Beaty, director of Baylor’s Institute for Faith and Learning, as calling the 1990 charter change “the crucial moment in Baylor’s history.” In part, this is because it appears to be the moment when Baylor first embarks upon a journey toward a more transformational change. The next critical moment in this journey occurred under the leadership of president Robert Sloan, who succeeded Herbert Reynolds in 1995. In 1995, Robert Sloan, who had been serving as the dean of Baylor’s Truett Seminary, took the reins as the new President of Baylor. Five years after the charter change, there were still no definitive signs that Baylor was sliding in secularism. On the occasion of Sloan’s inauguration, Richard John Neuhaus delivered a speech outlining eleven theses for a Christian university and cast the crisis of Christian universities not as a crisis of

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secularism, but as a crisis of Christian faith. He concluded: “The question that those who lead a Christian university must answer, and answer again every day, is whether the confession that Jesus is Lord limits or illuminates the university’s obligation to seek and serve Veritas
to seek and serve the truth” (Neuhaus, 1996, p. 22). This fundamental question, perhaps not askable at an earlier time in Baylor’s history, framed and spurred Baylor’s subsequent strategic planning efforts by reframing the hitherto compartmentalized logics of religion and inquiry in light of the common and more abstracted goal of seeking and serving truth. This line of thinking was a hallmark of Robert Sloan’s presidency and coupled with the new freedom and soul-searching prompted by the charter change, precipitated the most ambitious, controversial, and transformative strategic initiative in the University’s 167-year history: Baylor 2012. It was in 2002 that Baylor unveiled the Baylor 2012 strategic plan. The sweeping 10-year plan covered a wide range of initiatives that were summarized under 12 imperatives relating to growth in academic research, excellence in athletics, student recruiting, campus life, academic program development, University facilities, and the University endowment. Most germane to the present discussion is Imperative III, in which Baylor, by aiming to “develop a world-class faculty,” boldly declared its resolve to attain the status of a tier-one research university while simultaneously emphasizing the integration of faith and scholarship in all disciplines, both in the classroom and academies. President Sloan, who spearheaded the Baylor 2012 initiative, had earlier said that “Some Christian institutions want to leave the work of discovery to the secularists … . I think that is a mistake for people of any faith” (Riley, 2005, p. 119). This statement, and the strategic plan that came to embody this line of thought, effectively denounced the conciliatory compartmentalization of logics which Baylor had employed for over a century in favor of a more transformative, dialectic resolution in which the two logics would no longer be relegated to separate spheres of the University’s life but rather transformed into a singular, abstracted logic wherewith faith and secular rationality would no longer be viewed as incompatible. At this point, we should say that we do not wish to misrepresent the history of Baylor with too saccharine a presentation. Readers familiar with the “Baylor Project” are well aware that the implementation of Baylor 2012 was fraught with difficulties and missteps and produced strident opposition and criticism from many quarters. A short word about them is prudent to include. Criticism of Baylor 2012 may be roughly categorized into four types. First, there were some who thought the plan (at

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least with respect to Imperative III) epistemologically meaningless: these critics believed that faith and inquiry/science were categorically irreconcilable. Second were those who
with history on their side
thought the plan practically impossible. Benne (2004) points out that at the time it was historically without precedent for a university to achieve top-tier research status while simultaneously strengthening its religious identity. Third were those who thought the whole initiative
whether or not it was possible
to be politically and theologically inadvisable: a form of heavy-handed, autocratically imposed orthodoxy akin to the very thing Reynolds sought to avoid with the 1990 charter change. Critics in this camp included many senior faculty and, not surprisingly, Sloan’s predecessor Herbert Reynolds (Benne, 2004). Reynolds, who was a firm adherent to the Baptist doctrines of “soul competency” and the “priesthood of the believer,” believed one’s relationship to Christ to be highly individual and inward
answerable to Christ and conscience alone
and that no element of the faith should be formalized and articulated as creeds or systematic Christian thought (Benne, 2004). He argued that Sloan’s plan violated these Baptist doctrines. Fourth and finally were those who thought the plan damnably reckless: a swaggering, shoot-from-the-hip form of cowboy stewardship that would endanger the culture and financial future of the University through increased publication pressures and debt-financed campus expansion. But, notwithstanding the foregoing criticisms, it is important for purposes of our discussion to point out that we draw the distinction between the achievement of a transformative outcome vis-a`-vis the institutional logics discussed earlier and the growing pains that accompany any highstakes institutional and organizational change, especially those that involve factors salient to inhabitants’ identities, such as faith and profession. In other words, the very presence of these protestations and conflicts at Baylor does not suggest the ultimate outcome of the process cannot be transformational. Quite the contrary, in fact, explicit recognition of the contradictions inherent in prior logics might well be a necessary condition for transformation. We argue that the outcome is, in fact, transformational. As mentioned earlier, the recasting of the religious and secular inquiry logics in terms of a common pursuit of truth suggests the possibility of a new, superordinate logic guiding all aspects of the University, as evident in the adoption of new practices such as the requirement that candidates for faculty positions demonstrate the willingness and ability to incorporate Christian philosophies in an intellectually legitimate and responsible way. While this can be

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particularly challenging in the more abstract disciplines and basic science, such as mathematics, in which the influence of faith is tenuous at best, a common answer in these disciplines is that faith influences the questions faculty ask, motivated by their aspirations to improve the world, or our understanding of it, as part of their service to Jesus Christ. This suggests a redefinition akin to the Jesuit “God in all things” that includes not only truth, but also beauty, goodness, and play as well and is indicative of a real transformation of logics. Seen this way, seeking and serving Veritas is inherently, inextricably, and simultaneously both about the experience of God in one’s life and about dedicating oneself to a life of inquiry. This redefinition of institutional logics resembles historical changes that have occurred within the Jesuit and Quaker traditions (Daly, 1990; Oliver, Cherry, & Cherry, 2007): in each case, a superordinate logic emerged that was not a simple synthesis of the two previous logics but rather the synthesis of the abstracted essence of both. Still, adopting a fundamentally redefined superordinate logic creates challenges when juxtaposed with previous understandings of the logics. For example, this superordinate, transformative logic at Baylor has resulted in at least one paradox-in-practice: the mandatory provost interview. In this interview, prospective faculty are asked to give an account of the vitality and currency of their individual faith (Baker, 2007; Evans, 2007). The paradox here is that candidates must participate in a form of confession of faith to be hired at Baylor, yet the Baptist theology upon which Baylor is founded insists that mediated confession cannot be required of believers. As mentioned earlier, the Baptist tenets of soul competency and the priesthood of all believers emphasize that individuals are not required to attend confession or to give an account of their faith and actions to anyone save God alone. So, how does a Christian university, adhering to a new logic synthesized from both faith and secular rationality, ensure adherence to the faith-laden logic, and ensure its Christian identity while protecting those tenets? Not asking for such a confession risks abandoning the faith-based aspects of the governing logic but asking for them risks violating it. James Bennighof, current Baylor Vice Provost for academic affairs, recognizes the complexity of enacting this integrated logic, stating the interview process requires delicacy and discernment (Bennighof, personal communication with the author, Waco, TX, 2011). Understanding the variance among members of different denominations with regard to the level of experience and comfort with verbal expressions of faith, Bennighof makes allowances for such differences, instead focusing on eliciting a general sense

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of the candidate’s faith and how their beliefs affect how they engage their scholarship and live their lives. The need to make such allowances during the process suggests a degree of consciousness and elaboration of thought consistent with the emergence of new forms of legitimation, rather than the taciturn nature of practices, procedures, and organizational forms that have become taken for granted (Colyvas & Powell, 2006). In other words, this represents a new practice that has not yet become institutionalized and, therefore, does not entail the enactment of taken-for-granted routines or scripts. It takes conscious effort to enact a new set of institutional values and practices, which further suggests a new, transformed logic is in play at Baylor, rather than either of the existing prior logics. Furthermore, speaking of the provost’s faith interview with faculty candidates, Baker argues that in asking how the applicant’s faith informs or animates his or her life and scholarship, the provost “is not becoming an arbiter of an individual’s faith so much as he or she is attempting to judge the scholarly imagination. This different question may not impinge on the realm of soul competency so much as it does on interest and ability, both of which are clearly relevant to the broad mission of the university” (Baker, 2007, p. 129). This quote suggests the faith interview serves a new transformed logic rather than either the science/inquiry logic, which was insensitive to matters of faith, or the religion/faith logic, which only engaged the scholarly imagination by demarking boundaries for it, rather than seeking to enrich, illuminate, or expand it. This particular form of faith interview only makes sense in an institutional setting where faith infuses inquiry with meaning, and it makes no sense if either secular rationality or religious faith is dominant over the other. Both the conscious legitimating allowances and the focus on scholarly imagination embedded in the faith interview suggest a transformative outcome. There are other indications of transformation, as well. Consider the following quote from Benne (2004). The Christian identity Baylor leaders are seeking is not defined by a confessional tradition, as at Calvin College, or by evangelical definitions of faith, as at Wheaton College. It seeks a “big tent” kind of Christian orthodoxy that includes Lutherans, Catholics, Presbyterians, Methodists, and others, as well as the hoped-for number of Baptists. It is a “mere Christianity” kind of orthodoxy. (p. 24)

The reference in the last line of this quote is to the classic book Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis. In this book, Lewis, addressing a skeptical audience and using everyday language and reasoning rooted in shared lived

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experience and old-fashioned common sense, explains the most basic, fundamental tenets of Christian belief (e.g., whether God exists, and what implications this might have for how people live). A distinctive feature of this book is Lewis’s intentional avoidance of the controversies, idiosyncrasies, and vicissitudes of any particular creed or denomination. Instead, he focuses on what various denominations have in common in terms of belief and mostly ignores discussions of how those beliefs are practiced and enacted in the multifarious routines, regulations, and rituals within the different quarters of the Church. According to this quote, Baylor has sought to reposition itself not as a Baptist University, but as a more inclusive, ecumenical, “mere” Christian university. And recent publications and media from the University bear this out: one is now more likely to read about Baylor’s “Christian identity” and its “Baptist heritage,” rather than the other way round (cf. Baylor University, 2012a). The result of this transformation into a “mere” Christian university has been twofold: not only has it enhanced its attractiveness for Christian scholars of all stripes, thereby improving the University’s potential for top-tier academic standing, but it also has broadened its pool of stakeholders to include members of other denominations, which has resulted in a greater accountability for the University without its having to submit to the formal oversight of any one particular denomination. Viewed in this light, it is the best possible institutional legacy and progeny of the 1990 charter change. But, all of this
the legitimating allowances and the focus on the scholarly imagination in the faith interview as well as the reframing of Baylor as a “mere” Christian university
suggests the new logic has not yet become taken for granted
it is still in the process of being institutionalized itself. Of course, institutionalizing a new, transformed logic presents its own set of challenges in any context, not just in a university setting. First, any change effort draws attention to the object of the change
the thing being corrected
rather than to the things remaining stable. This increased attention alone can result in misinterpretations or misunderstanding and produce anxiety, disagreement, conflict, and retaliations. Furthermore, it is not easy to disentangle the change from the prior context, because the prior context colors and influences how people interpret and respond to what is new. For example, there is often a marked difference in how people driving automobiles respond to a yellow light depending on whether it is already yellow when they first encounter it, or if it is first green and then changes to yellow. The context of having initially been green changes the way many

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people process a yellow light, as opposed to how they process it if it is yellow when it first comes into view. The purpose of a yellow light is to evoke caution in the driver and the driving; however, a green-turned-yellow light often evokes quite the opposite reaction amongst aggressive drivers, who amplify the meaning of “go” of the green light to “go faster” rather than “be cautious.” Another risk in situations such as these is that even if there is no apparent conflict between the old and new logics, the new logic that ought to have been instilled (and that serves as the basis for many different policies) is not being understood explicitly and subsequently weakened; this increases the likelihood that conflicts and noncompliance issues will arise in other policy and practice areas that are also based on the new logic. And the issue is further complicated when the new logic is a transformative outcome involving two other sets of taken-for-granted assumptions and values, because the existence of multiple prior logics makes it even more likely that some symbols and meanings inherent in the new logic will become conflated and/or misinterpreted. For example, it would be easy in the Baylor case to interpret the “faith interview” as a remnant of a faithbased logic (i.e., as delimiting rather than expanding the boundaries of scholarly inquiry), if it were not for the explicitly and consciously stated goals of tapping into scholarly imagination. The stakes surrounding these risks and challenges become even higher in the long term. Passing the meaning embedded in the synthesis to the next generation requires the institutionalization of the newly synthesized logic holistically, rather than in terms of the prior logics. Baker discusses this issue, warning against institutionalizing only the “corrective” instead of the accompanying underlying logic. He draws on Burtchaell (1998) who identifies and discusses the potential risk that future generations will receive such a corrective but forget its wider context, and thus will “mistake [the corrective] as a free-standing truth instead, and thereby … take in hand terribly less than what was handed on” (quoted in Baker, 2007, p. 130). This was precisely the outcome that opponents to the 1990 charter change feared. Even though President Reynolds acted upon his strong conviction that each faculty member must steward his or her relationship to God as the Bible and conscience dictate, without being answerable to any authority except God alone, his critics argued that his actions would be misinterpreted because subsequent generations of faculty would not understand the logic that motivated his actions and would interpret what he did in light of an existing logic that they could understand. Thus, Reynolds’ heroic, faith-inspired cry, “Stand firm! We must all be answerable to God

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alone!” would devolve into a generic, individualistic, “Screw you. No one can tell me how to run my classroom.” In short, critics feared that only the resultant secular autonomy would be institutionalized, stripped of all the faith-based value of soul competency which gave raise to it. All of this suggests the new, transformed logic must stand and be understood on its own, not in relation to the prior logics, if it is to be institutionalized appropriately. The evidence of the conscious attention being given to this matter speaks well to Baylor’s chances to succeed
at least they recognize the challenge and acknowledge the difficulty
however, it is difficult to conclusively assess yet if the process will succeed in the long run. But initial indications are positive in this regard. Recent assessments of the progress of Baylor 2012 have shown great advances along the initial imperatives. For example, since 2002, the number of Ph.D. programs at Baylor increased by 70% (from 14 to 24), the number of top-tier research journal publications per year more than tripled (up from 200 in 2002 to 636 in 2011; Smith, 2012), leading to a “high research activity” classification by the Carnegie Foundation (Baylor University, 2012b). Baylor also spent $400 million on new campus facilities, hired 238 new faculty
including several world-class Christian scholars from premier universities around the world
raised the average SAT score of incoming freshmen from 1100 to 1236 and decreased the student-to-faculty ratio from 18:1 to 14:1 (Smith, 2012). Furthermore, some of the most outspoken and prominent critics of the Baylor 2012 project now think the university is on the right track. For example, Dr. Larry Lyon, Professor of Sociology and Dean of Graduate Studies and initially an opponent of Baylor 2012 on the grounds that Baylor’s newly affirmed Christian views were too limiting and would deter too many otherwise top-flight scholars from applying, conceded within 2 years that the task of finding and developing such scholars was easier than he expected it would be (Benne, 2004). The University has continued to fare well in this respect: of the 238 new faculty hired from 2002 to 2012, more than three-fourths earned their doctorates from schools having the highest level of research activity in the Carnegie Foundation’s classification scheme (Baylor University, 2012b). Similarly, between 2002 and 2005, professor of economics Dr. Kent Gilbreath wrote several widely circulated essays criticizing the vision and implementation of the Baylor 2012 plan under Robert Sloan. Gilbreath, who is now retired, says there’s no question Baylor is a better school than it was 10 years ago (Smith, 2012). This change of heart among critics has also been evident throughout the most recent university strategic planning cycle. Baylor recently completed

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yet another strategic plan, dubbed Pro Futuris, which was unanimously approved by the regents in May 2012 (Baylor University, 2012c). Dr. Mitchell J. Neubert, the Chavanne Chair of Christian Business Ethics at Baylor University who chaired the committee to solicit input from Baylor’s various constituent groups throughout the planning process, reports that in comparison to Baylor 2012, Pro Futuris was “created based on broad and extensive input from all stakeholders that included a healthy diversity of opinions on specific issues but a general consensus on the progress and promise of Baylor” (Neubert, personal communication with the author on December 8, 2012, Waco, TX). Furthermore, the imperatives of Pro Futuris extend and affirm those of Baylor 2012 and do not reflect any regression to the earlier compartmentalized institutional logic (Neubert, personal communication with the author on December 5, 2012, Waco, TX). Of course, a different perspective on the less contentious process for Pro Futuris is that the faith logic became dominant and those who gave voice to an alternative perspective last time have either been silenced or have exited the organization. Yet, the research-based achievements detailed earlier suggest that even if that were true, an improved focus on research has accompanied that model. Further, as just enumerated, there remain in the organization individuals who were critical of the Baylor 2012 plan as undermining the potential for scholarly inquiry, who now endorse the strategy. While those presented here do not give voice to the full range of personal experiences lived by inhabitants of the institution over the past several years, they do represent at least one perspective of how Baylor is in the process of transforming itself with respect to how it internalizes the logics of faith and inquiry.

DISCUSSION We have used the setting of religiously affiliated universities, both generically and the specific case of Baylor University, to highlight the range of possible organizational responses to the existence of multiple, potentially contradictory logics operating in a field. Although considerable work has proceeded from the existence of multiple logics in examining institutional change and the establishment of new organizational forms, we look across specific cases to examine the breadth of potential responses to multiple logics by linking extant research to various forms of resolution. We find that little research on institutional contradictions addresses a transformative model for resolving those contradictions. We then highlight how this

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could be possible in the context of religiously affiliated institutions of higher education and suggest Baylor University’s recent attempts at transformation into a first-tier research university while enhancing its Christian identity is a potential example of such a transformative process. Looking at the history of Baylor, we see a similar process to Zietsma and Lawrence (2010) who found that institutional work entailed not only the creation, maintenance, and legitimation of practices within the institution (“practice work”) but also defining the boundaries between sets of individuals and groups (“boundary work”). In our case, the threat of a perceived change to the boundaries that existed within a compartmentalized solution triggered various forms of boundary and practice work to first protect then redefine the organization. And it is in that redefinition that the transformative change takes place. This raises the question of whether this transformative process would have been possible earlier in the University’s history. The process appears to only begin once they change their charter to gain independence from a perceived threat from the faith-based logic becoming dominant based on the cultural sentiments of the religious denomination of that particular time. This causes them to ask the question, “What does it mean to be a Baptist University?” This questioning of fundamental meaning
of the organization’s very identity
is antithetical to the institutionally derived, taken-for-granted acceptance of meaning systems embedded in social structures and transmitted through tradition. Yet, we suggest it is critical to triggering a true transformation. Interestingly, this questioning was only triggered when Baylor feared the impending dominance from the logic of faith as proffered by the fundamentalist element of the Southern Baptist Convention, rather than from the more prevalent threat of the logic of secular rationality which held sway in the wider academy. At a time when many universities were “selling their souls” and conceding to the seeming inevitability of the dominance of secular rationality, Baylor adopted a compartmentalization model that preserved and sustained their identity as a Christian university. What was it about the threat of a domineering, fundamentalist faith-based logic that precipitated Baylor’s questioning of the dual meaning systems that had effectively and peacefully coexisted for a century? And why did the University seem to display a resistance or immunity to the threat of secular dominance that was claiming most other universities? Perhaps part of the answer lies in the sphere each logic operated in during that extended period of compartmentalization. From 1890 to 1990, the logic of secular rationality operated primarily in the academic aspect of the

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University, guiding research and teaching, while the logic of faith operated primarily in the social and developmental aspects, guiding human and moral development. This coexistence arguably lasted for 100 years because it allowed each logic to retain dominance in its own sphere: rationality could dominate the academic mind of faculty and students, but faith had claim to their heart and soul. And the secular logic did not have
nor seem to make
any claims upon the heart or soul. In this sense, it was not “greedy” (Coser, 1974). However, the fundamentalist movement in the Southern Baptist Convention foreshadowed a potential shift of the faith logic to a particular strain that required, in Coser’s (1974) terms, an “unconditional devotion” that would also hamstring the University’s academic endeavors. It was this that threatened the precarious balance embedded in the “separate spheres” of coexistence. This threat for a more totalitarian logic of faith triggered two responses from Baylor: First, it sought to protect itself against the increasing domination by the religious logic that they perceived would disrupt the compartmentalized coexistence that had sustained the University for 100 years. The charter change achieved this. Second, it also triggered a reevaluation of the appropriateness of the underlying logics, particularly of the compartmentalization resolution, in a changing cultural milieu. Thus, although the charter change was a specific response to fears of an increased influence of the religious logic over the academic aspects of the University, the subsequent reflection and questioning of taken-for-granted arrangements nonetheless result in a Baylor University where academic activities are more informed by faith than they had been previously. This complex and nuanced response is only evident more than a decade after the initial response and presents another challenge to how research characterizes resistance to change (Dent & Goldberg, 1999). Although the initial reaction is to stave off fundamentalist influence
easily and appropriately classified as resistance to change
the end result is a change embracing a more holistic approach to the logic of faith operating in the University. This raises the question of what would have happened if Baylor had not changed its charter and as a result fallen under the feared influence of a more fundamentalist Baptist Convention. We submit that Baylor was only able to focus on introspection when it no longer perceived the threat of the hostile fundamentalist takeover. Threat rigidity theory (Staw, Sandelands, & Dutton, 1981) suggests that the type of reflection Baylor engaged in
questioning the fundamental nature of meaning systems and identity
becomes constricted under times of perceived threat, so it seems reasonable that more resistance, and the realization of an actual “Texas style academic

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shoot-out,” characterized by a more adversarial positioning of the logics would have resulted. Those conditions seem less likely to nurture and support this type of transformative outcome and more likely to facilitate a “win
lose” outcome than a dialectic transformation (Nielsen & Bartunek, 1996). A future line of research could well investigate if the reason transformational resolutions to institutional contradictions appear to be so rare is that they are usually accompanied by perceived threat that inhibit the fundamental questioning of taken-for-granted systems of meaning and value that is essential to true transformation. Of course, we make no authoritative claims that the Baylor model has effected institutional transformation. As mentioned earlier, Baylor may be the only university striving for first-tier research status while explicitly enhancing a Christian identity; however, there is certainly an increased focus on organizational forms that marry these two logics, and Baylor may well serve as a model for a thriving new organizational form. This is the challenge that Neuhaus issued at Sloan’s inauguration, and it is one Baylor seems well positioned to meet. We propose that the fundamental issue is whether or not the new institutional arrangements have addressed the inherent instability of incompatible, competing demands for the organization from multiple logics. This is depicted graphically in Fig. 1. Reconsidering the story of Baylor University in light of the model presented in Fig. 1 shows the evolution of its institutional arrangements over time. Starting with institutional arrangements in which there was no salient experience of contradiction (A), such as antebellum Baylor, when there was no perceived contradiction between logics of faith and inquiry. Then, with the rise of secular culturalism, Baylor began to experience the contradiction (B). They engaged in a form of institutional work (C) by defining boundaries and practices that established a new institutional order (D), the “twospheres” model of compartmentalization.

(A) Institutional Arrangements (time t)

(B) Experience of Contradiction

(C) Institutional Work (boundary & practice work)

(D) Institutional Stable (E) Arrangements (time t+1) Unstable (F)

Fig. 1.

A Model of Resolving Conflicting Institutional Logics.

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For nearly a century, this proved stable and remained the established institutional order (E). However, the threat of increased influence from the fundamentalist faction of the Baptist General Convention of Texas threatened to destabilize that order (F) and again raised the salience of their experience of contradiction (B). This time, they changed their charter to redefine the boundaries of external influence (C) and reinstituted the compartmentalized model (D). However, it also triggered introspection, and the resultant sense of stability (E) only lasted 10 years, before their introspection into “What does it mean to be a Baptist University?” destabilized that arrangement (F) and again raised the salience of their experience of contradiction (B). This gave rise to the Baylor 2012 strategic plan, which, we suggest, may have established a new, transformative logic that resolves the contradiction between logics of faith and inquiry by adopting a transformative logic of “Seeking Veritas” that eliminates, rather than compartmentalizes, the conflicting demands of the two prior logics. Independent of whether Baylor has, in fact, adopted a transformative logic, we propose that adopting such a transformative logic is the only way to resolve the conflicting demands of two greedy logics in a way that is, and remains, stable. The difference between the path labeled E and the path labeled F is solely dependent upon the stability of the newly adopted institutional arrangements. We submit that replacement, dominant, and coexistence models can only be stable to the extent that the two conflicting logics do not make competing demands on the organizations embedded in or individuals inhabiting the institutions. Just like the work of Creed et al. (2010), where GLBT ministers who attempted to deny or compartmentalize aspects of their lives eventually experienced inauthenticity from the contradiction, Baylor’s attempt to “divvy up” or create separate spheres of life controlled by different logics appeared stable, but the underlying conflict remained. Of course, not all contradictory logics are greedy and have salient claims to organizational or individual identities. Replacing an editorial logic with a market logic (Thornton, 2002) can, in fact, produce a perfectly stable set of institutional arrangements, assuming the editorial logic is stripped of any salient claims to individual or organizational identities. Thus, all forms of resolution to institutional contradiction
replacement, dominant, compartmentalization, decoupling, coexistence, and transformative
can produce stable institutional arrangements as long as they eliminate the experience of contradiction. However, when the conflicting logics are both “greedy” with salient and extensive demands on organizational or

Serving Two Masters: Transformative Resolutions to Institutional Contradictions 331

individual identities, only the adoption of a transformative logic is likely to truly resolve those contradictions and be truly stable. While compartmentalization and coexistence resolutions may appear stable for extended periods of time, a trigger in the future can raise the salience of the underlying contradiction, while dominant, replacement, and decoupling resolutions will be inherently unstable. In either case, they will lead to cycles of institutional work and resolution. We believe this model and the Baylor experience are relevant outside the field of religiously affiliated universities as well. Baylor’s experience in responding to simultaneous demands from two distinct, and at times seemingly disparate, institutional logics can also provide insight into other fields where multiple logics overlap, especially when one (or both) of those logics holds expectations for holistic and comprehensive commitment. Future research can extend the preliminary work here by examining the ways in which other institutional contradictions may be resolved through transformation processes. For example, an institutional analysis of the U.S. Healthcare field might identify the potential contradictions between the market and social welfare logics at play and suggest a series of questions surrounding the fundamental assumptions of each as they apply to the field of Healthcare, or professional schools that marry logics of inquiry and education with those of the market may be useful to explore. This line of research may also be particularly relevant to any organizational form that straddles the public and private sectors (e.g., elementary education, prison systems, and law enforcement) and could offer a fruitful line of inquiry for public policy administration more generally. One of the important boundary conditions of our work, as noted earlier, is the existence of conflicts or contradictions that are salient to the organizations. In short, our theorizing is based upon institutional conflicts that impinge on the organizations’ sense of identity in a manner similar to how religious and societal assumptions impinged on the GLBT ministers in the work of Creed et al (2010). We suggest that it is only when the previous, conflicting logics are both (or all) highly salient to the organizational identity that transformative outcomes are possible. It is the experience of an untenable tension between the competing demands of those logics that makes replacement, dominance, compartmentalization, and coexistence outcomes inherently unstable. If there is a natural order of salience amongst the logics, nontransformative resolutions that capture and reflect that hierarchy are likely to be stable. But, these cannot work if both logics have equal, salient claim to the organizational identity.

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This suggests a final way our research can transcend the particular field of religious higher education: by pointing toward the potential for comparison across different approaches to resolving institutional contradiction and better identifying the nature of any particular outcome. Although we believe Baylor’s approach is generally transformative, it is possible that instead, they have moved from compartmentalization to a more integrative, coexistence approach. Under such an outcome, both logics still coexist and are simply more fully integrated into all aspects of the University than under the compartmentalization model, but without any fundamental change to either logic. If this is the case, the “greedy” nature of both logics
evident in the demands they make for the commitment of embedded actors
would suggest such an approach is inherently unstable, in fact, far more unstable than the compartmentalization approach where each had dominance in different aspects of University life, since both logics permeate all aspects of the University. For if they are not transformed, the demands of each continue to impinge on the demands of the other. Eventually, the attempt to constantly integrate both logics without privileging one will become untenable for its inhabitants. At which time, we submit a subsequent round of evaluation and institutional change would begin. If this holds true, our work may provide new insights into how various institutional arrangements “sow the seeds of their own destruction” (Pozner et al., 2010, p. 181). Future research could investigate different approaches to resolving institutional contradictions, providing both theoretical and practical insights about their relative stability. Further, research that looks across multiple cases can help uncover better ways to distinguish between the various outcomes by delineating key markers of each type of resolution that uniquely identify them.

CLOSING In this article, we built on existing work on institutional logics and contradiction, integrating it with the literature on conflict resolution, to delineate and illustrate various ways in which contradictions in institutional logics may be resolved. We illustrated many of these with examples from existing work on institutional change and institutional entrepreneurship but also identified that transformative change based on a dialectic process of conflict resolution is not readily represented in existing institutional literature. We then situated our theoretical discussion in the field of religious colleges and universities, suggesting that a transformative outcome
along with others
has played out in that field through a number of mechanisms and

Serving Two Masters: Transformative Resolutions to Institutional Contradictions 333

highlighted this by recounting the history of Baylor University, identifying distinct outcomes at different points in its history. Our aim with this article was to contribute to institutional theory and to organizational theory more generally, by (1) identifying a new transformative outcome for resolving institutional contradictions, (2) demonstrating that the plurality of logics may well result in an iteration of various solutions over time, and (3) identifying that institutional logics with salient implications for both individual and organizational identities exhibit the qualities of “greedy” institutions and thus have more potential to create contradictions in pluralistic institutional environments. It is our hope that this preliminary work can spawn a productive stream of research that will investigate a new form of productive, transformative institutional change that complements the dominant and coexistence outcomes most commonly found in current institutional research.

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THE INSTITUTIONAL COMPLEXITY OF RELIGIOUS MUTUAL FUNDS: APPRECIATING THE UNIQUENESS OF SOCIETAL LOGICS Jared L. Peifer ABSTRACT This article explores how social actors negotiate the competing logics they face as a result of their work in organizations subject to institutional complexity. In particular, I theoretically focus on the unique characteristics associated with societal institutional logics, such as religion, family, and the state. Empirically, I analyze religious mutual funds (Catholic, Muslim, and Protestant) in the United States that dwell at the intersection of the competing logics of religion and finance. Through interviews with 31 people who work at religious mutual funds (or fund producers) and content analysis of religious mutual fund material, I focus on the symbolic boundary work that religious fund producers engage in. I find examples of boundary blurring and boundary building and suggest institutional complexity that involves at least one societal logic is

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especially likely to foster both modes of boundary work. This, I propose, leads to an increased likelihood of enduring institutional complexity. Keywords: Religion; socially responsible investing; institutional complexity; competing logics; societal logics; symbolic boundary

Despite an early turn among institutional theorists to emphasize the homogenization of organizational form, institutional scholars have increasingly acknowledged the ability of organizations to operate amidst considerable institutional complexity. Institutional complexity can be defined as the organizational confrontation of “incompatible prescriptions from multiple institutional logics … . To the extent that the prescriptions and proscriptions of different logics are incompatible, or at least appear to be so, they inevitably generate challenges and tensions for organizations exposed to them” (Greenwood, Raynard, Kodeih, Micelotta, & Lounsbury, 2011, p. 318). The bulk of existing literature on institutional complexity tends to focus on field-level logics (Greenwood, Diaz, Li, & Lorente, 2010). Friedland and Alford’s (1991) seminal statement, however, pointed out the contradictions between the following societal logics: the capitalist market, bureaucratic state, democracy, nuclear family, and Christian religion. Thornton, Ocasio, and Lounsbury (2012) have helpfully revised this list of societal logics (or institutional orders) to include family, community, religion, state, market, profession, and the corporation. Emphasizing the oft-neglected relevance of societal-level logics, I ask, how do organizational actors make sense of their involvement in institutional complexity that prominently features at least one societal logic? In answering this question, I argue societal logics deserve distinct analytical attention in the growing literature on institutional complexity. To address this goal, I analyze a unique kind of investment vehicle. Religiously affiliated mutual funds appeal to two things many Americans hold dear, their money and their religion. These mutual funds are associated with a religious tradition (e.g., Catholic, Muslim, Protestant, and Nondenominational Protestant) which motivates their selection of corporate stock for investment. For example, GuideStone Funds is associated with the Southern Baptist Convention and refuses to invest in the stock of corporations involved with alcohol, tobacco, gambling, pornography, and abortion. The Allegiance Fund is a Christian Science fund that refuses to invest in the pharmaceutical industry, due to that religious tradition’s belief

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in spiritual healing. This article’s emphasis on religion fills a void in institutional literature, which tends to ignore this institutional logic (Tracey, 2012). In this article, I analyze qualitative interviews with representatives from 14 of the 18 religious mutual fund families in the United States and engage in content analysis of their fund material. From an interpretative research tradition (Gephart, 2004), I focus on the experience of individuals within organizations that are subject to institutional complexity (Hallett & Ventresca, 2006; Thornton et al., 2012). To accomplish this, I analyze the symbolic boundary work (Lamont & Molnar, 2002) of fund producers and inductively discover two forms of symbolic boundary work: boundary blurring and boundary building. I argue the presence of at least one societal logic is especially likely to foster both modes of boundary work, which in turn leads to an increased likelihood of enduring institutional complexity.

INSTITUTIONAL COMPLEXITY AND SOCIETAL LOGICS Friedland and Alford (1991) define institutional logic as “supraorganizational patterns of activity through which humans conduct their material life in time and space, and symbolic systems through which they categorize that activity and infuse it with meaning” (p. 232). They go on to describe five central institutional logics of contemporary Western societies: capitalist market, bureaucratic state, democracy, nuclear family, and Christian religion. This list has since been revised and updated to include community, profession, and the corporation (Thornton et al., 2012). Highlighting the, at times, contradicting intersection of these dominant societal spheres, Friedland and Alford (1991) note, “Some of the most important struggles between groups, organizations, and classes are over the appropriate relationships between institutions, and by which institutional logic different activities should be regulated and to which categories of persons they apply … Are families, churches, or states to control education? Should reproduction be regulated by state, family or church?” (p. 256). Institutional contradictions, such as these, represent an important example of institutional complexity. Despite early recognition that organizations often straddle contradicting logics, institutional scholars tended to preference the notion that isomorphic pressures dissolve such complexity as one dominant logic quickly

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diffuses across an organizational field (Greenwood et al., 2011; Lounsbury, 2007). For example, Haveman and Rao (1997) showcase the historic replacement of one logic (Progressive Movement) in place of another (mutuality). Reay and Hinings (2005) examine the field recomposition of the Alberta health care system, charting the move from medical professionalism to a more “business-like health care” model. Clemens and Cook (1999) acknowledge institutional complexity but suggest it undermines the reliable reproduction of organizational forms and thus increases the likelihood of organizational change. Thornton (2004) provides historical analysis of the publishing industry, which moved from an editorial logic to corporate market logic. In sum, earlier institutional research has depicted institutional complexity as the midwife to a solitary dominant logic or organizational change. Recently, however, there has grown a body of research that acknowledges institutional complexity, defined as an organizational context that is subject to more than one institutional logic (Greenwood et al., 2010; Greenwood et al., 2011; Kraatz & Block, 2008; Lounsbury, 2007; Schneiberg, 2007). Other scholars have pushed the institutional complexity literature even further with the notion of enduring institutional complexity (Greenwood et al., 2011; Kraatz & Block, 2008; Pache & Santos, 2010). This adds a descriptive temporal element by suggesting institutional complexity can be an ongoing reality for organizations. Kraatz and Block (2008) explain, “We see no obvious reason to predict that an organization cannot fulfill multiple purposes, embody multiple values (or logics), and successfully verify multiple institutionally-derived identities. Indeed, we think that organizations that embody multiple values and are successful at more than one thing … may be especially legitimate for that very reason” (p. 261). This boldly suggests some organizations thrive because of the institutional complexity they face. Many of the studies that do acknowledge institutional complexity tend to focus on field-level logics which are nested within large societal logics (Greenwood et al., 2010). For instance, Reay and Hinings (2009) feature the collaborative work of two parties of actors (physicians and government authorities) driven by competing logics (medical professionalization and business-like health care). Lounsbury (2007) outlines how competing mutual fund logics of Boston and New York City (trustee vs. performance logic respectively) helped explain variance in contracts with money management firms. Meyer and Hammerschmid (2006) examine the Austrian public sector, the site of competing field-level logics, where the old administrative orientation refused to cede to the new managerial orientation. Nigam and

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Ocasio (2010) chart the process by which the new field-level logic of “managed care” came to dominate hospitals’ organizational field. In response to this emphasis on field-level logics, Greenwood et al. (2010) state, “We know relatively little about the influence of institutions such as the family, religion … on contemporary organizations” (p. 521). Few studies on the institutional logic of “family” have focused on familyrun corporations (Greenwood et al., 2010; Miller, Le Breton-Miller, & Lester, 2011) and the family logic of caring (Heimer 1999). A unique aspect of this case study is its prominent focus on religion, a relatively unexplored societal logic in the literature on institutional complexity (Tracey, 2012). Efforts have been made to catalogue how organizations respond to institutional complexity. Pache and Santos (2010) list five organizational responses to institutional complexity that range from passive (acquiescence to institutional demands) to more aggressive (manipulate or alter the content of institutional demands). Kraatz and Block (2008) outline four adaptation strategies that organizations use in response to institutional complexity. The organization can (1) resist or deny validity of external claims coming from a competing logic, (2) compartmentalize the various institutional constituencies so as to deal with each individually, (3) balance disparate demands in attempt to find more deeply cooperative solutions, and (4) forge identities of their own that encompass institutional complexity. In this study, however, I showcase how individuals negotiate institutional complexity. Methodologically and theoretically, I follow the “inhabited institutions” approach (Binder, 2007; Hallett & Ventresca, 2006) which demonstrates the importance of paying particular attention to agentic social actors who inhabit institutions. While field-level forces and organizational structures are important realms of research, this dominant level of analysis in institutional research tends to ignore the experience of individuals who populate these organizations. As Greenwood et al. (2010) conclude in their own research, “We have not looked inside the organization. Consequently, we have only touched on how individual organizations make sense of and cope with conflicting institutional pressures
we need to know more” (p. 536). Thornton et al. (2012) theorize the importance of individual-level sensemaking, defined as the “process by which social actors turn circumstances into situations that are comprehended explicitly in words and that serve as springboards for action” (p. 96). Symbolic boundaries, one example of sensemaking, are “distinctions made by social actors to categorize objects, people, practices …” and have become an important concept in cultural

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sociology (Lamont & Molnar, 2002, p. 168). Much of this research program has focused on the symbolic boundaries social actors maintain with regard to other social actors. In this vein, ethno-racial and class boundaries are meaningfully managed in ways that create “more durable and institutionalized social difference” (Pachucki, Pendergrass, & Lamont, 2007, p. 331). In this article, however, I consider the boundary work (or distinction making) that pertains to institutional logics. Scholars have explored the symbolic boundaries around science, an important societal-level institution (Drori, Meyer, Ramirez, & Schofer, 2003) that is arguably missing from Thornton et al.’s (2012) updated list of societal logics. For example, Gieryn (1999) explores the shifting boundaries around “legitimate” science and nonscience. More in line with this article’s focus on the negotiation of competing institutional logics, Ecklund (2010) considers how elite scientists in the United States relate the institutional logics of religion and science. The main focus of this article is to explore the permeability and rigidity of symbolic boundaries (Lamont, 2001) that pertain to religion and finance. In other words, I explore how willingly social actors allow religious logic to bleed into financial logic, and vice versa. In this article, I inductively generate two different types of symbolic boundary work: boundary blurring and boundary building. A deeper understanding of symbolic boundary work is integral to better understanding how organizations of institutional complexity are able to exist and endure.

CASE STUDY Religious Funds The number of mutual funds in the United States has grown precipitously in the past three decades (Davis, 2009) from around 564 funds in 1980 to 7,581 in 2010 (Investment Company Fact Book, 2011). A mutual fund is an investment vehicle where professional investment managers diversify a pool of money in stocks and/or bonds. A small portion of investment dollars is used to pay for their investment expertise and overhead costs, while the returns or losses of the investment accrue to the contributing investors. Forty-four percent of American households own mutual funds (Investment Company Fact Book, 2011). Mutual funds provide a common way for many Americans to diversify their retirement investments in the financial market.

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A religious mutual fund is part of a fund family that claims an institutional religious identity. As of June 2010, I have identified 99 religious mutual funds nested within 17 fund families in the United States, which is the most comprehensive list that I am aware of (see Table 1 for list of religious fund families).1 The fund families’ religious affiliations include Catholic, Muslim, and Protestant (both denominationally affiliated and nondenominational). One percent (99/7,581) of all mutual funds in the United States is religiously affiliated.2 Most religious funds adhere to a traditional socially responsible (SR) investment model, which features at least one of three prongs: screening, shareholder advocacy, and community investment (Domini & Kinder, 1986). Perhaps the most recognizable consequence of the funds’ religious affiliation is what kind of corporations they refuse to own. For instance, Catholic funds screen out stocks involved in the production of abortion or contraceptives. Mennonite funds shun weapon manufacturers due to its denominational status as a peace church and Muslim funds refuse to invest

Table 1.

Religious Mutual Funds Families (as of June 30, 2010).

Fund Family Thrivent Funds GuideStone Funds Amana Funds New Covenant Funds Mennonite Mutual Aid (MMA) Praxis Funds Steward Funds Ave Maria Funds Timothy Plan Funds LKCM Aquinas Funds Capstone Church Bond Fund Iman Fund Azzad Funds American Trust Allegiance Fund Epiphany Funds Camco Investors Fund Sheperd Fund Eventide Gilead Fund

Religious Tradition

Number of Funds

Total Net Assets (in Million Dollars)

Lutheran Baptist Islamic Presbyterian USA Mennonite

26 21 3 4 6

12,764 12,087 2,565 1,349 604

Evangelical Protestant Catholic Evangelical Protestant Catholic Evangelical Protestant Islamic Islamic Christian Science

5 6 12 4 1 1 2 1

555 472 469 66 55 26 22 14

Catholic Evangelical Protestant Evangelical Protestant Evangelical Protestant

4 1 1 1 99

10 8 8 6 31,081

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in any corporation that collects interest or produces pork or alcohol. Some SR funds also engage in positive screening, where particular companies are targeted for ownership. Shareholder advocacy, another significant prong of the SR investment industry, features communication with portfolio corporations, attending shareholding meetings or using proxy votes in order to pressure corporations to change their behavior. While nearly all religious SR funds are engaged in screening, fewer practice shareholder advocacy. The least frequently practiced prong is community investment, wherein fund assets are directly invested in community development efforts. There are three general contributing factors that have led to the formation of religious mutual funds: Islamic economics, previous denominational experience in the financial market, and the entrepreneurial extension of the SR investing model. Many Muslim countries have adopted Islamic economics in mid-20th century (Kuran, 1997). One challenge of blending Islamic economics with a modern Western economy is Islam’s prohibition of riba (or usury). To overcome this challenge, Islamic banks become copurchasers with the buyer instead of loaning money and collecting interest. In this way, the bank shares in both the profits and the losses with the buyer. Muslims in the United States have become increasingly interested in Shariacompliant financial products, such as Islamic mortgages (Maurer, 2006) and Islamic mutual funds. Muslim mutual fund investors do not accrue money through the collection of interest (i.e., they do not purchase bonds), rather through capital gains on corporate stocks. In this way, mutual funds are viewed as amenable to Islam’s prohibition of riba, provided fund managers refuse to invest in corporations that earn income from the collection of interest (i.e., the financial sector). Muslim mutual funds represent one particular instantiation of the international growth of Islamic economics. American denominational institutions have been connected to the financial market in various ways since at least the early 20th century. For instance, denominations have invested their own assets directly in the financial market (Lindsay & Wuthnow, 2010). This put denominations in a natural position to adopt mutual funds as they became an increasingly popular investment vehicle in the latter half of the 20th century. Baptist, Lutheran, Mennonite, and Presbyterian funds grew out of existing denominational organizations that had previous financial market experience.3 The SR movement represents a third way religious mutual funds were formed. Kurtz (2008) asserts, “Religious belief was the first rationale for socially responsible investment, and remains an important force today, especially in the United States” (p. 253). In the 1960s, mainline denominations linked ethical concerns about the Vietnam War and environmental

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pollution to investment decision making (Robinson, 2002). In 1971, Methodist clergy established Pax World Fund, the first mutual fund family to screen for social issues (Shapiro, 1992).4 That same year an Episcopalian Bishop attended a meeting of General Motors Corporation, asking the company to end its involvement in Apartheid South Africa. Although the vote did not pass, the momentum for SR grew and eventually many activists were insisting corporations sever relations with South Africa and that institutions (such as religious denominations) liquidate their South African affiliated assets (Robinson, 2002). Catholic, Jewish, and Unitarian organizations were also at the forefront of the SR movement (Social Investment Forum Foundation, 2009). Since the mutual fund industry was growing during this time, SR investing was naturally incorporated into these investment vehicles.5 It did not take long for entrepreneurs to link their unique religious characteristics with the newly minted form of SR mutual fund. Most funds originating in this fashion are nondenominational (e.g., Timothy Plan, Camco, and Eventide).

Institutional Complexity of Religious Funds I define religious institutional logic as revolving around practices (frequently symbolic in nature) and beliefs that are oriented toward a supreme being and mediated by an institutional religious group. I acknowledge that this definition takes a relatively narrow view of the concept “religion” and might exclude broader notions of spirituality. This conceptualization of religion, however, corresponds with my analytical decision to focus on American mutual funds that are affiliated with established religious traditions and my theoretical interest in religion as an example of a societal logic (Friedland & Alford, 1991). I define financial institutional logic as an orientation toward “reaping profits at later points in time” (Knorr-Cetina & Preda, 2005, p. 1). By focusing on mutual funds, this case study focuses on social actors who are providing capital (in the form of purchasing bonds and/or corporate stock) to credit seekers (e.g., governments or corporations). In other words, financial logic instructs mutual fund investors to end up with more money than initially invested. While Davis (2009) might make the case that finance deserves the status of societal logic, I view it as a field-level logic nested within Western capitalism. Since existing institutional research has emphasized various field-level logics nested within the Western style capitalism, I devote more attention to the underexplored societal logic of religion.

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Up until now, I have simply asserted that religious funds dwell at the intersection of the competing logics of religion and finance. Pache and Santos (2010) suggest one way to determine if institutional logics are competing is to compare the means and goals that stem from each logic. The more at odds these logics are, the more complex the institutional environment. In addition to the means and goals of religious mutual funds, I consider other appropriate criteria in order to consider the degree to which religious funds are an appropriate example of institutional complexity. Most centrally, a religious logic instructs religious fund producers to pursue the goal of helping investors incorporate their religious values into their investments (see Table 2). Alternatively, a financial logic is oriented toward maximizing return performance, given the financial risk investors are comfortable with. I interpret these goals to be quite different from one another, in that each goal can be wholeheartedly pursued with little thought given to the alternative goal. Interestingly, however, numerous SR and Corporate Financial Performance (CFP) studies (Frederick, 1994; Lee, 2008; Margolis & Walsh, 2003; Walsh, Weber, & Margolis, 2003) have empirically addressed the important question: are ethical values at odds with monetary profits or are they complementary? These studies query whether social and ethical criteria significantly impact investment return performance (in the case of SR investing) or CFP. Despite the flurry of research activity, definitive conclusions have not been reached (Kurtz, 2005; Orlitzky, 2011). More broadly, the fervor to empirically show one can make money and be ethical is partially driven, I believe, by a desire among Corporate Social Responsibility proponents to dissolve this profound institutional complexity.

Table 2.

Comparing Religious and Financial Logics. Religious Logic

Goal

Means

Control structure Professional training Legitimacy

Help investors incorporate religious principles into investments Screening and/or advocacy

Denominational advisory board or religious scholars Seminarians or clergy Normative

Financial Logic Earn appropriate return performance given desired level of risk Conventional investment approaches, e.g., value, growth or index investing SEC requirements, Fiduciary responsibilities Finance and economics training Pragmatic

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The means fund producers take to achieve each logic’s goal also differ. Religion can be viewed as a force that conserves the status quo or an impetus to spur societal change (Nepstad & Williams, 2007). Religious logic employs both screening and/or advocacy as a means toward helping religious investors abide by their religiously motivated values. Accordingly, we might view screening as a drive to conserve one’s purity from potentially defiling influences (e.g., corporations involved in pornography, alcohol, abortion, military, interest, etc.). Conversely, shareholder advocacy represents more active engagement with society by owning companies that fund families hope they can change for the better. Religious fund actors can draw upon both ethical means (i.e., screening and/or advocacy) from their cultural toolkit (Swidler, 1986). To accomplish its financial goals, religious funds employ standard means to earn high alpha returns. In other words, the larger religious fund families offer a full range of growth, value, international, target, and fund of funds investment options. These are standard mutual fund approaches that strictly rely on financial criteria. Incidentally, there is growing interest in Sustainable Investing or Environmental Social Governance. Just as value or index investing are legitimate investment approaches, Sustainable Investing proponents view ethical criteria as “the best way to achieve market performance or outperformance over the long term” (Keefe, 2008). Here again, we see movements afoot to dissolve the complexity of SR investing by demonstrating the compatibility of morality and profits. Moving beyond the goals and means of criteria, I also contrast religious and financial logics in terms of control, professional training, and legitimacy. Some religious funds are subject to the control of religious scholars. For instance, Muslim mutual funds carefully choose Islamic scholars to help interpret their sacred texts. One Catholic fund had a Catholic Cardinal on its advisory board and one Protestant fund had a seminarytrained employee who devoted himself to the screening and advocacy work of the fund family. In contrast, the financial structures of control were legal in nature, due to the tightly regulated mutual fund industry in the United States. Like all mutual funds, religious funds produced fund prospectuses and annual reports, as they are legally required by the Securities Exchange Commission. A financial logic also dictates that mutual funds have a fiduciary duty to investors, which means they must behave in best interest of the members of the fund or have “undivided loyalty.” Incidentally, it is commonly viewed that abiding by ethical criteria, without explicitly informing investors that the fund will do so, is a breach of fiduciary responsibility. Mitigating this issue, all SR funds are required to clearly disclose in their prospectus how their ethical outlook is put into practice.

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Research on institutional complexity has paid considerable attention to the role of professionalization organizations. As mentioned previously, some religious funds work with religiously trained experts who direct their fund family’s enactment of ethical values. The overwhelming majority of fund producers, however, are trained in economics or finance. These professions focus on earning high alpha returns in the financial market. Representation, albeit imbalanced representation, of both professionalized social actors helps set the stage for institutional complexity. Suchman (1995) defines legitimacy as “a generalized perception or assumption that the actions of an entity are desirable, proper, or appropriate within some socially constructed system of norms, values, beliefs, and definitions” (p. 574). He also usefully catalogues three different kinds of legitimacy: pragmatic, normative, and cognitive legitimacy. The institutional logic of finance favors the prominence of pragmatic legitimacy, which rests upon the “self-interested calculations of an organization’s most immediate audience.” In other words, a financial logic deems a mutual fund “desirable, proper, or appropriate” if it satisfies an investor’s monetary self-interest. Conversely, religious logic is more concerned with whether or not the organization is morally or normatively appropriate. Zelizer’s (1978) and Quinn’s (2009) work are good examples of a historical lack of normative legitimacy of life insurance, given the “immoral” blend of actuarial dollar values and the death of a loved one. The normative legitimacy of religious funds emphasizes the impropriety of conventional funds, which pursue financial goals without concern for ethical criteria. In sum, religious and financial logic prioritize different kinds of legitimacy, emphasizing the institutional complexity of religious funds. This brief discussion on whether religious funds face institutional complexity lists differences between religion and financial logics on the following criteria: the goal, means, control structure, professional training, and legitimacy. These significant differences mount evidence that religious funds are indeed the site of institutional complexity. I have also elucidated a desire among academic scholars and finance practitioners to dissolve institutional complexity by trying to provide empirical evidence that ethics and profits are complementary. This raises an interesting counterfactual. Were these scholarly efforts to prove successful and solid evidence that ethical criteria beget high alpha returns were to disseminate to fund managers and investors alike, would religious funds still be institutionally complex? Until that happens (and I would emphasize the necessity of esoteric studies being accepted as legitimate among mutual fund investors), I view religious funds as especially ripe arena for research in institutional complexity.

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While I acknowledge the relationship between ethical investing criteria and return performance is an important factor, I hope to demonstrate in this study that it is not the only factor deserving scholarly attention.

METHODS In this article, I analyze the discourse of religious fund producers, or the people who work at religious mutual funds. The term producer is meant to indicate the production of mutual funds as both a financial commodity and a cultural object (Griswold, 1987), fraught with meaning well beyond its utilitarian value. The data containing this discourse comes from interviews with various organizational actors of religious funds, website material, and legal documentation (i.e., fund family prospectuses and annual reports). I conducted semi-formal interviews (mostly phone interviews) with at least one representative from 14 of the 18 fund families that existed between April 2008 and May 2009, achieving a 78 percent response rate.6 I also visited the offices of three fund families (one Muslim fund, one Catholic, and one denominational fund family) to conduct in-person interviews and observe the workplace environment. Interview respondents agreed to participate on the condition that I do my best to protect their identity. I therefore give vague descriptions of interview respondents, usually by providing their job description and the religious tradition they represent. The interviews analyzed in this article were with fund managers, fund family presidents, marketing managers, and various other actors in the fund families. Getting the perspective of social actors involved in different aspects of religious funds is one way to reduce bias of “impression management and retrospective sensemaking” (Eisenhardt & Graebner, 2007, p. 28). Speaking with more than one representative from some fund families, I interviewed 31 religious fund producers, with a mean interview length of 43 minutes. Six interviews were conducted with two people and one interview involved three people. Additionally, I interviewed two fund producers on two separate dates. I approach these interview data from an interpretative research tradition. That is, I analyze these data in order to “understand the actual production of meanings and concepts used by social actors in real settings” (Gephart, 2004, p. 457). The interviews proceeded in the following format. After briefly describing my interest in learning more about religious funds, I asked how the fund family was founded, about the fund’s relationship with the larger religious group, how screening criteria were selected and

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operationalized, and how religion impacted the respondent’s daily work routine (see Appendix for interview script). All interviews were recorded and transcribed for analysis. Analysis of the qualitative data involved inductive research on the ways in which fund producers negotiated religious and financial logics in their own heads and in their daily work routine. In addition to interviews, I also analyzed each mutual fund’s legally mandated prospectus and annual report from 2007 to 2008. The prospectus outlines the investment strategy and potential risks of the mutual fund. Annual reports (or semi-annual reports) are made available to all investors, and include a letter from the fund manager to investors as well as a report on the fund’s recent performance and other relevant financial information. These documents serve the dual purpose of meeting legal transparency requirements and marketing the fund family to investors. I also analyzed each fund family’s website material that was collected in January through March of 2008. These publicly available documents are important since they represent carefully scripted presentations of the fund family to investors and potential investors. All fund material was electronically converted to text when possible for content analysis. Analyzing both interview data and fund material allows me to triangulate the meaning-making of fund producers, without relying on just what fund producers said or just what they wrote.

FINDINGS This article explores the permeability and rigidity of symbolic boundaries (Lamont, 2001). The following section of qualitative findings is segmented into two modes of symbolical boundary work. Representing more permeable symbolic boundaries, boundary blurring refers to a social actor’s willingness to comingle the institutional logics of religion and finance. In contrast, boundary building exemplifies more rigid symbolic boundaries, where social actors draw sharp distinctions between the institutional logics. I go on to argue that both modes of boundary work are likely to accompany organizations that are subject to institutional complexity that involves at least one societal logic.

Boundary Blurring At some point in most interviews, I prompted respondents to reflect upon how they relate religion and finance in their role as a religious fund

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employee. One way I did this was by saying, “When I tell people I’m researching religious mutual funds, most say they didn’t know such a thing exists; as if ‘religious’ and ‘mutual fund’ don’t belong in the same sentence. So tell me generally, what is your experience with combining religion and mutual funds?” One Catholic fund manager7 explained that Christ did not “separate religion and life and,” [did not] “say, ‘Here’s your religion over there, and go to the temple on those days, and on the other days do whatever you want … .” Another nondenominational Protestant fund representative8 explained: as a Christian, you are to live your life as Jesus lived his life. That just doesn’t mean on Sunday mornings, that’s 7 days a week, 24 hours a day. If that’s the case, then whether you’re cutting the grass or interacting with your family, or considering your investment portfolio, being a Christian is part of the decision, part of the process. So you can’t exclude any aspect of your life when you consider yourself a Christian.

When asked what kind of people invest in his fund, this respondent replied, “I just know the vast majority are devout Christian people. The vast majority are folks that want to live their entire lives for the Lord. And they don’t distinguish between Sunday and Monday.” From this respondent’s perspective, a devout religious follower does not compartmentalize religion, but allows it to bleed over into other areas of life. Georg Simmel is seldom cited for his work on religion, yet his depiction of religiosity is particularly helpful on this point. For Simmel, religious fervor overflows into all realms of life. “The truly religious person does not view religion as the celebration of certain specific moments in his life, like the garlands of roses that enhance the day’s festivities but wither in the evening. The religious mood is present, at least potentially, at every moment of that person’s life, because to him it is the very foundation of life, the source of all his energies” (Simmel, 1904/1997, p. 38). Similar to Simmel’s depiction, these respondents muddy the distinction between Sunday and Monday, blurring the symbolic boundaries between religion and finance. Other examples of blurring the boundary between religious and financial logic took artistic form. Centurion Fund’s (Protestant) website prominently featured a cathedral-like stained glass window of a Wall Street bull looking toward the horizon. The Amana Fund (Muslim) website including a silhouette of a Muslim man in praying posture alongside line graph jutting upward. In these examples, some religious fund marketers felt comfortable with these publicly visible juxtapositions of religion and finance. In contrast, most other religious fund promotional material fit the conventional mutual fund mold of beautiful scenery or happy, confident people.

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Respondents also blurred the boundary between religion and finance by drawing upon existing religious concepts, such as stewardship and charitable giving. The concept of stewardship was commonly mentioned by fund producers and cited in the funds’ promotional material. One Protestant fund family adopted the name, calling its fund family Steward Funds. Moody and Payton (2004) suggest that the concept of stewardship can be summed up as the belief that “everything … belongs to God, and while we are permitted to use it, we must take care to use it well.” Religious funds capitalized on this, explaining that all assets belong to God. In a promotional flyer posted on their website, The Timothy Plan (Protestant) posts conjectural comments from investors followed by a pithy response from God. With aptly placed quotations, the flyer (Timothy Plan, 2008) reads: Man Says: But it’s “my money!” God Says: The Lord has entrusted it to your care and you are accountable for it.

MMA9 Praxis Mutual funds (Mennonite) used “socially responsible investing” and “stewardship investing” interchangeably. “Stewardship investing is a philosophy of financial decision making motivated and informed by faith convictions. It is a philosophy based on the balancing of social and financial considerations” (Stewardship Investing, 2008). Another way respondents blurred the boundary between religion and financial investments was to highlight an age-old economic and religious activity: charitable giving. John Wesley’s (1872/1999) sermon entitled the Use of Money blends the counsel to gain all you can (without harming your neighbor) so that you can give all you can. One denominational fund producer10 adopted this Wesleyan logic as he explained: We try to help people reach their financial goals because so many of the people who work with [us] have admirable financial goals. [Members of this denomination] … are extremely charitable. So by helping our members reach their financial goals, take care of their children, take care of their parents in retirement, whatever that may be, we feel like, in a sense we contribute to the greater good.

Another Protestant fund producer11 hopes to give away a portion of the fund family’s profits to religious organizations. “One of the things we hope will prove both interesting and distinctive about [our fund] is we have committed to donate to Christian ministry and charities from our profits, once we’re profitable, basically, 25 percent of revenue on an ongoing basis.” Turning profits into charitable contributions was another way actors blurred the boundaries of religion and finance.

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The earlier examples tend to suggest that boundary blurring occurring at religious funds was comfortably accomplished. But I also find evidence that boundary blurring might be accompanied by tension, or some discomfort. For example, a marketing manager12 of a Protestant fund family explained that its financial advisors who offer the religious fund are trained to have a “faith conversation” with investors and potential investors. Advisors are trained to ask: “What’s your purpose in life? What’s God calling you to?” And most people have a hard time doing that and it’s sometimes an uncomfortable conversation … Our counselors now are getting more accustomed to it. But these people are largely bottom line, numbers driven people … And for us to say … “You need to operate in the squishy, mushy territory” is, you know … “I’m not sure about this.” But they’re getting much better at it actually. And this again gets to us being very purposeful about emphasizing our uniqueness. You will not see this if you go to a Raymond James guy or an Edward Jones guy. They will not talk about this. In fact, they will avoid this at all costs. We see, every time we do this, our customers love it. We’re trying to capitalize on this.

The tension between religion and finance is exemplified by the “uncomfortable” faith conversation, especially for financial advisors who are not accustomed to leading these “squishy, mushy” conversations. Through its own marketing research, this fund family is convinced their clients value these awkward conversations. In other words, this suggests some religious investors would rather experience the institutional complexity than ignore it. In sum, religious fund producers engage in boundary blurring as one sensemaking tactic to relate religious and financial logic. In the language of one respondent, one shouldn’t “distinguish between Sunday and Monday.” I argue this all-encompassing aspect of religion reveals a unique characteristic of societal logics, wherein social actors feel compelled to blur a societal logic with other institutional logics, even if that other logic is frequently considered a competing institutional logic. Fund producers also borrowed existing religious concepts like stewardship and charitable giving to blur the boundary between religion and finance. Finally, boundary blurring might be uncomfortable, but this tension was also described in desirable terms. Boundary Building Other fund producers gave responses that exemplify building symbolic boundaries between the logics of religion and finance. One Protestant fund manager13 explained: We don’t try to hold ourselves out as someone representing the religion or embodying the whole sense of the religion … I’m very uncomfortable with somehow representing

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the … church in this mutual fund. A church has nothing to do with money, really. A church is about helping people find their true spiritual strength. Helping them through their difficult times. It’s not about making money for people. That has nothing to do with church or religion.

In a similar fashion, a Muslim fund manager14 was also wary of combining religion and finance too closely. The difference with us and other Islamic firms is that some of them will say, “We are sharia compliant,” which means we are compliant with Islamic law, which is holding yourself to an amazing standard. It means that you know for sure that your product is compliant with Islamic law. And what we say is our product is informed by Islamic law. In other words, our intention is to invest in accordance to Islamic law. But we can’t tell you that this is 100 percent in accordance with the law.

Both of the above fund managers are careful not to make unwarranted religious claims in the financial realm by building symbolic boundaries between religion and finance. The same Protestant fund manager15 who drew a distinct boundary between religion and money relayed a journalist’s question to him that he found particularly interesting. He recalled: One question that I got from the press, I think this was a journalist from [a business periodical], she said … “You’re a religious mutual fund. Tell me how that affects the way you conduct your portfolio management. For example,” she said, “Do you pray over the stock before you invest.” I sorta laughed at that. This gets to the point of mixing religion with money. I told her, “No, of course we don’t try to pray over a stock.”

This interview spurred me to include this same question in my interview script. And like this respondent indicated, the responses I received was one of nervous laughter revealing that praying over a stock pick was not an acceptable way to blur religion and finance. When asked if he ever prays about the work he does for his Islamic mutual fund, the fund manager16 chuckled and answered: [laughter] We wish that we could really succeed and we want to do the right thing for our clients, and … achieve economical benefits within these principles. Interviewer: So you’re not praying over certain stocks? No, not really. We don’t do that.

A denominational index fund manager17 responded to the same prompt by saying he prayed for “calm.” After an awkward pause, he noted the irony in a story of a bond manager who happened to be a devotee of yoga, and

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was talking about how that gives him peace, the meditative aspect … One quote really caught my attention. “Well, I came up with the idea of buying munis [municipal bonds] during a sun salutation.” You can imagine him looking out over the Pacific Ocean while doing yoga, coming up with some very capitalistic, very self-serving strategy. It’s kind of funny.

In this example, praying for calm was ok, but being “enlightened” with profitable investment schemes was less legitimate. These examples of boundary building cordons off spiritual practices (such as praying or meditation) from financial investment decision making. In addition to the important cognitive boundary building work of fund producers, I also gleaned important structural instantiations of boundary building. Five denominationally affiliated fund families are but one branch of larger denominational organizations that are also involved in making various services available to members of their respective denominations. Some are financial services, such as health insurance, life insurance, annuities, and mutual funds. Other services are less closely related to the financial market, such as charitable giving or other congregational support systems. Commenting on how the larger denominational organization reacted to the financial crisis of 2008, a denominational fund representative18 explained: One of the themes that’s been knocked around … is “things are really bad, and God is still good.” That’s not a mutual fund tag line I’m giving you there. But that’s tough, when you’re a financial institution with fiduciary responsibilities and legal contractual obligations, maybe that’s not quite enough. Maybe that is enough for a church to say, but we straddle that chasm between being business and being church … .

Another denominational fund producer19 explained the dual objectives housed in his denominational organization. Some of us are working more for a Fortune 500 financial services company, like me. My world, I have to compete against the Fidelities and T. Rowe Prices and RiverSources and all these other firms. Other parts of the organization are really all about working on the fraternal side, you know, how do congregations get stronger … working with Habitat for Humanity and overseas building trusts … Those folks feel like our mission is to … do good, and they are probably less engaged with the economic side. You can see how that might happen.

These examples demonstrate how some of the denominational fund representatives I interviewed expressed a certain sense of isolation within the larger denominational organization and attributed this to their proximity to the financial market. As an additional example of structural boundary building, many religious funds subcontracted different facets of their religious mutual funds to

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outside entities. Most prominently, a few of the religious funds hired external fund managers, not necessarily from the same faith tradition, to manage its active funds. After one respondent told me that subadvisors manage his Protestant fund family’s mutual funds, I asked if there are any requirements regarding the fund managers’ religious faith. The Protestant fund producer20 replied, “No, there’s not. It’s interesting however that the folks that manage our funds, generally when they find out what we do, and how we do it, are very appreciative of what we do, and actually want to manage our money.” Another Protestant fund manager21 said his subadvisor happened to be a Christian, but that he wouldn’t rule out a non-Christian for the job. Many of the funds also hired the services of nonreligious ethical rating institutions to translate their specific religious criteria into a list of corporate offenders, which were then channeled to appropriate fund managers. Such rating institutions are important players in the ethical investment industry and religious funds are no exception in utilizing their services. Some firms, in a sense, subcontracted for religious expertise. For instance, Muslim funds heavily relied on a carefully chosen Islamic scholars who were not full-time employees of the fund family. A Muslim fund manager22 explained: The traditional structure is that a firm will hire four or five Islamic scholars. I’ll be honest with you, it’s a bit difficult, because we need someone well educated first as a scholar in Islam, and you need someone well educated and versed in the Western financial system. Having someone with both; not easy. Now, that’s changing because … Muslims have been in the US much longer and you’re starting to see more scholarly type schools that are actually producing scholars that have a Western background.

Having external religious scholars enabled religious fund producers to deflect criticism regarding its enactment of the funds’ religious logic. Another Muslim representative23 said: Sometimes Muslims come to us and say, “You need to constantly look at your guidelines and adjust them, make them more strict if you can.” Our thought is that, that’s not our responsibility. That’s the scholars’ responsibility. If they feel that we’re not doing the right thing, they should tell us. And they haven’t told us that.

Similarly, a Catholic fund producer24 whose fund received counsel from a religious expert explained: sometimes they [investors and potential investors] ask why we don’t screen out alcohol and tobacco. A couple levels of responses there. First of all, we have a Catholic advisory board made up of lay Catholics and they have an advisor … And they’ve decided to focus on the few core issues that they’ve identified … Secondly, I’m not a theologian, but I think it’s pretty safe to say that the Catholic Church is not opposed to alcohol or tobacco, in general.

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By relying upon financial, ethical investing, and religious experts, fund producers set up structural boundaries as a way to negotiate the religious and financial aspects of running a religious fund. In considering these examples of boundary building, there is ample reason to believe that the societal logic of religion is particularly amenable to compartmentalization. Durkheim (1912/2001) famously turned to religion as the exemplar of societal-level forces that are powerful enough to capture the undivided attention and loyalty of individual actors. One way Durkheim does this is by emphasizing “the sacred,” or those things set apart from the more mundane facets of social life. Compartmentalizing the religious aspects of religious funds is quite similar to holding something sacred. This might come in the form of refusing to “pray” for great stock-picking abilities. Or letting denominational arms take care of benevolent activity, while religious fund producers wade into the financial market. Contrary to my discussion of boundary blurring, we also see a religious impulse to build boundaries around the sacred and to keep it separate from finance.

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION The research question I posed at the outset is how do organizational actors make sense of their involvement in institutional complexity that prominently features at least one societal logic? I primarily focus on the subjective experience of religious fund representatives and how they deal with institutional complexity, although I also analyze fund material (websites content and legal documentation) which represents a more carefully scripted face of the organization. This article highlights two particular modes of boundary work (a particular type of sensemaking) that religious fund producers engage in amid their sites of institutional complexity: boundary blurring and boundary building. A main theoretical contribution of this study is its focus on how a societal logic is a unique ingredient for institutional complexity. This advances the literature on institutional complexity, which tends to focus on field-level logics. The Institutional Complexity of SR Investing In discussing the institutional complexity of religious mutual funds, I touched upon the broader management literature on Corporate Social Responsibility and Socially Responsible Investing (Kurtz, 2005; Margolis & Walsh, 2003; Orlitzky, 2011; Walsh et al., 2003). This literature

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tends to assume that various stakeholders are unwilling or unable to tolerate the institutional complexity that derives from melding ethical considerations with economic considerations, particularly when the inclusion of ethical considerations might erode profitability. Thus, there is a lot of attention on producing scholarly research that shows one can “do good and be well,” that is, one can perform one’s moral duty and still earn optimal profits in the market (Orlitzky, 2011). Such a conclusion is assumed to go a long way in dissolving the institutional complexity in this ethical realm of the market. This article demonstrates, however, that there are more nuanced issues at stake than just profits. Examples of boundary building from this analysis demonstrate efforts social actors take to compartmentalize religious elements away from an economic profit orientation. For instance, praying for positive return performance was viewed unfavorably by religious fund producers. This suggests institutional complexity is likely to abide in the realms of Corporate Social Responsibility and Socially Responsible Investing, whether or not profits chase ethics.

Boundary Blurring and Boundary Building In this qualitative analysis, I find two modes of boundary work: boundary blurring and boundary building. I am not claiming this to be an exhaustive list, nor a novel finding. This boundary building or compartmentalization has been described in previous literature (Greenwood et al., 2011; Kraatz & Block, 2008; Pratt & Foreman, 2000). Boundary blurring carries overtones of Kraatz and Block’s (2008) organizational strategy of balancing disparate institutional constituencies. While acknowledging both modes of boundary work are likely to operate among social actors facing various kinds of institutional complexity, I argue that institutional complexity that includes at least one societal logic carries a unique propensity to foster boundary blurring and boundary building. Simmel (1904/1997, p. 38) quite colorfully exemplifies the unique propensity of religion to become all-encompassing, resulting in a tendency of social actors to blur religion with more mundane realms of social life. Fund producers provided ample evidence of boundary blurring, perhaps most memorably in the rhetorical refusal to distinguish between Sunday and Monday (as voiced by a Protestant who worships on Sunday). This shows that ostensibly competing logics are not always viewed as such by organizational actors. This subjective experience of organizational actors does not necessarily refute the scholarly label of institutional complexity, but it

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highlights the ability of social actors to dissolve that complexity in their own minds in certain circumstances. In many instances, boundary blurring was relayed to me in comfortable tones. However, a fund marketing manager relayed a certain tension that accompanies boundary blurring. Despite the discomfort “bottom line” type financial advisors experienced in blurring religion and finance (by asking financial clients, “What’s God calling you to?”), this respondent was convinced that investors valued these uncomfortable conversations about God and finance. This amends institutional assumptions that audience members are intent on dissolving the tension that might arise from competing logics. In this example, audience members value the tension. Instead of concluding that religious fund producers are only about the business of blurring symbolic boundaries, I show they are also engaged in boundary building. This particular mode of boundary work finds deep resonance with the sacred contours of religion. While Durkheim (1912/2001) pointed to religion as an exemplar of sacred, he was also interested in the sacredness of other societal realms. Societal logics of one’s nation and family can easily exemplify the sacred; think of flag burning and insulting one’s mother as examples of mishandling the sacredness in other societal logics. This demonstrates the generalizability of symbolic boundary building around sacred content beyond the religious case study examined here. This article extends the literature on symbolic boundaries by focusing on the rigidity (exemplified by boundary building) or permeability (boundary blurring) social actors erect in relation to competing institutional logics. This analysis has not revealed stark differences in boundary work across the religious traditions examined (i.e., Catholic, Muslim, Protestant, and Nondenominational Protestant). Instead, I find examples of both negotiation tactics from each religious tradition. Also, while respondents typically provided examples of either boundary building or boundary blurring, it seems theoretically reasonable to expect the same social actor to engage in both boundary blurring and boundary building. This suggests that these modes of boundary work are not mutually exclusive, accentuating the agentic creativity of social actors that are subjective to institutional complexity. Additional research can begin to predict under which conditions an actor might engage in one or the other mode of boundary work. This article exemplifies the fruitfulness of exploring environments of institutional complexity, as these contexts seem especially likely to demand symbolic boundary work.

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Unique Aspects of Societal Logics To further build the case that the societal logics warrant unique consideration, I turn to the more frequently analyzed realm of professions. Neoinstitutional literature has demonstrated that being trained and socialized into a profession is sufficient fodder for institutional complexity, provided the organization in question is also subject to a competing institutional logic. This analysis of religious fund producers, however, does not feature an important role for the religious profession. Recall the dearth of seminary-trained employees in religious funds. The vast majority of fund producers were professionally trained in the logic of finance and not in religion. This article mostly highlights institutional complexity that derives from the importation of religious logic that financially trained actors bring “in their heads.” In other words, working at a religiously affiliated fund provides ample reason for one’s religious identity to become salient without the intermediary support of a religious professional logic (e.g., seminary professionalization). This religious salience is a necessary ingredient for both boundary blurring and boundary building. It seems to me that religion, family, and the state are especially likely to enliven an “all-encompassing” attitude (i.e., boundary blurring) and sacred veneration (boundary building) among social actors. Other organizational types that are explicitly subject to a societal logic might include adoption agencies (which beckon ones identity as a member of a family) or military service-related companies (identity as a national citizen). In this way, this article’s focus on religious logic is most directly generalizable to organizational contexts that are explicitly subject to at least one societal logic.

Enduring Institutional Complexity The notion of enduring institutional complexity (Greenwood et al., 2011; Kraatz & Block, 2008; Pache & Santos, 2010) emphasizes that some organizations might thrive on identifying as a complex institution, decisively refuting previous insight that institutional complexity is midwife to organizational change. While these data are unable to convincingly demonstrate the endurance of religious funds, I suggest these findings can be extrapolated to assert that institutional complexity is especially likely to endure (i.e., fail to settle on one dominant logic) when involving at least one societal institutional logic. This assertion derives from this article’s finding that societal logics are uniquely poised to foster both boundary blurring and boundary

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building. Both modes of boundary work are necessary ingredients for enduring institutional complexity. Boundary blurring provides organizational actors a way to meld together religion, family, or nationality across all realms of their lives. This allows institutional complexity to endure, or live another day. Simultaneously, some societal logics demand sacred treatment, ensuring the organization will not succumb to a competing institutional logic. Therefore, with both boundary blurring and boundary building, institutional complexity is likely to endure.

NOTES 1. I compiled, what I believe to be, a comprehensive list of US religious fund families through Internet web searches, key word searches on mutual fund data bases and by asking religious fund producers if they were aware of other religious fund families. One fund family (Centurion) discontinued operation between the time of my interviews (when 18 religious mutual fund families existed) and the more recent date I tallied assets for Table 1, which features 17 religious fund families. 2. In 2010, the total US mutual fund population tallied $11,820.68 billion in assets (Investment Company Fact Book, 2011). On June 30, 2010, religious funds totaled $31.081 billion or 0.3 percent (0.003) of all US mutual fund assets. Viewed as a proportion of assets or number of funds yield similarly small proportions. 3. It is acknowledged that many religious traditions do not have a religious mutual fund at all. Some of the larger religious traditions in the United States that are not associated with a mutual fund include Methodists, Episcopalians, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons), and Judaism. This is not intended to suggest, however, that these religious traditions are uninvolved in the larger socially responsible (SR) realm. For instance, denominations and religious groups can invest their own institutional assets according to SR criteria, and many do. 4. Despite Pax World’s founding by religious individuals, the fund has never identified itself as religious and is, therefore, not considered a religious mutual fund for the purpose of this article. 5. Incidentally, most of the denominational funds adopted the SR label as they rolled out their mutual funds, indicating a denomination’s institutional experience with finance and the SR movement are not mutually exclusive pathways to these religious funds. 6. Four religious fund families (three Protestant and one Muslim) are not represented in my convenience sample of interviews for the following reasons: I was unable to speak with anyone after repeated attempts with two fund families. I was refused an interview from one fund family for the purported reason that the office was short-staffed and busy. I was not aware of another fund family at the time of my interviewing. 7. Cath_12, conducted July 30, 2008. 8. Prot_11, conducted July 18, 2008.

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9. Since the time this research was conducted, Mennonite Mutual Aid has changed its name to Everence. 10. Prot_13, conducted August 5, 2008. 11. Prot_15, conducted November 12, 2008. 12. Prot_25, conducted January 14, 2009. 13. Prot_7, conducted June 17, 2008. 14. Islm_2, conducted April 4, 2008. 15. Prot_7, conducted June 17, 2008. 16. Islm_29, conducted April 2, 2009. 17. Prot_6, conducted January 13, 2009. 18. Prot_6, conducted January 13, 2009. 19. Prot_13, conducted August 5, 2008. 20. Prot_11, July 18, 2008. 21. Prot_1, conducted October 29, 2007. 22. Islm_2, conducted April 4, 2008. 23. Islm_3, conducted June 5, 2008. 24. Cath_4, conducted June 9, 2008.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Many thanks to Mabel Berezin, Elaine Howard Ecklund, Patricia Snell Herzog, David Strang, and Research in the Sociology of Organizations editors for helpful comments on earlier drafts of this manuscript. This research was made possible by a Cornell University Center for the Study of Inequality (CSI) seed grant and the Lake Institute Dissertation Fellowship.

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APPENDIX: GENERIC INTERVIEW SCRIPT FOR RELIGIOUS FUND PRODUCER Tell me a little bit about what you do? What’s your general job description? Tell me a little about the history of Religious Fund. How did it get started? Are there any requirements about the religious identity of the fund manager? Must he or she be religious? (Asked of Christian fund representatives) Is Religious Fund affiliated with any denomination? If so, talk about that relationship. When I tell people I’m researching religious mutual funds, most say they didn’t know such a thing exists; as if “religious” and “mutual fund” don’t belong in the same sentence. So tell me generally, what is your experience with combining religion and mutual funds. (Asked of Christian fund representatives) I’m thinking of the parable in Matthew 6, where Jesus says, “You can’t serve two masters … You can’t love both God and Mammon.” In a sense, isn’t that what Religious Fund is trying to do, serve God and Mammon? Please tell me about the screening process at Religious Fund. What are your screening criteria? How did Religious Fund decide upon those criteria? Is Religious Fund involved in advocacy work through the mutual funds? If so, tell me a little bit about that activity. Does Religious Fund feel more pressure to increase its socially responsible mission or to increase returns for investors? Tell me about balancing these two goals? (Asked of fund managers) Do you pray that your stock picks would be profitable? If I were to spend a day at Religious Fund offices, would its religious identity be salient? If so, how? How does Religious Fund differ from other religious mutual funds? Do you largely target religious investors? What is your marketing approach? How are churches/mosques or other religious organizations involved? I’m very interested in the experience of investors. What is the average investor like? Do they invest in other conventional funds? Are there any other things that came into your head as we were talking that you would like to tell me? Are there questions you wished I would have asked? Note: Interview scripts were modified to take into account the religious identity of the fund, the employment position of the interviewee, and various other pieces of relevant information I was able to obtain before conducting my interview. This script is a generic baseline from which modifications were made.

PART V RELIGION AND SOCIAL MOVEMENTS

THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE AND THE CHURCH: BUILDING ADAPTABLE ORGANIZATIONS Paolo Parigi ABSTRACT In the last 10 years or so, a growing body of research has highlighted the importance of social movements as the mechanism through which fields change or new fields emerge. This article contributes to this body of research by studying how an organization was able to promote institutional change from the center of a field by channeling the legitimacy generated by local religious movements. Data comes from the archives of a special commission within the Catholic Church that developed rules for adjudicating miracles performed by candidates to sainthood. The social movement is composed of candidates and their supporters who mobilized local communities using miracles. The period of the analysis was the aftermath of the Protestant Schism, when long-established practices and beliefs were fundamentally challenged. By approving miracles that created ties between individuals that spanned across kinship and social status boundaries, the commission was able to channel legitimacy into the wounded core of the Church. At the same time, receiving Rome’s approval reduced the competition the candidate’s supporters faced from

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other religious activists. The noncontentious interaction that occurred between the two actors gave birth to the field of modern sainthood. The main implication for organization theory is that, even in the absence of conflict, a new environment and ideology can emerge endogenously from the center of a field and transform both the organization and the social movement. Keywords: Catholic Church; social movements; organizations

An institutional field is a set of practices, beliefs, symbols, and logics shared among the actors that operate in the field (Meyer & Rowan, 1977; Powell & DiMaggio, 1991). Where fields come from and how they change are questions that have vexed institutional scholars of organizations for quite some time (Lounsbury, 2007). In the last 10 years or so, a growing body of research has highlighted the importance of social movements as the mechanism through which fields change or new fields emerge (McAdam & Scott, 2005). Social movements articulate claims into challenges thereby creating new fields (Armostrong, 2002). This article contributes to this body of research by studying how an organization was able to promote institutional change from the center of a field by channeling the legitimacy generated by local religious movements. The organization under scrutiny is the Catholic Church, the movements are those composed of candidates to sainthood and their circles of acolytes, the institutional change is the switch from early to modern sainthood and the period goes from the mid-sixteenth century to the mid-seventeenth century. The Church transformed sainthood by developing rules and procedures that created a space for the articulation of the demands for change that sprung from the local social movements. These rules and procedures created new institutions and, more broadly, the possibility of a noncontentious interaction between the Church and the local activists. What is theoretically new about the transformation of sainthood is not that demands for change emerged endogenously from the field
indeed this argument has been extensively covered by recent scholarship (see next section)
but rather that the organization at the center of this field created new institutions (like the Devil’s advocate) for interacting in a noncontentious way with the local social movements and for promoting change. Indeed, modern sainthood emerged not as the result of a strategically articulated plan from Rome or as the result of threatening demands of activists; rather modern

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sainthood was the byproduct of a process characterized by lots of happenstance, tensions, and sudden changes of policies. Local activists and central officials from Rome both interacted to transform sainthood. This article treats this transformation as the prototypical example of how churches can maintain fit with their environments. Understanding why studying a case that occurred half a millennium ago is still relevant for contemporary churches requires conceptualizing modern religious fields as dominated by multiple and competitive logics articulated around discourses of power and status (Gomez, 2011). This was the religious environment that emerged for the first time in Western history in the aftermath of the Protestant Schism. In order to survive, modern churches have to create institutions capable of transforming competitive claims brought forth by challengers into legitimacy-building interactions. Generating new institutions (rules and procedures), therefore, is a way for modern churches to maintain fit with their fields
much like the Church did during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. While contentious interactions are one avenue through which change can occur in highly stable institutional fields (Meyer, Brooks, & Goes, 1990; Scott, 1991), noncontentious interactions are part and parcel of a church’s relationship with its field. Theorizing the possibility of noncontentious interactions between established religious organizations and activists implies also seeing organizational rules and procedures mainly as instruments for integrating interests rather than for expressing power (Elias, 1969; Fox Piven & Cloward, 2005). The integration of interests is the main way churches can use to gain legitimacy (Wilde, 2007). My decision to equate candidates to sainthood and their acolytes to social movements requires further clarification. While all the candidates in this period articulated strong demands for change, they did not directly pursue local mobilization in order to achieve their goals. Candidates were instead charismatic leaders and as such attracted people from different walks of life. Acolytes, on the other hand, directly pursue local mobilization in order to see their leaders recognized as saints. Furthermore, the activism of acolytes occurred in large part only after the candidate’s death, through postmortem miracles. The analogy of such complex reality to social movements captures what was constant across all the local contexts in which the candidates operated but it leaves out the fact that mobilization occurred as a multistep process with lots of local idiosyncrasies. Thus, in some cases acolytes built local mobilization rather quickly after the death of the leader (e.g., Carlo Borromeo); while in other cases, acolytes were considerably slower (e.g., Pasqual Baylon). Seeing both cases

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(and several others) as examples of local social movements highlights that the main aspect of modern sainthood is not in the fact that candidates could muster support (as it was the case for premodern sainthood) but the fact that such support is organized, that is, it has activists nurturing and orchestrating local mobilization.

PROMOTING INSTITUTIONAL CHANGE FROM THE CENTER OF A FIELD Movements promote institutional change not exclusively from operating outside of fields (McAdam, Tarrow, & Tilly 2001) or via the state (Weber, Rao, & Thomas, 2009) but also from operating within fields. As Marc Schneiberg and Michael Lounsbury (2008, p. 654) put it, movements can sometimes promote change by engaging in institutional processes that “… [by] drawing on existing institutions and taken-for-granted understandings … articulate and combine new projects or practices with prevailing models and arrangements.” From this perspective institutional transformation is not a sequence of contentious interactions between actors (Clemens, 1997); rather it is the result of incremental strategies that mobilize insiders and outsiders. Neil Fligstein and Doug McAdam (2011) recently emphasized a similar point. They noticed that much of the literature on movements has suffered from an over-emphasis on seeing change as a rare event. This insight is particularly relevant in the context of fields characterized by multiple and conflicting logics, like those that modern churches inhabit and that emerged in the Western world in the period here under scrutiny. In this type of environment any equilibrium is per force temporary (Knight, 1921). Fluid environments are rippled with opportunities for change that entrepreneurs can use to support their causes. Paul DiMaggio calls activists of this type “institutional entrepreneurs,” emphasizing the ideological underpinning of their actions. According to him, institutional entrepreneurs engage in processes of meaning
making that use existing logics to their advantage (DiMaggio, 1988). Huggy Rao and Simona Giorgi provide an example of this type of activism in their article about the emergence of private prisons in the United States. They explain the emergence of private prison as a case of subversion, that is, of insiders using preexisting logics to promote the emergence of a new institution. Subversion worked in this case because it created an alignment of interests between corporations, which

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aimed at profiting from operating prisons, and the state, which had to manage an overgrowing prison population (Rao & Giorgi, 2006). Many have noticed that when activists promote change from within a field they often do so by using noncontentious tactics (Melucci, 1985) that give rise to a piecemeal process of institutional change (Schneiberg & Lounsbury, 2008). The coalescence of interests of the different actors operating in the field (activists, organizations, and institutions) toward achieving change is fundamental to analytically capture when such a process can lead to successful outcomes, that is, the transformation of a field or the emergence of a new field. Jennifer Lena (2012), for example, shows how music genre evolves from the coalescence of the industry’s interests with the taste of audiences, and how the solidification of this process creates new music styles like rap, bluegrass, and bebop jazz. These and other examples (Bartley, 2007) make clear that endogenous change, either promoted by social movements or by institutional entrepreneurs, develops for the most part from actors located at the periphery of a field. A risk implicit in this approach is in forgetting the extent to which organizations are themselves agents of change capable of deeply altering the field in which they operate and shaping the actions of the activists (Gouldner, 1965; Selznick, 1980). This oversight is particularly problematic for contemporary churches because they operate in fields that have multiple conflicting logics (Friedland & Alford, 1991; Thornton, 2002) and are characterized by a general fluidity that requires a strong capacity for adaptation and hence change. Too often, neo-institutional scholars have relegated the “activism” of organizations to the enactment of window-dressing procedures, formally complying with the requests of the movements (or of the state) but de facto resisting change (Edelman, 1992; Westphal & Zajac, 2001). The argument this article makes is not that modern churches maintain fit with their environments by de-coupling. Neither, I argue that institutional entrepreneurs transformed sainthood, although clearly some of the actors within a special commission I investigated for this article could be seen from such a perspective. What this article shows is that in the context of fluid environments, where equilibrium is always temporary, churches adapt by creating new institutions that turn challenges into legitimacybuilding processes. My argument about the transformation of sainthood suggests a parallel with Rao et al.’s account about the transformation of the French cuisine at the end of the 1960s (Rao, Monin, & Durand, 2003). They argued that political movements external to the field of cooking were the generators of cultural frames that altered the field of French cuisine by

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entering the professional schools where French chefs trained. The transformation of French cooking occurred through an identity movement that swept the field from its center.1 Similarly, this article highlights a unique path toward institutional change that occurred not only endogenously but also from the central actors operating in the field. Change occurred because the procedures that the Church created were able to integrate the interests of all different actors operating in the field. Local activists wanted a way to reduce competition from other activists and central officials from Rome were looking for a way to gain legitimacy. Nevertheless, it is important to emphasize that tensions existed through the period when sainthood was transformed. What happened historically was not a predetermined outcome and what we learn from studying this case is that modern churches can use procedures and rules in order to promote change.

Analytical Set-Up of Empirical Case Empirically, the article considers the interactions that developed between the Catholic Church and several religious movements organized around charismatic leaders in the period known as the Counter Reformation in various locales in Southern Europe. These movements articulated messages of reform that often encountered overt opposition from the Church. Yet, the central officials of the Church did also develop procedures for incorporating some of the claims emerging from these prototypical movements. This created a noncontentious interaction that generated new symbols and cultural frames through which to interpret modern saints (Papa, 2001; Parigi, 2006). In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the position of religious leadership outside of the hierarchy of the Church implied a general capacity to perform supernatural wonders. Most of these leaders attracted supporters for themselves by operating miracles. On the basis of these miracles, the early supporters of a leader, the acolytes, made broad claims about their leader’s sanctity after his death. Acolytes waited for the death of their leader before going public with their claims in accordance with the Catholic doctrine that required alleged saints to be in Paradise in order to intercede with God. While disorganized claims about sanctity from a group of fervent believers might have been sufficient in the premodern period to garner public recognition of sanctity, in the aftermath of the Protestant Schism the Church developed more stringent criteria (Veraja, 1988). These criteria did

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not squelch the claims made locally by acolytes; neither did they simply coopt rivals for religious authority or relevance into the fold of the Church while leaving sainthood otherwise as it had been for a thousand years before. Rather, the new procedures of the Church made a well-organized local mobilization in support of a miracle-maker a requirement for achieving sainthood. Acolytes that were able to become religious activists saw their claims recognized by Rome and the cult of their leader institutionalized. In large part, acolytes-turned-activists won the support of their local communities by creating the conditions for the occurrence of more miracles
this time, postmortem. The material conditions of everyday life in sixteenth- and seventeenthcentury Europe provide a starting point for understanding why miracles were such a powerful mobilization tool. Uncertainty shaped every aspect of individual life, and people had different strategies for coping with hardships. A miracle was a cultural product that reduced uncertainty
something unusual occurred, and a miracle explained why. Because of their power to explain the inexplicable, miracles brought comfort (Gertz, 1966). Common acceptance of miracles as reducers of uncertainty constituted the necessary social context for explaining their mobilizing power. From this perspective, it is not surprising that each generation had its saints to give a sense of meaning to life’s hardships and mitigate life’s vicissitudes. The rapid succession of saints in time resulted from the inner logic of people striving for stability in an unstable world. Miracles were welcomed as long as people’s material conditions continued to be precarious, and generation after generation, charismatic individuals emerged to perform them. The period of analysis starts in 1542, when Rome created the Santo Uffizio (or Roman Inquisition), and ends in 1642, when the procedures for canonization were consolidated and the new field of modern sainthood emerged (Decreta et ordo procedenti in causis beatificat. et canonizat. sanctorum, S.D.N. Urbani P. P. VIII iussu editus). I examine 411 miracles reported by more than a 1,000 testifiers on behalf of seven miracle-makers. These trials (called canonization trials) were held after the death of the miracle-maker to establish his sainthood. While the candidates performed some miracles during their lives (in vitam), the bulk of them occurred after their death (postmortem). Evidence was extracted from three archives
the Vatican Secret Archive (ASV), the Vatican Apostolic Library (BAV), and the Archivio della Congregazione per le Cause dei Santi (ACS)
and coded in English from the original language
Latin, Italian, or Spanish. The article is organized in the following way: First, I broadly survey the characteristics of premodern sainthood. Then, I document the type of

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mobilization that candidates and acolytes were building from the ground in the aftermath of Protestant Schism and what was Rome’s view on such mobilization. This is the more narrative part of the article and the one that relies more on secondary sources. The second part of the article uses instead the primary evidence I extracted from the Vatican archives mentioned above. Here, I first describe my sample strategy and then I show the type of mobilization candidates were building locally and which miracles the special commission accepted to be true and why. It was the birth of modern sainthood. In the discussion I emphasize the implications of my argument about institutional transformation from the center for studying churches as organizations.

PART I: PREMODERN SAINTHOOD: A SEGMENTED MODEL Before 1542, Rome did not have a monopoly on adjudicating miracles and consequently two versions of sainthood existed
one high (or learned), based on formal procedures promulgated by Rome, and the other low, based on popular support (Boesch-Gajano, 1999; Duby, 1980; Ginzburg, 1976). While Rome’s recognition lent greater prestige to a candidate’s cause, it was de facto unnecessary for becoming a saint. Support for Rome’s saints tended to come from the higher strata of European societies, although this did not exclude other kinds of support. By contrast, low saints tended to have many followers among the lower classes. The institutional structure of sainthood sustained the religious heterogeneity of Europe (Hall, 1965; Moore, 2000; Thomas, 1983; Vigo, 1994). The consequence of the division of sainthood was that while Rome’s saints had prestige, people’s saints had followers (Vauchez, 2000). In both cases, however, miracles were judged on the basis of their content. While Rome considered true the miracles that imitated those recounted in the Gospels (Gotor, 2000), the true miracles that popular saints performed were those that contradicted common beliefs about how nature worked (Delooz, 1969; Delumeau, 1976; Hertz, 1928). Adjudicating miracles on the basis of their fidelity to the Gospels helped Rome promote its version of sainthood as high, since these miracles ultimately imitated those that Jesus had performed. Conversely, the content of the miracles that people’s saints performed answered the needs of their audiences (Delooz, 1983; Kleinberg, 1994), which assured these saints a large following. In sum, premodern

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sainthood had the following characteristics: (1) it was segmented by [status line] [status]; (2) sanctity was easy to access as multiple authorities bestowed the title of saint; (3) miracles were adjudicated on the basis of their content. The Protestant Schism (1517) and the printing press put an end to the segmented version of sainthood that had characterized Europe since the fall of the Western Roman Empire. On the one hand, Protestants removed the veil on the use of saint relics as instruments that the local Church and Rome used to generate money. Martin Luther in Germany, Calvin in Switzerland, and several other religious reformers argued that beliefs in the power of relics were rooted in superstitious ideas and sorcery and that there was no need for the intercession of the saints to reach contact with the divine. On the other hand, the printing press quickly spread the revolutionary ideas of these thinkers at such a pace that Rome’s traditional means for controlling heresies
geographically isolating the religious movement and physically removing the leadership by confinement or death
were ineffective. Heterodox ideas about saints circulated quickly throughout the entire continent, including countries in Southern Europe that had the most active cultural centers of the continent (Bossy, 1976; Evennett, 1968). For instance, a peasant woman from a village in Galicia (Spain), when interviewed by an Inquisition official, expressed the following opinion about priests: “What sort of Mass should I go to? There is no priestly Mass which is not a swindle and humbug, for the whole thing merely consists of taking a lump of dough and putting it between two hot irons, and afterwards taking out a host and saying it is Our Lord” (Contreras & Henningsen, 1986, p. 11). Carlo Ginzburg documents how during the same period in Italy the circulation of books enabled the diffusion of heterodox ideas both between elites across regions and locally across social strata (Ginzburg, 1970). Charismatic local leaders, some of whom became candidates for sainthood, harshly criticized what they perceived as Rome’s corruption (Delumeau, 1976). Some, like Capuchin General Bernardino Ochino, were forced to leave Italy to escape incarceration (Adorni-Braccesi, 1994). As Massimo Firpo and John Tedeschi have noted, heterodox ideas fueled religious dissent that involved “common people, artisans, teachers, merchants, but also celebrated intellectuals, high-ranking preachers and prelates as well as members of the highest social classes, reigning princes and great aristocrats” (Firpo & Tedeschi, 1996, p. 335). In the span of just few decades, the religious environment of Europe had become integrated, making the inconsistencies of the old medieval sainthood apparent and, most

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importantly, no longer sustainable. In the aftermath of the Protestant Schism, Rome faced a political, military, and economic challenge in Northern Europe2 and a crisis of religious legitimacy in the heart of its territory.

MIRACLE-MAKERS AS NONCONTENTIOUS SOCIAL MOVEMENTS Most definitions of a social movement emphasize the idea of contention (Della Porta & Diani, 1999). Thus, for example, Tarrow (1996) writes that social movements are contentious networks able to sustain challenges to powerful opponents. For Tilly (1985), social movements are organized actors that use repertoires for protesting against authority that are contingent to the given historical circumstances. This line of research has made contention synonymous with change. It is precisely because movements seek to produce institutional change that the merging of social movement theory with the neo-institutional theory has been theoretically useful (Armostrong, 2002). Social movements operate similarly to theoretical engines that can explain the emergence of new institutional logics or the de-institutionalization of old logics (Scott, 2008). However, social movements sometimes promote institutional change without using contentious repertoires of protests. Such is the case, for example, with the introduction of organic food in grocery stores in the United Kingdom, where a kind of ideological similarity (Zald, Morrill, & Rao, 2005) developed between organic-food-promoting activists and management of the stores (Schurman & Munro, 2009). In the fluid environment that followed the Protestant Schism, new religious movements centered on charismatic miracle-makers articulated strong messages of reform without using contentious tactics or violence. Miracle-makers conducted exemplary lives strictly in keeping with the teachings of the old fathers of the Church and of Jesus; this, along with their charismatic capacities, attracted followers and a general sympathy. In the period this article considers, miracle-makers of this type flourished in Southern Europe. For instance, the number of petitions for the opening of a canonization trial that reached Rome during this period grew exponentially (ASV, Index of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints). Bearing in mind that a large number of these trials did not result in any official recognition, this statistic nevertheless provides a sense of the religious fervor that

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characterized Catholic countries at the time. Sallmann (1994), for instance, compared the number of petitions that reached Rome in this period to the top of a pyramid whose base was made of many more charismatic leaders that lacked either the support or the sophistication to draw the attention of Rome. Despite the lack of contentious tactics, local religious authorities and Rome were quite suspicious of miracle-makers and of their mounting support. Teresa of Avila for example was several times sent to cell confinement for her heterodox teachings and Filippo Neri was scorned by the higher Church authorities in Rome for his anti-carnival walks that attracted thousands of people. Exacerbating tensions with local authorities, the message of reform that miracle-makers put forward during their lives became very often the foundations of new religious orders. Sometimes this created tension with other existing orders operating locally, as when for example a friar of the order of the Umiliati in Milan shot Carlo Borroemo, the charismatic leader (and cardinal) who wanted to abolish the order. If the seeds of the new religious order planted by the miracle-maker were to grow, however, acolytes would need to receive Rome’s recognition. A successful recognition from Rome, either in turning the miracle-maker into a “blessed” or a “saint” (see below for a distinction between these two titles), would result in a stream of pilgrims visiting the saintly body. A saint, by definition, performs miracles, and so pilgrims seeking miracles would produce a steady flow of donations. Revenues were fundamental for establishing the nascent religious order on a firmer ground and for supporting new administrative positions and offices. At the time of the charismatic leader’s death, acolytes had means and motives for organizing local consensus into a social movement. Tension emerged consequently between the message of reform that the miracle-maker articulated during his life and the acolytes’ attempt to routinize what had been a charisma-based structure into a more durable organizational structure once the leader died. The movements that acolytes created was similar in many respect to an identity movement in that it did not have a bureaucratic structure supporting it and articulated demands of autonomy rather than justice (Rao et al., 2003). As I will argue in the next section, the claims of the acolytes were successful in reforming sainthood because officials in Rome partially looked at them as a way to regain legitimacy. Rome wanted organized local consensus and looked favorably at religious activists capable of generating it. The greatest obstacle acolytes faced in order to navigate the tension between building a movement capable of attracting Rome’s attention

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and the message of reform their leader articulated during his life was competition with other activists in the same city or in nearby villages. Indeed, religious competition was creating havoc at all levels of Catholic hierarchy. For instance, a priest in a small village near Milan was exasperated by all the attention attracted by a crying image of the Virgin Mary in a nearby parish. During the trial held by the Church authority on the case, he told the judges explicitly that his constituency was diverting prayers and money to the other parish, creating problems for him and his church (Sangalli, 1993). Competition was particularly fierce where supernatural results were perceived to be produced by a candidate’s relics. For example, the internal organs of Filippo Neri (one of the candidates considered in this article) were secretly taken from Rome and brought to Naples, where they ended up in the hands of a noblewoman (Il primo processo). Similarly, the head of Bernardino of Santa Lucia, another candidate included in this analysis, was stolen from the Franciscan Church in Agrigento, Italy, where the whole body lay exposed (ASV 2209). Such anecdotal examples could continue for several pages. Despite the message of reform miracle-makers pushed forward in their lives and against the background of the Protestant Schism, the interests of Rome and those of acolytes were not in conflict. Both parties stood to gain from procedures and rules capable of integrating interests and generating a reformed
i.e., more modern and systemic
version of sainthood.

ROME’S PERSPECTIVE ON RELIGIOUS FERMENT IN SOUTHERN EUROPE Organizational scholars have largely seen rules and procedures as tools for protecting an organization from changing. For example, organizations often insulate themselves from the influences of the larger environment by adopting rules that only formally are in favor of change. Underlying this perspective is the assumption that rules are mostly an instrument for expressing power (Fox Piven & Cloward, 2005). A different tradition in sociology has, however, highlighted the importance of rules as tools for coordinating behavior (Elias, 1992) and for creating integration (Durkheim, 1982). The dual function that rules can perform, either as instruments for preventing organizational change or as tools for promoting integration between actors, is consistent with the analysis of Alvin Gouldner of the behavior of three organizations during the 1950s. In order to be effective, Gouldner (1965)

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argued, rules have to align with the interests and the beliefs of all actors within an organization. That is, rules promote integration when different groups within the organization share some common interests. In this article, I applied this insight at the level of the institutional field (instead of within an organization), suggesting that organizational procedures can create integration between the claims of a social movement and the goals of an organization when the two share a common interest. Thus, while Rome looked at the competition among local activists as a potential source of further unrest (further fueling Protestant accusation of sorcery), parts of the Curia also saw the potential advantage in channeling religious ferment: local mobilization could generate legitimacy for the Church as a whole in a time of deep crisis. Since miracles had been the leading source of local support and mobilization for a thousand years (Bloch, 1973; Caciola, 1996; Mcmullen, 1984; Stanko, 2000; Stark, 1966), Rome’s resolve to incorporate and control local religious fervor converged on issues related to miracles. Controlling the production of miracles implied controlling sainthood, that is, scrutinizing the considerable mobilization acolytes were generating locally. Rome began adjusting its procedures so as to incorporate the religious ferment coming from the bottom up. This did not mean that Rome accepted every claim to sainthood made by acolytes in Southern Europe. Instead, it created an institutional arrangement capable of discerning the amount of local support acolytes were mobilizing around miracles, and conditioned its approval of claims to sainthood on the basis of this mobilization. The establishment of procedures for doing so took time and, most importantly, emerged into a coherent project only in 1642, following several internal struggles within the government of the Church in Rome, the Curia (Gotor, 2000). While the limited space at our disposal does not allow us to reconstruct the historical details of this internal struggle, we point to the ample scholarship on the subject in order to highlight two fundamental points. The first, the institutional field of modern sainthood emerged through a path-dependent process from the second half of the sixteenth century. The second, the leadership of the Church in 1642 was able to seize the moment and finalize the changes to sainthood into a coherent new code. The most important institutional change within the Church in Rome in the process of transforming sainthood was the establishment of the Congregatio Sacrorum Rituum in 1588. Pope Sixtus V charged the members of the Congregatio with cleansing the institution of sainthood from the abuses and inconsistencies of the past. In the span of 100 years, the Congregatio transformed sainthood from a local institution centered

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around candidate miracles to a centralized legal procedure based on candidate virtues (Vauchez, 1989), all without loosing popular support. The Congregatio set out to achieve these goals by taking control of the miracles that candidates for sainthood performed. Miracles were organized in three degrees (Veraja, 1992). First-degree miracles were those against nature, as when the Red Sea opened to let the Jews escape Egypt. Nature, in this case, would have had a disposition against the act of God. Seconddegree miracles were exercised over nature, as when Jesus resuscitated Lazarus. In this case, nature by itself could not have produced this outcome. Third-degree miracles, finally, were thought beyond nature, as when Jesus gave sight to a blind man by touching his eyes. In this case, nature could have produced the event but not in the form and under the circumstances in which it happened. Candidates for sainthood could only perform true miracles after their death, and most of them specialized in miracles of the third degree. This organization of miracles had existed since the early Middle Ages but it was the Congregatio that first systematized it and routinely applied it to all candidates (Papa, 1988). As part of this rationalization process, the Congregatio organized the collection of evidence on miracles and on the virtues of the candidates as a legal procedure. From 1588 onward, canonization entailed a series of repeated trials during which witnesses were called to the stand to testify to the miracles and the virtues of the candidate. Two paths existed
one for recently deceased candidates and one for long-deceased candidates. This article considers only candidates who died in the sixteenth century, that is, candidates whose trials were contemporary with the Congregatio’s first years. A contemporary candidate earned a new title in each of the three phases of the legal process, moving from venerabile (venerable), to beato (blessed), to saint. The crucial junction in this path toward sainthood was the state of blessed. Local authorities themselves carried out the investigations (Processo Ordinario) to determine whether an individual could be considered blessed, thus asserting some autonomy from the Roman Curia. The institution of blessed was, in effect, a compromise between Rome’s desire to assume direct control over matters of sainthood and the needs of local communities, which had chosen their own saints for centuries. The canonization process that the Congregatio designed was lengthy and organized in steps (Papa, 2001; Veraja, 1988). In order to move from the position of venerable to that of blessed, a recently deceased candidate would need to have performed two true miracles if there were eyewitnesses (de visu) or three true miracles otherwise. The same rule applied for the next step, from blessed to saint. In each case, finding miracles true meant

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establishing precision with their degrees. This explains why, despite the fact that the number of required miracles for sainthood was at most six, canonization trials before 1642 report many more supernatural events. The candidates and their acolytes were, in other words, learning the rules of the Congregatio. Thus, for instance, the average number of miracles performed by the candidates this article considers was 66 (Sodano, 1999). The Congregatio disregarded as false the overwhelming majority of the miracles reported during the trials before 1642. The Congregatio in a sense designed lengthy and redundant procedures in order to better control the canonization process. However, at the dawn of modernity such a controlling mechanism was no longer effective by itself. This was so for two different reasons: first, lengthy procedures intensified the amount of pressures that acolytes placed on the Congregatio after their leader had received the title of blessed. Indeed, in the first 50 years of its operations, the time required for reaching canonization varied almost case by case (Papa, 2001). This simply increased inconsistencies and potentially undermined the legitimacy of the Congregatio’s final decisions. Second, as doctors’ opinions about miracles became part of the evidence acolytes gathered, the length of the trial became ineffective for counter-acting this evidence. In the premodern period, doctors were essentially philosophers that reasoned about the ultimate causes of things. The Church could use time to build philosophical cases against claims of other experts. But modernity ushered in an experimental approach that made medical expertise autonomous from philosophy and, from the perspective of the Church, difficult to control. In this context, extra time would not directly lead to the development of a better case against the acolytes’ claims. The Congregatio created a new institutional figure to control and counteract the acolytes’ claims. This figure derived from an old position within the Congregatio and became autonomous in 1634, when the title of promotore fidei was established. Key to the promotore’s job was authoring opinions (animadversiones) about the candidate’s miracles. This document, which outlined the promotore’s doubts about the miracles, would circulate among the members of the Congregatio and the pope. The promotore would use the best medical knowledge at his disposal to poke “doubts” about the miracles acolytes presented on behalf of their leader. Unofficially, the promotore became known as the devil’s advocate. In summary, the procedures that Congregatio introduced made possible evaluating not only how much mobilization acolytes were able to build locally, but also how organized this mobilization was.

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PART II3: DATA Sample Construction Strategy The Vatican archives provide a list of people that underwent canonization trials. Since canonization required a candidate to perform miracles, the transcripts of canonization trials contain descriptions of candidates’ miracles and serve as the source of data for my analysis. Trials were recorded in Latin and in the native language of the witnesses; that is, if a trial took place in Madrid, the questions and the proceedings of the trial would be in Latin and the witnesses’ answers in Spanish. Trials varied in length and number of witnesses
with some documented in fewer than 100 pages and some taking up thousands of pages. By 1642, the Congregatio had held trials for 178 individuals. This relatively high number of cases requires careful interpretation. The majority of the 178 candidates had weak local support and their acolytes used trials to generate broader consensus. Roughly 13% of these cases were also ancient, that is, long-deceased individuals for whom the path to canonization was regulated differently. Thus, a large number of the trials were short, involved very few witnesses, and listed few miracles. The Congregatio either ignored or rejected these weak cases without providing a systematic rationale for its decisions. Further complicating matters, the Congregatio’s decision for each miracle can only be reconstructed for the cases of saints and blessed, because it is only for those cases that official records exist in the archives. In other words, one cannot create a list of approved and rejected miracles for all 178 cases of the period based on the Congregatio’s archives. Examining the Congregatio’s rules relating to miracles, therefore, implies restricting attention to cases that already had enough support to attract the Congregatio’s careful notice. I did two things to address the problem created by the fact that the overall mobilizing capacity of acolytes positively correlated with the number of records the Congregatio kept on a case. First, I restricted the number of cases from which to sample by defining a candidate for sainthood as an individual who died in the sixteenth century for whom the Congregatio had approved at least one trial. By 1642, there were 42 candidates for sainthood according to this definition. These candidates were in three states: saints, blessed, or venerable. While I could only reconstruct the Congregatio’s miracle-by-miracle decisions for saints and blessed candidates, I could assess the amount of support any candidate had by examining his trials. Therefore, despite the restriction in the number of cases, my definition of a

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candidate allowed enough variation for testing the research hypotheses. Second, I used sociological and historical literature to identify relevant dimensions in the production of miracles (Delooz, 1969; Kleinberg, 1994). I identified two dimensions. The first key dimension was spatial
the candidate operated either in an urban or rural community. City dwellers were exposed to a wide range of ideas and had many opportunities to encounter foreigners. On the other hand, tradition governed life in the countryside. The gulf between urban and rural lifestyles widened after the invention of the printing press: large proportions of city dwellers began reading books, while peasants remained rooted in oral tradition (Moran, 1973; Zemon-Davis, 1975). Literacy influenced popular belief in the supernatural powers of candidates and thus the type of miracles people were willing to believe they could perform. The second key dimension was the institutional constraint that the candidate faced as a member of the Church
that is, whether he was a member of the secular or regular clergy. Secular clergy included priests, cardinals, and bishops, who lived in close contact with lay people and interacted with them frequently (Bonnet, 1954). The regular clergy, on the other hand, were monks, friars, and nuns, who lived in the seclusion of monasteries or convents. With respect to the 178 cases that the Congregatio examined in this period, miracles performed by members of the regular clergy reflected this institutional constraint, in that their recipients were for the most part members of the monastery where the candidates lived. In light of the two dimensions, four ideal typical candidates emerged: 1. The Spiritual Priest, characteristic of Italian commercial cities that still retained some of the ferment (and wealth) of previous periods but were headed for decline. This candidate interacted with a large and heterogeneous population whose demands, in terms of spiritual needs and miracles, reflected the disruption caused by economic and social forces. Among the 42 candidates, 15 were of this ideal type.4 2. The Learned Monk, typical of the Spanish cities that were still experiencing the boom of the Siglo de Oro. The characteristics of his order
Dominican, Augustinian, Franciscan, etc.
played a fundamental role in the candidate’s interaction with the population. As a consequence, requests from his audience were more segmented compared to those facing priests operating in urban areas. There were six candidates of this ideal type. 3. The Folksy Friar, operating in the countryside or small towns of Italy and Spain and dealing with a mostly peasant population. Some of the

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pre-Christian beliefs that still informed the culture of these areas emerged clearly in this type of candidate’s preaching and miracles. Miracles related to controlling natural elements formed an essential part of the supernatural palette of this candidate. There were three candidates of this ideal type. 4. The Practical Priest, characteristic of impoverished rural areas of Southern Europe. This type of candidate was deeply ignorant of Catholic dogma and lacked access to the resources available to rural friars and monks. His audience was mostly impoverished peasants. None of the candidates fits this ideal type. I maximized the number of miracles included in my analysis by populating the previously constructed typology through a mix of selected and randomly chosen candidates.5 Table 1 shows the candidates included in the analysis organized by the two dimensions. Along with their names, the table reports their status in 1642 and the number of miracles described in their trials. Overall, the trials of these seven candidates include 460 miracles, of which the Congregatio considered 31 true.6 Among the candidates in the sample, no secular clergy from rural areas were represented. This is because there were no rural priests among the 42 candidates for sainthood in the period 1588
1642. Priests from small villages and rural areas
the Practical Priests
were not part of the sanctity that the Congregatio promoted, and while some of them had charismatic abilities that likely made them able to perform miracles in the eyes of their followers, their cases never reached Rome. Mustering the support necessary to open a case required access to social and economic resources after the Congregatio was established.7 The miracles that Practical Priests performed are not represented in this research.

Table 1. Secular Clergy

The Candidates. Regular Clergy

Urban

“The Spiritual Priest” Carlo Borromco (Saint, 71) Filippo Neri (Saint, 74)

“The Learned Monk” Bernardino of Agrigento (Venerabile, 21) Alfonso Orozco (Venerabile, 82) Teresa of Avila (Saint, 40)

Rural

“The Practical Priest” (Structural zero)

“The Folksy Friar” Pasqual Baylon (Blessed, 97) Rainiero of San Sepolcro (Venerabile, 75)

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The Database of Miracles During the trials, testifiers described in detail the circumstances under which miracles occurred. Embedded in their narratives is information relating to each miracle’s location, the year it occurred, the number of witnesses involved, whether or not one of the candidate’s relics was brought in during the healing, and the broad characteristics of the saved
age, gender, and social status. Not all of this information is available for every miracle, but each characteristic appears often enough to sustain a quantitative analysis. For the saints and blessed miracle-makers in the sample, I created a subset database of miracles’ characteristics as shown in Table 2. This subset includes 245 miracles. Connected miracles means that at least one testifier experienced more than one miracle, thereby connecting two or more miracles in a component. Table 2.

The Database of Miracles.

Variable Gender of the saved Male: 104 Female: 141 Status of the saved Nobles & Merchants: 55 Regular & Secular Clergy: 67 Commoners & Peasants: 115 Missing: 8 When did the miracle occur? in vitam: 66 Postmortem: 179 How many witnesses? Min: 0 Max: 14 Median: 2 Was a relic present? Yes: 99 No: 127 Missing: 19 Was the miracle connected? Yes: 118 No: 127 Was the miracle approved? Yes: 31 No: 214

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Conversely, a miracle is isolated if none of the testifiers has seen other miracles. Usually, an isolated miracle had the shape of a network star: a saved tied to many witnesses that were not related to each other. Finally, I coded the decisions of the Congregatio on these 245 miracles.

METHODS Network Building Procedures The information about miracles presented here is drawn directly from the testimony of canonization trial witnesses. I divide the “testifiers” into two groups: recipients of miracles (the saved) and witnesses of miracles.8 Thus, for each miracle there is at least one saved and, in most cases, at least one witness. During a canonization trial, two questions dealt directly with miracles: testifiers were asked whether they knew of miracles the candidate performed in vitam, that is, while alive, and whether they knew of miracles the candidate performed postmortem, that is, after his death. I treated as a miracle, but not necessarily a “true” miracle, any event testifiers described in response to either of these questions. I used only the question about the in vitam miracles for identifying acolytes. Since an acolyte was somebody that believed in the sanctity of the candidate before it was officially recognized, we defined an acolyte as an individual that experienced a miracle
either by witnessing or receiving
while the candidate was still alive. In vitam miracles turned believers into acolytes. Becoming an unofficial living saint, that is, being able to perform miracles in vitam, was the sine qua non for becoming an official candidate for sainthood and being able to perform miracles after death. The living saint was the leader of a religious group and occupied a position in the social structure as a connector of acolytes that typically had no relationship to each other prior to their encounter with the candidate. The descriptions of the miracles and the official information recorded in the trials create a rich dataset of characteristics of the testifiers. Church officials paid particular attention to the testifiers’ social status. Nobles and merchants represented the upper class of trial testifiers. In the trial records, a title such as duke, count, or prince identifies a noble. Merchants, including wealthy traders or anyone else with a lucrative business, are identified with the title dominus or domina in the trial records. We considered commoners all the testifiers whose names lacked such titles. Finally, we again

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made the distinction between secular clergy (individuals such as bishops who lived in close contact with the laity) and regular clergy (who lived secluded lives in monasteries). Combined with information about the testifiers, the Church’s official transcripts allowed me to reconstruct the network of relationships among the testifiers. For instance, in each miracle, several witnesses had kinship relationships to the saved and thus to each other. Other times, the only relationship between testifiers was that of having witnessed a miracle. For each candidate, I pooled both types of relationships across time in order to create networks. For a clearer idea of what this means, consider the descriptions of the following three miracles that Carlo Borromeo performed postmortem in Milan. The first two miracles were healings from malaria while the third was a healing from the “disease of the ants.” Table 3 reports the recipients of the miracles (third column) and the list of some of the witnesses (fourth column). Miracles are listed chronologically. The third column also gives the kinship relationship (a) between the saved and the witnesses and (b) among the witnesses, if there is such a relationship. Because some people experienced more than one miracle, pooling miracles across time results in one component. For example, De Filgeri, a friend of Emilia De Spadis, testified to only the miracle that saved her friend, while De Spadis testified to two miracles
one that healed her dominus in 1584 and one that she herself received later. Thus, De Filgeri has only one tie, while De Spadis has two. Similarly, dominus Ambrosio Lomazio witnessed a miracle dominus Ottaviano received in 1584 (Summarium Miracolorum Borromei, ACS, folio 583). A few years later, he too became a recipient of a postmortem miracle Table 3. Time Order

Three Postmortem Miracles in Milan.

Description

Saved

1

Febre terzana

Ottaviano

2

Febre quartana

Emilia De Spadis

3

Morbum formicalem

Ambrosio Lomazio

Witnesses Domina Antea (Ottaviano’s wife) Dominus, Ambrosio Lomazio Curato Francesco Emilia De Spadis Giovanna De Filgeri Laura Coira Isabella Cernuscola Domina Stefania (Lomazio’s daughter)

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(folio 611). Thus, in this network, ties represent either kinship relations between the nodes or the witnessing of a miracle, while nodes represent either saved or witnesses. More precisely, in each miracle, there are at least as many ties as there were witnesses testifying. In addition to these types of ties, kinship ties join related witnesses in each network (Fig. 1).9 I repeated the procedure for all the miracles the candidates in my dataset performed. That is, although the Congregatio’s judgments on miracles are recorded only for candidates that became saints or blessed, we created networks for all the candidates in the sample. Fig. 2 (Panels A and B) gives network graphs for two of the seven candidates. Monks, friars, nuns, and their religious sisters and brothers in the same monastery are treated as members of the same family. The two networks are the most extreme cases: Teresa’s is the most dense structure, with the majority of nodes tied into one component, while Rainiero’s is the most sparse, with small components scattered in the underlying social structure. Among all the candidates analyzed, Rainiero had the lowest holy status at the conclusion of his trials
that of venerable
and his network testifies that his miracles brought together fewer people than those of the other candidates. The networks for Baylon, Borromeo, Neri, and Orozco were constructed in a similar fashion to the ones described for

Antea

Francesco

De Filgeri

Ottaviano

Lomazio

De Spadis

Coira

Stefania

Cernuscola

Fig. 1.

Network Building.

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Teresa and Rainiero.10 Fig. 2 also shows two structural arrangements of miracles; they were either isolated or occurred in a cluster with other miracles.

The Formal Model I looked at the overall connectivity of the networks and at the size of the largest components for each candidate as evidence for the type and extent of local mobilization. Both measures capture the capacity of acolytes to enroll people in support of their deceased leader. Furthermore, I considered one measure of centrality
betweenness
as a way to capture the acolytes’ role in building the networks. Betweenness centrality measures how many times a node falls in between pairs of other nodes; it captures the potential that each node has for controlling the flow of communication (De Nooy, Mrvar, & Batagelj, 2005). In this context, high betweenness centrality identifies those most responsible for connecting others in the cult of a candidate. I predicted the likelihood of miracle’s approval (M = 1) with a logit model for the miracles of Table 3. More formally: PrðMi = 1Þ = logit −1 ðXi β þ coni θÞ Teresa of Avila miracles. Salamanca & Avila

Friar Rainiero miracles. Todi,in vitam & 1589−1628

(a) The most connected network

(b) The most sparse network

Fig. 2.

Networks of Rainiero and Teresa of Avila.

ð1Þ

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where Mi is miracle i, Xi is a matrix of covariates on the miracle, coni = 1 if miracle i is connected and 0 otherwise, and logitðxÞ = ðx=ð1 − xÞÞ. The effect of interest is the coefficient for the dummy variable con. If significant, it will suggest that Congregatio officials looked closely at the mobilizing capacity of miracles, what I refer to as their form, and focused less on their content. I controlled for the fact that miracles were clustered around candidates by using clustered robust standard errors. Assuming that miracles were independent only across candidates produces the following robust variance estimates: ^ = V^ ^ βÞ Vð

! m m X G0 G u u V^ m − 1 k=1 k k

ð2Þ

where m = number of candidates and uG k =

X

uj

ð3Þ

j ∈ Gk

that is, the pooled contributions to the robust variance estimate by candidates. Nevertheless, even taking into account the clustering of miracles within candidates, the results of the model are limited by the nonrandom nature of the sample. The typology of cases that Table 2 identifies is an attempt to increase the representativeness of my findings by showing that the Congregatio’s rules operated similarly despite the different settings and the different institutional constraints that activists faced.

THE MOBILIZING POWER OF MIRACLES Witnesses described a wide range of events as miracles. Consider the following miracle that Fabrizio Massimo reported on September 13, 1595, during Neri’s first trial. Massimo said that when Neri arrived at his house, his son Paolo was already dead. Nevertheless, Neri put his hand on the forehead of the boy, who suddenly opened his eyes and asked for a place to urinate. Within 15 minutes, Paolo died. Overall, Paolo’s brief resuscitation played a small role in Massimo’s account of Neri’s powers and virtues.

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During his second deposition, on February 20, 1596, Massimo gave more details of Paolo’s 15-minute return from the dead. After Paolo was resuscitated, Massimo reported, he began talking with Neri, who asked the boy if he would have liked to die and go to see his sister, who had died a few days before, and his mother, Lavinia, also dead. Paolo replied that he would, and only then did Neri let him die. A few months later, Massimo commissioned the painter Cristoforo Roncalli, known as Pomarancio, to paint a representation of Paolo’s resurrection. The painting portrays the scene as described in Fabrizio’s second deposition: Neri resuscitates the boy and lets him die only after Paolo expresses his wish to go see his sister and mother. Pomarancio reproduced the scene in two paintings, one of which was lost in a fire, and the other of which is a fresco, still visible today in Rome’s Chiesa Nova. During Teresa’s trial in Salamanca, Don˜a Maria Alvarez reported that his 5-year-old son Antonio suddenly fell into a coma. His parents called several doctors, but no one could wake up the boy. His desperate mother went to the monastery of the Discalced (barefoot) Carmelites and begged the sisters to lend her one of Teresa’s relics. The sisters gave her the oil that had dripped from Teresa’s body when it was displayed. Back at home, Antonio’s mother rubbed the oil on the boy’s head. He woke up laughing a few minutes later as if nothing had happened (ACS, Concistoro Secreto, vol. 63). Detailed descriptions reveal that a miracle can describe a vast array of events, ranging from the trivial to the important and, sometimes, to the mean-spirited
Paolo’s 15-minute resuscitation could be interpreted as a cruel trick played on a little boy and his father. A miracle was a shared frame for an event that had no other explanation. It was this shared interpretation that distinguished a miracle from a personal fantasy. What people collectively believed to be inexplicable, however, changed according to the characteristics of the venue where miracles occurred. Table 4 summarizes both in vitam and postmortem miracles for all the candidates according to a schema proposed by Andre´ Vauchez (1989). Miracles were sorted into two groups, according to the setting where candidates operated (Fig. 3). Seven of the above categories are healing miracles, while Freedom & Protection and Religious Miracles refer to the broad category of miracles of protection. A miracle of protection is one in which the recipient asks the candidate, either personally or by praying, for help in performing a task, in starting a voyage or, more generally, for protection in difficult times (for instance, being incarcerated or during incarceration).11 Other includes all miracles that do not fall into these categories, such as flying. Finally, the

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Table 4.

Miracles by Ideal Type. Folksy Friar

Birth Blind & Deaf Freedom & Protection Mental Disease Organic & Contagious Disease Other Other Diseases Paralyses Religious Miracles Resurrection Wounds & Fractures

Learned Monk

0.05 0.08 0.01 0.03 0.24 0.08 0.03 0.22 0.10 0.03 0.11

0.10 0.04 0.02 0.06 0.16 0.11 0.20 0.13 0.08 0.04 0.06

172

N

60

40

Spiritual Priest 0.07 0.05 0.01 0.10 0.25 0.00 0.21 0.21 0.02 0.04 0.03

143

20

0

145

20

40

60

Wounds & Fractures Resurrection Religious Mir. Paralyses Other Dis. Other Organic & Contagious Disease Mental Disease Freedom & Protection Blind & Deaf Birth Rural

Fig. 3.

Urban

Miracles by Community.

category Other Disease includes all healings that were missing details assigned to the other healing categories. The most common healing is that of Organic & Contagious Disease. This category includes the general illness “fever,” a symptom rather than a disease, which was the most common ailment in the dataset. Some hints for deconstructing the broad category of fevers come from the environment in which the candidate operated. For instance, it is likely that individuals that got sick in the spring in rural communities had allergies (Delooz, 1983). The content of miracles varied because the characteristics
and needs
of communities varied (chi-square = 28.485; p = 0.0015). For instance, urban areas were perceived

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to have a disproportionate number of “sad” individuals, grouped under the label Mental Diseases, compared to more rural areas; miracles related to Birth were also more common in cities than in the countryside. It is precisely because of this customization that miracles mobilized people. Despite local specificities, Table 4 suggests that the three ideal typical candidates were capable of performing all sorts of wonders. The variety of wonders that each ideal type was capable of performing created an inclusive mobilization within each locale (chi-square = 56.321; p = 0.000). The heterogeneity of miracle content indicates thus that at the dawn of modernity candidates catered to many segments of their local society. Further, sorting the group of the witnesses by gender with respect to the urban/rural areas dichotomy shows the absence of any statistical difference: Men and women were equally likely to witness miracles regardless of the type of community in which the miracles occurred. Given the deep cleavages that organized social life 400 years ago, the evidence that candidates performed a vast array of miracles points toward a substantial break with the model of sainthood that had been common in Europe for more than a thousand years.

LOCAL MOBILIZATION A large proportion of miracles performed by the sample of candidates created components that connected several saved individuals and their witnesses, potentially spanning divisions of kinship and status. The existence of a large component for all the candidates but Rainiero suggests that the practices that made miracles possible had something in common despite the different contexts in which they occurred (Salamanca, Avila, Milan, and Rome) and the different institutional constraints faced by the candidates. For example, more than 70% of the nodes in Teresa’s network were connected in one large component; the next highest such proportion was in Neri’s network (0.4), followed by Orozco’s, Borromeo’s, and Baylon’s (0.38). Understanding how this came about requires focusing the analysis on those who experienced more than one miracle
that is, those who occupied central positions in the networks. Both in vitam and postmortem miracles helped produce the large component to which the above statistics refer. Yet the two types of miracles had different structural roles. In vitam miracles created a social structure of early believers that became the foundation for the occurrence of

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postmortem miracles. As a religious leader, a candidate attracted followers who admired his virtues and his exemplary Christian life. Seventeenthcentury religious leaders were expected to have supernatural abilities. Miracles, then, were an expected expression of leadership; in other words, it was the social position of the religious leader, rather than the leader himself, that produced what people thought of as miracles. In the acolytes’ eyes, the candidate was a living saint before becoming an official saint. No candidate who was not considered a living saint before he died became an official candidate for sainthood. Before 1642, there is no candidate who only performed miracles postmortem. An example will help illustrate how in vitam miracles created a heterogeneous but unified structure out of a highly segregated social world. When Filippo Neri was just another priest in Rome, he encountered Francesco de La Molara, a nobleman, who spent the year 1584 wandering around Rome under the impression that he was Belzebu’ (the devil). Neri instructed him to be happy and to start singing, whereupon de La Molara started following Neri. At a certain point, Neri grabbed de La Molara’s head and started whispering incomprehensible words to him, perhaps in Latin; by the end of this exchange, de La Molara was healed and had stopped thinking of himself as Belzebu’. He told Neri: “I am healed, you are a saint!” The seemingly random nature of miracles of this sort, the majority of which the candidates performed in vitam, played a key role in creating a social structure of individuals who might have nothing in common otherwise but who shared faith in the same candidate. Thus, de La Molara became part of a group of believers that also included other priests, bricklayers, ex-prostitutes, friars, and other nobles. For the three candidates with more than 30 in vitam miracles reported in the trials
Neri, Orozco, and Rainiero
my analysis indicates that, on an average, these miracles created sparse networks, that is, that while alive candidates produced miracles of the structurally isolated arrangement. This type of social structure
sparsely connected and heterogeneous with respect to the status of the people involved
was well suited for diffusing the candidate’s reputation for supernatural powers after his death. The most common postmortem miracles recorded in the trials were healings performed by acolytes. These healings followed a predictable pattern. Upon his arrival at the sick person’s house, the acolyte would invite everyone present to pray, often instructing them to kneel and pray aloud together. During the prayer, the acolyte would ask his candidate for grace for the sick person and at that point usually took out one of the candidate’s relics, which he applied to the invalid while the others in attendance

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continued to kneel in prayer. The acolyte would then depart, and the invalid’s friends and relatives would notice a sudden improvement in his condition. Immediately or within a few days, the sick person would be perfectly healed, having become a saved. For example, on April 28, 1620, Maria Jaraz de Arraya had nearly completed her pregnancy when she suddenly fell ill. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to experience seizures. Antonio Gutierez, de Arraya’s husband, enlisted a surgeon to help deliver the baby and a doctor to save his wife. A priest accompanied the surgeon and the doctor, and while the latter two were practicing their art, the priest placed several relics on de Arraya’s body. Nothing worked, however, and Maria lay there, rigid and cold, on the verge of death. Juan de Herrera, Orozco’s most active acolyte, meanwhile found out what was happening at the Gutierezes’ house. He rushed over, asked the priest to remove the relics from de Arraya’s body, and invited everyone to pray while he fastened Orozco’s belt around de Arraya’s stomach. Half an hour later, de Arraya recovered her strength and delivered a stillborn baby. All those present hailed this event as a miracle, even though the baby did not survive it (ASV 3033). Yet miracles took place that did not involve acolytes. Healings that occurred without acolytes took the general form of private exchanges between two individuals, a client (the saved) and a patron (the dead candidate). This private agreement, known as ex voto (Cousin, 1983), was common in Catholic countries during the seventeenth century. These exchanges produced miracles similar to those that acolytes produced. Indeed, all candidates for sainthood engaged in private exchanges of the sort after their death. Sometimes a detailed list of ex voto was included as extra evidence in the canonization trials. This was the case for Carlo Borromeo. The list of every ex voto that occurred from his death to the time of his first trial was brought in to support the claim of Borromeo’s long-lasting saintly fame. Private exchanges helped the reputation of a candidate, but were not by themselves sufficient to organize popular consensus into a social movement. The ex voto bound only the two individuals included in the exchange. In contrast, by virtue of their access to the relics of the candidate, acolytes moved from household to household, adding people of different families and social statuses into the network of their candidate’s supporters. Table 5 reports the proportion of individuals who had experienced an in vitam miracle and had a higher than average betweenness centrality. The proportion is taken over the total number of nodes in the giant component. The expectation is that if acolytes used relics to build mobilization, they would occupy central positions within the networks of believers because they would

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Table 5.

Proportion of Acolytes (Largest Component). Candidate

Rural Urban

in vitam Vertices > Average Betweenness

Baylon Rainiero Neri Orozco Teresa

0.56 0.57 0.833 0.894 0.4

become witnesses to multiple miracles. Most of the nodes in the giant component with the highest betweenness correspond to individuals that experienced a miracle performed by the living candidate.12 In Orozco’s graph, for instance, almost 90% of the nodes with a high betweenness represent people who interacted personally with the candidate. Recall that acolytes are defined as people who experienced in vitam miracles. Thus, the table provides evidence that the acolytes bore the most responsibility for holding the large component together. With respect to the networks of Fig. 2, clusters of miracles represent the structural images of the acolyte’s [acolytes’?] activity. Any component with at least two saved individuals highlights the role of the acolytes in attracting new members to their candidate’s cult. But acolytes appear to have played a different role in Teresa’s case
for her, only 40% of the nodes with the highest betweenness centrality were acolytes. Teresa’s cult diffused mostly within the boundaries of the monasteries and convents that she founded. Opening a new convent was an intense experience for the participants; convents were often founded in very poor areas, yet the women there relied on charity and donations for their survival (Il libro della mia vita). In a sense, fewer miracles were necessary to convince Teresa’s spiritual sisters of her sanctity, since surviving the most adverse circumstances with Teresa’s guidance was itself a miracle. This type of sainthood, physically centered within the walls of monasteries and convents, would become dominant after 1642.

MODERN SAINTHOOD Direct evidence of the importance that the Church placed on the social structure that acolytes created independently of the practices they used can be found in the size of the largest component. Candidates with the largest components saw their cases advance faster within the Congregatio,

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controlling for the number of witnesses and miracles.13 For instance, Friar Rainiero had the smallest large component of the candidates examined here, and his case took the longest time to advance. A ranking of candidates according to the sluggishness of their progression to blessed from the time of their death (the dies natalis) puts Friar Rainiero in first place, followed by Orozco, Baylon, Borromeo, Teresa of Jesus, and Neri. This ranking correlates highly with the ranking of candidates according to the size of their largest component, from smallest to largest
the observed Spearman coefficient (§) is 0.78.14 These statistics suggest that the Church paid little attention to the content of miracles, introducing a significant difference with premodern sainthood. Table 6 presents the results of a logit model tested on the miracles performed by the candidates with enough local mobilization supporting them (N = 245). It is only for these candidates
Neri, Borromeo, Teresa, and Baylon
that a list of approved miracles exists. A miracle is considered connected if it belongs to a component of more than one miracle. In Fig. 2, two or more saved make a component. Clustered robust standard errors are reported, along with their respective probabilities. The coefficients of the logit model refer to the odds ratio. Table 6 shows support for the hypothesis that the structure of local mobilization mattered for a miracle’s approval. The variable connected miracle is significant above the 90% confidence level (p = 0.06). The odds that a connected miracle would receive approval (versus an isolated miracle) increased by a factor of more than three, controlling for other factors. This suggests that the Congregatio’s officials paid particular attention to the structure of local mobilization, since acolytes were the ones responsible for connecting miracles. The importance of the acolytes is reinforced by the significant effect of relics in increasing the likelihood of approval
acolytes Table 6.

(Intercept) Saved Female Saved Noble Saved Clergy # Witnesses Relic Connected Miracle

Logit Model.

Coefficient

Robust cluster, standarderror

Robust Cluster, z

P >|z|

0.013 0.86 0.571 0.618 1.462 2.61 3.12

1.29 0.45 0.20 0.43 0.11 0.28 0.61

−3.37 −0.33 2.80 −1.12 3.31 3.44 1.87

0.00 0.74 0.01 0.26 0.00 0.00 0.06

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were relevant net of their access to relics. The logit model also provides support for the claim that the Congregatio paid attention to the amount of local mobilization, not just its form: each additional witness increased the odds of a miracle’s approval by a factor of almost 1.5. Miracles with a larger number of witnesses were, therefore, more likely to receive approval.15 Together with the structural finding, Table 6 suggests that a large and structured mobilization increased the chances of miracle’s approval and thus of the candidate’s reaching sainthood. This implies that instead of exclusively considering the amount of local support, the Congregatio also investigated the structural characteristics of this support. Although verbatim records of the Congregatio’s decisions do not exist, the attention given to components of miracles along with the drastic reduction of miracles that each candidate put forward after 1642 suggests that the Church at once channeled legitimacy and transformed the local mobilization that sustained this legitimacy. This finding can be further refined by considering the status of the miracle’s recipient. If the saved was a commoner (the reference category in the model), the likelihood of a miracle’s approval decreased. If the saved was a nobleman, by contrast, the likelihood of the miracle’s approval increased. Considering the historical argument that during the Counter-Reformation sainthood increasingly excluded women (Zarri, 1991), the nonsignificant effect of a female being saved is somewhat surprising. This indirectly suggests that the Congregatio preserved part of the spirit of inclusive mobilization the candidate and his acolytes created locally. Fig. 4 represents the complete set of miracles that Filippo Neri performed in Rome during his life and after his death. Approved miracles, the circled nodes in the network, disproportionately occurred in the largest component or in a component of at least two miracles. The Church certified as true miracles those that bridged social cleavages, uniting people across differences of status and kinship. This form of miracle corresponds structurally to the components of saved and witnesses. The cornerstone of the Congregatio’s logic, codified in the new rules, operated by disregarding the content of miracles. The changes introduced by the Congregatio in the 50 years or so following its creation were formalized in 1642 and became the basis of modern sainthood. After 1642, true miracles all had the same form
a sort of exportable good, so to speak, dis-embedded from the local contexts that produced them (Bearman, 1993). Acolytes had learned how to reproduce the form of a true miracle and, therefore, they introduced only the required number of miracles during the trials (six at the most). For example, in the

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403

Fig. 4. Neri’s Complete Network. Note: White nodes indicate saved; dark nodes indicate witness. Thick edges indicate kinship relationships exclusively; thin edges indicate witnessing relationships.

trial of Freymont that took place in 1730 in France, half of the proceedings involved just the one miracle that she performed postmortem on Maria Dronier (ASV 875). This miracle had several witnesses from all social strata of Lyon, where the trial took place. Canonization trials called for fewer witnesses with the overall result of making the trials shorter. Thus, of the 738 canonization trials held in Western Europe in the period between 1588 and 1751 (ASV, Index of the Congregatio Sacrorum Rituum), those that took place before 1642 were significantly shorter than those that followed (F = 13.95, p = 0.0002). Trials before 1642 lasted on average almost 7 years while trials in the latter period lasted an average of 4 years. The same dynamic obtained in countries with the largest number of trials
Italy, Spain, Portugal. In Italy, trials shortened in duration from 7.75 years to 4.4 (F = 87, p = 0.0018); in Spain and Portugal the average decreased from 6.13 years to 3.4 (F = 5.75, p = 0.0182); in France the figures were 3.6 before 1642 and 3.5 afterwards (F = 0, p = 0.982).16 Consider also that the average number of trials per year did not change before and after 1642 (4.36
4.48). By the second half of the seventeenth century, a new and more modern sainthood was well in place. In this version of sainthood, the postmortem miracles that Rome attributed to miracle-makers were like souvenirs, not of places, but of the lives of these people.

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A transformation of the institutional environment of sainthood came into being because all relevant actors saw an advantage in establishing a positive relationship against the backdrop of the Protestant Schism and local competition.

DISCUSSION This article highlights how an endogenous transformation could be achieved from the center of a field through rules that integrate the interests of the several actors operating within the field. I think this is of key importance for understanding how churches are able to endure in fluid environments characterized by power rifts and fractured narratives. A main goal of churches as organizations is the pursuing of legitimacy, as Melissa Wilde suggested in her case study of the changes that occurred during Vatican II (2007). Legitimacy comes from the ground and the way to channel it
my analysis shows
is through the building of procedures and rules that address the problems of the activists (Selznick, 1979) and those of the organization(s) promoting the rules. A new rule is effective in promoting institutional change not because is backed by force but because it has legitimacy. For religious organizations, the main implication to be drawn from this article is that procedures and rules can become effective tools for promoting change in fractured environments populated by movements. Modern religious fields are similar to cultural fields dominated by multiple and conflicting logics that give rise to diverse communities (Lena, 2012). In order for a church to receive legitimacy from challengers, the organization has to have the capacity, or be perceived to have the capacity, to increase the challenger’s control of the environment (Dalton, 1964; Gouldner, 1965). The experience of the Catholic Church shows that its rules were successful because they created a version of sainthood that solved the competition problems of the activists and the legitimacy crisis that Rome was facing in the aftermath of the Protestant Schism. This integration of interests is what transformed sainthood. When institutional change is achieved in the way described in this article, the tensions between the central organization and the peripheral movements do not explode in full fledge conflicts. That is, another key characteristic of change that originates from the center of a field is that it creates a commitment between the organization and the challengers (Kraatz & Zajac 2001; Thompson, 1967). For the case at hand, acolytes

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gave legitimacy to the Church and received control of their local institution from the Church. My argument is consistent with researchers that have studied institutional change from an endogenous perspective and have highlighted the roles of either activists or institutional entrepreneurs (Rao & Giorgi, 2006; Schneiberg & Lounsbury, 2008). For example, Tim Bartley (2007) described the transformation occurring in two industries
forest and apparel
in the 1990s. According to him, institutional entrepreneurs involved to different degrees within the two industries started a political process of institution building that reached an equilibrium between the conflicting interests of different parts. Endogenous change generates more of a piecemeal process than an outburst (Fligstein & McAdam, 2011). Seeing institutional change as emanating from the center rediscovers the power of organizations and, more specifically, of actors operating within organizations. For too long neo-institutionalists have relegated change to occur only at the hands of social movements and have conceptualized organizations mainly as defenders of the status quo (Thornton, 2002). Such a perspective misses the point for understanding how churches operate in their environments. More importantly, it frames the actions of organizations either as resistance or as window-dressing. This picture does not really change even when the state is brought in as the main actor promoting change (Greenwood, Suddaby, & Hinings, 2002). This article shows instead that the power of churches to maintain a fit with their environments rests in designing rules and procedures for channeling legitimacy. The transformation of sainthood was a prototypical case for how organizations can promote change from the center of a field.

NOTES 1. Similarly to the case of the French cuisine, I see the impact of the Protestantism in Catholic countries in challenging taken-for-granted beliefs and practices, including the occurrence of miracles and the actions of miracle makers. The general skepticism toward miracles that became the norm within the commission is very well reflected in the figure of the Devil’s advocate, i.e., of somebody called to question the truth of every supernatural act. 2. Although there are no reliable surveys of the European population at the time, demographers estimate that Northern Europe had perhaps as many as 10 million inhabitants (Flinn, 1983; Mols, 1979), the great majority of whom followed their rulers in abandoning Catholicism in the sixteenth century (according to the principle, Cuius regio, eius religio). Similarly devastating for Rome was the postSchism loss of property to Protestants, including convents, monasteries, and land. Before 1517, Rome directly controlled a quarter of the land in what is roughly

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today’s Germany and Czech Republic, the majority of which the Church lost in the aftermath of the Schism (Streit, 1929). At the same time, within Catholic territories, an explosion of heretical (Ginzburg, 1976) and heterodox (Keitt, 2005) ideas followed the Schism. 3. Some parts of this section are adapted from my book, The Rationalization of Miracles (Parigi, 2012). 4. For 15 candidates the index stored in the ASV does not report where the trial occurred and it is not possible to reconstruct the location from the index. For one candidate I could not reconstruct his institutional affiliation. Finally, the category Secular includes also Chierici, i.e., lay people that devoted themselves to the religious life without officially taking the vows. 5. Only five candidates achieved canonization before 1642 and of these, one (Francis Xavier) operated mostly outside of Europe and so is excluded from the analysis. The miracles recorded in the trials of three of these saints, Carlo Borromeo (1538
1584) in Milan, Filippo Neri (1515
1595) in Rome, and Teresa of Jesus (1515
1582) in Salamanca and Avila, are included. While the first two saints hailed from urban environments in Italy and Spain, Teresa of Jesus operated in a rural environment (Avila) in addition to an urban one (Alvar, 1994). Both Borromeo and Neri were members of the secular clergy
the former as a priest, the latter as a bishop
while Teresa was a nun. The remaining group of 37 candidates reached canonization after 1642 or is still under evaluation. These candidates fall into two subcategories
a group of 15 blessed and a group of 22 venerable. I selected one candidate who had extensive trials and came from a rural environment. Pasqual Baylon (1540
1592) achieved the status of blessed in 1618 and that of saint in 1690. I analyzed all of the miracles described in Baylon’s trials, which were held in the village of Villa Real, Spain. I also randomly selected three candidates from the group of venerable: Alonzo Orozco (1500
1591), Bernardino (1545
1587), and Rainiero of Borgo San Sepolcro (died in 1589). These individuals performed their miracles, respectively, in Madrid, Agrigento, and the countryside around Todi, Italy. Orozco and Bernardino were urban candidates, while Rainiero was a rural candidate. These three venerable were members of the regular clergy: Rainiero and Bernardino were both Franciscan mendicant friars, while Orozco was an Augustinian monk. 6. Teresa of Avila is placed in the urban category of Table 2 because the majority of her miracles occurred in Salamanca. I placed Baylon in the rural category because despite having defensive walls
a vestige of the Reconquista of the thirteenth century
Villa Real was more a village than a town; life there centered on agricultural work. 7. With the proliferation of procedures and trials, the cost of canonization ballooned. The canonization of Carlo Borromeo, for instance, cost 26,000 julii. The candidate’s promoters had to bear these costs, paying all the cardinals in the Congregatio for their services, the copying of the documents, the promoter’s team of attorneys, the pope’s attorney, and the pope himself; they also had to pay for most of these people’s servants. Finally, the promoters would pay for the decorations of Saint Peter’s Basilica, in Rome, for the mass that led to the canonization (ASV 6866 n.13, “Ristretto delle spese d’una Canonizzazione cominciando dal Decreto sino alla Bolla …”). By a conservative estimate, at current value the canonization expenses of Borromeo correspond to 260,000 euros (see also Ferrero 2002

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for a similar figure). Local activists therefore had to attract a great deal of financial support in order to get Rome’s attention. 8. This distinction follows the Church classification of miracolati, i.e., the recipients of miracles, and testimoni, i.e., the witnesses of miracles affecting the miracolati. 9. If the saved and the witnesses were related, that is, if they shared two ties
witnessing of the miracle and kinship
only one tie was retained. 10. Despite having had two trials, Bernardino of Santa Lucia had only 21 miracles to his credit, described during trials by 34 witnesses. Further, his miracles were described only during his second trial. Because of this small number of miracles and witnesses, I did not draw a graph for his case. 11. The categories of the classification are self-explanatory. However, in order to have a firmer sense of their meaning, consider that under the definition of Resurrection fall all of those cases of children healed after falling into rivers or ponds or under wheels. Contagious Diseases are mostly fevers, and Paralysis includes the broader category of difficulty in movement. The category Wounds includes fractures and other nonfatal injuries, most of which arose during work activities. Mental Diseases include cases of possessed individuals and epileptics. The category Birth includes sterility and difficult childbirth. Finally, the category Protections includes miracles of liberation from captivity, and visions. An independent coder assigned the observed cases to the categories. The inter-code reliability with my classification was 0.93. 12. The proportion for Borromeo could not be calculated because there were fewer than five in vitam miracles recorded in his trials. Such a small number would produce unreliable calculations. This does not mean that Borromeo performed only five miracles in vitam. Rather, it shows that the local authorities where Borromeo operated complied more fully with the rule that established only postmortem miracles as valid for canonization. 13. For instance, Teresa of Jesus had only 40 witnesses but was canonized in almost the same amount of time as Filippo Neri, who had 119 people testifying about his miracles. Orozco, instead, had almost the same number of witnesses (125) as Baylon (126). Yet, while Baylon became a blessed in 1618, Orozco remained a venerable for 250 more years. 14. The ratio is calculated by counting the nodes in the largest component over the total number of nodes in the graph. The rankings of the candidates from the day of their death to the attainment of the status of blessed were measured in years. 15. The findings of Table 6 may be an artifact of pooling miracles together across time. Despite being approved all at once, postmortem miracles occurred for the greater part during the period of trials. Since there were several trials held in the same location, miracles distributed in time. Thus, it might have been the case that the approval of a miracle depended on how many miracles had already occurred in particular location, a kind of information readily available to the Congregatio at the time of its decision. For a subset of miracles that had a clear time reference recorded (N = 84), we estimated first an empirical cumulative distribution of miracles for each candidate and then we used the estimated cumulative distribution in the model. Controlling for the number of miracles already occurred, miracles that had acolytes involved remained highly significant (con = 1.784, p = 0.000). 16. This difference is not significant, of course.

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ORGANIZING BELIEF: INTERFAITH SOCIAL CHANGE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE RELIGIOUS-ENVIRONMENTAL MOVEMENT Dina Biscotti and Nicole Woolsey Biggart ABSTRACT A growing religious-environmental movement is working to reconcile environmental thought and practice with the mission and ministry of religious organizations. We examine two leading interfaith social change organizations and identify key strategies they routinely employ to create shared meaning and alignment between environmentalism and faith. They reframe stewardship in religious organizations by (1) highlighting and interpreting environmental themes in sacred texts and scriptures, (2) celebrating and fostering mutual awareness of environmental action by faith-based organizations, and (3) providing resources and creating linkages between clergy and lay leaders across religious congregations. By emphasizing moral and spiritual rationales for the adoption of resource-saving products and behaviors at both the congregational and

Religion and Organization Theory Research in the Sociology of Organizations, Volume 41, 413
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household level, these networked organizations help shift the perception of global climate change from an insurmountable problem to one that is being addressed in cooperation with similar others. Our investigation reveals organizational actors deeply engaged in growing moral calls for political action to address climate change and underscores the need for more socially realistic models of technology adoption and behavior change. Keywords: Institutional logics; stewardship; interfaith; religious-environmental movement; social change organizations; energy behavior

INTRODUCTION The environmental movement in the United States has roots in several secular ideologies and perspectives, including the conservation of wilderness for its own sake (Leopold, 1949; Muir, 1916; Thoreau, 1854), the public health benefits of clean air and water (Carson, 1962), and environmental justice (Harrison, 2011; Pellow, 2002; Szasz, 1994). While morality has always played a role in these perspectives, moral issues have tended to be subordinate to political, scientific, and social reasoning. Until recently, organized religion has been relatively silent on natural resource use and some theological traditions are arguably inconsistent with environmentalism. White (1967) criticized a human-centered Christian theology that stresses anthropocentric dominion of humans over nature. Ecofeminists argue that patriarchal religions, such as some conservative Christian churches, view women and the natural environment as inferior, irrational, and needing control (Merchant, 1980; Ruether, 1992). In this view, the environment is something to be rationalized and utilized, not conserved or protected. It also assumes an essential dualism in which the human and nonhuman occupy existentially different realms. This situation is changing, however. Over the past 20 years with an accelerating pace, U.S. faith groups are integrating environmental thought and practice into religious conversations. They are even materially changing their places of worship to reflect environmental ideas. Perhaps most surprisingly, environmental thought is spanning faith traditions and connecting disparate groups for the first time as eco-religious organizations become an increasingly active segment of the larger environmental movement.

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Social movements attempt to recruit and organize adherents in support of new ideas and revised practices, whether they are concerned with international human rights, antinuclear policies, or environmentalism. However, there are important differences between secular social movement organizations and religious-environmental movement organizations. Secular social movement organizations focus primarily on changing the larger society outside the movement organization, usually through political pressure on governmental structures and regulation. The religious-environmental movement, in contrast, is focused first inwardly toward encouraging the faithful to redefine the landscape of belief to include the natural world. Eco-religious organizations must redefine theological boundaries in order to mobilize environmental activism within religious communities. Unlike secular environmental organizations, religious-environmental organizations seek to instill an environmental ethic in which human responsibility to care for the earth is understood to be a matter of faith (Smith & Pulver, 2009). While influencing the larger political discussion about environmentalism and changing the personal practices of adherents may be aims of both types of environmental groups, their fundamental challenge is to first encourage the religious to embrace the natural world as a legitimate object of faith. Only when environmental ideas are seen as connected to the sacred can consumption in the religious community and in adherents’ households, much less political activism, become legitimate goals of religious organizations.

Religious Organizations in the United States Faith groups are separated by beliefs about the nature of the divine, the relationship between the individual and God, the role of clergy, forms of worship, gender norms, and many other prescriptions and proscriptions. But despite these differences, they share a key organizing principle and raison d’eˆtre: affiliation based on shared belief in the sacred, however defined. Religious organizations are fundamentally centered on expressing and reinforcing shared belief systems. A less obvious, but relevant and observable, feature of religious organizations is their tendency to de-emphasize or render invisible differences between their members, including socioeconomic or political differences. Religious congregations are members of an organizational field where beliefs and material interests come together in nonsecular ways. A vast and growing network of suppliers, service agencies, publishers, and mission

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boards serve and sometimes directly connect disparate religious organizations. Collectively, these constitute the “religion industry” in the United States. Unlike firms and governmental organizations, the only state subsidies churches, mosques, and temples receive in the United States are limited tax benefits and exemptions; their survival therefore usually depends on the support of their adherents, who contribute considerable sums of time and money (Ammerman, 2005). Maintaining believers is critical to both their religious and material interests. Religious institutions are powerful agents of socialization and the United States has high levels of religiosity. More Americans belong to religious congregations than any other form of voluntary association and there are more than 300,000 religious congregations across the faith spectrum (Chaves, 2004). Between 25% and 40% of the U.S. population attends religious services every week and over 50% belong to a local congregation (Ammerman, 2005). Despite their ubiquity and large socioeconomic impact, religious organizations have had limited attention from management and organization scholars (Tracey, 2012), though many concepts from organization studies and social movement research are relevant to them. A great deal of religious scholarship is focused on the substance of belief
including the increase of secularism in some societies and the impact of a globalizing world on belief systems. Scholars study religion’s impact on a wide array of social phenomena including racial attitudes, support for abortion, and philanthropy. Sociologists of religion have examined faith-based social service organizations that coordinate charitable giving and volunteer labor from faith communities to disadvantaged groups (Allahyari, 2000; Wuthnow, 2004). These studies give insight into the organizational imperatives, routines, and practices of religious groups and show how organizational practices can emerge as extensions of belief systems. Our investigation of two national interfaith social change organizations examines efforts to redefine religious stewardship in environmental, as opposed to only financial or charitable, terms. We refer to these two organizations as Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation.1 Unlike religious organizations focused on charitable giving, Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation are focused on reinterpreting theology to embrace stewardship of the natural world and to connect environmental beliefs to religious practice. Both organizations seek to influence the consumption practices of congregations and their members, rather than channeling congregational resources to external recipients.2 Furthermore, the activities that Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation promote
such as retrofitting houses

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of worship for greater energy-efficiency and adopting energy-saving behaviors
are ideologically novel for religious organizations whose work more typically has involved serving the less fortunate by, for example, feeding the hungry or sheltering the homeless. Scholars working at the intersection of social movements, institutions, and organizations recognize that movements can arise within institutions or fields. The religious-environmental movement is building on both the ideas and social networks of religious organizations in ways that are both novel and recombinant of traditional patterns. We examine two cases of organizations situated at the interstices of the environmental and religious fields. Socially skilled actors who are insiders in both fields lead our two case study organizations. These institutional entrepreneurs are working to instantiate environmentalism in religious institutions. Although their organizations are organized differently, we find they use related strategies that attempt to achieve similar ends. We begin by describing our two case study organizations
two national interfaith organizations active in the religious-environmental movement
and our research methods. We identify the particular challenges that faith and lay leaders express regarding their efforts to reframe religious stewardship in environmental terms. We analyze the strategies Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation employ, and reveal the necessity of linking those strategies to the core shared beliefs of faith communities. We conclude that substantive and institutional logics play a significant role in shaping natural resource use and that mainstream resource reduction programs that ignore these logics do so at their peril.

NETWORKED INTERFAITH ORGANIZATIONS: CLUB ECOFAITH AND ECOFAITH FEDERATION Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation are national interfaith organizations that mobilize member congregations to retrofit houses of workshop for greater energy efficiency, participate in political action to address climate change, and encourage energy-saving behaviors as stewardship of God’s creation. Club EcoFaith provides training for clergy and lay leaders and a comprehensive religious-environmental certification program for houses of worship that has been described as “LEED for congregations.” EcoFaith Federation has established state chapters in approximately 40 U.S. states and has thousands of member congregations that span the

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Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, Baha’i, Unitarian, and Zoroastrian faith traditions. It is becoming international in scope. The “Club” and “Federation” pseudonyms were inspired by a movement originally directed toward firms. Prakash and Potoski (2006) studied voluntary environmental programs that encourage businesses to adopt environmental practices that exceed state and federal regulations. They viewed voluntary programs such as ISO 14001 as “green clubs.” The viability and effectiveness of these green clubs rests on their imposition of significant new obligations on their member firms. Club EcoFaith runs an environmental certification program for congregations that has a relatively high level of stringency and monitoring. McCarthy (2005) describes national social movement organizations (SMOs) with widely dispersed local affiliates as “federated” social movements. He observes that this federated form has remained popular among social change entrepreneurs from the turn of the twentieth century up to the present. EcoFaith Federation employs this organizational model; it has a national headquarters and relies on state-level subunits to enroll individual member congregations. These state-level subunits tailor the resources they offer and the political advocacy work they do to local needs. For example, EcoFaith Federation’s California chapter was very active in opposing Proposition 23.3 Both Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation grew out of smaller organizations founded in the 1990s by clergy who initially sought to foster environmental change within their own faith communities. Over a decade ago, both organizations redefined their scope to include all major world religions. Today, many “start-up” religious-environmental organizations launch as explicitly interfaith, such as the Interfaith Sacred Earth Coalition of the Susquehanna Valley, a network of over 100 clergy and laity from eight different faith traditions, that was created by a Lutheran pastor in Pennsylvania in 2011 to resist hydraulic fracturing, or “fracking,”4 as a means of extracting natural gas in the northeastern United States. A variety of secular organizations have supported the work of EcoFaith Federation and Club EcoFaith. These include private foundations with environmental aims, investor-owned utilities, and public agencies. Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation offer access to faith communities, populations secular organizations typically find hard to reach. Secular foundations support Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation’s political advocacy work, viewing them as a means of mobilizing broader public support for climate legislation. Public agencies and utilities have provided grants ranging from $15,000 to $200,000 to Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith

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Federation to broker the implementation of energy-efficiency programs directed at religious congregations. These programs include, for example: (1) distributing thousands of compact fluorescent light bulbs to underserved communities, (2) enrolling congregations in energy audits and developing customized energy-efficiency plans with matching funds to implement energy-saving improvements, (3) enrolling moderate-income households in no-cost energy audits, (4) coordinating energy-efficiency training for religious facilities managers, (5) documenting and identifying congregations where solar arrays have or could be installed, and (6) conducing targeted education and outreach about renewable energy. Notably, only a small percentage of Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation’s operating budgets come from the congregations they serve. Many of EcoFaith Federation’s state chapters do not collect dues from member congregations. Some collect an initial membership fee, but that is typically used to offset the cost of an energy audit of the new member congregation’s buildings. EcoFaith Federation’s website hosts an online store for energy-efficiency products marketed primarily toward congregational member households (such as compact fluorescent light bulbs, water heater blankets, power strips, chimney balloons, weather stripping materials, and even LED holiday lights) from a wholesaler that returns a small percentage of sales to EcoFaith Federation. Club EcoFaith hosts programs that are only partially funded by member revenue. Congregations make a token payment at the start of Club EcoFaith’s multiyear environmental certification program; the payment amount is based on congregational budget size, is fully refundable if the cost of the program is not recouped through energy savings, and covers only a small percentage of the program costs. The main reason Club EcoFaith collects a fee at all is to elicit congregational buy-in to complete the certification program. Club EcoFaith also runs a fellowship program and workshops for ordained and lay leaders with subsidized tuition costs.

METHODS Between November 2010 and June 2013, we examined two U.S.-based interfaith social change organizations, selected based on their prominence in the religious-environmental movement. We employed the following qualitative research methods: participant observation, in-depth and informal interviews, and content analysis. We attended a weeklong workshop hosted

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by Club EcoFaith and two-day-long workshops hosted by EcoFaith Federation, and participated in two annual legislative advocacy days and an interfaith prayer breakfast at a state capitol hosted by EcoFaith Federation. We attended three annual EcoFaith Federation awards celebrations for congregations, as well as secular and nonsecular events where EcoFaith Federation leaders spoke about the need for faith communities to support individual and political action to address climate change. We conducted fieldwork at a Protestant congregation that engaged in a year-long decision-making process to participate in Club EcoFaith’s two-year environmental certification program for congregations. We also conducted in-depth and informal interviews with 35 key informants from Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, and Buddhist faith communities. We interviewed the founders of Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation, along with several of their staff members. We interviewed faith and lay leaders about environmental action in their congregations, as well as faith leaders who participated in Club EcoFaith’s 18-month fellowship program. In addition, we interviewed the National Manager of the ENERGY STAR Small Business and Congregations Program at the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA)
who works regularly with both EcoFaith Federation and Club EcoFaith
and a program manager at a private foundation that has provided funding to EcoFaith Federation. Finally, we conducted content analysis of materials generated by EcoFaith Federation and Club EcoFaith. These included the websites of both organizations, regular e-mail communications to members, webinars describing Club EcoFaith’s two-year certification program, conference calls to share knowledge and resources organized by EcoFaith Federation, and a guide for congregations on financing solar installations produced by EcoFaith Federation.

THE ORGANIZATIONAL CHALLENGE: REFRAMING THE MUNDANE, THE POLITICAL, OR THE “PAGAN” AS SACRED AND THEREFORE LEGITIMATE How does the consumption of apparently mundane technologies like solar panels and energy-efficient lighting get framed as faithful stewardship of creation? How does environmental thought and practice
often associated with the political left
get incorporated into institutional spaces where divergent beliefs are routinely avoided in the interest of preserving

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cohesion? How do faith leaders draw a line between caring for creation versus worshipping it? The following examples from our fieldwork highlight key challenges expressed by faith and lay leaders keen not to overstep boundaries that may alienate members of their congregations. Religious organizations are institutional spaces defined by common conviction, and new ideas can threaten organizations so explicitly founded as expressions of shared belief and practice. In order to make new ideas and practices socially legitimate, they must first be framed as consistent with the community’s beliefs. We identify the following dimensions of potential friction. The Mundane Like any social movement organization, eco-religious social change organizations face challenges in mobilizing people and financial resources. Before they can effectively promote environmental action by their members, they must first legitimate such action as religiously appropriate and spiritually engaged. In February 2012, we attended a workshop hosted by EcoFaith Federation that was directed at so-called “green sheep”
faith and lay leaders that are among the more environmentally
oriented within their respective congregations. Over 40 participants attended this “train the trainers” workshop, mostly from Protestant, Jewish, and Muslim congregations. Most of the participants were laity and ranged in age from their mid-twenties to mid-eighties. The leader of the workshop encouraged participants to anticipate questions from congregational members such as, “Why are we talking about light bulbs in church?” By this she meant that the topic of energy-saving lighting might be regarded as inappropriate or distracting for a faith-based organization. She described this as a “teachable moment” and stated, “We’re changing more than light bulbs; we’re changing hearts. The light bulbs will follow.” She encouraged workshop participants to prepare a story about their faith motivation in advocating for energy-saving retrofits, stressing that this would be far more effective than “facts or figures.” In doing so, the workshop leader was coaching participants on how to reframe the mundane as consistent with the sacred in an institutional space defined by the latter. The Political The political boundaries faith and lay leaders must navigate when incorporating environmental themes into their ministry were more explicitly

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revealed during a weeklong workshop organized by Club EcoFaith at a leading theological seminary in July 2012. The workshop was a continuing education interfaith course on religious leadership for the Earth. It was attended by a small group of Episcopal priests, Presbyterian ministers, and Lutheran pastors. It was an ideal fieldwork opportunity to hear the concerns of faith leaders behind the scenes and away from their own local congregations. As one participant put it: “People like to keep church and state separate” (July 2012). By this she meant that people often prefer that their congregations be a place where shared religious values are expressed and political or contentious issues are left at the door. Faith leaders working in congregations that hire and fire their own clergy potentially face risks to their employment when they incorporate environmental issues into their ministry. As the workshop leader stated, “It can be difficult, even painful to raise [environmental] topics and survive and stay true to yourself” (July 2012). Another participant confided that, “when you talk about these things, people think it’s a liberal plot straight from Obama” (July 2012). As noted, the core issue is introducing potentially contentious views into an institutional space based on shared belief. As a lay leader from a Jewish congregation said at EcoFaith Federation’s annual state interfaith advocacy day about the members of his congregation and the risks of introducing ideas that might create discord, “People are very aware of the preciousness of the whole, and we stay away from things that can cause fracturing” (June 2013). The “Pagan” In addition to crossing political boundaries, faith leaders must also be careful not to cross theological boundaries. For example, at the July 2012 EcoFaith workshop, in speaking to a room of Christian clergy, the workshop leader stated, “We can talk about care for the earth, but not worship of the earth. That would be perceived as ‘too pagan’.” He explains how it can be challenging for faith leaders to integrate environmental themes into worship services but he encourages them to do so nonetheless because it gives people a means of expressing dimensions of their spirituality that may often be excluded from traditional forms of worship: The topic of worship and creation, even a decade ago, was marginal at best … [but] this topic is now regularly getting engaged as part of worship
oftentimes in an experimental, clumsy kind of way
but the awkwardness is not stopping people from

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trying … One thing that can be important in terms of worship and creation is personal experiences of God outdoors, [but] what I’ve found is that within our faith communities, we often don’t provide spaces for people to share those stories or those experiences. [I think that] people oftentimes may harbor concern that if they get too close to the earth, you know, that’s not Christian in some way or another. By integrating reference to creation into worship, I think it helps provide a point of connection or a landing place for those experiences that people really do have; it helps legitimize them and affirm their significance and also engages those semi-conscious fears that people may have in relationship to their religious identity.

He went on to relate some experiences with colleagues that reveal underlying sensitivities about spiritual leadership in this area: I served as a parish priest for ten years before beginning my ministry with [Club EcoFaith] and something happened when I was getting started at two separate clergy gatherings with colleagues, one very good friend came up to me, and he was joking and he said, “Now that you’re going to go work for [Club EcoFaith]
that means you’re going to become a pagan.” And then two weeks later I went to another clergy gathering and another clergy friend made a very similar joke, with a similar pagan reference. And I realized that something was getting said here, at a real deep, way beyond rational level. There is this part of Christian identity, my sense is it’s true in certain ways in the Muslim world, and in a slightly different way in the Jewish world, this sense is that if you get too close to nature, you cross that sort of line between being a Christian or pagan, whatever pagan means, and that’s really dangerous for some reason … I think there is this taboo quality to being too close to that natural world, and people are aware of that, that it’s generally speaking not a compliment to be called a tree-hugger, and I think that in our faith communities, people are aware that if you talk too much about this stuff, then you start walking over that thin line that divides the sane from the insane. And I think that really engaging this and dealing with this in worship is significant on that kind of deep level, which is one of the levels where religion operates (July 2012).

SACRED ACTS OF LEGITIMATION We note four strategies that our two case study organizations routinely use to support interpretation of the natural world as a sacred sphere with attendant responsibilities for care by believers. These acts range from the personal to the organizational and involve both reframing the rationales for environmentalism and activities that promote stewardship of the earth as a theologically informed religious act. Ecological Stewardship as a Restoration Movement The founders of Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation are visible within their faith communities and the larger interfaith organizational field.

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They are frequent and charismatic speakers who actively proselytize for eco-religious commitment on the part of the faithful. Each leader defines ecological work as “a calling,” much as they define their call to traditional pastoral ministry. They leverage the considerable social capital and moral authority associated with being ordained clergy, a social capital that has particular currency among the faithful, but also with the public at large. When they speak in front of groups, both religious and secular, about the work of their respective organizations, they typically wear clerical clothing. The leaders of these two interfaith social change organizations talk unambiguously about the moral duty of the faith community to take a leadership role in addressing global climate change. They often frame this obligation within the historical context of other social justice movements in which the faith community played an important role, such as the abolition of slavery, the Civil Rights movement, and the Anti-Apartheid movement. In addition to invoking other social movements as justifications for ecoreligious activism, they also frame ecological duty as a continuity of received religious teachings. For example, the leader of Club EcoFaith asked, “What are basic scriptural texts witness to?” and posed for discussion among an audience of religious leaders a wide variety of texts from the Old and New Testament, as well as religious texts from other faith traditions. He cited Psalm 24:1 (“The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it”) is particularly powerful in African-American churches because historically most African-Americans could not own land. Similarly, he cited Genesis 1:20
22 (“Be fertile and increase”) as evidence that we should not overfish, and noted that God’s unleashing of the flood in the time of Noah because of human wrongdoing included a plan to save the animals. He likened this to the Endangered Species Act. EcoFaith Federation’s website includes several scriptural bases for “Creation Care.” For example: “Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!” sings the Psalmist (Psalm 150:6). From the music of the planets spinning deep in space, to the calls of the humpback whales deep in the oceans to the trills of the thrushes deep in the forests, all creation praises the maker. When we sing the doxology, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise God all creatures here below!” we join our human voices to the whole chorus of creation that is already singing its praises to God. We care for fellow creatures so that they, with us, can continue to sing God’s praises.

Both organizations post suggested sermons and activities for different religious traditions corresponding with liturgical calendars and holy periods such as Ramadan. By not limiting creation care to Earth Day or any particular season, stewardship of natural resources can become a routine part of

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worship activities. The organizations offer guidance on religious education curricula, prayers, devotions, hymns, readings, and videos. Both organizations appeal to interfaith communities and incorporate traditions and liturgy from non-Christian and non-Western groups. They hold webinars, provide teaching materials, and conduct liturgical workshops that appeal across faith traditions, giving witness to the widespread, if under-recognized, connection between foundational religious documents like the Qur’an and Bible and eco-religious activity. Traditional liturgies and practices, such as ritual eating and drinking, are interpreted as God’s sharing of the fruits of his creation with believers and an admonition to steward the natural world. Religious teachings have been used historically to justify wanton abuse of natural resources, and these movements reinterpret these as acts of heresy. The founder of Club EcoFaith put it this way to a group of clergy: Revelation 21
22 has been used as a cover for [self-interested] extractive industries … . There is a disconnect between what we experience of nature and the traditional interpretation of scripture. Scripture is being used to support that which is unnatural to us as human beings and against any reasoned interpretation of God’s intent.

Both organizations define their work as the proper interpretation of God’s directives and point to evidence in a wide variety of teachings. In many ways, they frame what they are doing as, in Weberian terms, a “restoration movement”, i.e. a return to an unpolluted understanding of God’s true intent
or, in the case of nondeist traditions, to a purer state of understanding (cf. Bendix, 1978, pp. 183
189).

Personal Revelation and Narratives of Belief Club EcoFaith encourages individuals to calculate their carbon footprint by analyzing their travel habits, size of residence, and use of consumable products. At the July 2012 Club EcoFaith workshop, a lay workshop leader asked each person: “How much stuff do you use? What did you use just this morning? Sheets, air conditioner, shampoo, hair conditioner, soap, sunscreen, glasses, mascara, hairdryer, toothbrush and paste, clothes, coffee maker, coffee, yogurt, blueberries, car, petroleum, paper napkin, iPad/iPod, Internet, purse, jewelry?” Each participant was asked to calculate the number of earths it would take to support their present lifestyle, assuming that one earth’s worth of resources is what the planet can replenish each year, its “carrying capacity.” The most frugal used at least three

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earths, and most used five or more. This exercise reveals to individuals their own culpability for overconsumption, and frames a discussion about responsibility and the need to work with others for collective restraint. Each participant is asked to choose something that they will do differently. It is one thing to quote religious authority about the need to embrace a larger notion of stewardship, but eco-religious organizations, and Club EcoFaith especially, appeal to personal awareness of God in nature. In workshops, participants are asked to write down when they most experience the presence of God, and share it with the group. More than a few express closeness to the Divine when outdoors walking, fishing, or experiencing natural phenomena such as sunrise. Others speak of pets or working with farm animals, others of God’s creations. The power of this exercise is to reveal the sacred character of the natural world within one’s personal experience and to encourage individuals to give witness to this experience in front of others. Testimonials are an important and powerful means for affirming a religious understanding of God in nature and revealing publicly that which is rarely discussed in religious settings. Clerics are encouraged to take congregations outdoors for worship services. As one Episcopal priest put it, “Go outdoors for the most powerful experience of God. We are in the business of changing hearts and minds” (July 2012).

Community Building and Isomorphism In their analysis of international organizations that promote the worldwide diffusion of what they see as an emergent social entrepreneurial logic, Lounsbury and Strang (2009) identify what they describe as a “success story” model. Social entrepreneurship involves nonprofit organizations infused with business acumen working to address social problems through grassroots initiatives. International organizations such as Ashoka, the Skoll Foundation, and the Schwab Foundation for Social Entrepreneurship promote the development of this logic and its associated practices by recognizing and supporting specific individuals and their projects. Lounsbury and Strang argue that these organizations promote social entrepreneurs and their success stories not to help social entrepreneurs build social capital with the populations they serve, but rather to create ties among social entrepreneurs and between social entrepreneurs and national and transnational elites in government, business, and NGOs. They worry that by recognizing and supporting individual heroes, social entrepreneurship may

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remain “a diverse, locally rooted, and structurally non-isomorphic field” (Lounsbury & Strang, 2009, p. 92) and fail to diffuse more broadly. In contrast, Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation promote success stories of local congregations, not individual heroes, in order to encourage mimetic and normative isomorphism (DiMaggio & Powell, 1983) across congregations. Rather than emphasizing unique local heroes, they tell success stories about congregations that have implemented resource-saving measures that are readily standardized and imitated. Through their fellowship programs and workshops, Club EcoFaith promotes normative isomorphism among faith leaders. Club EcoFaith’s fellowship programs and workshops are essentially professional development venues for teaching ordained clergy how to incorporate environmental themes into their ministry. Organizations frequently model themselves after similar organizations in their field that they perceive as legitimate or successful (DiMaggio & Powell, 1983, p. 152). Professional development workshops hosted by established and reputable theological schools and fellowship programs foster the growth and elaboration of professional networks amongst faith leaders and help legitimate the practices they teach. By sharing success stories across their organizational networks, Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation help reduce the uncertainty faith and lay leaders face about the social legitimacy of incorporating environmental practices into their operations and ministry. Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation frame the success stories they share within the mission of religious organizations. They record and disseminate statements and sermons from faith leaders that articulate how environmental stewardship and reverence for the Earth fits within the particular theology of different faith groups. Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation serve as clearinghouses for information about congregations across the faith spectrum that have incorporated environmental practices into their operations and ministry. However, the most critical resource Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation provide to lay leaders and clergy interested in “greening” their congregations is not guides on how to save water and energy or environmental interpretations of scripture. Rather they provide the institutional legitimacy that comes from mutual awareness of other congregations that have implemented energy-efficiency retrofits of their buildings and the knowledge that other faith leaders are integrating environmental themes into their worship services. Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation work to broker mutual awareness by sharing success stories across their

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organizational networks and convening groups across denominational boundaries. EcoFaith Federation organizes interfaith competitions and awards ceremonies that bring faith groups together to compete in categories such as public greening projects and ecological education. They share information and inspiration and celebrate their collective commitment. Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation foster conditional cooperation in which people become more willing to engage in pro-social behavior
similar to charitable giving, voting, and paying taxes
when they perceive that similar others do so as well (Frey & Meier, 2004). Many of the actions that Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation promote, such as bike riding or carpooling to worship services or planting vegetable gardens on congregational grounds, can seem insignificant in the face of, say, global climate change. But by promoting the idea that other geographically dispersed congregations across the faith spectrum are engaged in similar actions, Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation work to advance a “multiplier effect” in which local actions take on greater significance. In other words, Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation work to shift the perception of global climate change from an insurmountable problem to one that can be addressed effectively when performed in cooperation with similar others. For example, one state chapter of EcoFaith Federation hosts a festive annual event that celebrates the energy-saving efforts of congregations from across the state. Congregations are nominated for their initiatives in several categories and the winning congregation receives an award. The congregational initiatives are described and publicly recognized during the ceremony and on the state chapter’s website. At the 2010 annual awards ceremony, a Baptist congregation won in the “Education and Advocacy” category. The congregation had an energy audit performed on their building and subsequently installed energyefficient lighting and office equipment, resulting in a 50% reduction in their utility bills. Members of the congregation launched an educational initiative that included an “Energy Day.” They distributed compact fluorescent bulbs, coordinated ride sharing to church, and organized a series of sustainability classes. Congregation members were encouraged to sign a pledge to undertake energy-efficiency measures in their homes. In accepting the award for his congregation’s efforts, the pastor said: God has woken us up to a higher understanding of what it means to be a good steward. This award is just one of many small steps that we must take in order to create a more spiritual and healthy environment. However, most importantly, this will help motivate those in the future to be more mindful of our creator and our purpose to take care of this Garden of Eden for generations to come (November 2010).

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A Catholic congregation located in a region with particularly poor air quality was another nominee in the “Education and Advocacy” category. The congregation hosted a workshop attended by local environmental justice groups, legislators, and Catholic leaders on the effects of climate change on local agriculture and disadvantaged communities. In addition to the workshop, the congregation celebrated an Environmental Justice Day, distributing thousands of compact fluorescent bulbs and holding a consumer electronics recycling event for parishioners in the community. In the “Green Building” category, a Jewish congregation was recognized for reusing and recycling materials from a high school gymnasium in rebuilding its sanctuary, which now features daylighting of all interior spaces, solar-powered light fixtures, low-flow toilets, a high-efficiency condensing boiler, and an energy-efficient heating, ventilation, and air conditioning (HVAC) system. A member of the congregation’s building committee, echoing the Jewish sage Hillel, explained the sustainability measures as, “If not us, who? If not here, where? If not now, when?” (November 2010). Another nominee in the “Green Building” category was a Buddhist monastery located off the grid in a remote valley. The monastery previously utilized a diesel and propane generator, in addition to a small photovoltaic (PV) array, for its energy needs. In order to reduce their energy consumption, monastery leaders decided to turn off their ice machine and invest in highly efficient lighting, reducing their energy use by 22%. The monastery then decided to expand their solar array, mounting the panels high off the valley floor and using only a small number of footings in order to minimize their impact on the ecosystem. Because of the remote location, workers from the solar installation company had to hand-carry steel, concrete, and cabling up winding mountain steps to the site. The monastery is now 100% fossil-fuel-free. A Zen priest from the monastery explained: As individuals and as a community of Buddhists, we intend that our activities in the world reflect a generous, wholehearted commitment to honoring the conscious, engaged life of inter-connectedness that is our remarkable inheritance (November 2010).

Success stories are also a key component of Club EcoFaith’s comprehensive two-year certification program for houses of worship. The certification program involves an exhaustive list of requirements, covering everything from incorporating environmental themes into worship services to partnering with local environmental justice organizations. A key resource Club EcoFaith provides to congregations participating in the program is access to detailed examples of how other congregations have fulfilled the

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certification requirements. Success stories are communicated via three mechanisms. The program director basically works as a consultant to participating congregations, sharing detailed examples of how other congregations have fulfilled the certification requirements. A dedicated website for participating congregations serves as a repository for success stories and congregations are encouraged to review these examples for inspiration. Finally, the website allows participating congregations to communicate with one another, so they can ask questions and share their experiences. These resources are crucial for Club EcoFaith in recruiting new member congregations to participate in their certification program. By creating fora where congregations can be recognized and collectively affirmed for their efforts, inspiring “recipes for action” are shared across this networked organization. EcoFaith Federation and Club EcoFaith encourage congregations to include “eco-tips” in their weekly bulletins and newsletters. In 2010, EcoFaith Federation launched a 10
10 energy-efficiency campaign, encouraging member congregations to encourage their members to reduce their household energy consumption by 10% in 2010. EcoFaith Federation also provides a handbook on their website that describes how various member congregations have financed solar panels for their buildings, a feat particularly challenging for nonprofit organizations that are ineligible for the tax benefits that for-profit companies and residential consumers can receive for installing PV systems. Finally, EcoFaith Federation provides links on their website to the Energy Star-rated appliances sold by vendors like Sears. EcoFaith Federation links its advocacy of energy-saving products with political mobilization of its membership. Most of EcoFaith Federation’s e-mails encourage members to take political action against climate change. For example, in 2011, EcoFaith Federation encouraged members to write a letter to the EPA during a public comment period on new Federal air pollution standards. The suggested text of the letter began: As a person of faith, I urge the EPA to safeguard the health of pregnant women, the unborn, and children from the toxic air pollution generated by dirty power plants. The proposed safeguards will greatly reduce the hazardous mercury, arsenic, dioxin, and acid gases that come out of smoke stacks, and in the process will remove dangerous global warming pollutants (July 2011).

Both Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation facilitate linkages between congregations and social justice organizations. For example, some

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entrepreneurial social justice activists have created solar panel installation job training programs for unemployed and underemployed workers. In 2011, a state chapter of EcoFaith Federation led a small group of about 10 faith leaders on a tour of one of these organization’s training facilities and local solar installations, encouraging member congregations considering PV systems for their congregations to select solar companies that hire graduates of these job training programs, thereby adding a social justice dimension to their environmental efforts. Club EcoFaith’s fellowship program helps leaders in the faith community develop their own religious-environmental leadership plan. The fellowship program brings together a cohort of like-minded members of diverse faith communities who desire to gain a better understanding of the religious-environmental movement and the role they can play in it. Fellows meet during a series of intensive retreats, where they develop their own personal eco-theological statement and reflect on environmental interpretations of religious texts. Fellows gain an introduction to the environmental justice movement, touring environmentally blighted urban communities and receiving training in legislative advocacy and community organizing. Not unlike the nonscientist AIDS activists studied by Epstein (1996), they learn to speak about issues outside their own areas of expertise, practicing science
and religion-based responses to climate change deniers. They learn about environmental toxins, carbon emissions, and global ecosystems, along with renewable energy, water conservation, energy-efficiency, transportation, and food systems. But beyond the content of the fellowship program, arguably the most valuable thing fellows receive is relationships with Club EcoFaith staff and other fellows committed to linking religious and environmental leadership. As Club EcoFaith’s founder and codeveloper of its fellowship program explains: When we designed the fellowship program, our belief was that the greatest value would reside in the content that we shared. And while the content is significant, I have come to accept that the enduring power is in the relational side of the equation … I had always assumed that people change because of information, when the reality is that they change because of relationships … I’ve learned that the more we build an intentional relational dimension into our work, the better it goes. [The fellowship program] is more meaningful both to us and to [the fellows], and I believe that we get more change to happen in the long term (July 2012).

A former fellow echoes these sentiments. This individual is an ordained pastor and professor at a leading Protestant theological seminary. He teaches

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a required course for future pastors on stewardship, which he expanded from wise management of congregational resources to include ecological stewardship. When asked about the main benefits he received from the program, he replied: Contacts. Just awesome contacts. I made friends with the professional staff that runs it and I made friends in other [faith] traditions. That’s what I wanted. That was the goal, to widen my circles. But the other thing is, I wanted to find my voice in theology … and I was able to do that, in part through writing my eco-autobiography, and trying to really talk about how I see God connected to creation out of [my faith] tradition … I found that in that [fellowship] process (July 2012).

This respondent applauded the structure of the fellowship program, which begins and ends with a retreat that allows new fellows at the beginning of their 18-month fellowship to meet graduating fellows from the previous one. The type of support and professional development that Club EcoFaith provides through its fellowship program and the institutional legitimacy afforded to fellows through mutual awareness of what other faith leaders are doing in this space, allows faith leaders like the last respondent to teach new ordained clergy within their respective faith traditions about stewardship from an ecological as well as a congregational resource perspective. This encourages normative isomorphism and reduces the uncertainty that faith and leaders can face when engaging in this area. Ritual Central to the power of religion is its use of ritual to create and organize meaning. Rituals are used to affirm or transform status. For example, baptism and circumcision are inclusion rituals, and confirmation and bar mitzvahs signal growth to adult membership status. These rituals are symbolic and emotional, and are designed to have lasting impact, not be momentary celebrations. Likewise, processions are metaphorical journeys often used in religious ceremonies, and blessings are symbolic granting of God’s grace. Religious organizations are expert at using drama, music, incense, and other involving elements that create shared experiences of the body, mind, and spirit. EcoFaith Federation and Club EcoFaith ritualize their work in familiar ways and introduce environmental elements into religious worship. In some cases, they take existing practices and infuse them with ecological meaning such as “carbon fasts” for Lent or “environmental tithes.” In the case of

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Lenten carbon fasts, congregational members are encouraged to reduce their energy use rather than give up meat or abstain from eating. Environmental tithes have involved, for example, donating a dollar to congregational sustainability measures for every gallon of gas purchased. As part of their two-year certification program, Club EcoFaith requires participating congregations to hold a certain number of environmentally themed worship services. Faith leaders are encouraged to hold worship services outside and encourage congregants to reflect on their spiritual connection to nature and their responsibility to steward the earth.

SUBSTANTIVE AND INSTRUMENTAL RATIONALITY Mainstream energy-efficiency programs administered by investor-owned utilities, municipal utilities, and local governments typically target individual consumers, not groups of people socialized within institutional settings. The dominant rationale they promote when encouraging consumers to adopt energy-saving technologies or behaviors is saving money on their utility bills by reducing energy consumption. However, price-based incentives directed at individual consumers to encourage energy efficiency have been limited in their effectiveness because they ignore the social relations and substantive forms of rationality that people and organizations also use in making decisions that affect their energy use. People routinely employ multiple rationalities when making decisions, and this is especially true of religious organizations, which by their very nature are founded on substantive as opposed to instrumental values. Biggart and Delbridge (2004) provide an empirically derived analytical framework for thinking about how the structure of social relations and multiple forms of rationality influence economic exchange. For example, communal logics (which involve preferential action toward others with a shared group affiliation or identity) and moral logics (in which actors seek to align their choices with a substantive value or ethic) both routinely shape economic action. Savvy market actors take social relations and substantive logics into account when marketing their products. A classic example is the direct selling organizations (DSOs) studied by Biggart (1989) which successfully leverage existing social ties to sell goods and services. Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation employ such moral and communal logics when encouraging members of faith communities to adopt energy-saving technologies and behaviors. Price-based logics are not

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ignored, but do not dominate. Although seemingly small actions can add up to significant energy and cost savings for congregations with tight budgets, saving money alone is rarely a sufficient driver for behavior change that can be perceived as inconvenient, inconsequential, or even worse, contrary to a congregation’s organizational mission. Take, for example, an energy-saving action Club EcoFaith routinely advocates to congregations in its certification program: “Keep doors to worship spaces closed in order to prevent heated or cooled air from escaping.” The staff at Club EcoFaith knows that this suggestion is not a simple one. In webinars promoting their green certification program, program managers acknowledge that congregations intentionally keep their doors open in order to seem welcoming to visitors and members alike. More importantly, open doors to temples and churches express an open invitation to join in worship which many congregational leaders feel is part of their central mission: sharing their faith. Keeping doors closed that historically have been left open can necessitate buy-in from across the organization. Although faith communities vary in terms of how much decision-making is shared, change without attention to shared meaning and member identity, particularly in religious organizations, will likely be met with resistance. Club EcoFaith helps make transformational change possible by acknowledging these challenges and creating new shared meanings around such practices, not unlike the entrepreneurial meaning-making observed by scholars who have studied organizations that broker the exchange of human blood, organs, eggs, and sperm (Almeling, 2011; Haylett, 2012; Healy, 2006) or sell children’s life insurance (Zelizer, 1985).

CONCLUSION Religious organizations are becoming increasingly active in the environmental movement, particularly with regard to resource consumption by congregations and their members. Although religious groups have been perceived as reluctant to engage around climate change, this is changing, in part due to the efforts of social change organizations like Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation. Our study vindicates the usefulness of sociological research that can identify how social institutions shape the resource consumption of individuals and groups. It has long been known that the standard model of energy behavior, based on price incentives, is incomplete. It does not fully describe what

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people and groups do or why, and it leads to a truncated and weak menu of policy levers for changing their behavior. Above all, it fails to comprehend groups of people socialized within institutional settings. Models based on disseminating knowledge, which lead to a policy of distributing resourceconservation guides and suchlike, are similarly incomplete in theory and weak in practice. We therefore need more socially realistic behavioral models to overcome the limits of these instrumentally oriented approaches to energy conservation currently promulgated by governments and utilities. While the existence of noneconomic social and psychological mechanisms governing energy behavior has traditionally been acknowledged, at least tacitly, they have been regarded as mysterious, inexplicable, and thus not subject to organized intervention. But we discovered that in reality, the noneconomic motivations for improved environmental behavior are neither mysterious nor beyond the reach of deliberate policy interventions. Their logic is easy enough to understand, once looked at in the right light, and means of deliberately inducing socially beneficial behavioral change are within reach. The fundamental flaw of traditional accounts of energy behavior is that instrumental rationality transpires within the market vacuum assumed by conventional economics, not the richly embedded social context in which people actually live. This does not mean that real-world energy behavior is irrational; rather, people and the organizations they belong to employ multiple rationalities, some of which are substantive rather than instrumental. Religious organizations, being spaces organized around substantive, not instrumental, values, are an ideal arena for studying these dynamics. Religious institutions are spaces where beliefs are shared, standardized, and imitated, and moral uncertainty is reduced. The substantive values of religious organizations are expressed in moral and spiritual rationales, to which calls for action must be tied in order to gain legitimacy. These are places where the social meanings of things are defined by people openly sharing these meanings with one another. Insofar as they engage politics, these institutions ritualize the experience that the personal is political, by means of acts ranging from personal eco-theological statements to public witness and community building. Crucially, they offer “more meaning,” rather than “more information” on ethical and social issues. Thus it is that eco-religious organizations reframe and redefine their mission of religious stewardship in environmental terms. The personal and group ethical imperatives thus affirmed then ground, rather than compete with, political activism aiming at state-implemented responses to energy

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problems. Faith leaders are trusted messengers authorized to define culturally legitimate goals and socially shared purposes. The knowledge that others are similarly engaged, even across denominational boundaries, has a multiplier effect, and local actions take on greater significance. This tends to mitigate the problem of perceived impotence in the face of climate change that has been noted by Norgaard (2011) and others, answering the question, “What do we do now?” and enabling shared action. Eco-religious organizations highlight the importance of collective, rather than individual, changes in energy behavior. People, being by nature mimetic and solidaristic, will imitate the energy behavior of visible others and wish to conform to the energy-behavior norms of their affinity groups. Viewed from an ethical point of view, they engage in collective, as opposed to individual, restraint in energy consumption, with shared culpability for overconsumption. The act of conforming to the ethical norm becomes itself an act of membership in their faith community. Eco-religious organizations are not without their challenges, however. For a start, these ideas and practices are often ideologically novel to some congregations, which can trigger resistance. Congregations are institutions based on shared beliefs derived from inherited traditions, so novel ideas by definition threaten to create discord. Faith leaders who engage in this work face constant challenges with reference to perceived boundaries and ingrained sensitivities. Above all, their work must be viewed as appropriate given the existing religious commitments of their congregations. Preferably, it should be viewed as not novel at all, but as a rediscovery of preexisting shared meanings and an extension of existing shared beliefs. Personal revelations, publicly expressed narratives of belief, and rituals all play a role in building community around eco-religious ideas. There is a richness that includes expressions of the spiritual significance of having a meaningful connection to nature, a larger social purpose, and crossgenerational engagement. Club EcoFaith and EcoFaith Federation do important work supporting these efforts by individual congregations and their leaders. These two national groups help create shared meaning, diffuse novel ideas, and encourage mimetic isomorphism. They share detailed examples, communication methods, and recipes for action. They help faith leaders give witness to their issues, and testimonials are built into the structure of their programs. Religious-environmental organizations are, of course, only one, albeit outstanding, case of the noneconomic motivations for improved energy behavior. They are, however, both a useful paradigm case for understanding such motivations and a fruitful arena for rethinking policy initiatives.

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They underscore a) the central role of social relationships and social institutions in shaping technology adoption and behavior change and b) the importance and mechanisms of tapping into existing systems of the cultural legitimacy of ideas. They underscore the relational nature of social change. Thus we conclude that a vision of social action that truly comprehends these moral and communal logics could enable the development of more effective resource-consumption reduction programs. Religious organizations, like other social institutions where people live, work, and play, have networks that can be built upon and leveraged. Mutual awareness and success stories diffused across networks can fuel isomorphic change. This can happen both within faith traditions and across different institutional spaces shaped by shared meaning and identity. As in previous major social movements, there is a valuable leadership role for the faith community in the environmental movement. In addressing the climate crisis, the full diversity of existing social networks and institutions, and substantive as well as instrumental rationalities, should be leveraged.

NOTES 1. Both organizations are referred to using pseudonyms. 2. Recipients may be members of the congregations that donate the resources, but frequently they are not. 3. This controversial statewide ballot proposition attempted to suspend Assembly Bill 32, the landmark California legislation known as the Global Warming Solutions Act of 2006, which requires the California Air Resources Board to develop regulations to reduce greenhouse gas emissions in California to 1990 levels by 2020. 4. Hydraulic fracking has attracted growing scrutiny because of numerous cases of groundwater contamination associated with the technique.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We wish to gratefully acknowledge Michael Lounsbury and Ian Fletcher for their valuable comments and suggestions and Michelle Sims for research assistance. We thank the faith and lay leaders who shared their experiences and reflections with us during interviews. Kristin Heinemeier and Jim Cramer provided helpful ideas during our fieldwork. This article benefitted from feedback we received at the Garrison Institute during

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Climate, Mind and Behavior symposia organized by Karen EhrhardtMartinez.

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